Nemonte Nenquimo

 

 

 

Nemonte Nenquimo est une militante indigène et membre de la nation Waorani de la région amazonienne de l’Équateur. Elle est la première femme présidente des Waorani de Pastaza (CONCONAWEP) et co-fondatrice de l’organisation à but non lucratif dirigée par l’Alliance indigène Ceibo. En 2020, elle a été nommée sur la liste Time 100 des 100 personnes les plus influentes au monde, la seule femme autochtone sur la liste et la deuxième Équatorienne à avoir été nommée dans son histoire. Nenquimo était le plaignant dans un procès contre le gouvernement équatorien, aboutissant à une décision de 2019 protégeant un demi-million d’acres de terres ancestrales Waorani dans la forêt amazonienne contre le forage pétrolier.
Nenquimo est né dans la communauté de Nemompare en 1985 dans la région de Pastaza en Amazonie équatorienne. Il est membre de la nation de chasseurs-cueilleurs Waorani.

En 2015, Nenquimo a cofondé Ceibo Alliance, une organisation à but non lucratif dirigée par des autochtones pour protéger les terres autochtones de l’extraction des ressources. La première femme présidente de l’organisation Waorani de la province Pastaza (CONCONAWEP) a été élue en 2018.

Dans le cadre du CONCONAWEP (Conseil de coordination de la nationalité Équateur-Pastaza Waorani), Nenquimo a déposé une plainte auprès des médiateurs des droits humains de l’Équateur contre le gouvernement équatorien. Nenquimo était le plaignant dans le procès, dont la décision de 2019 d’un panel de trois juges du tribunal provincial de Pastaza protège un demi-million d’acres de forêt amazonienne de l’Équateur contre le forage pétrolier. Le verdict selon lequel le gouvernement équatorien doit s’engager dans le processus de consentement libre, préalable et éclairé conformément aux normes du droit international et de la Cour constitutionnelle de l’Équateur avant de vendre la terre aux enchères fournit un précédent juridique aux autres nations autochtones pour contrer « l’extraction de ressources au sein de le territoire indigène.

Un défilé de centaines de Waorani a célébré la condamnation en avril 2019 à Puyo, la capitale régionale de la province orientale de Pastaza. Beaucoup ont parcouru de grandes distances pour participer.

En 2020, elle a été incluse dans la liste Time 100, la seule femme autochtone de cette année et parmi les premières Amazoniennes jamais nommées. Elle figurait également sur la liste des 100 femmes de la BBC annoncée le 23 novembre 2020. En 2020, Nenquimo a reçu le prix Goldman de l’environnement.

relier: https://www.alianzaceibo.org

An emergency exit for humanity

The latest data makes it clear that, even after the vaccine has spread, we cannot afford to relax. The pandemic is not over (the number of infections is rising and perhaps new ones await us lockdown ) and other catastrophes are on the horizon. In late June in the northwestern United States and southwestern Canada, a heat bubble – a meteorological phenomenon in which high pressure traps and compresses hot air, causing temperatures to rise – caused the thermometer to rise to nearly fifty degrees. centigrade, making Vancouver warmer than the Middle East.

This phenomenon is the culmination of a much broader process: Northern Scandinavia and Siberia have regularly passed the big thirty in recent years. The World Meteorological Organization is trying to verify a new record of maximum temperatures north of the Arctic Circle, after the weather station in Verchojansk, Siberia, recorded 38 degrees on June 20. In the Russian city of Oymyakon, considered the coldest inhabited place on Earth, it was the hottest June ever (31.6 degrees). Put simply, climate change is frying the northern hemisphere.

The heat bubble is a local phenomenon, but it is the result of a global climate trend that depends on human intervention on natural cycles. While it is true that the climate is overheating, this process culminates in extreme local manifestations, which sooner or later will form a chain of global critical moments. To put it bluntly: we will have to get used to living with various simultaneous crises. If we look at the data clearly, there is a conclusion that we can draw: every living being has death as its latest output (for this reason Derek Humphry entitled his book on assisted suicide Euthanasia: emergency exit , Eleuthera 1993). Ecological crises open the realistic prospect of a last exit (collective suicide) for humanity. But is there a last exit from our path towards perdition? Or is it already too late and there is nothing left to do but find a painless suicide?

We should learn to accept our environment in all its complex mixture

What should we do? First of all, reject the cliché that we are a part of nature and not its center. According to this idea, to combat climate crises we should change our way of life: limit individualism, develop new solidarity and accept our modest role on this planet. As Judith Butler wrote, “A habitable world for humans depends on an Earth that flourishes and does not have humans at its center.”

But isn’t it true that global warming requires collective interventions that will have consequences on the delicate balance between forms of life? When we say that the temperature rise must be kept below two degrees, we speak as if we are the supervisors of life on Earth, not one species among others. The regeneration of the planet depends on this titanic task. If we also have to worry about the life of water and air, it means that we are what Marx defines as “universal beings”, that is, capable of going out of ourselves and perceiving ourselves as a secondary moment of the totality of nature.


Seeking refuge in the modesty of our mortality is an illusory exit and will lead us to catastrophe. As universal beings, we should learn to accept our environment in all its complex mixture, which includes what we perceive as pollution, as well as what we cannot directly perceive because it is too big or too small, what the British philosopher Timothy Morton calls the “hyperobjects”. For Morton, being ecologists does not mean “spending time in an unspoiled nature reserve, but appreciating the grass that makes its way through the cracks in the asphalt, and then appreciating the asphalt. It is part of the world and it is also part of us. Reality is populated with strange strangers, things that are knowable but mysterious ”.

“This strange oddity,” Morton writes, “is an irreducible element of any rock, tree, terrarium, plastic Statue of Liberty or black hole that a person might stumble upon. Admitting it, we move away from the idea of trying to manage objects and we move towards that of learning to respect them in their ineffability ”. Morton includes in the category of nature all that is frightening, ugly, artificial. An example of this mixture of things is the fate of the Manhattan rats during the pandemic. Manhattan is a living system of humans, cockroaches and millions of rats. During the lockdown, the restaurants were closed and the rats who lived on garbage were deprived of their source of livelihood. This resulted in a mass famine and it turned out that many rats ate their pups. The closure of the restaurants turned out to be a catastrophe for mice.

A similar incident had already occurred in the past. In 1958, at the beginning of the great leap forward, the Chinese government declared birds “the public animals of capitalism” and launched a broad campaign to exterminate sparrows suspected of eating grain. Sparrow nests and eggs were destroyed, and chicks were killed. These attacks decimated the sparrows population, pushing them almost to extinction. However, in April 1960 the Chinese leaders were forced to realize that the sparrows also ate large quantities of insects in the fields and after the campaign to eliminate them the rice crops, instead of increasing, decreased: the extermination of the sparrows upset the biological balance, and insects destroyed the plantations. With no sparrows eating them, the number of locusts exploded, devastating the countryside and amplifying the ecological problems already caused by the great leap forward, including widespread deforestation and the misuse of poisons and pesticides. The ecological imbalance is believed to have exacerbated the great Chinese famine, during which an estimated 15 to 55 million people died of starvation.

The response to the heat bubble in the US and Canada should not only involve affected areas, but target global causes

So we have to accept that we are one of many species on the planet, but at the same time we have to act as supervisors of life on Earth. Since we haven’t been able to take any other exits (global temperatures are rising, oceans are increasingly polluted and so on), it seems increasingly likely that the last exit before the final one (the collective suicide of humanity) will be some version of war communism. I am not talking about a rehabilitation or continuation of the “really existing socialism” of the twentieth century nor about the global adoption of the Chinese model, but about measures imposed by the situation in which we live.

When we come to terms with a threat to our existence, we enter a state of emergency such as in wartime, which can last for years. To ensure the minimum conditions of our survival it is inevitable to mobilize all our resources, if we want to deal with things like the displacement of tens, perhaps hundreds of millions of people due to global warming. The response to the heat bubble in the US and Canada should not just involve affected areas, but target global causes. And, as the catastrophe underway in southern Iraq clarifies – where temperatures exceeded 50 degrees in July and at the same time the electricity grid collapsed, stopping refrigerators, air conditioners and lighting – a state apparatus capable of guaranteeing a minimum of well-being people in difficult conditions will need to avoid society’s outbursts of anger.

All of these things can be – and will be – achieved only through international cooperation, social control, regulation of agriculture and industry, the transformation of our basic eating habits – less beef consumption -, global health coverage. and so on. It is clear that representative democracy alone will not be sufficient to carry out this task. A much stronger executive power, capable of maintaining long-term commitments, must be accompanied by the self-organization of the people and a strong international body capable of prevailing over the will of the nation states.

I am not talking about a new world government: such an entity would generate immense corruption. And I am not talking about the abolition of markets: market competition should play a role, even if it is regulated and controlled. So why use the term “communism”? Because what we are going to do contains four aspects of a radical regime. In the first place there is a voluntaristic dimension: the necessary changes are not rooted in any historical necessity, but will be obtained against the spontaneous trend of history. As Walter Benjamin said, we have to pull the emergency brake on the train of history. Then there is the egalitarianism: global solidarity, health coverage and a decent life for all. Then there are elements of what can only appear to the most passionate liberals as a “terror”, the taste of which we have become familiar with with the pandemic: limitation of many personal freedoms and new models of control. Finally, there is trust in people: everything would be lost without the participation of ordinary people.

It is not a dystopian vision, but the result of a simple evaluation of the condition in which we find ourselves. If we do not take this path, what we already observe in Russia and the United States will happen: the ruling elite is preparing for its survival in gigantic underground bunkers in which thousands of people can continue to live for months, with the excuse that the government activity must continue even in these conditions. Our elites are already organizing themselves for this scenario. And that means they know full well that the alarm bell is ringing.

By Slavoj Žižek, International, Translation by Federico Ferrone

Solve suffering by blowing up the universe? The dubious philosophy of human extinction

At a time when humans are threatening the extinction of so many other species, it may not seem so surprising that some people think that the extinction of our own species would be a good thing. Take, for example, the Movement for Voluntary Human Extinction, whose founder believes that our extinction would put an end to the damage we inflict on each other and to ecosystems more generally.

Or there’s the South African philosopher David Benatar, who argues that bringing people into existence always hurts them. He recommends ceasing to procreate and gradually leaving the Earth. But humans aren’t the only beings who feel pain. Non-human animals would continue to suffer without us. Hence, driven by the desire to completely eliminate suffering, some people have scandalously claimed to take the rest of nature with us. They recommend actively abolishing the world, rather than simply abandoning it.

This disturbing and extremist position surprisingly goes back a long way in history.

About 1600 years ago, Saint Augustine suggested that humans stop procreating. He approved of this, however, because he wanted to hasten the final judgment and eternity of joy thereafter.

If you don’t believe in the afterlife, this becomes a less attractive option. You should be motivated solely by removing suffering from nature, with no promise of supernatural rewards. Probably the first person to advocate human extinction in this way was Arthur Schopenhauer. He did it 200 years ago, in 1819, urging them to “spare” the “burden of existence” for “future generations”. Schopenhauer saw existence as pain, so he believed that we should stop bringing human beings into existence. And it was clear about the result if everyone obeyed: “The human race would die.”

But what about the pain of non-human animals? Schopenhauer had an answer, but it was not convincing. He was a philosophical idealist, believing that the existence of external nature depends on our self-awareness of it. Thus, with the abolition of the human brain, even the sufferings of the less self-aware animals would “vanish” as they ceased to exist without our perceiving them.

Even under the same conditions as Schopenhauer, there is a problem. What if there were other intelligent, self-conscious beings? Maybe on other planets? Surely, therefore, our sacrifice would mean nothing; the existence and painful perception of it would continue. It fell to Schopenhauer’s disciple, Eduard von Hartmann, to propose a more complete solution.

Hartmann, born in Berlin in 1842, wrote a pessimistic system of philosophy almost as long as his massive beard. Notorious in his day, but completely forgotten in ours, Hartmann proposed an incredibly radical vision.

Writing in 1869, Hartmann reproached Schopenhauer for thinking of the problem of suffering only in a local and temporary sense. His predecessor’s view of human extinction “by sexual continence” would not suffice. Hartmann was convinced that, after a few eons, another self-conscious species would re-evolve on Earth. This would simply “perpetuate the misery of existence”.

Hartmann also believed that life existed on other planets. Given his belief that most were probably unintelligent, the suffering of such beings would be powerless. They wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

So rather than just destroying our own species, Hartmann thought that, as intelligent beings, we are obligated to find a way to eliminate suffering, permanently and universally. He believed that it is up to humanity to “annihilate” the universe: it is our duty, he wrote, to “make the entire kosmos disappear”.

Hartmann hoped that if humanity did not prove up to this task, some planets could evolve beings that would, long after our sun froze. But he didn’t think this meant we could be complacent. He noted the strictness of the conditions necessary for a planet to be habitable (not to mention the evolution of creatures with complex brains) and concluded that the task could fall exclusively on humans, here and now.

Hartmann was convinced that this was the purpose of creation: that our universe exists to evolve beings that are compassionate and intelligent enough to decide to abolish existence itself. He envisioned this final moment as a shockwave of deadly euthanasia rippling outward from the Earth, obliterating the “existence of this cosmos” until “all of its world lenses and nebulae are been abolished “.

It was not clear how exactly this goal would be achieved. Speaking vaguely of humanity’s growing global unification and spiritual disillusionment, he hinted at future scientific and technological breakthroughs. Fortunately he was a metaphysician, not a physicist.

Hartmann’s philosophy is fascinating. It is also unimaginably wrong. This is because he confuses the eradication of suffering with the eradication of the sick. Confusing this distinction leads to insane visions of omnicide. To get rid of suffering, it is not necessary to get rid of the sufferer – you may instead try to remove the causes of the pain. We should eliminate the suffering, not the sick.

Indeed, as long as there are intelligent beings around, there is at least the opportunity for a radical removal of suffering. Philosophers like David Pearce even argue that, in the future, technologies such as genetic engineering will be able to eliminate it completely, abolishing pain from the Earth. With the right interventions, Pearce argues, humans and non-humans could conceivably be driven by “gradients of bliss,” not deprivation and pain.

This doesn’t necessarily have to be a Brave New World, populated by ecstatic and amazed beings – conceivably, people could still be highly motivated, simply pursuing a range of sublime joys, rather than avoiding negative feelings. Pearce also argues that, in the distant future, our descendants may be able to effect the same change on other biospheres, throughout the observable universe.

So even if you think removing suffering is our top priority, there is an astronomical value in us that remains. Perhaps we owe it to the sick in general.

Taken from: Thomas Moynihan, Researcher, Future of Humanity Institute, University of Oxford

 

Risolvere la sofferenza facendo saltare in aria l’universo? La dubbia filosofia dell’estinzione umana

In un momento in cui gli umani minacciano l’estinzione di così tante altre specie, potrebbe non sembrare così sorprendente che alcune persone pensino che l’estinzione della nostra stessa specie sarebbe una buona cosa. Prendiamo, ad esempio, il Movimento per l’estinzione umana volontaria , il cui fondatore crede che la nostra estinzione metterebbe fine ai danni che ci infliggiamo a vicenda e agli ecosistemi più in generale.

Oppure c’è il filosofo sudafricano David Benatar , che sostiene che portare le persone all’esistenza fa sempre loro del male. Raccomanda di smettere di procreare e di abbandonare gradualmente la Terra. Ma gli umani non sono gli unici esseri a provare dolore . Gli animali non umani continuerebbero a soffrire senza di noi. Quindi, spinti dal desiderio di eliminare completamente la sofferenza, alcune persone hanno scandalosamente sostenuto di portare con noi il resto della natura. Raccomandano di abolire attivamente il mondo, piuttosto che abbandonarlo semplicemente.

Questa posizione inquietante ed estremista risale sorprendentemente molto indietro nella storia.

Circa 1600 anni fa, sant’Agostino suggerì che gli esseri umani smettessero di procreare. Ha approvato questo, tuttavia, perché voleva affrettare il giudizio finale e l’eternità di gioia da allora in poi.

Se non credi nell’aldilà, questa diventa un’opzione meno attraente. Dovresti essere motivato esclusivamente rimuovendo la sofferenza dalla natura, senza alcuna promessa di ottenere ricompense soprannaturali. Probabilmente la prima persona a sostenere l’estinzione umana in questo modo è stata Arthur Schopenhauer . Lo fece 200 anni fa, nel 1819, esortando a “risparmiare” alle “generazioni future” il ” fardello dell’esistenza “. Schopenhauer vedeva l’esistenza come dolore, quindi credeva che dovremmo smettere di portare all’esistenza gli esseri umani. Ed era chiaro sul risultato se tutti avessero obbedito : “La razza umana sarebbe morta”.

Ma per quanto riguarda il dolore degli animali non umani? Schopenhauer aveva una risposta, ma non era convincente. Era un idealista filosofico , credendo che l’esistenza della natura esterna dipenda dalla nostra autocoscienza di essa. Quindi, con l’abolizione del cervello umano, anche le sofferenze degli animali meno consapevoli di sé sarebbero ” svanite ” poiché cessavano di esistere senza che noi li percepissimo.

Anche alle stesse condizioni di Schopenhauer, c’è un problema. E se esistessero altri esseri intelligenti e autocoscienti? Forse su altri pianeti? Sicuramente, quindi, il nostro sacrificio non significherebbe nulla; l’esistenza e la percezione dolorosa di esso continuerebbero. Toccò al discepolo di Schopenhauer, Eduard von Hartmann, proporre una soluzione più completa.

Hartmann , nato a Berlino nel 1842, scrisse un sistema di filosofia pessimista lungo quasi quanto la sua imponente barba. Famigerato ai suoi tempi, ma completamente dimenticato nel nostro, Hartmann propose una visione incredibilmente radicale.

Scrivendo nel 1869 , Hartmann rimproverò Schopenhauer di pensare al problema della sofferenza solo in un senso locale e temporaneo. La visione del suo predecessore dell’estinzione umana “per continenza sessuale” non sarebbe sufficiente. Hartmann era convinto che, dopo pochi eoni, un’altra specie autocosciente si sarebbe ri-evoluta sulla Terra. Questo semplicemente “perpetuerebbe la miseria dell’esistenza”.

Hartmann credeva anche che la vita esistesse su altri pianeti. Data la sua convinzione che la maggior parte fosse probabilmente non intelligente , la sofferenza di tali esseri sarebbe stata impotente. Non sarebbero in grado di farci niente.

Quindi, piuttosto che distruggere solo la nostra specie, Hartmann pensava che, in quanto esseri intelligenti, siamo obbligati a trovare un modo per eliminare la sofferenza, in modo permanente e universale. Credeva che spetta all’umanità “annientare” l’universo: è nostro dovere, scriveva , “far scomparire l’intero kosmos”.

Hartmann sperava che se l’umanità non si fosse dimostrata all’altezza di questo compito, alcuni pianeti avrebbero potuto evolvere esseri che lo sarebbero stati , molto tempo dopo che il nostro sole si fosse congelato. Ma non pensava che questo significasse che potessimo essere compiacenti. Ha notato il rigore delle condizioni necessarie affinché un pianeta sia abitabile (per non parlare dell’evoluzione di creature con cervelli complessi) e ha concluso che il compito potrebbe ricadere esclusivamente sugli umani, qui e ora.

Hartmann era convinto che questo fosse lo scopo della creazione : che il nostro universo esiste per far evolvere esseri compassionevoli e abbastanza intelligenti da decidere di abolire l’esistenza stessa. Ha immaginato questo momento finale come un’onda d’urto di eutanasia mortale che si increspa verso l’esterno dalla Terra, cancellando l ‘”esistenza di questo cosmo” fino a quando “tutte le sue lenti del mondo e le nebulose non saranno state abolite”.

Non era chiaro come esattamente questo obiettivo sarebbe stato raggiunto. Parlando vagamente della crescente unificazione globale e della disillusione spirituale dell’umanità , ha accennato a future scoperte scientifiche e tecnologiche. Per fortuna era un metafisico, non un fisico.

La filosofia di Hartmann è affascinante. È anche inimmaginabilmente sbagliato. Questo perché confonde l’eradicazione della sofferenza con l’eradicazione dei malati. Confondere questa distinzione porta a visioni folli di omnicidio. Per sbarazzarsi della sofferenza non è necessario sbarazzarsi di chi soffre: potresti invece provare a rimuovere le cause del dolore. Dovremmo eliminare la sofferenza, non il malato.

In effetti, finché ci sono esseri intelligenti in giro, c’è almeno l’opportunità di una rimozione radicale della sofferenza. Filosofi come David Pearce sostengono addirittura che, in futuro, tecnologie come l’ingegneria genetica saranno in grado di eliminarla completamente, abolendo il dolore dalla Terra. Con i giusti interventi, sostiene Pearce, gli esseri umani e i non umani potrebbero essere plausibilmente guidati da ” gradienti di beatitudine “, non da privazioni e dolore.

Questo non dovrebbe necessariamente essere un Brave New World , popolato da esseri estasiati e stupefatti: plausibilmente, le persone potrebbero ancora essere altamente motivate, semplicemente perseguendo una gamma di gioie sublimi, piuttosto che evitare sentimenti negativi. Pearce sostiene anche che, in un lontano futuro, i nostri discendenti potrebbero essere in grado di effettuare lo stesso cambiamento su altre biosfere, in tutto l’universo osservabile.

Quindi, anche se pensi che rimuovere la sofferenza sia la nostra priorità assoluta , c’è un valore astronomico in noi che ci resta . Forse lo dobbiamo ai malati in generale.

Tratto da: Thomas Moynihan, Researcher, Future of Humanity Institute, University of Oxford

マヤ16世紀の本

痛い！ 残酷はキリスト教に伴う奴隷制です！ ここに彼が来ています！ 彼が来ると言葉は奴隷になり、男性は奴隷になり、女性は奴隷になります！ それはあなたに来ています、残念ながらあなたはそれを見るでしょう！ 威嚇するのは彼らの神の顔です！ それが教えるすべて、それが言うすべてはあなたが死ぬだろうということです！ 彼らの戦士はすべての人に耳を貸さず、彼らの船長は惨めです！ 不幸の時であるこの11のahàukatùnに来る苦味の重みを運ぶ準備をしてください。

マヤ16世紀の本

Libro dei Maya sec XVI

Ahi! Crudele è la schiavitù che arriva con il cristianesimo! Ecco che sta venendo! Schiavi diventeranno le parole, e schiavi gli uomini, schiave le donne quando sarà venuto! Sta venendo a voi, sventurati lo vedrete! Minaccioso è il volto del loro Dio! Tutto quel che insegna, tutto quel che dice è morrete! Sordi a tutti saranno i loro guerrieri, miserabili i loro capitani! Preparatevi a portare il peso dell’amarezza che arriva in questo katùn undici ahàu, che è il tempo della sventura.

Libro dei Maya sec XVI

Pietro Porcinai

“Out of cowardice or for money, most architects have abandoned the world of things built in harmony with Nature, allowing ugly cities and horrible suburbs to arise. It is up to the landscape architect to find a remedy for this situation, but it must be someone who knows. think before acting. […] So that ugliness and destruction do not spread in this world and the taste for beauty can assert itself, the future needs architects who are courageous proponents of arche and armed with all aspects of techné who work as authentic teachers in the wake of the teachings of St. Francis of Assisi “.

Nasrin Sotoudeh, your sentence is an insult to mankind

I have to be honest: this time it took me a while to accept this news from Iran. Although I have been addicted to hangings, public executions, death sentences, restrictions and so on for years, the sentence against Nasrin Sotoudeh really left me speechless. The most famous Iranian human rights lawyer was sentenced to 38 years in prison and 148 lashes. Her husband Reza Khandan broke the news on Facebook after receiving a phone call from his wife from prison.

Several times over the years I have followed the story of Nasrin and several times I have also interacted with her husband, who tells me that he cannot make statements. He too had been arrested last September, then released on bail and previously beaten outside Evin Prison for trying to ask about his wife. I find the Iranian sentence against Nasrin a real insult to mankind, especially to women. There is talk of 148 lashes, which would lead to the certain death of the condemned person and that just to name them make any human being with a healthy conscience shiver.

Instead, the conscience that Nasrin has shown she has by never leaving her country or her family, but by remaining close to the people she thought she could help with her work as a lawyer. Nasrin had always taken to heart the cry of freedom – which has not been heard for 40 years – of Iranian women, still subjected to a piece of cloth held on their heads, the veil, which they did not choose to wear. arrested several times: the last last July, precisely for defending the women who took off their veils between December 2017 and January 2018, also called “The girls of Enghelab Street”. Simple women who had peacefully protested against the law of the Islamic Republic which obliges women to wear the veil (hijab) in public. Unfortunately, the news coming from Iran and those revolving around causes of this kind are never clear and often even the information is not transparent.

We have not yet read the proceedings, but someone talks about an unfair trial, a custom in Iran. The Iranian newspapers on this news, which by now has been around the world and for which an international mobilization is being created, are cautious and try to write about a sentence other than that mentioned by her husband, decreasing the number of years of detention . But the problem does not change, here a woman is accused of “collusion against national security”, “propaganda against the state”, “incitement to corruption and prostitution” and “appearing in public without a hijab”: the usual trite accusations and used by Iran when it wants to condemn someone without a valid reason.

In Iran, any gesture of rebellion against the regime is considered an “attack on national security”. Nasrin had been in prison in the past, where she held two hunger strikes in protest on the terms of Evin, the infamous Tehran prison, and was forbidden to see her children. Sotoudeh was released in September 2013 shortly before the election of President Hassan Rouhani, who had declared in the election campaign to improve the civil rights of the population. A campaign that many have supported and believed in, but whose results are slow to arrive.

It is not easy to be a woman in Iran and despite the emancipation of recent years, women are still not able to decide on their life, on their clothing. And this is exactly what young Iranian women are doing: claiming their right to “choice”, a word little known in Iran. It is known that in the Islamic Republic of Iran a woman does not “choose”, but it is men – dictated by the Islamic religion or who knows, perhaps by an archaic and misogynistic mentality, who still decide what is right or wrong for a woman.

Men in Iran have decided that for a woman to sing is wrong, to leave the country without the consent of an adult man is wrong, to participate in sporting events in the presence of men is wrong. Instead, the courage of the Iranians who challenge this system even at the cost of arrest is welcome. The precious observations of the writer Dacia Maraini in the preface of my book I tell you about Iran appear more appropriate than ever. My years in the land of Persia – published by Armando Editore – hopes for Iranian women the cancellation of all those discriminatory notions against them in force since the Islamic Revolution of 1979. As long as we accept that there are countries in the world where women’s freedom is still denied, we can still say that we have failed.

Text by: Tiziana Ciavardini, Journalist and anthropologist

Animula vagula blandula

La dernière fois que j’ai vu mon frère Piero vivant, c’était il y a un an, ces jours-ci.
Pour ses 70 ans j’avais organisé une mini fête avec notre sœur. Trois esprits se rencontrant de trois endroits différents, comme toujours.
Lorsque des amis et des parents sont partis et que nous nous sommes retrouvés seuls, dans sa petite maison sur les collines des Langhe, qu’il a aménagée avec un soin magistral, nous avons préparé un dîner tranquille et avant d’aller nous coucher nous nous sommes assis dehors la nuit, sur le banc qu’il avait placé à côté de la porte.
Nuit paisible, de bavardages chuchotés, pour ne pas troubler le silence et profiter des bruits de la nuit. En plus des chats qui vivent en abondance dans le micro village composé de trois maisons, nous sommes ravis par quelques lucioles venues danser sous nos yeux.
Puis nous nous sommes souvenus qu’enfants, je 5 à 10 ans, soit en 1960, nous vivions dans une ferme située à environ 10km plus loin. C’était un modeste appartement au rez-de-chaussée, avec une salle de bain dans la cour, que notre mère avait loué pour être proche de son lieu de travail. La ferme était maintenant proche de la zone habitée et de la vie précédente, elle ne gardait qu’une cave, où pendant les vendanges ils pressaient les raisins, tandis que l’étage supérieur était occupé par les «vacanciers» en été.
Mon frère a toujours été en relation étroite avec le monde naturel : animaux, plantes, herbes, pierres, eau et, sans surprise, il deviendra plus tard chimiste, biologiste, pharmacien, botaniste.
Ainsi, ces soirs d’été, il attrapait trois ou quatre lucioles, les enfermait dans un verre, avec un verre plus grand à l’envers et les cachait sous le lit.
Notre sœur, qui avait 16 ans, dormait sur le canapé du couloir, lui dans le lit avec sa mère et moi à ses côtés, par terre, sur un magnifique lit obtenu avec une méga couette pliée en quatre. Quand ma mère, épuisée de travailler avec une famille de pharmaciens qui s’occupait de la maison et du magasin, s’est effondrée dans les bras de Morphée, il a sorti les deux verres de sous le lit et les a posés sur la petite table de chevet entre moi et lui. Nous sommes restés muets pour voir les vies danser dans le verre, puis quand nos yeux étaient sur le point de se fermer, il les a relâchés et les créatures ont flotté en clignotant magiquement dans la pièce.
Hier soir, j’ai remonté le sentier semi-abandonné qui monte de Finale Ligure Borgo à Monticello.
C’est un chemin que je peux faire les yeux fermés car je l’ai parcouru au moins mille fois, dont la moitié la nuit. En effet, lorsque j’étais sauveteur à Varigotti, 1980-1986, pendant les trois premières années j’ai dormi dans une tente canadienne placée dans une bande, entre le mimosa et l’olivier. Puis pour trois autres dans une pièce que nous m’avions aménagée au-dessus du pressoir et de la chaufferie à bois.
La maison, avec son oliveraie, son petit vignoble, son verger et ses jardins potagers, avait été prise en métayage par un couple de jeunes, avec deux enfants, qui entre l’une et l’autre y sont restés une vingtaine d’années, à qui j’avais présenté mon frère. La pièce avait un plancher avec des planches de bois, d’où l’on pouvait voir en dessous et une magnifique fenêtre qui encadrait les Apennins lointains, qui à mon retour en hiver scintillaient de neige. La tente était un vert canadien à trois places, avec un toit à double pente, une moustiquaire à l’entrée et à elle seule elle ressemblait à un palais. C’était super pour deux.
Début juin quand je l’ai monté et bien planté les piquets, j’ai creusé des petits drains le long du périmètre et je me souviens avoir profité des orages nerveux dans la joie la plus profonde d’être au sec alors que le flot tombe à 20 cm de ton nez !
En cette saison, le long du chemin, dans le ruisseau d’eau qui alimente la source au pied de la maison, dans les terrasses plantées d’oliviers et de vignes, les lucioles n’ont jamais manqué, ainsi que les crapauds, grenouilles, rainettes et le semblable. Mais je n’avais jamais vu autant de lucioles comme hier soir.
Ma tête tournait.
Animula vagula blandula.
Virginie Briatore

The smell of hay

Other news about Bruno Lattes

1

Bordered all around by an old perimeter wall about three meters high, the Israelite cemetery of Ferrara is a vast grassy surface, so vast that the tombstones, collected in separate and distinct groups, appear much less numerous than they are. On the east side, the boundary wall runs close to the city ramparts, still dense today with large trees, lime trees, elms, chestnuts, even oaks, lined up in double rows along the top of the embankment. At least on this side the war has spared them, the beautiful, ancient plants. The red sixteenth-century tower that about thirty years ago served as a military powder keg, half hidden as it is behind their large green domes is barely visible.

During the summer months, the grass in our cemetery has always grown with wild strength. I don’t know at the moment. What is certain is that around 1938, at the time of the racial laws, the Community used to entrust the mowing to a farm in the province: a company from Quartesana, Gambulaga, Ambrogio, or thereabouts. The reapers advanced slowly, arranged in a semicircle and moving their arms with an unanimous rhythm. Every now and then they would come out in guttural cries. And the sentries guarding the nearby powder magazine, listening to those distant voices, lost in the heat wave (the sentry box in front of which they stopped stood out white, up there, at the foot of a centuries-old black trunk), had to feel the weight of their constriction stronger, more acute. the nostalgia for freedom.

Around five in the afternoon the peasants stopped mowing. Overflowing with swinging hay and pulled by yoked couples of oxen, their wagons went out one after the other in via delle Vigne, where, at that hour, the inhabitants of the district, pensioners in shirt sleeves with a pipe or Tuscan between their teeth , old arzdóre bespectacled mending laundry or cleaning vegetables, most of them sat outside, in a row in front of the low, single-story huts. The road was narrow, a little wider even in those days than a country road. So much so that if, coming in the opposite direction, a funeral had happened at that point, never mind: the funeral had to resign himself to waiting there, at the lively intersection of Corso Porta Mare, five minutes, ten, and sometimes even a quarter of an hour.

*

As soon as the hearse had crossed the threshold of the great entrance gate, and as it crossed it made a slow jolt, a sharp smell of cut hay came to revive the heat-ridden procession. What a relief. And what a peace. There was a sudden, almost cheerful, simultaneous stirring. Some scattered among the tombs near the entrance. Others, most of them, left behind the now stationary wagon from which the gravediggers began to detach the crowns, and together with it the compact group of family members and relatives left waiting for the coffin, were already walking briskly towards the distant place of burial.

Only the insistence of his father (“Cancer does not forgive!” He said with the usual, pathetic admonition and blackmail air) had been able to induce Bruno Lattes to attend the funeral of his uncle Celio. In order not to be there to fight he had adapted. And indeed, for quite some time, having surprised him first of himself, he had been very good. Not only during the journey from via Voltapaletto to the cemetery, but also afterwards, confused in the small crowd of relatives and close friends, by whom, high on their heads, the coffin had crossed the whole cemetery from west to east, even after he had behaved more than well, always keeping himself good, quiet, very calm.

At a given moment, however, he had awakened. Ever since the gravediggers had begun to work to get the coffin into the grave, and his gazes had returned to cross with the lost ones of his father, from that moment he had felt resumed by the dull anger that was his habitual.

What was there in common – he wondered again – between him, on the one hand, and his father and his relatives and relatives on the other? He was tall, dry, dark in skin and hair, while his father, and behind his father, the interminable parade of the Camaioli, Bonfiglioli, Hanau, Josz, Ottolenghi, Bassani, etc. “Lattes tribe”, were largely short, stocky, equipped with blue eyes, a washed-out blue (or black, but a dull black, without splendor), and certain special soft and round minds, unmistakable. And morally? Well, even from the high character no resemblance between him and they , thank God, not even the smallest. Nothing unstable, excitable, morbid about him, nothing so typically Jewish. His character was much closer, at least so it seemed to him, to the strong and straightforward one of many of his Catholic friends, and not for nothing was his mother, born Catholic, very Catholic, called Marchi. And as for cancer, finally, that since grandfather Benedetto, in 1924, at the end of almost two years of unspeakable suffering, had been killed by a stomach tumor, his father had decided that he should be by force the family illness (but uncle Celio no, in any case, they weren’t counting lies: uncle Celio had died following an attack of nephritis, an old nephritis, and therefore the cancer for once had not entered neither for long nor for a little …), whether he would come, one day or another, if he wanted to come! After you. Sit down. As far as he was concerned, he had long ago proposed to behave even in such a circumstance exactly as his mother would certainly have behaved, always so cheerful, she, poor thing, always so simple and natural. That cancer could become a daily nuisance, a dominant thought to be nurtured and pampered inside, between fear and delight, for years and years? Disgust! This to cancer he would not have loved to let him. Ever and never.

The coffin now lay on the bottom. The gravediggers had withdrawn their ropes, and Rabbi Doctor Castelfranco, with his nasal and chanting voice, was already reciting the prayers of the dead.

When there is an accordion sound, very close.

Bruno looked up.

Because of the wall that separated the cemetery from the ramparts, the player could not see it. He could only see a soldier up there in front of a sentry box (a sentry standing guard at the powder keg, it was clear), who, leaning his sweaty face forward, nodded in time to the music.

A female voice sang:

Love love

bring me many roses …

Someone ordered: “Silence!”. More shouts of protest followed, punching insults, swearing. Behind the great trees of the walls, beyond the lustrous and compact mass of their foliage, one could make out an open air, an almost sea breeze.

*

The shovelfuls of earth followed one another faster and faster.

Bruno turned his eyes away.

And after dinner – he thought -, when he would pass by bicycle along that stretch of the ramparts, inevitably torn between the desire to discover the couples embraced in the grass with the headlight and the fear of looking towards the black expanse of the cemetery below (since he was a child he had always had a horror of the flames of the will-o’-the-wisps), would he ever find him, after dinner, the young soldier standing in front of his sentry box? Who knows. Bitterness and disgust: this, in any case, was what he felt at that moment.

However, he knew, and how he knew! The impatience, the almost frenzied agitation from which now, thinking of the sentry guarding the powder keg, he felt tormented casino, maybe …), were not born in him at all, as an immediate reaction, from the stupid corvee that had been inflicted on him today, but from much farther away, from very far away: from a point of the lost past at the bottom of an almost infinite distance.

At the funeral of his grandfather Benedetto, in August ’24, the gravediggers had unscrewed the lid before lowering the box into the hole. So on the body wrapped in an embroidered linen sheet, quicklime was sprinkled, in accordance with the most ancient Jewish rite. It was the grandfather who had wanted it so. He had just stopped breathing when someone immediately ran to open the will. The will was clear. Quicklime should have been introduced into the crate after , at the cemetery, in front of the wide open pit. Before, that is, at home, no. Trouble.

He was nine at the time. On the lawn of the cemetery, where he had never been taken once before, together with the first shadows of the evening, dense swarms of mosquitoes had descended. And these mosquitoes had seemed to him curiously similar, especially if he covered one eye with his hand, to the military fighter airplanes that one August evening several years ago he had seen silently pass through, as they landed, the immense sky opening. in front of the dining room window where grandfather Benedetto, widowed for the second time, dined alone. The war was still going on. Dad was at the front. And mum? Where was Mom? Someone, perhaps Aunt Edvige, who after the death of her grandmother Esterina had become the housekeeper, had told him that her mother had left for Feltre, where she would spend a short leave with her father. But Feltre? Where was he, Feltre? And indeed, what era? And the rear, of which Aunt Edvige had also spoken, what were the rear? The fighter planes descended slowly, slowly, one after the other, into the milk-colored sky of the evening, without making the slightest sound. Touching them seemed easy. It would have been enough, to touch them, to protrude an arm from one of the two windows of the dining room. Unfortunately, there was the grandfather behind there, dining alone, and in the meantime, with his glasses raised to his forehead, he read in the newspaper, leaning it as usual against the jug of water. If his grandfather, capable as he was of guessing everything, even the most hidden thoughts, had understood what he wanted to do, he would not have scolded him, not at all. He would have confined himself to staring at him with his hard, stinging eyes of blue enamel. And it would have been much worse.

That other August afternoon in which grandfather Benedetto had been buried, that of ’24, the lawn of the cemetery appeared freshly mowed: exactly like now. Invited to run. And he, in fact, at a certain point withdrew his hand from that of his mother, who stood together with the others in front of his grandfather’s grave still far from being filled, he had started to play on his own, chasing clouds of mosquitoes and getting further and further away.

Suddenly, however, he had fallen: long stretched out, and with his face forward. While he was still falling, he immediately realized that he had skinned a knee. Yet he hadn’t paid any attention to the knee at the time. He had looked around. What solitude all at once! Although his leg hurt, very bad, no one cared for him, not even his mother. The tears on his cheeks had dried very slowly.

“What have you done to yourself?” his mother shouted when, out of breath, she reached him. “If you were a still minut! Don’t you know that grandfather Benedetto is dead? “

He had been late in answering. Finally, remembering a phrase he had heard from his father that same morning, at the table, he had repeated it almost without realizing it: the same identical.

“Only the dead are okay,” he said, sighing just like Dad. And meanwhile he raised his eyelids to look at her, his mother peered at her from below up.

After staring at him long enough with her beautiful deep-rimmed brown eyes from the many nights spent at his father-in-law’s bedside during the last months of his illness, and yet more alive and brighter than ever, Mom had placed a hand on his. mouth. Then, bending down, she bandaged his knee with a handkerchief.

taken from: Giorgio Bassani, The smell of hay , Milan 2013. | 1 to and. Milan 1972.

La politique de l’expérience

Si l’espèce humaine survit, les hommes du futur considéreront notre époque éclairée, j’imagine comme un véritable siècle d’obscurantisme. Ils sauront sans doute apprécier l’ironie de cette situation de manière plus amusante que nous. C’est de nous qu’ils riront. Ils sauront que ce que nous appelons la schizophrénie était l’une des formes sous lesquelles – souvent à travers des gens très ordinaires – la lumière a commencé à filtrer à travers les crevasses de nos esprits fermés. La folie n’est pas nécessairement une panne ; cela peut aussi être une percée… L’individu qui fait l’expérience transcendantale de la perte de l’ego peut et ne peut pas perdre l’équilibre, de plusieurs manières. Il peut alors être considéré comme fou. Mais être fou n’est pas forcément être malade, même si dans notre monde les deux termes sont devenus complémentaires… A partir du point de départ de notre pseudo-santé mentale, tout est équivoque. Cette santé n’est pas la vraie santé. La folie de nos patients est un produit de la destruction que nous leur imposons et qu’ils s’imposent à eux-mêmes. Personne ne peut imaginer que nous rencontrons une vraie folie, tout comme nous ne sommes pas vraiment sains d’esprit. La folie à laquelle nous avons affaire est un grossier déguisement, une fausse apparence, une caricature grotesque de ce que pourrait être la guérison naturelle de cette étrange intégration. La vraie santé mentale implique la dissolution de l’ego normal d’une manière ou d’une autre.

Extrait de : Ronald Laing, La politique de l’expérience

Peter Wohlleben

Según el diccionario, el lenguaje es la capacidad del ser humano para comunicarse. Desde este punto de vista, solo los humanos somos capaces de hablar, porque el concepto se limita a nuestra especie. Aún así, ¿no sería interesante saber si los árboles también son capaces de expresarse? ¿Pero cómo? Ciertamente no puedes escucharlos, porque sus tonos son decididamente tenues. El crujido de las ramas que el viento frota entre sí y el susurro de las hojas son ruidos pasivos en los que los árboles no influyen. Sin embargo, se notan de otra manera: a través de sustancias olorosas. ¿Hueles a vehículo de comunicación? Un fenómeno que no es desconocido ni siquiera entre los humanos, de lo contrario ¿por qué usar desodorantes y perfumes? E incluso sin su uso, nuestro olor corporal todavía llega a las mentes conscientes y subconscientes de las personas cercanas a nosotros. Algunas personas tienen un olor insoportable, mientras que otras nos atraen fuertemente a nivel olfativo. La ciencia afirma que las feromonas contenidas en el sudor son incluso decisivas para la elección de la pareja, es decir, del individuo con el que pretendemos generar descendencia. Todos, por lo tanto, tenemos un lenguaje olfativo secreto, y al menos eso es con lo que los árboles pueden contar. Una observación realizada en la sabana africana se remonta a cuarenta años. Aquí las jirafas pastan el follaje de las acacias paraguas, que no aprecian en absoluto este trato. Para deshacerse de los grandes herbívoros, las acacias depositan sustancias tóxicas en sus hojas en cuestión de minutos. Las jirafas lo saben y recurren a los árboles cercanos. ¿Pero qué tan cerca? No mucho, en realidad: los grandes cuadrúpedos pasan frente a varios ejemplares ignorándolos y reanudan su comida no antes de haber recorrido unos 100 m. El motivo es desconcertante: la acacia que pastan desprende un gas a modo de advertencia (en este caso etileno) que señala el peligro inminente para los árboles de la misma especie cercanos. En respuesta, todos estos individuos pre-alertados también envían sustancias tóxicas a las hojas para prepararse para el ataque. Las jirafas conocen el truco, por eso se adentran más en la sabana, donde encuentran árboles que aún desconocen su presencia. O van contra el viento. Los mensajes olfativos, de hecho, son llevados por el aire a los árboles cercanos, y si los animales caminan en contra de la dirección del viento, pronto se encuentran con acacias que no sospechan su presencia. Fenómenos similares también ocurren en nuestros bosques: hayas, abetos y robles, todos notan con indiferencia con dolor si hay quienes roen sus hojas. Cuando una oruga lo muerde vorazmente, el tejido alrededor de la parte dañada se transforma. Además, la hoja envía señales eléctricas exactamente como lo hace en el cuerpo humano cuando se le inflige una herida. Sin embargo, este impulso no se propaga en milisegundos como en nuestro organismo, sino a una velocidad de tan solo un centímetro por minuto. Luego, los anticuerpos tardan otra hora en asentarse en las hojas para arruinar la comida de los parásitos1: los árboles son lentos, e incluso en caso de peligro, la velocidad máxima parece ser esta. No obstante, las partes individuales de un árbol no funcionan aisladas unas de otras. Por ejemplo, si las raíces encuentran un problema, esta información se esparce por todo el árbol y puede hacer que las hojas liberen sustancias olorosas cuya composición no es aleatoria, sino que se crean ad hoc para ese propósito específico. Es otra característica que en los días siguientes les ayuda a repeler el ataque porque reconocen a algunas especies de insectos como huéspedes de mala reputación. La saliva de cada especie es única y se puede identificar. Esto sucede con tanta precisión como para poder atraer a los depredadores con sustancias “cebo” que acuden en ayuda de los árboles y devastan a los huéspedes no deseados. Los olmos o pinos, por ejemplo, atraen a las avispas diminutas2. Estos insectos ponen sus huevos dentro del cuerpo de las orugas que se alimentan de las hojas. Las larvas de avispa se desarrollan allí alimentándose de la oruga que las hospeda y devorándola pieza a pieza: una muerte que no es precisamente deseable. De esta forma, sin embargo, los árboles se deshacen de las molestas plagas y pueden seguir creciendo sin sufrir daños.
El reconocimiento de la saliva es también una prueba de otra habilidad de los árboles: necesariamente también deben estar dotados del sentido del gusto.
Sin embargo, las sustancias olorosas tienen el inconveniente de que el viento las diluye rápidamente: a veces ni siquiera pueden recorrer una distancia de 100 m. Sin embargo, se prestan a un propósito paralelo: si bien la difusión de la señal en el interior del árbol es muy lenta, por vía aérea se produce más rápidamente y recorre mayores distancias, pudiendo llegar así y advertir partes del propio árbol a varios metros de distancia.
A menudo, sin embargo, el árbol ni siquiera necesita pronunciar el grito especial de alarma necesario para repeler un insecto en particular. En general, el mundo animal registra los mensajes químicos de los árboles y, por lo tanto, sabe que la agresión se está produciendo en un lugar determinado y que ciertas especies depredadoras deben actuar. Aquellos que tienen apetito por organismos tan pequeños se sienten irresistiblemente atraídos. Pero los árboles saben cómo defenderse incluso por sí mismos. Los robles, por ejemplo, envían taninos amargos y venenosos a la corteza y las hojas que matan a los insectos parásitos o cambian el sabor de las hojas nada menos que una sabrosa ensalada que se convierte en agalla amarga. Los sauces, para defenderse, sintetizan salicina que tiene efectos similares. Sin embargo, no para nosotros los humanos: un té de hierbas de corteza de sauce incluso alivia los dolores de cabeza y la fiebre y se considera un precursor de la aspirina.
Por supuesto, tal defensa lleva tiempo, por lo que la cooperación en el envío de señales de advertencia oportunas es tan importante. Con este fin, los árboles no dependen solo del aire, porque de lo contrario ni siquiera todos los especímenes vecinos podrían tener alguna sensación de peligro. También prefieren enviar sus mensajes a través de las raíces, que conectan a todos los ejemplares en una red y funcionan independientemente del clima. Sorprendentemente, no solo se transmiten mensajes químicos, sino también eléctricos, ya una velocidad de 1 cm por segundo. Comparado con lo que ocurre en el cuerpo humano, obviamente es un proceso extremadamente lento, pero en el reino animal hay especies como medusas o gusanos que tienen valores similares en cuanto a velocidad de transmisión3. Una vez que se ha difundido la noticia, los otros robles de los alrededores también envían rápidamente taninos a la red de sus vasijas. Las raíces de un árbol son muy extensas, más del doble de la copa. Esto puede resultar en intersecciones con las ramas subterráneas de árboles cercanos y contactos por concrescencia. Sin embargo, esto no ocurre de forma indiferenciada, pues incluso en el bosque hay individuos solitarios y asociales que no quieren tener nada que ver con sus semejantes. Uno puede preguntarse si estos tipos gruñones son capaces de bloquear las señales de advertencia simplemente negando su contribución. Afortunadamente, este no es el caso, porque los hongos se utilizan en la mayoría de los casos para asegurar una rápida propagación de mensajes. Estos actúan como los cables de fibra óptica de Internet. Los finos filamentos penetran en el suelo y tejen redes de una densidad inimaginable. Una cucharadita de tierra forestal contiene varios kilómetros de estas “hifas” 4. A lo largo de los siglos, un solo hongo puede extenderse por varios kilómetros cuadrados y unir bosques enteros en su red. Con sus cables transmite señales de árbol en árbol y les ayuda a intercambiar mensajes sobre insectos, períodos de sequía y otros peligros. Mientras tanto, la ciencia también habla de una red de madera que atraviesa nuestro bosque. Qué y cuánta información se intercambia sigue siendo tema de tímida exploración. No se excluye que también existan contactos entre árboles de diferentes especies, incluidos los considerados competidores. De hecho, los hongos persiguen su propia estrategia personal, que a menudo está fuertemente dirigida a la mediación y al reequilibrio entre las partes. Si el árbol se debilita, no son solo sus defensas inmunológicas las que sufren un declive, sino también su comunicabilidad. De lo contrario, no se explicaría el hecho de que los insectos parásitos seleccionan de forma selectiva los especímenes enfermizos. Es concebible que para ello escuchen a los árboles, registren sus excitados gritos químicos de alarma y prueben a los individuos mudos atacando sus hojas o corteza. Quizás la confidencialidad sea realmente atribuible a la aparición de una enfermedad grave, a veces incluso a una pérdida de micelio que aísla al árbol de cualquier noticia: cuando ya no es capaz de registrar las amenazas inminentes, para las orugas y escarabajos el buffet. Igual de frágiles son los individuos solitarios de los que ya hemos hablado que, a pesar de tener un aspecto saludable, no se dan cuenta de lo que ocurre. En la biocenosis del bosque, no son solo los árboles, sino también los arbustos y las plantas herbáceas, y probablemente todas las especies de plantas, para intercambiar mensajes de manera similar. Sin embargo, si nos adentramos en los campos, las plantas cultivadas se vuelven muy silenciosas. Como resultado de las prácticas agrícolas, nuestros cultivos han perdido en gran medida la capacidad de comunicarse por encima y por debajo del suelo. Son casi sordos y mudos y, por lo tanto, se convierten en presa fácil de insectos5: esta es una de las razones por las que la agricultura moderna tiene que recurrir a tantas sustancias en aerosol. Quizás en el futuro los cultivadores podrán tomar el bosque como modelo y volver a cruzar en sus cereales y patatas una naturaleza más salvaje, y con ella más capacidad de comunicación.
La comunicación entre árboles e insectos no se trata solo de autodefensa y enfermedad. Que haya signos decididamente positivos entre criaturas tan diferentes es un fenómeno que el lector probablemente habrá notado, también por vía olfativa. De hecho, hay agradables mensajes perfumados que provienen de las flores. Estos últimos ciertamente no difunden su perfume por casualidad o para complacernos. Frutales, sauces o castaños llaman la atención con su mensaje aromático e invitan a las abejas a repostar deteniéndose en sus flores. El néctar dulce, un jugo azucarado concentrado, es la recompensa por la polinización que realizan al paso los insectos. La forma y el color de las flores también son una señal, casi como una valla publicitaria que se destaca entre la masa verde de follaje y señala el camino para asegurar un apetitoso refrigerio. Por lo tanto, los árboles se comunican a nivel olfativo, óptico y eléctrico (a través de una especie de células nerviosas ubicadas en las puntas de las raíces). ¿Y qué papel juegan los ruidos, es decir, escuchar y hablar?
Dije al comienzo del capítulo que los tonos de los árboles son decididamente tenues, pero los descubrimientos científicos más recientes también pueden poner en duda esta creencia. La investigadora Monica Gagliano de la Universidad de Australia Occidental escuchó los sonidos del suelo con algunos colegas de Bristol y Florence6. Los árboles no son prácticos para estudiar en el laboratorio, por lo que se analizaron algunas plántulas de cereales más manejables para ellos. Y pronto los dispositivos de medición registraron el suave crujido de las raíces a una frecuencia de 220 Hz. ¿Raíces capaces de producir crujidos? No significa mucho: incluso la madera muerta cruje, aunque solo sea cuando se quema en la estufa. Pero el ruido encontrado en el laboratorio hizo que las orejas se erizaran incluso en un sentido figurado, porque las raíces de los otros brotes reaccionaron a esos estallidos. Si estuvieran expuestos a una contracción de 220 Hz, sus extremos apuntarían en esa dirección. Esto significa que la hierba es capaz de percibir, o digamos tranquilamente “escuchar”, estas frecuencias. ¿Intercambio de información entre plantas mediante ondas sonoras? Una noticia que invita a descubrir más, ya que, dado que los humanos también estamos capacitados en la comunicación sana, esta podría ser clave para poder comprender mejor los árboles. Es difícil imaginar las consecuencias si pudiéramos distinguir por sus sonidos si las hayas, los robles y los abetos son buenos o malos. Desafortunadamente, todavía no hemos llegado tan lejos: en este campo, la ciencia está solo en su infancia. Pero si durante tu próxima caminata por el bosque escuchas un pop suave, tal vez no fue solo el viento …

Tomado de: Peter Wohlleben, La vida secreta de los árboles

eheu fugaces

el jardín no está sujeto a accidentes. Sólo las construcciones del hombre conocen los accidentes. La naturaleza conoce los cataclismos. Y después de eso, se cura.

Gilles Clément

Walter Benjamin

Naples

(…) The fantastic descriptions of numerous travelers have colored the city. In reality it is gray: a gray or ocher red, a gray white. It is absolutely gray in comparison to the sky and the sea. Which contributes not a little to take away the pleasure from the visitor. Because for those who do not grasp the shapes, there is little to see here. The city has a rocky aspect. Seen from above, from Castel San Martino, where there are no shouts, at dusk it lies dead, one with the stone. Only one strip along the coast stretches flat, while behind, the buildings are staggered one above the other. Barracks of six or seven floors with stairs that climb from the foundations, which in comparison to the villas look like skyscrapers. In the basement of the rock, where it reaches the shore, caves have been dug. As on the paintings of hermits of the fourteenth century, here and there in the rocks you can make out a door. When it is open, large cellars can be seen which together serve as accommodation for the night and for storage of goods. There are also steps leading to the sea, in fishermen’s taverns, set up inside natural caves. From there, in the evening, dim lights and faint music rise upwards.

Architecture is as porous as this stone. Construction and action interpenetrate in courtyards, arches and stairways. Everywhere suitable space is kept to become the scene of new unforeseen circumstances. What is final, formed is avoided. No situation appears as it is, thought forever, no form declares its “so and not otherwise”. This is how architecture develops here as a synthesis of community rhythm: civilized, private, ordered only in the large hotels and warehouses on the quays – anarchic, intertwined, rustic in the center where excavation began just forty years ago great roads. And it is only in these that the house constitutes the nucleus of urban architecture in the Nordic sense. Inside, on the other hand, this nucleus is represented by the block, held together at the corners, as if they were iron grappas, by wall paintings depicting the Madonna. No one uses house numbers to find their way around. The points of reference are given by shops, fountains and churches, but even these are not always clear. In fact, the typical Neapolitan church does not stand out on a large, clearly visible square, complete with transverse buildings, choir and dome. It is hidden and embedded; the tall domes can often be seen only from a few points, but even in these cases it is not easy to reach them; impossible to distinguish the mass of the church from that of the adjoining civil buildings. The stranger passes in front of you. The inconspicuous door, often nothing more than a curtain, is a kind of secret entrance for initiates. A single step and from the confusion of the dirty courtyards you are transported into the pure solitude of the high and whitewashed environment of a church. The private life of the Neapolitan is the bizarre outlet of a public life pushed to excess. In fact, it is not within the home, between wives and children, that it develops, but in devotion or despair. In the side alleys, going down the filthy stairs, the gaze slides over taverns, where three or four men at some distance from each other sit and drink, hidden behind bins that look like the pillars of a church. In corners like these it is difficult to distinguish the parts where construction is continuing from those already in ruins. In fact, nothing is finished and concluded. Porosity is not only met with the indolence of the southern craftsman, but above all with the passion for improvisation. In any case, space and opportunities must be left to this.

The yards are used as a popular theater. They all split into an infinity of simultaneously animated spotlights. Balcony, entrance, window, driveway, staircase and roof act as stage and scene at the same time. Even the most miserable of existences is sovereign in its dark awareness of being part, despite all its depravity, of one of the unrepeatable images of the Neapolitan road, of enjoying idleness in its poverty and following the great general view. What takes place on the stairs is a great school of direction. These lives, never completely laid bare, but even less enclosed within the dark Nordic barracks, rush out of the shattered houses, make a corner turn and disappear, only to burst out again.

(…) Private life is fragmented, porous and discontinuous. What distinguishes it from all other cities Naples has in common with the kraal of the Hottentots: private actions and behaviors are flooded with flows of community life. Existence, which for the Northern European represents the most private of affairs, is here, as in the kraal of the Hottentots, a collective matter. Thus the house is not so much the refuge to which men retreat, but the inexhaustible reservoir from which they pour out. Not only from the doors life bursts out, not only on the square in front where people do their work sitting on a chair (since they have the ability to transform their bodies into a table).

 

 

Taken from: Walter Benjamin, Images of the City, first publication: Neapel, Frankfurter Zeitung, August 19, 1925

CÉLINE AND FLORA

Writing subjects me to a severe exclusion, not only because it separates me from current (“popular”) language, but more essentially because it forbids me to “express myself”: who could express? By bringing to life the inconsistency of the subject, its atopy, dispelling the lure of the imagination, it makes all lyricism unsustainable (as the diction of a central “emotion”). Writing is an arid, ascetic enjoyment, not at all effusive. Now, in the case of an amorous perversion, this dryness becomes lacerating: I am obstructed, I cannot pass the spell (pure image) of a seduction into my writing: how can we talk about who, to whom we love? How to make affection resonate, if not through such complicated procedures, that it will lose all publicity, and therefore all joy? Here is a very subtle speech dysfunction, analogous to the fading stressful that, in a telephone conversation, sometimes affects only one of the two interlocutors. Proust described it very well – about something quite other than love (isn’t the heterological example often the best?). When the aunts Céline and Flora want to thank Swann for his Asti wine, they do so, in search of the right moment, excess of discretion, euphoria of language, somewhat insane astiism, in such an allusive way that no one understands it; they produce a double discourse, but, alas, not at all ambiguous, because the public side is as it were canceled and made totally insignificant: communication fails, not for lack of intelligibility, but because a true schizo operates between the subject’s emotion – complimenting or amorous – and the nullity, the aphony of its expression.

Taken from: Barthes by Roland Barthes

CÉLINE Y FLORA

Escribir me somete a una severa exclusión, no sólo porque me separa del lenguaje actual (“popular”), sino más esencialmente porque me prohíbe “expresarme”: ¿quién podría expresarme? Al dar vida a la inconsistencia del sujeto, su atopia, disipando el atractivo de la imaginación, hace insostenible todo lirismo (como la dicción de una “emoción” central). Escribir es un disfrute árido, ascético, nada efusivo. Ahora bien, en el caso de una perversión amorosa, esta sequedad se vuelve lacerante: estoy obstruido, no puedo pasar el hechizo (imagen pura) de una seducción a mi escritura: ¿cómo podemos hablar de quién, a quién amamos? ¿Cómo hacer resonar el cariño, si no a través de procedimientos tan complicados, que perderá toda publicidad y, por tanto, toda alegría? Aquí hay una disfunción del habla muy sutil, análoga a la desvanecimiento Estresante que, en una conversación telefónica, a veces afecta solo a uno de los dos interlocutores. Proust lo describió muy bien, sobre algo muy diferente al amor (¿no es el ejemplo heterológico a menudo el mejor?). Cuando las tías Céline y Flora quieren agradecer a Swann su vino Asti, lo hacen, en busca del momento oportuno, exceso de discreción, euforia del lenguaje, astiísmo un tanto loco, de forma tan alusiva que nadie lo entiende; producen un discurso doble, pero, ay, nada ambiguo, porque el lado público es como si se cancelara y se volviera totalmente insignificante: la comunicación falla, no por falta de inteligibilidad, sino porque un verdadero esquizo opera entre la emoción del sujeto – el cumplido o amoroso – y la nulidad, la afonía de su expresión.

Tomado de: Barthes por Roland Barthes

CÉLINE ET FLORE

L’écriture me soumet à une sévère exclusion, non seulement parce qu’elle me sépare du langage courant (« populaire »), mais plus essentiellement parce qu’elle m’interdit de « m’exprimer » : qui pourrait s’exprimer ? En faisant vivre l’incohérence du sujet, son atopie, en dissipant l’appât de l’imagination, il rend insoutenable tout lyrisme (comme la diction d’une « émotion » centrale). L’écriture est une jouissance aride, ascétique, pas du tout effusive. Or, dans le cas d’une perversion amoureuse, cette sécheresse devient lacérante : je suis obstrué, je ne peux pas faire passer le charme (image pure) d’une séduction dans mon écriture : comment peut-on parler de qui, à qui on aime ? Comment faire résonner l’affection, sinon par des procédés si compliqués, qu’elle en perdra toute publicité, et donc toute joie ? Voici un dysfonctionnement de la parole très subtil, analogue au décoloration stressant qui, dans une conversation téléphonique, n’affecte parfois qu’un seul des deux interlocuteurs. Proust l’a très bien décrit – à propos de tout autre chose que l’amour (l’exemple hétérologique n’est-il pas souvent le meilleur ?). Quand les tantes Céline et Flora veulent remercier Swann pour son vin d’Asti, elles le font, à la recherche du bon moment, excès de discrétion, euphorie de langage, astiisme un peu fou, d’une manière si allusive que personne ne le comprend ; ils produisent un double discours, mais, hélas, pas du tout ambigu, car le côté public est comme annulé et rendu totalement insignifiant : la communication échoue, non par manque d’intelligibilité, mais parce qu’un véritable schizo s’opère entre l’émotion du sujet – complimentant ou amoureux – et la nullité, l’aphonie de son expression.

Extrait de : Barthes de Roland Barthes

Se está haciendo tarde

¿Para qué sirve la educación, para qué sirven las escuelas si no para desencadenar un proceso de comprensión e igualdad en el mundo de los jóvenes? ¿Para qué sirven las escuelas si luego una parte afortunada de ellas toma el preferencial?

La felicidad como la riqueza no es un regalo que se pueda heredar, sino que se debe conquistar y luego redistribuir, porque la verdadera riqueza es la ausencia de riqueza.

Un verdadero deseo de amor y comprensión del mundo animal y vegetal y del prójimo requiere un cambio, un vaciamiento, una redistribución, un proceso del ego. Poseer es inmoral poseer demasiado y vulgar y dañino, la obsesión por poseer es el virus enfermo del capitalismo, esa fiebre loca que engaña la mente y la vuelve codiciosa, egoísta.

Tomado de: Andrea Soriano, Se hace tarde

Une issue de secours pour l’humanité

Les dernières données montrent clairement que, même après la propagation du vaccin, nous ne pouvons pas nous permettre de nous détendre. La pandémie n’est pas terminée (le nombre d’infections augmente et peut-être que de nouvelles nous attendent confinement ) et d’autres catastrophes se profilent à l’horizon. Fin juin dans le nord-ouest des États-Unis et le sud-ouest du Canada, une bulle de chaleur – un phénomène météorologique dans lequel la haute pression piège et comprime l’air chaud, provoquant une hausse des températures – a fait monter le thermomètre à près de cinquante degrés centigrades, rendant Vancouver plus chaud que Moyen-orient.

Ce phénomène est l’aboutissement d’un processus beaucoup plus large : la Scandinavie du Nord et la Sibérie ont régulièrement dépassé la trentaine ces dernières années. L’Organisation météorologique mondiale tente de vérifier un nouveau record de températures maximales au nord du cercle polaire arctique, après que la station météorologique de Verchojansk, en Sibérie, ait enregistré 38 degrés le 20 juin. Dans la ville russe d’Oymyakon, considérée comme l’endroit habité le plus froid de la planète, c’était le mois de juin le plus chaud de tous les temps (31,6 degrés). En termes simples, le changement climatique fait griller l’hémisphère nord.

La bulle de chaleur est un phénomène local, mais elle est le résultat d’une tendance climatique globale qui dépend de l’intervention humaine sur les cycles naturels. S’il est vrai que le climat surchauffe, ce processus aboutit à des manifestations locales extrêmes, qui formeront tôt ou tard une chaîne de moments critiques mondiaux. Pour le dire franchement : il va falloir s’habituer à vivre plusieurs crises simultanées. Si nous regardons clairement les données, nous pouvons tirer une conclusion : chaque être vivant a la mort comme dernière production (pour cette raison Derek Humphry a intitulé son livre sur le suicide assisté Euthanasie : sortie de secours , Eleuthera 1993). Les crises écologiques ouvrent la perspective réaliste d’une dernière issue (suicide collectif) pour l’humanité. Mais y a-t-il une dernière sortie de notre chemin vers la perdition ? Ou est-ce déjà trop tard et il n’y a plus qu’à trouver un suicide indolore ?

Nous devrions apprendre à accepter notre environnement dans tout son mélange complexe

Que devrions nous faire? Tout d’abord, rejetez le cliché selon lequel nous sommes une partie de la nature et non son centre. Selon cette idée, pour lutter contre les crises climatiques, nous devons changer notre mode de vie : limiter l’individualisme, développer de nouvelles solidarités et accepter notre modeste rôle sur cette planète. Comme Judith Butler l’a écrit, “Un monde habitable pour les humains dépend d’une Terre qui s’épanouit et n’a pas d’humains en son centre.”

Mais n’est-il pas vrai que le réchauffement climatique nécessite des interventions collectives qui auront des conséquences sur le fragile équilibre entre les formes de vie ? Quand nous disons que l’élévation de température doit être maintenue en dessous de deux degrés, nous parlons comme si nous étions les surveillants de la vie sur Terre, pas une espèce parmi d’autres. La régénération de la planète dépend de cette tâche titanesque. Si nous devons aussi nous soucier de la vie de l’eau et de l’air, cela signifie que nous sommes ce que Marx définit comme des « êtres universels », c’est-à-dire capables de sortir de nous-mêmes et de nous percevoir comme un moment secondaire de la totalité de la nature.


Chercher refuge dans la modestie de notre mortalité est une issue illusoire et nous conduira à la catastrophe. En tant qu’êtres universels, nous devrions apprendre à accepter notre environnement dans tout son mélange complexe, qui inclut ce que nous percevons comme de la pollution, ainsi que ce que nous ne pouvons pas percevoir directement parce qu’il est trop grand ou trop petit, ce que le philosophe britannique Timothy Morton appelle le “hyperobjets”. Pour Morton, être écologiste ne signifie pas « passer du temps dans une réserve naturelle préservée, mais apprécier l’herbe qui se fraie un chemin à travers les fissures de l’asphalte, puis apprécier l’asphalte. Elle fait partie du monde et elle fait aussi partie de nous. La réalité est peuplée d’étrangers étranges, de choses connaissables mais mystérieuses ».

“Cette étrange bizarrerie”, écrit Morton, “est un élément irréductible de tout rocher, arbre, terrarium, Statue de la Liberté en plastique ou trou noir sur lequel une personne pourrait tomber. En l’admettant, on s’éloigne de l’idée d’essayer de gérer les objets et on s’oriente vers celle d’apprendre à les respecter dans leur ineffabilité ». Morton inclut dans la catégorie de la nature tout ce qui est effrayant, laid, artificiel. Un exemple de ce mélange de choses est le sort des rats de Manhattan pendant la pandémie. Manhattan est un système vivant d’humains, de cafards et de millions de rats. Pendant le confinement, les restaurants ont été fermés et les rats qui vivaient d’ordures ont été privés de leur source de subsistance. Cela a entraîné une famine de masse et il s’est avéré que de nombreux rats ont mangé leurs petits. La fermeture des restaurants s’est avérée être une catastrophe pour les souris.

Un incident similaire s’était déjà produit dans le passé. En 1958, au début du grand bond en avant, le gouvernement chinois déclare les oiseaux «animaux publics du capitalisme» et lance une vaste campagne pour exterminer les moineaux soupçonnés de manger des céréales. Les nids de moineaux et les œufs ont été détruits et les poussins ont été tués. Ces attaques ont décimé la population de moineaux, les poussant presque à l’extinction. Cependant, en avril 1960 les dirigeants chinois ont été forcés de se rendre compte que les moineaux mangeaient aussi de grandes quantités d’insectes dans les champs et après la campagne pour les éliminer les récoltes de riz, au lieu d’augmenter, ont diminué : l’extermination des moineaux a bouleversé l’équilibre biologique , et les insectes ont détruit les plantations. Sans passereaux qui les mangeaient, le nombre de criquets a explosé, dévastant les campagnes et amplifiant les problèmes écologiques déjà causés par le grand bond en avant, notamment la déforestation généralisée et l’utilisation abusive de poisons et de pesticides. On pense que le déséquilibre écologique a exacerbé la grande famine chinoise, au cours de laquelle environ 15 à 55 millions de personnes sont mortes de faim.

La réponse à la bulle thermique aux États-Unis et au Canada ne devrait pas seulement impliquer les zones touchées, mais cibler les causes mondiales

Nous devons donc accepter que nous sommes l’une des nombreuses espèces de la planète, mais en même temps, nous devons agir en tant que superviseurs de la vie sur Terre. Comme nous n’avons pas pu prendre d’autres sorties (les températures mondiales augmentent, les océans sont de plus en plus pollués, etc.), il semble de plus en plus probable que la dernière sortie avant la dernière (le suicide collectif de l’humanité) soit une version du communisme de guerre. Je ne parle pas d’une réhabilitation ou d’une continuation du « socialisme réellement existant » du XXe siècle ni de l’adoption mondiale du modèle chinois, mais de mesures imposées par la situation dans laquelle nous vivons.

Lorsque nous acceptons une menace pour notre existence, nous entrons dans un état d’urgence comme en temps de guerre, qui peut durer des années. Pour assurer les conditions minimales de notre survie, il est inévitable de mobiliser toutes nos ressources, si nous voulons faire face à des choses comme le déplacement de dizaines, voire de centaines de millions de personnes à cause du réchauffement climatique. La réponse à la bulle thermique aux États-Unis et au Canada ne devrait pas seulement impliquer les zones touchées, mais cibler les causes mondiales. Et, comme le précise la catastrophe en cours dans le sud de l’Irak – où les températures ont dépassé les 50 degrés en juillet et dans le même temps le réseau électrique s’est effondré, arrêtant les réfrigérateurs, les climatiseurs et l’éclairage – un appareil d’État capable de garantir un minimum de bien-être aux personnes en des conditions difficiles devront éviter les explosions de colère de la société.

Toutes ces choses ne peuvent être – et ne seront – réalisées que par la coopération internationale, le contrôle social, la régulation de l’agriculture et de l’industrie, la transformation de nos habitudes alimentaires de base – moins de consommation de bœuf -, la couverture sanitaire mondiale, etc. Il est clair que la démocratie représentative ne suffira pas à elle seule à mener à bien cette tâche. Un pouvoir exécutif beaucoup plus fort, capable de maintenir des engagements à long terme, doit s’accompagner de l’auto-organisation du peuple et d’un corps international fort capable de prévaloir sur la volonté des États-nations.

Je ne parle pas d’un nouveau gouvernement mondial : une telle entité engendrerait une immense corruption. Et je ne parle pas de la suppression des marchés : la concurrence des marchés doit jouer un rôle, même si elle est régulée et contrôlée. Alors pourquoi utiliser le terme « communisme » ? Car ce que nous allons faire contient quatre aspects d’un régime radical. Il y a d’abord une dimension volontariste : les changements nécessaires ne s’enracinent dans aucune nécessité historique, mais seront obtenus contre la tendance spontanée de l’histoire. Comme l’a dit Walter Benjamin, nous devons tirer le frein d’urgence du train de l’histoire. Ensuite, il y a l’égalitarisme : solidarité mondiale, couverture santé et vie décente pour tous. Ensuite, il y a des éléments de ce qui ne peut apparaître aux libéraux les plus passionnés que comme une « terreur », dont nous nous sommes familiarisés avec le goût de la pandémie : limitation de nombreuses libertés individuelles et nouveaux modèles de contrôle. Enfin, il y a la confiance dans les gens : tout serait perdu sans la participation des gens ordinaires.

Ce n’est pas une vision dystopique, mais le résultat d’une simple évaluation de l’état dans lequel nous nous trouvons. Si nous n’empruntons pas cette voie, ce que nous observons déjà en Russie et aux États-Unis se produira : l’élite dirigeante prépare sa survie dans de gigantesques bunkers souterrains dans lesquels des milliers de personnes peuvent continuer à vivre pendant des mois, sous prétexte que le l’activité gouvernementale doit se poursuivre même dans ces conditions. Nos élites s’organisent déjà pour ce scénario. Et cela signifie qu’ils savent très bien que la sonnette d’alarme sonne.

Par Slavoj Žižek, International, Traduction par Federico Ferrone

LOUIS KAHN

First of all I want to tell you that architecture does not exist. There is a work of architecture. And a work of architecture is an offer to architecture in the hope that this work can become part of the architectural treasure. Not all buildings are architecture. Of great help to my task as an architect is the awareness that every building belongs to an institution of man. And I have the utmost respect for the aspirations from which the institutions have sprung and for the beauty of architectural interpretations. But we have separated the two. Just think of that stupendous «artistic pressure that was inspired by Adriano. Adriano wanted a place where everyone could take part equally in religious rites. The result was the Pantheon. And what a splendid interpretation it gave us, a circular building that did not «lend itself to a formalistic ritual. (..) .. the program is not architecture, it is simply an indication of how the pharmacist’s prescription could be. Because the program says atrium and the architect has to transform it into a place to enter. The corridors must become galleries. Budgets must become economy, areas must become spaces. (…) The program that is received and the architectural translation that is given of it must come from the spirit of man, not from material instructions. (…) A square building, or built according to the square and the light must give evidence to this square. A rectangular building must be built according to the rectangle. And so is the circular building, and so is the building with an even more fluid form, which must still find its own order, its own internal law, in its making, which is a truly geometric making.

(from a conference held at the Milan Polytechnic, January 1967).

 

Les femmes Chipko

Il y a trente ans, de nombreuses femmes de la communauté Bishnoi au Rajasthan (Inde), dirigées par Amrita Devi, ont sacrifié leur vie pour sauver leurs khejri, arbres sacrés, en les serrant dans leurs bras. L’histoire de Chipko commence avec cet événement.
Au milieu de l’Himalaya, dans les années 1970, les femmes Chipko ont créé le mouvement Hug The Tree. La défense des arbres avec son propre corps est l’instrument de lutte, pour défendre la forêt, source de subsistance de leur société. La déforestation provoque une catastrophe naturelle, les terres se dégradent, les sources d’eau polluent et les animaux sauvages meurent.
Le message est que les forêts ne sont pas seulement une source d’approvisionnement en bois, mais elles génèrent un environnement propre et sain, le salut d’un écosystème mondial.

Né du message de lutte non-violente de Gandhi, le mouvement obtient en Inde l’interdiction d’abattre les forêts himalayennes pendant 15 ans. C’était l’époque d’Indira Gandhi, mais la protection dure encore aujourd’hui.
La technique de combat ? Embrassez les arbres et résistez (“Chipko” en hindi signifie “s’accrocher”).
En 1973 une femme qui faisait paître des vaches a vu des gens avec des haches, elle a appelé les compagnons qui entouraient ces hommes ensemble en disant : « Cette forêt est notre mère. Quand il y a peu de nourriture, nous venons ici pour ramasser des herbes et des fruits secs. nos enfants. Nous trouvons des plantes et des champignons. Vous ne pouvez pas toucher ces arbres. ” Ensemble, ils ont mis en place des équipes de surveillance et le gouvernement a été contraint de former un comité, qui a recommandé un arrêt de 10 ans des coupes commerciales dans le bassin d’Alakananda.
Cela a fonctionné les arbres n’ont pas été coupés cette fois.
Un entrepreneur a déclaré, au plus fort de la dure confrontation :
« Vous, stupides villageoises, savez-vous ce que produisent ces forêts ?
De la résine, du bois et beaucoup de devises étrangères !”
Les femmes répondirent :
“Oui, nous savons. Ce que rapportent les forêts.
Terre, eau et air pur,
la terre, l’eau et l’air pur.”
Les victoires ont consisté tantôt dans le moratoire sur la déforestation, tantôt dans la replantation dans les zones voisines.
Sarala Behn écrivait en 1978 : « Nous devons nous rappeler que le rôle principal des forêts vallonnées ne devrait pas être de fournir des revenus, mais de maintenir l’équilibre des conditions climatiques dans tout le nord de l’Inde et la fertilité de la plaine du Gange… si nous l’ignorons. l’alternance cyclique et récurrente des inondations et des sécheresses sera dangereusement accélérée ».

Près de 10 ans plus tard, en décembre 1987, deux prix sont décernés à Stockholm : Robert Solow, du MIT, reçoit le prix Nobel d’économie, pour sa théorie de la croissance basée sur le superflu de la nature ; en même temps, le prix Nobel alternatif – Prix pour le droit à la vie – a été décerné aux femmes du mouvement Chipko qui, en tant que dirigeantes et militantes, ont placé la vie forestière au-dessus de la leur et, par leurs propres actions, ont affirmé que la nature est essentielle à la survie.

Carlo Papalini | Quercophile

Pierre Fillery

‘J’ai parlé à quelqu’un du changement climatique et ils m’ont dit : «tôt ou tard, nous inventerons une machine capable de capturer efficacement le carbone de l’atmosphère». Je leur ai dit que ça existait déjà : ça s’appelle Tree‘”

Pierre Fillery | Forêt | Définition, types et faits | Britanique relier

Jardines de papel y ornitorrinco

Me encontré con un artículo de Ippolito Pizzetti en el merecido archivo histórico en línea del periódico «La Stampa» que nos engaña de que vivimos en un país organizado y propicio para el trabajo de investigación. El inserto cultural “Tuttolibri” del 18 de febrero de 1984 dio espacio a una investigación sobre la relación de los escritores con la naturaleza, y Pizzetti intervino con una agradable tesis (al menos para mí): “No hay escritor italiano donde surjan las cosas de la naturaleza para los protagonistas, no tienen la fuerza mitológica de una idea, sino que participan como sujetos de una historia, o como partes constantes o referentes del discurso ».

Para él era una cuestión de mirada, principalmente, y de cultura. Una cultura generada por un cristianismo que, en Italia, ha sofocado por completo sus raíces paganas. De ahí la “fractura” y el alejamiento de un mundo natural que ya no es un sistema de referencia familiar y cotidiano, ni la linfa de un lenguaje “unitario”. En Goethe, Shakespeare, Hardy o Lawrence, la naturaleza siempre mantiene su “identidad” – escribió – “con nosotros la pierde constantemente”. Cómplice de una escuela que demasiado tarde se encargó de dar a conocer la naturaleza que nos rodea perpetrando una idea fabulosa: para quienes nunca han visto un sapo adquiere el “mismo significado mítico de un dinosaurio o un hipogrifo” especie -agrego- en el “granjas educativas”.
El hecho es que entre los escritores italianos, aunque grandes y queridos, Pizzetti se sintió “aislado”; encontró su “mundo doméstico” no en sus descripciones utilitarias (el viñedo, el olivar, el huerto, la tala del bosque: las verduras como “productos”) sino en las páginas de autores muy lejanos, como Murasaki, el japonés poeta de finales del siglo X, con el que compartió la forma de mirar la vida y de abordar sus elementos.
Ciertamente es posible estar en desacuerdo con el radicalismo de Pizzetti, oponernos (los raros) ejemplos propios contra él, pero en el fondo sentimos que no está del todo equivocado: ningún Goethe nació en Italia, un Goethe en cuya obra ( y no son los escritos botánicos) la naturaleza muestra “raíces profundas”.
Ippolito Pizzetti (Milán 1926 – Roma 2007), hijo del músico Ildebrando, se graduó en 1950 con Natalino Sapegno presentando una tesis sobre Cesare Pavese. Alfabetizado de formación (traductor y colaborador de la editorial Einaudi) naturalista y arquitecto-jardinero por vocación y por elección, divulgador de clase y nunca banal, tenía por tanto todas las calificaciones para exponerse en un terreno tan resbaladizo. Por supuesto, los italianos, incluso cuando podemos presumir de una personalidad destacada en el campo naturalista donde sobresalen los británicos y los pueblos del norte, no somos capaces de imponerlo a la atención pública y cultivar su legado y su memoria.
La feria anual de tocador hortícola en los jardines de Corso Palestro acaba de cerrar en Milán, donde la burguesía urbana va de compras (a precios elevados) para embellecer terrazas y balcones con las últimas innovaciones de vivero o con las variedades más de moda. Como parte de la exposición del vivero de flores, en el contexto de Fuera de Orticola y en colaboración con la Biblioteca Nacional Braidense, una iniciativa titulada: 1931-1984. Jardinería escrita. La brecha cronológica define dos fechas nobles para nuestra publicación periodística: el nacimiento de la primera revista temática del género, “Il giardino fiorito” fundada y dirigida por Mario Calvino (padre de Italo) en tándem con su esposa Eva Mameli, y la más cercana. del primer número de «Gardenia», fundado y dirigido por Francesca Marzotto Caotorta quien, en su momento, se valió merecidamente de la preciosa colaboración de Pizzetti.

Es difícil resistirse a la reproducción en el cartel de Braidense de la magnífica portada diseñada por el gran John Alcorn para el volumen de Vita Sackville-West, Del jardín , publicado por Pizzetti en 1975 (su introducción, traducción de su esposa Andreola Vettori) e incunable de sus ornitorrincos. Por lo tanto, crucé el umbral de la antigua Sala María Teresa y, en las vitrinas, admiré los primeros libros de jardinería de la década de 1920, los números de la revista calviniana (refinada en su forma glauco), la primera edición de la Flora privada de Capri de Edwin Cerio (Editrice Rispoli Anonima, Nápoles 1939, posteriormente recogido por un ornitorrinco de Pizzetti), los manuales Hoepli de floricultura y horticultura, las guías de las ediciones REDA (Ramo Editoriale Agricoltori di Roma) sobre el cultivo de gladiolos de Eva Mameli -Calvino o sobre el clavel remontante de Giacomo Nicolini precedido, además, por el arquetipo de 1928 de Domenico Aicardi (para las ediciones de la Estación Experimental de Floricultura “O. Raimondo” en Sanremo), las refinadas ediciones del Polifilo con las tablas de los jardines italianos más hermosos de la villa. En este embriagador paseo por el borde del macizo de flores de la editorial italiana, el lugar de aterrizaje sólo podía ser el Paisaje y estética por Rosario Assunto, el primer filósofo italiano en teorizar una estética del paisaje.
Pero los jardines de papel más populares fueron los de Ippolito Pizzetti, debidamente celebrados por Francesca Marzotto Caotorta en la presentación de la exposición del libro. Por supuesto, el título de la iniciativa no encaja con la pluma y la azada de Pizzetti que consideraba el jardín, más que una práctica de “jardinería”, un ejercicio con implicaciones estético-ético-filosóficas. Pero de todos modos, y en la pintura del lunes 5 de mayo se sentaron señoras mayores (yo incluido) esperando para pulular del viernes al domingo siguiente en el recinto de Corso Palestro en busca de rarezas de clorofila o, por el contrario, de plantas más humildes (pero igualmente cuidado) como el aciano, que desapareció de los campos junto con las luciérnagas. Es impensable que las damas en cuestión prueben semillas a precios más bajos y, en cualquier caso, completamente descuidadas por eventos del tipo de Hortícola .
En cambio, a continuación, el trabajo de Pizzetti se asomó por las vitrinas sugiriendo algo más, especialmente en los tres volúmenes (escritos en colaboración con Henry Cocker) del Libro de las flores publicado por Garzanti en 1968, y en los muchos libros de la incomparable serie. El ornitorrinco (43 publicaciones de Rizzoli entre 1975 y 1986) con las hermosas portadas diseñadas por Enzo Aimini o Renzo Giust. De hecho, los ornitorrincos de Pizzetti se alimentaban no solo de flores y árboles, sino de insectos, pájaros, animales, paisajes y entornos naturales: porque vivir la relación con la naturaleza no es para que Pizzetti se encierre como un hobby en un pedazo de tierra para ser. lleno como un vivero o una muestra de exposición de flores y esencias en boga. La naturaleza viva es observar, investigar, aprender de la piedra, de las plumas, de las huellas, de las madrigueras, de las cortezas, de las larvas, incluso más que de los árboles y las flores, de todo lo que vive con nosotros y mucho antes que nosotros en los entornos de la tierra. , agua y cielo. Para darse cuenta de esto, basta con navegar por la colección de portadas y aspectos editoriales de ornitorrincos publicados el año pasado por Pendragon para el cuidado de Antonio Bagnoli (con la presentación de Lidia Zitara, Ippolito Pizzetti, el “irregular”)
Los libros del ornitorrinco ahora no están disponibles excepto (y apenas) sobre el comerciante de anticuarios, pero todos podemos tener a Ippolito Pizzetti en la casa. Con poco dinero puedes comprar esas obras maestras de consejos, sabiduría, doctrina y humor (vanguardia) que hay en Garzantina Flores y jardin (en el que el autor refundió los volúmenes de 1968) y en Pulgar verde (Biblioteca Universal Rizzoli), la antología de la columna contenida en las páginas de “Espresso” en la década entre los setenta y ochenta que se solapa con la aventura editorial del Ornitorrinco. Para mí siguen siendo libros necesarios, referentes y fuentes de diversión asegurada.
Varias veces he recordado las palabras de Pizzetti, tan irreverentes como verdaderas (no era el tipo de alboroto) sobre Aucuba y en las hojas de la variedad más común con manchas amarillo verdosas: “Cada vez que las encuentro (y muchas veces muchas) no puedo evitar pensar en los dibujos de Jacovitti donde nunca falta el muy abigarrado salami blanco y rojo [. ..] que el. está tan extendido precisamente porque es capaz de prosperar y prosperar en todas partes, como muchas otras malas hierbas (desde un punto de vista estético): por lo tanto, me parece, siempre que sea posible, evitarse ». Durante algún tiempo había estado apuntando al intrusivo arbusto de Aucuba Japonica bicolor que ahogó la ribera cultivada con lavanda y Perovskia; Me contuvo el hecho de que mi viejo gato lo había elegido como refugio de verano a la sombra. Pero, a principios de año, Ben me dejó. Así pude deshacerme de las rodajas de salami Acuba, y a Ben le di la sombra y el aroma de las flores invernales de una Camellia sasanqua más elegante junto a la que, nunca olvidada, descansa.

Tomado de: Angela Borghesi, Paper Gardens y Platypus. Doble cero

Paper Gardens and Platypus

I came across an article by Ippolito Pizzetti in the well-deserving online historical archive of the newspaper «La Stampa» which deludes us that we live in an organized country conducive to research work. The cultural insert “Tuttolibri” of February 18, 1984 gave space to an investigation into the relationship of writers with nature, and Pizzetti intervened with a pleasant thesis (at least for me): “There is no Italian writer where the things of nature rise to protagonists, have not the mythological force of an idea, but participate as subjects of a story, or constant parts or references of the discourse ».

It was, for him, a question of gaze, mainly, and of culture. A culture generated by a Christianity which, in Italy, has completely stifled its pagan roots. Hence the “fracture” and the distancing from a natural world no longer a familiar and daily reference system, nor the lymph of a “unitary” language. In Goethe, Shakespeare, Hardy or Lawrence, nature always maintains its “identity” – he wrote – “with us it constantly loses it”. Accomplice a school that too late took care to make the nature around us known by perpetrating a fabulous idea: for those who have never seen a toad it acquires the “same mythical significance of a dinosaur or a hippogriff” species – I add – in the “educational farms”.
The fact is that among Italian writers, albeit great and beloved, Pizzetti felt himself to be “isolated”; she found her “domestic world” not in their utilitarian descriptions (the vineyard, the olive grove, the orchard, the cutting of the forest: vegetables as “products”) but in the pages of very distant authors, such as Murasaki, the Japanese poet from the end of the 10th century, with which he shared the way of looking at life and approaching its elements.
It is certainly possible to disagree with Pizzetti’s radicalism, to oppose (the rare) examples of our own contrary to him, but at the bottom we feel that he is not completely wrong: no Goethe was born in Italy, a Goethe in whose work (and it is not the botanical writings) nature shows “deep roots”.
Ippolito Pizzetti (Milan 1926 – Rome 2007), son of the musician Ildebrando, graduated in 1950 with Natalino Sapegno by presenting a thesis on Cesare Pavese. Literate by training (translator and collaborator of the Einaudi publisher) naturalist and architect-gardener by vocation and by choice, class divulger and never banal, he therefore had all the qualifications to expose himself on such slippery ground. Of course, we Italians, even when we can boast a prominent personality in the naturalistic field where the British and the people of the north excel, are not able to impose it on public attention and cultivate its legacy and memory.
The annual horticultural vanity fair in the gardens of Corso Palestro has just closed in Milan, where the urban bourgeoisie goes shopping (at high prices) to embellish terraces and balconies with the latest nursery innovations or with the most fashionable varieties. As part of the flower-nursery exhibition, in the context of Outside Orticola and in collaboration with the Braidense National Library, an initiative entitled: 1931-1984. Written gardening. The chronological gap defines two noble dates for our journalistic publishing: the birth of the first thematic magazine of the genre, “Il giardino fiorito” founded and directed by Mario Calvino (Italo’s father) in tandem with his wife Eva Mameli, and the closer one of the first issue of «Gardenia», founded and directed by Francesca Marzotto Caotorta who, at the time, deservedly availed herself of the precious collaboration of Pizzetti.

It is difficult to resist the reproduction on the Braidense poster of the magnificent cover designed by the great John Alcorn for the volume of Vita Sackville-West, Of the garden , published by Pizzetti in 1975 (his introduction, translation by his wife Andreola Vettori) and incunabulum of his platypuses. Therefore, I crossed the threshold of the ancient Maria Teresa Room and, in the display cases, I admired the first gardening books of the 1920s, the issues of the Calvinian magazine (refined in their glaucous guise), the first edition of the Private flora of Capri by Edwin Cerio (Editrice Rispoli Anonima, Naples 1939, later taken up by a platypus from Pizzetti), the Hoepli manuals of floriculture and horticulture, the guides of the REDA editions (Ramo Editoriale Agricoltori di Roma) on the cultivation of gladiolus by Eva Mameli-Calvino or on the remontant carnation by Giacomo Nicolini preceded, moreover, by the archetype of 1928 by Domenico Aicardi (for the editions of the Experimental Floriculture Station “O. Raimondo” in Sanremo), the refined editions of the Polifilo with the tables of the most beautiful Italian gardens in villa. In this intoxicating walk on the edge of the Italian editorial bed, the landing place could only be the Landscape and aesthetics by Rosario Assunto, the first Italian philosopher to theorize a landscape aesthetic.
But the most popular paper gardens were those of Ippolito Pizzetti, duly celebrated by Francesca Marzotto Caotorta in the presentation of the book exhibition. Of course, the title of the initiative does not suit Pizzetti’s pen and hoe who considered the garden, rather than a practice of “gardening”, an exercise with aesthetic-ethical-philosophical implications. But anyhow, and at the paint on Monday 5 May elderly ladies (myself included) sat waiting to swarm from Friday to the following Sunday in the enclosure of Corso Palestro in search of chlorophyll rarities or, on the contrary, of humbler plants (but equally care) like the cornflower, which disappeared from the fields along with the fireflies. It is unthinkable that the ladies in question try their hand at seeds at lower prices and, in any case, completely neglected by events of the kind of Horticultural .
Instead, below, Pizzetti’s work peeked out of the display cases suggesting something else, especially in the three volumes (written in collaboration with Henry Cocker) of the Book of Flowers published by Garzanti in 1968, and in the many books of the incomparable series The Platypus (43 publications by Rizzoli between 1975 and 1986) with the beautiful covers designed by Enzo Aimini or Renzo Giust. In fact, Pizzetti’s platypuses nourished not only on flowers and trees, but on insects, birds, animals, landscapes and natural environments: because living the relationship with nature is not for Pizzetti to shut himself up as a hobby in a piece of land to be filled. like a nursery or a sample exhibition of flowers and essences in vogue. Living nature is observing, investigating, learning from stone, from feathers, from traces, from burrows, from barks, from larvae, even more than from trees and flowers, from everything that lives with us and well before us in the environments. of earth, water and sky. To realize this, just browse the collection of covers and editorial aspects of platypuses published last year by Pendragon for the care of Antonio Bagnoli (with the introduction of Lidia Zitara, Ippolito Pizzetti, the “irregular”)
The books of the Platypus are now unavailable except (and hardly) on the antiquarian merchant, but all of us are allowed to have Ippolito Pizzetti in the house. With little money you can buy those masterpieces of advice, wisdom, doctrine and humor (cutting edge) that are in Garzantina Flowers and garden (in which the author recast the 1968 volumes) and in Green thumb (Rizzoli Universal Library), the anthology of the column held on the pages of “Espresso” in the decade between the seventies and eighties overlapping with the publishing adventure of the Platypus. For me they continue to be necessary books, reference points and sources of guaranteed fun.
Several times I have remembered Pizzetti’s words, as irreverent as they are true (he was not the kind of fuss) about Aucuba and on the leaves of the most common variety with yellow-green spots: “Every time I meet them (and often a lot) I can’t help but think of Jacovitti’s drawings where the very variegated white and red salami is never missing […] that the. it is so widespread precisely because it is able to thrive and thrive everywhere, like many other weeds (from an aesthetic point of view): therefore it seems to me – wherever possible – to be avoided ». For some time I had been aiming at the intrusive bush of Aucuba Japonica bicolor which choked the bank cultivated with lavender and Perovskia; I was held back by the fact that my old cat had chosen him as a shady summer shelter. But, at the beginning of the year, Ben left me. So I was able to get rid of the slices of Acuba salami, and to Ben I gave the shade and the scent of winter flowers of a more elegant Camellia sasanqua beside which, never forgotten, rests.

Taken from: Angela Borghesi, Paper Gardens and Platypus. Double zero