I’ve been in front of the computer for a few hours. I open Word and read three words I wrote earlier: “checking agencies”. Since then, I’ve lost count of how many rounds I’ve done through social media, how many times I’ve caressed Catota and how many baths I’ve taken in the hope of bathing myself in inspiration. Or at least to cleanse myself of the repulsion that this journalistic, political and moral excrescence arouses in me.
And it’s not so much for funding or clear ideological slavery. I mean, colleagues have to put food on the table in the kitchenette they share with five cats and a shelf full of manga. And since the world has been a world, there have been those who were born trapped in the invisible shackles of utopia. Some are even proud of it. No, it’s not funding or ideological slavery. What is it then?
Worst of all is that I saw this snake egg being hatched. In one of the last conversations I had with a former professor of journalism at UFPR, he told me that he had lost the will to teach because “this generation doesn’t want to know anything”. At the time, I thought the conversation was kind of silly. Nostalgic thing. But today, realizing the pride with which the checking agencies sacrifice reality on the altar of utopia, I understand what the former professor was trying to say. And I feel more of this anger that I need to get rid of by the end of this text. Please!
Modulate the speech
After insisting on the racially fanciful etymology of “nightstand” and “denigrate” and after leaving for there, stamping humorous pieces as if they were fake news created to denigrate democracy (and other sentimental clichés of the genre), the news agencies now want modulate the speech. Which is a pernostic way of saying that they want (pay close attention to this!) to control how people react to certain news. Not by chance, over the weekend, one of these check agencies compared Brazil’s annual inflation with Argentina’s monthly inflation to say that Jair Bolsonaro had exaggerated compare the two indices. In this way, you would not be reacting to a possible factual error, but to the tone of the “error”.
I lack imagination to conceive a person or a group of people taken by such arrogance and so incapable of perceiving the ridiculousness of the undertaking they had set themselves up for for thirty pieces of money and a pat on the back of their ideological self-esteem. It is a pride (the word is important) that reveals the true intention behind the checking agencies: to impose a reality supposedly (and supposedly put it!) objective, scientific to the extreme and immune to interpretations, including the wrong ones, and to laughter. This is the reason for my greatest repulsion: the checking agencies want to take away your free will from you, reader, spectator and listener. They want to turn him into a semiautomatic receiver of official truths. Will you let it?
With their racist nightstands, their iron and fire catachresis belied and their Dadaist percentages, not to mention their lack of style, the fact-checking agencies pervert journalism to the point of despoiling him of any honor and dignity. To the point of reducing him to the moral wretchedness of one of those communism freaks, the type who rushes to exchange his alms for two Marx pebbles that he smokes in his Gramscian pipe. It is no wonder that today I write for an often hostile audience, which rejects any effort to give lightness to the news. And is there any point in asking not to be confused with one of those “agents of social transformation”?
Maybe you don’t realize the seriousness of the existence of a group of people who consider themselves to have a duty of care. attest to the veracity or lie of everything. You may not realize how much this reduces our already low level of trust in one another. Maybe you don’t realize the influence this has on the way you see the next, that is, as an ally or adversary, friend or enemy. Maybe you don’t realize how these “agents of social transformation” are shaping the way you think about your life and how you relate to that precious little portion that inhabits you and that I still prefer to call “soul”.
