Spider man was right

Sorry, but I have no humor. I have no humor to laugh at witty memes. I'm in no mood to put up with those who declare they are having a good time in quarantine because they do gymnastics, watch Netflix and cook "yummy stuff." I am not in a mood because the police woman on the corner, whom I see from my balcony, mistreats those who go out into the street, even if they go out to shop, and because the abused duck their heads and return the way they came. I'm not in the mood because every once in a while I hear an insult - "Get into your house, son of a bitch!" - shouted from a neighboring terrace. I am not humorous because in the buildings where doctors or nurses live, posters appear with glued captions such as “¡Andate! You are going to infect us all! ”, And because the same media that scandalized these situations have done everything possible so that the infected are seen as plagued, irresponsible and murderous subjects. I'm not in the mood because I think about the girl from the hair removal institute who lives with her son and her beating husband and who hasn't been working for weeks and maybe what she eats and maybe what monstrosities she suffers. I'm not in the mood because so many hysterically search the web for mechanisms to "distract themselves" - do zumba, yoga, bread - and deny what happens, cover up anguish, sink into domestic hyperactivity, a false freedom to forget that, in the world real, you can not do anything other than what we are forced to do. I am not in a humor because I see the vulnerable as more vulnerable than ever: the poor with no job or future; old men condemned to breathe poisonous spores between pairs; children singled out as silly machines of unintentional replication. I'm not in the mood because in the epidemic of a moralistic virus - which forces lovers to be separated, people not to touch each other - ideas have metastasized that would have yelped at us a month ago: confinement, isolation, social distancing, denunciation , confinement, cyber patrols, control, movement certificate, permission to leave. Feminism was one of the most vibrant and lively discussions on the planet. Contradictory, problematic, but necessary and powerful. His speech revolved around quite different ideas: the right over the body (which is now, again, a dangerous body); the demolition of patriarchal ideas (dominance, vigilance and control, now welcome); the freedom to decide (crushed by the tombstone that says "I lock you up for your good"). That subversive language has been replaced by the language of the males: we are at war, this is an invisible enemy, this is a battle that we are going to win. A nucleus of retrograde significance tied to metaphors overflowing with testosterone, coined by leaders (men and women) who we used to believe in nothing and who, all of a sudden, have been granted the gift of clairvoyance asking them to tell us what to do. Are they, then, now unclear? We have buried in the plexus a discourse that speaks of control of the bodies, that imposes on us a puritan confinement, a morality made of soap, hygiene and asepsis. They cage us in the semantic field of obedience to the master, submissive and without discussion. It was even suggested that a return to “normal life” would be possible through a serological passport that identifies those who have already been infected, a frigid, sanitary, (more) vexatious evaluation of individual liberties. But, if it were implemented, we would probably accept that as well. "It is true that China is implementing one of the most extensive and reticular digital control systems in the world, but" what is more dangerous: a control system whose users fear and recognize it as authoritarian, like the Chinese, or one that is it presented under the auspices of freedom of communication, as in the West? "asked the philosopher Paul B. Preciado in the Argentine magazineÑ , already in August 2019.

Spider-Man said that great power carries great responsibility. I don't know if we women had great power, but we had accomplished something strange: begin to subvert an order of centuries. Now the control system spurts through the blinded windows of our panic rooms. I don't know what to do. I don't know if these are times of dissent. But it would be alarming if they were not at all.