The first time

The first time I was seven, or maybe eight. The ophthalmologist was quietly talking to my mother. He just visited me, and there were the results. I had to wear glasses. Donno why, don’t ask me, but as soon as I heard his words, I started to cry. Both my mother and the physician got really afraid. What did happened to you, they kept asking. I cried and I cried. I was inconsolable. It’s kinda funny. It is more than 30 years that I am wearing glasses, and they are somehow part of my life. But that day, I cried as if they were going to kill me there.

The second time

The second time it was for love. And it was not going to be the last time. I was fifteen, and she had long brown hair and chestnut eyes. I had to wait almost twenty years before sleeping with that girl. I wish I knew it the day she dumped me: it would have spared me a lot of pain. Sometimes the future gives us unexpected surprises, but I could not imagine one day our paths would have crossed again. Still, that day of 25 years ago I closed myself in my room and I stayed there crying until I had tears, and then I started again and again.

The third time

The third time I cried in the night. For the first time I had to practice the cardiac massage on a three months old baby. That little thing died under my two fingers pressing her chest. Yes, I have seen so many people dying, of every age. I have massaged and ventilated so many of them, that I lost the count. But that day, for the first time, once home, I cried thinking about what happened in the morning. And still I cannot forget.

The fourth time

The fourth time I cried when I closed the phone. We should move on, she told me. In the morning, when she took the train, we kissed for the last time. I love you, she said. Somehow I knew it was not true. Things were over since a while. Still I cried. My mind went back to a day 15 years before, when the girl with chestnut eyes decided it was over. So maybe, that day, I cried more thinking about C., than I did for E.

The fifth time

The fifth time, I cried for joy. And for love. Bella was there in front of me. Auntie is beautiful like a princess — said my nephew, looking at her. And yes, the white dress, the veil, her eyes glittering of love. I was there, and I felt as all the world was mine. Everything had suddenly a meaning. We were holding our hands, and we were walking together down the aisle.

These pictures

These beautiful — and tearful — pictures are copyright of artist and photographer Jill Greenberg: http://www.jillgreenberg.com/

As a Canadian friend of mine used to say — with some creepy sense of humor — maybe I was not cute enough, as a child. It is true, however, that a priest I knew in my teenager years has been recently convicted for rape and abuse of a pre-teen girl in his parish. But I will not talk about him, here. Not today.

When I was 14

But no, I’ve not been abused, even though I have maybe witnessed some inappropriate behaviors toward other kids. Not that I have really seen things, but yes, there were voices, other kids were making allusions to some priest alleged interest for young boys. I was in the seminar, at the time — not a secret, I had this idea of becoming myself a Catholic priest, when I was 14 — but this is definitively another story.

There were three priests, taking care of the seminarians. They are still alive, and still active. And I do not want to be sued in a court of law for defamation. So here I say that I have no suspicion of any crime committed, nor I can even think of them having abused their authority. I will just tell you my story. As seen by a 14 years old boy.

And here comes Wilma

Still, I remember that we — the seminarians — nicknamed one of these priests with a female name. Forgive the homophobic attitude of a group of young apprentice Catholic males. As a matter of fact, I have no doubt that at least half of those guys were without any doubt gay. So probably, the homophobia of our talks was just a symptom of acute denial.

Oh, yes, the nickname. I am not sure to write it down. A couple of those guys who were in the seminar with me, and now are actually Catholic priests, read this blog. Or at least potentially they do it, since they are my friends on Facebook! So, I will change it a little. Just in case. We will call the priest “Wilma” — not far from the real nickname.

A fraternal hug

Wilma was, and still is, a career oriented clergy man. I can’t say anything really bad about him. He earned his “Wilma” name, as well as the fact that we were — among us — referring to him as a “her”, due to his (sometimes) ambiguous attitudes. Wilma had the habit of inviting, each week, one of the seminarian to his office. To have a coffee, and to talk. I remember then, guys telling one to the other how Wilma put his hand on their legs. Or in a fraternal hug, to hold his arm around their neck, while talking.

In those times, some 25 years ago, I never heard about pedophilia. And probably it was not. Once again, I never heard of anything more than these hugs, holding hands while talking, or touching the knee, all this for long enough to become uncomfortable for a teenage boy. But the name “Wilma” was there. And those promoting it, were mostly those two chubby guys, with the most accentuated effeminate behaviors.

Was it sexual harassment?

Myself, I had my times to drink coffee and talk to Wilma. As the other seminarians warned me in advanced, I got his arm around my neck, while him was talking to me about Jesus, my laziness in doing home works, and how one day I would have become a leader. I also remember Wilma holding my hand. Nothing more. But yes, I felt really uncomfortable. If not abuse, today I would call it harassment. Sexual harassment.

Then this new seminarian arrived. A troubled guy, sexually confused, devoted to the Virgin Mary, and assiduous guest of Wilma’s inappropriate coffee talks. Needless to say, the two chubby kids — now respectful priests — soon nicknamed the newbie with  a female name. He absorbed all the attentions of Wilma. Somehow. I imagine they had long chats holding hands.

Wasn’t it?

Was it child abuse? Should I have reported it? And to who? Holding hands, hugging, touching a knee over the cloths, were simple paternal gestures. Maybe. Or maybe not. Because it made us to be uncomfortable about it.

Sometimes I have some doubt. I’d like to talk with the other former seminarians. But most of them are now at the head of some parish. The two chubby ones, the feminine newbie. All priests. There was another guy — who actually liked girls… I still remember when a brunette named I. dumped him — this guy is also a Catholic priest, today. He was somehow smarter than the others. Well, maybe I should ask him. But I guess he will deny.

It was all in my head, wasn’t it?

Do you remember Madlen Nazarova? Yes, the friend of Nadya Vall in the Girl Model documentary. With some surprise, I noticed that the post I dedicated to her was one of the most read on this blog, in the last couple of months. Moreover, if you Google for “Madlen Nazarova”, you get my page as first result!

So, I decided to post some more photos of this beautiful and sweet Russian model. After blogging about Madlen and Nadya Vall, I had also the opportunity to exchange some mails with them. Both girls seem to do it quite well, and have been really nice in answering my messages.

 I wonder

I wonder if The Incredible Tide is somehow helping Madlen and Nadya in their career. Maybe not. Still, I hope one day to have the privilege to have both Madlen Nazarova and Nadya Vall to pose for me! (Yes,as you know, beside writing a blog, getting Nobel Prizes and getting some physics done, my — not so — secret ambition is to become a professional photographer!)

A gallery of Madlen Nazarova in color.

A gallery of Madlen Nazarova in black and white.

Disclaimer

All these photos were taken from open sources on the internet. I could not find the copyright information, so I publish them along with this disclaimer: if you are the owner of the copyright and you want to be credited, please contact me; if you are the owner of the copyright and you want any of these photos of Madlen Nazarova to be removed, please contact me and the images will be removed immediately. For more information, read my disclaimer page. This is a fan page dedicated to model and actress Madlen Nazarova and not an official page representing Madlen.

Some ten years passed since the night I met that girl, one night, in a pub. I was out with a couple of friends, maybe it was Wednesday, maybe Thursday. We were sitting and talking, nothing special, for sure nothing to be remembered. That very morning I passed an exam at university, so somehow I was in a good mood.

I guess we were about to leave, when this group of people arrived.

“Oh, what a nice surprise!”

“Yes, indeed. It has been a while”

G. and L. were — and still are — nice guys to hang out with. So I was kinda happy to meet them. My other two friends — the ones I was at the pub with — had to wake up early the morning after. They left, and I stayed there, with G., L. and their three friends.

And she had a fringe!

Now, let’s be honest here. Yes, I loved to spend some time with these two guys, but what I got more interested in, was that cute brunette girl, with her funny bangs, bright eyes and a short pink dress. Which girl? Come on, the one that entered with them in the pub! The other two that completed the company were somehow not noticeable. But the girl — you know — she had a fringe!

How can I tell you this?

Don’t ask me her name, I forgot it long time ago. She was visiting the city, for tourism, and the day before she met G. and L., when asking for some directions. So there we were now, chatting and making some jokes. And then she said: “I’d love to see the sea, in the night”.

I can walk with you. The others stayed at the pub, drinking their beers, while the two of us went out together. Donno how, we soon started to tease one the other. And no mystery, some spark was there. We soon reached the main square facing the sea, we walk on the pier, she got closer, we turned to look at the city in the night, and finally her lips got close to mine.

How can I tell you this? Do you think I kissed her? Do you really think we ended up at my place, that night? Oh, hell not! God forgive me, but listen: her cute face, her short pink dress and her promising breast could not help the stink of her breath. What did she eat that night, I cannot say. But no, no, that was too much.

My best excuse. Ever.

I stepped back. “Hey!” — she said surprised “What’s wrong?”

What was I supposed to say? “Sorry, you are really attractive, but you should brush your teeth!” — or maybe I should have given her a mint? I felt so embarrassed. When I was younger, I had always a good excuse: “You know, I am a seminarian, I cannot, God is calling me!” — No joke, I used it to get rid of some unwanted situations. I still have a letter, somewhere at home, written by a certain Raffaella,  some 20 years ago, saying more or less:

My dear R.,

I am here in my room crying. But my tears are not tears of sadness. These are tears of joy, the joy the Lord gave me for meeting someone like you! Lord Jesus is calling you, and you are so brave to give up your life to serve Him! I will be there the day you will become priest, and I will pray for you, and for your vocation, every day of my life.

Fact is, I did not want to see her again, after she told me she was confessing to the priest of her Church every time we kissed. I found it quite weird. And I told her I decided to follow the example of Saint Augustine!

So I said, and I walked away.

Yes, these were good times. But now I was there, the sea, the lights of the city, this cute girl, and her awful breath. “I have to tell you something, first.” — she looked at me, doubtful — “I have a girlfriend. I do not feel this is the right thing to do.”

“I have a boyfriend, too. But they are not here. It is just the two of us.” This was her answer, and she got close to me again. “I am sorry, I am not that kind of person.” — So I said, and I walked away. The walk of shame.

Akif Hakan Celebi

All the photos by Akif Hakan Celebi. My absolutely favorite contemporary photographer.
The model is beautiful Victoria Yun (Viktoriya Mikhanova).

Try to tell to people that you decided to help organizing the next Gay Pride, and see how they react. First doubt my interlocutors had, was to understand if I was serious. Maybe I was just trying to introduce the gay topic, so to tell a funny homophobic joke. You could see their eyes waiting for me saying something funny. But no, seriously, I am going to participate in the event. And I’d love to have any of you joining me!

The absolute embarrassment

Then, expected, arrived the question about my wife. That is, on my sexual identity. Just to check. Did we understand correctly? Weren’t you married to a woman? By the way, a really beautiful woman. Yes, I am. And yes, she is.

Just to continue with a long list of cliche on wild and promiscuous lesbian girls, the risk of contracting sexually transmitted diseases when having any interaction with homosexual men, the uncontrollable smiles when it comes to the tabu of transgender, and the absolute embarrassment of even mentioning the existence of bisexuality.

Tomorrow, facts could prove you wrong

But if you read this blog, from time to time, you should know how and what I think. That is, sexual orientation and preferences are mainly induced by the surrounding environment, families, situations, needs, social expectations. There is no hetero or homo, but shades and grades, and we all oscillate in this range, in our life. Say your opinion, but let me tell you that the preference for a gender or another is not even definitive, or permanent. Be careful of making fun on sexual orientations, tomorrow facts could prove you wrong!

I will not go so far as saying that any man masturbating (that is, all men, Pope Francis of Rome and Patriarch Kirill I of Moscow included), any man masturbating is somehow enjoying some healthy homosexual intercourse. But yes, yes, somehow it is.

It is not (just) about your identity

Still, the Pride is not about being homosexual, bisexual, transgender or questioning your identity. The Pride is about the right of being whatever you want to be. Wanna kiss a guy? Who cares if you are a man or a woman. Wanna wear a skirt and make-up? Love it! Wanna just be yourself, and get in love with whoever you want? Or just to have sex, for once, with someone different from what your grandma would approve? Do it!

This world would definitively be a much better place, if people would let other people enjoy the rainbow of experiences life offer, rather than limiting (and disrespecting) others due to their own insecurities.

2013 Belgian Pride: be part of it!

So yes, the next May 18 I will be one of the many volunteers making the 2013 Belgian Pride possible.  And if you also want to give a contribution with your time and energy, here is the volunteers page:
http://www.thepride.be/includes/shifts-fr
(The page is in French! But Google Translate might help, and writing in English to the organizers is always possible! — I did so!)

Celebrate!

US Soldiers could participate openly at the Gay Pride, after President Obama repealed “Don’t ask, don’t tell”. Hopefully the Catholic Church will take the same decision for its clergy.

Filed under: Freedom, Love, Photography ]]> http://theincredibletide.wordpress.com/2013/04/11/homophobia/feed/ 0 Gay Pride 2011 Paris japanshow Gay Pride 2011 Paris Revelers enjoy during the annual Gay Pri Gay Pride Red Celebrate! US Soldiers could participate openly at the Gay Pride, after President Obama repealed "Don't ask, don't tell". Hopefully the Catholic Church will take the same decision for its clergy. http://theincredibletide.wordpress.com/2013/04/10/terrorizing-ambulance/ http://theincredibletide.wordpress.com/2013/04/10/terrorizing-ambulance/#comments Wed, 10 Apr 2013 06:57:09 +0000 Shinji http://theincredibletide.wordpress.com/?p=5091 ]]>

“It sounds like a good news to me!” — interrupted us an experienced nurse, unexpectedly entering the conversation.

An anesthesiologist had just been appointed new responsible of the ambulance service, at the hospital of Mendaci, and we were wondering how things would have changed. A guy in his fifties, he had the fame of being a good emergency physician, but to lack any human empathy. Happily married with an iron-fist lady (daughter of a prominent and rich family, who owned all the domestic finances) and having a couple of teenager children, this grey-hair man was also a devoted Catholic. Not missing a holy service, on Sunday mornings.

I had no reason to doubt

“So, you know him well?” — I asked, ingenuously.

“Oh, yes! And with him here, I’ll have easy time.”

A dedicated genius in her work on the ambulances and on the medical helicopter, her relationships with the management had always been troublesome. So, somehow, I got surprised by this new enthusiasm.

“He will never dare to criticize me on anything, — my colleague continued — I slept with the man a couple of times, and he is terrorized I would tell to anyone. His wife would kill him, and put him out of home in a minute!”

I had no reasons to doubt. A single lady in her forties, she slept with most married nurses and physicians passing by the emergency service in those years.

Terrorizing the public

I don’t remember the first time I talked to the man, maybe I never did. Ambulance drivers were too low in the social scale to bother him. In particular, male ambulance drivers.

However, after a couple of months, he took the initiative to address his peers (medical doctors serving on the ambulances in Mendaci), with these words: “It is time to end this awful practice to terrorize the population, running with sirens on the streets of the city! You should tell to the drivers not to use sirens!”.

Now, believe me, Mendaci is a relatively small town, in the up North corner of the Country. People drive respectfully, and so fire brigades, police and ambulances do. Sirens and flashing blue lights were never abused.

The idea, the reverse ethical dilemma here, is this.
And I ask you to follow me for a minute.

The conjoint use

The Italian law prescribes that “The conjoint use of sirens and flashing blue lights gives to ambulances, while on emergency service, the right to ask free road to the other vehicles”. — To say that, just flashing lights with no sirens have no legal value. Moreover, there is an issue of security and safety.

The status of “emergency” was based on protocols when the ambulance was sent out, and on the decision of the nurse/paramedic/physician on the way back to the hospital. This decision is related exclusively on the conditions of the patient, which determines the priority of intervention and the need to reach the hospital safely and timely.

The invitation of our friend wasn’t to “underestimate emergencies”, but to simply switch off the sirens, while running on the street in emergency situations.

However, he could not give a written recommendation to do so. First, it would have been unlawful to request to use flashing blue lights without sirens, second someone would have sued him and the hospital for delaying the transport of a relative to the Emergency Room.

Verba volant, scripta manent

So, he told the medical doctors to tell to the drivers. Should have something happened, like a car accident, while running without sirens, the responsibility would have been only on the driver. Yes, the driver did not follow the law. “Oh, but the head of service said to do so!” — “Oh, really? Show me!”

What a coward. He did not want to take responsibility, but wanted to force others (in a weak contractual position) to take on themselves all the risks. The order went down from medical doctors to nurses, from nurses to drivers. Not to follow the verbal order meant reprisals. And maybe this was one of the reasons why I ended up sleeping in the toilet, during night shifts. (But this is another story, and you can read it here!)

Fact is, his villa was conveniently located on the main road to the hospital. And maybe, the wife was bothered by the sound of sirens more than by the unfaithfulness of the man.

But this was the city of Mendaci, and of course a simple tale of imagination, with no relation to real people. Just to be clear.

Do you know the Ten Commandments? Don’t kill, don’t steal, don’t masturbate. Yes, those ten. Yet, I think today I will surprise you. Because I am pretty sure none of you have ever really read them!

In general, the Decalogue is kinda misrepresented. “You shall not commit adultery”, at least in Italy, was often translated as “do not commit acts that are impure“, as to say “do not touch yourself”. And this is kind of funny. First of all, it is matter of national pride: in Italy, adultery is the second most supported sport — after football (or soccer, as you like). Hence, instead of forbidding something so widespread as adultery, the Catholic clergy preferred introduce the concept of “masturbation” to pre-teen kids, so that now they had finally some sin to confess. Yes, because the chance that at 12 you had actually committed a murder was too low to require a weekly confession.

How often do you masturbate?

Moreover, I guess most Catholic priests loved to investigate pre-teen masturbation. But this is another story, isn’t it? (I still remember the last time, some decades ago — and I was not a teen anymore, I accessed the Sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation. I wanted to talk about serious things, my doubts, my lack of action to save this world. And I ended up questioned on “how many time you touched your intimate parts?” “do you touch other males?” “do you have improper contacts with girls?” — I am serious, I can give you the address of the church).

The Second Commandment

I will just write it down. Then, honestly, tell me if you have ever heard of it: “You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.”

Yes, you read it right. (Don’t believe me? Get your Bible, and read: Exodus 20:1-17 and/or Deuteronomy 5:4-21). The second commandment says that it is forbidden to make any carved image. Now, enter in a Catholic church, and tell me what you see. Statues of Saints and Virgin Marys. Jesus hanging on a cross.
Holy Spirits in shapes of birds.

Statues of Virgin Marys

Well, you will tell me now, maybe it was not referring to those statues. So, let’s read on:

“You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I the LORD your God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and the fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing steadfast love to thousands of those who love me and keep my commandments.”

You shall not bow down to them or serve them. Now, what about devotions to the Virgin, lighting candles to the statue of Saints, bringing in procession the carved image of Mary? You are damning your descendents down to the fourth generation!

You fool!

So, someone around the fifth century of the Christian Era, decided to delete this commandment (maybe some merchant interested in selling little statues for personal devotion). Or rather, to adapt to the new evolution of Christianity. Now that the faith in Jesus was the official Roman Imperial belief, Saints and Marys had to replace a multitude of pagan gods. This was when Christianity became Paganism.

“You shall not make for yourself a carved image” (God, cit.)

Wives, donkeys and cows.

Have you been patient enough to follow me until here. So, let’s add the Math up. Removing one makes the Ten Commandments to become the Nine Commandments. Thus, to save the appearances, here comes the magic (“Deus ex-machina” — Bazinga!): they took the last Commandment and they split it in two parts.

“You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or his male servant, or his female servant, or his ox, or his donkey, or anything that is your neighbor’s.”

Donno if it was some feminism ante litteram, but maybe to separate the neighbor’s wife from his donkey it seemed like a good idea. Still, this Commandment in the intentions of God was just one. But mankind (or Men, I should rather say, since Women had little choice in this) decided to know better that their own deity!

You shall not boil a young goat in its mother’s milk

Yes, because it is not over yet. Once back from his hiking on the mountains, Moses found out that his faithful people were now worshiping a golden statue of a Virgin Mary (or maybe was a golden Veal? what’s the difference?). So he broke down the stone tables with the Ten Commandments, and God had to send a new set of rules.

I leave them for  you to read (Exodus 34:10-28). Essentially, it says to burn down temples of other religions, it replaces the restriction on images only to those of cast metal (so, you are safe! plastic, clay, marble, terracotta statues are somehow legal) and says that “You shall not boil a young goat in its mother’s milk.” (Kinda of drama for Greeks, they love goat milk and cheese!)

Cook a goat, disrespect a god.

Now here are the options

Now, here are the options. If you take the first set of Ten Commandments as still valid, you should go and get rid of Virgins and Saints. On the other hand be reassured that masturbation is ok.
As well as desiring the husband of your neighbor (wives are still forbidden, though!).

If instead you prefer the second set of Commandments (not ten anymore), stop eating at Greek restaurants, burn down some temple, but retain your clay or terracotta statues of Virgin Marys (images of cast metal are still forbidden, sorry for Pope Francis — his iron cross is as heinous as the golden one of former Pope Benedict XVI!)

On Mohammed’s images

By the way, if Muslims get so upset about drawings of Mohammed it is because they are more knowledgeable of the Bible than you Christian moron!  If instead of believing all you hear, you would have been doing your home assignments and reading the original text, you would know by now!

(However, if I dare to post images making fun of the Christian religious symbols, but not those of disrespecting Islam, it is just because Catholics are not taking seriously the commandments. So they will not tear my house down and set fire to me. Those that follow the words of God literally, instead, would most likely not enjoy my irony and sense of humor!)

I love images

Two more photos of the girl on the cover of this post. Just because, I love images.

Gone with the Wind. The Lady Gaga of all the Popes announced today his decision to leave the Throne of Rome. I just hope the next one will be as fashionable as Joseph Ratzinger, with his red shoes (the Pope wears Prada) and his wicked taste for hats.

Not sure if they will elect a black guy, for sure it will not be Asian. Most likely, we will have an Italian King. Funny enough, it is election time, in Italy. Mr. Berlusconi is seriously considering to apply for the post. I would like to see him Pope.

Waiting for more fun, here is a gallery of pictures of the Pope. Going.

Auf Wiedersehen, Benedict. Going to miss you!

When I first started to work at Mendaci’s hospital, as ambulance driver, things were just going to change. The man who ruled with iron fist — and strong political ties — the ambulance emergency service had been just removed from his post. The chair he left empty, was about to remain vacant for several months as a result of personal interests, sentimental revenges, illegitimate pretenses and general poor judgement. At the end, a nurse had been appointed as new manager. (She did not last long either!)

I will not tell more, about this. Not because it would not be interesting, but rather because it is another story that I want to tell you. Today.

The driver’s room

The ambulance service was organized, as you might expect, in day and night shifts. Twenty four hours a day. Seven days a week. Two teams were active during the day, one team in the night (with a second, available, on call). Now, let’s say it, Mendaci was (and still is) quite a boring town. And often, all the night could pass by offering just one or two occasions for the ambulance’s team to enter in action.

There was this room, on the left once you entered the section of the hospital where the dispatch was located. It was a small room, with a window, a chair, and an old hospital bed. Yes, the driver’s room. Here, during the night shifts, when no one in Mendaci was calling for help, here the ambulance’s driver was laying down, and resting.

The other member of the team, a trained nurse, was instead spending the night shift with her/his colleague sitting at the dispatch, answering phone calls or helping at the Emergency Room. Or at least so it was, until the manager of the ambulance service has been replaced by a young and inexperienced nurse.

The old sofa

Her first decision: the driver’s room had to be reassigned to the nurses, for their rest. The drivers were then given the old sofa, in the meeting room. The nurses had also obtained to get a new bed, a new mattress and a new pillow. The old sofa, well, be happy you have something to sleep on.

A year or so passed, and a new manager arrived. Most important, medical doctors were going to take service on the ambulances of Mendaci, for the first time since the hospital existed. A positive change for the health and the security of the citizens of the small town. However, the doctors made it quite clear from the first day: they needed a room. To rest.

Would you believe?

The new manager immediately assigned them the old driver’s room, now in the hands of the nurses. The doctors obtained a new bed, a new mattress, a new pillow, someone to change their bedsheets, a desk, a new chair, and a computer connected to the internet. That room, let’s be clear, was not meant to be a place to visit patients. Now, it was the place for the doctors to rest. And eventually entertain extra marital affairs, browse porno websites and make international phone calls. Oh, yes, they also got an external telephone line, sorry, I forgot to mention.

The nurses had to move to the sofa in the meeting room. A new sofa. And the drivers? Well, the new manager decided that it was duty of the drivers to be awake and alert, and they had no contractual right to sleep. Nor did the nurses and the doctors, I objected. Would you believe that the manager did not even answer to my observation?

A place for squatters

After passing some nights on a chair, we collected some money among us, and we bought a folding bed. After some discussion, we were allowed by the manager to open it, in the night, in the corridor, out of the meeting room (where the nurse on shift was comfortably sleeping on the new red sofa).

Is this all? Of course not. A new manager, a medical doctor, one morning around 6 AM decided to visit the dispatch. And he found a driver, oh yes, it was me, resting on the folding bed. He yelled: “this is not a camping place for squatters!” — From that day, we could place our bed just in the changing room, in front of the toilets, the only place where there was enough space.

They smile and shake my hand

No one among the medical doctors and the nurses sympathized with the ambulance drivers, all keeping their own privileges. So, it was a night in front of that toilet door, that I decided to register at the university.

Almost fifteen years passed. Sometimes I have been back to Mendaci’s hospital, to visit my old “colleagues”. They call me “doctor”, now.  They smile. They shake my hand. But I still remember when you made me sleep in front of the toilet, strong of your three years degree in nursing or your underpaid job as medical intern. I still remember.

Just a week ago, a 28 year old female student was found dead in the small, and otherwise boring, city of Umeå, in north Sweden. The girl has been beaten, caned and then suffocated to death. She appeared to be victim of an extreme (and somehow consensual) sexual game better known by the acronym BDSM.
Now, do not play innocent and tell me you never heard about such practice. If it is really so, do not read further.

The case is no news, though. Recently, a girl was killed in Italy in similar circumstances. The victim was hanged with another girl to a pipe on the ceiling of a garage. The perpetrator, a male friend of the two girls, was supposed to take pictures of the scene they created. All the circumstances were consensual.
Except the deathly outcome.

Maybe. Maybe not.

I do not know about the actual statistics, but the web is populated by websites with violent sexual content. Young — and not so young — women abused and martyred, their bodies receiving the most unimaginable violence. There are also, even if in smaller number, websites dedicated to violated male bodies. Those examples are maybe extremes and these practices are just perversions, you will now think. Yes, maybe. Maybe not.

A long standing tradition

Torture has been a widely practiced human activity for the past few thousands of years. Now-a-day, torture is still dramatically used as a mean of terror, extortion, punishment. And as a powerful sexual surrogate.

Cultures where free sexuality is morally condemned tend to indulge in public or private tortures, abuses, violence and corporal punishments. Good Muslims and good Christians are alike in their old fashioned practice of beating — and raping — their own daughters. A punishment for indulging in sexually immoral practices, such as talking to a guy, or wearing a skirt. Oh, yes, also good Hindus and good atheists are not more innocent.

Private and public violence goes hand by hand. Stadiums were full of ecstatic spectators, in Roman times, when people were fed to hungry lions. The Catholic clergy inflicted public punishments for centuries, and countries governed by Sharia law continue in this long standing tradition.

The excitement in their eyes

The terrible fact is that we, yes we, human beings, enjoy the view of pain and suffering. We love humiliation, we feel erotic arousal, and carve for more. Otherwise, I could not explain the number of people attending public executions in countries where these are still allowed.

Oh, you will say, they are forced to attend. Yes, maybe. But explain me this: are they also forced to take pictures and make videos with their mobiles? Next time a newspaper publish a photo of a man hanged, or a woman stoned, take a closer look at the public. And see the excitement in their eyes.

A way to control our lives

I do not know why humans get (sexually) excited by violence. Some controversial Swedish feminists say that all man are, by their own nature, rapists. If it is true that most victims of rape are female, it is also true that also women have their share in perpetrating violence. Do you remember the smiling female soldiers in the Abu Ghraib pictures?

I want to think better of humans. I believe we have the possibility to choose, and to control our instincts. The fact is that, often, states, religions and cultures use our instincts to control our lives. Deprivation of sexuality and sublimation of violence are two of their most powerful instruments. And they seem to work.

An example: sublimation of rape

A scene from the television series Spartacus, blood and sand. An example of sublimation of rape. The slave, is actress Laura Surrich. She is cute, isn’t she? Do you feel disgusted by this scene? Really?