Without the police, no State. Even if the latter is the place where, for the theoreticians of democracy, my freedom can best be extended, identified and respected by others, it is countersigned by the policeman.
There is not one institutional representative of the State, from the prime minister to the last policeman in a tiny out of the way village, that does not embody the authority of the cop wrapped up in the see-through paper of ideological chatter. This becomes clear when you think about the legal protection that these figures enjoy. It makes no difference whether I poke fun at the Prime minister or the most idiotic policeman on the beat, I find myself facing a judge in court on the basis of an article of law.
The fact is, even a bus driver (in public service) enjoys a degree of institutional protection and visibly shows off a tiny lembo of the police uniform.
The State, even the most democratic one where all the politicians fill their mouths with words of freedom everyday, is still a police State.
Man is a stupid animal.
The old definition of ‘police State’, based on the existence of laws that suspended citizens’ ‘rights’ for a certain length of time on given occasions, still holds today. These suspenions and divieti still exist and each one feels they are under investigation from the moment they are approached by a policeman (of any kind).
Now, there isn’t a man invested with any power whatsoever, that does not change as a consequence. The authority that power confers brings out the worst in each one, bringing to the surface the aggressive misery that stupidity and cowardice usually conceal. The uniform is a signal for others: ‘be careful, I am an authority and on the basis of this sacred investiture, not only can you not touch me, I can also charge you.’ But this rag and the relative, ridiculous ammennicoli that identify him with greater precision, also has a grave effect on whoever wears it:it shows up the cowardice and misery we mentioned earlier, wrapping it in a crescendo of stupidity that common sense and intelligence (even a very few policemen can possess some residual of this not too common quality) can rarely put a brake on. If the common imbecile devoid of contrasegni, nearly always needs to state ‘You don’t know who I am!’ to affirm himself, the one in uniform does not need to, the uniform speaks for him.
Now, take any example of the man in uniform, and in my long life I have known thousands. Even the best of them, and I must admit to having singled out a handful capable of putting a brake on the bestial instincts that their job sets in motion, are all—and they agreed when put face to face with their responsibilities—cowards. They were nearly always aware of the ignominy around them but did not lift a finger so as not to lose their jobs or their pension. Looking at it from another angle, this so-called intelligent and good-hearted elite were often worse than the ugly picchiatore in the darkness of a deliberately set up room.
But what is the point of talking about the few compared to the many?
The ‘Portughese’ massacre (so defined by a police officer) that we saw in Genoa in 2001 on the occasion of the G8 was only the representation, wider and less camouflaged, of a practice that all police are involved in.
Only two things are infinite, the universe
and human stupidity, and I am not sure
about the first.
With the term ‘policeman’ we mean all those that wear a military or paramilitary uniform, army, carabinieri, finance, police, prison warders, town police, provate police, etc.
Not many people know that in all carabinieri barracks, police stations and in every other kind of barracks there are tools and special rooms where instruments of torture are kept ready for use to persuade those who, in view of giving foundation to ‘investigations in course’ find themselves in the unfortunate situation of facing this endurance, to talk. May nobody assume that this is a question of ‘virgins of Nurimberg’ or mediaeval whips: a leather horse’s belt, a large bucket full of dirty water, a damp cloth, a telephone directory and a strong pair of hands are enough. All investigations are supported by an opportune softening up process.
The present writer knows something about it.
When these chained dogs’ leashes are lengthened, in other words when those in government show clear signs of authoritarian strette, the worst sadic attitudes immediately appear and a kind of multiplicator sets in that often reaches extremes. Behind the nazi extermination camps there was a vast theoretical and propaganda mechanism that recruited the best brains of the German scientists of the era.