Um relato da luta dos estudantes italianos – “SE NOS BLOQUEIAM O FUTURO, NÓS BLOQUEAMOS AS CIDADES!”

Desde o início do ano lectivo 2010/2011 que estudantes, professores e investigadores italianos têm protestado contra a reforma educativa que o governo vem tentando implementar. Esta reforma é basicamente um processo para acelerar a privatização da educação, visto que potencializa a livre entrada de privados dentro de um espaço que deveria ser público.

Mal o ano lectivo iniciou, sentiu-se um clima de protesto dentro da Universidade com aulas que tardavam a começar devido ao facto de professores e investigadores se recusarem a dar aulas, em forma de protesto. Já os estudantes preparavam desde o inicio o “Outono Quente”. Logo durante o mês de Outubro principiaram as manifestações e ocupações de facultades (como é o caso da Facoltà di Ingenaria dell’Università Degli Studi di Roma “La Sapienza” que está ocupada por investigadores e estudantes até hoje) ou momentaneamente de monumentos significativos para o país (exemplo do Coliseu de Roma). Contudo, foi a partir do dia 29 de Novembro que os protestos se intensificaram com ocupações em todas as universidades e de forma simultânea. No dia 30 de Novembro (dia em que se votou na câmara dos deputados a reforma da educação) todas as cidades italianas foram invadidas de protestos do mundo da educativo: estudantes, professores e investigadores caminharam lado a lado, bloqueando o trânsito e ocupando estações de comboios.

Para este dia, os estudantes da capital italiana tinham previsto uma manifestação que chegaria à Piazza Montecitorio, local onde se encontra a câmara dos deputados. Todavia, ao chegar à Via del Corso que é uma das avenidas principais da cidade e próxima da câmara dos deputados deparei-me com todos os acessos a esta praça bloqueados por carrinhas da polícia, demonstrando assim as intenções do governo italiano – reprimir o protesto. Com as ruas bloqueadas, os manifestantes realizaram um cortejo em volta desta praça tentando em vários momentos furar o bloqueio policial, contudo sem sucesso, visto que as armas da polícia e dos estudantes são diversas, uns têm gás lacrimogéneo que não tiveram problemas de atirar aos manifestantes e outros têm livros! Por isso, nesse momento a manifestação teve obrigatoriamente que recuar. No entanto e inesperadamente (para mim) os estudantes não desistiram e continuaram o protesto, mudando apenas o percurso. Dirigimo-nos assim para uma das estradas principais dando acesso ao centro de Roma, bloqueando assim o trânsito e cantando “Se nos bloqueiam o futuro, nós bloqueamos as cidades”.

Durante o bloqueio destas estradas muitos foram os condutores que saíram dos seus carros e aplaudiram os protestantes, demonstrado que o movimento estudantil é reconhecido e apoiado pela sociedade civil. No seguimento deste percurso (quase completamente espontâneo) os estudantes encaminharam-se para a estação de comboios principal (Termini) penso que com o intuito de poder de regressar às imediações da Piazza Montecitorio. Contudo quando estávamos a chegar à estação a polícia apareceu em força e entrou na estação de cassetete ao alto, claramente com intenções de agredir os estudantes. Dentro da estação ocuparam cerca de 10 terminais, impedindo que muitos comboios partissem, estando simultaneamente a defender-se da polícia que os procurava cercar. Felizmente no final saíram “ilesos”. No final deste dia e depois de toda uma discussão na câmara dos deputados, os estudantes esperavam o resultado da votação da reforma que lhes vai “bloquear” o futuro.

A reforma foi aprovada, caminhando assim para a sua aprovação quase absoluta, que será decidida dia 14 de Dezembro. Todavia, depois da suposta “derrota”, estudantes, investigadores e professores não baixaram os braços e continuaram até hoje os protestos. Nestas duas semanas seguintes, Itália foi invadida por ainda mais ocupações, por ainda mais protestos. Em Roma, um dos mais significativos foi um que sucedeu em frente à Fondazione Roma, museu romano gerido pelo banco UniCredit que é um dos interessados na privatização das Universidades, um dos interessados em fazer parte dos conselhos de Universidade, isto é, nada mais nada menos que o RJIES “à la italiana”. Mais uma vez um protesto foi fortemente reprimido, sendo cerca de 10 protestantes detidos.

Como estudante portuguesa que assiste em Portugal aos mesmos problemas dentro da Universidade que supostamente é Pública, questiono-me o porquê de o movimento estudantil praticamente não existir, o porquê da cegueira? Quando é que vamos deixar os brandos costumes, quando é que vão existir protestos de verdade, manifestações que não são convocadas em fim de mandato e com mão partidária? Quando é que me vou manifestar em frente do Satander? Quando é que em Portugal vai voltar a existir um movimento estudantil de verdade?

Aqui, prepara-se mais uma grande manifestação de estudantes, professores e investigadores para dia 14 de Dezembro, dia em que a reforma vai ser votada no Senado e dia de todas as decisões para o Governo italiano, visto que se decidirá a queda ou não do mesmo. Visto que para os estudantes essa é a única possibilidade de ver a reforma reprovada porque só assim a Universidade italiana poderá continuar a ser um bocadinho mais pública e mais acessível a todos.

Aqui os estudantes fazem-se ouvir de verdade e nós quando faremos?

Laura Dias

Este artigo foi publicado em cinco dias. Bookmark o permalink.

11 respostas a Um relato da luta dos estudantes italianos – “SE NOS BLOQUEIAM O FUTURO, NÓS BLOQUEAMOS AS CIDADES!”

  1. Durante os anos de chumbo o pessoal ainda era mais duro.
    Mas a bófia agora anda mais bem armada e equipada, aí…

  2. nf diz:

    parte 1

    9th of December 2010, around 3pm, after a seminar with my students, I join my
    friends at the demonstration in Parliament Square. I go there from Goldsmiths
    College with one of my students, we walk arm in arm, acting as if we were
    tourists, as a light-hearted couple admiring the buildings in Whitehall,
    indifferent towards the police all along the road, and laughing, enjoying this
    silly performance. We just had a seminar where we discussed the current planning
    of the demolition of the UK education system, the devastation of places like
    Goldsmiths, where the public funding will be cut 100% and the fees raised to
    9.000 pounds a year. The places that are going to be privatized completely are
    precisely those where what is asked to students is not so much to collect
    knowledge, but to think critically.

    Today, for the first time in a seminar that I facilitate, Korean and Chinese
    students are those who talk the most. I have been asking myself for a long time
    what makes it so hard for Korean and Chinese students to take part in the
    seminar’s discussions. It might be a language problem, it might be a gender
    issue… today Korean students give some answers themselves: “every time we have
    to talk in public we are scared, to talk in public means fear for us, and this
    is because we have been repressed for so long and so heavily, our grandfathers
    were killed by the police, our families persecuted”… “A conversation like the
    one we have here could not take place in a Korean university”… “I was happy to
    see so many books written by radical thinkers in the Goldsmiths Library, you
    cannot find them in Korean Universities”… “I have the impression that the UK
    university will become what the Korean university already is, a place where you
    pay a lot of money just in the hope to find a job afterwards.”

    We say how university in the UK already functions like a shop were the student
    is a costumer: she knows what she wants and is supposed to complain if she does
    not get it. The student/customer wants to bring something home, she takes notes,
    she accumulates knowledge, that is, notions, and measures carefully how much she
    gets in exchange of the money she pays. The privatization of university is also
    this: you enter the shop, you get something called knowledge, you exit the shop,
    most of the time you don’t find a job, but you are supposed to feel enriched by
    this accumulation of accountable knowledge, enriched, and most of all
    self-reassured and self-content: nothing has happened. If, once in the shop, you
    start feeling some sort of unease, a sense of shifting away, a crumbling of your
    notes under your hands, you shouldn’t lose your time and write immediately a
    complain.

    We arrive in the square, this demonstration seems rather different from the
    previous one, a month ago, which was overflowing with joy, colours, sounds.
    Everything here seems dark, there are a few fires scattered around the square,
    the atmosphere is rather tense, but I’m happy to see my friends, we drink a hot
    cognac that I brought in a thermos, and after half an hour we decide to go
    somewhere warmer. We head towards the ICA, but the street is blocked by a line
    of policemen. “Go through Whitehall” a policeman says “you can exit there.” We
    go to Whitehall and there is even more police blocking the street. We then go
    back to the policeman we spoke with before, saying that Whitehall is blocked as
    well. “Yes, it was blocked, but now is open.” We go to Whitehall again, but
    there is no way to go through. We start realizing that the policemen are lying
    to us. We try the tube station but it’s closed as well. “Are we in a kettle
    already?” I say smiling to my friends. I’m sort of joking, they cannot kettle
    thousands of people into such a huge square, right? I brought with me hot cognac
    and plenty of warm clothes because people were talking about kettles the day
    before at Goldsmiths, but I didn’t really think I was going to use them, double
    socks, double scarf, double jumper.

  3. nf diz:

    parte 2

    We spend some time thinking what to do, trying to go from a place to another.
    With an IPhone we read in the Guardian website that, yes, the whole square is
    blocked, but they let out whoever wishes to join the candle march in Embankment.
    But this is just another lie. I’m walking around, trying to warm up, and I see
    someone with a covered face walking fast towards a boy and punching him in the
    face. The boy screams, he comes towards me crying “my eye… it’s burning…” I
    don’t know what to do, I don’t understand what’s going on. There are some guys
    going around the square and randomly punching people on the face, it looks like
    complete madness. This is the first act of violence we witness. The only way I
    can make sense of this is that these guys are not protesters, and they are paid
    by someone to be here and punch people at random. The violence has started after
    the kettle was made, and not before, and it was not started by the protesters,
    but by whoever has organized this nightmare. Because minute after minute, hour
    after hour, this is becoming more and more a nightmare, something like a horror
    movie. The police repeatedly charges the crowd, the crowd runs away, some people
    are bleeding. We are enclosed in a place where everything can happen to us, we
    are forced by the police to be exposed to a violence organized by whoever gives
    orders to the police, in a space that immediately makes me think about what
    Giorgio Agamben calls “camp”, a space which is constructed both inside and
    outside the law, a space where we are stripped “bare”, in the sense that we can
    be freely killed without this killing to be considered a crime.

    But soon I think about something else, this is not just a “state of exception”,
    there is something more at stake: this looks like a set of a Hollywood movie, an
    apocalypse movie, something like John Carpenter’s Escape from NY, but with no
    escape. It is dark now and a helicopter is flying over the square projecting a
    beam of light towards the square, but the light is not really illuminating
    anything, the helicopter is just part of a horrifying choreography, of a staging
    where we are enforced actors of a drama that will soon appear on the TV news. A
    TV horror movie where the protesters will be the “protagonists”, smashing
    windows, throwing bricks, lighting fires, destroying an entire square. But what
    on the TV screen will look like a chaos provoked by a huge number of
    uncontrollable protesters, is in fact entirely and carefully planned and
    organized by someone else, by whoever gives orders to the police around us and
    to the disguised mercenaries amongst us. The day after the police will say that
    nothing of this would have happened if the protesters would have followed the
    established route. But it is the police that blocked all the streets and led
    everybody into Parliament Square. Now the smashing of windows is coming near to
    us and we can see better how it “works”: whilst people smash on the ground
    floor, on the upper floors the windows open and someone takes photographs of the
    spectacle below. This is like being part of a film that, at the same time, is
    real, it is our life being exploited in this film, in a film that you never
    decided to take part in, where people with smashed heads, and smashed for real,
    are carried next to you whilst the police refuses to let them through.

  4. nf diz:

    parte 3

    Before the police starts charging people we try to talk, to make jokes, we smile
    at each other, “despite everything, I’m happy to be with you all!”. To try
    warming up we improvise a dance class where one of us teaches to the others
    different dance steps. But after a while we just try to keep on smiling, and the
    more we stay here, the less we are able to talk, we see the screams getting
    nearer to us, another line of policemen on the opposite side of the square is
    charging people. It is many of us, so many, a crowd of people looking terrified
    at a nightmare getting closer. We stay very near to the police line, the one
    behind us, as to seek protection, and how pathetic to think about us still
    seeking protection from danger by the police now that I’m writing all this. We
    beg them to let us out, there are people crying. A policeman tells one of us,
    with a confidential tone of voice, that the place where we are is safe, that we
    should stay here. After five minutes the same policeman with all the others in
    his line is charging us. All this seems madness to us, we don’t understand, also
    because they look like human beings, despite the way they are dressed and the
    weapons they carry, and you want to see them as human beings, because you are
    frightened, upset, my bowls turn over. And they also talk like human beings, and
    their tone of voice changes, from confidential, to reassuring, to authoritative.
    It’s only after leaving this nightmare that we understand that they were not
    human beings there, they were just acting as human beings, they were just part
    of a spectacular machine of violence. I heard accounts of ’68 when students used
    to discuss with the lined up police, and it happened that some policemen started
    trembling because of those discussion. Now it is the police that looks for
    discussions, but these are not discussions, because the policemen are trained to
    say what they say, and to even think what they think, they are just a sort of
    shell that still appears human, but is deprived of the capacity of thinking.

    And the policemen are paid to act in that way, and trained to act and speak and
    think in that way, and there are so many of them, and they are so well trained,
    and so much money goes into paying for all of this, and after today this money
    will be even more, more money for this lobotomy of a police training, and less
    money for education, for this other very different “training” that develops a
    critical thinking. And the money, of course, is not going to us here, once again
    it is we who are working for free, as unprofessional actors this time, this is
    free and enforced labour, we are forced to act in a TV drama where our life is
    put in danger for real, in a sort of huge horrifying snuff movie, that will be
    used by its brilliant producers to convince the TV news watchers and everybody
    else that stronger measures have to be taken against this uncontrollable
    terrorism that the students and the youth are able to provoke. Thanks to this
    kind of productions more and more people will accept for this country, and not
    only for this one, to further descend into this sort of spectacular fascist
    regime, which is urgently shutting down and destroying the places where is
    taught to people how to use their own brain (how to use our own body to think).

    We need to keep cracking this control over the media
    We need to contrast this monopoly of violence
    We need to reappropriate what has been taken away from us

  5. nf diz:

    parte 4

    A girl with a megaphone screams asking the students of Manchester University to
    gather, a bus is waiting for them, the students are allowed to leave if they
    show their ID card. A guy is distributing tickets for the bus and he puts a
    couple in my hands, I ask for more, my friends stretch their hands towards him.
    For a moment I think ourselves as a bunch of Jews in Nazi Germany trying to
    desperately save their lives, holding this piece of paper very tightly in our
    hands. It is when the Manchester students, and us with them, prepare to leave
    that the police charges all of us. We cannot believe it, this is what we are
    still able to say to each other: “I don’t believe this”, this is not possible,
    it doesn’t make sense, not here, not in this country. There are all sorts of
    people amongst us, there are some smartly dressed girls, young people, old
    people, there is a guy who stares the policemen, face to face, for hours,
    immobile. There are also some of my students that have never been to a
    demonstration before. I try to smile at them, as if everything would be fine,
    but after a point all I can do is to pretend to be annoyed, and I shake my head
    as to say “This is all so silly”. But this is not really what I think and feel,
    and I don’t even know what I feel anymore.

    We run away from our spot, from the police charging us. Now we are on the other
    side of the square, squeezed, we don’t feel the cold anymore, our bodies are
    pressed together. The police starts releasing people one by one. It is around
    8.30pm I think. Every time we hear a window crashing we all tremble, we, this
    crowd of people that we don’t see where it ends. Now I start worrying about what
    can happen when we leave the crowd. We know that it is our right not to say our
    name. Someone suggests to cover our face when going out. I am about to leave,
    the guy before me has a scarf covering his mouth, the policeman shouts at him,
    the boy takes immediately the scarf away from his face, but another policeman
    takes him away. I show the content of my bag to a policeman and I leave. I pass
    beside two more policemen with a camera but they don’t take any pictures of me.
    Two of my friends come after me. But we are the last to leave the crowd. The
    line is closed again now. I’m outside now but I still can’t believe what is
    going on. The three of us hug each other looking at the crowd behind the line,
    at the row of horses in front of us. One of my student phones me, she is crying:
    “Please, do something, help me, talk with a policeman, I cannot stay here any
    longer, please…” I don’t know what to say, I mumble something to her, and then
    I ask a policeman where will they let people out, even though I know it doesn’t
    make any sense to ask this. Westminster, he says. The police shouts with a
    megaphone: “You are free now, just go to Westminster bridge and leave the
    square.” By now people know that this is just another lie. The police charges
    the crowd. We decide to leave. Our friends and everybody else will be pushed
    onto Westminster Bridge and detained there for another couple of hours. I don’t
    know much of what happened there. I know that people were let peeing themselves.
    I heard that more violence was perpetrated by the police. They had dogs on the
    bridge. I called my friends after they were released, but they were not really
    able to talk. “Great, you are finally free!”, I say. “No, it’s not great… it’s
    not great… it’s not great…” is the reply. The same night my friend writes an
    email saying “I’m not sure I could ever endure something like that again – which
    is what they intended”. The day after she sends us another email: “The numbness
    is wearing off now. From now on I will join every single demonstration.”

    Since I left Parliament square I have been about to cry many times. I haven’t
    done this yet. A friend told me “you must have been really scared”. But I was
    not scared, it was something else, something that I could not really describe.
    And this is the question I ask myself since that evening: how to channel all of
    this into something else, into something different from a feeling of hatred? How
    to turn this violence into some other kind of different violence, how to use it
    as a force that is neither physical nor psychological, as the one used by the
    police? How to have this something that presses tears in my eyes doing something
    else, how to make it proliferate it all around, instead of having to vomit it
    out in the form of a “human” violence like to the one perpetrated on us?

    And possibly, how to practice something like a militant education, which is not
    educating to militancy, but rather an education that is moved through the same
    intensity of something like a militancy? Because precisely this was at stake the
    other day, and now, right? Pedagogy was the issue, education and its collapse,
    and what can emerge from this. A militant pedagogy like that of Jacotot, which
    spreads outside the institution where is exercised, a pedagogy which even the
    peasant utilizes, a pedagogy which can operate, but almost imperceptibly, inside
    an institution, but which cannot be institutionalized, and which now is long
    gone as it was, but it has never really died.

    Personal account forwarded from Paolo

    The same night I tell to my Colombian and Serbian friends what happened in that
    square, and they understand everything immediately, right from the start of my
    account. I spent most of my life in a country that has not been ruled under what
    is properly called a dictatorship for more than half a century. I know that
    European so called democratic countries, like the one where I was born, have
    organized in a recent “democratic” past some nightmares which were much worse
    than the one I experienced. I realize that unless you don’t experience something
    like this you cannot have a sense of what it is. You read this in the
    newspapers, you watch a documentary, you read it online, but you cannot really
    get what it is. Now I think I have a sense of this, and it is as if I share
    something else with friends coming from countries like Colombia and Serbia, who
    have experienced what is called a dictatorship.

  6. nf diz:

    parte 5

    From what my friends told me, I know that in Latin America the university has
    traditionally been one of the few places where people could exercise and develop
    something like a political thinking. This makes us understand the decision to
    destroy the few places in Europe where people can learn how to exercise and
    develop something like a political thinking. I wasn’t able to make sense of the
    closure of the philosophy department at Middlesex until two days ago: why should
    the managerial board of a university close a prestigious department that
    attracts many students and consequently brings high profits? They said it was
    because of the economic crisis, but this would be an illogical paradox. And now
    everything becomes more clear. There is an old Italian saying that goes like
    this: “Al contadin non far sapere quanto e’ buono il formaggio con le pere”,
    that is, don’t let the peasant know how good is cheese with pears. This is at
    the very bottom of what is happening here, at the bottom of the sinking of this
    country, and not only this one, into a spectacular fascism ruled by national and
    international elites and corporations. This is what the saying tells: “Erase all
    the possibilities for people to think and experience what they have not
    experienced, what appears as impossible, like having pleasure in eating
    something salty together with something sweet for an Italian person in a time
    where there was no TV explaining us how to eat and cook, and how to mix all
    sorts of ingredients together. Erase for the people the possibility to think and
    experience something different from what is offered or imposed on them. Erase
    the conditions for something possible to take place.”

    But there is another version of the same saying, it is less known perhaps, but
    it has been sometimes used nonetheless. It goes like this: “Al padron non far
    sapere quanto e’ buono il formaggio con le pere.” Don’t let the master know how
    good is cheese with pears. It is here, through this doubling of the old saying,
    through the doubling of this manufactured collapse, that we can create, keep
    creating, the conditions for a possible to take place.

  7. Pôssa nf, isso é quase um tratado, not suitable to i-net, just my 2 cents, next time just post the link, will ya ?

    Uma observação rápida: estudar, tirar um curso, não é suposto conduzir automáticamente a um emprego.
    Diff. skills e isso era dantes, e um privilégio, e uma treta.
    Uma pessoa estuda (ou devia…) porque quer tornar-se numa pessoa melhor e menos estúpida, e nos mais altruístas, contribuir

    Citação que poderão (ou não…) reconhecer: «It has always befallen to a few to sacrifice for the good of the many»

    Depois de estudar o quanto achar bem, fax akilo que procurar, encontrar, ou que lhe cair em sorte.
    Como disse antes, different skills…
    🙂

  8. Lateral:
    O presidente Giorgio Napolitano lá é uma figura decorativa e se bem me lembro era do PCI, quando ‘isso’ ainda existia.
    Se esse f.d.p. putanheiro Berluscoiso caísse, quem se perfilaria para o suceder ?
    Akele paralamento é uma ‘lamentabilidade’, quinhentos e tal onorevoles que não servem para coisa nenhuma, a não ser faxer umas flores numa língua baita sexy e depois viver do erário del popolo.

    Estou ligeiramente desactualizado em relação aos ‘itálicos’.

    🙁

  9. serraleixo diz:

    Publiquei este post integralmente aqui:
    http://blogdomata.blogspot.com/2010/12/mais-sobre-os-protestos-em-it%C3%A1lia.html
    Espero que não seja abuso…
    Cumprimentos

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