What’s going on here, has Musk bought the debate? Has Mark Zuckerberg hijacked the discussion to turn it into a virtual cocktail party? Have the Chinese gained access to your innermost thoughts and manipulated access to news using TikTok? Has it become too expensive to get a proper newspaper subscription? The public discourse has become a capricious place, full of Russian trolls and hidden agendas. It’s time for something tangible: A wall. HOPELESS: “If it had only been for me, I would have already been there to hug you and tell you that everything is going to be okay.” (But it’s going to go really badly). Photo: Simen Ekern For almost two and a half years I have traveled around Europe as a correspondent for news. I’ve seen a whole lot and talked to a lot of people, but a lot of the time is spent in front of a screen. That’s how it has become. I follow publication-hungry politicians on Twitter and post photos from summits on Instagram. I rarely argue with someone on Facebook. It gives a kind of overview, but there is a lot of noise too. That may be why I have learned to appreciate a more analog form of communication on these reporting trips: The writing on the wall. From the Bible (or possibly Wikipedia) we know that it can pay to take such handwritten messages seriously: King Belassar in Babylon, for example, did not realize that the writing that appeared mysteriously on the palace wall was a forewarning that his kingdom was about to fall. Unwisely, we can ascertain in retrospect. I do not mean to suggest that slogans on the wall are always divine truths. But just to be safe, we can follow a little extra carefully. Pandemic Precision I think it was the pandemic that made me appreciate spray-painted slogans again. When the streets were empty and the world stood still, freshly painted messages in the neighborhood gave a kind of feeling that there were people out there, even if I couldn’t see them. One day quite early in the lockdown, when there was a curfew in Italy, I came across a hopeful message in cursive script: “If it had only been up to me, I would have already been to you to give you a hug and say that everything going to be fine,” it said. The next day, the optimism had been answered by someone else with a spray can: “But it’s going to go really badly.” A somewhat slow and not necessarily very insightful form of public debate, one could perhaps object. But it appeared very real in an unreal time. And as a fairly precise summary of the various ways of dealing with unreality. Later came the vaccines, and the discussions with them. RISK OF INFECTION: “The vaccinated are also infected”. Photo: Simen Ekern “The vaccinated are infected too”, it was written on a wall in Venice, around the time that a number of workers were not allowed to enter work without vaccination. While the anti-vax movement has often appeared aggressive and detached from reality, this was a nice, slightly resigned twist from the vaccine opponents, I think. Not as resigned as Venice’s best graffiti of this period, admittedly: THE PANDEMIC IN SUMMARIZATION: “I die anyway”. Photo: Simen Ekern “I die anyway.” Neither Kafka nor the master of pessimism Schopenhauer would have done this better. Spanish skepticism The big NATO summit in Madrid this summer was described as a success, but it was also a meeting where those present had to deal with the fact that the danger of nuclear war had become greater than ever since the Cuban Missile Crisis. It was not a very cheerful backdrop for an evening walk in the Spanish capital. Here, too, the writing on the wall was characterized by a heavily advanced pessimism. This was a kind of response to the usual greeting ¿Qué tal?, “How are things?” I imagine. The answer: Todo mal. “Just bad, thanks.” HOW ARE YOU? Just bad, please. Photo: Simen Ekern A couple of streets away, the discontent had a more concrete target: Me. Or all journalists, then. Who are terrorists, according to the wall writer. Periodistas = terrorists. At a time when threats and violence against journalists are increasing in Europe, there is no way I would sign a message. But it rhymes, in any case, in contrast to the recycled Nazi slogan “Lügenpresse” which was taken up by various far-right politicians in several countries a couple of years ago. CLEAR MESSAGE: Journalists = terrorists in Madrid in the summer of 2022. Photo: Simen Ekern Power take against coal While the war in Ukraine led to fears of a nuclear apocalypse, it has also led to energy panic in Europe. A consequence of that is that old energy sources have become like new. In Germany, power production was restarted this summer at several coal-fired power stations that had been put into standby mode. Chancellor Scholz called it “bitter”. The occupiers who have tried to save the tiny village of Lützerath from disappearing into a giant pit of lignite used stronger words. (And rhymes, then, as you’ve realized I’m excited about.) BORDERLESS: “No borders, no nations, no coal-fired power stations”. Photo: Simen Ekern No borders/ no nations/ no coal power stations is not a slogan that is distinguished by a clearly focused message, but it has a nice schwung, especially if it is pronounced with a German accent. Unfortunately for the activists, it is not the case that you are guaranteed success in the debate with a good slogan. Not even when you have been diligent with the mural it is a part of. On 4 October, the message came from the German authorities: The energy company RWE receives permission to raze Lützerath to the ground. The least climate-friendly energy source will be used for a little longer. “It is painful, but it is necessary because of the gas shortage,” said the vice chancellor of Germany, who is from the Green Party. The conclusion here could be that those in power no longer need to be afraid of the writing on the wall, unlike the king in the Babylonian empire. Nevertheless, examples are constantly appearing that messages on the wall create fear and outrage in those who rule. Fear and loathing in Rome Giorgia Meloni won a clear victory in the Italian elections at the end of September. It was after a debate in which many had expressed concern about how her party related to its own past, rooted in Italian neo-fascism. The discussion took a new turn when she named party stalwart Ignazio La Russa as Senate president – a man who has previously liked to show off his collection of fascist memorabilia. Including a rather large bust of the dictator Benito Mussolini. When the criticism appeared on a wall in the Rome district of Garbatella, it was nevertheless the reaction that caused the greatest outrage. Not La Russa’s appointment (or souvenir collection). La Russa Garbatella ti schifa, it said. The district hates you. A five-pointed star was sprayed under the message, which made many think of the Red Brigades and the terrorist acts that characterized Italy in the 1970s and 80s. The case became big in the vast majority of the Italian media. An investigation was started, with the hypothesis of threats against a representative of the state. Politicians from several parties took to the social media they like best. Prime Minister Meloni called it “ideological hatred” on Facebook. “It is unacceptable,” the leader of the Democratic Party PD wrote on Twitter, expressing his full solidarity with La Russa. A hundred years later So how did the wall debate go afterwards? The slogan was washed away. And a few days later, another analogous form of expression characterized the street scene in Rome: the poster. On the centenary of the March on Rome, the fascist takeover of Italy, posters appeared on walls and stands all over the city. It was a celebration of what was happening at the time. OLD MARCH: This autumn it is one hundred years since Mussolini’s fascists seized power in Italy. “One must set goals in order to have the courage to reach them,” reads the Mussolini quote. Photo: Simen Ekern At the Colosseum, someone had hung a banner with a corresponding painted message: 100 years after. The march continues. What the writing on the wall means in our day is not so easy to say. Innocent and completely marginal provocations? A grim warning? Both the posters and the banner were removed, so you can forget about it. If necessary, you can follow along a little extra closely, just to be on the safe side.
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