Educare alla pace
the whole story.
In any case, in the end I did it.
It took some time, and I admit it wasn’t easy. It was a process of regained—or renewed—awareness that didn’t happen overnight and required intermediate steps.
Some of my novels in a ways were already suggesting to me what was going on inside, but I have to admit that engaging with studies and contributions by others—far more authoritative on the subject, or simply further along the path—provided the final and decisive push.
So, after a sort of preemptive farewell post a couple of months earlier, on April 22, 2019, I deactivated my profiles and related pages on the various social media platforms I had been on for years, including Facebook, Twitter, and even Instagram, which I had joined only recently.
I kept only my YouTube channel, because I’ve never considered it a social network like the others and, for several reasons—chief among them the greater freedom to control content and how it’s shared.
Which brings us to the title: why did I make this decision?
By the time I started considering it seriously, years ago, I already had plenty of reasons. But the more I reflected on it—and especially the more I researched—the more reasons I found, in overwhelming numbers. Every time I think about it again, I discover new ones, to the point of pestering myself with another question: why didn’t I do this sooner?
Anyway, enough preamble. Let’s get to the answer—or rather, the answers.
By a mere accident of age, I had the good or bad luck of experiencing firsthand the arrival of the World Wide Web and everything new it brought into our society.
To avoid misunderstandings, let me say right away that this is not meant to be a lesson or a mini-essay on the topic, but simply a heartfelt sharing.
That said, although over the past twenty-five years—and even earlier—I’ve invested my energy and passion in artistic expression and social work, if you’re curious, I also have a degree in computer science.
For that reason too, I immediately reacted with great enthusiasm to the spread of the internet and its potential.
I know I’m not an easy person. I have my flaws, and among them are stubbornness and a certain obstinacy in wanting to do things my own way.
Because of this, I immediately interpreted the web—the possibility of connecting horizontally rather than necessarily through vertical channels, removing from the equation the bulky weight of whatever monopolizing tool of domination and control happens to be in charge—as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Anyone who knows me personally knows I don’t have a good relationship with compromises, even though they often have to be made—unless one chooses to live like a hermit.
That’s why, once I grasped the many possibilities of this new way of connecting, I threw myself into it completely.
It solved a huge problem for me, and I’m not at all sure I would have taken the path I later pursued if the internet hadn’t existed.
As I was saying almost thirty years ago, I’m just someone who writes.
But at the same time, also because of a complicated childhood and adolescence, I’ve never wanted to—because I can’t—accept as “normal” shameful ways of interacting with one another just because everyone else does.
To put it briefly, I don’t believe it’s morally or artistically acceptable that, in order to publish with a so-called italian major publisher or gain access to a top-tier italian theater—as I’ve been advised many times over the years—you necessarily have to know someone influential, if not the commissioner themselves, or secure a TV appearance.
For that reason, knowing myself, as a very young aspiring writer and theater-maker I didn’t envision a particularly rewarding horizon.
Then the internet arrived, and much—or everything—changed.
Thanks to the web, I was able to connect with many extraordinary fellow travelers, and it’s also thanks to their help that over time I’ve seen my words published and circulated, heard and blended with those of others. Of course, I’m well aware that I’m not at the top of popularity charts, and I hope it’s clear what kind of sharing I’m talking about.
All of this while managing to preserve, more or less intact, a good degree of coherence with my principles.
The reason is simple, in my humble opinion. Throughout history, in this country the corruption of one’s ideals often comes through interference from above, at the hands of whoever holds power at the moment, who bestows upon you the flattering consecration of their precious support.
Sure, we all need support from others, and when it comes from someone who can do something for you that you can’t do yourself, it can be a blessing. What doesn’t suit me is making the pursuit of that kind of boost the real goal, instead of sweating over a blank page or on the stage.
I want to emphasize this based on my personal experience: compared to the past, among other things, the internet is an extraordinary tool for building active communities and realizing individual and collective aspirations—without having to surrender the quality and core values of one’s original intentions to whatever mass medium happens to dominate.
However, like many others, I too fell—at least partially—into one of the biggest deceptions of the third millennium: believing that social networks are the internet, or that they work more or less the same way.
Well then, having finally come out of that tunnel, I can say without fear of contradiction that Facebook and all the others are nothing more than sticky and dangerous spider webs.
Like webs, they resemble a network—and yet they are something entirely different.
Whether you’re writers, actors, artists of any kind, professionals in any field, or simply people who use them for fun or as a game, before even getting into the damage they can do to our minds and our lives, I want to emphasize what they are not—despite what they promise to be.
I’ll use my own work as an example, to be more concrete. During all the years I used them, the actual impact on the spread of my stories, book sales, attendance at performances, or chances of making meaningful artistic or professional contacts was close to zero.
Despite large numbers of likes and shares, hearts, and even ecstatic two-line comments, the outcome in the much-maligned real world was practically nonexistent.
At the same time, I’ll never get back the hours wasted, nor any compensation for the constant distraction from my real work, or for the disastrous fragmentation of my concentration caused by that cursed smartphone buzz or the notification popping up on my computer screen.
I never—repeat, never—received a single contact on any social network that later led to something concrete outside of it.
Let’s be honest. Despite the endlessly abused terminology, social media has not given me new friends in my life—real ones, I mean, who are there when you truly need them, to name just one basic thing.
Many of my works that later received authoritative recognition and that still today have stood the test of time were almost completely ignored once they appeared on social media.
And I can’t tell you how many times I later discovered that the person who had digitally liked and shared my work hadn’t actually read or watched it at all.
Even though my withdrawal had begun gradually long before, from about February to April 2019 I reduced my presence on social media almost entirely.
And even if I were to consider only those first two months, you have no idea how much my work benefited, both in terms of time and—above all—quality.
In the past, talking with friends about my radical decision, leaving some of them stunned or even disturbed, one of them inevitably asked the fateful question: What about books and shows? Don’t you need social media to promote them?
Beyond what I’ve already said as evidence of how little these platforms actually contribute to the real dissemination of one’s work, there’s another fundamental aspect I want to address.
I have ideals I care about, as many people do, and they often merge with what I write and what I bring to the stage.
I’m not perfect—far from it—and certainly not a saint. I often torment myself over what I don’t do, or what I do poorly.
Even so, among the things I hold dear are respect for human rights, attention to the most marginalized people in the world, and the belief that the value of the human person is central, indispensable, and should take priority over any other consideration.
I firmly believe that peace and democracy are things we must fight for every single day, every moment—never permanently achieved, but the result of constant action.
And finally, I’m convinced that the internet is above all an opportunity to give voice and support to the most disadvantaged and oppressed people on the planet, countering the most manipulated and numbing narratives.
So here’s the question I’ve asked myself many times over the years, and that I now put to you: how is it possible to be consistent with all of this while at the same time handing over one’s identity to ambiguous entities—between unscrupulous multinationals, criminal organizations, and disturbing government institutions—while still believing you can work toward a different kind of society?
Because this is the real meaning of most social networks: tools in the hands of their financiers, never in ours. I’m talking about those who pay—handsomely—to put on this spectacle of virtual friendship. That’s why social networks are free. We are the product; our attention is the commodity. Over time, with the enormous amounts of investors’ money, the owners of these mega-sites have built a hallucinatory journey that traps us in a kind of spider web, as I mentioned earlier, where we convince ourselves we’re going somewhere and doing something, while in reality we’re just food for the marketing predators—and unaware products for buyers and sellers of our most personal data.
In exchange, they’ve made our hopes more vulnerable and fragile.
They’ve pushed us further apart instead of bringing us closer.
They’ve increased our anxiety and stress levels.
They’ve made us weaker as individuals and as communities.
They’re manipulating and exploiting us.
Ultimately, they’re drugging us, immobilizing us between the dwarf of our fears and the giant of our dreams (that line isn’t mine—it comes from a brilliant philosophy I encourage you to look up online).
Those who were already certified stars outside social media remain so thanks to their adoring fans, and those who aspire to that marvelous firmament delude themselves into thinking they’re getting closer by acquiring—or even buying—thousands of followers.
That’s all I feel like writing right now.
If we were in The Matrix and I were Morpheus, I’d strongly urge all of you to take the red pill.
Fortunately—believe me, for everyone’s sake—we’re not in a movie, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re not on a social network either.
We’re on the internet, yes. And as one of my former university professors once said, the network is us.
And we, in my humble opinion, are infinitely better than a retouched photo and a few viral posts.