On the one hand, those who reject him invent the most bizarre theories to say that he doesn’t exist, on the other, those who send him letters to prison: Filippo Turetta, the monster who remained a child who slept with his teddy bear and slaughtered the girlfriend who ‘he had refused, he is scary, he is one of the few presences that society still perceives as disturbing, therefore it tries to remove him or make him into a fairy tale. There can be no doubt about his repentance, in the sense that it is false, recited from head to toe: he cannot cry even if he tries, his voice is anodyne and in the story of the torture he betrays the pride of those who remain convinced: I did that what I wanted to do, what I had to do, I did the right thing. The newspapers report: he spends his days between guitar and the gym, which does not seem to be a sign of overwhelming remorse. Maybe he thinks: if I go straight, if I escape life imprisonment, and I escape because they make me look crazy, within a few years I’ll come out and recycle myself as a depressed artist, like Tananai and Angelina Mango. The question, which no one dares to ask, is: how many does one like this light up, how many does he inspire? I tried to search online for the latest zombie teenagers, I wrote “seventeen-year-old murderer” but the search engine gets confused, there are too many: the last one, the one who stabbed an old man twenty times for mysterious reasons, whose grandmother said: it couldn’t have been him because he is my grandson. Obviously he confessed immediately, but first there was the peer who slaughtered the poor Romanian prostitute who repaid in kind for small favors, car rides, domestic tasks; he confessed immediately too, in the delirious way we are learning to know: I wanted to know what it feels like to kill, but it’s not much. And again the one from Rozzano who, since “it’s a dangerous place”, goes out at night with a cutlass, cuts the first person he meets to pieces for two 20 euro earphones and tells the police: I screwed up. How many more, after Turetta who isn’t there, however, take him back at the trial, as a star of evil?
Updating the case history is impossible. You don’t have time to tell the last one before a new one already breaks out, all in terrifying ways, from Dario Argento as the eighteen-year-old from Bergamo who was stabbed to death and ended up with scissors on the landing where she had desperately tried to escape. The investigators have no doubts and aim straight for the circle of peers. Sometimes it is the murderer himself who raises the alarm, inventing bizarre alibis with chilling serenity that immediately betray him. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the zombie murders of teenagers and minors are quickly replacing the so-called feminicides of cavemen, the betrayed or abandoned husbands who don’t accept it and slaughter the whole family, killing their children in their sleep. or while they scream in terror, “they leave no seed” as the mafia says of the opponents to be eliminated. The fatalistic normality with which this happens is more frightening than zombies. As if society felt that there was nothing left to do, that there was no point in opposing it. In fact he prefers to remove: the banal, boring monster is passed off as deranged, someone who is not in control of himself, the beastly man as someone who has suddenly gone mad even if everyone knows that it is not true, that in that demented ferocity there is no rapture but obsessive, organized calculation: nine out of ten murders of women are avoidable, the police forces know about the violence, they know what the torturers are capable of, but they say: we don’t have time, so they wash their hands of it hands partly because they are overwhelmed by the flood of everyday, ordinary emergencies, partly because they are frustrated by a legal and judicial system that does everything except justice. Turetta doesn’t exist, “it’s a construction of artificial intelligence” because otherwise we have to deal with it, we have to suspect, with horror, that he could also be our child, he could cut our throat in our sleep or poison us with salmon pasta, as he had tried to make another boy with his mother who immediately forgave him seeking heartbreaking self-consolation. The normality of evil, no, this is too much: instead we are full of it, it overwhelms us, it overwhelms us. And we have given up fighting it or even admitting it. The grandmother who tries to cover up for her murderous grandson may be a weird old lady, but in her misdirection she shows a lucidity that is itself ruthless. He doesn’t take the worst case into consideration, he doesn’t contest it with facts but with the call of blood, “he’s my nephew”, just as courageous mothers say: leave him alone, he’s my son. Perhaps someone will remember the shocking, frightening case of the disabled pensioner Cosimo Antonio Stano who allowed himself to die of hunger and hardship barricaded in his house so as not to encounter the so-called baby gang which for years had inflicted on him, the judges later wrote, “torture and inhumane harassment”. They wrote like this but they admitted that youthful scum to the abbreviated trial and, due to a series of technicalities, they imposed only three sentences, with relatively low sentences: for all we know, the executioners could already be free 5 years after their crime. The good mothers of Manduria, a black hole of humanity, had the courage to protest: “They are our children, they had to invent something to pass the time, there is nothing here”. Monsters beget monsters. The religious sense no longer contemplates the fear of judgment, it resolves itself in processions and in the alleged pacts of silence and impunity with the divine. The State is the first to surrender to the evidence, Prime Minister Meloni has donated 500 million to the useless psychologists bonus, as if to say: if they had their way. But the shrinks arrive late, once the mess has been made. Turetta is there, he exists, he recognizes with a firm voice his desire for extermination and they make him a hero, of evil but a hero; in invoking the sanctity of Cain they put their hands forward, knowing that the next one could be their son and the next ones slaughtered, them. We resign ourselves to hell, but hell on earth, without justice, without adequate punishment and perhaps absent altogether, perhaps even rewarded. One of a satanic cult, having served his sentence for murder, has come out and now gives life advice on YouTube. He seems to be making crazy money and the society of monetary values likes this, the profit as redemption, or forgiveness, to say the Calvinist or Catholic confirmation of heavenly benevolence. Gino Cecchettin said with one of those media phrases in which he became a master: I understood who Turetta is. But it didn’t take long to figure it out even before that. The other daughter, Elena who played at being a provincial Satanist, felt obliged to warn the world via social media that she would not participate in the hearing “because I have to take care of myself”. The same formula that corny pop stars use. Even the aspiring writer grandmother has made a comeback. The surrender to evil is evolving: no longer exorcised, on the contrary made, if possible, a good business in the cannibalistic society that extracts profit from everything, the media impact, a profit even if it is from a victim daughter as well as from an executioner son.
