An essay on order, fear, and the dream of fixing the human being
It always begins the same way.
A short notice at the bottom of the news feed. A name. A place. A time. A life reduced to three lines of text and a blurry photograph taken on a mobile phone. Sometimes the victim is anonymous. Sometimes the name carries weight—linked to power, money, or a family that matters. Then the feed slows down. Then the machinery starts to move.
“An attack on our values.”
The words come quickly. They always do. Politicians step forward before the blood has dried on the pavement. They speak of safety, of tougher measures, of how “something must be done.” Cameras zoom in on serious faces, voices that sound decisive yet say very little. No one defines the values. No one explains what has actually broken.
But everyone agrees that something has happened. And that is enough.
A murder as a mirror
In this country—whichever country it may be—a violent crime takes place. It does not matter whether the street lies in London, Paris, São Paulo, Stockholm, or Mumbai. The reactions follow the same choreography. The media rolls out the same template. The public debate is set up like a boxing match between two corners: harsher punishment or deeper understanding.
On one side stand those who claim society has grown soft. They long for a time when order meant fear and consequences meant suffering. On the other side are those who speak of structures, poverty, inequality, broken systems that produce broken lives.
And in between sits the majority. Those who are tired of choosing sides. Those who simply want to feel safe. Those who want someone else to solve the problem—quickly, preferably without disturbing their own lives.
This is where the story truly begins. Not with the knife, but with the response to it.
When murder becomes content
As the legal process slowly takes shape, something strange happens. The victim fades away. The suspect becomes a symbol. The media no longer asks what happened? but what does this mean?
Was he a monster? An extremist? A victim of society? A madman? A hero?
People choose sides not based on facts, but on feelings. The murder turns into a narrative, a weapon, a meme. In social feeds, two parallel realities emerge. In one, the perpetrator is evil incarnate. In the other, he is a desperate individual striking back at an unjust system.
Truth—the complex, uncomfortable, contradictory kind—has no place. It is too slow. Too difficult. Too unprofitable for clicks.
The state speaks of order
“This is not just an attack on an individual, but on society itself.”
The phrase returns again and again. It sounds strong, yet it is oddly hollow. What does the state really mean when it speaks of society? The people? Or stability? Flow? The economy? Confidence?
When violence occurs, it is not only lives that are threatened, but the system’s illusion of control. And that illusion must be restored—quickly. That is why the same solutions always follow: more police, harsher sentences, expanded surveillance. Not necessarily because they work, but because they signal action.
Security as theatre.
The company that wants to heal the world
At the same time, alongside the debate, the advertisements appear. They always do. Smooth surfaces. Calm voices. Promises.
“A solution to the anxiety of our time.”
Pills, apps, programs. Something to dampen anxiety, aggression, frustration. Something to help us function better in everyday life. Function—a word that says everything.
The message is subtle but clear: the problem is not society. The problem is you.
Do you feel too much? Think too much? Resist? Then there are treatments. Adjustments. Alternatives to responsibility, to conflict, to friction.
Individuality is framed as a developmental flaw. Personality as a disturbance. Human contradiction as a chemical imbalance.
And people agree. Because it is comfortable. Because swallowing a pill is easier than questioning a system.
A debate that goes nowhere
In the television studio, the panel sits ready. The former police chief. The academic. The influencer. The expert. They represent different truths, but none represent the person in the audience who works two jobs, walks home at night, and wonders whether life is safe to live.
They talk past one another. They compete for the final word. The arguments are prepared, rehearsed, polished. Everyone recognizes the lines. Nothing new is said. Nothing changes.
It is not a conversation. It is a ritual.
The audience applauds. The program moves on. Next week, new faces will sit in the same chairs, asking the same questions.
When the human becomes a machine
And then, finally, the most dangerous idea is introduced. The one presented calmly, rationally, almost kindly.
What if the problem is not social?
What if it is not political?
What if it is not even moral?
What if it is technical?
What if violence, anger, and revolt are merely the result of misfiring circuits—of brains that are not optimally wired? If that is the case, why punish? Why debate? Why listen?
Why not repair?
The metaphor is simple: you do not imprison a flickering lamp. You replace the bulb.
And in that moment, something shifts. Something deep and almost imperceptible. The human being ceases to be responsible. Ceases to be free. Ceases to be a subject.
She becomes a product that can be adjusted.
The final comfort
This is the true temptation. Not control through violence, but control through care. Not dictatorship, but optimization. A society without conflict, without strong emotions, without unpredictability.
A society without passion.
“A life without passion is a life without violence.”
It sounds reasonable. Logical. Safe. But it is also a life without courage, without creativity, without resistance. A life where no one risks anything—because no one truly feels anything.
What is really at stake
This story is not about a murder. It is about our longing for order at any cost. About the desire to escape the human condition precisely because it is difficult, messy, and sometimes dangerous.
It is about a society that would rather fix the individual than question itself. That prefers to medicate symptoms rather than confront causes. That speaks of values instead of living by them.
And perhaps, in the end, it is about a question we rarely dare to ask:
What happens to a society that no longer believes people can change—only be adjusted?
When that question is no longer debated in television studios. When it no longer fits into politics. When it is no longer considered relevant.
Then it is not crime that poses the greatest threat.
It is the silence that follows.
By Chris...