The pun is not intended, but the world is fixated on a presidential trial that could determine the fate of people well beyond the United States’ geographical territory. Ideologically speaking, they’ve conquered it all. Data, marketing, lifestyle, language. They might have competitors in phone brand sales, laptops and stuff; but they know how to moderate what we consume. Consulting companies, future markets, the Fed. To many, there’s very little useful stuff to pay attention to. To the few, there’s an immensity of information to be categorized immediately, for proper user experience. And part of that is paying a porn star.

None of us is Donald Trump. He’s answering for his own deeds, and the process includes hearing testimonies which can be challenged. Claiming innocence is an option. Where’s the evidence? The answer lies in financial documents. Maybe that’s why it’s so interesting to see how this is the ultimatum for a lot of Americans: it’s not a Snapchat screenshot, it’s a bank registry. But would you look again? The amount of people who have been using this app for selling adult content is only growing, and the company tries to remain neutral to cynical in relation to its own activity. Think about how some of us, men, would react if we had a woman claiming that we wanted to be on top of the world, but behind everyone’s back, were acting in mischievous ways. What an embarrassment. What a disaster. We’d quit our jobs, leave our houses to pay rent, change towns. Do you know anyone who has?

The oddity of paying for sex is not the issue at hand. It’s the morality of the top world leader and the sacrament of his marriage, challenged by pure filth as a strong interest. But that’s not how the story goes: you’d think the woman would be in that position, of exhibitionism, of vanity and explicitness, of lewdness and promiscuity, of deviance and wildness. So it happens that the man is accused of forcing himself upon the star. You can only imagine how he would behave on the internet, but his tweets have been banned and there’s a hold on another trial for violation of the insurrection clause of the Constitution. He yielded that his allies storm the Capitol; he tried to storm into a woman’s pants. Her name was Stormy. The humorous tones are nowhere to be seen, between angry supporters and conflicts that rage the world.

But we can’t seem to focus on problems anymore. The political divide, what’s Right and Left, socialism, capitalism, meritocracy, sovereignty, immunity, State secrets, volatility… everything’s sparse and fading in meaning. We’re being informed that cities are being struck with drones. It feels like old news. Families and populations are displaced and have their rights taken away: we’re worried about our online visibility. We don’t have a helicopter or a personal jet: let’s write about the Delta CEO, because that seems like the kind of debate we’re experts on. Where’s the role of the teacher? Where are the cultural icons and their manifestations that help us make sense of the world? Where are the numbers in our bank accounts? Nobody’s hiring. And they’re worried about the inflation, but companies think you’re not good enough. And if you look closer, nobody does, apparently.

We’re always thinking we’re not good enough. Our ideas. Our bodies. Our decisions. Our ancestry. Our homes. The food we eat. Our conversations are part of who we want to be. We try to communicate ideas, yes; but we try to communicate states of mind, hoping for a hint of complacency. Maybe it’s not a problem if I’m horny. Maybe when I talked to another girl, it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe when I failed to do what I was asked to, it didn’t bring such a disappointment that I’d have to reshape my entire life. Maybe by saying one stupid thing after another, I’m not going to be judged, because everyone’s got a little bit of stupid in them. We can choose progress. But skipping the part where we analyze our faults and think of how to be better humans doesn’t seem like a great way to champion democratic discourse. Unless democracy isn’t the goal at all.