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𝖱𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗌 -— 𝖾́ 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝗈 𝗍𝗂́𝗍𝗎𝗅𝗈 𝖽𝖾 𝗎𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗅𝗂 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝖽𝖾 𝖢𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾́𝗇 𝖬𝖺𝗋𝗂𝖺 𝖬𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈, 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗋𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖾-𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗇𝖺. 𝖴𝗆𝖺 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗇𝖼̧𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖺 𝖺𝗍𝖺𝖼𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈-𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈́𝗋𝖾𝗈𝗌, 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈-𝖺𝗌 𝖺, 𝖾𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗀𝗎𝗇𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗈 𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗈. 𝖤́ 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖺 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺, 𝗌𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂́𝗏𝖾𝗅 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖺, 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗌. 𝖭𝖺̃𝗈 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾, 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗈 𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗆 𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖼𝗂𝖾̂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖺. 𝖤𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗆 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖺̃𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖺, 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝖺𝗍𝖾́ 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗓𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗋 𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗌 𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝗏𝗈𝗍𝗈, 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝖼̧𝖺̃𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺 𝖽𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗈. 𝖭𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖾́𝗆 𝗌𝖺𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗆 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗋.

𝖮 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈. 𝖴𝗆𝖺 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖼𝗂𝖾̂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝖾. 𝖣𝖾𝗌𝖽𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈́𝗋𝖾𝗈𝗌, 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖺. 𝖮 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗇𝗎𝗇𝖼𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾, 𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾, 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖾 𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗈 (𝗇𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗈) 𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗀𝖾𝗋, 𝖼𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗋, 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗋, 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗋. 𝖴𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺́𝗏𝖾𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗓𝖺 - 𝖺 𝖽𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖺𝗋, 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗎𝗌𝖺𝖽𝗈 𝖺̀ 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼̧𝖺. 𝖳𝖾𝗆 𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖺̃𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝗈𝖼𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗋, 𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗋𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝗂𝗑𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅, 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖺𝖽𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝗂𝗑𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝗈, 𝗍𝖾𝗆 𝖽𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝖽𝗋𝗈̃𝖾𝗌 𝗋𝗂́𝗀𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗎𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈 “𝖽𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋”. 𝖠𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗀𝖾̂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖺̃𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌. 𝖤́ 𝗎𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗉𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝖺𝖼̧𝗈̃𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗂𝗌: 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝖺 𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗂𝗀𝗂𝖺𝖽𝗈, 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗅𝖺𝖽𝗈 𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅𝖺𝖽𝗈. 𝖳𝖺𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗓 𝗉𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗈 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈́𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝖬𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖼̧𝖺𝗆 𝗍𝖺̃𝗈 𝗂𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗂𝗌. 𝖯𝗈𝗋𝗊𝗎𝖾, 𝗇𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖺 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺 𝗉𝗅𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 - 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗌, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌, 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖺𝗌, 𝖼𝗂𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗂𝗌, 𝗅𝖾́𝗌𝖻𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗌, 𝖻𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗂𝗌, 𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖾̂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖺, 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗌, 𝖽𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗈 -, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝗏𝗂́𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝗈𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺̃𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗂𝖺 𝗇𝗎𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈 (𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅𝖺𝖽𝗈, 𝗏𝗂𝗀𝗂𝖺𝖽𝗈, 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝗈, 𝖺𝗏𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖺𝖽𝗈, 𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗈, 𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖺𝖽𝗈, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗓𝖺𝖽𝗈). 𝖳𝖺𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗓 𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝖺 𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗉𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗈 𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖺𝖽𝖺 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖾. 𝖤𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖺.

𝖱𝖾𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗏𝗂 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝖻𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 - 𝗇𝗈́𝗌 - 𝗉𝗈𝗋 𝗏𝖺́𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝗓𝗈̃𝖾𝗌. 𝖣𝗂𝖺 𝟪 𝖽𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖼̧𝗈 𝖾́ 𝖽𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝖺 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝖽𝗂𝖺 𝟣𝟣 𝖽𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗋𝗈 𝖼𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗆-𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗓𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗌 𝖽𝖺 𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗈́𝗋𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝗈 “𝗌𝗂𝗆” 𝗇𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝖽𝖺 𝖨𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝖼̧𝖺̃𝗈 𝖵𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖺́𝗋𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝖺 𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗓, 𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗁𝖺́ 𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗌 𝗎𝗆 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗆 𝖾𝗌𝖿𝖺𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝖺 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗆 𝖫𝗂𝗌𝖻𝗈𝖺 𝖾𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖾̂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝗈𝗆𝖾́𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺. 𝖥𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗂́𝖽𝗂𝗈 - 𝗈 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖺 𝖾𝗆 𝖯𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗀𝖺𝗅. 𝖬𝖺𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗇𝖺̃𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝖺 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾̂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖺, 𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝖻𝖾𝗋𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖾, 𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝖺 𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖺. 𝖳𝖺𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗓 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗁𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝖻𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗑𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗌 𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗂𝖼̧𝗈̃𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖺𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗂𝗌, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗈 𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗌, 𝖺 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗀𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖻𝖾𝗋𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌 𝗏𝖺𝗂 𝖺 𝗏𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗌. 𝖠𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂́𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗌 𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗏𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖾 “𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝖾 𝗀𝖾́𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗈” (𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗈 𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝖾, 𝗇𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗈, 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗃𝗈 𝖽𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗂𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗅𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖽𝖾 𝗀𝖾́𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗈), 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺-𝗌𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾̂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗈 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗈 (𝖽𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗈 𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝖽𝖺 𝗏𝖾𝗓 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗆 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗌 𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗂𝖼̧𝗈𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗈𝗌 𝖽𝖾 “𝗈𝖻𝗃𝖾𝗍𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖼𝗂𝖾̂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖺”), 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌, 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗈̃𝖾𝗆 𝖺𝖼𝖺𝖻𝖺𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗃𝗎𝖽𝖺 𝖺 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗏𝗂́𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖾̂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝗈𝗆𝖾́𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺. 𝖮𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌 𝗌𝖺̃𝗈 𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 - 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗓 𝗌𝖾𝗃𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾 - 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗈 𝖽𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗁𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗂́𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺. 𝖯𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗎𝗂𝗍𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝖾𝗌𝗊𝗎𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗋, 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗃𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖾́𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺́ 𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗈 𝗀𝖺𝗇𝗁𝗈. 𝖮 𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖺 𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈́𝗌 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖺̃𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗌 𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗇𝗈́𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗌 𝗎́𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗌.

𝖫𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖺 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 — 𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝗈𝗌 𝗈𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗈𝗌, 𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖾́𝗉𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖺 𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈́𝗋𝗂𝖺 - 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗍𝖾-𝗇𝗈𝗌 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾́𝖼𝗂𝖾 𝖽𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝖺̃𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖺̂𝗆𝗂𝖼𝖺 𝖽𝖺 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗈 𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗂 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋-𝗇𝗈𝗌 𝗎𝗆 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂́𝗏𝖾𝗅, 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝖾𝗌𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗍𝖺𝖽𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈 𝖽𝖺 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗋. 𝖠𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗆-𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝖾 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈, 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗏𝖾𝖽𝖺𝖼̧𝗈̃𝖾𝗌 𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗌𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖺 𝗉𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗇𝗈. 𝖢𝗈𝗆𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗎𝗆 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺̃𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖺𝖽𝗈 𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗌, 𝖽𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖺𝖽𝗈 𝖻𝖺𝗂𝗑𝗈. 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗏𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖺̃𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖾 𝗉𝖾́. 𝖤𝗆 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗈𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗌 𝖽𝖺 𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈́𝗋𝗂𝖺, 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗋 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖾 𝗉𝖾́, 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝖻𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈́𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼̧𝖺 𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖽𝖺.

𝖳𝖺𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗓 𝗇𝗎𝗇𝖼𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝖺̃𝗈 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖾 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖾 𝗉𝖾́, 𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗌 (𝗇𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗈 𝗉𝗅𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅) 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗆 𝗀𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗋. 𝖯𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗆𝗈, 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗆𝖾𝖺𝖼̧𝖺𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗋-𝗌𝖾 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝗏𝖾𝗓 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗌. 𝖠𝗈 𝖺𝖼𝖺𝖻𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖾 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗈, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗓 𝖾𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗃𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗆𝗈 𝗎𝗆 𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗅𝗈. 𝖠𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗇𝖺̃𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈́𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌. 𝖤𝗇𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖺 𝖺 𝗈𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺̃𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗋𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗇𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌. 𝖯𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗈, 𝗇𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝖺 𝟣𝟢 𝖽𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖼̧𝗈, 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖻𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗆 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺 𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗓𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝖽𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖺 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝖼̧𝖺̃𝗈 𝖾 𝗇𝖺̃𝗈 𝗉𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗆.

* É doutoranda em Antropologia no ICS onde estuda colonialismo, memória e cidade. É licenciada em Ciência Política e Relações Internacionais na NOVA-FCSH. Fez um mestrado em Antropologia na mesma faculdade. É deputada na AM de Lisboa pelo Bloco de Esquerda. Marxista e feminista.

IN "GERADOR"-20/02/23 .