Against the obsessive categorisation of the ‘collective outrage’. And against its selective catalogue, which borders on charlatanism

They are ubiquitous, dictating the agenda, populating talk shows, pontificating on every subject, and often spouting nonsense; the more complex the issue, the more they offer simplistic shortcuts for interpreting the world through a single lens: indignation. This dynamic applies whether the discussion concerns Israel, Ukraine, the West, or defence – it applies to everything. They are easy to identify. The figure of the ‘collective indignant’ has now become a category of the spirit and of thought which, in some cases, can turn into a profession and, in others, can turn into an obsession that often finds a comfortable perch on television talk shows. All the ‘collectively indignant’ need do is raise an eyebrow at a world adrift and forcefully display their utter disdain whenever certain specific issues are raised. The ‘collectively indignant’ person puffs out their chest, brimming with indignation, when the topics of xenophobia, fascism, racism, war, rearmament, feminism, international law, the Constitution or the defence of minorities are raised. Yet the collective indignant, whilst touching up their blush in the mirror, would be well advised, before the next outburst of indignation, to ask themselves whether their entirely legitimate indignation is genuine or selective.

The profession of the indignant may not be to everyone’s taste, but it has its own logic and a certain air of respectability. However, when indignation becomes selective, it is worth sounding a few small alarm bells to highlight – in the face of the talk show panelists, and not only there – certain telling nuances of charlatanism. If you find yourself face to face with a champion of the ‘no’ to rearmament, an ‘anti-war’ pacifist, ask them why Europe, which invests in security, is demonised, whilst Russia, which invests in weapons, and those who use weapons to attack or terrorise, do not strike fear into people’s hearts. If you find yourself face to face with a champion of the ‘no’ to racism, ask them whether they agree that, amongst the fundamental tests of anti-racism, the ability to combat unambiguously one of the oldest and most toxic forms of European racism – hatred of Jews – should be considered anything but marginal. If a distinguished champion of human rights stands before you, ask them whether their indignation towards Israel is at least equal to their indignation towards the Iranian tyrants who massacre and maim members of their own people. If a champion of feminism comes before you, ask them whether their fight to defend women applies universally, or whether it does not apply when it comes to women deprived of their rights by Islamist regimes and movements. If an anti-fascist champion comes before you—one who knows by heart exactly how many busts from the twenty-year Fascist era are kept in a display case by Italian politicians—ask them whether or not they agree with Sergio Mattarella when he likened the value of the Ukrainian resistance to that of the Italian Resistance, and whether or not they see in Putin’s aggression against Ukraine those traits of imperialism, authoritarianism and the cult of force that anti-fascism claims to want to combat.

If you encounter a defender of the pro-Palestinian cause—a cause that is sacrosanct—ask them how often they have considered organising a flotilla to call on Hamas to surrender, release the hostages, and give the Palestinians the chance of a future. If you encounter an activist committed to fighting against genocides—both real and alleged—ask them whether, when they speak of genocide, they consider the massacres carried out to kill Jews simply because they are Jews as part of a genocidal plan, or whether they regard them instead as reactions to abuses suffered at the hands of terrorists in the past. If a self-proclaimed champion of the Constitution—one of those run-of-the-mill types—comes before you, ask them whether they happened to be at judo class when their constitutional law lecturers should have explained to them that supporting the Constitution also means, under Article 27, remembering that ‘the accused shall not be presumed guilty until a final conviction has been handed down’—always, and not just when a suspect belongs to their own constituency.

If you encounter an environmentalist expressing alarm about an imminent apocalypse driven by excessive emissions, inquire how often that individual has advocated accelerating nuclear research. If you engage with a renewable-energy advocate eager to expand wind, solar, and hydroelectric capacity, ask how frequently that person has opposed left-wing regional presidents who are delaying permits for such facilities. If you regard Vannacci as a dangerous extremist, ask yourself—at least for a moment—whether your indignation is equally strong when faced with progressive politicians who, on certain issues such as Ukraine, put forward some of the very same arguments that you deem intolerable when Vannacci voices them. After all, a principle is not measured by how it is applied against one’s enemy. It is measured by whether one is prepared to apply it even against one’s friend. A handbook on resisting moralistic double standards is entirely superfluous and unnecessary. However, having a few additional tools to distinguish genuinely outraged individuals from their phoney counterparts can help place the selectively outraged where they belong—those equally at home not only in TV armchairs but also amid the many shades of charlatanism offered daily by run-of-the-mill moralists. Try to spot them: it is not difficult, is it?