Time Trump person of the year 2016 and us

Stories and News No. 939

For the 90th round, Time magazine has chosen the Person of the Year, portraying him in the famous cover, which had major influence, for better or for worse, on 2016’s events. It’s the turn of the new president of the United States, Donald Trump.
However, now, at this very moment, is it really Trump’s time?


It’s Trump’s Time, of course it is.
Nevertheless, time - with a small letter, is not only a magazine to read, wrapping each disillusioned hope the next day.
Time is not today picture on the cover, nor

yesterday and the day before viral images.
What images, you ask? That’s exactly what I mean.
The definition of time is no small matter, and I don’t want to face the universal question, right now.
For sure, it's not Donald Trump’s, as it was not Obama’s for eight years.
It was not even Hitler’s and Gandhi’s.
Similarly it is not mine, writing here, nor yours reading, as much as I am grateful to you for having got time for me.
A missing word proves the whole idea, since the only thing we can say with certainty is that now, at this very moment, time is also of Trump.
But it is so viscerally as well of those who oppose the latter. So, ended another time, of screams and elections, a million other moments are born and need nourishment and care, to find authoritative place in the calendar of human, sacred resistances.
It's also time - let the focus on these people, of those who will pay with serenity and even life because of the celebrated master of the hourglass on the front page.
It’s low time by definition, common destiny for all expendable victims by the cumbersome storytelling, instrumental extras for the first actor, the one to sell the film with, never the opposite.
Then, perhaps, moral consciousness would like we choose this touching portion of mankind as the repudiated time’s sons. That is, the only ones worthy of a story far from the vulgar party at the rich attic.
It’s also time of the innocent passengers, those who will board tomorrow and the next day, finding the person at the helm of the ship of the past year.
If you think that they will be even insulted by the real culprits of the bad captain choice. As if being born in another time were a strange kind of guilt.
Time is theirs, of course, but, as already said, it is also of Trump.
Mine and yours.
So let's try to think about time that will be.
If tomorrow is ours, then, what did happen yesterday?
What about today?
Here it is.
It's all here, the dancing design called common life.
An arrogant image that covers most of the screen.
Along with the urgent need to take back our space.
And our time


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UN caused Haiti cholera and other misunderstandings

Stories and News No. 938

With the following unequivocal words, the UN Secretary General, Ban Ki-moon, has admitted that the United Nations employees brought cholera to Haiti, killing up to 30 thousand people: “The preponderance of the evidence does lead to the conclusion that personnel associated with the [UN’s peacekeeping] facility were the most likely source.”

It’s the story of the misunderstandings.
That sooner or later will be revealed, hopefully.
Hopefully sooner, seen from the directly interested.
So it happens to read that cholera in the poor and filthy Haiti was caused by them.
The peacekeepers.

And, you may add now, the diseases donors.
Misunderstanding immediately transcribed, yes, together with the others, though neglected and most of the time - maybe when you turn your head to answer yet another order from His Majesty the Cell, even suppressed.
Yet, somewhere, there must be written that migrants were the ones who brought United States to America and that often America was the one incredibly committed in bringing herself everywhere.
You might also read there that the very first colonizers showed beads and mirrors on the open hands, yet it was only death the goods inside the suitcase.
And even today, despite the false gifts are improved by sheen and noise, don’t believe that the luggage might be different.
There is also written that refugees are like sea waves.
They are only able to bring something.
Every moment they seem to leave and come back, forgetting every time something behind, like a shell with never seen colors and shapes, souvenir of a different day.
Yes, different.
So, speaking about so-called diverse people, they bring just what makes them so.
No destruction of the heart, let alone backsliding soul.
Only diversity.
It's up to you to decide what to do with it, just as you did with yours.
There is also written, simply, that the war missions don’t bring peace and that peace missions don't bring anything.
At worst, they erase and steal, creating emptiness, that goes crazy and just returns itself, a nothing confused in anything that is the only sense.
Of wars for peace.
It’s the misunderstanding story, just like that.
It’s our story.
That we should do nothing more.
Than being born and staying.
Human


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Migration and Climate Change: a short story

Stories and News No. 937

According to senior military figures, Climate Change will make the Crisis of Refugees unimaginable.
Recalling that the new president of the most powerful and polluting country in the world, together with China, has founded his campaign downplaying the Global Warming and fueling phobia against migrants, I am inspired by a short story...

There was once a divided world.

A world divided in two.
In one, the less crowded, there was a guy.
One as many, maybe with the name that is a card game too.
He was not the very first - and you shall see, will not be the last, to argue that climate change is just a big lie to scare the good citizens with a concrete heart.
Deleted seasons from the vocabulary of every spoken language and above all dreams, murderous waves daughters of oceans so presumptuous as claiming to replace the mainland and mainland with the illusion of living without water, poles in the mood for jokes masquerading as tropical islands and tropical islands so lost to ask: "Where the f. is tropic?"
Nevertheless, that one, like too many, insisted on minimizing the confused spectacle.
"All right," he exclaimed spreading peace and autographed photos. "It's all right, there is nothing to worry about."
At the same time, on the other slice of apple, the same phrase could trigger an immediate lynching.
Inevitably, if you think about with light and possibly opened eyes.
Where nature overcomes cement, compared with the other hand, who do you think will pay more its sudden five minutes of madness?
So, the only alternative for the inhabitants of the below realm was: we go or we die.
Consequently, people with obstinate heartbeats, hoping breaths and all that you can call life sailed.
Because, as once said the fly called Clarice, who managed to escape the infamous Hannibal The Spider, leaving the wings glued to the web to end up between the jaws of a carnivorous plant: no time to think about the luggage and the goal when you have a monster ready to devour you behind.
Then, in response, that "one above many" saw in the tragic exodus what they wanted to see, not to think, fear, not to understand, reject, not change.
An enemy.
Yes, you have perfectly understood the absurd paradox.
With a clumsy sleight of hand, the one with a card hobby as name - but he is not the very first and not the last, trust on that, took all the reasonable dismay for sociopaths seas, depressed air and schizophrenic plants to make it the most successful fuel among those man-made.
The fear of others.
Do not be scared by the snow in August and winters in bikini, countries that become mud and mud that converts in floor, home and future, animals that melt in photos on your PC and photos on PCs that you hardly recognize, because there is no time to remind things.
There is an enemy to be feared.
At best, to fight.
And once we have defeated him.
Everything, really everything, there is no doubt about…
Will be over.


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Aleppo Syria map photos: the story from above

Stories and News No. 936

While forces loyal to Assad regime launched the decisive ground assault, the rebel territory in eastern Aleppo is shrinking...

 
It’s shrinking, yes.
It also does now, stopping here, at the mere narration of things, standing under the judgments from above, that crush us like worthless ants.
Or, at least, this is what the story tells.
From above.
Yet, as the trips we best remember, those where everything goes wrong except the people we met, simply reversing the poles of the heart we could save something. Not all, because at the end of the day it’s not true that we need everything.
Yet it’s shrinking.

I know.
Trump wins and what do the hopes of peace and, above all, for a blessed world, humanitarian pause?
They follow the rule, they shrink, that’s normal.
We open newspapers, we read the news at the top, even those to the side and below, and trust in the future does the same.
It shrinks.
Nevertheless, let’s indulge an unexpected step for once, and as in the middle of the rock concert stolen to school, when we could only think of music and the screams of fellows, let’s try to fall on tomorrow instead of running away as ever from present.
Meanwhile, other tragic verdicts come from the dying arctic.
From the sun and the moon watching us incredulous.

From the air stifled by itself.
And our own eyes start to shrink.
To remember less.
To feel and understand something else.
To sleep, just that.
So we look at the calendar and every day that passes we observe time shrinking.
Not the one we have left.
Not what we will spend with loved ones.
And even what they themselves have got to be with us.
The days, hours and minutes that maybe could change things, are shrinking.
Because the horizon has become like those dots to find in puzzles games.
And wherever we could succeed, we don’t have the strength left to fill it with anything.
However, let’s be patient and let’s try to breathe in reverse.
Let’s revolt cards and finally discover the trick.
Because the day we will stop reading life only from above.
We will see someone who, despite what the Olympus of words might say, don’t want to stay down.
We'll see.
Instead of remaining still, looking closer.
We'll see.
The shrinking lies unlike us.
We’ll do it.
The soul that resists.
I promise we’ll see.
The true sizes of the story...


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Women's roles in fairy tales

Stories and News No. 935

The International Day for the Elimination of Violence against women is an anniversary created by the General Assembly of the United Nations, through Resolution 54/134 of 17 December 1999.
The Assembly chose 25 November as a day of celebration and urged international organizations and governments to promote on that date events and activities aimed at involving the citizens.
The Day for the Elimination.
Of something that even now.
It’s here among us...

The teacher of literature said that.
She’s not miss Nobody, right?
She said that violence against women starts from very young.
It’s taught us while we’re children.


She also said, just the day before, that we might learn more from a simple fairy tale that a perfect lesson by the most intelligent master on earth.
I've learned much from fairy tales, it must be so.
Because I have read a bit and love it all.
Well, you know what?
I wanted so badly to do something, being of the game, in fact.
Since there's one thing I never accepted.
I’m talking about what the stories tell about us.
Take Little Red Riding Hood.
What sane mother decides to send a child alone in the woods, to cross it, quiet path or not, knowing that there is around a hungry wolf?
She says that is for the ailing grandmother, she needs medicines and biscuits.
I go back to the elder, but why don’t you go, Mommy?
Or why not daddy, while we're at?
By the way: where is he?
If grandma is not his mother, but the one-in-law, I could understand the reluctance to do the task, but putting at risk the life of his daughter for a bad relationship with in-laws it seems intolerable to me.
I would have been there, in short, maybe in the role of a cousin, an aunt, or even a neighbor. You would see what reprimand to both parents.
Anyway, let’s go to the granny.
Okay, time passes and the head does not fit like it used to, but I also the blind deer on wheelchair know nowadays that we should not open the door without first looked through the peephole.
Among starving grizzly masked as harmless Winnie the Pooh with a fake jar of honey, the wolf would be only one of the possible dangers lurking.
I would organize a refresher course for the old ladies entitled "Threats of the forest: what immigrants? Be careful of the kleptomaniac squirrels, rather. "
Do we want to talk about Snow White?
And let's do it.
Well, I talk to you, Grimhilde: do we want to stop fighting among us?
You're not the most beautiful in the realm? And who told you that? The mirror.
Mirror, do you understand? Just read the dictionary, my friend. This is a masculine noun... and I said it all. They want us one against the other.
But even if it were so: is Snow White more beautiful than you? All right, she's young, but you really think it be forever? The day when they call her Snow Pale or Wrinkle White will come, listen to me.
Anyway, if we remain on the sidelines, it happens that the credit for everything will go to them and not even with a minimum of fairness, given that the real heroes where the seven dwarves. Then the dude in the blue jumpsuit came and got all with a fast kiss.
There is no justice if you wait for the gift, sister.
I conclude, in fact, with Cinderella, the one that always made me crazy.
A house, an entire house inhabited by us.
And what they do?
Three of them put to torture the fourth.
But you what have you in mind?
Before the situation deteriorates, I see myself going to them as a family counselor, social worker or just manager, all in one, addressing the deluded three: "Girls?" I would scream knocking on the head of the stepmother, doing the same with the stepsisters. "Do you understand what is the fairy tale’s name? CINDERELLA! Not Genevieve or Anastasia. Who do you think will Fairy come to help? "
Another woman, needless to say.
Have you seen yourselves in the mirror? I would also tell them.
You can also the one from Snow White, because I believe the queen gave away it.
Little foot or not, it is already written that Prince will prefer Cinderella, even in rags.
Why not working as a team?
Why do we not stop making war?
Because violence in life, as in stories, is there, everywhere.
It’s written, told and widespread every day.
Even now, at this very moment.
So, let’s be close to one another and let’s write together with the real weak side of the moon.
A different tale...


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