Immigrants stories for kids: walls explained to children

Stories and News No. 963

I read that most of those who attempt to climb the wall between Mexico and the United States will be arrested and sent back. The wall is nearly 18ft high and is topped by a one-meter blade.
However, that’s certain, if they’ll survive they will continue to try...


Once upon a time there was a planet.
A small one, great as a ground.

A large ground if seen up close and almost invisible to the naked eye, unless with an exceptional and free kind of instrument, called fantasy.
Two creatures lived on the ground of the little planet.
Two aliens, we would say.
Two friends, they used to say long ago, when both had a house and a garden to grow, animals to raise and water which to refresh the lips and life itself with.
The two lived side by side and you would have found it hard to figure out where it the fortune of the former ended and the latter’s began.
However, as it often happens, good luck proved to be less generous and, above all, less fair.
So, Lady Luck turned her back on one of the two.
Consequently, while the portion of land of one was flourishing and fruitful, the other turned out dry and dying.
The unfortunate alien decided to ask his friend for help, and the latter did not back down and offered his support.
He gave him a job and in return undertook to provide what he needed.
Inauspiciously the day came when the blessed alien became so accustomed to having someone else to work in his place that he began to fear the day when things would have changed unfavorably.
So, he decided to build a large warehouse next to his home and began to decline the reward for his friend, to fill the barn of all the rest.
Decrease one day and decrease the other, the hapless friend began to starve and to protest timidly.
Decrease the next day and decrease the day after that, the poor alien began to react vehemently.
So the favored by fate alien was frightened and at the same time became angry because he didn’t understand his reasons, considering him a thankless.
During the following night he couldn’t close his eyes and thinking of the now full barn he decided to put an end to relations with the former friend.
In fact, the next day, the latter found a very high wall between his land and the other's.
He was very disappointed and disheartened lifted his head toward the sky, witness of their life together.
Soon after, he went immediately on the wall and tried to climb over it, shouting loudly the old fellow's name.
No way, the wall was too high and too thick.
Only faint echoes reached the ears of the other alien, sitting at the table and greedily eating his food.
The ill-fated alien didn’t give up to reach at least the top of the wall, to be heard by the other.
Eventually he succeeded, but it was too late.
And despite his attempt to warn him, the lucky alien, his house and his precious warehouse were crushed by a giant meteorite...


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Child labor stories 2017: the monster's legs

Stories and News No. 962

The mica is one of the most common minerals on a global level, of great value for its ability to reflect and refract light and is used in a multitude of products and industries. About a quarter of the mica in the world is extracted in the poorest areas of India by at least 20,000 children working every day in the mines.
Some of the biggest suppliers of car paint have recently joined a global initiative to eliminate child labor in the mica industry, thanks to an investigation by The Guardian.
Unfortunately today, despite using the paint produced by the above vendors, all automotive brands including Volkswagen, BMW and Vauxhall (General Motors) have refused to join.
This is just a story.
Or a fairy tale...

Once upon a time there was a monster.
A terrible monster, so terrifying and invincible at

the same time that now no one dared to face it with a loud voice in the public square.
So big and powerful to get the most important victories on the world.
The habit.
When the monsters become normal characters, like every others, as an essential part of the image, everyone feels entitled to enter the frame.
Saying and doing mostly everything goes on in their head or belly.
One day, some of the most undervalued creatures on earth, decided to raise their heads.
Negligible event, in fact, thinking about their height.
“Let's stop the monster,” the leader shouted.
“Yes, let's do it,” yelled back his friend of a lifetime.
“Hurray,
yelled another one awakening at that moment by a nice dream, but still happy to be on board.
You know, it doesn’t happen every day to lift your head down there, and when it occurs you don’t want to be the one who will listen this: you don’t know what you missed.
“How do we stop the monster?” Rightly asked the most practical among them.
“Simple,” replied the leader and with inspired voice launched himself into a charismatic, long prepared
monologue.
“Let’s cut the legs’ monster, let’s truncate those columns that hold up its hideous figure, let’s throw away those rotten and cruel limbs, those wrong knees, those smelly kneecaps and those ugly shins...
 
“Please, get to the point,” asked one of the many, as far as he shared all the antipathy for the sadistic creature.
“I said, let’s cut all the legs of the monster, which allow it to walk on our lives and our homes, trampling our present and erasing our future.”
“All the legs?” Asked another one, with obvious skepticism in his voice.
Now, what is not said in the beginning - I apologize for this, we’re speaking of a thousand-legged monster, here.
However, the leader had studied well and his reply was swift.
“Here's my plan: we convince the legs to break away from it.”
At first there was some derisive chuckle and no confidence in the absurd idea, but he didn’t lose his heart. He knew that to be followed in his utopic enterprise there was no other way to take the first step.
The first leg was convinced by him and the chain reaction was like a Mexican wave of defectors limbs, one after another deterred from the horrible task of serving the evil being.
The most surprising thing for the little rebels was discovering that the legs were just waiting for someone to invite them to free themselves.
However, the unexpected part was waiting for them on the last fragment of the story.
The last leg was ready to abandon the monster and so it did.
The little creatures cheered with joy and began to sing and dance, to make the party worthy of such great victory.
Nevertheless, a nasty roar rose in the sky behind them.
They turned and saw the monster still there, determined to continue ruining their lives.
They realized that the legs were not the ones keeping it alive.
But all those who, consciously or unconsciously, are feeding it…


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Diversity stories: the kingdom for everybody

Stories and News No. 961

The Donald Trump’s administration has decided to cancel the diversifications on bathrooms and changing rooms for transgender students, matching their gender identity.
A sort of step back from Obama’s government.
A right move for some and a medieval action for others.
Yet, I know a place...

Once upon a time there was a kingdom.
A great one, if you think about it, a lot bigger than you might believe, if you look from above or a

good distance.
You have got the best screening size and opportunities within your imagination or what it has so far survived.
In the great kingdom, much more than the simple appearance, there was everything for everyone.
All had been designed and programmed for each living creature.
It was so for inanimate things too, let alone who breathes and loves, comes and goes.
There was food for all, depending on the digestive system and tastes, the ingestion and ways to find it.
And there was shelter for every kind of life, a bed to achieve or ready to the task, protection from inclement weather and the whims of fate, space to spend time and build relations with similar lives or not.
There was light, all you really need in your existence.
There was dark too, all you need to fully appreciate the former.
There were billions of living beings, each one different from the other, equally unique for special reasons, all of them with a motive to exist, all of them with a cause to go and come back.
And there were no fewer meetings between them, intimate or just mentioned, random or inevitable, perfect or destructive.
There was free will and there were endless choices, there were countless colors and an incalculable multiplicity of sounds.
There was music, then.
And there was dancing.
There was all sorts of plausible art.
Unrivaled when it was not at all.
There were unlimited possibilities.
And there was a finite time.
As this story, as it should be.
There were thousands and thousands of other tales, each open-ended.
And there was a not transcribed, as immense, unthinkable, as deafening, never be narrated, however beautiful, number of ways to love each other.
Once upon a time there was this kingdom.
And it’s still here, for our ungrateful luck.
It's called nature...


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Immigrants stories 2017: what color are they?

Stories and News No. 960

The bodies of at least 74 people, believed to be migrants, were found on the Libyan coast after umpteenth tragedy at sea for people fleeing to Europe to escape war and poverty.
As usually, the dead were covered, as much we do with bulky stories, unless the tale or the characters decide to unsettle the readers...


Once upon a time there was a news.
It came forward timidly, as it had happened earlier.

Nothing new, when the race is usually won by arrogance and utilities.
It's normal that the creatures stripped by fate, so with no wallet, are falling behind.
Nevertheless, we all get at the end of the race.
What happens after can change everything, even the order on the winners podium.
There are 74 dead bodies on the beach, the press agency said.
Nevertheless, she said nothing more.
What beach? The first curious guy asked.
It's important? Replied another one.
In fact, admitted the other.
They’re migrants, said the expert.
Are they? Asked her directly.
We don’t know, she said.
Why? Someone asked on behalf of all others.
Because we can’t understand it, the sad stories messenger explained.
Because it's damn sad, indeed, it’s also horrible, it’s a terrifying and unacceptable thing to happen, like any useless sacrifice of creatures in the middle of life.
Here we say it and we come back no more.
What do you mean you don’t understand? It was the inevitable, following question.
If they are blacks, they are migrants, explained the one obsessed with fundamental skin tones.
Brown, if we must say it, a pickier colleague pointed out.
No brown, cleared the altercation the agency.
What color are they? Many sang a cappella.
That’s not clear, said the fatal emissary.
What do you mean that’s not clear? The subsequent and monotonous question.
They show a never seen before color, said the agency.
An confused and even slightly agitated silence invaded the scene.
Aliens? Guessed one of those with a head perpetually raised to the stars, poorly concealing a growing excitement.
Now we’ve got also migrants from Mars, the joke of the moment.
Let’s build a large wall around earth orbit, the proposal of the most expulsive man among those present, mistakenly taken for a joke.
They are human, she said.
How can you tell? Asked the polemical one.
Because they tried to survive certain death, because they have not surrendered to fate, however cruel and unjust it was, because they decided to risk everything, just to cling to their existence, because they have chosen the only possible way, because they trusted the sea and their courage, because they have sought help from their peers, because they certainly have rejoiced at the earth view and certainly some of them cried or just yelled inside, of pain and anger, for the bitter outcome as much the beginning of their story, because they died indulging on the planet they loved anyway, because despite far from their home, earth receives and doesn’t reject, embraces and doesn’t judge, because like humans they are dead.
Under the eyes of other humans…


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Human rights stories: Justice for Adama Traoré and others

Stories and News No. 959

I read that Adama TraorĂ©’s death in the custody of French police has become one of the most discussed cases in Europe on the alleged or proven brutality of the agents. It becomes every day more topical everywhere.
People rightly ask for justice and these days the manifestations in Paris are very crowded.
However, in my humble opinion, the paradoxical aberration that lets who should protect and serve citizens to deprive them of life, offers a simple request of normalcy...


There once was a crazy land.
A totally messed up country, twisted in reasonable logic and mere physical facts.
Adama's sister Assa during a manifestation
In the mad state lived her, Miss Simple.
A quite girl, but nothing bigoted, believe me.
Only someone with an understandable view of life, with emotions in the right place and a spontaneous propensity for harmony with the world's goods.
Nothing special, it should be remembered, but in the realm of the insane, she served as a litmus test, since we are in the senseless ground.
Read as well as the human exception to the wrong rule.
The young lady didn’t understand and so far it was only obvious reaction to events.
However, Miss Simple was far from that and then didn’t just respond.
She wanted answers in turn, struggling with every means against the faults disguised as essential tips and lines.
As a sort of wrong Don Quixote, with no Sancho in support, alone and proud she threw the spear against the dragons with empty eyes and foaming at the mouth.
And she said no to any accepted abnormalities, reciting aloud the distortions tolerated by her peers.
A scarf should protect your throat from cold currents, never strangling you, she said.
An umbrella should save you from the rain, let alone get lightning in profusion.
The lifeline at sea is there to avoid your drowning, because there is air inside, no heavy, murderous stones as dull hatred.
Traffic lights is the last bulwark between the driver and his fellows, one of the rare cases in which the colors are really essential in our common journey, it should then change policy, and not as a mere coincidence.
As if the lives at stake did not matter at all.
As if everything was just a game.
Of lives.
Similarly, the parachute should be the most exciting way to get courageously back to the temporarily hailed earth, not the fastest way to do it. Maybe refusing what is written, opening on command and guiding the healthy traveler safely home.
These and many others, too, were the contradictory cracks that Miss Simple saw and rejected in her country.
She never stopped doing so.
Because she knew that screaming the simple normalcy, from her own point of view, was her right.
And maybe her duty too.


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