Refugee camp: letter to the man of the future

Stories and News No. 891

According to Médecins Sans Frontières at least 1,200 people, including 500 children, have already died of starvation and illness in refugee camp in Bama, northeast Nigeria.
There are currently about 24,000 residents, including 15,000 children.
Can you think about the educational and humanitarian visits organized by institutions and schools at the Auschwitz concentration camp?
Every year politicians, journalists, intellectuals and celebrities do their walk there, all touched by the heavy memory.
I'm talking about the lager, metaphor of a place where the victims of the time consume the last hours of their lives locked in a kind of unmerited hell on earth.
Imagine living in the days when the latter was in full swing.
Imagine us.
At the same time, imagine him or her.
The person who in the future will visit the abominable camps of the past.
And present...

Dear son, daughter.
Or maybe grandson, who knows?
Only you, anyway.
Only you can watch the story without feeling judged.
Without judging.
But not for lack of rights or reasons.
Because the sentence is already written.
Photo by MSF
We wrote it, we, the peoples of yesterday, the ballasts of the past that had proven to be unworthy of their time since the first light of dawn.
Look around, observe the traces of yet inhuman event.
Measure the shadow of the little body vanished too soon.
And compassionate the maternal embrace that felt the most unbearable pain.
The woman that, with excruciating slowness, warned the better life crumbling between skin and skin.
Imagine the horrible day time that for souls disguised as skeletons was everything.
Past, present and yet present, never strong enough to hold the after.
Be sad, as I hope you will, for the ignored repetition of this infamy under the plain sun.
Outrage, please.
Outrage beyond all limits and, above all, do what the rest of us did not have the courage to do.
Get that valuable, immensely healthy and utterly rare feeling of indignation and, just as if it were a hungry infant clinging to your chest, give it nourishment.
Never stop to give him strength and vigor, taking care of it with unfailing punctuality.
As we did with mobile cell phone, so to make you understand.
To make you understand us.
Who we were.
Walk where they left off their last steps, the lives battered by fate and by the few lucky guys who could have disposed of the latter.
Fell what they have felt.
And give a name to what has enabled us to live with it.
Read, learn and condemn that damn word.
But, more than anything, condemn us.
Condemn us all.
Because all of us, when we could be worthy to be your past.
We have chosen.
To write or let write.
In the history of mankind.
Yet another chapter.
Of shame.

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