Thursday, October 31, 2013

Interracial couples in America video story from Different Loves

Stories and News No. 606



Another clip from my new book, Different Loves:

Something has changed in 1967 in USA, it is appropriate to say. A mixed marriage is for the first time the central theme in a successful movie. I'm talking of course about Guess who's coming to dinner.
For those who do not remember, it was played by Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn in the role of white parents and Sidney Poitier in the black unexpected new entry in the family. The plot is simple: Joey, a young white American girl, falls in love with Dr. Prentice (Sidney Poitier ), a black guy met during a vacation in Hawaii. The two plan to get married and she wants to go back to Switzerland with him. The film focuses on the return of Joey at home, in San Francisco, along with the boyfriend that she brings to dinner with the parents. The reactions of family and friends becomes the focal point.
All ends well, with an optimistic end.
Of course, if the new exotic arrival in the family had not been a handsome and well-mannered doctor, but rather, a necklaces and gold teeth rapper or an illegal immigrant without a residence permit, the two liberal parents would found some difficulty in accepting him.
That is to say Guess who's coming to dinner has not the merit of being the first American movie to deal with the interracial unions topic. The most successful, yes, but not the first.
In 1957 you may find the movie Band of Angels, with Clark Gable and Yvonne de Carlo. Here is the plot: In the mid-800, in Kentucky, an orphan young slave girl is bought by a wealthy landowner, who falls in love with her. When she discovers that her husband has been enriched with the slaves leaves him, but when civil war breaks out between North and South she comes back.
In this film, however, we are quite distant from Sidney Poitier’s time and, above all, Denzel Washigton or Will Smith.
In fact, the girl was played by Yvonne De Carlo, a Canadian actress, opportunity darkened to become credible in the role of the black slave in love with Gable...
Since 1967 of Guess Who's Coming to Dinner we jump to 1975 a film of solid value: Mandingo.
The story is simple. In 1840, in a cotton plantation in Louisiana, the owner obliges his son to marry his cousin Blanche. Learned that the wife is not a virgin, he takes a black lover and then Blanche - for revenge - joins a mighty slave of the tribe of Mandingo. A black child is born but the doctor kills him. Despite the harsh criticism from audiences and critics, the director Richard Fleischer made a sequel too: Drum.
In any case, here is the morality: the mixed couple becomes lawful if the purpose is a revenge and, more importantly, if the black guy has the size, in a general sense, of a mighty Mandingo.



Also on Stories and News:

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Halloween horror nights 2013 video story

Stories and News No. 605



It’s evening, 2013 October 31.
De Maria’s family have just finished dinner.
They have not eaten much, but it was not for lack of food. It has never been the weight of the dish such a problem. And probably it never will be.
They are a high medium class people in the social pyramid.
They add medium, for modesty.
Or perhaps to the taxes.
Difference of opinion, if at the end of the year it is not clear on the invoices.
It’s evening, in this 31th of October, and to the De Maria’s is like many others. They eat fast, each one of them closed in his room.
Hypnotic screen TV in front of the eyes and cell phone always open to the outside world.
Golfing and club friends, strictly well-educated gang comrades, adultery lovers in various ways, uncomfortable but wealthy relatives, workmates and shopping colleagues, office and poker buddies, they are all there at one click, leaping between FB and WhatsApp riding a Tweet.
The important thing is the distance, on the high level of the pyramid.
The higher you climb to the top and more you need to watch your backs.
Well, everywhere.
Imagine if you live together...
It’s then another night, for De Maria’s.
October 31.
Like many others.
Suddenly the doorbell breaks the monotonous as reassuring ritual of the moment.
That night, October 31 as many before, the maid is at home with a fever.
At the second ring, no one moves, so Ms. De Maria went to the door and after watching through the video intercom and vainly uttering the usual interrogative question who are you, decides to open.
As soon as she unlocks completely the door, the woman gasps with a wide mouth.
A few moments, and the rest of the family arrives curiously behind her.
Mr. De Maria and the sons stop suddenly deprived of speech and, although they have never been so close in so little space, they solidify in one body.
That evening, October 31 2013, proves to be remarkably different from the previous.
That is how the De Maria’s family discover Halloween.
Their Halloween and their masks.
In fact, in front of the rich family, there is an entire collection of costumes, with all the without variations.
The worker without salary, the retired person without superannuation, the young girl without a job, the migrant without a citizenship, the child without a future.
Mrs. De Maria clears his throat and, remembering something about the holiday, hesitant murmurs: “Trick or...?”
The child comes forward and says: “No tricks, this time. We want the candy."
Indeed, all the pastry shop.



Also on Stories and News:

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Different loves

Different loves

By Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher

Tempesta Publisher

From the prologue:
About love. If you want that your stories meet great public’s favor, in this country you have to write about love. That’s what I heard one day.
My luck is that in the world there are many kinds of love.
There is love for the revolution. A blind infatuation for the change that, even before you try to build it, you dream it effortlessly with your open eyes, let alone closed.
I refer to the Jean-Baptiste du Val-de-Grâce’s love for a new and pure France.
Until his death.
There is love for justice. An insatiable hunger, manageable only feeding with the person who created it, the culprit who lives undisturbed ahead our silent eyes, except those who have been directly affected by the crime.
I am talking about Rita Schwerner’s love to challenge and defeat the passing time, waiting for the right moment, more than ever right to pay the bill to the offenders, all of them.
Especially the last one.
There is of course the love between a man and a woman, could it be out?
However, it is not a trivial love, as a whole nation, more or less responsible institutions, well-thinking or clearly insane people, were across the road in defense of a race that has never existed.
This is the love between Mildred Jeter and Richard Loving, the scandalous mixed couple, alone for the rest of the world, but not for them, because everything has always been extremely simple and natural to both.
Finally, here is the love of a mother for her child. An explosive love, dangerous for anyone who is so naive as to think he can somehow defuse it, especially if that love hides the greatest pain.
It is the love of Rukia for Hani, Hash’s son.
French or Iraqi love, you name it, because to them, what will count from here to eternity is only one thing.
Love, yes, once again the love.

Notes on the book:
It consists of an anthology of stories inspired by real historical events and news, told on theatre by the author in many Italian cities.

Read the preface by Barry Bradford.

The book contains the following stories: The true story of Jean -Baptiste du Val -de- Grâce, orator of the human race, The courage of hope, Loving vs. Virginia, Our son was born.

Book trailer, The prologue:



Here other clips.

To buy:
Different loves (Italian book - ISBN: 8897309453 - ISBN-13: 9788897309451)
Online sellers (updating): Ibs, Feltrinelli, Webster, Libreria Universitaria, Deastore
Buy on publisher's website: Different loves



Also on Stories and News:

Different loves Preface by Barry Bradford

I have the honor and pleasure at the same time to share with you the wonderful preface that Barry Bradford wrote for my new book, Different loves, Tempesta Publisher:

THE POWER OF LOVE OVERCOMES THE LOVE OF POWER

In these four remarkable pieces, the power of love to transform the world is on full and radiant
display. If you want to make a major change in the world, there are many forces that work more quickly than the power of love. Money and dynamite can change circumstances very quickly. However, to bring about lasting, meaningful, powerful, change, there is no more powerful force in the universe than the power of love.
The powerful essay containing an imaginary ending to the trial of Edgar Ray Killen, a notorious leader of the Ku Klux Klan for the murders known as "Mississippi Burning" particularly touched me. I played a role in the reopening of the actual case that led to Killen’s conviction 41 years to the day that three good men – J. E. Chaney, Mickey Schwerner and Andy Goodman were shot, killed, and buried under a dam of dirt because they had committed a sin, unpardonable in the mind of Edgar Ray Killen. They had tried to help African-Americans in Mississippi get the right to vote in 1964.
Denying African-Americans the right to vote was the most secure way that a racist state government could hold onto power. Their love of power was greater than their love of justice.
I've only spoken once with Rita Schwener and claim no familiarity with her whatsoever. However, I did get to know members of the Chaney, Schwerner, and the Goodman families very well. Their love for the sun, the brother, the cousin, the friend, who had died for decades earlier was powerful, ongoing, and deeply inspiring.
The driving force behind the effort to re-open the case was Jerry Mitchell, a brilliant and determined investigative reporter whose life had been threatened more than once for his work on the reopening of other such cases. I organized a team of three high school students to try and assist his efforts. The students received no grade or compensation for giving two years of their life to this effort. I receive no extra pay or reward. The motivation was love: the love of righteousness, the love of truth, and the love of justice. The more we were embraced by the families of J.E., Mickey And Andy; the more they showered their love on us, the deeper our commitment became.
We contacted former FBI agents, civil rights leaders, friends of the following three, former government officials, and the media in an effort to build a team capable of overcoming 40 years of inactivity while J.E., Mickey and Andy lay in their graves, the killers walked free, and the state of Mississippi turned its back on justice. The people who helped us could not have been a more diverse group. They were liberals and conservatives, whites and blacks, men and women, Northerners and Southerners. What we found in each of them was love. They gave us their time, their expertise, their support, for no other reason than their love of doing the right thing.
On the day that Edgar Ray Killen was convicted, Ben Chaney, the little brother of J. E., called me to offer the thanks of the families for the efforts of myself and my students whom he had dubbed the “Superhero Girls.” He expressed his love for all of us. So did Dr. Carolyn Goodman, Andy’s mom. Her thank you moved to me to tears. She said
When you brought them (my students) into my house; you did something that I never thought could ever happen again. You brought Andy back into his house. These three are doing exactly what Andy would be doing with his life.
They are doing the right things for the right reasons.
Each of these beautiful essays remind us that love may not be easy, smooth, or even end happily. But Scripture reminds us that love endures all things.
I am often asked to speak about my experiences in the Mississippi Burning case. During the question-and-answer sessions people always seem to marvel at how impactful a high school teacher and three teenagers could be in helping to change history. My response is to say this: "do you want to make the world a better place? A fairer, safer, happier place? If so, what is stopping you? None of us can do all things and very few of us can do great things. But all of us can do something." One commentator criticized me for doing something that he saw as merely symbolic. As I explained to him, if I had the solution to the problems of racism or discrimination or injustice on a grand scale, believe me, I would do everything I could to implement them. Perhaps reopening a 40-year-old case may not seem important, but it is what love called me to do.
It is possible for us to find love in the most unexpected places. In hiding, soon to be captured and sent to die in a concentration camp, Anne Frank wrote these words:
"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."
Enjoy the essays. But don't stop there. Use your unique gifts to make even a small part of the world better. Today.
Peace,

Barry Bradford

His speaking style has been called “dramatic, entertaining and powerful.” Barry Bradford has been interviewed by nearly every major media outlet including The Today Show, The New York Times, U.S. News And World Report, ABC, CBS, and NBC Evening News, The Times Of London, Chinese National Television, The Voice of America, The Washington Post, Fox News, MSNBC, CNN and C-SPAN. In his home town of Chicago, he’s been featured on the front page of the Chicago Tribune, The Chicago Sun-Times, and the Chicago Daily Herald. Recognized by the Organization of American Historians as a Distinguished Lecturer, Barry has been praised for his “funny and brilliantly crafted presentations”. “I’ve spoken to more groups than I can count, and what I’ve found is that if you want people to remember your message, you have to make them feel your message”, says Barry. To that end, Barry brings humor, pathos, intrigue, and deeply compelling stories to all his keynotes and workshops.
Barry made history as the leader of the team that reopened the Mississippi Burning case and brought the murderer to justice. His commitment to justice and belief in the power of every individual to affect history led him to spearhead a movement to convince the State of Mississippi to clear the name of Civil Rights martyr Clyde Kennard. Barry’s success in these high-profile cases along with his many experiences, awards, and recognitions bring conviction and passion to his messages of leadership and personal empowerment. His work has won him awards from the President, Congress, and major Civil Rights groups. He is a former National Teacher Of The Year, Illinois State Teacher Of The Year and a winner of the prestigious Golden Apple Award For Excellence In Teaching.
Barry lives in the Chicago suburbs with his wife, Mindy, an international corporate executive, and their two children, E.J. and Zack. He travels throughout the U.S. speaking for colleges, universities, and businesses. Barry’s Bachelor’s degree in Psychology and Communications is from Goddard College (Plainfield, VT) and his Master’s Degree in Interdisciplinary Studies is from DePaul University (Chicago).
Website: http://barrybradford.com/



Also on Stories and News:

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

China Harbin city shutdown pollution video storytelling for kids

Stories and News No. 604

China, air pollution has forced the authorities of Harbin, a town of 11 million people, to a city shutdown, closing all activities, urging people to stay indoors.
We talk about a poisoning of the air 50 times higher than the maximum allowed.
Schools are closed, the children of a fifth grade have to write an essay: tells your days until they return to class.
The following is by Yimou, ten years old.

Essay.
This is my essay.
The title is 6. Six stands for six days.
The days I'll be here, in the bedroom, in front of the window.
My window has only one color, that is two.
Light gray and dark gray.
The color is not about the window.
The glass is transparent, I know. I wish it was not.
The outside world is the color, not me.
If it were up to me, it would be of any color except gray.
Both the glass and the outside world.
The type of gray decides our time.
Our family time, I mean.
Light gray, the holiday will end and my sister and I go back to school.
The same goes for mom and dad with work.
Dark gray, very dark, is the night.
This is easy, because if it is not the day...
But when it is dark gray in the morning the city closes.
And we write about until we come back out.
The second day I'm still here, in front of the window.
My mother asked me what I'm doing, morning and afternoon in the bedroom.
That’s for school, Mom, I said.
And for me, I thought when she came out to leave me alone.
I want to look at the window glass, fix it and try to change the color with my mind.
This is the day of magic. The power of my gaze will challenge the gray.
And I will banish it forever from the realm of colors.
On the third day I'm sad.
Finding out not to be a magician at ten years old is not easy to swallow.
But deep down I knew to be a Muggle, my sister tells me since she read for the first time Harry Potter.
So I tried to wake me up.
Yes, trying to wake me up from a dream I was born prisoner, surrounded by an army of cold and cruel clouds.
On the fourth day I woke up.
From the normal night dark gray, is clear.
Because when I opened my eyes, around me there was no army of clouds, but only my usual enemies: the window glass and the outside world.
So, I got to sing.
Loud singing.
One day my grandmother told me that singing makes you feel better.
She is out of tune, but she often does.
My father says she's crazy, but it costs nothing to try.
The next day I get up and my head still hurts for the strip it came across with the day before. You see, it was just five ‘o clock when I started to warm up the uvula and my sister in the morning is like a cat after a cold shower.
However, I find the time to concentrate and try with super powers.
From Hulk's rage to Iron Man’s intelligence, through the hammer of Thor, I tried to defeat all my gray enemies, with no luck.
Indeed, I got also a good scolding from my father for having made a mess of his toolbox.
You see, my father has a huge hammer that seems to come from Asgard.
The sixth I finished the essay. And I won. Yes, I won the battle. Just one.
Not the whole war, because the gray is still there today, around me. In that one, the first of many, I just realized something.
If you want other colors, on that glass, you do not need magic and supernatural powers.
I am the missing color.
And only me can change the outside world.
With myself.
If we are many, a child, a color, we will delete all the gray from the windows.
And from our eyes too.






Also on Stories and News:

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Kiribati Island sinking video story of Ioane Teitiota

Stories and News No. 603



Ioane Teitiota has applied for environmental asylum to New Zealand, where he lives with his wife and three children, born there.
His homeland, Kiribati island, risks to disappear due to rising water caused by global warming and the resulting climate change.
The New Zealand Government, through the High Court in Auckland, is reviewing his case that could make him or not the first climate refugee in history.
Not the last, in my opinion.
In this story, of course...

Once upon a time there was a planet.
Not ours, so we are all safer.
There were inhabitants on the planet.
Humans.
Well, let’s say almost…
The almost human inhabitants of the planet were many and infinitely different from each other.
It happens.
You know, the equality of shapes and colors is just an illusion.
For the equals in the world too.
Especially for the latter.
One day something happened that disquieted some.
Not all, only a part of the many.
A man named Ioane knocked at the door of those who lived further up him.
"Can you accommodate me and my family? The water is rising and we are in danger of drowning. I have three children here with me..."
Those who lived higher chatted and various voices rose, as often happens when it is necessary to make a choice that will change our lives forever.
The choice was made.
And only time will tell us whether it was the best.
"Sorry, stranger. But we must first think about our problems, our wives and our children. You'll have to save yourself alone."
"Yes, I understand," Ioane said, "but if my family and I are in this situation is also your fault, because if you had not used the car and appliances, polluted air and water planet, the temperature would not be increased so as to raise the level of the sea..."
"This is the usual naive rhetoric propaganda", those who lived higher said.
So they shut the door violently on his face.
A few days and the threat materializes.
The sea overcame the banks and Ioane and his family died swept away by the waves.
A year passed and the water level rose again.
So, those who lived further up found themselves in danger.
They went to speak to those who lived higher.
"Help us," they begged, "otherwise we drown."
"Sorry, foreigners," those who lived even higher said. "We must first think about our problems, our families, etc…"
Thus, the wretches people got the same end of Ioane and his loved ones.
The water rose again.
And even those who were still higher, to save their life, asked for help to those who lived higher.
Same answer.
The water rose.
More.
And more.
The same scene was repeated.
As long as just a family was alive.
One family, who lived on the highest point on the planet.
A small strip of land.
Surrounded by the sea from every point of the compass.
"We must first think about our problems," the father repeated to his wife and their children, "to our home, our job, our..."
Unfortunately he did not have time to finish the sentence because the water rose for the last time and wiped them off the planet.
The end of the story would come anyway.
That's why it is extremely important to choose what answer to give to the life that knocks on our door.




Also on Stories and News:

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Nazi criminal Erich Priebke funeral riots protest video story

Stories and News No. 602



These words are dedicated to those who are outraged by Erich Priebke’s corpse...

We have memory.
Yes, we have memory.
It is not a cliché.
No, it is not.
That's why we're the ones who do not want the funeral of the Criminal in our church.
Our church, that we made the temple of peace and charity.
Of brotherly love and respect for others.
We will not forget what it was.
No, we do not.
We still have fresh memories of man against man.
Indeed, man over man, as a result of a blunt insane belief to be something more than the other.
The different others, guiltily different.
Needless to say I was born human, I rejoiced and suffered like you, if I appear different to those bloodthirsty eyes.
Reject them, Lock them up in the field and then delete them from the face of the earth.
Our land.
Because we are not racist, but…
But.
But we must first think about our children, our problems, us.
Us.
To us you will always be expendable.
We have the memory of all this and more.
For this reason we say no to the corpse of shame.
The tombs that lie in our cities and countryside are made to accommodate the same flesh memory.
We must not and we cannot offend contaminating it with such ignoble remains.
Because we are all what remains of past life, that’s the way we drive our actions today.
Our dreams too.
The foundation of our values.
That's why we fill our lungs and say no to the lifeless body of Erich Priebke.
We have memory.
That's right, memory.
Our refuses to the dead man who have colored the world with shame and cruelty are equal to the solidarity we express to the many poor people dressed with pain and despair that arrive to our coasts.
Rejected, locked and deleted human being as the same victims of the Nazi criminal.
Simplistically, you may read immigrants, refugees, strangers.
Because this having memory means.
Otherwise, that is just a dead word.
To leave behind as many.
Forgotten.



Also on Stories and News:

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Greenpeace Russia Arctic protest video Jack Sparrow vs Putin

Stories and News No. 601



Greenpeace activists who are in jail for attempting to climb onto the Russian rig risk a sentence of up to 15 years.
Piracy is the guilt.
The famous pirate Jack Sparrow, heard about the fact, wrote a letter to Putin...

Dear Vladimir,
pirates, yes, pirates.
There are pirates in this world.
By my faith, of multiple types, to be honest.
And if for once so I am, I beg you to lend me your ear.
There are home pirates, the most dangerous and less catchable.
They steal superfine cookies under the cover of darkness.
Rummaging through your secret words when you're far on the horizon.
This is not good, no, it isn’t.
Unless it is to understand better.
And love even more.
There are also more sophisticated and less detectable pirates.
Looks are their loot.
Yes, you fully understand, there is no misunderstanding.
Literally looks, those are seized and taken away by them.
On the train in the morning, close in the apparent anonymous crowd, through traveling windows on ever too hasty car, more than ever in the street, both launched to the opposite shore.
It is difficult, then, to understand what they do with those mugged eyes, by my faith.
There are also pirates of hopes, the worst that history has ever been able to accommodate in its most despicable pages.
Because only an inert heart might talk, ranting and especially promising happy sunrises and sunsets to the many simple and credulous souls who populate the squares of the world.
I am convinced you perfectly know the latter type, right?
How not to mention, of course, pirates of emotions, a category that particularly fascinates me.
Very misleading kind, I think.
With precious words and enviable vaulting, graceful voice and suggestive gestures affect where we are all, without exception, most defenseless.
So the real show begins, on the proscenium of the abdomen and behind the scenes of the skull, with all the variations.
Between joy and indignation, going inevitably to love.
Now, I know what would be your objection, like anyone else, if I had to finish my harangue just here.
Pirates, yes, pirates are also those like me, virtuous of boarding and quick hand where the appetizing chest makes us a wink.
Nevertheless, you and I perfectly know that the people who you keep caged do not belong to the latter type of pirates.
Luckily, they represent yet another.
They are the pirates of sleep.
They are relentless, it is true, they have no mercy and without any delay they deprive us of sweet sleep, that is not so sweet, by my faith.
There, on the screen of our fugitive consciousness, offering always the same movie.
The title may change but the meaning remains the same: humanity survives if nature lives.
By my faith, how can you imprison such pirates?
It would be like condemning ourselves to death.
Because nature is their captain, by my faith.
And humanity survives only if nature lives...



Also on Stories and News:

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Nobel Prize 2013 acceptance speech video by Mario

Stories and News No. 600



These days the Nobel Prizes are announced.
So, I will offer you Mario’s speech.

My name is Mario and I am a simple man, that’s it.
A confused gentleman, according to my wife.
In the sense that if I'm among the many I will certainly be confused with everybody.
I am not original, that’s it.
Normally I disappear, at most I exist.
For you, if you know me, if you know in advance my arrival.
To the world, the rest of the latter, I live among the anonymous billion clouds in the sky.
However, since many years I hear about Nobel prizes.
Literature, peace, medicine, physics and so on.
I'm tired.
On the contrary, I feel fit.
Saturated by gifts, that’s it.
At the same time.
I'm tired of not seeing some names celebrated there, in the firmament of human excellences.
And I am saturated by the free gifts from creatures that no one ever will exalt as they deserve.
This is the reason I'm here, now, that’s it.
I want to assign my nobel prize winners, with a respectfully lowercase n.
Are you there?
Drum roll... and here we go.
The nobel Prize for patience goes to my grandmother.
Yes, my incredibly nice old lady, who has silently endured the boorish machismo of my grandfather for a lifetime.
His lifetime, because the man come first to home base.
My grandmother now has another love, an octogenarian painter that perhaps a true painter has never been, but he loves her.
Yes, I am sure he will loves her, that’s it.
The nobel Prize for courage goes to my children.
Because today being a child want needs a lot of courage.
I am talking about going to school and studying, playing and dreaming, embracing the pillow, sleeping and start over in the following morning, with the terrible conditions that the rest of us, cumbersome legacy, are giving to the world that awaits them.
The nobel Prize for dignity goes to my brother, fired after thirty years of tireless work, finding himself at fifty turned into an useless object, therefore expendable, that’s it.
The nobel Prize for goodness goes to my dog.
I took it to the pound years ago, and although the young man who gave it to me told me it was beaten all the time, the animal came into our house playing and smiling too as only dogs know how to do. And believe me: since now my dog has never stopped, that’s it. Despite everything, suffering, misery, pain and a myriad of inhuman behavior by its civilians roommates.
I would love to learn this, that’s it.
Just this.
Finally, last but not least, the nobel Prize for magic goes to my wife.
Because only magic is the right word to give a sense to explain her capacity in instantly disappearing the worst pests from my shoulders.
Read insensitive phrases and unpleasant gestures.
Until erasing the world which does not turn in time.
Making me visible.
And maybe a less confused gentleman.
That’s it.



Also on Stories and News:

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Italy boat sinks migrants dead video finally happy

Stories and News No. 599



From yet another fart by Silvio Berlusconi to an umpteenth tragedy at sea, with the usual unfortunate protagonists.
At the moment we are talking about 94 dead and 250 missing.
I read.
I read articles, posts and comments on the web, from Right to Left, and I feel far away.
Immensely away.
The word bitterly, perhaps it would be more fair.
May heaven bless the stories, saving island to land in...

"Dad," Efrem, nine years old, asked. "Why are you smiling?"
Tesfaye just minimally attenuates the curve that his lips draw.
Yes, basically it is a smile.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yes"
"I smile because now no one can reject us...
"No one can accuse us of being here to steal Italians’ job.
"Tireless and punctual Italian workers.
" Nobody will be able to indicate to us as accountable for the increase in crime in the country.
"This country which is known worldwide for its honesty.
"Nobody, from north to south on this land, will have the freedom to emphasize our possible lack of respect for women.
"A land where every day people put women on a pedestal, not hurting them even with the thinnest of flowers.
"None of our missed fellow citizens will be able, now, to define us savages.
"Missed fellow citizens who are famous in history for decorum and etiquette.
"None of them will also underline our ignorance.
"They have all an high culture, this is a nation of thinkers and writers.
"None of them will have the right, by now, to argue that we are inclined to violate the laws.
"They, who have built life, society and institutions on the respect of all laws.
"None of the Italic Community will give us the most disparate epithets inspired by the brown color of our skin.
"Italic Community are all tall, blond and blue eyes.
"Or at least so they feel next to us.
"They felt, I correct.
"Because now the trip is over, at least for us.
"That's why none of these gentlemen will be able to insinuate that we are terrorists.
"Gentlemen who are pacifists in the depths of the soul."
Efrem stop listening to the words of his father.
He fixed his eyes, now.
Wet eyes.
"Dad," he asks, "why are you crying?"
"Because now no one will hurt us, my son."
We are no longer blacks, immigrants, refugees, savages, clandestines.
We're just dead.
I wonder if, looking at us now, they will finally be able to understand what we are.
What we were.
Men.
Women.
And children.



Also on Stories and News:

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Bear killed with shotgun video forgiveness

Stories and News No. 598



A bear called M2 was found dead in the woods near Trento, in Italy, victim of a bullet.
A vindictive shot.
The usual eye for an eye.
What primitive crime?
Probably having devoured donkeys and heifers.
You may read hungry.
My grandmother told me that in times of crisis there is no greater sin than hunger.
However, it happens that, in the stories sometimes I ask help to, often on this blog, the world tips.
So, the killer have to atone, not the victim.
And if he does not, here I am.
Just here.
I'm sorry, M2.
Forgive me.
I ask forgiveness on behalf of my fellow man, so to speak, that ripped you from the forest.
From your forest.
Because, since immemorial time the forest is still animals land.
I know these words will not bring you back to life.
I know that the power of words is not so extraordinary.
But here, as long as it remain within this page, words are like live.
And then, as if I can, I take all the energy in my body, with no brakes, with every freedom of ink to write your name, my wonder of nature.
Bear M2.
Twice M.
That is doubly Magnificent.
Excuse our inability to find a harmless role in the show that the all of you, so-called non-human creatures, offer on stage for free.
Maybe we should just be the public.
Nothing more.
Just there, seated, admiring.
Clapping.
And maybe learning.
I know what you're thinking now.
At this very moment.
I am convinced you're not the only one, at this time, to see things so.
This is just a story, ending words, weightless sentences in the midst of billions of empty intentions.
I will hurt not even a fly.
I will respect the animals.
I will love nature.
How many thoughts and school works flourished in a small class are sacrificed to the god called convenience allowing us to rise to the Olympus of tough and hard men.
Nonetheless, I'm here for an apparently trivial reason.
I know that the written words, all, as far as futile and naive, can be read.
Told and heard.
Rewritten and reread.
And as long as the dance continues long life to the words.
Words like Bear M2.
M, which becomes infinite.
Magnificently.
Alive.
Forever...



Also on Stories and News: