Thursday, June 30, 2016

Anti Racism App

Stories and News No. 894

Imagine to install a special App in your head.
A mental App, starting a moment before reading.
And watching.
Imagine that such valuable program will delete any information about the so-called “racial profile” of the protagonists.
By the way, Harry Potter would have been less magical with the turban on his head?
You would have admired more a Swedish Nelson Mandela?
The greatness of the famous step for mankind of the first man on the moon has depended in some way from the astronaut’s birthplace?
So, read, listen and watch today's news with me.
You will come to know, therefore, that a human being has killed another, or even more.
You will read, listen and watch a lot about that.
You will discover also that someone has saved many.
You will read, listen and watch a few, about that, but please, do me a favor: do not use it as an excuse for your more or less despicable actions.
Somebody will tell you of people who abuse others.
Of persons who use their own death sharing it with all life near their unbearable hatred, deafening sadness and infinite loneliness.
And humans exploited to the last shred of humanity.
Nevertheless, if you have enough patience you will come across those who, like it or not, are your neighbors.
You will also find those who use their lives to share it, period. And you'll be surprised to see how many will be similar to you, period again.
Really, imagine to find this App in your memory.
Beginning to work at the right time.
Before you will read, listen and watch.
Seriously, imagine that such futuristic software would find and make invisible any note about the country of origin of the involved actors.
A Chinese Brigitte Bardot would perhaps be less beautiful, in your eyes?
And a German Muhammad Ali would not be the greatest anyway?
The brain of a Philippine Albert Einstein would still not be the most gifted of human history?
So, read, listen and watch what has happened in the world today.
Let’s do it now, together.
We will be aware of people who do evil, as good things.
Predestined or just unfortunate victims.
Heroes and cowards.
Simply fragile people.
Famous women and men for just one day.
Unknown children.
Of course, the consequences would be many and writing clearly in the instructions of the App would be fair: reading, listening and watching the only, important essence of human events and their protagonists will force you to ask yourself questions on meaning of the former and reasons of the latter.
However, what happens otherwise?
What happens when everything is weighed down by color of the skin and flags, shape of the eyes and hair, place of birth or death?
What happens every day in our heads?

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Wednesday, June 29, 2016

69 millions children will die

Stories and News No. 893

According to yet another report by UNICEF 750 million women will be married as children by 2030.
Always before that date 69 million children will die.
At the moment 247 million of the latter are deprived of what they need to survive and grow.
Photograph: Aaron Favila/AP

Imagine it is a movie.
A strange one, you will see, but just a film.
Rented, if you want, downloaded, if you prefer.
Imagine that even the TV is bizarre.
A very new one, bought on internet from a distracted seller.
One of those who ignore their stuff as you. later
A bit like some storytellers, which only later mature an idea of what they just wrote.
Very later.
Now, regardless of the pleasure of viewing, take the remote control and look for it.
Yes, it, the most underrated button in the modern run.
The most dangerous solution for the pyramidal earth.
The real weapon of mass liberation.
The pause button.
Yes, pause.
Now take a deep breath and now push the other key.
The new, unusual, and magical one, showed inside the weird instructions of the geezer TV you bought from the unfocused seller above.
It is happening right now, the only special effect that actually you already had, but that's what sellers usually do.
They convince you to buy things you forgot you had.
The screen surface is dissolving, so the room’s walls, just as those of the house and everything which is related to human existence disappears like a mirage wanting to be sincere.
Look, please.
Look, get up and move through the wonders beyond the boundaries of the smartphone.
Because the magic button pauses the world, all of it, except you.
Look carefully.
Do you see them?
Do you see the pregnant keywords of the world, common cloud?
Can you see the words that fill your talking with impetuous arrogance and your thinking with easy outsmart?
Can you see the futile speeches you are anxious to shout in the ears of others and to post on the bulletin boards of virtual friends.
They are not so many, right? You could put them all together in one sentence and you know the craziest thing? In spite of the absolute distance between a term and the other the result might have sense.
Because that is how it works, the life strictly on easy side of the monitor and that only through the latter joins the game.
Everything, despite the madness, makes sense, in a little room and a short time, a bit like the twittering 140 characters.
Everything can be normal and acceptable, isn’t it?
Well, now look at the rest.
You cannot help but see it.
You cannot say, this time, you did not see it.
Because thanks to the gift of the pause that pathetic piece of gray that you call sky, in a little room and a short time, is finally revealed for what it is.
A pathetic piece of gray.
A pathetic piece of gray the pretends to hide 247 million children who would make great party every day with the crumbs of your dining board and 750 million young girls that, even at this very second, are coming eaten by as many orcs.
Now go ahead, restart the movie, if you like.
And maybe.
Pause yourself.
Because there is no other way to understand, once and for all, that this movie is happening for real...

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Friday, June 24, 2016

Zoo to close after 140 years: the weight of time for Sandra

Stories and News No. 892

Buenos Aires authorities have announced plans to close their zoo after 140 years, arguing that keeping wild animals in captivity in display is degrading.
The mayor said that 2,500 of them will be transferred to nature reserves in Argentina and that the place will be turned into an educational park and shelter for victims of trafficking.
The orangutan Sandra welcomed the news with happy, wise detachment...

Orangutan Sandra - Photo: Juan Mabromata/AFP/Getty Images
Truth is manifested in many forms.
So justice.
And just as the simple consideration of the lives of others.
Nevertheless, one of the most unique paradoxes of you people is revealed when truth, justice and the simple consideration of others' lives intertwine in the same place and time, when the whole reason for common standing is mostly banal.
How to find that imprisoning living creatures inside cages with the sole purpose of selling their infinite sadness, their inevitable madness and their invisible, slow death of the soul is degrading.
Of course it is.
It was, indeed.
Everything has been so since the first verse of a cruel lullaby that bipeds by the alleged brain superiority insist on singing in chorus.
Sleep, lower creatures, close your eyes, servant nature, give in to the misery which we have confined you in, functional lives to the gods of flesh and blood.
I think this is the very first verse.
However, as a caterpillar in the mood of optimism confided to me one day, it is only a matter of time.
After all, that is for each season, as they say.
It applies to every story.
It applies to everybody.
Humans and animals.
Because time has a weight, but is often a misleading measure.
And when you convince yourself that the real power is squeezing every second in a closed fist here is that you become the slave.
This was the last word of the caterpillar before dying.
And so was the first one spoken by the newborn butterfly spreading her wings.
Open every part of you to the world and the world will do the rest.
Now, I know well that I am not synonymous of a shining intellect.
Monkey is certainly not a compliment, among academics.
Nevertheless, I understood what my mutant friend meant.
I understood and I trusted.
I do not have wings.
I never will turn with such bombast.
But I took the advice, and I opened.
Really, starting from my hand.
And I saw it.
I saw the weight of time.
I realized that, unlike the human illusion, the real power is to let free every single second on an fully disclosed palm.
And sooner or later, maybe after one hundred and forty years.
You will be what you were meant to be.

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Thursday, June 23, 2016

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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Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Brexit or not Brexit story of Nigel and Ousmane

Stories and News No. 890

Think about Nigel, the blond Nigel, the pale Nigel and all his eagerness to get out from Europe.
At the same time, consider Ousmane, the dark hair Ousmane, the brown Ousmane and all his hope of get in Europe.
Life is a paradox, isn’t it?
We used to say that often imagination exceeds reality, but the more time passes, the more we underestimate the separation.
The truth is that imagination has already arrived in each, imaginable or real place, since the race’s beginning.
In the meantime reality loves slowing down so much to walk backwards.
So, Nigel comes even to assert that among the reasons of leaving Europe there is also immigration from countries beyond the royal boundaries.
So, maybe in a completely different way, Ousmane comes and nothing more.
Because arriving here is all for him.
But there are also intersections between the two stories, confused parts, so similar to look the same.
You know, Nigel would get out of Europe to protect the economy of his country.
Really? Ousmane would enter it to protect his life and the lives of his loved ones.
It looks the same, I said it, and the difference is venial for all the Nigel’s of this world and clearly not for the Ousmane’s.
There are even more obvious contradictions, otherwise what are we talking about?
Nigel demands to get out of Europe because he is convinced that that will take advantage for his nation's wealth.
Ousmane asks to enter Europe, despite ignoring that the latter everyday takes advantage of his nation's wealth.
There are, of course, mirror contingencies.
Nigel wants to leave Europe because he is sure that it will stay better.
Possible future or maybe not.
Ousmane wants to enter Europe for the same reason.
Impossible future or at best rare.
It is said that feelings define people even more than thoughts.
Well, then let’s look at Nigel, let’s understand him, let’s listen the man who feels himself everything except a citizen of the continent called Europe.
At the same time, let’s go near Ousmane, let’s follow him, let’s observe the man who in order to feel alive will be a citizen of every place that will allow him to be so.
Inside and outside Europe.
Please, think about Ousmane, the dark hair Ousmane, the brown Ousmane and all his urgency to come in.
Meanwhile, consider Nigel, the blond Nigel, the pale Nigel and all his anxiety to get out.
Here is the solution.
Here is the end of the story.
Make the one go out and get in the other.
And they lived happily ever after…

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Friday, June 17, 2016

Jo Cox murder: what you will not read

Stories and News No. 889

On 16 June 2016, the British Labour Politician Helen Joanne "Jo" Cox was killed by firearm and a knife outside a bookshop in Birstall, in West Yorkshire.
For the record, an elderly gentleman of 77 years was also stabbed as he tried to prevent her death.
The aggressor is the 52 year old Tommy Mair, close to the organization for white supremacy, opposing Europe and supporter of South African apartheid, called Springbok Club. Meanwhile Mair has already proven to be a supporter of the National Alliance, the largest neo-Nazi organization in the US.
The man, before he made his vile action, shouted 'Britain first'...

You will read.
You will read so much.
You will read so much about the murder on the street and the killer, the today best villain.
To be precise, you will read little about him, because at the end of the day they will tell you one thing.
The guy was a lunatic, he had mental disorders, he was just crazy.
You'll see, they will do it.
They've already done.
Madness is a blanket that most often destroys the soul, but if it's the big hand to use it, it solves everything in a short time, a bit like Mr. Wolf in Pulp Fiction.
What you will not read will remain as usual outside the door.
You will not read a lot of requests coming from everywhere to right-handed screamers and borders obsessed to distance from the criminal.
You have to distance from him, moderate neo-Nazis and extremists.
You will not read passionate articles and heated discussions on the religious belief of the murderer.
Sure, maybe if you just had the interest, you may come to know about the anti-Islamic "Christian patrols" marches of the killer's group.
But you will not find any mention among the noble pages about the faith of the latter.
If a guy is crazy is all you need to know, the card is invincible, it's like a perfect bowling ball.
Strike, resets everything and let’s go to the next shot.
You will not read about marches to defend the good person, a really good one, killed for having fought in the name of the common good, the really, very good one.
You won’t even read about delirious generalizations on social pages and twitter crusades against all the white right people.
You will not read of patrols specifically organized to protect the good citizens by them.
You will not read about would-be politicians of the same area of the victim, so-called intellectuals of the same flag of the deceased woman and engaged artists in the common area of the unfortunate politician even joining the manipulative chorus against the white killers.
And what should they do? Should they miss the mud’s wave? Votes are votes, gosh.
Because maybe they may have a point: right and the left are equal.
It's all the same.
Only in two cases, when we should be once and for all treated the same way, we become suitably different.
When we die.
And when we kill...

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Thursday, June 16, 2016

They are not like us

Stories and News No. 888

Well, me too I had to recognize that Farage, Le Pen and Salvini are right when they stand in defense of our glorious continent...

They are not like us.
They don’t have our values and culture.
They don’t integrate.
They have no respect for others and for the host country.
They’re just here to bring disorder and violence.
They are only here to destroy our way of life.
They’re here only to be masters in our house.

Because they are not like us.
Because they don’t have our traditions and civilization.
Because they don’t conform to our laws.
And because they have no desire to do so.

They always move in horde.
They believe they can act undisturbed, because nothing happens.
They only bind each others.
They arm themselves as they wish.

The reality is that they are not like us.
The truth is that they have not our history.
Normality is that they should not stay with us.
And the simplicity would be rejecting them already on the border.

People are afraid, when they’re around them.
People are forced to shut themselves in their house, as they pass.
People are sick of these people.
People have the right to have freedom at their home.

However, the government talks but does nothing.
Nevertheless, the newspapers write a lot of articles and publish many photos.
Yet, the TV News and the talks are chatting and pontificating.
And the so-called intellectuals justify all.

What no one can doubt is that they are not like us.
They don’t believe in what we believe.
They have not families like ours.
They have no idea what living in a civil community means.
And they won’t ever want to learn it.

How many times should they destroy our city?
How many times must we endure their arrogance?
How many times must we read of their misdeeds?
How many?

It's time for you to accept once and for all the evidence.
It’s not a matter of intolerance or racism.
These people are not like us...

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Wednesday, June 15, 2016

The Munduruku indigenous people against them

Stories and News No. 887

In Brazil the Munduruku indigenous people are protesting against the government, guilty of wanting to build 40 dams on the Tapajós River basin; the project cannot be justified even economically, according to a recent report by Greenpeace.
It seems that only the first one of the planned dams would flood 400 square kilometers of pristine rainforest, causing the deforestation of an area of 2,200 square kilometers.
The Munduruku are an ethnic group of just over eleven thousand, and seems to know only count up to five, defining generally people from outside as “them”.

Here I am, still.

Ready to resist, sure.
With my back on the ground, confident.
Because I am loved and defended by who I love you defend.
From them.
Indeed, I say it and I'm not ashamed, now more than ever in the era of virtual dotted miracles.
I'm an indigenous.
A native, if you want.
A wild man, if you prefer.
A Munduruku, if you really want to know the whole story.
Here I am serene.
Ready to fight with concern.
With eyes hidden by eyelids that life has given me.
Courage and hope say the flesh-colored tattoos on it that a very few see and admire.
Sure, I know.
I know that the outline that defines my existence evokes the deceased of the crime scene.
This is what your world translates, outside of those overvalued boundaries.
Nevertheless, to unmask the illusion, you can read my words.
You may also watch my chest slowly vibrating in time with heart, if curiosity gets the upper hand.
Or you could listen to the sound of dreams disguised as thoughts, if you want to indulge the imagination.
Of course, this is not making me go to win in the end.
Sure, sooner or later the poisonous intruder of plastic and metal will be lifted up, celebrated and told with all usurped honors.
And them, as logic demands, will prevail over us.
However, in the while.
I am here.
I'm here, hand in hand with my brothers.
I'm here, hand in hand with my indigenous brothers.
I'm here, hand in hand with my indigenous brothers Munduruku.
With our back on the ground, eyes closed and body surrounded by a border under the illusion to stop us.
I'm here to fight.
Because this is what they usually do.
The people of the living.

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Friday, June 10, 2016

Eritrean refugee mistakenly arrested: the wrong man

Stories and News No. 886

The Italian and British police are facing at this time allegations to have confused a known smuggler of migrants, Medhane Yehdego Mered, with an innocent refugee, Medhanie Tesfamariam Berhe, who was arrested in Sudan.
If he was the wrong man...

Sorry about that, okay?
You are all equal, to us.
I had also said that maybe you was not the man, really.
"Are we sure?" That’s what I said, please, Your Honor, note it in the acts.
Oops... there's no judge?
We can do as we please?
As You wish.
Indeed, as we do.
Anyway, it's easy to say innocent.
Indeed, it is quite the opposite, we get virtually nothing to say guilty.
As to forget you.
The innocent.
Anyway, it's easy to discover the skeletons in the closet.
I understand, you don’t have any closet.
But the skeletons...
No, I'm not referring to your kids, extremely emaciated, which you try to pity us with.
I refer to your misdeeds.
Don’t tell me you have a clear conscience, come on.
Otherwise, why do you run away from your home country?
Otherwise, why did you come to us?
Ok, stay calm, I am aware you didn’t come on your feet.
But you are here, now, it doesn’t count how.
You see, it's not a personal matter, because here both things don’t imply anything good.
If you run away and come to us, it means that you stole something.
Or, once arrived, you will steal something.
And if you come to us, it means that you saw us better than what we really are.
Even better than you.
This, believe me, does not bode well at all in your favor.
Anyway, maybe you're the wrong man.
But that ‘maybe’ stands for just one sense: you are not the other.
At the same time, you are surely wrong for a multitude of other reasons.
You had got the wrong species, convinced you had found the human beings.
You were wrong to be born, don’t tell me you've never thought of.
You had got the wrong color, don’t tell me you have never heard that.
You also had the wrong name in the wrong time and world.
Do you understand, now?
It is not our fault.
If, whatever you may say or do.
You will always be.
The wrong man...

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Thursday, June 9, 2016

Wars without witnesses and asteroids

Stories and News No. 885

"We need to put the emphasis on civilian population," said one of the newly freed journalists in Syria, Ángel Sastre. "Because wars without witnesses are the worst kind of wars..."
Ignored stories, negligible fragments that pass us by fast, like the little LT1 that grazes our planet, but it has only discovered three days before...

We are many.
Too many.
We are like asteroids with easy names.
To forget.
We are like tailless and short-lived comets, because that is the space gained in the newspapers, and when it happens it's always too late.
As an adolescent who dies of a drug overdose in an abandoned place. We do not come from a complaining movie of the last century. It really happens today, in 2016, not in the seventies.
We are a migrant killed and everything starts again.
Because he deserved it, right?
Because he was violent, bad and out of mind.
Because he was just a migrant and it would be enough, let’s be honest for once.
We are the daily maltreated women within four walls, thick as the distance between the real common interest and invisible people, by the hand of a rejection of rancid flesh, little brain and nothing human who we try to defend from.
Read well, we're not the one killed and protagonist on the front pages.
We are the ones which you will never know anything of.
As long we will remain alive.
Think about it, because the deception could be extended endlessly, enlarging the frame beyond the usual boundaries.
So, for every denounced facts, watch outside.
Here we are, can you see us now?
We are the children battered by fierce school teacher in the den with no hidden cameras.
And we are elderly equally tortured by the undisturbed evil nurse.
We are even all the actors of the cursed cycle which no one has heard anything of: war, dead civilians, surviving children, young people brought up in hatred and revenge, terrorists who close the circle and war again.
Without witnesses.
We are too many.
Many more than you think.
Otherwise we would find insuperable difficulties in understanding the superficiality of soft living.
We are like asteroids intercepted too late.
But do not worry, we will never come to you.
Because, as it happened with the rest of you, we only grazed life…

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Wednesday, June 8, 2016

What universe you live in?

Stories and News No. 884

In only two days, Turkey has been the scene of horrific attacks that have caused deaths and injuries.
Imagine if it happened in any city in Europe or the United States...

There are many universes, some say.
Some call them parallel dimensions.
Different views and yet cohabiting in the common existing.
So, if this is true, there is a universe where an attack is an attack.
Dead are just dead.
The bad guys are bad and the good ones are what they should ever be.
However, people do not talk about it because they feel some attacks closer than others.
They perceive those dead closer than others.
They see those bad guys more bad than others, although they are the same.
Indeed they love the good ones, but never as much as their good guys.

At the same time, there is also a universe where an attack is just another attack.
If it really happened.
The dead are dead, why to care, then?
The bad guys are bad? Death to them.
The good are good, until they become bad.
And, you will see: there, sooner or later, it always happens.
There is, at the same instant, another universe where an attack always hides another attack.
The dead are dead because they were asking for.
The bad guys are bad because they created them.
And the good are good, all right.
But who are they?

At the same time, there is another universe where an attack never happened.
Because nobody recalls it, so what are we talking about?
The dead are alive.
The bad guys were bad, now players just like the others.
And the good ones will come, someday.
We are still waiting.

You know? Some say that there are many universes.
They used to define them parallel dimensions.
Nevertheless, what happens when you wake up in a universe but when you close your eyes you dream of another?
I am speaking of a universe where an attack is an attack.
Wherever it happened.
The dead are dead, and they ever move your compassion and other feelings.
Regardless of nationality, faith or simple actions they were trying to accomplish before expiring.
The bad guys are bad until the good begins and vice versa.
But then you open your eyes and you would you like to see and hear something else around you.
What universe you live in?

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Friday, June 3, 2016

Japanese missing boy in forest: what I learned

Stories and News No. 883

After six nights spent alone the seven years old Yamato Tanooka was found.
The young boy had been punished by parents and left in the woods in Japan.
An experience that, for sure, will mark him forever...

What I have learned.
What I learned is always the most important question.
And it is, equally, the most unexpected answer.
I learned that I am alone.
That I was.
And I always will be in front of the human idiocy, when I will aspire to survive it.
I learned that alone, only alone, I can really understand how much alone I am.
But it will never happen confused between the masks of fear and ignorance that most of the adults show as if they were wearing the best dress.
I learned that once alone you cannot stand still waiting for the left behind world coming up with you.
It does not worth the effort.
And, ultimately, the chances of this happening are slim to none.
Indeed, the paradox is that, where there is a desire to make your path an example for the slow souls, it depends on a mere possibility.
Someone must write it first, that road, and most of the time he or she is an underestimated creature.
Like a child.
I learned that when I will start my travel I will not be less alone.
But I will feel infinitely less.
I learned that going out of the woods is not so important and that stop being alone is certainly not a reason worthy of the name.
Maybe making fell those who are waiting outside less alone is.
I learned to make a world of things, alone.
Not to eat or to brush my teeth and go to bed, as most parents of this world hope for.
Even being a good boy, if this is what you are thinking.
I learned, however, to think alone.
I learned to suffer alone.
I learned to look at things around me, alone.
And I learned to look again closely at everything I am.
What I learned, you wonder.
What I learned, of course.
I learned a lot and I did it all alone.
But do not believe that merit is in the voice that screaming scolds and the irate eye that smites you far. Neither the hand that punishes and even less the punishment itself.
Because it would mean that you have learned anything from this story.
The merit is all mine.

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Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Story of migrants: the three questions

Stories and News No. 882

According to United Nations, more than 2,500 refugees and migrants have died trying to cross the Mediterranean to Europe so far this year.

This is a dream, thought the man.
It should be, he hoped more than anything else.
She was there, along with the her new friend at the foot of his bed, like an old fairy tale.
Allow me to confide, she said.
Her new friend was silent.
The man did not answer.
He could not speak even if he had really wanted to.
Even if he were awake.
I'm tired, she declared.
I'm so tired, she repeated. Why you're not?
This is my first question.
How can you not want to run out of all this?
How do you still pronounce these words?
And you have said them, don't deny it, oh if you said them.
Without going too far, once you said that, at the end of the day, they deserved hell for what they did to our Lord, because they adored money, living only among themselves, not integrating.
You said also that, after all, they have made a good deal being captured and brought to the new world, because there they have suffered, of course, but who does not suffer in life? But then they got a piece of land and the sun and the water to make it bear fruits. They have found America, by the way.
You said that even them, yes, them, would anyway be bound to disappear, because the future is only for the most evolved beings.
You said that genocide, whether you look at it from above, is just one of the thousand faces of the normal natural selection.
You said all of that, even if now you don’t remember or you attribute the words to those who you call the villains of the history.
Well, I remember, it's stronger than me. I try to forget, you have no idea how much I commitments in this.
And you know the real joke?
Just when I'm about to be able to turn my head, here you come to take me back.
Back and forth.
This is my conviction.
I'm not complaining.
I do my work, I have always did and I never pulled back.
Or, sometimes, yes, but the absurdity was too much and I hesitated.
You called it a miracle, as you usually do when you don’t understand, but I just smiled.
The second question is who are you, really?
I know who I am, my nature is simple and I accept it without a word with the duties that follow it.
Albeit with extreme fatigue, I’ve also understood the reasons for the existence of the creature beside me, despite I don’t like at all what I saw and I can still see today.
But what are the reasons for your presence in this world?
Because the truth is that I'm the one who, no ifs, ands or buts, always welcomes these marked souls, whose misfortunes you do not miss ever to curse during strictly useless occasions.
I am the one who doesn’t differentiate between any of them, while you show yourself so bold as to discriminate between corpses, and at the same time screaming in equality hymns.
I am the only one who shows the sensibility, if not humanity, which would be yet another paradox, to remain silent before the light that sank. Or that is sinking right now.
Forgive about this time we had, which tomorrow I know you will nonchalantly free of.
I'm leaving, she said. And the human being by my side will come with me as expected.
As it was already written and read, told and listened.
The third question is all yours.
The next day the man woke up confused and agitated very early, but in some way happy to find again the undervalued amenities of life. Like a comfortable bed, the electric light and a couple of faithful slippers waiting on the floor.
So, as she had planned, he forgot within a latte and brioche the visit of Death and the migrant at her side.
However, as just announced, a question survived the nightmare, a horrible story convincing himself that everything was normal and inevitable, that the expendable victims will always be part of the framework and that, after all and at the end of the day, they deserved that.
Nevertheless, again after all and at the end of the day, why did he still feel an unbearable fear in his heart?

Read more stories of immigrants
Buy my latest book The hoax of the migrants
Listen my song Wolves 
Storytelling videos with subtitles

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