Wednesday, January 31, 2018

When the poor see

Stories and News No. 1069

Rwanda has become the first poor country capable of providing eye care to the entire population.
At least one-third of the latter have showed need of a treatment and specialized nurses have visited the inhabitants of all 15,000 villages within a health program that will literally change their lives.
The consequences will be unpredictable, as the following story suggests...

When the poor see.
When the poor begin to see, they widen their gaze and discover the essential as the outline.
Because everything now fits, every fragment of the picture, the most unfair too, it will find meaning.
Because when the poor see better, they don’t fall into the trap again. Avoiding the usual hole, they jump over the typical trip and the fraud will have to do something else to bring home the booty.
Then, sooner or later he will commit the mistake that will condemn him, and the poor will see it, you can bet on it.

In fact, when the poor see for the first time, they no longer lose precious time in words and gestures without basis.
The eyes become witnesses, they build memory, defining precisely the past and the present, pointing at the future with the concreteness it deserves.
Consequently, from that moment, words and gestures will be different and many will notice it.
Not just the poor.
For this reason, when the poor see, it suddenly happens they look at each other.
Therefore they start to count and understand each other in the right light, stopping the action that’s necessary for everyone but them.
Imagine that scene paused, freezing this abstruseness for the last, definitive time.
Incoming fade: brother hitting brother, while behind the two the true thief of the world flees with the stolen goods taken away from their home, to stand up later as a bulwark of the loot.
At his house.
Suddenly here’s the unexpected miracle: the aggressor focuses on the assaulted, whose flames of truth reveal the familiarity of flesh and blood, misfortune and pain.
From that instant life takes back the natural course, the two contenders become one body, tight in an embrace of hope and courage.
It will allow them to perfectly distinguish friends from enemies.
This is what happens.
When the poor see… us.

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Friday, January 26, 2018

Humanitarian aid is a crime for everyone?

Stories and News No. 1068

Scott Warren was arrested for trying to save lives. He is a humanitarian operator and member of No More Deaths, an advocacy group based in Tucson and Phoenix, Arizona, which seeks to end the deaths of migrants crossing desert regions near the US-Mexico border.
According to the federal court's report, his arrest last week arrived after border patrol officers inspected a building where two immigrants had received food, water, beds and clean clothes (visit the No More Deaths Youtube Channel, with videos of patrol officials emptying the water
containers to prevent immigrants from finding them).
The court ruled that Scott's crime consists in offering his help to individuals guilty of a crime, in a sort of indirect complicity, is that right? Well, the imputable people’s list is countless...

Once upon a time there was a law.
An equal for all one, otherwise what are we talking about?
Yes, what, I've been wondering that for some time.
The law for all was simple: giving support to a criminal represents an equally prohibited act.
Therefore, I understand the burdens of a pious heart, brother, and I am aware of the uncomfortable symptoms of the good-natured virus, sister. Setting aside for a moment the famous dictates of the philosopher Agostino,
deservedly practiced by Martin Luther King, about nobility of disobedience to a norm considered inhuman, where you find yourself foraging someone, always remember to check his criminal fed. Note to listening Christians: see it as a sort of unavoidable amendment to the famous, evangelical Works of mercy, on quenching and feeding the derelicts.
For all the others, just remember that, period.
Nonetheless, everybody knows how the laws for anyone work.
Wait a minute… but, each law, shouldn’t be for everybody by definition?
I must think about that later.
Anyway, they concern many more citizens on the shadowed side of the border rather than the other way around.
In fact, in the aftermath of the fair application of our rule, a series of large-scale arrests was carried out in a sort of colossal trawling without any risk of error.
All those who persevere in keeping their accounts in banks investing in weapons trafficking were arrested. Because selling death is a crime, period, otherwise, what are we talking about?
Yes, what is the focal point of the story, I think.
Then they were all arrested, I repeat, all those who in the past voted for political leaders enriched by cheating anyone without scruples, also entire countries.
Consider this too as an update, or completion of the much-celebrated right to vote: once you reach the age required, you have the right to vote... only honest citizens.
Otherwise, what are we talking about?
In fact, but I get there.
After that, there was the arrest of anyone who had purchased products of trademarks guilty of any of the crimes typical of companies, especially corporations: exploitation of child labor, pollution, failure to respect human rights, your choice.
Therefore, yet another addition to the Guide for the good consumer: think, I stress again, think carefully before buying something, or you’ll go to jail.
Because making a profit at the expense of others is a crime, right? Maybe when that neighbor is just the guy who wants to migrate in your country…
Otherwise, what are we talking about?
Exactly, we all know what.
The modern man’s law.
Where, for example, it’s legal to send racists and homophobes to parliament, to donate audiences and lucrative clicks to mountains of violence and gratuitous offenses, to be a “keyboard patriot” sitting on an unwittingly guilty conscience of innocent blood, to be in any way a founding brick of a society that literally lives on the ashes of the world around it.
While helping the poor ones is a crime...

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Thursday, January 25, 2018

Sci fi short stories about family: without words

Without words

Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher

In the future, hopefully far...

“Want you come here for a moment, yes or not?”
“What's up, Mommy?”
“Nothing, Lisa, mom would like to inform her grandparents of the good news.”
“Which one, Mommy?”
“Which one, Lisa? Your little brother, remember?”
“Ah, yes, him...”
“Don’t be jealous, you will see how it’ll be beautiful and we’ll all be happier, believe me.”

Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher
“What does it mean to be jealous, Mommy?”
“It means that... Conrad! He's always with that virtual helmet on his head, fuc...”
“Don’t say bad words, Mommy.”
“No, I didn’t say it, I stopped before, come on...”
“As you say, Mommy. I'm going to call Daddy.”
“Yes, thanks. And wait a minute…”
“You are too perceptive for eight years.”
“What does perceptive mean, Mommy?”
“You don’t understand every word, but all the rest you do, right?”
“I go.”
“What’s up, Mary?”
“Finally! What were you doing?”
“Nothing... yes, I know that you’re using that stuff to watch gir...”
“What does Daddy see in that thing?”
“Nothing, Lisa, really nothing, darling.”
“Okay, can you tell me why you called me?”
“I called you because I cannot connect with mom and dad, I wanted to inform them of the news, sending the ultrasound, talking...”
“What is the ultrasound, Mommy?”
“Your brother's photo, what the hel...”
“Sorry, sorry, it’s the pregnancy stress, okay? I didn’t want it, we had been waiting this birth for a long time, now, I wasn’t hoping for it anymore. And then your daughter wants to learn the whole dictionary...”
“Mommy, could you avoid talking about me as if I weren’t here?”
“And she talks me back too...”
“Anyway you're right, Lisa, forgive me. Now can we go back to the connection problem, dear Conry?”
“I'm sorry, Mary, but there seems to be a serious problem, here, and it's not just about us. Apparently some kind of virus has infected the global system and the transmission of images and videos is suspended, as well as the audio files.”
“What should I do now? Is it possible that I cannot let my parents know I'm waiting for a baby?”
“Come on, Mary, don’t cry like that...”
“Yes, Mommy, don’t cry, please...”
“You make it easy, you! I already know that my mother will weigh this forever, a year at least. I’m already hearing her: I was the last one to see my nephew’s ultrasound. She will repeat that eternally to relatives and acquaintances...”
“Don’t exaggerate…”
“I’m not the exaggerated one, here, she is.”
“What does it mean that grandma is exaggerated, Mommy?”
“Lisa, stop it, please…”
“She said that her grandmother is a little apprehensive, honey, like Mommy too.”
“Could you avoid talking about me as if I weren’t here?”
“Anyway... except for recording video and audio, taking pictures and sending images, there is no other way to communicate with my parents? What was the name of that instruction we used once...”
“Writing, Mommy.”
“Yeah, Lisa, good! Can we use it, Conrad?”
“No, babe, recent devices, like ours, don’t provide that stuff, the sets of letters...”
“One moment…”
“What is it, Lisa?”
“Wait here.”
“Where is she going, your daughter?”
“Probably to the vocabulary, she is so affectionate that she holds it embraced when she sleeps.”
“Mommy, Daddy, I know how to let the grandparents know about my arriving brother.”
“It’s true that we cannot send images, audio or video, writing function no longer exists, but there is still the drawing function in old models like mine.”
“I don’t remember how to draw…”
“Me too, Mary, I've always been a mess...”
“I can draw...”
“Who taught you that? The school doesn’t do it anymore.”
“I learned it on my own.”
“How did you learn to draw?”
“Simple. It was enough to understand what it means. Trust me, I'll take care of informing grandparents without words...”

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Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Poverty stories: rich and poor against the poorest

Stories and News No. 1067

According to recent estimates by Oxfam, 42 persons hold the same wealth as the 3.7 billion that make up the poorest half of the world's population...

Once upon a time there was a world.
A planet that has been balancing on itself since immemorial time.
A proportion as old as man himself.
In fact, precisely because of the latter, although the above position was precarious and perpetually on the edge of the precipice, this absurd contrast of weights and balances was immutable.
Let's face it frankly, okay?
Inequality was a state of affairs.
It was persecuted, sought with enthusiasm and commitment, I would say with extreme dedication.
Then, to be defended at all costs, as could be done with civil rights or democracy, in a naive story of romantic visions.

As proof of that, the most portentous claim didn’t concern the real distribution of fortunes, more or less lawfully earned, but the nature of the present and the future which the various citizens chose to commit their time for.
Of course, a handful of reckless on a plate and billions of short-lived existences on the other is an unacceptable image, but the ringing contradiction regarded the scale itself, held in the hands of the missing half.
Compared to a population of seven and a half billion people, three billion and seven hundred thousand unfortunates and the famous forty-two, we could fill entire continents with the rest.
To be precise, three billion and eight hundred thousand lives, in short us.
Immediately a mathematical perspective emerges with phenomenal simplicity, sheltered from a crystalline and perhaps virtuously childlike lucidity, not yet corrupted by the illogical powers. The three billion and eight hundred thousand face each other, perhaps not at the same time, and take without further discussion the most convenient decision for all of them: encircling the small group of the forty-two, forcing them to redistribute the inevitable maltreatment to the robbed ones.
Because this is also obvious, do we want to say it loudly?
You cannot be billionaires without having others stuff in the bag.
Rhetorical axiom, of course, but the more the truths are simpler, as well they’re removed from the final calculation.
Have you ever noticed that? As if the result of “one plus one” was so right, that we could even say “zero”, without asking where the “two” ended, or in what pockets…
So, according to a far from linear arithmetic, our three billion and eight hundred thousand - but we could also say us, instead of accusing the forty-two, they moved their sights on “the others” by definition.
Three billion and seven hundred thousand prey to hit and break down, without any chance of mistake, given the amount of easy and unarmed targets available.
The crazy half of the population drew the face of the enemy on them, not the cursed forty-two.
Thieves and murderers, invaders and immoral creatures, uncivilized and infected people, the living reasons of every possible misfortune, from unemployment to the ingrown toenail were there, on the heaviest plate of the above scale.
In the heart, a single supplication at the price of the destruction of all dreams confessed so far, thwarting every progress made by evolution since polytheistic societies: we worship you, forty-two deities, we prostrate ourselves to you and we promise to sacrifice in your name the lives of derelicts.
In return, continue to drug us with digital illusions and sell us mediocre horizons.
Because we feel "poor" in your presence and we don’t wish anything else, except being someday exactly like you...

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Friday, January 19, 2018

Tom’s feeling for heat

Stories and News No. 1066

His name is Tom, yes, like an average person.
And, like an average person, you could say to him: "Hey, Tom, wait a minute..."
Then, once you've gotten a little of his attention, you might add: "Tom, do you know that last year was one of the three hottest in history ever recorded? Did you understand how hot it is, Tom?"

He could turn around as if he had not heard anything, continuing to go in circles around his monotonous existence.
But maybe you could be one of those insistent.
Maybe you'll try again: "Tom, you know? The data tell us that last year was among the three hottest even without El Niño. Can you see how hot it is, dear Tom?"
Without any intention of interrupting his stupid dance, he could look at you with a confused expression.
Then, with due patience, you could explain to him: "El Niño, Tom, it’s the climatic phenomenon that causes a considerable heating of the Central-Southern and Eastern Pacific Oceans, in particular in the months of December and January about every five years. Is it clear to you, Tom? Is it clear to you how hot it is?"
However, he could remain impassive even facing such clarification, however aggravating the situation.
So, maybe with a pinch of frustration, you could slightly raise your voice.
"Tom, do you want to stop for a moment to listen to me?"
He could not consent to the request and then, demonstrating a passionate dedication to the cause, you could tune into his incessant escape from the present reality, or inability to focus on the actual concreteness of the facts, and swinging to the rhythm of his own fluctuation, you could let yourself go to a heartfelt outburst.
"Tom, do you understand that it’s you and me, with our dull and selfish choices to provoke the unnatural rise of temperature? How can you accept to live the time you have left in such a stupid way? You are resigned, like a prisoner who no longer sees any salvation on the horizon, condemned to always see the same image beyond the glass, admiring the fortunate life of those who take advantage of your surrender."
Yet, despite a total emotional participation, Tom could incredibly insist on remaining indifferent to your words.
"Tom", you could then shout at the push of despair, "please, come down from this hellish carousel that you consider inevitable destiny. You are made to fly, or at least dream of doing it, at least try, careless of the missing sky, defying gravity and limits, but always ready to come back to embrace the beloved land that has generated each one of us. It's getting hotter and it's our fault, do you understand, Tom?"
Here, at this point, in front of the immutability of the his fool turning around an irremediably passive existence, you could give up.
It would be understandable, but you must not.
Do it for Tom, of course, but above all for yourself and those you love.
On the other hand, his name is Tom, just like any other person.
But if you look at him carefully you will find that he has nothing human.
Because Tom is just a chicken stuck on the spit he delivered himself to...

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Thursday, January 18, 2018

The truth about immigration 2018

Stories and News No. 1065

The indisputable numbers explain that in the major European countries and USA, which are often brought up by so-called local leaders as examples to follow, the immigrants are around 15% in Sweden, 14.4% in the United States, 12% in the United Kingdom, Germany and the Netherlands, slightly less in France and even lower figures in Spain and Italy.
This means, for purely statistical reasons, that there is a huge number of our fellow citizens who spend weeks, if not months, without meeting a foreigner.
Anyone who started a speech about the problems of society and the priorities of the latter, no matter he’s a political exponent, of any sort, rather than the man in the bar, the social network friend, the chatty colleague or the relative statesman , even if only by citing the migrants, he should be kicked in the ass.
Otherwise, it would be like slavishly accepting to be the one who is first kicked out and then cheated.
Yet, despite over time the presences have obviously increased, for decades now the central theme of the global electoral debate is not the costs and the corruption of politics, nor are the taxes always in favor of richer people and corporations, nor the monopoly of press, not even the level of health system, education and welfare in general, it’s not unemployment and above all not climate change, but that notorious, about ten percent of immigrants.
One in ten citizens, according to the current popular interpretation, capable alone to put at risk the present and more than ever the future of all others.
Consequently, these being the facts, or the aforementioned indisputable numbers, how is it possible that we have come so far?
Here is revealed the mysterious formula in five points...

First, take one or, even better, a couple of generations.
Even three, if you can.
It's like a soup, it improves with the addition, but a focused one, that's clear.
Secondly, identify a type of people who in some way live in a disadvantaged position compared to the majority of the population.
Let's say they're the red-haired ones.
Beaker from The Muppet Show
I realize that there is an infinite number of variations of vermilion hair and that, even with the same tonality, the wearers of the latter possess so many innumerable characteristics that distinguish them from one another.
But you indulge me and imagine with me that red hair people are a kind of category apart from the entire human race.
Third, begin to tell the whole world always the same story, but in every conceivable and feasible form, whether it is art rather than the press, politics and education, where the essence is this: red hair people represent absolute evil.
Soon, you will see that the villain of the story will be the red knight, the red will become a dismal and gloomy colour, an expression as “the situation is going to be red” will predict bad clouds on the horizon, “working in red” will be a scourge of employment and above all, the red-haired actors will be the first to die in horror movies, believe me on the word.
Fourth, work incessantly aiming at one goal: people must be afraid of red hair people.
Fifth, if you have sown carefully, sooner or later you will begin to reap the rewards.
You will see that the day will come when you will hear the following slogans: the brown breed must be protected from reds, those carrots are invading us, red hair people are tinging to blend in between us, we propose a vigilant control of regrowth, according to science red hair people are less intelligent, a red hair miss Universe is not acceptable, there are too many red-haired players in our league, red hair people carry diseases, red hair people are more likely to commit crimes, they don’t understand our hair and don’t integrate with the our shampoos, a class with only red hair students is not acceptable, red hair people have to go back to their hairdressers, etc.
All this seems absurd, but if you follow the formula judiciously, it will be possible, despite the average of red-haired persons in the world is at most 2%, two people in a hundred.
The antidote for this poisonous and grotesque fraud?
Simple as difficult.
As elusive as it is, it is called telling, chasing and defending the truth

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Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Modern slaves in the world house

Stories and News No. 1064

Millions of people are exploited every day in Europe and in the rest of the world. The victims are often persons who have been promised a job by traffickers, or they could be people living on the edge of society, deprived of housing or just poor. Through threats, violence, coercion or addiction to drugs and alcohol, they are enslaved, working for a few money, living in squalid conditions, having been deprived of their documents.
At the same time, women from Eastern Europe and West Africa are attracted to the dream of a better life, and then fall into a dark spiral of forced exploitation and forced prostitution, often unpaid.
It also happens to children, migrants or not, who are recruited, transported and then sold.
All this horror is left intact in dissonant harmony with our civil and modern society…

Once upon a time there was a house as big as the world is.
Like any self-respecting home, worthy of a prime time spot, or a smiling box office movie, it was made up of rooms.
The rooms, despite someone is still claiming for the contrary, were inhabited by occupants of a purely transitory nature, like the clouds that sometimes cover the sky. You can easily see that the drawings are never the same and those who say otherwise are blind, or want to blind others.
In one room, the inhabitants from the terminal
Photo by National Crime Agency
eternity nourished the fruits of the earth, of every form and color, declared taste or temporally fashion, vegetable or animal conception without any solution of continuity.
You could recognize it instantly, if only you were near, perhaps straining your ear to the walls.
Yum and still yum, that’s was the incessant dance of chewing, always on the air, as one of those afternoon talk shows, which go on regardless of
Photo by National Crime Agency
the real audience’s presence.
Because the product has already been sold, and “now you just have to celebrate, fill the plate, clear glasses and throats that today I want to choke myself”, was the only, perennial refrain of the scene.
In another room they devoured other types of gifts, in a further but much worse way.
Photo By National Crime Agency
The client of such a journey into the hell of others entered to feed flames and wounds to his personal enjoyment, eating alive flesh as if it were virtual matter, with the ill illusion of being on a sort of roller coaster, or immersed in a video game, where nobody gets hurt and at the game over you can boast with the friends of the record achieved.
Yes, it was a game, it was considered as a pastime, this slow mess of souls, and if this happens in life, where it really exists, I dare not think what will be the Hades for those guilty.
Photo by National Crime Agency
In a further room the main meal was made of thin fiber and precious essence as only the present when it becomes a future in shreds.
The alibi for such an abomination was almost equal to the latter, in a horrible chorus of ranting justifications.
The screams were mild, how could I hear them?
He seemed to be good people, how could I have imagined?

And, indeed, these are things that happen, unfortunately.
In a room, then, they screamed and laughed, offending
Photo by National Crime Agency
and blaming, throwing out lies and taking advantage of millions of lives as if they were just words.
On these they used to build laws and alliances, power and wealth, pretexts for wars or simple publicly tolerated martyrs.
Once upon a time there was a world as big as a house is.
A world, like the latter, composed of rooms.
In each one of them there was someone who lived and undisturbed enjoyed his alleged fortunes rained down from heaven, as if in the room there wasn’t also a cell with a prisoner inside, waiting to be sacrificed for the status quo.
Do you know what is the most incredible thing about that?
The most widespread conviction of this insane community was that the faults of what was missing in the dish were the slaves themselves...

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Friday, January 12, 2018

Thank you Mr. Trump from the shithole countries

Stories and News No. 1063

According to a Washington Post report, after being presented with a proposal to restore protections for immigrants from El Salvador, Haiti and some African nations - as part of a bipartisan immigration agreement, President Trump said: "Why are we having all these people from shithole countries come here?"
Well, there is only one way to reply to those who have no sense of past history and of the many, small living stories surviving around us...

Shithole countries...
Thank you, US president.
Thank you so much on behalf of the aforementioned countries, for the certainly unintentional compliment.
As you well know, the first shitholes were invented about three thousand years before Christ. It seems that the most advanced ones date back to 2800 BC. in the ancient city of Mohenjo-daro, in Pakistan, a country that you particularly loved.

Other pioneers shitholes were found in Skara Brae, Orkney, Scotland, and date back to a period from 3100 to 2500, always before Christ.
As if to say, Pakistan and Scotland, that is, if you prefer East and West, began to cleanse their backs with an official methodology at the same time and in the same way.
Later, as it’s usual among human beings when we find the solution to a common problem, we shared shitholes as we do today on the various social media with the bullshits - let me pass the word, and as many were installed in Minoan Crete, in Pharaonic Egypt and ancient Persia.
From 2012 I’ve got an interesting anecdote.
In that year, some archaeologists discovered what is believed to be the first shithole of Southeast Asia, in a Neolithic village of Rạch Núi, in southern Vietnam. It dates back to 1500 before Christ and gave us reliable clues about the diet of the time, in this case fish and meat, in addition to the nature of the parasites that made hard the digestion.
In other words, tell me how you use the shithole and I'll tell you what you eat and what disturbs your stomach.
In the age of total espionage of the average citizen, now reduced to a sort of sensitive data colander - you world leaders make copious use of it, this is something worthy, both for the food and laxatives industry.
In your place, a would propose a special social network to your investors, I don’t know, maybe Shitbook or Shitter.
Let’s go back to the history, to note the variant Pig Shithole, introduced in China by the Han Dynasty, which allowed to fulfill the pigs’ nourishment with the above-mentioned, valuable gross domestic product.
In the post-classical era, from 200-600 to 1200-1500, we started to use the shitholes so-called "garderobes", a kind of wooden or stone floors outside the house, and obviously far from the rooms and near kitchens and fireplaces.
Because doing it in the cold is not pleasant since immemorial time.
So let’s jump to the modern era, to the well-known copper and porcelain shitholes, more or less decorated, according to taste.
Flavors that led, for example, to do your personal job outdoors, to fertilize the soil, see Denmark.
In the sixteenth century, instead, the underground shitholes spread, always outside the houses and still to satisfy the need to help agriculture.
Nonetheless, let us now come to the first examples of modern shitholes, the cups with relative flush.
They come from the genius mind of Scottish Alexander Cumming in 1775 for design, and three years later for the realization to English Joseph Bramah, the latter considered one of the fathers of hydraulic engineering.
As it’s natural, the prodigious invention became an object of popular use only later on, precisely around 1850.
In short, thank you, Mr. President, because you could have said maybe “chair of countries” or even “fork of countries”, but it would not have been the same.
With your words, however controversial, you finally understood that when referring to entire nations, it means bringing into play peoples, millions of lives, ancient cultures and old traditions such as man himself.
This is a fundamental requirement in those who have the responsibility to make better… this shithole world.

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Thursday, January 11, 2018

I make way

Stories and News No. 1062

Jalandhar Nayak and his family are the only residents of the remote village of Gumsahi in eastern India. Two years ago he took a chisel, a garden hoe, a pick and started digging. Over time, he managed to make an eight-kilometer route through the impervious hilly terrain to help his children get to school...

I make way.
I am a father and this is my job.
I cannot just raise the arm with presumed authority and with a stretched hand pointing the finger at the horizon.
Because the already written and conquered goal is old stuff, and because it would be too easy for anxiously travelers behind to follow the worn out footprints.
I would dare to say useless.

Jalandhar Nayak Photo: BBC India
The peaks lacking of flags and memory are made of not yet pronounced dreams and hopes.
If there is no beginning of the way, like the end, the future path greedily awaits pencil and courage.
It waits for me.
That's why I make way for others.
I am human and this is my best task.
I could never consider enough raising my voice, to scold with hysterical nozzle and alleged threateningly look at the rebel walker.
Because the need for alternative routes for tomorrow is a matter of course, which I should expect first.
Never last.
It would be unpardonable that the young flames burning so much to the eyes of early aged looks would renounce the precious ardor they give us.
Let's say a true crime.
The indispensable goals are born from formidable intuitions that are evident too soon, and if there is no recipe, or even the paper which to write on, the creating imagination needs help.
It needs me.
Myself and what I've been.
I’m one of those who walked because I found land underfoot, and was thrilled thanks to trips worth the price more than the arrival itself.
One of the many who could enjoy a free and silent sacrifice.
Someone who one day has touched with a hand what the previous day was as light as air.
Because someone else, before him, where before there was emptiness, saw a line between two points so different and far from each other to remain lonely forever.
Therefore, today and tomorrow.
With gratitude and love for the following page.
I will make way for you.

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Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Immigration stories: the law of migrants

Stories and News No. 1061

US District Judge William Alsup has decided that the "Dreamers" program strongly supported by Obama, that protects from deportation minors illegally brought into the country by their families, must remain in place, considering Trump’s attempt to end it unfolded.
It would be all simpler if - immodestly paraphrasing the philosopher Augustine of Hippo, we all obeyed a very simple motto...

Once upon a time there was the law of migrants.
One of even greater scope, but it takes time to raise head and prospects.
At least, a story, this one.
Nevertheless, the statement is short and straightforward: Follow the rules and then what you will, do.
You can write it, if you like, but learning it by heart and above all conscience would solve a lot and facilitate our collective journey.

The are many, my dear friend, even more, enough to compose a tale, where a doctor has clean shirts and skilled hands intended for patients whose citizenship has no bearing on the recipe.
We could quote a certain Hippocrates oath, but the norm introduced is adequate.
In fact, it obliges any agent of public security to guarantee the latter to everybody as a unique and priority mission, protecting the defenseless from real danger and not from their own fear, preventing them from being hurt by concrete abuses and not generated by lies injected into the heart, assuring the safety of their own kind and not of their phobia for the unknown.
For all that there is the doctor mentioned above, in this case specialized in the much underrated virus of the mind.
How not to mention, then, the administrator of the common goods, local or with much wider horizons between his responsibilities.
The definition itself would suffice to show the road. Maybe focusing on the common goods, which are not related only to the lucky citizens, but to everyone, no one feels, or is excluded, among those who live near you, whatever the origin might be.
And the goods must be everyone's, or anyone's.
Never a few.
An inevitable addition to this list regards the precious guidance of the young hopes to a more educated version of themselves, in short, the teacher.
Well, the duty to welcome and make class with any skin or tradition came up from a desk is this time too easily synthesized.
A word is enough.
All different, all the same, in the fragment inside the heavenly sky, having a sacred right to the latter.
However, if we wanted to generalize the aforementioned enumeration, regardless of the reasons that lead us to the meeting with others, there is the most indisputable rule to support them all, to use an universal compass: human is the right to life and all the rest, not inferior to what you fear can be robbed from others.
Here we come to the conclusion that, perhaps, would have saved ink and page.
The law of migrants.
Translated into an irreverent manipulation of the famous saying given birth by the well-known philosopher.
Which, in the original version, would be even better for us, if only it was a shared privilege.
Love and then what you will, do, but let everyone do the same...

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