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Showing posts from January, 2019

Down in the well

Stories and News No. 1151   Once upon a time a well . A deep one, very deep, so deep, that you cannot see darkness, rather than light, because down there it has reached such shades that not even the mostly abused black could be enough to describe it. For the record, in the well there is now a poor two-year-old child . His life is hanging on a thread interwoven with the same substance which our perseverance in saving our neighbor is composed of. I refer to a special string of inestimable value, which we should take care of every day, as many men do with their cars. Following the banal metaphor, we should check the oil and the water, the tire pressure and the condition of the bodywork with inevitable punctuality. Because everyone, sooner or later, could be on the weakest rope’s end. So, I save you, who save me, who saves him, who saves her, who saves everyone, must be written on the rings of this allegorical chain of solidarity. Being the only species in the world who sho

International Holocaust Remembrance Day 2019 short story

The memory that should survive A short story by Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher It’s January 27, 2019. We are at Auschwitz, on the right date , for the memory’s value and, above all, the reverberation that the latter should have in our lives. Where the aforesaid verb - forgive the repetition, it should not be conditional. Here we are, it's all a matter of time, this is the common affair that binds us all, people, but also verbs and stories. It's late night and Claudia is around again, as it often happens. At sixteen it’s not a good thing to stay out late, used to complain her grandmother, but it’s a message that becomes nothing, once arrived at the girl's ears. Since the parents disappeared in a damn car accident, which took place three years ago, the night is her favorite setting, it’s the ideal color to paint the walls of her wounded imagination, it’s the mother that welcomes everyone and in the fair darkness that makes no distinction between humans. Non

Decolonize Africa

Stories and News No. 1150   Dear white brother. I am talking to you, Italy Vice-Premier Luigi Di Maio . It’s your black brother who’s writing this. Recently, I heard you talking about decolonizing Africa and I jumped on the chair. Then you have accused France of impeding development and contribute to the departure of men dying in the Mediterranean. You were doing so well, brother, you were doing so well. Maybe I misunderstood. You didn’t want to exclude Italy , right? Because it's not true at all, you know? But we’ll get there, let's not just focus on France, and let’s talk about the topic with more attention and facts. We are talking about foreign military bases in Africa. We are talking about installations of soldiers and vehicles by the United States and China, Russia and Germany, Turkey, India and Japan, Saudi Arabia and the United Kingdom. We can discuss of foreign nations that are slowly taking land from Africans, buying it under their feet. Amo

Waiting for justice

Stories and News No. 1149   Let’s go to Chingola , Zambia . In short, Africa . We have been waiting for justice for years, but you may also read this time as a river that becomes as angry as it is suffering. In the same way sounds what concerns us most, the Kafue , whose waters are indispensable for the survival of the villages. Some of you used to say, often and by chance, let's help them abroad, at their country . Forgive us, but it took us a while to understand what you meant by let’s help them . The truth is that some of you, citizens of nations oppressed by the amount of stuff, rather than misery, they are always in a hurry and forget words and heart’s pieces on the road. Well, we know that the latter must be strengthened by practice and like any body part that involuntary pulses with life, where it is neglected, it shrinks. In this way you risk to lose something of value on the street. In your case, a fundamental fragment, an information that we had to guess a

We have a clandestine on board

We have a clandestine on board A short story by Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher We have a clandestine on board. So they screamed out loud as soon as they saw me. A clandestine, that's what I am to them. Me, a clandestine? How did we get to this? I tried, I really tried to explain myself, to implore them, to make them understand that they condemned me to certain death, but they didn’t want to hear my reasons. They lifted me and escorted me out of the ship about to set sail. "The boat is so big, it's huge!" I said. "Don’t tell me it's a matter of space." They did not, in fact. It's just a personal thing. They just don’t want with me. "That's racism," I shouted, and they laughed, as expected. Come on, I admit, I was waiting for that. However, as they took me down from the boat I was able to see who had instead been welcomed without discussion. "What kind of people are you" I exclaimed with all my heart. "

The Most Italian Wanted

Stories and News No. 1148   Here we are. Everything is accomplished. I know, it's not the first time it happens. And when it takes, it does. That is, where there is a damned need for victories to be celebrated and illuminated on the middle of the popular scene, with the irrepressible, governmental desire to distract citizens from bad thoughts, we cannot ignore the most greedy opportunities. Well, the adjective is very fitting, because it’s like being at one of those dinners at the end of the year, where things didn’t go well at all, far from it, but there is nothing better than a big binge and, above all, a nice drink to fall asleep and forget. At least for one night. Nonetheless, we are here to tell stories and to those who, like myself, live in the perennial search for suggestive narratives, the eventuality is equally unavoidable. Therefore, let's go back to the main picture. We are at the Ciampino Airport. The man is about to arrive. By now, his appearance

The new wall

Stories and News No. 1147 Once upon a time there was a wall. You remember it, right? It come to light in August 1961. Read also as the disgraceful echo of two shameful stains in History that affects us all directly, in flesh, blood and memory: the world wars. Nonetheless, not the beginning, but the end of a conflict should teach something to the contenders, and especially the dead’s relatives. That is not a wall, we are all witnesses and heirs of it. Nonetheless, the line of suspicion and rivalry that separated Germany, and with it the world, in two necessarily opposing souls, it lived thirty years. In fact, in November 1991, preceded in the previous year by a memorable concert, its destruction began. However, it started just like that. Because this is how the life of the most excruciating walls works, which find the best glue between bricks in the most visceral suffering. They take shape in the short and when you least realize it you find yourself on the other side of

A love story

A love story By Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher This is a love story. Yes it is, if I think about it with the right attention and the best clarity. It does yet. Once upon a time there was a man called People. He was a man like many. Arrogant and awkward, often. Confused, most of the time. Vulnerable, despite appearances, and unpredictable, in every moment and each place. However, like many others before, he was used to see his own mind defeated on the living field by emotions. Especially from those that were not easy to name, and as much as he had felt in his life, live feeling always managed to find him unprepared. Because every time the heart quivers and the belly trembles everything is always like new, it is written somewhere within the soul’s folds. The moment that best demonstrated this assumption occurred when People met her. Equality was a proud and very indipendent girl. Beautiful as only the creatures who are not aware of their own attractiveness can be.

Migrants do not exist

Stories and News No. 1146 Migrants do not exist. The word does. Migrants , only the latter, usually undeserving the article, let alone respect and empathy for those who just want a better life. Because this is empathy, ladies and gentlemen, in the most trivial of meanings. The ability to put yourself in the other's shoes, being able to understand that, in this accursed case, those people are desperately looking for what we all want. Maybe this is the main problem. Probably, this widespread mixture of foolishness and hatred does not arise only from ignorance and perhaps we all understand more than it seems. Nonetheless, I repeat, migrants do not exist, they have never did for most of the inhabitants of this confused and divided world, except in the social vocabulary or inside a frustrated outburst at the end of a disappointing week. Yes, this is what I firmly believe: we do nothing but play with words. So here are the migrants of the modern populist leaders. Here are