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A dream for November 20th

Stories and News No. 1288

Okay, this is very naive. I know, okay? But I'd like to write it anyway.
It's not a story, but it fits. That is, in the sense that it fits on one page.
Because while it takes immensely long when the question concerns a single person, moreover powerful and without any control, it takes very, very little, if there are many to want it, shout it, demand it. However weak and insignificant, oppressed or just neglected they are.
It's like having the same dream, yes, but all at the same time. And then it no longer matters how simple and utopian the imagination is. Because when you multiply the most unattainable hopes among them, it is like rubbing two stones: from patience and tenacity to spark and fire, and let the light shines in the darkness.
Let me explain: I'm talking about war, as I did this morning with a group of teenagers who are rightly anxious, worried, annoyed and even angry: “How is that? Was Covid not enough for you? War too? Also missiles and nuclear weapons? Are global warming and pollution not enough? How many other reasons do you want to give us for being furious with you adults?”
I could go on, but I'm here to propose, never to unworthily associate myself with their righteous grievances.
As I thought and reminded them a few hours ago, paraphrasing Martin Luther King's motto, we old people have their present and perhaps the future in our hands, and many of us, especially those who are doing the most damage, will not give it back voluntarily. Young people must strongly demand the return of both here and now, or as soon as possible. In one expression, before it's too late.
Meanwhile, hoping for this and more, in addition to listening to them and offer support and encouragement, I dream. I can't help it, maybe mine is a mental disorder, but I know it's incurable and it gives me relief to transfer it black on white.
Before that I close my eyes and let my hands guide the words from the heart to the mirror glistening with white waiting to be fed with stories and wishes.
I have a dream, therefore, and I'm not ashamed of it.
I dream that something extraordinary will happen next November 20, not by chance on the day when a large part of the world celebrates the World Children's Day, known also as the International Day for the Rights of the Children and Adolescents.
I dream that for once it won’t be just an opportunity to celebrate something that will run out at midnight at the end of the magic, but to shout it to the whole world with a voice so powerful to produce an unstoppable echo. So that those who have an ear and above all responsibility understand and listen. Again and again in the following days.
Yes, I know, it's something overwhelming naive. I am aware of that, okay? But I go to the end anyway, because I have long gone beyond. What do I have to lose now?
I dream of more than two billion teenagers gathered on the same page, theirs.
I dream precisely 2,375,649,484 girls and boys who are not yet eighteen.
I dream of them and also those who are a few years older, but equally without any fault of what bad is happening in the world.
I dream of everyone of them and I dare.
I dare to dream that Sunday 20 November, on the day officially dedicated to their rights, they will send in every way at their disposal a message of any length addressed to Putin, Biden, Xi Jinping and those who on this earth can concretely do something to remedy the impending disaster.
“I want to live,” would be my first words. “Just as the planet called earth demands it.”
However, I count for little and even less, since the truth is that this dream is not about me, but them. And while mine is incredibly naive, the rest is the only thing that really matters in this world...

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