The Mare Ionio (Ionian Sea) vessel sailed last night from Augusta to Libya and is part of Mediterranea, the first international sea mission fully organized in Italy.
The project, supported and financed by various associations and political exponents, will officially have tasks of monitoring, testimony and denunciation.
Meanwhile, the number of migrants dead in the sea that divides Europe from Africa has reached its historical highs. According to a new study by the researcher Matteo Villa, of the Institute for International Political Studies (ISPI), only in September 2018 20% of those who left Libya were deceased or missing.
Waiting to see how the current Italian government will counterattack, the war continues...
I will go.
And I will wait for you on the bank.
I will go the same and I will sail.
And I, to shake the sea and your heart, I will blow on the waves.
I will dance among them and I will feel bravery staring at the future that I have never even dreamed of.
And I, to attract monsters from everywhere and attack you, I will make noise and I will scream until I lose my breath.
I will welcome them on board and convince them that the real monsters are your words and what they hide.
Then, I will sail too.
And I, in the midst of the waves, I will wait for you.
I will be armed with cannons and rifles.
And I will be loved by my companions and dear ones.
I will see you on the horizon with rancor.
And I will watch you arriving feeling only your terror.
I will shout fire and I will sink you.
And I will slide to the bottom of the sea.
The next day, I will count the dead and I will exult.
And I, from the underworld, I will leave again.
At the edge of my small and miserable world, I will know how to stop you.
And I will be made of eternal dust and shadows of slaughtered memory, impossible to arrest.
I will work to erase people memories from the great history.
And I will seek the consciences of those you first forgot and I will tell them my short story.
In the meantime, someone else, after me, will go.
And someone else, after me, will wait for you.
So it will continue, until between us it will be war or peace.
Forever...
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Imagine you are an immigrant.
One who migrates and who must do it to survive.
Exactly, imagine you are one of the many, for some, the few, for many, who has all the credentials not to be rejected wihout any discussion, let's put it this way.
Spend everything you have on your journey, suffer from sickness, cold and violence, and after a hellish trip you find yourself on the island of Lesbos, in Greece.
Now, you could think: what luck, Greece, you say? The land where in ancient times considered a duty to give hospitality to those who asked for?
You see, my friend, the key part is not hospitality, but in ancient times. Otherwise, Americans are the first migrants in the world, as are Italians, Spaniards and Portuguese, etc.
So you find yourself in a detention camp for asylum seekers in the city of Moria.
What you mean with detention camp, you might ask. A prison? Come on, I wanted to survive and you put me in a cell like a criminal? Is it a crime wanting to live?
Yes, I know, in those shoes you would talk like that, but the hard work is to do it with a stretched shirt.
So, in spite of the paradoxical injustice of the situation, imagine millions of people in the world accusing you of having come here to steal, to take away jobs and future, culture and possibilities, houses and medical care.
Now, you are always in the camp, and the screams are strong, every day more, deciding governments and determining the front pages of newspapers.
Well, speaking about accusations and newspapers, imagine that the detention camp which you are imprisoned in was under investigation and that Fileleftheros daily published a report that connects the name of the Defence Minister Panos Kammenos,ì - head of the Independent Greeks, avowedly anti-immigration right-wing party, with businessmen who have benefited from EU funds, otherwise destined to improve life in the camp.
Do you understand, now who are the migrants and who are the thieves?
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Happy birthday Horst Seehofer.
Best wishes to the German Minister of the Interior.
Happy birthday to the Teutonic Salvini.
Sorry for the delay, of course, because you celebrated your personal anniversary the 4th July.
Eight days ago.
Here is the distance between the inhuman madness of inept people with power and the sad reality of the unfortunate souls on this earth.
You were to toast before the 69 candles turning them into human trophies, blowing them away like negligible flames of equally insignificant existences of wax.
You have chosen to rejoice in front of the grotesque coincidence of years on the shoulders and expelled lives.
Well, it will be because you blew with excessive arrogance.
Or, perhaps, it is simply a cruel fate to realize beyond all expectations your wishes expressed during the festive occasion.
Keep laughing, then, be consistent with the brutal cynicism that pervades your body.
Because a 23-year-old man, who had lived in Germany since he was 15, once in Afghanistan committed suicide.
Eight years his new life lasted over the border and other infernal lines.
Here is the distance between humanity and what we have become.
Happy birthday to the man called minister.
Happy birthday to the minister who now has little of human.
Happy birthday to those who like you are defiling history with a cursed past, which we thought we had enough understood.
Well, as it has happened once before, may the future take away that smile from your face as soon as possible...
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Once upon a time a list.
The list of 34,361 women, men and children who died trying to reach Europe and find a better life.
Once upon a time a story, indeed.
A fairly, but not so impossible one, if you pay attention to facts, instead of fake news and ignorant screams.
So, once upon a time women, men and children that would fill a small town, not great as many used to say.
Well, let’s imagine it.
Let’s figure families and friends, travelers or just human beings arriving in a little city, one of those that doesn’t get so many tourists.
But there is life, anyway.
There will be for sure.
Once upon a time, and it is now, a world where there is place for that.
A chance and a right to survive.
Getting food and shelter, a wonderful list of two, an easy one to remember and more than all realize.
Once upon a time, sadly, 34,361 women, men and children disappeared somewhere.
But still asking for human answers and actions...
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Once upon a time there were human lives, because this they are talking, writing, and shouting away about.
Once upon a time there was a ship full of life.
Once upon a time there were nations in war with words and illusions.
There were once maneuvering plutocrats and enslaved bureaucrats.
Once upon a time there were populist digital leaders and digital peoples without leaders.
Once upon a time there was a continent of frustrated hopes.
Once upon a time there were desperate lives looking for a future.
Once upon a time there was story.
Repeated again, again and again.
Sadly equal to itself.
Here it is the world's most loved sport, in which we have all qualified with all the disgraces.
We against them…
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Relaxed.
Yes they are.
On chairs where you least suppose that, if you got out now, a not much lines from fullness and, above all, thought foundations.
Well, is not evading such troubles that nowadays the ferociously populist inhabitant makes his unquestionable deductions?
Is it not with the same rough calculation that he decides and then elects?
In short, is not it sufficient to understand the post’s title to give away the destiny of lots of generations?
Nonetheless, if you had got time and interest to see more, I inform you that ten thousand special migrants from all over the world arrived last year in Australia, a record nation for this particular ranking…
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Relaxing in the lodging of a word that you have relentlessly deflated of all sense.
‘Left’, just like that, along with the crucial themes which you should have taken a reliable position on.
I’m talking about migrants, let's begin with the least stoppable one.
You voted for the fascism when you started to persuade yourself that being a left guy merely meant tolerating the strangers, rather than being the one who greets the newcomer with open arms. And you did the same in the right instant you assumed immigration meant exclusions and ships, borders and fences, falling into the miserable difference among illegal immigrants and second generations, among economic migrants and political refugees…
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According to a disturbingly eventuality the most racist governments used to describe themselves as the most devout ones, including the emerging Italy administration and its new premier.
A few days ago, I went in the Sanctuary of Rivotorto, in Umbria, and inside the beautiful Hovel of Saint Francis of Assisi, even though I knew it, I read again the Canticle of the Creatures, but with my modern eyes.
First of all, I want to say I am not a religious person, however, those lyrics seemed to me further blessed, when changed to the need of a lot of methodically forgotten creatures…
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In that brief moment of rediscovered courage, held in the embrace of our brotherhood, we become one with our only friend.
We are the umbrella, therefore.
We ourselves are the border between the life we have and the one we should have.
Because we are the love for the land we occupy, wherever it is, everyplace it will be, which resists and survives everything.
It cannot rain forever, it was said.
Well, when it will stop, because it will do.
We.
Will be...
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My friend on the horizon, I have no idea what your name is.
Maybe you have blue skin, three eyes or flames in place of your hair, I have no idea what your diversity will be, in the eyes of others. So, I don't know your features, the depths of your being, and especially the reasons that will push your contemporaries to use you as the scapegoat of every evil in the world.
Nevertheless, I think I know what you feel.
Don’t give in to fear, promise me.
But, more than anything else, never let anger wins.
As far as it is justified and understandable.
Because, believe me on the word, they will be able to take advantage of it too.
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Do you think it’s crazy?
That’s nothing, my friend.
It seems that the most modern factories of the world's walls have come to the field.
In a random order, maybe a bit shaky, I list in detail the various proposals, all avant-garde and
especially aimed at preventing unacceptable climbing.
As the motto on the official call’s text says, a crossable wall is a dead one.
The first project involves the revolving wall, a stuff of a unique innovation, the very best for practicality, and nowadays it’s certainly not a matter of fact.
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The Mare Ionio (Ionian Sea) vessel sailed last night from Augusta to Libya and is part of Mediterranea, the first international sea mission fully organized in Italy.
