Trump's nightmare

Once upon a time there was a story – in fact there is, with a child protagonist.
You can call him Trump.
He is Joshua but he has the same last name of the other one, who is currently talking.
Donald Trump is the other one, and he tells a story: once upon a time, therefore, the story of a wall.
A wall the he wants to be built to divide two peoples who are the same one and separate as many lands that are the same planet, where both are observed from the right distance.
From up there in the sky, and down here, or in there, in the most sane part of our heart.
As a result, there was once, indeed there is, a child named Trump, Joshua Trump who is listening to the story of Trump's wall, the other, the big one, but he falls asleep and dreams: once upon a time, therefore, there was the dream of a child who is also called Trump, but he is Joshua, not Donald.

He dreams of a madman with a disquieting orange face and a head surmounted by a grotesque hairpiece, which claims to be taken seriously talking about spending billions of dollars to build a wall, to divide two peoples that are the same and separate nations that are made of the same earth, when you look at it from the right distance.
I mean up there, with the eyes of the wise stars, or here in the heart of a story that a child would also understand.
In fact, there was once a man called Trump, but named Donald, who, like a child caught in a horrible nightmare, instead of waking up he wants to trap us with his tremendous delirium of fear and loneliness.
Once upon a time there was the story of both, which will end only when Trump, the one named Joshua, will open his eyes and say: "Calm down, there’s nothing true about what you have heard."
It was just a bad dream...


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Let's get married

Let's get married.
Come on, let's love each other.
Hurry up.
Let’s not waste time on preambles, however holy they might be.
Leave out ornaments and festoons.
Let’s not dwell beyond the minimum allowed in the choice of the dress.
Of the place.
Of what might happen later.
And what immediately before...

Priscilla Cicconi and Bianca Gama were forced to marry in a hurry in Brazil before the rise to power of the far-right leader Bolsonaro

Let's accelerate the marvelous day.
That would deserve all the time in the world.
But we do not have it.
No longer, in the land of impossible colors and spontaneous diversity.
Say just yes, my beloved one.
Even a favorable whisper will be enough.
Before the day ends.
Before the night begins.
Of disturbing governments and evil leaders...

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Why I do what I do

Joseph Jackson was held in a prison in Maine for two decades.
He now coordinates the Maine Prisoner Advocacy Coalition (MPAC), a grassroots organization that interacts with the state correction department on behalf of inmates and their families. When asked why he is so passionate about transforming the system that held him captive, Joseph always responds in the same way: I can not go away and leave the people I was with for 20 years in a state of perpetual fear and endless torture.

He does this work thanks to years of study that allowed him to make sense of the unfathomable world that he have lived. It is a world where the abuse is implacable. Liberal studies have helped him to see that time in there is not the only punishment imposed on convicted criminals. The predominant cultural belief which we are all subjected to is that once you make a mistake, you have to pay it forever. Therefore every sentence lasts a lifetime. Our unexpressed reality is that the majority of those we imprisoned are socially destroyed. They often lose everything: their homes, their belongings, their jobs, their partners, the support of their families.

We need to fix our damaged system, added Joseph, we must return to the progressive policies of the past.

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We trusted this country

We trusted this country more than we should have done.
These are the words of those who remain.
Who cries the memory and above all the tragic and very premature end of Sabika Sheikh, who died when she was only 17 years old.
That is, one of the victims of the massacre carried out last May at a school in Santa Fe, Texas.
We trusted this country, seems to repeat the heartfelt lamentation of the young girl's relatives.
About what you can see from afar and you can dream every day closer.

An ideal place to send one's best promise to grow and realize itself.
Sabika was in the US for a cultural exchange.
One of the most fascinating and virtuous reasons to travel and meet each other.
To share at the same time traditions and feelings, emotions and horizons.
Discovering every moment that passes that these are not so different, despite what the geography, its borders and especially their dull defenders might tell you.
On the contrary, in the beginning of her life, Sabika has known the most terrible of cultures.
The gun violence.
In other words, what the cowards and the fools trust...

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Italian contradictions

Once upon a time a four years old boy.
Well, there was his father with him too.
So, an accomplice, how we used to say.
Once upon a time, then, a country with a yellow-green government, according to the parties official colors.
On one hand, yellow for the embarrassment about the shameful alliance and, on the other, green for rage, but regardless, depending on the random, useful enemy.
Once upon a time a nation built on illegality, on the lack of respect for the environment and its natural rules, not to mention the civil protection of citizens.
Anyway, it is all about bad weather, right?
Nonetheless, there was once a child, it was said.
A creature of only four years of life.
An innocent human being until proven guilty, in the guise of a crime worthy of severe and exemplary punishment.
He dared to go on the sacred soil of Venice, in the illustrious St Mark's Square, with a tiny electric scooter.
Juts a toy, okay, but still an unforgivable affront.
Sixty-six euros and eighty-eight cents (76,24 $), the well-deserved fine for the little one finished on the road to perdition.
Once upon a time a paradoxical farce called the Republic founded on contradictions.
Where the State is raging against the weak ones, closing eyes and conscience before the true delinquents and cheaters safe from high water...

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When memory fights back

Once upon a time the first people’s hero of Yugoslavia.
Of people and nations now former, at least on paper.
Which should be written, on the following pages, never revised.
Once upon a time Rade Končar, the partisan Rade, the young Končar.
The man who, after spending adolescence and dreams in the name of an ideal of freedom and rights for all, became a symbol, a chapter of history and, therefore, a statue.
To eternal and solemn admonition of the heirs of such a duty against the nostalgia of legalized hatred.
A commitment which should not retreat even a single centimeter, let alone lowering head and guard.
Once upon a time, today, a sixty-five years old man
A fool, perhaps, a sign, maybe.
Further proof of the urgency of resistance to the bitter end.
A wretch soul who followed his own delirium and kicked the noble testimony of the dark past.
Well, according to the last news from Split the statue itself fought back and collapsed on the guy, breaking his leg.
Because memory, when it wants to, can defend itself.
But it needs, more than ever in these times, every possible help...


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Denounce enemy teachers

The far-right party Alternative for Germany started a disturbing initiative.
German students are encouraged to report teachers who express political opinions through the Neutral Schools online portal, a pilot project in Hamburg, with plans to develop the program across the country.
Students can send anonymous complaints on the site about teachers who, in their opinion, are breaking the rules of neutrality by criticizing the party.
As to say...
Because the party can not be criticized.
Because the party is the party of the people and the people are always right.
Because whoever dares to criticize the people's party is against the State and the people themselves.
Because who is against the people themselves, is against the State and the party of the people.
This is why whoever is against the party of the people is not only an enemy of the party, but also yours, of everyone.
Because those who are enemies of all must be reported.
Also anonymously.
Above all anonymous, perhaps with a nice, meaningless nickname.
But indicating the name and last name of the enemy.
Possibly address and other sensitive data too.
So that the enemies of the people’s party will be caught and removed.
Doesn’t it remind you of something? 

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True stories of a widow

Go to sleep, my husband.
Sleep and rest.
Dreams quietly, but not too much.
You know how dreams are, we perfectly know.
Like actors.
So desirous of applause, able to do anything to keep the curtain open.

The last dream, then, is the most vain between them.
A trap in the form of paradise tailored to the hero of the day.
There is time, my love.
There is still time.
An eternity, they say.
Well, I 'm not ready for so much.

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True stories of love

Today is a great day because everything is very tender.
Because the bones are the same for everyone, right?
Because two hands, even interwoven into one another, are harmless if nothing draw in the audience eyes.
Evoke.
Waking nightmares in the maze of the most obtuse fears.
Well, we have not forgotten.
“We do not want them next to us, even by dead. Because they were wrong. And if nature was wrong with them, who are we to change the story?
God, maybe?”
We, too, have never been God, not even in the dreams. Especially in the dreams.
Because when you have everything in one hand, and you already know that all that will live and die with you, under the skin, over time, up to a day like today... well, you can afford the luxury of not asking anything to anyone.

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True stories of brave women: Marielle Franco

Well, for how many pacts the hate sellers might deal with the latter, they will never be able to fill that same square without buying it.
Because theirs is a story of one, period.
One, only one, whose life will last for a long time, of course, but when the destiny’s scythe will work for him too, the poisonous plant will be torn for good.
Instead, count the women and men who have grown old as young, because the life of the most unfortunate creatures were too much to bear.
Count and watch them.
They have never been alone.

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True stories about Trump and the shithole countries

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.

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True stories: I make way

Photo: BBC India

I make way.
Literally.
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.
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...

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