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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Once upon a time there were animals

Once upon a time there were animals.
Once upon a time there were a shark, an elephant and a rhinoceros.
Once upon a time... and then, how did it go on?
Yes, long ago, in a faraway land there were sharks.
Can you remember, the sharks?
Every year, 100 million.
270 every day.
More than 10 per hour today are killed, mainly for the fins.
And what about elephants? Can you remember them?
From January to December in 20 thousand.
Almost 1700 a month.
One every 25 minutes, at this moment, are being slaughtered for ivory.
The rhinoceros? Do you remember those wonderful creatures?
More than 1000 every year in South Africa alone.
Almost 3 per day are drowned, now.
The same happens to many other species and measuring the horrible extermination in human terms it is as if from 1970 we had lost the entire population of Asia.
Once upon a time, there were a shark, an elephant and a rhinoceros.
A long time ago, in a faraway land.
There were…

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Harper Nielsen detention is an honor

Once a time the place to be.
When everybody shout and chat about crazy silliness and lies.
Even if they had to hide their guilt under a popular song.
As a national anthem might be.
Once upon a time those who in the past took the right side of the road.
When all was going on the safe requested path.
Even if they walked on the life and the future of their victims.
As the memory loss of many colonialist governments.
Once upon a time the brave people who still make that choice.
When poor minded politicians and afraid school teachers try to defend their blame using their power.
Even if they did all they can.
As many of their kind did before.
Once upon a time the nine years old Harper Nielsen, who refused to stand up and sing the national words, protesting in the name of Indigenous people and paid the consequences of her decision.
Thank you for your example, young noble girl.

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Lalu Muhammad Zohri story: the champion without shoes

Once upon a time a dreamer.
A boy who could scarcely imagine to buy a pair of running shoes.
A creature whose soul was going so fast to overcome all.
Body’s and hard reality’s limits.
Once upon a time a champion.
The winner of men’s 100m race at the IAAF world under-20 championships at Tampere in Finland.
Once upon a time just an eighteen years old life.
The first Indonesian to win a medal at those tournaments.
But not the very first one to hope for that.
I'm not referring to the podium.
Or the cameras flashes.
Not even the brilliant gold.
Instead, once upon a time a whole world of people who just deserve a chance to run.
And show talents and value.
Be patient, my friend, and lots of them will arrive on the track...

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Thailand cave boys world cup final match

Once upon a time there was a world championship.
Another one…
Where you gets lose, it's viral news, never a good read, let alone to watch.
At the same time, when you survive the final whistle, there will be no autographs on the shirt and photos with dedication.
Nonetheless, this does not mean that you will not cry out of joy, with the cup called life tightly held in your hands.
On the screen, or in the cave, the final is now staged.
In its dramatically stretched extra time.
Because the fate of our planet is a cruel referee and it seems almost to taste in finding every pretext to postpone the road to the blessed shower, where to wash away the bruises of difficult living.
Meanwhile, down there, in the dark, they fight against the usual enemy.
Time.
So, run, watch hands, be magnanimous, for once.
Burn away the hours as if they were minutes disguised as seconds.
Since twelve kids, along with their brave trainer, still deserve a lot to play...

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Burning forests in Chile to survive

Once upon a time there was a land.
A region, indeed.
Once upon a time there were brave people.
You might call them Mapuche.
You can call them the natives ones.
But you can surely define them as the resisting creatures.
Defending life’s gifts and what rests of human soul.
In a few words, being one with nature’s perfection.
So, once upon a time in Araucanía, Southern Chile.
When you may sadly see, right now, unacceptable rows of charred pines.
It’s a hugely desperate act, it undoubtedly is.
But it’s maybe the last, only answer.
Like these words explain: “We burned these forests as an act of legitimate resistance against the extractive industries that have oppressed the Mapuche people,” says Hector Llaitul. “If we make their business unprofitable they move on, allowing us to recover our devastated lands and rebuild our world.”

Buy the ebook: Italian short stories, a dual language book

Equality story

You've heard this story.
You've already seen this movie.
We already told this tale, all together, and we've lived it too.
We were all there.
All of us, and we'll be there tomorrow too.
We were Jews in Nazi concentration camps, and in the same place we were Roma people and homosexuals.
Wrong creatures, living mistakes.
We were also women.
Yes, women with the alleged insane idea to be something more than a man...

From Italian short stories, a dual language book

True stories of dreams

So, next Italy’s president will be a female one.
Let’s remove again: the new president will be young.
No... come on, let’s do more: a little girl.
There will be a baby-girl at the head of the Italic nation.
But let’s go forward, continuing to eliminate old stuff.
Enough with the ability to mediate between the parties, since ever historical leaders pride.
The girl child who will guide Italy to the new horizon won’t provide any mediation.
If something is right, it will be so.
And if something is wrong, it will remain so...

From Italian short stories, a dual language book

True life stories

When the heart dies twice.
When the heart dies twice, it means that it lived, twice. And many more have enjoyed the benefits.
Because when the heart dies twice, arithmetic and its rules go out the window.
Because the love that subtracts creates endless empty, but when the operation is the sum, you can call it multiplication.
When the heart dies twice, you may cry as much, but they are defused tears.
They don’t delete smiles and gratitude for received and given gifts...

From Italian short stories, a dual language book

True love stories

My name is Saverio and a smile will be my last word.
Yes, smiling, so I'm gone.
With joy.
Because I have died with it.
I want to emphasize this for my son.
He must not take the burden.
I would like to leave on his shoulders and in his heart all except any weight.
Lightness, this is my inheritance.
Well, I'm not referring to the small legacy he will find in my last will.
He knows that have been no richness in our family.
The levity I would offer as ending credits of my life concerns the bag of thoughts and emotions that will accompany him for the rest of the road.
Life is already itself fraught by heavy luggage...


From Italian short stories, a dual language book

True stories of missing children

After the tragic fact, Wang bought a taxi and began patrolling the city of fourteen million people during work hours.
He put a flyer on the car window, after printing business cards with his daughter's information, telling each passenger what had happened.
I lost her, we lost her, and the most horrendous meaning, that is, she has lost us.
Here it is the unacceptable sharing that binds us all along.
The emptiness, not the fullness.
The eager hands, never the full pockets.
Desire, fervent dream, irrepressible aspiration, everything but the vault full of vanity of the richest people.
I find you, the little Qifeng heard from far away, more than twenty years ago.

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True stories of an alien child

We punctually glorify the shared error, to the detriment of the exceptional out of place gifts.
We thought you were too different.
From us and everything that reassures us.
She cannot be one of us, we immediately said before your stretched head.
Nevertheless, the problem wasn’t the skull’s size, but the content.
Because beyond the superficial justifications, what scares us most is the inside of things.
Specifically, a brain of greater magnitude, with the propensity to extend upwards.
That is, reason and fantasy that point the heavenly vault as the only possible direction.

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True stories of miners

Once upon a time there was a school.
A normal school, far from favored.
By fate as the administrator of the so-called public affairs.
In the normal school there was a equally ordinary class.
On the other hand, normal or excellence it is, where there is a class here comes a teacher and them.
The sons.
Of mothers, of course.
Of life in general, every color and profile, able to survive the darkened reins of his majesty the prevailing moral.
Of course, fathers’ sons.
"What job does your dad?" The teacher asked.

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True stories same sex marriage in Australia

Come on, let's say it together, indeed, let’s scream without any hesitation.
It’s simple common sense, letting people to get married.
How could you think of further insisting on the opposite way?
Two creatures meet, both touching each other with glances and thoughts for an indefinite time, attraction starts demanding attention, as much the impelling heart asks for not being ignored.
We cannot underestimate the most exploited among human feelings by titles and rhymes of romantic songs, as well as horoscopes and cuddly soaps.
Let’s exult and congratulate the winners for the happy finish, however late.
We look at Australia with affection, now.
They did it too.

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