Thursday, February 24, 2011

What Happens When You Get A Pink Summons In Nyc

When the Albanians disembarked

a Brindisi, era la primavera del 1991, o forse inizio primavera, perchè portavamo ancora le maniche lunghe, e le onde blu si riempirono di vecchie carrette, color ruggine, e da un paese arrugginito all those Albanians fled. The exodus of Albanians believe has forever marked the memory - and, above all, the historical consciousness - all of Brindisi. I was in high school at the time the fourth year of high school, and for the first time I met History. History materialized, hunger had a face, the despair was an outstretched hand. Even before the attacks of the Mafia, even before the unsettling reality of India, where poverty is also a smile on the street, or the skeleton of a child dressed in rags.
History was one of those impossible vessels in the port of Brindisi, the story was rusty anchor. I remember the streets of Brindisi, a river of Albanians fleeing. I remember the school of my village, Tuturano,

per chi non lo conoscesse,  http://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuturano

case d'accoglienza improvvisate, mi ricordo la scuola elementare di Via Vivaldi, straripante di famiglie, bivacchi arrangiati, pasti caldi, gente che si sbracciava per aiutare gli altri. E mi ricordo la famiglia di albanesi, mai sbiadita nella mia memoria, che ospitammo a casa nostra: la coppia di giovani fidanzati, lei bionda e dal sorriso immacolato, lui coi baffi, vestito come un poliziotto degli anni Settanta, (avevano imparato l'italiano guardando la televisione) scappati da un paese in malora, e poi rimasti in Italia, dove si sono sposati, e hanno trovato lavoro a Trento. Da qualche parte conservo their photos. All those who were just pages of history books, pictures on the news, numbers, phrases newspapers took the body and form.
I remember one afternoon in particular, stop the Commandery, the stop in front of 7 ... that stream of people, Albanians, hand in hand, seemed popped out of a movie in black and white, and poured everywhere, no direction, with eyes of fire and storm ... I remember that spring, I realized that if you were a human being, do not you could watch, when the sea and I was screaming for help.

and now we're all there to watch, including me, while Libya burns.

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