Stories and News

Stories and News No. 606 Another clip from my new book, Different Loves : Something has changed in 1967 in USA, it is appropriate to say. A mixed marriage is for the first time the central theme in a successful movie. I'm talking of course about Guess who's coming to dinner . For those who do not remember, it was played by Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn in the role of white parents and Sidney Poitier in the black unexpected new entry in the family. The plot is simple: Joey, a young white American girl, falls in love with Dr. Prentice (Sidney Poitier ), a black guy met during a vacation in Hawaii. The two plan to get married and she wants to go back to Switzerland with him. The film focuses on the return of Joey at home, in San Francisco, along with the boyfriend that she brings to dinner with the parents. The reactions of family and friends becomes the focal point. All ends well, with an optimistic end. Of course, if the new exotic arrival in the family had not be

Stories and News No. 605 It’s evening, 2013 October 31. De Maria’s family have just finished dinner. They have not eaten much, but it was not for lack of food. It has never been the weight of the dish such a problem. And probably it never will be. They are a high medium class people in the social pyramid. They add medium, for modesty. Or perhaps to the taxes. Difference of opinion, if at the end of the year it is not clear on the invoices. It’s evening, in this 31th of October, and to the De Maria’s is like many others. They eat fast, each one of them closed in his room. Hypnotic screen TV in front of the eyes and cell phone always open to the outside world. Golfing and club friends, strictly well-educated gang comrades, adultery lovers in various ways, uncomfortable but wealthy relatives, workmates and shopping colleagues, office and poker buddies, they are all there at one click, leaping between FB and WhatsApp riding a Tweet. The important thing is the distance, on the

Different loves By Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher Tempesta Publisher From the prologue : About love. If you want that your stories meet great public’s favor, in this country you have to write about love. That’s what I heard one day. My luck is that in the world there are many kinds of love. There is love for the revolution. A blind infatuation for the change that, even before you try to build it, you dream it effortlessly with your open eyes, let alone closed. I refer to the Jean-Baptiste du Val-de-Grâce’s love for a new and pure France. Until his death. There is love for justice. An insatiable hunger, manageable only feeding with the person who created it, the culprit who lives undisturbed ahead our silent eyes, except those who have been directly affected by the crime. I am talking about Rita Schwerner’s love to challenge and defeat the passing time, waiting for the right moment, more than ever right to pay the bill to the offenders, all of them. Especially the last one.

I have the honor and pleasure at the same time to share with you the wonderful preface that Barry Bradford wrote for my new book, Different loves , Tempesta Publisher : THE POWER OF LOVE OVERCOMES THE LOVE OF POWER In these four remarkable pieces, the power of love to transform the world is on full and radiant display. If you want to make a major change in the world, there are many forces that work more quickly than the power of love. Money and dynamite can change circumstances very quickly. However, to bring about lasting, meaningful, powerful, change, there is no more powerful force in the universe than the power of love. The powerful essay containing an imaginary ending to the trial of Edgar Ray Killen, a notorious leader of the Ku Klux Klan for the murders known as "Mississippi Burning" particularly touched me. I played a role in the reopening of the actual case that led to Killen’s conviction 41 years to the day that three good men – J. E. Chaney, Mickey Schwerne

Stories and News No. 604 China, air pollution has forced the authorities of Harbin, a town of 11 million people, to a city shutdown, closing all activities, urging people to stay indoors. We talk about a poisoning of the air 50 times higher than the maximum allowed. Schools are closed, the children of a fifth grade have to write an essay: tells your days until they return to class. The following is by Yimou, ten years old . Essay. This is my essay. The title is 6. Six stands for six days. The days I'll be here, in the bedroom, in front of the window. My window has only one color, that is two. Light gray and dark gray. The color is not about the window. The glass is transparent, I know. I wish it was not. The outside world is the color, not me. If it were up to me, it would be of any color except gray. Both the glass and the outside world. The type of gray decides our time. Our family time, I mean. Light gray, the holiday will end and my sister and I go back to

Stories and News No. 603 Ioane Teitiota has applied for environmental asylum to New Zealand, where he lives with his wife and three children, born there. His homeland, Kiribati island, risks to disappear due to rising water caused by global warming and the resulting climate change. The New Zealand Government, through the High Court in Auckland, is reviewing his case that could make him or not the first climate refugee in history. Not the last, in my opinion. In this story, of course... Once upon a time there was a planet. Not ours, so we are all safer. There were inhabitants on the planet. Humans. Well, let’s say almost… The almost human inhabitants of the planet were many and infinitely different from each other. It happens. You know, the equality of shapes and colors is just an illusion. For the equals in the world too. Especially for the latter. One day something happened that disquieted some. Not all, only a part of the many. A man named Ioane knocked at the d

Stories and News No. 602 These words are dedicated to those who are outraged by Erich Priebke’s corpse... We have memory. Yes, we have memory. It is not a cliché. No, it is not. That's why we're the ones who do not want the funeral of the Criminal in our church. Our church, that we made the temple of peace and charity. Of brotherly love and respect for others. We will not forget what it was. No, we do not. We still have fresh memories of man against man. Indeed, man over man, as a result of a blunt insane belief to be something more than the other. The different others, guiltily different. Needless to say I was born human, I rejoiced and suffered like you, if I appear different to those bloodthirsty eyes. Reject them, Lock them up in the field and then delete them from the face of the earth. Our land. Because we are not racist, but… But. But we must first think about our children, our problems, us. Us. To us you will always be expendable. We have the m

Stories and News No. 601 Greenpeace activists who are in jail for attempting to climb onto the Russian rig risk a sentence of up to 15 years. Piracy is the guilt. The famous pirate Jack Sparrow, heard about the fact, wrote a letter to Putin... Dear Vladimir, pirates, yes, pirates. There are pirates in this world. By my faith, of multiple types, to be honest. And if for once so I am, I beg you to lend me your ear. There are home pirates, the most dangerous and less catchable. They steal superfine cookies under the cover of darkness. Rummaging through your secret words when you're far on the horizon. This is not good, no, it isn’t. Unless it is to understand better. And love even more. There are also more sophisticated and less detectable pirates. Looks are their loot. Yes, you fully understand, there is no misunderstanding. Literally looks, those are seized and taken away by them. On the train in the morning, close in the apparent anonymous crowd, through tr

Stories and News No. 600 These days the Nobel Prizes are announced. So, I will offer you Mario’s speech . My name is Mario and I am a simple man, that’s it. A confused gentleman, according to my wife. In the sense that if I'm among the many I will certainly be confused with everybody. I am not original, that’s it. Normally I disappear, at most I exist. For you, if you know me, if you know in advance my arrival. To the world, the rest of the latter, I live among the anonymous billion clouds in the sky. However, since many years I hear about Nobel prizes. Literature, peace, medicine, physics and so on. I'm tired. On the contrary, I feel fit. Saturated by gifts, that’s it. At the same time. I'm tired of not seeing some names celebrated there, in the firmament of human excellences. And I am saturated by the free gifts from creatures that no one ever will exalt as they deserve. This is the reason I'm here, now, that’s it. I want to assign my nobel priz

Stories and News No. 599 From yet another fart by Silvio Berlusconi to an umpteenth tragedy at sea, with the usual unfortunate protagonists. At the moment we are talking about 94 dead and 250 missing. I read. I read articles, posts and comments on the web, from Right to Left, and I feel far away. Immensely away. The word bitterly, perhaps it would be more fair. May heaven bless the stories, saving island to land in... "Dad," Efrem, nine years old, asked. "Why are you smiling?" Tesfaye just minimally attenuates the curve that his lips draw. Yes, basically it is a smile. "Do you really want to know?" "Yes" "I smile because now no one can reject us... "No one can accuse us of being here to steal Italians’ job. "Tireless and punctual Italian workers. " Nobody will be able to indicate to us as accountable for the increase in crime in the country. "This country which is known worldwide for its honesty. &

Stories and News No. 598 A bear called M2 was found dead in the woods near Trento, in Italy, victim of a bullet. A vindictive shot. The usual eye for an eye. What primitive crime? Probably having devoured donkeys and heifers. You may read hungry. My grandmother told me that in times of crisis there is no greater sin than hunger. However, it happens that, in the stories sometimes I ask help to, often on this blog, the world tips. So, the killer have to atone, not the victim. And if he does not, here I am. Just here. I'm sorry, M2. Forgive me. I ask forgiveness on behalf of my fellow man, so to speak, that ripped you from the forest. From your forest. Because, since immemorial time the forest is still animals land. I know these words will not bring you back to life. I know that the power of words is not so extraordinary. But here, as long as it remain within this page, words are like live. And then, as if I can, I take all the energy in my body, with no brakes,