Stories and News

As usual, the blog closes for  summer. Also this year, from September to now, we have read the news, you and I. Not always - because even sharing stuff on the web is now a mechanism like any other, but sometimes we have chosen. The news, as stories to give greater prominence. Because something inside drove our fingers on the mouse or the keyboards. There have been too many deaths. The ignored and undervalued dead, even more. As many as a surprising amount of unexpected, human gestures. Enough to consider them unlikely. Let alone worthy of the front page. Nevertheless, here, now, even in this space which we are all part of, as long as the heart will beat we have a chance to decide. What to read and what to fight for . What to remember . And what look further . None of us is born simple user and silent reader , passive liker and loyal fan , regular wearer of popular avatars and precise sharer of more or less noble trend . We were born and we can return to be, at any mo

Stories and News No. 900 Mangar Makur Chuot left Sudan as a child, after his father was killed during the civil war when he was only four years old . He has spent at least eight in a refugee camp in Kenya. Then, the turning point, the day when he was granted asylum in Australia . The country which he will run the next Olympics for... Here it is, the metaphor. It is all there. A race . Many races. Every races of each of us, intertwined into one another, with the most varied speeds. People who whizz, people falling, people who arrive first and exult gracefully or not rejoicing at all, culpably unaware of their own fortune. People who lose. Almost all of the rest, the much underrated majority. Because only the first win, we all know it, but it often happens that the second and even the third and fourth turn on their back, looking at all the others with a pathetic sense of pride. Nevertheless, following the metaphor, in that immense and confusing tangle of legs that da

Stories and News No. 899 We are all ever on the news tip, on anomalous wave’s top. In short, without fail, on the emergency. When the omelet is now done, as some say This is the everlasting, italic story. So, let’s image a home version in a family like many... Latest news. Serious accident in the kitchen. The brothers, Francesco and Mario, dropped to the ground the last thing you should fall into the ground. A bottle of oil. Full to the brim, too. Indeed, the two villains have also walked with impunity on the dense bush on the floor, spreading sticky greasy and dangerous traces of broken glass throughout the rest of the flat. Me, a Siamese domestic cat, docile only before meals, and fellow canary from its elevated station, arranged - in my humble opinion - too high, here we are, on the scene, to tell you the umpteenth disaster. We do not yet know the actual dynamic of the facts that led to the bottle’s fall and we are waiting for the only person capable of restoring o

Stories and News No. 898 Because of climate change , caused also by global warming , the Lake Poopó , the second largest of Bolivia, has dried up completely in December. As a result, the indigenous community of Uru-Muratos , living mainly by fishing, has been forced to flee their homes and become refugees. Not for a military conflict or persecution, but climate change. In fact they have lost their identity, because for thousands years the Uru-Muratos were called by another name. The Men of the Lake ... Once upon a time. So the stories begin, all of them, even those who have forgotten. That something was. Once upon a time. The forest, we used to say once upon a time in the woods , remember? The place is important. There must be, otherwise we do not know where to look. Where to imagine. Yeah, imagine is all, but we need a reference. A recognizable place and, preferably, that makes sense for all. Whichever piece of life which you listen to the story from. That's w

Stories and News No. 897 Emmanuel Chidi Namdi , a Nigerian asylum seeker, was beaten to death after trying to defend his wife from a racist attack by a right-wing man in Italy. There is a place. I know it exists. And you know it too. There is a place where a man is killed for the color of his skin , period. Without further words, silly chats, or even lies. A place where the culprit is the killer . But he is not alone. Guilty are also those who every day exploit and insult, abuse and manipulate, for only personal gain or solely for a simple outburst of the moment, the most vulnerable skins. Along with the murderer and all of them are guilty as well those who do nothing to oppose, remember the infamous, appalling silence of the so-called good people . They do, maybe even more, those who pretend to do something, with the sole purpose of continuing to take advantage of the case in their favor. Because this is the color of the skin. Only a lucky, or just the opposite, res

Stories and News No. 896 At the press conference during Iraq War Enquiry led by John Chilcot , the latter said a moment ago that a military solution was not the last resort and that former British Prime Minister Tony Blair exaggerated the case for the 2003 invasion. All this thirteen years after the conflict that, according to Iraq Body Count , caused during the invasion the death of 7,500 people only with regard to civilians , up to more than 600,000 until 2006 for the journal The Lancet . All this in the days when the attacks in Baghdad have provoked a record of 250 deaths , including many children. All this and much more. The last resort . Here it is, the last one. It is like a cardinal point, a constant, a sign on the road that defines us. Like the horizon that everyone, like it or not, can only imagine. Well, provided the fulcrum of the story, decided the basic rules, the game begins. There are those , lucky them. There are those who ignore the last resort.

Stories and News No. 895 Trinidad Alvarez Lira died last Wednesday at age 117 , after waiting for years to get proof of being born in 1898 , so that she could receive government benefits. However the fateful birth certificate was delivered just hours after her death... Photo : Sinembargo.mx You know what? It happens, indeed. It happens a lot more than what you think. Those who are waiting get tired and go beyond. You arrive pretending breathless or asking pardon for the delay with false mortification, but the scene is always the same. An empty room, an empty sidewalk, an empty space in a vacuum. Too bad for her , I'm sorry for him , that is what you tell yourself. And you're wrong, dear friend by a very personal concept of time. Bad and sorry are all for you. You know what? You have no idea how many of your kind we met along the journey. Incorrigible fellow of the latter, sick of a very pernicious slowness in recognizing the obvious. One hundred and s