Stories and News No. 1082
There are protests all over Brazil following the death of Marielle Franco, a well-known city councilor from Rio, and her driver, shot dead by two men in what seems to have been some kind of execution.
Franco, 38, was a revolutionary activist who became a spokesperson for the disadvantaged people living in the favelas, where creeping poverty, police brutality and drug-gang shootings are normally.
The story of one, the stories of all.
Of women and men, of all ages and other trifles, such as skin color and orientation, geographical and historical location.
Whether you are standing, with due respect, or sitting, with equally dismay, or with all the indifference of the world before the umpteenth cancellation of the best character from the common story, the substance of the latter remains unchanged.
Count, use the numbers, if you prefer, play the card of concreteness.
On the podium the ever-first born is often applauded, come to the world not only already with the shirt on, but also cleaned and ironed according to current fashion.
Also count the vast majority of medals he has got on the public square by violent popular approval.
Count even the votes on the name of the smart wrongdoer, everytime capable of being followed up in the ravine by the anesthetized consciousness rats.
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.
They have never been as many as today, on the street, in the heart of those who remain.
This is the magic you don’t understand and, obtusely, you underestimate.
Everything seems done to you.
The result is coloured by blood and rage, all to the same, usual part.
And yet, not a day will pass that between those ashes, the wings forged in the most tenacious courage, the one fused with love, of an indomitable phoenix with a distinctly human soul, they will get new shape and the battle for the missing rights will be here again.
With thunderous, further noise.
That's why we will win.
Because in spite of everything, the little we have achieved so far is much more than our enemy’s nothing.
Because, you will see, for every murdered at the head of the rally of the righteous people, someone else will take his place.
To continue writing the stories of all, Marielle’s story.
Read more true stories
Buy my English Italian, dual language books
Listen my music band
Watch my last storytelling show with English and Italian subtitles Sunset
Storytelling videos with subtitles
There are protests all over Brazil following the death of Marielle Franco, a well-known city councilor from Rio, and her driver, shot dead by two men in what seems to have been some kind of execution.
Franco, 38, was a revolutionary activist who became a spokesperson for the disadvantaged people living in the favelas, where creeping poverty, police brutality and drug-gang shootings are normally.
The story of one, the stories of all.
Of women and men, of all ages and other trifles, such as skin color and orientation, geographical and historical location.
Whether you are standing, with due respect, or sitting, with equally dismay, or with all the indifference of the world before the umpteenth cancellation of the best character from the common story, the substance of the latter remains unchanged.
Count, use the numbers, if you prefer, play the card of concreteness.
On the podium the ever-first born is often applauded, come to the world not only already with the shirt on, but also cleaned and ironed according to current fashion.
Also count the vast majority of medals he has got on the public square by violent popular approval.
Count even the votes on the name of the smart wrongdoer, everytime capable of being followed up in the ravine by the anesthetized consciousness rats.
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.
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.
They have never been as many as today, on the street, in the heart of those who remain.
This is the magic you don’t understand and, obtusely, you underestimate.
Everything seems done to you.
The result is coloured by blood and rage, all to the same, usual part.
And yet, not a day will pass that between those ashes, the wings forged in the most tenacious courage, the one fused with love, of an indomitable phoenix with a distinctly human soul, they will get new shape and the battle for the missing rights will be here again.
With thunderous, further noise.
That's why we will win.
Because in spite of everything, the little we have achieved so far is much more than our enemy’s nothing.
Because, you will see, for every murdered at the head of the rally of the righteous people, someone else will take his place.
To continue writing the stories of all, Marielle’s story.
On the same topic:
Read more true stories
Buy my English Italian, dual language books
Listen my music band
Watch my last storytelling show with English and Italian subtitles Sunset
Storytelling videos with subtitles