I’ll try to tell it – Carmilla on line

I’ll try to tell it – Carmilla on line
I’ll try to tell it – Carmilla on line
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from Luca Baiada

This 78th anniversary of the massacre of the Fucecchio Marshes, like the other great massacres of the summer of 1944 in occupied Italy, falls in a special context: again the war in Europe, again war crimes and more international disputes over the crimes of the world War. As if you don’t want to learn anything. The bluebottle repeats its macabre dance against the glass. History teacher of life speaks a dead language.

In the stories of circumstance everything comes back, in reality everything is out of place. The 174 dead of that 23 August of blood, victims of one of the most senseless massacres of the German occupation, were not given justice. For them too – many long-forgotten people, the youngest of four months – now rivers of speeches are poured out, shows are made, trite slogans are repeated. A new trial has even been celebrated: in turn, by now, he is already ten years old; and like the others, he made cards.

Of the condemned immediately after the war, in the 1950s there was no longer one in prison; the two condemned in this century, on the other hand, did not see the prison even for a day; yes and no they heard of it while staying comfortably at home in Germany. In the entertainment society the hunt for the Nazis is a birdwatching.

And the compensation to the victims’ families? Only in this century has it just been talked about, in the sense that a first sentence had condemned the German state, but the measure was canceled almost immediately, as soon as Germany made the big voice in the court in The Hague, for a mortgage on his sumptuous villa in Como. The obligation to pay compensation for the two convicted German soldiers remained, and it is a great consolation: go and try to execute an Italian sentence in Germany, if you have time and money to waste. A desolate sense of empty hands and full air, a fold of mockery and operetta, something absurd makes it possible to look at these things with the anger of the usual story and with the temptation of the usual news. After all, if the massacres continue now, if it is now the turn of Eastern Europe to kill and die, with what courage do we speak of 174 obscure victims, stuck in the sea of ​​blood of a world war with tens of millions of deaths?

But it is quite the opposite. We preserve humanity if we recognize the seed of history in every history, if in the face of all this we do not resign ourselves to the hypnotic force of the story without consequences, of verborini, of the never again. Just him, the never again, sly grins up the sleeve of every speaker from the stage, whether he is a mayor or a president or a councilor or a representative of something, because if the blood of 78 years ago does not count, indeed, if 78 years were not enough to do justice, what is the use of asking for those dying in Ukraine? Failure to justice becomes the natural accompaniment of the law of the strongest, it turns into a carnivorous pledge that pushes only to immediate revenge, to the law of the forest. An invitation to assassination. And then go talk about international justice, of rule of lawof European values.

Deaf to all this, a ruling class that changes its clothes without scruples, a waterproof class that is not picky among feluccas, togas and grisaille, just this year served the last dish at the banquet. Someone, as in 2008, had now tried to realize the credits from massacres and deportations, by recording other mortgages on German state assets. Still injured majesty! Germany sued the international court of justice again, just like in 2008, and Italian law rushed to the aid of the strongest, just like then.

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With a provision inserted in one of the decree laws on the PNRR – in the name of resilience, which with the Resistance gets along like the devil with holy water – the legal initiative against Germany has been stopped. Government debts are not like the mortgage payments of a poorly paid worker. At the same time, a “relief fund” was set up to give something to the families of these victims. A fund made with limited Italian funds, certainly not with German money, because Berlin doesn’t think about paying much or little or very little. You can draw on this fund only on condition that you have filed a civil suit or start it within a few months, because 78 years of pain are not enough. People who have been suffering for generations have to go to a lawyer, tell it all over again, expose themselves to the risk of not being believed; so, because you never know.

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The victims are suspected that it is reserved for the disabled, for the injured at work, for those who ask for citizenship income: but this here, is he not smart? How much they will take, then, is obscure, because the implementing decrees are not seen and it is not known how many questions will be. Surely the amount will be much lower than the amount due: it could be enough to pay a bunch of crazy bills, the kind that terrify pensioners. On the other hand, the refreshment fund already produces its evil effects, dividing the affected families, creating ambiguous expectations and problems of conscience. If you sue you accept a bad joke, because maybe you will get something from the Italian taxpayer, that is, from yourself and yours, and nothing from the killers. If you don’t sue, you feel like you’re missing an opportunity; and then maybe the money, few and cursed, is needed by your son, your grandson, who can’t find a job. This is the goodness of the country of a thousand populisms, where everyone puts Italy in party symbols, where everyone is sovereign, bosses of something and imaginary community friends with their hearts in their hands.

Wasn’t that Padulin driver in Valdinievole more sympathetic, with his ballad sent by heart, when he said “I’ll try to tell it / I don’t know if I’ll get there”? He sang about a massacre, of the people and the partisans, and whoever has heard at least once that touching melopea, those verses that seem to have come out of history for a long time, have glimpsed a past full of meaning. True or false? Distorted Effects of Mourning, Lost World Syndrome? After all, this is the point. The question of memory, deceptive or simply misplaced, it hides the perception of oneself and the planning of the future. It is no coincidence that memory as a political object became established after the collapse of the socialist bloc, when the end of the opposition between the two economic models seemed to remove any excuse from bellicose rhetoric and the impunity of crimes committed in the world conflict. But that linguistic ornament was deceptive, there were others paper flowersthe twentieth century closed on a misunderstanding and left the premises for other deceptions, other ways of changing the subject.

The lack of justice on the massacres, accompanied by a feast of spectacular narration and exhortative rhetoric, now offers its plot of impunity: for the victims there are many words, official exhibitions, thematic routes, equipped paths, dedicated sites, applause to give and to give. take, twinning, monuments and many other indispensable things. The promise for what happens in Eastern Europe, for what can happen anywhere, is a dotted drawing, which is easy to fill by connecting the dots: the victims have no rights, on every violence floats, wallows, a notable mushroom farm gets comfortable ready to soften things with cautious words, to the limit to go around the pain with refreshmentsthe repairsi soothing. Verbal fantasy has no limits, but everything must remain as before, so that power always has hit men at hand who go unpunished.

At this crossroads, on this border, we let our carriage driver appear, with his unanswered ballad.

The article is in Italian

Tags: Ill Carmilla line

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