On November 25th I was among the infinite sea of people who demonstrated from the Circus Maximus in a moving and composed way in favor of women, against violence. I arrived a little earlier than expected on the first cold day since the end of summer. The sky, however, despite the harsh climate, was incredibly clear and the sun, overbearing, shone proudly.
I felt that “being there” was necessary. I think this was a shared feeling. Women, men, children. Everyone there. And there were lots of teenagers, their slogans, their determination. Their beauty.
I thought for a moment about those who often judge today’s kids as irresponsible, superficial, without ideals and lacking the courage to defend their present and their future. These people should have seen the faces of all the young and very young people who were in the square on Saturday to make their voices heard; faces that I’m sure are very similar to the guys who write on this blog.
One hundred and six women have been killed to date. They all bore the name of Giulia. Yes, because yet another woman torn from the world, this time shook everyone, in a deeper, more intimate way.
I often wonder, since it happened, why Giulia’s death caused this detonation. The pain blew me away and arrived faster than sound, faster than the words used to describe and tell the violence and cruelty of the facts.
This also seems to me to be a shared feeling.
Perhaps we feel the urgency to impose ourselves on all levels and really do something now.
Perhaps because we feel a thousand-year-old violence towards women that no longer makes sense to exist; women are free, they realize themselves, they choose for their life, they have their own identity that is independent of the choice to get married or have children. They are no longer obedient and they are no longer silent. So perhaps this is why yet another news story does not remain an isolated fact of mental illness but represents a collective event that represents the denial of the female identity and brings to the surface a subtle and latent violence, which perishes and does not disappear. manifest only with the act of murder.
As I’ve already admitted, sometimes… I steal! I steal a lot when I see or hear something beautiful. And I want to prove it to you by telling you about this exchange of words that stood out like the sun on the harsh cold day.
On Saturday, while I was waiting for my friends to walk the streets of Rome together, I heard a man holding his very young daughter in his arms, chatting with a friend of his and saying: “I’m here for me, for the women and for her”; “she” the little wonder that he held tight with a kind of giant pouch, a very colorful band.
I told you this episode because listening to these words the plan of the Minister of Education and Merit Giuseppe Valditara came to mind: to include a project called “Educating in relationships” in high schools. I am sure that this proposal is born with the best intentions but I cannot help but think that it is yet another opportunity denied to families to take care of themselves and therefore have the responsibility of raising their children in a healthy way and of asking for help for themselves and their children if something is not moving in the direction in which the affection necessary to know how to love and be loved should move.
Human beings are not born murderers. What happens in the mind of a person who makes such a gesture must therefore be investigated, prevented and recognised.
I hear it said too often: “anyone can lose their mind and make a mistake”.
NO! It can’t happen to everyone and calling killing someone a “mistake” or “impulse” is violent. Even just thinking about it is.
Giulia is no longer here. Like many other deaths at the hands of those who couldn’t stand their freedom. She couldn’t bear the idea of her falling in love with someone else or making her dreams come true, herself.
This is illness. Things must be called by their name.
The climate is harsh, but I saw the sun shining forcefully in the clear sky on Saturday. And it had the scent of hope in things that change and the sound of voices singing in unison of freedom.
Valeria Verna
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