In recent days, around fifty boats from more than 40 countries around the world have set sail or are about to set sail for Gaza, carrying food and medicine. The Global Sumud Flotilla, as stated on its official website, “is a coordinated, non-violent fleet, composed mainly of small boats sailing from Mediterranean ports to break the illegal siege imposed by the Israeli occupation on Gaza.”
In an article published in La Stampa a few days ago, “Il viaggio di Gloria e la terra che resiste” (Gloria’s journey and the land that resists), Maurizio Maggiani writes: “…On June 24, singer Seun Kuti, son of the great Fela Kuti, said from the stage of the IN Music Festival in Zagreb: ‘I have some advice for young Europeans. I know you want to liberate Palestine. You want to liberate Congo. You want to liberate Sudan. You want to liberate Iran… Liberate Europe. Liberate Europe from the far right, from fascism, from racism, from imperialism. When you have done this, as soon as you have done it, Gaza will be free, Congo will be free, Sudan will be free, Iran will be free. Forget about us. Don’t worry about us, liberate Europe!” I am writing as I watch the Genoa section of the Global Sumud Flotilla set sail from my balcony; yes, they think they are going to liberate Gaza from hunger at least, but whether they succeed or not, they have certainly begun the hard work of liberating Europe.
Free Europe. Or free ourselves? But from what, from whom?
The Mediterranean Sea. Famous for its mild climate, for the diet most recommended by doctors, and for the horrors in Libyan waters.
This sea, which usually divides lands, today unites them.
Here, from Europe, the Mediterranean Sea is a cradle where we can sleep undisturbed. This sea whispers to me that the ugly world is far away, that my life is peaceful, that my indifference is mild and my home is safe.
I want a superficial thought that makes my skin beautiful, sang the Afterhours.
I remember that a few years ago, between yawns, I saw a bright story. It was about a small town in Calabria, Riace, and its mayor, Mimmo Lucano. It was the story of a town that was disappearing but had chosen to resist and be reborn by welcoming refugees into its streets, homes, and shops. In an embrace so tight that it was no longer clear who was really saving whom.
How many accusations, which later proved to be unfounded, were hurled at this story in the courts! They invented all sorts of things in an attempt to discredit it.
Something possible, which told of everyone being together, was not supposed to exist.
Shhh, the big bad wolf is outside, close your eyes and go back to sleep.
In recent years, there has always been something disturbing the peace. One Friday, for example, a girl stood in front of the Swedish parliament building, armed with a cardboard sign. She had decided that from then on, every Friday, she would go on strike by skipping school, asking the government to find a real solution to climate change. Pfff, what does that little girl think she’s going to achieve…
They ridiculed her, mocked her in every way, over and over again. “She’s definitely strange,” Trump taunted her some time later, “She should take anger management classes.” But Greta Thunberg, who knew full well that she was different from that dirty, slimy face, had no intention of taming her anger. And she never backed down.
There must have been something terribly contagious about that patient, solid anger, because over time, not one, not a hundred, but a veritable sea of young people from Europe and around the world joined her.
Perhaps those who have something that shines help others rediscover that they too can shine.
And perhaps that something has a name.
Sumud is “a form of resistance practiced by Palestinians for decades; Sumud is steadfastness and constant perseverance, Sumud has its roots in the verb ṣamada, to organize, adorn, accumulate beauty, save.”
About half of the boats in the Global Sumud Flotilla depart from Italy. The images from the ports of Barcelona and Genoa in recent days are very powerful. The emotion, the kisses, the greetings… But above all: where did all those people come from?! They came spontaneously, without orders, without earning a penny… Did they perhaps go to ask for a little silence so they could rest better?
Those people came down to bring their own hope, however small or large it may be. And the more they brought it as a gift to the Flotilla, the more they found in their pockets, and the more they found in their pockets, the more we found it, watching them on Instagram. A truly dangerous contagion! Who knows, maybe it was to protect us from this mysterious contagious disease that they didn’t talk about it much on TV.
Speaking of stories that shine in the night, Francesca Albanese’s comes to mind. I recently attended the presentation of her book, Quando il mondo dorme (When the World Sleeps) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-w1q1G4228w). Before the event began, I watched her in the crowd: she had a contagious beauty. She mingled with the people who were there for her, with her, and seemed to feel really at ease. She often caught someone’s admiring gaze and smiled at them. It was not a self-satisfied smile, but one of pride in the understanding of that moment and the common idea that was in the air: the certainty that we can all rediscover beauty, and that my courage becomes your courage. In an interview, she said: “We have all fallen into a deep sleep, which is what has allowed the distraction that we still experience firsthand…”
We are all rooting for that crazy fleet, hoping it will manage to reach across the entire sea. And we don’t care that everyone, including her, knows that her supplies and medicines will not reach the coast of Gaza: we will continue to be there and we will not close our eyes. But that’s not all: we will continue to blow hard in the wind, to keep its sails full and to scatter everywhere the cargo it carries, which no one can stop. The seeds of hope.
Adriana Ferretti
Leave a Reply