For once (and after a long silence) I write on this page, starting from a personal and concrete. Yesterday I was in Milan, which I do not happen often anymore.
first leg, on the train that brought me to the railway station Garibaldi, I witnessed a scene of everyday racism. The conductor, a young boy and dry, with long strides through the carriage where I am, opens the door and stands in the compartment door opening. Standing there are two foreign students, one African and one South American. the controller intimate: "Ticket." The two do not have it. "Give me a document!" says doing more and more peremptory. The rejection of two young men, threatened to call the police and soon goes away angry. Back with three plain-clothes officers. I and another woman bewildered look and comment. Leave me incredulos the fact that no one has asked me a ticket. Neither me, nor to the other occupants of the carriage. Evidently, for that hard-working controller, immigrants can only be taken in chestnut. The three agents start
dall'africano. Obvious. To my great joy, when they ask a document, the boy exhibits an identity card! Tiè! Meanwhile, the train stops and the South American falls in a hurry. At the end of the three agents, who show so much more polite in the way of that diligent employee of Railways, shaking hands with the young African and go away. The controller mutters, "Sorry, guys ..."
Everything is done well. A penalty for the lack of ticket and go. But I am deeply struck by that scene. Moreover, I am angry with myself because the whole time I have sat there and dumb. After all, what happened with it? Perhaps nothing. But the manner and tone that the controller had an arrogance that is certainly not provided for by contract.
Arrival in Garibaldi and I go back to the subway. In the open space into which the railways, and metro pass, a police officer, two soldiers armed with light-hearted chat. I can not breathe. But we are a country under siege?
The military on the streets, far from giving me security, take me back to mind images of distant lands, the war in Congo, Palestine under siege ...
But whither are we going?
Arrive in S. Augustine. At the exit of the subway, a young woman with a headscarf is sitting on the ground and begging for alms. Incredulos remain. Never seen before.
Terminate the tasks that I had been brought there, back to the subway. A controller follows the turnstiles over a Roma woman and asks the ticket. E 'in order.
us?
I'm going back home, with the bitter consciousness of living in a country that is slowly slipping more and more towards intolerance. And we are watching.
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