Sitting at my desk in the hearth of the Midlands, I read the news.
My home country has recently closed its ports, rejecting a boat with over 600 desperate people who crossed Africa and the deadly Mediterranean sea to reach their European dreams.
There were over 100 children on board. They saw the lights passing by, the lights of the wonderful peninsula –hearth of the Roman Empire, the Renaissance; the hearth of the racial laws, the fascism, and the Mafia.
A little man said “No you cannot land here, we are better than you”. The boat finally went to Spain and in the mean-time other 1000s landed in Italy, because nobody, not even the little man, could stop them.
The little man did not stop “the invasion”. He just enticed an ignorant and fascist crowd by screaming out loud “PRIMA GLI ITALIANI” (Italians First).
I sit at my desk, in a country devastated by parties like “Britain First” and I keep reading the news.
My host country is in denial. I never saw so many homeless, or such a level of poverty and inefficiency in a place which once was considered the best for their National Health System, their Universities, and their welfare system.
The big orange man on the other side of the ocean separated the families who tried to cross “his” borders. He put the kids into cages and they cry.
I am an ECONOMIC MIGRANT.
I hate when people tell me “It is not YOU we do not WANT”, because being a Professor people still welcome me in the UK. Yet, my child tears are not different from those of the kids who had to circumnavigate my wonderful peninsula, or those of the kids who were taken away from their mother or father, or those of the kids who died in the Grenfell fire .
