They arrive in thousand in poor condition on vessels, wrecks, waste that the sea takes and throws with no regard for anyone. Anyone floats in the same way, often with difficulty. They land in rags, barefoot, hungry, hoping to reach the paradise of capitalism once seen in the TV pictures. They escape the mercenaries, new bosses without name, uncertainty, and end up stuck in a small island south of Europe, sitting in the midst of too many "goodbye". On their faces there is no victory tattoo, no trace of the distance between the stars and the revolution that is striking North Africa.
They remain under a hot sun for hours without food, supervised by policemen who throw some bread and plastic bags bulging with mineral water. They continue to hope that someone will welcome them. Instead we do not consider them political refugees, because despair is not covered by our treaties and our rules. They are not victims of ideology, but of poverty. The authorities have understood: It’s not important to avoid the facts, rather photographers and cameras. They know that they will reach other boats packed with refugees, but actually is a trouble for Italy, the homeland of bureaucracy. Those faces of children, women and youth exhausted in a fist fight for a loaf of bread procures a bad reputation. When all this do not transpires, for the great puppeteers the mission is accomplished.
Lampedusa: the fifth industrial power in the world has not been able, in a few days, of distribute six thousand rations of milk. Across the Mediterranean some deluded still believes, while others get fat. We are invaded by a crowd of unfortunates in underwear: what would happen if they wear a uniform? We have promised the aid that has arrived late; in Brussels the MEPs heard about the invasion only by newspapers. Then, within hours, four summits to discuss the problem. The difficulty, for the (dis)united states of Europe, begins when nations do not have to move on heights, but down on earth.