Thursday, August 6, 2015

Racism? We Are Not Cured Of it

President Barack Obama claimed in an interview with Marc Maron : " Racism? We are not cured of it”. President Obama saw that, despite the many efforts and movements of the 70’s, for the attainment of rights and equality, American racism, still persists. It is a sad reality and sometimes we deny this fact.  We can not accept that in a developed society like the USA, the shadow of racism continues to haunt us. In order to illuminate the shadow, which has been plaguing the world for hundreds of years, it is necessary to analyze some main points: bad school in poor neighborhoods, the lack of job opportunities for black people and the fatal consequences  that are reflected in  the  behaviour of white people and policemen.
In 1964, Lyndon Johnson promulgated the “Civil Right Act” that forbade discrimination toward  different ethnic and cultures, sexes or religions,  which guaranteed unalienable rights to all the citizens. The racial segregation was at least ended. Nevertheless, the discrimination subsisted, especially in the American south. One year later in 1965 racial violence exploded in the city of Selma. The demonstrators were peacefully manifesting for their rights, when a group of police officers arrested many of them, beating a lot of people with clubs. All this was a consequence of the idea of the superiority of the white race over the black one. This ancestral idea , struggled over by men and women like Rosa park, Martin Luther King or Malcolm X , sadly still hasn’t been eradicated.
New technology and scientific discoveries keep going ahead, the world is rapidly expanding, but conversely, our mind is becoming more and more limited. Even if people apparently respect the diversities, and the proof is the election of a black man for president,  they still keep inside a deep hate and above all a huge fear against various minorities, usually darker ones.  The America’s choice of a black man as president, makes them feel like better people with strong moral principles. But sometimes this kind of person doesn’t care about what it truly means being a black young man, because it’s a distant world from theirs; but actually it happens around the corner. So they turn their heads and close their eyes to avoid seeing the reality of the isolated poor black district.
 First, I can argue that most of the poverty in America is most evident in  black people’s neighborhoods. They do not work their way out of the “ghetto”. This means that only a few young people have the possibility to rise up from hardship, attending  good schools and find a profitable job, rather than the many who work in a fast food restaurant or in a Starbucks. In 2012, the Manhattan Institute noted that, as of yet ,” African Americans still remain, by far, the most segregated ethnic group in the country”. Because of this big issue the consequences are injurious: young teenagers living in poor isolated quarters, don’t receive an appropriate education and they often skip school at the age of sixteen to find a job and to contribute to the balance of their poor families. Most of the time they get caught up in a dangerous habit, such as being involved in drug dealing. The concentration of indigence in certain black neighborhoods increases the prejudice that all African people are poor, violent and wishing to steal your wallet. As President Obama said, when he had moved in Harlem he was shocked by the fact that only because of the color of his skin, people walking on the sidewalk crossed the street in order not to pass near to him.
Secondly I can claim that there is lot of discrimination from policeman towards minorities, especially in traffic stops, which often turns on violent encounters and sometimes innocent murders. These kinds of accidents are common in the United States presently The fear of the police caused by prejudice against minorities makes them react on impulse, like shooting or violently beating the victim. Fright is the worst danger in our societies that persecutes us as a ghost.The echo of racism resounds in American’s mind as a long lasting and deep prejudice towards the stereotype of the bad, nasty black man.
At last, I can assert that another reason, that sustains my theory, is the, so called, “first fired, last hired” policy: compared to white people, Africans Americans work hard to find a job. This phenomenon afflicts the nation’s workforce causing a big issue and a disproportion of employment opportunities for black people. The big gap in unemployment rates between Africans American and whites could be attributed to their educational attainment. 26% of black people are without a high school diploma. This is one of the big obstacles facing Africans Americans and the outcome is devastating: people without jobs are obligated to beg or in extreme to steal. this is one of the reasons why black people are labeled as subordinate or  dangerous people from which we have to keep our distance. This result is a “dog chasing its tail”, it’s a vicious circle which must be immediately stopped.  
Maybe Martin Luther King‘s dream hasn’t yet come true, but from 1960 to now we have made a big jump ahead and I hope that a big wind of rationality and equality will blow away this black threatening shadow hovering around Americans’  life.

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Wednesday, July 29, 2015

A Fatal Attraction

“She looked even more beautiful in the flame’s glow”.  
Jeanette Walls, the tiny three year old girl, wanted to be confident like her little Tinkerbelle doll with her cocky attitude, holding her hands on her hips and smiling with saucy red lips. Little Jeanette admired her doll and she wanted to make her feel the same sensations she had when she lit a match and moved closer and closer to the blaze until the heat of the fire became unbearable. She transferred her soul into the pretty figurine to reproduce her previous accident; when she was burned by the stove flame, to prove to herself that she wasn’t afraid of her enemy - fire, instead she was fascinated with it. (Maybe break the last sentence down into two...take it more slowly because it's better for the argument)

I could argue that one of the reasons  she was attracted by the fire was to attract the attention of her parents, maybe she hadn’t had enough. Her parents,  instead of keeping her from playing with fire, encouraged her to face it.
“You have got to get right back in the saddle” her mother said.
Young Jeanette wanted to looks fearless and brave in front of her parents even if a 3 year old girl shouldn’t need to prove anything to her parents; so she tested how long her finger could endure the flame without get burned, challenging the fire. Afterwards the adrenalin that coursed in her body  in doing something dangerous, became for her like a drug. She couldn’t stop playing with the fire and the danger made her feel alive and almighty. She pretended to push herself over the limit and to test her endurance against her bloody-red and glowing  fatal adversary that she had  previously overthrown.
Tinkerbelle’s face was shining because of the nearness to the match’s flame, but it was not close enough… so she lit another match to prove her courage, bringing the fire closer to her face. But this time Jeanette didn’t come out as a winner. Her favorite doll's face started melting and her pretty perfect face became more and more lopsided, making her seem like a mutant. Jeanette put  bandages on her doll's face wishing she would recover like she had after the cure in the hospital…but it didn’t happen. In the end Jeanette must have realized that a little 3 year old girl and her Tinkerbelle doll couldn’t be invincible. She seemed to grasp it in a mature way and she accepted this situation saying: “even though she was still my favorite toy”

I think you did a brilliantly impressive job...let's see what your colleagues think!
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Tuesday, July 21, 2015

The Young Woman Holding a Fan



The room was huge with a very high ceiling, furnished with big mirrors, crystal chandeliers and golden vases. The girls settled on the right side, the men on the opposite side and after gently bowing, the opening dance of the ball started.
 Colorful long dresses floated in the air to the music.
The women were dancing with class and grace, except a young woman with a low-cut, red puffy dress. She was all thumbs, her movement was uncoordinated and clumsy but she looked so amused. At the first sight she appeared a young girl, but if you observed her more closely you could see the swollen bags surrounding her weary eyes, and you could notice her cheek painted of rose, and you would notice about her the excess of alcohol. Each man in the room wanted to dance with her, and even if she was ungainly she was so sensual, especially when she shook her fan on her sweaty chest while her cheeks became more and more red.
They had fun with her, she was so different from the other serious and stiff women which they were used to dance with.
In the corner of the room you could hear the malicious whisper of the young girls who were looking  at her in a judgmental and superior way: “She is so vulgar, look at her tangled red hair, with that hovering plume”.

Nobody knew her, each guest in the room was wondering who that strange young woman was and where she came from. The only one who knew that mystery was the rich owner of this big palace. He was a handsome and well-born man, his parents possessed most of the lands in that country and he was the only heir. He had fallem in love with this courtesan. He didn’t know her name, the ones who knew her used to call her THE WOMAN HOLDING A FAN. He was ashamed to speak with her because she belonged to a lower class, so they could never be together in order to not bring shame to his family. But he sent an invitation to her, he wanted so see her for the last time.
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Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Into the painting

I was walking through the room of  the Tate museum in London with my boyfriend watching amazement  the grotesque modern installations and the beautiful painting of Blake when suddenly my eyes fell upon a picture of Turner. I don't remember the name( maybe I didn't even notice) but I still remind as if would be standing in  front of me. That image is planting in my brain.
I couldn't look away and in a quick jump I was inside the picture.






Me and one of  my friend were crossing the sea, floating in the air with the sun shining in the sky;
my mind was free and light-hearted.
our sailing-ship was racing with the seagull and gently caressing the blue Sardinian sea, when suddenly the weather changed.
A big grey cloud came above us and it started to rain but we kept sailing. it wasn't a good idea.
the wind picked up and carried us far from the coast.
As soon as we turned, a big wave came upon us and the ship flipped over throwing ourselves out, into the storm.
I couldn't see anything, the waves broke hardly on my face and I couldn't breathe because of the water in my throat.
I tried to swim and to cling to the boat but I had no more strength and I let me go, I really felt lost.






Suddenly someone picked me up by my life jacket, and brought me above the keel.
I started coughing and I tried to open my eyes, it was all blur and the only  thing that I could focus on was  my friend's face who was looking at me with such concern, he hugged me because I was shivering...the storm stopped!




<<don't worry>> he said << I'm with you!>>
It has been one hour before that a big boat saved us but it seemed 5 minutes.
We spoke about our life each other as if we were sitting in a bar in Rome with a glass of fresh white wine.
Even if my eyes were burning and my mouth was purple I would have remain in the middle of the sea with him where something weird and magic happened






<<hey!! are you enchanted?? it has been 30 minute that you are watching that picture>> my boyfriend said.
I wake me up from my dream, his voice sounded in my ears as when he saved me into the storm
I held his hand and we keep our trip.









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Into A Painting







I was walking into the colorful rooms of the Tate museum in London with my boy, the vibe was calm and solemn; I was watching amazement the grotesque modern installation and the beautiful painting of Blake until my eyes fell upon a painting of Turner. I can't remember the name, ( maybe I didn't  even notice) but I was capture by that images that I planted in my brain and I can still remember:
there were a  boat into a storm hidden by the violet color of the waves in one quick jump I was into the turner painting.






Me and one of my friend it was my friend were crossing the sea floating in the air with the wind blowing in my hair and the sun shining in the sky; my mind was free and light-hearted.
our sailing-ship was racing with the seagull and gently caressing the blue Sardinian sea, when suddenly the weather changed,
a big grey cloud came above us and it started to rain  kept sailing it wasn't a good idea!!
the wind picked up and curried us far from the coast.
As soon as we turned a big wave came upon us and the ship flipped over throwing ourselves out, into the storm.
I couldn't see anything, the waves broke hardly on my face, I couldn't breathe  because of the water in my throat, I tried to swim and to cling to the boat but I had no more strength and I let me go, I really felt lost.










Suddenly someone picked me up by the life-jacket and brought me over the keel.. I started  coughing and I tried to open my eyes

                                                                                                                                                               
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Monday, July 13, 2015








Ingrandisci
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