As I write, the Italian Parliament is full. In the direct tv resumed the frantic clamor, the crowds, the buzz. And many other details that should make us think.
It 's a crucial session, at least on paper. We know that Berlusconi's government will still have the confidence to move forward, so it is very easy to be distracted by the outline.
The outline, it should be remembered, is made of faces of people with a name and a surname that we have elected us, that we're trying to figure out who is telling the truth, who coffin, the actor, who could lead us out of the tunnel. All and none, we know.
During the explanations of vote, the scene that presents itself is creepy, typical of Parliament to tell the truth, but at unseemly.
To speak is to speak to the wind. To hear not even mentioned. There are those yawns, people walking up and down the stairs, perhaps to stretch his legs after the hard work (a job is stressful, do not forget!). And then there are those who send e-mails from his laptop last generation, who talks to the nearby bench, who laughs out loud.
The worst are certainly the majority of women who worry about touching up the makeup slightly smeared, which is to keep busy cleaning glasses, they look at the glaze, bring a few locks of hair behind her ears, then move again, then better accommodate the chairs and stretch out her breasts forward crossing her legs.
These people represent us. We wanted to us. We have voted, with the usual inertia, with the usual X We voted
even those who are shouting phrases incomprehensible to us from the house while someone is given the floor. Even those who, while speaking of creation, the unity of Italy and sacrifices from partisans of other times, they nod, knowing that the day will be in place to burn the flag.
We talk about companies, accounts that may or may not return, a reality that only we know, only us who are outside that arena all tapestries and wood.
And then, as the speaker of the moment makes his little show, we no longer think the tragedies of everyday life, with empty pockets, to work there and if there does not provide the comfort of an armchair red . We do not think the factories close, we do not think the banners of the precarious, we do not think children who did not receive a proper education or the mortgage to pay.
Let's take a little 'freedom to dream.
dreamed of having a magic wand and be able to clear that Parliament. We dream of being able to then fill projects, ideas, desires and dreams. Our
. And even dream that, instead of those little men with white hair and hunched back, there is something different. We dream that there is a future there, not the usual full of dust and past grievances.
We dream of being there, just us, tomorrow.
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