Andrea – I woke up this morning, at home ciao, at home ciao, at home ciao ciao ciao. I woke up this morning, and we were still locked up. I’m Italian, vaccine and out from home ciao, home ciao, home ciao ciao ciao, I’m Italian, vaccine and out, that I feel like going bankrupt. And if I go bankrupt, as an Italian, from home ciao, home ciao, home ciao ciao ciao, and if I go bankrupt, as an Italian, you must secure my job. And secure my future, from home ciao, home ciao, home ciao ciao ciao, and secure my future under the shadow of a job. To all those asking, from home ciao, home ciao, home ciao ciao ciao, to all those asking and saying, “I don’t have a job”. And it’s a job that the Italian, from home ciao, home ciao, home ciao ciao ciao, and it’s a job that the Italian asked for with dignity (ndr: loosely based on partisans’ song “Bella ciao”). My thoughts tonight go to the new resistance, very different from those who lost their lives 75 years ago to fight against a defined enemy. A resistance against an invisible enemy, which is even harder for those who, in these 48 days, are watching their jobs fail, their dreams vanish, feeling hurt in their dignity. I have been thinking about this type of resistance for many hours today. Ever since I woke up this morning.
Miriam – Who knows what we were thinking, until today, every 25th of April, while singing “who died for freedom”. Oh yes, dear Andre, none of us could even remotely imagine what it meant. We tried hard, we would hear the stories of the Resistance, of the four days of Naples, of the Americans with their chocolate. But who would have said that instead, in two months, we would have perhaps learned the true meaning of those deaths, and that we would have learned it not from books, but from the doctors who went to treat the sick without the necessary protections, the nurses exhausted from endless shifts, the EMT and all the volunteers. All the 150 “white” dead from this monster, all dead for the others’ freedom, to allow others to be able to go out again, to look at the sky, to embrace each other again. We made the Resistance this time, but at least we were comfortable. But the partisans have been there, and still are. On the front line, to fight the invader. And no burials in the mountains under the flowers, but coffins wrapped in plastic, quick burials, lonely. We are waiting for our freedom, locked up in our homes, no trenches, no fields, no re-education. Italy Bella ciao, Italy of those fighting like back in ’45. Freedom is in the air, but at what cost?