Nicola Sacco e Bartolomeo Vanzetti erano colpevoli, su questo non ho il minimo dubbio.
In qualsiasi società autoritaria, fascistoide e xenofoba, i libertari, gli idealisti, i non conformati – in poche parole i Sacco e i Vanzetti – sono sempre colpevoli. Sono i corpi estranei, i virus infettivi, i granelli che rischiano di spanare gli ingranaggi. Disturbano il quieto vegetare della palude. Sono terroristi, perché la loro esistenza terrorizza pecore e pastori, perseguita la psiche da questurini della gente perbene, mette in pericolo la buona tavola dei signori feudali e turba il dolce, santo, fanciullesco bisogno di sudditanza dei servi della gleba.

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  1. ArabianPhoenix ha detto:

    “Give to me your tired and your poor
    Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free
    The wretched refuse of your teeming shore
    Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.”

    Blessed are the persecuted
    And blessed are the pure in heart
    Blessed are the merciful
    And blessed are the ones who mourn

    The step is hard that tears away the roots
    And says goodbye to friends and family
    The fathers and the mothers weep
    The children cannot comprehend
    But when there is a promised land
    The brave will go and others follow
    The beauty of the human spirit
    Is the will to try our dreams
    And so the masses teemed across the ocean
    To a land of peace and hope
    But no one heard a voice or saw a light
    As they were tumbled onto shore
    And none was welcomed by the echo of the phrase
    “I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

    Blessed are the persecuted
    And blessed are the pure in heart
    Blessed are the merciful
    And blessed are the ones who mourn

    _____________

    Father, yes, I am a prisoner
    Fear not to relay my crime
    The crime is loving the forsaken
    Only silence is shame
    And now I’ll tell you what’s against us
    An art that’s lived for centuries
    Go through the years and you will find
    What’s blackened all of history
    Against us is the law
    With its immensity of strength and power
    Against us is the law!
    Police know how to make a man
    A guilty or an innocent
    Against us is the power of police!
    The shameless lies that men have told
    Will ever more be paid in gold
    Against us is the power of the gold!
    Against us is racial hatred
    And the simple fact that we are poor

    My father dear, I am a prisoner
    Don’t be ashamed to tell my crime
    The crime of love and brotherhood
    And only silence is shame
    With me I have my love, my innocence,
    The workers, and the poor
    For all of this I’m safe and strong
    And hope is mine
    Rebellion, revolution don’t need dollars
    They need this instead
    Imagination, suffering, light and love
    And care for every human being
    You never steal, you never kill
    You are a part of hope and life
    The revolution goes from man to man
    And heart to heart
    And I sense when I look at the stars
    That we are children of life
    Death is small

    ____________________

    My son, instead of crying be strong
    Be brave and comfort your mother
    Don’t cry for the tears are wasted
    Let not also the years be wasted

    Forgive me, son, for this unjust death
    Which takes your father from your side
    Forgive me all who are my friends
    I am with you, so do not cry

    If mother wants to be distracted
    From the sadness and the soulness
    You take her for a walk
    Along the quiet country
    And rest beneath the shade of trees
    Where here and there you gather flowers
    Beside the music and the water
    Is the peacefulness of nature
    She will enjoy it very much
    And surely you’ll enjoy it too
    But son, you must remember
    Do not use it all yourself
    But down yourself one little step
    To help the weak ones by your side

    Forgive me, son, for this unjust death
    Which takes your father from your side
    Forgive me all who are my friends
    I am with you, so do not cry

    The weaker ones that cry for help
    The persecuted and the victim
    They are your friends
    And comrades in the fight
    And yes, they sometimes fall
    Just like your father
    Yes, your father and Bartolo
    They have fallen
    And yesterday they fought and fell
    But in the quest for joy and freedom
    And in the struggle of this life you’ll find
    That there is love and sometimes more
    Yes, in the struggle you will find
    That you can love and be loved also

    Forgive me all who are my friends
    I am with you
    I beg of you, do not cry

    La Ballata di Sacco e Vanzetti
    (J. Baez & E. Morricone)

    Nicola, Bartolomeo, you’re still alive!!!

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