United Colours of discrimination.
Algiers, Tunis and Abidjan, Consulate of Italy, France or elsewhere. Clustered at a closed door, fifty silhouettes opens the door in two hours. At the opening, they are one hundred and fifty, a guard convicts aligns them against the wall. No awning, the sun is the forehead and neck, while they lower their head under their armpit, proof tight: birth, labor, lodging, airfare. They also provided the required amount, that they will not do that if the visa is denied.
Paris, Milan, Barcelona, business day. All the police stations are gray. Outside it's raining. Behind the glass door, a waiting room with walls covered in regulations, instructions and prerequisites. A faded poster boasts the sweet life in the land of human rights. Types sitting does not look, it is not for them: they are men but not good, not those of the poster.
Sitting for hours, waiting. Some have wet shoes by rain. A black servant approach to cleaning: mops and look bad, now three times as towels, linoleum is still dirty. He turns to a guy sitting at the end of the row: "You had need to bring with you all the water out? There's not that the residence card account, my brother, the umbrella is not bad either! "The other did not respond, they are not brothers, the officer has papers in order, they have nothing in common. So the brother in wet shoes said nothing. It sets a speaker where a voice articulates names from Africa or Asia, quirky names, the voice gets on a first name and a colorful stage name. A biped leaves his seat and headed towards a closed door, there goes slowly, he is afraid. The others hold their breath. Fifteen minutes later, the biped resurfaces, haggard: incomplete, he has fifteen days to provide other evidence. A certificate to bring the country, said a trifle employee closing the file. The man never will. On its face, digging furrows distress who stray. He heads the out behind him, the officer returns to mop a clean shot.
Mediterranean, south side, west wind, seventy knots, "Haouaria", "Melilla", or elsewhere. A low horizon and twilight was eaten off the moon. They are a hundred at the bottom of a creek deep and dark. A stretch of sea to cross, almost nothing, the tub will, he has no choice, they have paid enough money. There will be just the time the boat will move forward without lights, because of Coast Guard and then the rocky cove where the chef decided to dock to avoid the carabinieri of Lampedusa or Gibraltar. When is one hundred twenty feet long by two wide, it is important to find the good position, one that's here to stay: nested in a fetal position, clutching them against their thin luggage they hear the sea moan in the end wood flooring.
In a waiting room, a couple is seated. It could be his mother, he is too dark for her. Clean shaven, jeans and sneakers new, he looks like a kid visiting. On the lap of the woman, papers show that those two go back a long, unwavering love and yes they are about to decide is left for last. White for the wedding, the bride will be in red, he borrowed the dress from a cousin. Everything is ready except another "yes", the employee's office 36 which receives them in fifteen minutes.
poignant scenes, sadly ordinary dipping roots in a history of one hundred and fifty years of colonial days when the word offends anyone, Europe pounding of his boots to take a good planet. On behalf of human rights, we civilize the natives, they were shot even when he had to, everything was better in a world order. Then the order was broken, the colonies were affected by the virus of nationalism and the West returned to the house and closed doors and shutters. Yet
intruders continue to land: young, thin face, light life to eat at both ends, they roam the streets, sleeping in shared reduced fortune. Horde distress and disorder that jumps over the turnstiles of the subway, typing in vain at the doors of employers and landed in the evening in the canteen where they distribute soup when it's cold.
What do these foreign heads of terrorists? If poorly at home, not Europe to find their solutions, their solutions are on the other hand, in Lome, Dakar, Tunis, they don ' have to look good! They dream of changing lives? But that dream still here? So they see all these people with 'common Europe, united by the same sinister-looking, the same outstanding renewed: these natives here have nothing to give them a good conscience is like this dishes of great days: the time exhibited a telethon, then row carefully protected from the bad shots. The West has no more dreams to offer, at best a mirage color when its cities sparkle in the rain.
Rome, London, Berlin, faces close, we lower the curtains, eternal estoppel: no papers, no job, no place, Europe has shrunk in the wash, it has nothing to offer that band who growls at its borders. Yet the horde persists, some take the sea, others a wife, and others are lining up in front of all the consulates of the earth. Not a chance: The planet is under surveillance, dogs stand guard at border posts. No question that anyone living anywhere, anyhow! The West is now a guest house for guests of luxury. Discrimination ad colors: lousy and unskilled refrain, it takes only the positive, the graduate's Edge, gender and relaxed flying who knows the language, the one landmark tie and polished in the subway at rush hour German ... almost, almost French, an "almost" will always make the difference! For others, the reactions that yield nothing, they are renewed by clusters at the border, human cattle that nobody cares, neither the country nor that he left he tried to conquer.
Globalization is still good, just good to hold out on the web infinity of possibilities, but we do not live on the web and possible are not a country.
If all the "undocumented" in the world joined hands, they find no place on earth to dance the beat!
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