We publish below the full text of the letter that Said Visin, the 20-year-old who committed suicide in Nocera, had sent to some friends and his psychotherapist. Reflections on suffering for the little big acts of discrimination that she felt every day about herself.
Faced with this particular socio-political scenario that hovers in Italy, I, as a black person, inevitably feel called into question. I am not an immigrant. I was adopted when I was little. Before this great migratory flow, I remember with a little arrogance that everyone loved me. Wherever I was, wherever I went, wherever I was, everyone turned to me with great joy, respect and curiosity. Now, however, this atmosphere of idyllic peace seems so far away; it seems that everything has mystically turned upside down, it seems to my eyes that winter has fallen with extreme impetuosity and vehemence, without warning, during a clear spring day.
Now, wherever I go, wherever I am, wherever I am I feel on my shoulders, like a boulder, the weight of skeptical, prejudiced, disgusted and frightened looks of people. A few months ago I managed to find a job that I had to leave because too many people, mostly elderly, refused to be served by me and, as if that were not enough, as if I did not already feel uncomfortable, they also pointed to the responsibility for the fact. that many young Italians (whites) could not find work.
After this experience something changed inside me: as if in my head some unconscious automatisms had been created and by means of which I appeared in public, in society different from what I really am; as if I am ashamed of being black, as if I am afraid of being mistaken for an immigrant, as if I had to prove to people who didn’t know me, that I was like them, that I was Italian, that I was white. Which, when I was with my friends, led me to make jokes in bad taste about blacks and immigrants, even with a thundering air I said that I was racist towards blacks, as if to affirm, as if to emphasize that I do not I was one of those, that I was not an immigrant.
The only thing that stood out for, the only thing that was understandable in my way of doing things was fear. The fear of the hatred I saw in people’s eyes towards immigrants, the fear of the contempt I felt in people’s mouths, even from my relatives who constantly invoked Mussolini with melancholy and called “Captain Salvini”. The disappointment in seeing some friends (I don’t know if I can define them as such) that when they see me they sing the “Casa Pound” chorus in unison. The other day, a friend, also adopted, told me that some time ago while he was playing soccer happy and carefree with his friends, some ladies approached him saying: “Enjoy your time, because in a while they will come and get you to take you back to your country ”.
With these raw, bitter, sad, sometimes dramatic words of mine, I do not want to beg for commiseration or pain, but only to remind myself that the discomfort and suffering I am experiencing are a drop of water compared to the ocean of suffering that I am experiencing. those people of marked and vigorous dignity are living, who prefer to die rather than lead a life in misery and hell. Those people who risk their lives, and many have already lost it, just to smell, to taste, to taste the flavor of what we simply call “Life”.
June 5, 2021 (change June 5, 2021 | 13:43)
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