“Disgusted looks on me”

“Disgusted looks on me”
“Disgusted looks on me”

Seid Visin, former Milan and Benevento youth footballer, was found dead at home: he was 20 years old. In a letter, shared on the Facebook profile of the ‘Mamme per la Pelle’ association, he expressed his discomfort: “He could not bear all this pain and this racism. He took his own life – reads the post – This is a letter from him, from a few months ago, which we want to share with you not to cannibalize the news but to scream out loud that if we do not join in a real anti-racist struggle, our children will continue to suffer “.

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The letter

“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 “, we read.” 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 distant; 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 people’s skeptical, prejudiced, disgusted and frightened looks “, he writes again.

“A few months ago I was able 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 weren’t enough, as if I wasn’t already feeling uncomfortable, they also pointed to the responsibility of the fact that many young Italians (whites) did not find work – we read – 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 that that I really am; as if I was ashamed of being black, as if I was 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 I was not one of those, that I was not an immigrant. The only thing that stood out, however, 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 with melancholy Mussolini and called ‘Captain Salvini’. The disappointment in seeing some friends (I don’t know if I can define them as such) who when they see me sing in unison the ‘Casa Pound’ choir “.

“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 to get you to take you back to your country. ‘With these words of mine, crude, bitter, sad, sometimes dramatic, I don’t want to beg for pity or pain, but only to remind myself that the discomfort and suffering I am experiencing I am a drop of water compared to the ocean of suffering that those people of marked and vigorous dignity are experiencing, who prefer to die rather than lead an existence in misery and hell. Those people who risk their lives, and many they have already lost it, just to smell, to savor, to taste the flavor of what we simply call ‘Life’ “.

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