Crime and Punishment

I have been renown for opposing to death penalty as a method of crime punishment. Coming from a very long line of literary tradition, from Cesare Beccaria's "On Crimes and Punishments" to Alessandro Manzoni, Dostoevsky, Ghandi, Martin Luther King, I just cannot possibly bring myself to accepting that someone may ever take responsability to decide of somebody else's death, unless expressedly and informedly asked by that same person to do so. Even when it comes to horrific crimes such as paedophilia, I much rather impose life sentences, hard jail and chemical castration than death row. I have suffered over the years watching the executions in various so-called civil countries, but why is that that I often feel a satifying sigh of relief, the feeling one has at the end of an action movie when the good ones beat the evil. I have many reservations on the American war on terror, but I secretly rejoiced in seeing the footage of Saddham being executed. I feel ashamed of what the Nazi and the Fascists did in 1900, despised their brutal massacres and racist politics, yet stifled when I first came across the picture of Mussolini and his closest being hung upside down in a public square at the end of WW2. I cried when I saw Sudanese armies torturing women guilty of violating retrograde points of the Shia constitution. Knowing that Hitler had died in a house fire made me happy. So what is it that makes killing another right? What may be logical and just for me may not be for another and viceversa. All of a sudden it is like not being able to wish that the Joker may die at the end of "The Dark Night", because it is like, now, it is not only the evil Joker, but it is someone you have got to know and whose death you may not possibly wish any longer.

Captive Markets

Like hot chocolate in a small mountain cabin after a long day skiing, like a bottle of fresh water during a walk through the desert, like shops opened all day on Sundays before Christmas. We have all been in certain situations where, by choice or obligation, we have become victims of the so-called "Captive Markets". By definition, capitive markets have a much more specific meaning. A web sites offers this comprehensive definition: *A captive market is a group of consumers who have limited choice in terms of the products they can select/purchase (no choice)! This type of market was common during the production era when there was a limited supply of goods (and great demand). It occurs when the market is monopolistic, thus there is only one supplier in the marketplace. This is more likely to occur with digital products (Microsoft is a good example of this). It can occur when a marketer has achieved significant lock-in for its installed based. Thus the switching costs for the consumer to try a competing product become prohibitive.* In' my book', a captive market is when the "producers" know exactly that you will need their product, hence they will make it available to you at prohibiting conditions: if you can afford it, good for you; if you can't, on the contrary, too bad. In "developing" countries, this form of dispotism is, renownly and shamefully, common practice. Liverpool John Lennon Airport has got their own take on the matter. Given that only 'economy flights' land and take off from there, one assumes that they are saving on their travelling costs...big misunderstanding! The mere price of the shuttle from Manchester to Liverpool has gone from £5 to £10 in a mere 6 month! That's like a 100% increase, 100%!! And how do you explain that one set of scales indicates one is 2.5 kg overweight and the other check in set of scales indicates 3 kg less than the first?! (every kg overweight is charged at a price, of course!). Then there is the cue for the compulsory security check - 25 minutes long. Long enough to miss a flight. But, at the accessible price of £2 per passenger you can soar through the cue and get priority. What kind of message are we preaching? Money as a tool for priviledge even in a context, security, where everyone should be the same? It's £2, I know, but it is the principles that concerns me. And makes me cross.

Only one hundred steps away...

I recently re-watched a beautiful movie called "I Cento Passi" (One Hundred Steps). It reached international acclaim a few years back together with more popular movies about organized crime, a denunciation of Mafia and its effects on the lives of many people who coexist with it. "I cento passi" (one hundred steps) was the distance between the Impastatos' house and the house of Tano Badalamenti, an important Mafia boss, in the small Sicilian town of Cinisi. The movie is the story of Peppino Impastato, a young left-wing activist that in the late seventies (when almost nobody dared to speak about Mafia, and several politicians maintained that Mafia did not even exist) repeatedly denounced Badalamenti crimes and the whole Mafia system using a small local radio station, with the arm of irony. In 1978 Peppino (30 years old) was killed by an explosion. The police archived the case as an accident or a suicide, but his friends never accepted this thesis. Note: This is a true story. More than wenty years after Peppino's death, the case has been re-opened. Tano Badalamenti, meanwhile, has been convicted in USA for drug traffic. I thought again about it this morning, whilst stuck in a traffic-jam caused by an abandoned vehicle on the side of a narrow city road. The car hadn't properly been abandoned by its owners. The car had previously been stolen and, under the owner's refusal to pay money to get it back, the robbers burnt it and left it on the side of the road, a so called unpaid "cavallo di ritorno" (return horse). You see I often wonder what you think about this. As a southern Italian, even if from a rather privileged background, I am aware and accustomed to all these idiosyncrasies. Weird. Weired that one can live so close to injustice, those physical hundred steps that suddenly become conceptual, ideological, moral and back and be accustomed to it.


"I Cento Passi" - Modena City Ramblers

Crumbs from Your Table

"How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" is the album that fuelled my study for my BA dissertation. There are a few songs off the album that are significant to me for a number of reasons,"Crumbs from Your Table" being the most significant. Released in 2004 at a time of great fervour over the "Make Poverty History" campaign and a general high of media coverage and public interest, and action, with regards to social justice issues, it treats on the subject of social disproportions. One of my favourite lines reads 'where you live should not decide on whether you live or whether you die'. I am often criticised because I desire to work as a medical doctor amongst the most destitute in the so-called "Developing world". They say, "why do you want to go so far when there is evident need and poverty virtually at your door step". The observation is realistic, nonetheless inaccurate. Indeed there is a lot of poverty in the south of Italy. Some of the areas where I minister are oozing with undereducated children who live on the street with little or no care from a parental authority. Often abused, mistreated, malnourished, unloved. However, the beauty of our assistentialist state is that their basic needs are, theoretically, catered for. The level of disparity and injustice that I observe in the developing world is, in my opinion, of colossal proportions. Just this morning I was reading that in Sierra Leone there is one surgeon for every 1.000.000 people - one million.
Although 'colonialism' in the most degrading and terrible connotation of the word is officially over, exploitation ain't. In order to cure disease in our countries, the pharmaceutical industry experiments, or worse freely administers faulty drugs which will necessitate the purchase of further medicinals, onto human test animals in the southern hemisphere. Because we have polluted most of our environment, we go growing OGM corn crops in Africa's most fertile fields to produce eco-friendly biofuels, pay the residents a misery and force them to relocate to worse, less salubrious marshland infested by parasites responsible for the transmission of malaria onto humans. Malaria alone kills over 150.000 children a month, the same number of victims killed by the South East Asia Tsunami in 2004. The Italian government pays for its members of Parliament to be flown on a personal jet to the F1 races, pays their restaurant bills and private medical care when an anti-malaria pill costs less than $0.60 a dose. Despite the embargo on the 'blood diamonds', Lebanon still manages to ship them at more reasonable prices to the West. Think.

"Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend"

...and a million lives worth.

God help us not to be blind, not to be vile, not to be mere observers. We have done enough damage already.

A Better Way?

On Sunday night I briefly scanned through a couple of channels. On "Come Dine With Me" there was a vegan contestant who challenged a carnivore contestant to take up a vegan way of eating and life style. It was so compelling: I mean, the guy obviously fancied the red-head-vegan lady,but it was incredible to witness to a blatant example of positive peer-pressure. You see, the guy was astounded to hear for the first time in his life about animal cruelty, vegan cuisine, Mr McDonald's destroying acres and acres of valuable forests to create green pastures for his soon-to-slaughter cattle..not to mention the farmer's families who, for little money's gain, are forced to flee the countryside, populate the already over-crowded cities to become then unemployed, unresourced, under-skilled and often homeless, in need of aid. Oh, and don't come and blame him when your house gets flooded in the middle of July.. I must say I never was a big meat-eater (blame it on my grandma chasing me around the place in an attempt to force-feed me cow's brain and lamb's liver..) There are still stories being told about me, aged 7, sitting around the dining table, opposite a solitary sole for over two and a half hours. Going into my teen-age years I chose I would become a vegetarian..experience which lasted a mere two years, led me into anorexia and amplified my issues on control. Things then begun to pick up when I realised that all is good in moderation. I would love to share embarrassing pictures of me at a Carnivore dinner at a renown carvery in Nairobi, Kenya, where I scoffed off the equivalent of half the Kenyan fauna. On my healthier days, I am a very conscientious eater. Like you have heard me ranting about a few days back, I try really hard to lead a good and righteous life - I would feel hypocritical and discontent if I had it any different. However, I often consider whether I should be doing more to be truly ethical. Unlike other groups, vegans seem to live up to what they preach. I like that about them: they are integral. Last night I had a bit of a moment. As you all know by now I am cat sitting for my friends' hairy cat. On my way back from the gym I stopped by to feed Mr Cat. As I walked in I noticed an unidentified object on the floor. After a close inspection I discovered that my worst fears had met their day: it was a featherless baby chick, cruelly murdered by the assassin cat. Despite my notorious nick name, the wee Italian chick, and my celebrated fearlessness to blood, human disease and other nasty phoenomena, I have an unexplainable phobia of birds. I hate pigeons, I hate birds flying low, I feel squeamish eating chicken and please don't mention where the egg came from when I am eating it.. All this is giving me space for considerations.. Today I have submitted my proposal to make the Learning and Skills council a fair-trade/ more environmentally friendly institution. What if veganism was the next step? We'll see.

Water Every Growing Seed

You have heard me say that journeys, and bus journeys especially, offer me an opportunity to reflect. Sometimes it is as shallow a thought as "did I take the chicken out of the freezer this morning" or "how about capers and black olives in the sauteed aubergines?"(I am a deep kinda lady, ya see)..sometimes I read a book, and totally get absorbed by it. Other times, I simply sit there, observing strangers' every move. I often wonder whether I have a 'stalker's strike' in my genes, I am a good observer of life or I am plain nosey. I sit there - normally on the luggage storage box - don't ask: I know I am weird.. Guess Freud would have something to say about that one too! I observe people coming in, people walking out, how they relate to the bus driver, how they smile, how they graciously squeeze in, how frantically they push their way in, how happy they look, how weary their eyes are, the boys listening to their i-pods out loud, the girls talking on their mobile phones. Last night the bus home was rather empty. I sat down, just on the chair near the entrance. At the next stop a seven year old, a five year old and a one year old boy in a pram got in followed by their young father. Shaved head, track-suit-bottoms, heavily tattooed arms, bitten nails, hoarse voice, unsteady pace. Sits the five year old, still wearing his school uniform (happy-faced because his daddy had just bought him a small bottle of pop and a chewing-gum with a sticker in it), places the pram by a group of senior men; the seven year old maturely makes his own way to an empty seat. The dad goes and sits at the back, engrossed in his text-writing. The youngest one is a little smiler: smiles at every face in his sight. Smiles a little more. The middle one observes the world around him, often calling for his father's attention. The eldest brother offers them both the attention they crave: experience has taught him that their father will not respond. He has seen him like this before. As soon as those boys get a little attention from us, mere spectators, their eyes brighten up ever brighter than they had before. Bright lads indeed; craving for an attention that they may never receive and may constraint them to follow the same path, the same self-destructive pattern, the same destiny. I wish they could see how wonderful they are. I wish they could make the most of the life that has been given to them. I have worked with children all around the world. More and less disadvantaged ones. It always saddens me when in a world of plenty, not all growing seeds are watered.

Harvest Justice

That's it: tomorrow summer officially begins. June 21st, the longest day of the year. Summer: the sunshine, the trees in bloom, succulent water melons, water games, the beach. I love it, I love it, I love it. I love the zest of lime squeeze on grilled fish. The sun on my skin. The smell of mature yellow peaches in sweet white wine. The taste of apricots that melt on your tongue ever so slowly. My grandad used to call me, and often still does, 'the little apricot lady'. He delights in telling the tale of the day I was born. A hot summer day when they were picking apricots in the fields and they had to rush to the hospital because little baby me was born - with a two week delay... Then growing up, in the shadow of my grandparents, spending my summers playing about around convivial apricot pickers. Then making jams and fruit juices in my grandma's kitchen out of the more ripen ones. In goes the sugar, the hot water bubbling away in the scorching sun, the stench of chicken's poo (which God knows why you are told 'is good for ya'!) mixed to the fragrant aroma of blended fruits..a cheeky little finger stealing a taste of the precious nectar..Nana telling you off, then my little hurt frown, then her heartily laugh; she chocks a little from too much laughing, her voluptuous figure fluttering, then brings her wrist to her face and one at a time swiftly dries her eyes from tears of joy. There is no-one in the whole wide world like my nana! I started off writing this post with a completely different agenda in mind - now, having stumbled upon some beautiful memories, I realize how lucky and blessed I have been. I received some of the most precious gifts in this world: life, a great family and, above all, the gift of a truly happy childhood. I wonder how many people can count on that.

Changing the World over a Cup of Coffee

Predictable. Tired of reading my blog for the past 8 months, you will all be expecting an article on fairtrade. Wrong. Or, at least, partially wrong. Last night I came home early, trying to rest my voice and recover from this terrible laryngitis. As you do, I thought I'd treat myself to a cup of caramel macchiato from Starbucks (small,skinny, no cream, of course!). I have had issues with Starbucks last year, before their fair trade choice, Estima; I did not pay enough attention to understand their "fairer option".. Starbucks is an American multinational with a gigantic turn over each year - let's say that life as Mrs Starbucks must be pretty pampered! As such, we are talking money, not ethics. Ethical consumerism is often, in my opinion, a contradiction in words. Nonetheless, public pressure on coffee shops is the evident proof of how the individual can, collectively, impact society in a positive way. Mr Starbucks charged me £3 for a small cup of coffee - that's roughly five coffee grounds, half a cup of skimmed milk, a splash of caramel and some hot water..obviously that three quid needs to pay for the girl at the till, the lad who wrote on the plastic cup, the lady who actually made me the drink and the young chap who is sweeping the floor around me..that's not to count the landlord who owns the place, the suppliers, the energy suppliers, the coffee growers, the shipping company and, of course, some profit for Mr Starbucks - after all, it's his business we are talking about! But this discussion will be for another time. Perhaps, just give a little thought to the coffee growers who has never even tried a cup of coffee and gets paid £3 a week (best possible scenario). But that's for another time.. What I wanted to draw you attention upon is that as I was about to pay for my coffee, I noticed a couple of charity boxes for the Lymphoma association. Isn't it bizarre how much more sensitive we become to issues when they touch our lives personally? I felt like a hypocrite. Nevertheless, if it wasn't for cancer research associations such as this, funded exclusively by people's generosity, my mom may not be here today. So when you buy a fairtrade cup of coffee, or a charity wrist band, or give spare change to someone..you are virtually changing the world. Just think.

51 days,11 hours, 42 minutes and 20 seconds

...to the Big Day, 100th Post and 5000 Ways to Change the World! ...

This is my 100th post! I have written a lot - mainly gibberish, but also a lot of outpouring of my little soul and introspective analysis, helped by your inspirational comments. One of the evident outcomes of this is that I know to be nothing but convetional, so I choose not to write a commemorative article on blogging. Instead I would like to send you all an invitation.
In 51 days, 11 hours, 42 minutes and 20..ops 19 seconds now, it is the BIG DAY (aka my 24th birthday) - the 1st of July for your diaries, thanks. The day however is "big" for a number of reasons:
1. I was born on that day: a little respect, would you mind?
2. Viva the Smoking Ban! England will celebrate the first day of SMOKING FREE PUBLIC BUILDINGS!!! Yuppy!!! Thank God: no more concerts, dinners, pubs and clubs filled with deadly and stinking fumes! Alleluja!
3. It will be my first "Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty" themed birthday.
It basically consists of this: whether you were planning to or were not remotely thinking about being kind enough to buy/make me a present, then, don't. Instead, in the likes of "Pay it Forward", do something good and beautiful to make three people's world, day, life...well...better. Whether it involves buying a homeless person a cup of tea, donating money to charity, giving blood, telling someone how special they are, walk instead of driving or wherever your creativity and kindness takes you, do it! The sky is the limit! Sure enough I shall be reminding you of this initiative closer to the time meanwhile, the title of this post is how long you have to think about how to make the world a better place on my birthday! Call it a "Hippy Birthday Meme Tag!"

"Isn't It a Pity"

I absolutely adore Nina Simone and her eleven and a half minute long interpretation of George Harrison's 'Isn't it a pity' on the live from the UK album is simply phenomenal. It is a beautiful song and a tale of raw human emotions. Through it one is encouraged and inspired to show a little more care in the way we live and we behave towards others. I have been struck recently by an exchange of comments I had with Steve, otherwise known as the eminent Baron Hashbrown, on changing the world and Christianity. The Baron is a really noble person not only by social status, but more so for his ideals and principles. His comments are always filled with kindness, compassion and grace. Steve declares himself as atheist. In the context of one of his usually compassion filled comments, prefaced by a declaration of non-religiosity, I responded by complementing his Christ like attitude and wording. That comment opened up a little debate whereby it was been pointed out to me that being a Christian does not mean being a better person than the rest. I partially agreed with this alleged accusation; nonetheless, I cannot help but expect and often witness the tangible proof of how faith enhances one's life. Coincidentally, Nina Simone also wrote another wonderful song on Martin Luther King. "The King of Love is Dead" narrates the story of the deeds and compassion portrayed by Dr King who through his Christian faith and a remarkable determination, shaped the course of contemporary history. The examples of Christians doing something good are copious and, surprisingly, not merely stuck in a time long gone. A couple of nights ago I was having a chat with a friend of mine who had visited a missionary friend in Thailand last summer. He was quite awestruck in describing how it is mainly Christians he saw working amongst the poorest and neediest. From personal experience, in all of my travels locally and internationally, I too have witnessed the compassion and affection that springs out of Christian communities across the globe. Above and beyond petty conflictual church policies, denominational division and past errors, the truths preached by Jesus are the ones that not only transform the lives and souls of the individuals, but which also enrich, promote, sensitise and challenge the behavioural attitudes of a community of believers. I believe all the mistakes and damages the Christian community has provoked over the centuries have got nothing to do with its movement funder. The Son of God become flesh not just so that we could have some more holidays in the Gregorian calendar (thank God for Easter and Christmas!) but also to challenge the world and change it forever. In this season, I can't help but think about God. The cruxifiction, the resurrection, the daffodils in bloom, the Easter eggs. The last one in particular makes me see God in His people - not much in the gesture of buying an egg for someone but for the growing involvement of many churches to get strongly behind fair-trade, abolitionism, social justice, debt cancellation. It gives me a lot to be thoughtful of, caring about and proud of.

I Want to Change the World!

"Throughout history great change has only been made by those hungriest for truth and those not content to simply follow the beliefs of others, but who instead demand the genuine revelation of coming to know God personally. Those who will accept no less that that are the ones who become world changers."

No, this is ain't some dodgy line out of out of "Pinky and the Brain" for world domination... 'I want to change the world' is the cry of my heart. It starts with a deep realization that the world is pretty much shit at the best of times, that human selfishness and strive for greed have turned a perfectly formed universe into a lousy junk yard of polluted air and unsafe streets where, as the ancients used to say, the rich get fatter whilst the poorer starve to death. I look around myself and I see desolation, despair, hopelessness. Then I look at God and I see skies of blue, craftly constructed spiderwebs, and Hope. Tonight, in commemoration of the 200th anniversary of the abolition of slavery, I went to watch "Amazing Grace",in my opinion, an outstanding movie about William Wilberforce's endeavours and struggles to obtain the approval of the slave trade abolitionist bill in 1807. Can't believe I ever lacked interest in my Church History lectures at university - I am now embarrassed and ashamed of ignoring the remarkable efforts of a man who single-handedly, and as part of a conscientious Christian Faith and Community, had a dream and invested his whole life in the achievement of the acquisition of rights for the poorer, the defenceless, for a sense of Justice in a corrupt and gluttonous for egoistical cravings society. He indeed acknowledged, like many of us, that the world is wrong. But he did not, unlike most of us, sit back on his sofa and ate popcorn, watching the world go by... He wholeheartedly committed himself to desiring to change the world. Whatever the cost. I want to change the world and I believe that you and I can do it.

Tongue Twisters

Like the picture?! Well,I found it funny..
I have been dying to watch Babel since the trailers came on at the cinema. I know,I know, it is not a merely cinematographic interest--for all my intellectual gibberish, I am still a girl and casting both Brad Pitt and Gael García Bernal in one big Hollywood movie is a major 'turn on' factor and a huge incentive to go and watch anything!But a joke apart, I was quite impressed with Alejandro González Iñárritu's latest production. Based on the tale about the confusion of human languages in Genesis 11,Babel is a strategically clever depiction of life in a global village.Similar to "Crash"in style, Babel ingenously, yet ostentatiously, peeks suggestively into the disperse lives of diverse people across the world united together by, not only a common story line, but by a common humanity. The movie offered a rather obvious springboard for a number of considerations. First of all, linguistic and cultural differences are nullified in sexuality - sex is a universally understood language.

Secondly, it is always quite frantic to be reminded of how lack of understanding often leads to prejudist misunderstandings and misinterpretations of circumstances. There are a few episodes in the movie where violence is automatically associated with "terrorism"- without any consideration for what could have been mere shenanigans..I was also intrigued by observing the human fascination/fear of the unknown...unexplainable mystery,so undeniably true! Moreover, the issue of "weapon possession" and "kids with guns",heavily explored in "Blood Diamond" and "The Last King of Scotland",was only briefly confronted in this movie, yet increased my frustration over the whole issue. Last but not least,I became so angry about the whole why is that that if a flippin' American tourist gets injured the whole world gets on its knees and if the same happens in a small African village no-body gives a damn?! Please, don't misunderstand me. I don't think that what happens for the American is wrong,I just wish it was the same for the wee African lad;that's all. In "Shooting Dogs" , the actress who plays the Europen reporter makes a statement about the Western indifference to murder of Africans in contrast with their greater emphaty with other white-conflicts (ei.the Balcans) due,in her opinion,to a lack of physical identification. I was watching the news last night about the South African turmoil at the moment with all these crime happening and the black community being sufferingly silent about it.It saddens me. I love Africa. God knows I do, and it frustrates me to shallowly witness the injustice and pain that goes on there whilst the rich and wealthy just look - if I could put it in picture, I would choose Goya's "Saturn Eating His Children" where a ferocious,heartless monster voraciously divores his own offspring... On a more superficial note,movie was pretty good 7.5/10 in my book and,Gael,I love you!!!(Not sure Natalie Portland would appreciate me saying that!)