One of the custodians of my old middle school claimed that if on very hot days one had sprinkled the asphalt with pee and thrown a lit match on it it would have caused an uncontrollable fire (for a long time, with my classmates, we tried, once even near the math teacher’s car, but without great results).
The strong heat has arrived, and the asphalt seems to give off fire and flames these days even without this natural ammonia. In the yesterday’s press review we talked about the schizophrenia of the municipality of Naples which raises the alarm about high temperatures, citing a university report (2020) which proposed a series of sensible solutions, such as planting trees. Naturally the municipality places the emphasis on the alarm and not on the lack of solutions, but it is enough to look around the city a bit to realize how the lack of care has devastated the (already scarce) public green areas. But of course, it’s easier to say that the heat is out of control, first create panic and then rely on it fatalism.
When I was a child I already had a fascination for these workers. The siren sounded and I ran to the balcony to see them all leaving the factory together. Then as I got to know them, I became involved in politics together. Once upon a time, as students, we got into the habit of beating up certain fascists from the Flame, who came out to the schools to provoke. And every now and then, if there was a need, a couple of workers would even come. I remember that we had crucified one of these, who was from Bagnoli, so much that if he met me on the street he would say: “But why are you attacking me? I do politics for my own business!”. I replied: “Because that’s what my head tells me, what can you do, I’ve gotten used to it. Just as I have coffee and milk in the morning, if I see you, go away.” (from an interview with Aldo Velo, former worker, 2018)
Fire and flames have devastated a large part of the hill in recent days Camaldoli. The fire was arson (the trigger was found): the origin was probably the debris removal business. Not even building speculation anymore… the removal of debris. I basically burn because then you’ll pay me to clean up what I burned. Without inconveniencing Leopards (we have already discussed this too) or slipping into pantheistic catastrophism, all of this seems to me to be quite indicative of the relationship between man and nature.
No matter where, no matter how,
start,
go towards the distance, towards the outside, towards the abstract distance.
Go, go, go,
all my blood asks for wings,
my whole body rushes forward and my flesh is a wave on the rocks.
Fire fire fire blood blood blood,
My whole brain is exploding
and the world turns red for me.
(Antonio Neiwiller, the not indifferent nature)
When last year to some members of the editorial team of MONITOR it came to mind to organize a film festival, it was natural to call it ON FIRE!. Among the common threads of the films we proposed there was in fact a process of destruction, aimed at a reconstruction that would drive profit and at the same time be capable of erasing all traces of the past (in that first edition we had shown films shot in a refugee camp Palestinians in Syria, in a building being dismantled a London, in a slum camp Turin and in an urban area northeast of Damascus). We could not imagine what would happen after less than a year in the occupied Palestinian territories, when the Israeli army launched what in its plans should be the decisive attack on what remains of the Palestine, the total destruction and reconstruction of a territory that will no longer have history or memory.
A: Let’s have some people from Fureidis show up and say: “We want to build a monument in memory of our loved ones”.
B: I don’t think they would let him. The whole kibbutz, not just me.
C: They didn’t let him.
B: Because if they ask it, it’s because it’s important to them.
C: Yes, it’s important.
B: If it’s important to them, it hurts me. There is no Tantura here, there is no Tantura here now. The village of Tantura is no longer there.
A: His story…
B: They can take whoever is buried there and bury them in Fureidis.
A: But a monument is not for graves. A monument is so as not to forget what happened.
C: It’s true. This is what they want.
B: That’s what they want, but I don’t. I do not want it.
C: I think they have the right to remember, don’t they?
B: Of course, they can remember easily.
C: Just as we remember that we were in Europe, they want to remember that they were here.
B: It wouldn’t be of any use, my dears. And what’s more, if there’s a license plate, there’s also an ownership.
C: He’s asking us what we think, not what it would take. What do you want?
B: A license plate signifies ownership. It’s a question of ownership. A monument means: “This is mine”. It can’t go like this.
(from a dialogue between the director Alon Schwarz and two Israeli settlers who settled in 1948 on the rubble of the village of Tantura¹).
I had a friend in London who worked in a pizzeria in the north of the city, one of those places in a commercial chain where everything has to meticulously pretend to be Italian. The pizza wasn’t bad (my friend made it) but the manager with whom I had to chat every evening while he went off was truly unbearable, with his stories about his trips to Positano and the colors of Coastal. Luckily (for him) my friend went to live in Brighton. I’m sorry I can’t say hello from time to time, but when I’m here other friends take me to eat in spectacular places (like This). The pizzeria was called Fire’s. (riccardo rosa)
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¹To learn more about the history of the destruction of the village of Tantura and the massacre of hundreds of unarmed Palestinian civilians, we recommend viewing of the film of the same name.
