Sera tarda, ultima riunione di redazione, occhi che si chiuderebbero volentieri . Il Meeting quasi deserto, il momento migliore per visitarsi un paio di mostre. Cerco quella su Flannery O’Connor, mi imbatto in quella su Solidarnosc . E già, dico mentre entro, questo mese di agosto 2010 sono trent’anni da quei giorni fantastici. Straordinari quei giorni, quegli anni, quelli di Lech Walesa e del più libero sindacato della storia dele lotte operaie. Allora, quell’agosto del 1980, avevo 18 anni. Mentre comincio a guardare le foto di questa mostra, la commozione sbotta fuori prepotente. Le ricordo tutte, quelle foto, sembra ieri. Quei volti, belli, fieri, liberi. Lech Walesa e i suoi mustache, other than those of Stalin, and a pin with the Black Madonna. I remember how shocked we were discussing the images that came from Danzig, those days of 1980. What's going on here? Workers in the knee that are crossed during the strike instead of boring waving red flags and raising his fist? Times are changing, some would say. Reading the statement of requirements in 21 points of the Solidarity workers, it is evident the originality and greatness of this union. The first request for wage increase comes into the tenth point . Before requests only freedom of speech, of religion, of expression. And to think that these people, these Polish workers, were people who literally starved in the glorious failure of socialist Poland, but also an ideological statement. Other than the bourgeois revolution of children bored and spoiled children of our 68 : the Polish Solidarity movement was along with that of Budapest to Prague by 56 and 68 of the only true revolution of the twentieth century. It looks a bit ', not against the bosses, but against the Communists. All three. I look at those photos, Piazza del Duomo in Milan with the huge cross of candles and thousands of people with Polish flags in those days in December 1981 when they did, the Communist coup. Chiavari went by train to participate in those moments, we also participate in the great struggle for freedom. As my professor, PCI honest man, told me that in school did not have to do politics, because I walked into class with the t-shirt with the word Solidarity. Would be laughable if it were not crying for hypocrisy. At the end of the show are the staples of Sind: other emotion. I'm in a glass case, as relics. I had a dozen, then. I wish I had kept. What memories. Formidable these days, those formidable years.
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