Let's hug!

Gaza after the truce: an endless expanse of rubble, a dusty gap, people like ants on the road to nowhere. Trump's United States: a line of illegal immigrants in chains, about to board a military plane that will take them back to Guatemala. Libya and Italy: a war criminal, torturer of migrants, wanted by the International Court of Justice in The Hague. First arrested in Turin, then released on a technicality, finally repatriated to Tripoli on an Italian intelligence flight and welcomed with full honors by his associates.

Three images, three snapshots to describe this beginning of the year. Different situations, places, contexts. And yet, there is a minimum common denominator, namely the more or less veiled censorship of innocent pain. By now it is a practice, we don't talk about it much anymore, because that pain is uncomfortable, it bothers us, we don't know how to interpret it and perhaps, we don't even care. But that pain exists, it screams, it nails us, it oozes from those same images, provided that we want to look at them, not just see them.

Looking at the destruction of Gaza at the tens of thousands of deaths, of families shattered, of life projects condemned to never express themselves in any way.

Looking at the past of those who are sent home like a package, at the dreams, the battles, the suffering that fuels every hope of happiness.

Looking at the guilt that can be hidden behind a seemingly immaculate man, his crimes, the cries of his victims, the lives he has extinguished forever.

Looking at that pain is difficult, but necessary to not get used to evil, to be indignant in a healthy way, to not feel helpless. Looking at that pain is a conversion of the heart and mind, a small miracle that can put into crisis those who only know how to turn away. Looking at that pain is the only seed of hope, right there, where hope has been suffocated. But how do you do it? Children teach us. A fright, a moment of sadness, a moment of despair: little ones have no superstructures, they cry, sometimes they despair, they don't seem to find peace. But it doesn't take much to calm them, no words, almost always a hug, even better if it comes from a reference figure. How many tears has closeness cured in the history of humanity!

We should do the same in the madness of these times. Find a way, even symbolic, to hug each other, to allow everyone to share their pain, whether it's that of a person, of a people, of a nation, of the entire world. We need spaces, narratives, concrete actions so that the closeness that the heart needs can pierce the wall of indifference. Let's hug! Let's start again from here!


Matteo Spicuglia
NP February 2025