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Fund Magazine. Susanna Dolci interview Gabriele Del Grande

taken from Fund Magazine

'Background From travelers'. Young, in fact, a university student and social worker in a dorm Bologna. What happens to a certain point? What happens to you and takes you to the capital and then in this book? Because the Termini Station, the largest whale? And why not another city?

In reality everything happens for no apparent reason. I chose to move to Rome because I was attracted by the city. And I decided to get to know the city from its social basements. Since its extreme periphery, which then was also the its center. The central train station. The ingredients were anthropological curiosity, the need to return a story of a reality unknown to most and on which I was able to look out thanks to the work of social worker. And then that bit of madness that you only have at that age.


Chapter 'The first night'. "Here, if some mica 'sleep." Then your backpack, your be transparent to the gaze of travelers passing through a station. Perhaps in the city itself. How does a homeless man the concept of space as an urban area or city? And even then, or rather, as the wire leads to "a journey in search of private pages of people stranded on underground Rome ... "? The ticket is for a one-way journey to hell, or even return?

I'm not a sociologist or an anthropologist to tell how a homeless person living the city. But perhaps I can say that the homeless do not exist. Does not exist as human category. And this is the sense of seeking the "private pages of people on the road has collapsed." All I did was meet and return with stories of the frescoes. Inevitably, fast, almost sketches, born of fleeting encounters, but who want to return just a narrative, subjectivity, and then to the characters, which brings subjectivity. And that makes us discover un lato come l’inferno sia in mezzo a noi. Sulle stesse strade che calpestiamo ogni giorno. E allo stesso tempo che quell’inferno é costellato di tante isole di paradiso. Ovvero l’umanità nascosta e negata da ogni nostro concittadino finito in mezzo alla strada nell’indifferenza generale.


Capitolo ‘La solitudine’ ovvero “l’estrema solitudine” degli emarginati. Quanto pesa? Quanto fa vivere o uccidere?

La solitudine pesa su tutta la città. Di nuovo, la strada diventa uno specchio fedele dei mali della società. Dove pero’ tutto è esasperato. Siamo tutti sempre più soli. E la strada è spesso il risultato di quella loneliness, which in times of distress did scorched earth around people and let them fall. The family, friends, sons, or fathers. And if already in the normal solidarity is often a luxury that few can afford it, the road becomes even worse. And it is the extreme loneliness - of true friends, affection, home - which exacerbates the discomfort, and prevents to find the strength to retell and start from scratch, always in the grip of insecurity.


Chapter 'A cold shower'. "Mine is only a play," you write. So forgive the term, and raw bums are born, you become, it remains or returns to be?

Barboni you become. No one is born into the street in Italy. And they can become any of us. I met young people from tough neighborhoods, the disabled, pensioners, former manager of major Italian companies, graduates, illiterates. Our lives are increasingly precarious. And it can happen to anyone. Especially where the social and family ties are weaker and where there are no parachutes of solidarity. Mine was a "reading" to the extent that it was a journey through the social strata of a city to tell the backstory. But without thinking about immerse myself in a condition that is not mine. Only to reach a place and to tell the tale.

Nel capitolo ‘Milano-Parigi prima classe’ scrivi: “mi metto a rovistare tra i cartoni vuoti”. Come sono le azioni, i gesti degli esclusi dalle luci della città? Com’è il loro tempo? Come si muovono le lancette del loro metaforico od immaginario orologio che poi è di siffatta piena realtà?

E’ tutto molto essenziale. Si mangia, si dorme, e si parla. E’ tutto anche molto noioso da un lato. Non c’è niente di entusiasmante sulla strada. Le condizioni sono molto difficili. A volte di sopravvivenza. C’è anche molta violenza, a volte davvero per delle futilità. E molta instabilità, specie tra chi beve e fa uso di droghe legali o illegali. Tuttavia that violence, these difficulties make the road a "teacher of life" as he called Gigi, the Roman Empire.

Chapter 'In vino veritas'. "Sitting on the edge of a binary watch the world go by." Italian, migrant, homeless, outcast, different, foreign, crazy. What type of account and relationship with the beings of everyday life?

No, "I watch the world go 'I mean the anonymous crowds that pass through an area deprived of his social life as a big train station. Thousands of people invisible to each other. I refer to the common people. Commuters. For me I was living on the street homeless were those who knew and acknowledged. They had a name. Were islands where to stay for two words in the middle of that anonymous stream of people represented by commuters and the many citizens of transit. Once you change perspective, the problem no longer arises in the standard or normal. Enter a personal logic, narrative, so everyone has a name, before an identity. The identities used to define. The names to know. And then to tell.

The chapter 'Retreat Aventine' speaks of the "Survival Guide" distributed by the Community of Sant'Egidio? Could you talk about?

It 's a book that at the time of the Community Sant'Egidio distributed in canteens. There is over a list of all the tables, with addresses and opening hours, shower points, places where distributed clothes, of legal advice, the local health authorities, hospitals, social workers, mental health centers, groups against 'Alcohol, therapeutic communities. So a kind of social handbook. very useful.

Some chapters still, 'How exiles thoughts' and 'The Barrel'. The life of the outcast passes between poetry, madness, violence, drugs, alcohol or what not else ... What else?

difficult to answer. It 's like everyone's life. You said: madness and poetry, tears coltelli. Con la differenza che rispetto alla noia cotonata di certe vite borghesi, sulla strada è tutto più violento, più ruvido, più esasperato, nel bene e nel male.

‘Veglia di Natale’, ‘Un’abbuffata’, ’I botti’, ‘L’anno che verrà’. Questi sono capitoli dedicati alle feste. Momenti delicati. Come, in questo stare randagio, si vivono le ricorrenze ufficiali ed a carattere familiare?

Si vivono male. Si sta male. Perché è come se il proprio vivere fosse sanzionato da un imperativo collettivo di festeggiare. Mi spiego? Tutto fuori ti ricorda che è Natale, sei sommerso di retorica sul Natale, di pubblicità, of decorations, Christmas but you do not have anyone to celebrate with. And every smile you refer to the passing of your loneliness. No, Christmas and the feast days are not good times for those who are on the road.

Chapter 'The black sheep'. Who is and who is not? To you the word

The point is not who is not what those who do not make the index. We're all good to accuse, to issue rulings and judgments. and instead we should start the meeting. by listening. of what 'that is next door, who is in our neighborhoods, our streets. and from there 're-imagining new forms of social solidarity, social bonds that act as parachutes to those who fall. because solidarity can not 'be a luxury that only few can afford. and it could really happen to us all.

At the end, but perhaps he had to go to the top: the same way? And especially since this book? To perhaps understand who is "normal" from another reality, not the other dimension? You can never fully understand this and accept this status and to improve that is not in the car?

Not only would do it again. Do it again every day. In an attempt to tell stories. And through the stories paint frescoes of the story and define cross. Not only I had no problems - Except for a warhead in the nose that I could even avoid - but I was also accepted and somehow protected under the wing of four old sea dogs of the first rail station Termini. Why this book? Listen again to the city. From a different perspective. But that 'speaks of the city itself, through its extreme periphery. So extreme that is at its center. It is not so much to understand. How to listen. And tissue relations. Which are not only helping relationships. But opportunities for a renewed social ties in our neighborhoods increasingly precarious and aseptic

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traveler

is his university days that I wonder about the city hidden. I lived in Bologna and to pay for my studies in 2002, I finished a bit 'by chance to work as a social worker in a dorm every night gave hospitality to thirty men and women finished in the street. Via Lombardia. I remember the blue neon lights that remain lit during the night on the narrow corridor onto which the door of the room and the iron gratings of the windows.

often spend sleepless nights to write. Or listening to music. Along with Gabriel, one of the guests, a forty year old with a history of heroin, neo follower of Jehovah's Witnesses and a great connoisseur of music of the seventies and eighties. He had sold his record collection to buy the stuff, after his father had driven home to yet another assault. But first I had them copied onto tape. That bag of music was his treasure. He kept it locked in the cupboard. At night, when I was on duty, came to visit me. He suffered from insomnia. He arrived with his pajamas axillary, each time bringing three or four different boxes, commenting aloud, between a cigarette and the other, with that toothless mouth. It was he who introduced me to, inter alia, George Gaber.

When I left, two years later, was still hospitalized, the Major, for drug poisoning. He had decided to end it. It is believed to be possessed, because unclean, because it is extremely obsessed with the Solitude sexual, not even love could pay more in touch. And for this he had swallowed in a single blow all the drugs that the doctors at the nursing home had prescribed for depression.

From Bologna I left with a load of memories. The holes fuorivena Franco and accounts of his armed robbery in Milan and Bologna. The hump of Caramel in Naples led the trawlers of the "Maronna" in procession, and that he was completely illiterate. Tales of telephone calls to Maximus for a living had found a part-time job in a line erotica. The joke of Peter, who came off the prostheses had to place the finger every time you shake hands with the newcomers. And the writer of

Clare, who carefully watched the news every night to find out what were the seven men who were free from the seven women who entered the brain during attacks of cluster headache. Until then he had only found one. A Hitler. But he was not completely safe. Why spent whole days in the city libraries in a notebook to copy the German dictionary.

And then the rare tears for Angela, sunk into depression with all its hundred pounds. And the punches are easy to Mario, that every time I go overboard with the alcohol become so troublesome that often leave her to sleep outside on the bench.

Towards a mixture of violence and tenderness, tears and knives, I sentivo debitore. Perché per due anni avevo potuto osservare una città, Bologna, dall’interno della sua periferia più nascosta. Adesso volevo fare lo stesso con Roma, ma senza filtri. Non da operatore sociale. Da viaggiatore.

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From Invisible Cities

Nelle "Città invisibili" di Italo Calvino, Marco Polo racconta a Kublai Kan, imperatore dei Tartari, le mille città del suo impero, mille sfaccettature di una stessa irraggiungibile città, sovrapposte a memoria e divenire. Calvino amava contrapporre verità e punti di vista, così nel suo schedario incompiuto, all'immagine di ogni città corrisponde il suo negativo. Vale lo stesso per le nostre grandi metropoli, dove non v'è centro without suburbs.

The border between these two places opens like a zipper along the margins of society. It is not always a geographical distance to define the boundary between inside and outside, but rather the distance from the invisible network of relationships, family, emotional, social, economic. Then happens to find patches of historical and economic centers in the outskirts of the city: men and women to stay along a sidewalk, including the cartoons in a small square, train station or on a tram at night, watching people run, like the edge of a river.

To tell this city, and the city as a whole, I lived and slept on the street in Rome between 15 December 2004 and January 3, 2005, hosted by some of its approximately 6 thousand "residents."

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Preface

journalism human , Stefano Trasatti *

Two and a half years before publishing Mamadou goes to die, Gabriele Del Grande had already written this guide to travel in Rome of the excluded. Without a warrant or heads of publishing houses, had done so, to grant: for his interest in "hidden on cities", but certainly also to experiment on that job as a journalist who had already chosen as his own.

The issue was not - and is not - most of those who arouse the interest of those who make books and newspapers. Indeed, it was the last one of those who would dare to propose: so rough, bleak, devoid of uplifting stories and handles to make the show, the world of the homeless, those who, " sitting at the side of the road, people-watch, as the edge of a river "was not exactly sexy, as they say the gurus of the communication. In fact, none so far (except the agency Social Editor in 2005), had never been interested in publishing these stories.

literature exclusion is added to the very low therefore this report, important primarily for one reason: because it returns identities, histories and "corporeality " who, while failing to lost, it's as if most had not. "Some know them they are so sloppy, others do not you say anything, they are dressed well, they have the phone ... ," writes Del Grande. This is the threshold where it stops the "city that excludes ": a glimpse that can not see and does not look, do not want to see. And at most calls these appearances become a very fashionable word: the invisible.

But wherever they live, these people are not at all. In the society that " reproduces the company has excluded, "the only law that applies is that of force," people are fighting against each other, except for temporary and opportunistic alliances, ready to betray, to forget and get hurt . In that society, in particular, there is so much loneliness, a "very lonely" ripped or even aggravated by stories, tears, recriminations, tenderness and wounded pride. From feelings and words that Del Grande has collected and reported in this book.

is relevant to mention the method used by the author. Maybe only 22 years can be so unaware, apparently, to take the risks of a trip like this. But his intention was evidently to make a report " witness" who respect the rules of engagement laid down by himself (and then made more rigid by the circumstances): no money, no privileges, no coverage of social workers, no contact with the family, not a hit and run, but long enough to make history in the climate of the road.

A professional approach, far from being unconscious, in which - and this is the item you point out - the narrator is the protagonist. His presence is a light that is not judgmental: he knows to be an intruder and also why he compared the stories of others. Sa that this is not his house.

" How different travel the roads and houses," wrote a few days after returning to Rome to join the school of journalism. "My is only a play," he admitted with the operator of a shelter, " few days I will come to all my security (...) .

" Neither do I believe in simulation games. Never considered myself the guinea pig of myself, or this is a sort of social experiment. Simply an opportunity to meet, present, exchange . This

book, newspaper and example of a very few others, show that a human journalism and completely devoid of cynicism is possible.

Stefano Trasatti
www.redattoresociale.it
October 1, 2009

* Stefano Trasatti is Director of the Agency on-line journalism Social Editor he founded in 2001, first magazine devoted to issues of daily hardship and social commitment. From 1993 to 2000 he was national secretary of the CNCA (National Coordination of the host communities). Organize in 1994, at the Community of Capodarco Still, the seminar annual training for journalists Social Editor (over 3,000 participants in the first 15 editions)

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Index

Foreword by Stefano Trasatti
Prologue	Invisible Cities
Background From traveler
Chapter One	The first night
Chapter Two	Solitude
Chapter Three	A cold shower
Chapter Four	Milan Paris first class
Chapter Five	In vino veritas
Chapter Six	Retreat Aventine
Chapter Seven	As exiles thoughts
Chapter Eight	The barrel
Chapter Nine	tuna and peas
Chapter X	Christmas Eve
Chapter eleventh	The binge
Chapter Twelve	The barrels
	Gigi thirteenth Chapter boy life
Chapter Fourteen	take me a kiss to Florence
Chapter fifteenth	Dances with Wolves
Chapter sixteenth	The giant
Chapter seventeenth	Escape from Alcatraz
Chapter eighteenth	Ghost
Chapter nineteenth	can have side effects
Chapter	twentieth year that will
Chapter twenty-first	Treehouse
Chapter twenty-second	Hands fairy
Chapter twenty-third	Padre Pio
Epilogue	The black sheep
Afterword by Maxim Cristan
Thanks

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Gabriele Del Grande Photo

Toscano, traveler and writer. Gabriele Del Grande was born in Lucca in 1982, graduated in Oriental Studies in Bologna. He writes for The Unit , Social Editor and Reporter Peace and collaborates with lettera27 . In 2006 he founded the observatory sulle vittime dell’emigrazione Fortress Europe . Per Infinito edizioni ha pubblicato Mamadou va a morire (2007) e ha collaborato a Come un uomo sulla terra (2009). Per le Edizioni del Gruppo Abele (EGA), ha collaborato al quarto taccuino del premio Ilaria Alpi Africa e Media .

Per contattarlo: gabriele_delgrande@yahoo.it

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