A-Infos (en) Italy, Sicilia Libertaria: Palermo. The Last Generation initiative to defend water - Gesualdo Busacca (ca, de, it, pt, tr)[machine translation]

I sink onto the couch of what I call home, even though I no longer know 
what it means to be home. At times I think it means a sort of sense of 
normality that I have almost completely lost. What does it mean to be at 
home in such an absurd world? Is there really a safe place where 
collapse doesn't come? What has happened to me in the last few weeks 
proves it. I collapse on the couch and I'm sleepy and tired. And 
incredulous.
On March 29th I was walking at Cala, in Palermo, in the direction of the 
Trapezoidal Pier. I was with three other people. We would go and do 
nonviolent direct action that was supposed to look like a performance. 
We would have mimed daily life actions in the largest pool with dancing 
fountains in Italy. 5000 square meters of tank to contain 5 million 
liters of fresh water, as well as speakers, lights and self-propelled 
jets. Surrounded by luxury shops and "food and wine excellence", to 
welcome cruise passengers and yacht owners.

After the plainclothes Digos agents stopped us and asked us to open our 
backpacks, and searched every pocket of our backpacks containing empty 
bottles, dishes and clothes to wash, we remained there, sitting on the 
pier, surrounded by about ten agents in feet. People passed by, glanced 
at us and then went on their way, enjoying their walk. The policemen 
escorted us with indifferent looks.

- Why are you searching us?

- We suspect you have weapons or explosives.

- Weapons or explosives? Don't you know that we are a nonviolent 
movement? You knew exactly that we were coming here; you have been 
following our every move for months, but didn't you know that we have 
never brought with us anything that could hurt us, not even if we 
swallowed it?

No reaction. Eyes lost in space, like those of almost all the 
passers-by. What are they really thinking? They have certainly perfected 
the art of masking emotions over the years, like all the males of this 
earth. But is it possible that they don't feel anything? If there is 
anything that can drive me crazy, I think, it will be this. Madness as 
an extreme disappointment from mankind. Irredeemable.

I decide not to cooperate.

- Mr Busacca, should we call an ambulance to make you talk?

Twenty minutes pass. Half an hour. Three quarters of an hour. We are 
still sitting on the platform while people pass by without stopping, a 
dozen policemen with their eyes lost in a colossal solitude surround us; 
three of them fill out papers on two garbage cans. I'm starting to feel 
cold in my feet. Darkness falls and the fountain begins to dance, with 
its very high sprays dispersing in a cloud of humidity. The pink lights 
swing to the music of Beyoncé and Andrea Bocelli.

An hour and a half. An hour and three quarters. Empty bottles and cans 
are scattered around us, collapsed on banners. We don't want to talk 
anymore. After about two hours, they give us the documents back. And the 
complaints: unannounced demonstration (and which did not take place!) 
and failure to comply with the authorities' provisions.

We can go. As we approach the mall, the circle of agents turns into a 
semicircle following us. When we approach the pool, the semicircle 
closes into a circle, even narrower than before.

- Mr Busacca, are you perhaps trying to make fun of us?
- I'm sorry you think that, officer. I have no intention of making fun 
of her. Am I not free to go for a walk?
-You are not free to do what you plan to do.
- What a curious idea of freedom. Am I not free to take a completely 
harmless action and face the consequences?
- Not tonight.

Three days later, we decide to try again. Our tenacity is a survival 
instinct, we tell ourselves. As we head towards the pool, trembling and 
anxious, a huge cruise ship looms in front of us, covering Monte 
Pellegrino. All clear this time. We enter the water, open the banner, 
wash dishes, glasses and laundry. A scene that already seems familiar. 
Almost a clear memory of a near future.

There are many people on the steps of the Trapezoidal Pier. Sitting at 
the bar tables or on the steps by the pool, soaking up the sun. There is 
also a very young boy, sitting alone, who looks at me with a different look.

- How do you feel? I ask him from the fountain basin. He thinks about it 
for a moment.
- I feel sad.
- I understand you, I feel sad sometimes too. Do you feel anything else 
when you think about what lies ahead?
- Mainly this. Sadness.

How much sadness we carry inside us and we are unable to share it. Often 
not even able to express it. I don't remember ever saying "I feel sad" 
to a person I just met.

Even an agent looks at me with a look that seems to open up to 
something. I want to follow this path too, greedy as I am for human 
contact. Isn't this why I find myself in my underwear in a fountain, 
with a banner, tanks to fill, clothes and dishes to wash? Yes, that's 
why. To communicate with people in a way that is usually closed to us. I 
want to pierce the indifference of everyday life to be able to empathize 
with people I don't know.

- And what do you think, officer?

We stare at each other for about ten very long seconds. Maybe even more. 
He doesn't answer, but I read an imperceptible crease in his gaze, like 
a slight inclination. You're telling me something you don't want to say. 
This won't be the case, a couple of hours later, at the police station. 
The magic will have passed, and he will go back to chatting with 
colleagues and typing on his cell phone, as in a normal day as a guard.

Gesualdo Busacca

https://www.sicilialibertaria.it/
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