"Tra i governanti quanti perfetti e inutili buffoni...
Nel fango affonda lo stivale dei maiali
Me ne vergogno un poco e mi fa male
Vedere un uomo come un animale..."
https://t.co/pIgqQnkrxh
I visited the first Gaza Holocaust Memorial in the US
Every American city should host the Wall of Tears
We paid for this genocide and should reckon with it for eternity
I reni filtrano circa 180 litri di sangue al giorno, cioè l'intero sangue del corpo è filtrato circa 60 volte al giorno. Il 99% di questo filtrato viene riassorbito e rimesso in circolo, il resto espulso dal corpo tramite l'urina. Poi ditemi che la fisiologia non è affascinante.
Secondo Giorgia Meloni, il settore dell’edilizia e delle costruzioni genera il 12% del Pil italiano. È falso: il 12% si riferisce agli investimenti in costruzioni, non al contributo del settore all’economia. Secondo Istat, le costruzioni generano il 6% del valore aggiunto totale.
How do you explain to someone that an entire neighborhood can lose access to drinking water because of a few liters of motor oil?
Not because there is no water. Not because there is no desalination plant.
But because the machines and trucks that keep life running can no longer operate.
Twice a week, a water truck comes to our neighborhood. Families line up with containers and collect enough drinking water to last until the next delivery.
Yesterday was one of those days.
My father waited with the neighbors from early morning. The truck never arrived. Today, they waited again.
Still nothing.
By then, many families had already run out of safe drinking water. Later, some of the men went to find out what had happened.
The answer was painfully simple.
The truck assigned to our area had broken down. It needed motor oil.
Motor oil is still not being allowed into Gaza.
Three of the station’s five water trucks have now stopped operating. Just days ago, Gaza City’s main desalination plant also reported disruptions because the lubricants needed to keep its machinery running were unavailable.
What sounds like a technical problem quickly becomes something else.
It becomes thirst. It becomes parents wondering what their children will drink.
It becomes families forced to rely on water that is barely suitable for washing, let alone drinking. Today, my family managed to buy enough water.
Many others could not. This is how suffering works in Gaza.
It rarely arrives all at once. A blocked shipment. A broken truck.
A machine that stops working. And suddenly, an entire neighborhood is left without water.
That is why it is difficult to hear the word “ceasefire.” Because wars are not measured only by bombs.
They are measured by whether people can drink clean water, receive medical care, and live with dignity.
If essential supplies are still being blocked, if water systems are slowly collapsing, and if families are still struggling to secure the most basic necessities, then what exactly are we supposed to call this?
How many more people must suffer before the world understands that war does not always arrive as an explosion?
Sometimes it arrives as an empty water container waiting for a truck that never comes.
#WoundedGaza
Difendiamo Erri De Luca! Difendiamo Eshkol Nevo! @Corriere sempre in prima linea. Pensa se avessero dedicato un decimo di quest'energia a difendere i quasi 300 colleghi massacrati a Gaza dall'esercito israeliano. #GazaScortamediatica
Da Paola Turci a Malika Ayane e Lamante per 'Dopo la notte' a Viareggio. Evento il 30 giugno de Il Mondo che vorrei, per non dimenticare la strage ferroviaria #ANSA https://t.co/mbGQJYuAqY
Il caldo che pesa davvero spesso non è quello delle 15, è quello che resta anche di notte. Vi spiego perchè il caldo previsto nei prossimi 4-5 giorni sarà ancora sopportabile.
Durante un’ondata di calore intensa siamo abituati a guardare solo le massime, 35, 37, 39°C, sono numeri forti, fanno titolo, impressionano ma dal punto di vista fisiologico le temperature minime sono decisive. Nonostante mi piace doverosamente ricordare che la sensazione di calore è soggettiva ci sono dei meccanismi fisiologici generali da tenere in considerazione.
La notte dovrebbe essere il momento in cui il corpo recupera, la temperatura scende, gli edifici rilasciano calore, l’organismo disperde meglio l’energia accumulata durante il giorno, il sonno diventa più efficace e lo stress termico si riduce ma quando le minime restano elevate, soprattutto nelle grandi città, il caldo non si interrompe davvero, continua anche di notte. Sto parlando delle famose "notti tropicali", quelle quando la temperatura minima resta piu' alta di 20 °C.
Con minime sopra i 22-24°C, umidità elevata, poco vento e isola di calore urbana, il corpo fatica a raffreddarsi, il sonno peggiora, aumenta la disidratazione e le persone fragili recuperano sempre meno tra un giorno caldo e quello successivo, È il motivo per cui una giornata con 35°C di massima e 19°C di minima può essere meno pesante di una giornata con 32°C di massima e 25°C di minima.
Per valutare una vera ondata di calore intensa non basta guardare il picco del pomeriggio, bisogna guardare anche la notte perchè spesso è lì, quando il termometro non scende, che il caldo può diventare davvero un problema.
Israel is destroying every single home in the southern 40 miles of Lebanon.
This is not “targeting Hezbollah strongholds.”
These are Christian villages and Sunni villages and Shia villages where people have lived for centuries.
Chiedo umilmente al signor Presidente della Repubblica Italiana Sergio Mattarella, garante della costituzione antifascista italiana: è normale che per le vie di Roma ci sia un corteo autorizzato che inneggia ad una deportazione di massa sulle note di "me ne frego"? @Quirinale
@maurorizzi_mr 1) la Norvegia non fa parte dell'Unione Europea.
2) La fuga non è stata causata dalla tassa patrimoniale (che la Norvegia applica fin dal 1892 e che è stata solo leggermente ritoccata dall'1% all'1,1%)
3) La Norvegia ha una "Exit Tax" (imposta di uscita) da anni.
SOLO PER GLI SMEMORATI:
La villa di Arcore, B. la rubó all'orfana dei signori Casati Stampa, dopo che il padre dell'orfana aveva ucciso la moglie, l'amante giovane e si era suicidato.
Alla ragazza, desiderosa di scappare dall'Italia e bisognosa di soldi, vennero offerti 500 milioni di lire contro un valore della villa stimato per 7,3 miliardi di lire. La cosa bella è che i 500 milioni non vennero dati in soldi ma in azioni non quotate in borsa. Proprio per questo la ragazza non riuscì a cambiarle in denaro e si ritrovo con delle azioni bloccate. Allora B. si offrì di riprendersele in cambio di 250 milioni di lire e alla fine la ragazza si ritrovó a vendere una casa di 7,3 miliardi per 250 milioni di lire. Non c'è che dire, un affare.
Per quanti diranno, fessa lei che ha accettato, occorre ricordare che era un'orfana e che il suo tutore legale era Cesare Previti (CONDANNATO A 6 ANNI), avvocato e braccio destro finanziario di B. Questa è una delle cose... si potrebbe andare avanti ore...
In Italia a uno come questo, dopo tutto quello che ha fatto, gli fanno i funerali di Stato. Siamo nella follia pura!!!
Edoardo Sala
There are moments in Gaza when suffering becomes so ordinary that people stop asking for solutions.
They begin asking only for the smallest relief. A little less pain.
A child who sleeps through the night.
When I entered the clinic that morning, I noticed a young woman carrying a baby so small that I could not tell whether the child was a newborn or simply made tiny by hardship.
When her turn came, she gently placed the baby on my desk and said:
“I want any cream you have.” Any cream. Not a specific medicine. Not a particular treatment.
Just anything.
She uncovered the baby and showed me the severe rash covering much of the child’s fragile skin.
“I treat the baby with whatever free creams I can find in clinics,” she explained.
“Anything helps.”
As she spoke, I noticed something else. The baby was not wearing a diaper. Only pieces of cloth.
I asked why.
“I can’t afford diapers,” she replied calmly. “I wash these and use them again.”
Then she added that they were living in a tent and that her husband had suffered a serious foot injury and was unable to work.
“I’m not asking for much,” she said.
“I only want a cream.”
But what caught my attention most was not the rash.
It was the malnutrition.
The baby was severely underweight. The kind of malnutrition that is visible before any examination even begins.
So I asked the mother whether she had noticed.
She nodded. “Yes, I know.”
Then she said something I cannot forget: “When the baby gets older, things will get better.”
Not because she truly believed it.
But because hope was cheaper than treatment.
And treatment was something she could no longer afford. That was the moment that broke me.
Not the tent. Not the poverty. Not even the illness.
But the fact that this mother had lowered her expectations so much that she no longer dreamed of proper medical care, diapers, or adequate nutrition.
She came asking for the smallest thing she could imagine. A tube of cream.
Any cream.
Something that might make the baby hurt a little less.
The baby could not have been more than five months old.
Too young to understand war. Too young to understand poverty. Yet already carrying both on that tiny body.
There is something profoundly cruel about a world in which a mother’s greatest hope for her child is no longer a better future.
Only a little less suffering tonight.
#WoundedGaza
Non sono numeri loro che muoiono ammazzati, non diventiamo numeri noi assistendo in silenzio. Muhannad Farwana stava per sposarsi, @AlhassanSelmi ha raccolto le voci di chi si preparava al suo matrimonio e ha dovuto accompagnare il suo funerale. Su @ossigenorivista
War does not only kill people, sometimes it kills love.
And perhaps that is one of its cruelest crimes, because love is the one language every human being understands.
A few days ago, I was supposed to meet a friend I had not seen in a long time, but a few hours before we met, he called to cancel, his voice sounded broken.
Today, I saw him by chance and asked what was wrong.
He told me that his sister had been engaged since the beginning of the war.
Her fiancé managed to leave Gaza for Spain, believing he would eventually be able to bring her there through family reunification.
So they waited, not for weeks, not for months.
For years.
Holding on to a future they thought was coming.
But the borders remained closed, the procedures remained impossible, and eventually they were forced to make a decision neither of them wanted.
They ended the engagement !!
My friend told me his sister is devastated, not because she lost a fiancé, but because she lost the life she had already begun living in her imagination.
The home she dreamed of.
The mornings they would share.
The children they talked about.
The future that felt close enough to touch.
And then vanished.
This is a part of war that never appears in statistics.
While the world counts the dead, nobody counts the lovers separated by borders, nobody counts the weddings that never happened.
The families that were never formed.
The lives that were never allowed to begin.
Beyond the bombs and destruction, there is another tragedy here :
To spend years building a dream with someone you love, only to be forced to bury it while both of you are still alive.
And I think that is what broke her heart.
Not that she lost the man she loved, but that she had to let go of the future they loved together !!
#WoundedGaza
@GiorgiaMeloni È vero, non si fanno i gesti intolleranti! Non si urla, non si alzano i toni per esasperare avversari e situazioni.
Brava contessina, insegnaci la vita