There was a moment during the evening at Carso in Corso in Monfalcone
dedicated to Sandro Morena on Friday, November 7th, when I felt like thevery walls were shaking. A seismic shock from pure collective vibration:
it was Barrio Alto who had just started the right song, the one that
made the skin on your arms stand up and the glasses on the table bounce.
A music as rough, mixed, anarchic as certain written walls: world music
from the border, from the suburbs, to the struggles, to the toasts and
the scars. And above all, to the stories of those who never backed down.
The event dedicated to Sandro-comrade, oral historian, activist-wasn't a
pristine memorial. It was a family dinner where everyone brought
something: a memory, a bottle, a piece of music, a laugh. Anarchic
conviviality, the kind that Sandro truly loved, became the cornerstone
of the evening. More than a memory, a revival. More than a
commemoration, a celebration where melancholy melts away in the desire
to be together again.
Between a guitar and a choir that knows no discord because anything
goes, there was that "joy of militancy" Sandro often spoke of: a formula
that came as naturally to him as pouring wine for guests or aligning a
political discussion without turning it into an intellectual ring.
Barrio Alto, Paolo Zei, Laura Fogagnolo, Alessandro Guerra, and Piero
Purich did their part: it was the perfect soundtrack for that Bisiacaria
that refuses to surrender to institutional hatred and continues to
defend its libertarian spaces as if they were collective existences.
Within this atmosphere, the new issue of Germinal also arrived, the one
dedicated entirely to Sandro Morena. An issue that isn't leafed through:
it's embraced. It's now available for purchase at Germinal on Via del
Bosco in Trieste and at Caffè Esperanto in Monfalcone, with the option
of requesting a digital or paper copy.
Leafing through it, you can almost hear Sandro speaking. His many lives,
his thirst for knowledge, his way of making oral history like bread-with
his hands-are conveyed through contributions that are both lucid and moving.
Alessio Lega's closing poem is a heartbreaking one: a portrait of Sandro
laughing "among the gendarmes," a laugh that undermines the very
foundations of the State, more than a hundred academic treatises. Then
there are the words of the comrades of Caffè Esperanto, who remember the
generous and radical man who donated the headquarters to the collective,
transforming a place into a political promise that continues.
The cover, featuring a graphic reworking of a painting by writer Mattia
Campo Dall'Orto, and an inside illustration by Anton Shpacapan Voncina,
as well as a photo by Mara Fella, enrich the iconographic sources of
this issue, which features images sent to us by many, portraying Sandro
at different stages of his life.
Anna Di Gianantonio recounts the "joy of militancy" as a connection and
freedom; Gualtiero Pin paints a portrait of travel, combat, and memory;
Chiara Paternoster of the Associazione Esposti Amianto recalls Sandro's
immense work in uncovering the truth about asbestos; Piero Purich
portrays his "polytropos" side, a traveler through space and time; Marco
Niro reconstructs Sandro as a mentor, the one who, with stubborn faith,
was able to inspire new writers and new stories. And then came the
contributions of his comrades, friends, and his niece: Federico, Andrea,
Giustina, Liviana, Monica, Gigi, Ciua, Tiziano, Paolo De Toni, Massimo
Carlotto, and many others who contributed. Each one adds a piece to the
story of a militant who never stood still. A polyphonic symphony
emerges, as if Sandro's story itself were told by a chorus: that of his
community of comrades, friends, associates, and accomplices. And each
voice says the same thing: it's not just about remembering him, but
about continuing him.
Barrio Alto's music knit everything together: the words, the glasses,
the hugs. And as the party continued, someone said that Sandro would
make a toast, then set up the microphone, give a couple of giant
critiques or an absurd chorus, and finally enjoy the celebration of the
community he loved so much.
And perhaps that's precisely the point: never leave us alone. And it's
in the joyful chaos of our evenings, in the copies of Germinal passed
from hand to hand, in the chants and discussions between Trieste,
Gorizia, and Monfalcone, that Sandro continues to be with us.
Because memory is a struggle. And our struggle, joyful, has become music
and a copy of our Germinal. Once again. For Sandro and with Sandro:
because if we don't dance, it's not our revolution.
Luca - Caffè Esperanto
https://umanitanova.org/sandro-morena-la-gioia-della-militanza-la-nuova-uscita-di-germinal/
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