[ bollettini ]

Dedicated (in random order)…

to S. for his friendship, complicity and honesty

to An. and Hi. for bringing art back to me

to the vice chancellor who with his bad example reminded me why I believe in democracy

to E. for what he gave and what he took

to An. for the long time we spent together and the travels

to B., J. and I. for their commitment and dedication

to As. for the bright future that is awaiting her

to Du. for reminding me of the power of women

to Re. for her determination

to the mountains for making me feel home

to Ka. cause she found a way to be close despite the distance

to my family: without them none of this would have been possible

to Ka. for his smile and his special way to showing you the world

to Ha.: a special domino partner and to his pick-up truck

to the students who gave me strength and motivation to continue

to A. and H. who made me understand that men here have a long way to go

to J. for his “preaching”, the long conversations and his sarcasm

to Ch. for the girly chats

to Ka. for the dreams that come true

to my granny for the active patience

to Su. for having always been the mirror of my thoughts and emotions

to G., Sa. and Pe. for having believed in my potentials all these years

to my old friends who still endure me

to Be., Ro., Ai, Mi. for being family when I first arrived in Erbil

to Ha. for his integrity

to Br. for his heart of gold

to Me. and Mu. for their warm hospitality and their friendship

to Di. for his independence and love for freedom

to Ch. for his stories of women over some beers

to An., Ak., Al., and D. for the Friday dinners

to the street ice sellers for reminding me of the flow of time

to Li cause when she is there she is there

to me for having embraced the challenge and decided not to give up

I don’t like goodbyes, but unfinished things do not make me feel good either.

I have my flat to empty and my bag to pack – I needed a solution that wouldn’t breed melancholy. So I decided to sell everything I accumulated in the past two years – mugs, pots and pans, fairy lights, wobbly chairs, a toy goat covered in real fur – and give the money for charity. For the sale I organised a party last night that turned into a wonderful evening and almost a little event. We set up an auction – S., K. and E. made a great job in making us laugh and spreading the bidding fever. At the beginning of the evening, the director of the Autism Society of Kurdistan – to whom we donated the money – told us that they’d need fluffy carpets for their teaching centre and tuition fees for music classes for one of the children who attend the centre. The beautiful evening, wine and a very good cause heated the atmosphere and at end we managed to put together 2000$. The party went on till morning; I quietly sneaked out and was lulled into a peaceful sleep by the music, the chattering voices and the laughter. Last night S. told me that if felt like the end of an era – and that it was a beautiful thing cause it meant that there is an era to remember. This morning, N. not yet completely awake said the same thing – the tow of them, without talking to one another, used the very same words: it made me laugh, it must be true then!

Coming back from breakfast in the bazaar this morning, I asked S. if there is a conventional way to end theatre scripts in English. He reminded me that Shakespeare would finish all his pieces with “Exeunt” and the characters would leave the stage.

These past two years have been full of smiles and small dramas, intrigues and many stories. That’s why I decided not to worry to sound too pompous and seek Shakespeare’s help to pull the curtains over all these weeks of bulletins.

Exeunt.

I live on stories. Experienced or invented, imaginary and imagined.

On stories to tell and stories to listen to.

There are stories about possible projects and stories about shared memories and unforgettable adventures. There are stories that you tell hoping that by telling you will be able to forget. There are stories that help you understand what you think, where you stand and where you are going. And there are stories that are supposed to explain but instead create more confusion.

Telling stories is a way to make the daily life special, to give value to small things, to focus the attention on details that otherwise would risk to be overlooked.

I share the passion for stories with a love from the past and some friends from the present. The last few months brought in my life the encounter with photographers and journalists. The common interest for telling stories and living the stories we are telling brought us close and allowed us to share deep experiences. It is about curiosity, adrenaline, the sense of limit, the challenge of the unknown. And you collect details, you seek for the right word that could communicate smells and sensations of otherwise remote places. And then over a glass of wine you discuss about choices, directions taken, doubts about the present and adventures for the future.

A night of full moon

A sky of stars and airy thoughts

A friend who turns thirty

A deep valley that has witnessed too many wars

The roof of a field hospital

The remote image of guerrillas fighting for freedom

Three journalists dream of war

A photographer hopes to explore the world

A seitar plays Persian melancholies

A feast of friendship and simplicity

The scent of grilled meat

The aroma of Arak that accompanies it

A blanket and a rug as a bed

Stars draw unexpected constellations

While the moon crossed the sky

Today is international academic freedom day. Three weeks ago I ask the permission to organise in university a debate on freedom of expression. Many of my friends here are journalists and some of them work for NGOs that support and train local press – I thus thought to set up a public debate where academic freedom could have been discussed in the broader framework of freedom of expression. I did not receive any response to my request. I then wrote a longer and more detailed request, clarifying themes and practicalities of the organisation. To this request I received a one-line, annoyed answer: the permission is not granted. I wasn’t expecting a warm support from the administration, but the bitterness of the response made me think. I felt that this was yet another lost battle of this crazy year of confrontations and tensions – the thought disheartened me and made me feel powerless.

Two days after the permission for my seminar was denied – a young Kurdish journalist was kidnapped and found dead a few days later. Nobody knows why, but everybody knows that he has written more than one word too many criticising the main ruling family.

Understood in this perspective, it seems that my little seminar went to touch an open wound. It is strange how we always need evidence to understand what we already know – the problem is obviously larger and academic freedom in our university is only the tip of a much bigger iceberg.

Hmm, bad vibe; I don’t like this sort of feeling.

I then started thinking of what I could do and a conversation I had with K. a few days before came to mind: he asked me to promise that I would watch again soon the Richard Attenborough movie on Gandhi.

And there I found the answer! Maybe I can’t discuss freedom of expression, but peaceful resistance may take different shapes and there are many ways not to feel disempowered and not to keep your mouth shut. So I organised a screening of the movie on Gandhi with my students, who know that I have been denied the permission to organise the seminar. Yesterday morning, before the screening, I saw them grinning as they became aware that you perhaps lose open confrontations, but Gandhi teaches us that there is always a way not to bend to oppressive systems of power (however big they are!)