Piera, a resident in Poggio alla Croce
In these last few years a lot has changed
Things were different before, people were simpler
They often came into the centre.
Now they stay at home,
the village is less lived in.
Before we were all concentrated on my shop.
Most of the world,
most of life took place around it.
A place to meet, to understand each other,
maybe argue with different opinions
but still have a dialogue. That was life,
in my view that really was.
Andrea, who conceived the welcoming project
Poggio alla Croce could be defined
as “a small Switzerland”
Located in a beautiful spot
between Chianti and Valdarno
Residents are busy at work
and like to collaborate.
In summer a nice festival is organized
attracting people from both valleys
When problems arise, like with ice in winter,
informations flow over the internet.
Looked like and ideal place
Then in April 2017 the “bomb” went off:
thirty migrants to be hosted in the “palace”,
a former hotel middle of village
It sounded as if a spaceship full
of little black men was about to land
Piera
Black men are coming. Black men are coming.
We are all with our hairs raised,
very worried, me too to be honest because
you hear a lot of good
but also bad about these youngsters
Andrea
The strongest reaction, intense and wide,
was an immediate refusal,
a “belly” reaction that caused
an immediate decision
to collect signatures against,
in less than three days
230 signatures were collected
Even though the Poggio’s residents
are around 190.
Attilia, a teacher in the the school for migrants
A first meeting was held
one and half year ago in summer
before the migrants arrived,
so we did not know them
They had no face for us, they had no name
I don’t live in Poggio alla Croce,
I come from a nearby village
During the meeting there were
some very aggressive people,
I guess they were sincerely scared
Martin, parson of Poggio alla Croce
Their reaction was not due to being bad.
Behind there was also a reality
that must be told. It must be told that
none was pepared because none
had been alerted that these foreigner,
these migrants were coming
Paolo, a resident in Poggio alla Croce
Someone started collecting signatures,
and I agreed only because I wanted to know
where would these kids be hosted,
what did they come for then it became
clear that this was not the reason
they did not want to welcome them
So I said my signature was extorted
and was not in agreement any more
Luana, a resident in Poggio alla Croce
They told us
“in a year time we’ll remind you of this..
we are scared..
I have an 18months old little girl
who won’t be able to walk the streets anymore”
But I refused to sign in
and became the black sheep
Paolo
They are black, and that may be difficult to fathom
Integration is not easy, not easy.
Also on their side
Attilia
There was a bad feeling around,
a terrible atmosphere
My legs trembled, truly.
I recognized kids that I knew
when they were little children.
And now as grown ups they were scared
and said they did not want the migrants
because their life would change,
it would not be possible
anymore to go quietly around in Poggio.
No more walkabouts but they shouted
all this in a really aggressive way..
and I started to tremble and was unable
to tell what I meant,
that I felt very sorry to see children
who had grown up together
accustomed to sharing…and I remember
there were also coloured children
in our classes and they all played together
And now I was frightened
by what they had become
Was more scared of them than
of the coming migrants because
I could sense a rage and violence
that really frightened me
Andrea
When the spaceship
with its little black men finally landed
we managed to organize
a first meeting in a room under
the church that our parson Martin
put at our disposal
for the whole project.
Sitting on chairs in a circle
all mixed up some of us,
some of them, we played a bit.
We sticked a piece of paper on the wall
and each and one of us started to write
“Andrea Formiconi, italian, speaks italian”
Then casually pointed the felt-pen towards
one or the other and they wrote in turn
Each and one of us wrote his name,
which country he came from,
which language he spoke,,,
A simple exercise that opened
a whole world, a universe
because it turned out that with
fourteen-fifteen of them there were
twelve-thrteen languages spoken
That some of them were illiterate,
you could tell by the unlikely way they
brandished the feltpen in their hands,
In fact they did not write but
drew their name. At the same time
some of them attended school
and to one exreme there was one kid
that had escaped while in his fourth year
of Mathematics at university.
This helps understand the enormous
fan of different human stories and situations
hiding behind this stereotype that we call
with just one name: the migrant..
which prompts the image of one
little black man, the same, and his
standard story.
Absolutely not like that !
Malo’, a teacher in the school for mugrants
Three of us that embarked in this adventure
of the “little school of Poggio alla Croce”
without really knowing what to expect.
We felt the urge to do something
to help these youngsters,
and we thought that teaching them
italian language was the thing to do
also to improve their trust in themselves.
As we are scared of them blacks,
they are scared of us whites
They are afraid of us.
The funny thing is that a lot of people
were involved who had nothing .
to do with teaching.
People like Marcie who is canadian
with very little italian but
she taught italian.. and Willy
who is still with us who reads
and does dictation
and anything else with them