On Thursday, November 13, 2008, was closed the last of the three large first-level trials for the events tied to the protests against the G8 of July 2001 in Genoa.
The trial against 29 police officers for the raid on the Diaz School, which ended in 93 people illegally arrested and 61 of those seriously injured, ended with an exemplary sentence: sixteen acquitted and thirteen convicted. The court decided to convict only the operatives and to acquit those who planned the mean-spirited and vindictive operation on all charges.
To absolve the liars who, to justify a butchery, decided to plant two molotov petrol bombs in the afternoon between the siezed objects, to lie about the knifing of an agent, to cover each other by spinning tales of incredible resistance on the part of the occupants of the school and sacking the media center across the street.
The icing on the cake came from the president Barone and from the two judges at his side, Maggio and Deloprete: to the victims of that night will go a little small change, essentially because nobody was sorry to be cut out of an imaginary cake.
Upon reading the sentence, none of use were surprised. We had no delusions, we were not sad, we did not think that it would be otherwise. We were only furious.
We have never believed that justice would really be "equal for all," and we never believed that those who exercise its power would ever be placed under judgment, or even placed under discussion. But the mockery with which this sentence is now festooned speaks for itself: this amnesty for the police is the second part of that mean-spirited and vindictive operation that was carried out in the Diaz School.
This is the second half of the revenge for its frustration and teror that the State and its apparati have tried for those days of revolt.
They have never forgiven those days and they never will.
The sentence that closed this round of trials in the first level should be a history lesson, and perhaps thanks to it will be restored in turn the dignity to those who have very little, because many others than us will realize something that is at the heart of what happened in Genoa during those days.
There is a point of departure: that of the impatient, that of the subordinates, that of the exploited, that of the weak, that of those who struggle for a better and more equitable world. And there is another point of departure: that of those who command and run, that of those who torture and violate.
These are the positions of the weak with the strong and the strong with the weak, the positions of those who exercise power and those who grow it. In life we must choose.
We have done so, oiling the mechanisms of memory that would otherwise have condemned to oblivion a black page in the history of Italy and in the history of the world. We do it every day. We have no remorse and we do not have regrets for what has happened. Only anger. And we are not alone.
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The trial against 29 police officers for the raid on the Diaz School, which ended in 93 people illegally arrested and 61 of those seriously injured, ended with an exemplary sentence: sixteen acquitted and thirteen convicted. The court decided to convict only the operatives and to acquit those who planned the mean-spirited and vindictive operation on all charges.
To absolve the liars who, to justify a butchery, decided to plant two molotov petrol bombs in the afternoon between the siezed objects, to lie about the knifing of an agent, to cover each other by spinning tales of incredible resistance on the part of the occupants of the school and sacking the media center across the street.
The icing on the cake came from the president Barone and from the two judges at his side, Maggio and Deloprete: to the victims of that night will go a little small change, essentially because nobody was sorry to be cut out of an imaginary cake.
Upon reading the sentence, none of use were surprised. We had no delusions, we were not sad, we did not think that it would be otherwise. We were only furious.
We have never believed that justice would really be "equal for all," and we never believed that those who exercise its power would ever be placed under judgment, or even placed under discussion. But the mockery with which this sentence is now festooned speaks for itself: this amnesty for the police is the second part of that mean-spirited and vindictive operation that was carried out in the Diaz School.
This is the second half of the revenge for its frustration and teror that the State and its apparati have tried for those days of revolt.
They have never forgiven those days and they never will.
The sentence that closed this round of trials in the first level should be a history lesson, and perhaps thanks to it will be restored in turn the dignity to those who have very little, because many others than us will realize something that is at the heart of what happened in Genoa during those days.
There is a point of departure: that of the impatient, that of the subordinates, that of the exploited, that of the weak, that of those who struggle for a better and more equitable world. And there is another point of departure: that of those who command and run, that of those who torture and violate.
These are the positions of the weak with the strong and the strong with the weak, the positions of those who exercise power and those who grow it. In life we must choose.
We have done so, oiling the mechanisms of memory that would otherwise have condemned to oblivion a black page in the history of Italy and in the history of the world. We do it every day. We have no remorse and we do not have regrets for what has happened. Only anger. And we are not alone.
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