On March 28 in Budapest, the second hearing of the trial in Ilaria Salis will be held. Ilaria is accused, together with Tobias and Gabriele, of having attacked the Nazis during the day of honor in Budapest in February 2023. From 11 February last year he has been held in a Hungarian prison in inhuman conditions, very similar to those of 41 bis in Italy.
For the freedom of Ilaria and Tutt Compagnia Incinrat, from Hungary, to Palestine to Italy, the mobilization continues in the meantime.
On March 23 in Rome, about 200 people found themselves, after a month and a half, in Piazza Sassari in the procession "neither prison nor extradition" to manifest solidarity with Ila, Gabri and Tuttx LX Compagnx Convrtx in the events of Budapest, as well as In solidarity with Anan and the arrested Palestinian companions, of which Israel asked for extradition.
An inscription, "the war begins here Free Palestine", was left on the ground between the headquarters of the Air Force and the La Sapienza University.
After passing in front of the Hungarian Embassy (at the Holy See) and leaving a road writing in Piazzale Aldo Moro, the procession entered the streets of San Lorenzo and sanctioned the Carrefour in via dei Sabelli, accomplice of Israel and the genocide in Palestine (
https://video.corriere.it/cronaca/roma-tensione-corteo-antagonista-assaltato-supermercato/64a9dd6c-e94b-11ee-919a-5276ae33aa1b
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Below is the last letter of Ilaria Salis and the intervention of his lawyer, Eugenio Losco, during the garrison that was held in Teramo on March 16 against the repression and the dead from prison, in solidarity with Ilaria and the Palestinians arrested in L 'Eagle.
I am quite getting used to being here and I don't think it is my merit, but that these places are made in such a way that people get used to staying there. Now, when they open the door of the cell to me because I have to go somewhere, I stop towards the wall to make me search, instead of starting to wander around with great naturalness for the corridor as I did at the beginning. While I wait to receive the package with the slippers, every day I go to the showers bringing me under the branch of the laundry. In this situation we only miss mushrooms and warts! I am also very heartened by the fact that the pigeons and all the inanimate objects that often address my monologues have never deigned to my response.
The passage of time is really strange: the individual days are interminable, but the days follow each other quickly and I always seem to have been arrested last week. I don't have the perception of being away from Milan for more than a month. The events, the people, the places outside I feel close and live inside me. Perhaps the fact that not receiving news from the outside and that I have no contact with my world makes me feel in a kind of suspended bubble. It is a bit like time for me had stopped. There is no first one is a after but only the "inside" and the "outside": there are two absolutely incompatible worlds and my mind cannot place them on the same temporal axis. When you are "inside" the "outside" ceases to exist. Enter the bubble and the outside world dissolves, enters stand-by.
I never have a precise idea of what hours they are. I don't know that now it's when they wake up, I just know I'm already training. At the changing of the morning guard is already light, as long as there is solar then. Then they are very long hours that no longer pass, waiting to get to the air.
After the trolley in the afternoon it is interminable and nothing happens more. The change of the evening guard for me marks the end of the day. Getting up to that hour every day is grueling and after that last ritual, which takes place when it is already dark, rather than falling asleep, I would say that I fell overlooking. I would happen on the cotted cot with any energy without paying attention to the pungent glow of the neon. The light of the cell can be turned out to turn out only from the outside: I don't know what time is accomplished the ritual of shutdown of the lights and I never remain wake up long enough to be able to assist you.
During the last weekend of the month we move on to the legal time and, given that my only point of reference to sunlight, at this point I realize that some rituals take place definitely earlier than I thought and that perhaps I should review the my rhythms of life. The change of the evening guard now takes place shortly after the dusk, then definitely early. If I fall asleep at that time then it is normal that, when you have to wake me up, I am already in the middle of the training. What a mess! Even the simple things here become very complicated.
Of a few experiences I have memory that they have been so complicated. Perhaps when at eight I found myself, from one day to the next, to attend the third grade in England, without speaking a word of English and without knowing anyone. Here, even there they had also been quite complicated there. Or, perhaps, when I learned to walk, but I was too small to remember it. In all those situations I was never alone. Here, however, you are completely alone and it is good not to trust anyone. And many many things inside are somewhat strange.
The months are long and it happens that the bubble is transformed into a black hole that sucks you. Borrowing a metaphor that I will read several months later in a beautiful comic dedicated to my events, I fell into a very deep well. The walls are slippery and every time I struggle I try to take a short step to trace just a little, I always end up falling deeper. Sometimes I wonder if this well has a bottom and if there is really an exit somewhere. I guess they are a small gecko, who in silent darkness manages to climb the walls. Yes, I have to climb the walls, but here unfortunately there are no climbing companions and the ties of trust well on the rope of the "safe".
In the mountains you secure each other, so that, if a slide, instead of flaringing the ground, is blocked by the counterweight of the other. And when in front of a slightly more complicated passage I block myself and I think I don't do it, they scream me that I will certainly do it and to pull on how I can. In fact, in the most difficult moments, in the face of the most threatening dangers, in front of unknown scenarios, you have to rely on your strengths and try unpublished strategies, where traditional techniques can nothing. Fortunately, sport taught me something about tenacity and fears. The fears, in some contexts in which self -preservation is at stake, are not to be escaped or removed but must be treated and perceived clearly because they could be the key to your salvation.
When you find yourself alone with yourself to scrape the slime in the bottom of the well, when fear becomes terror because you have no idea what is about to happen to you, then you see in yourself resources that you didn't know they belonged to you.
But here what really allows you to face the deprivations and daily humiliations and to rescue the asset of the intellect (i.e. the most precious treasure that exists here) from the voracity of that monster called madness, is simpler to the time itself more complex than you can imagine. It is the ability to discern the sincere sincerity from the mystifying lie, the deep awareness, which dwells at the bottom of the heart, of what the right part of the story is.
I close your eyes and throw the gaze beyond the walls of this blind prison: I see the events of men and women like spare parts in fabrics on tapestries depicting wider stories. Stories of peoples, cultures, languages and religions. History of economic, political and legal systems. Stories of wealth and misery, of power, of abuse and exploitation. Stories of wars and armies. Stories of a world in which children are still killed, in which machine guns resonate in the fourth of Europe that echo the havoc of the last century. I open my eyes and see me curled up on the covered gray, with a fixed look on the iron door of the cell. Everything appears to me simple and linear in these events, as in many others, there can be no doubt about what the right part of the story is.
The intervention of Ilaria's lawyer: