53 Brentwood Blog

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Il boia di Nicola merita l’inferno

Quel bimbo ucciso e bruciato è una macchia che sfigura la faccia del mondo.

Talora si fa fatica a rimanere contrari alla pena di morte e oggi è difficile pensare che il posto più consono agli assassini - sicari e mandanti, egualmente immondi, di tre persone, fra cui un bambino di tre anni, Nicola, ucciso e bruciato al pari degli altri - non sia la forca o altra analoga soluzione acconcia. Il sangue di Nicola - come quello di Domenico Gabriele massacrato mentre giocava a calcetto, di Giuseppe Di Matteo sciolto nell’acido e di molti altri bambini - è una macchia incancellabile che sfigura la faccia del mondo.

È una sconfitta che dimostra come la guerra contro la malavita organizzata sia, nonostante molti sforzi generosi ed eroici sacrifici, una guerra perduta e destinata a essere perduta se non viene condotta altrimenti. Gli antichi greci avevano due termini per indicare la guerra o meglio due tipi di guerra. Uno indicava la guerra per così dire limitata già nei disegni iniziali, quella che si propone non di distruggere l’avversario, ma di indebolirlo, di contenerlo, strappandogli un buon bottino e limitando le sue possibilità: quando la Francia e la Germania si scontrano nel 1870 nessuna delle due pensa, in caso di vittoria, di distruggere Berlino o Parigi, ma solo di rendere l’avversario meno temibile e di portagli via qualcosa.

L’altro tipo di guerra è quello che prevede e persegue, quale obiettivo inevitabile, la distruzione dell’avversario: Roma che sparge il sale sulle rovine di Cartagine mai più risorta, la Germania rasa letteralmente al suolo alla fine della Seconda Guerra Mondiale. Contro la malavita organizzata, merdosa macelleria, lo Stato non persegue - forse non lo può, forse non lo vuole - una guerra di annientamento, bensì di contenimento, che non esclude trattative, patteggiamenti, compromessi. La malavita organizzata è un cancro e un cancro non può essere contenuto, arginato, ridotto in certi limiti. Può essere solo estirpato, amputato e poi gettato nelle immondizie. Forse non è materialmente possibile, in questo caso, amputarlo - forse perché si è già infiltrato in alcuni organi vitali dello Stato, forse perché la guerra d’annientamento è difficilmente compatibile con la normale vita burocratica, forse per impossibilità oggettiva o per altre ragioni. Ma se non è possibile, bisogna sapere di aver già perduto e che si può soltanto cercare di limitare le perdite, di salvare il salvabile.

Non perdiamo troppo tempo a parlare degli assassini, secondaria manovalanza del massacro. Protagonisti sono le vittime e specialmente Nicola. È morto a tre anni e la sua morte grida vendetta più del sangue di Abele, ma non è giusto pensare solo alla vita che non ha avuto. Anche la sua esistenza, come dice una pagina memorabile di Stefano Jacomuzzi a proposito di un bambino morto per malattia, è stata «piena di fatti, di parole, di sentimenti, voglie, grida, risa, pianto, corse, gioconde ghiottonerie, interrogazioni, stupori». In quei suoi tre anni Nicola probabilmente ha vissuto più dei suoi automi assassini. È soprattutto lui che conta in questa storia. Quanto ai suoi boia, per fortuna il Signore che accarezza i bambini è anche quello che ha sterminato con una lava di fuoco Sodoma e Gomorra. Talvolta viene da sperare che l’inferno davvero esista e sia eterno.

21 gennaio 2014

Claudio Magris

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Claudio Abbado

Claudio Abbado, who has died at the age of 80, was one of the true giants of classical who was considered to be among the greatest of all conductors by many.

Abbado, who survived stomach cancer in 2000 but had been ill for some months, died peacefully at his home in Bologna, a statement from his family said.

The Italian led some of the world's finest orchestras: at La Scala in Milan, at the Berlin Philharmonie and for nine years the London Symphony Orchestra.

Among the many heartfelt, Sir Simon Rattle, who succeeded Abbado as the Berlin Philharmonic's principal conductor, said: "We have lost a great musician and a very generous man. Ten years ago we all wondered whether he would survive the illness which has now claimed him, but instead, he, and we as musicians and public, could enjoy an extraordinary Indian summer, in which all the facets of his art came together in an unforgettable way.

"He said to me a few years ago, 'Simon, my illness was terrible, but the results have not been all bad: I feel that somehow I hear from the inside of my body, as if the loss of my stomach gave me internal ears. I cannot express how wonderful that feels. And I still feel that music saved my life in that time!'"

Rattle said his performances in these later years were transcendent. "Personally, he was always immensely kind and generous to me, from my earliest days as a conductor, and we kept warm and funny contact together even up to last Friday. He remains deep in my heart and memory."

Abbado was a champion of youth orchestras. The Venezuelan conductor Gustavo Dudamel said Abbado "will always be part of the exalted group of geniuses in the history of the arts. His endless generosity and love touched me at a very early age and will be always one of the most valuable treasures in my life."

Dudamel said Abbado "embraced as his family" the Sistema programme of youth orchestras. "He gave to us his sincere love and his profound wisdom."

The conductor and pianist Daniel Barenboim was a friend for more than 50 years. "We lose one of the greatest musicians of the past 50 years and one of the very few musicians who had a very strong connection with the spirit of music across the different genres," he said.

Barenboim praised Abbado's work with contemporary composers and his support of youth orchestras.

"He was a pioneer who worked with young musicians, challenged and supported them, throughout his entire career. With this, he set an example for the world, maintaining that young and inexperienced musicians can make music at the highest level when they work with the right attitude and commitment."

Abbado was a mentor to countless younger musicians, including the conductor Daniel Harding who called Abbado "one of the wonders of the world".

He added: "He created at least six orchestras, most of them for young people. Through this he did more than any single person in our time to educate an entire generation, maybe two generations, in what it means to play in an orchestra He was the greatest conductor I have ever seen or heard in person. Not always, not for all repertoire, but when he was in his element and comfortable with those around him then there was nobody to touch him."

The Latvian conductor Mariss Jansons said Abbado "was one of the greatest conductors of our time, no doubt about it". He added: "Music was everything for himI remember when we went to Japan together with the Berlin Philharmonic – it was the time that his illness had started and I was always there in case something should happen, I would take over the concerts. But the conducting, the music helped him. He was so thin and frail, but he was able to conduct. He did Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, complete: it was amazing. When he was on stage it somehow helped him. I think it was conducting that meant he could survive his illness for so long."

Abbado appeared several times at the Royal Opera House. Its musical director Sir Antonio Pappano said Abbado was "a unique spirit and a visionary". He added: "He seemed to truly have the Midas touch as everything he brought to life shined with a fierce light... he is by any standard a giant."

The Abbado years in London are fondly remembered. He succeeded Andre Previn in 1979 at a key point in the orchestra's history as it took up permanent residence at the Barbican. Michael Davis, the LSO leader for most of those years, said: "The work with Claudio was the most satisfying and important I have ever done."

The violinist and current LSO chairman, Lennox Mackenzie, said: "It's a very sad day for the LSO. He was a very important part in the LSO's history, a truly charismatic figure. His concerts were breathtaking - I remember players actually in tears as they were playing. Those of us in the orchestra in 1980s will remember him with great affection and admiration." Abbado was a Proms regular for more than 40 years, last conducting Mahler's 3rd in 2007.

Roger Wright, the BBC Proms director and Radio 3 controller, said his death "leaves a huge hole in the world of classical music." He added: "He was one of the most important conductors of his generation and leaves an enormous legacy of operatic and orchestral events."

Abbado's final concert of the two unfinished symphonies by Schubert and Bruckner was broadcast on Radio 3 on Boxing Day.

Wright said: "These performances are a testament to his extraordinary musicianship and the unique qualities of his work with the Lucerne Festival Orchestra."

Abbado was the recipient of numerous awards including one of the UK's highest classical music honours, the Royal Philharmonic Society's Gold Medal in 2003.

Rosemary Johnson, executive director of RPS, has particular memories of Abbado because she sang for the London Symphony Chorus in the 1980s. "That was just the best music making I've ever been involved in," she said.

"He was very attached to the choir and would take us on tour to Europe and quite often it was big pieces, like Mahler, where the choir would come in after an hour and you'd be sitting in the back of the hall, miles and miles away from him. And every time he picked up the baton and looked at the choir you felt he was personally making contact with you and you were out there to make music with him. It was an incredibly intimate and fantastic experience."

Abbado's music label for 46 years was Deutsche Grammophon. Its president Mark Wilkinson said: "The world has lost one of the most inspiring musicians of our era, a man who put himself entirely at the service of the music he conducted and, in doing so, made listeners feel that they were hearing it properly for the very first time."

His death was particularly felt in Italy where he was revered. The Italian prime minister, Enrico Letta, called him "a reference point for the entire country and beyond."

He added: "The musical and cultural world has lost an absolute champion. But we – above all those young people to whom Claudio Abbado gave so much – are left with his testimony and example."

Abbado fell ill once more last year, around the time that the Italian president Giorgio Napolitano made him a senator for life.

Napolitano said that Abbado had confronted his health problems with "extraordinary willpower" right up until the end. "The passing of Claudio Abbado is the cause of strong emotion and pain for me personally and of deep grief for Italy and culture," he said. "I would like to pay tribute, not only as an old friend and admirer, but as a representative of the nation and institutions of the republic, to the man who honoured our country's great musical tradition in Europe and throughout the world."

Despite his ill health, Abbado's musical passion was in evidence until the very end, friends said. "Up until Thursday he was studying [a] Schumann symphony," Massimo Biscardi of the Orchestra Mozart in Bologna told RaiNews24. "At 80 years old he was studying like he was 18."

Mark Brown, Imogen Tilden and Lizzy Davies
The Guardian, Monday 20 January 2014 19.22 GMT

Saturday, January 11, 2014

For 16 glorious years, I taught 11th-graders at a magnet high school in Miami. For me, teaching wasn't about making a living. It was my life.
Nothing made me happier or more content than standing in front of a classroom and sharing the works of writers such as Shakespeare, Chaucer, Jack Kerouac, Tupac Shakur and Gwendolyn Brooks and watching my students "catch" my passion for language and literature.
I loved watching these 15- and 16-year-olds grapple with their first major life decisions -- future careers, relationships, where to live, which colleges to attend, what to study-- at the same moment they're learning to drive and getting their first jobs and experimenting with identity and independence.
There wasn't a day when I didn't feel privileged to be part of their metamorphoses and grateful for the chance to affect their lives.
My classroom was my sanctuary, so on the day before Thanksgiving in 2006 when I was diagnosed with an incurable form of brain cancer at 34 and told I had less than a year to live, I did what I always did. I went to school. I needed my students to know that I trusted them enough to share life's most sacrosanct passage. Death.
They, in turn, helped me to live in the moment and spend whatever time I had left living well. For six years, the only time I wasn't in class was when I was undergoing brain surgery. I never avoided the topic of my cancer, glioblastoma multiforme, with my students, but it was not something I dwelled on, nor did they.
I covered my bald, lacerated head with a woolen hat and scheduled chemotherapy around my classes, and I got so good at being sick that I could run to the bathroom, heave into the toilet, flush, brush my teeth and fly back to class in under three minutes. They pretended not to notice. During that time, I even won "Teacher of the Year" for my region. I was grateful for every breath and felt as if I could live that way forever.
Then, two summers ago, the tumor in my head decided to act up. I was playing pool with a friend when I was struck with a catastrophic seizure that left me crippled and mostly blind. After two months of physical therapy and a grim prognosis for improvement, I was forced to face that I could no longer be the teacher I once was and I tendered my resignation.
The cancer had finally succeeded in taking me out of the classroom, but I wasn't ready to let it take me out of the game. I wasn't afraid to die. I was afraid of living without a purpose.
To paraphrase Nietzsche, a person who has a why to live can always find a how. My "why" had always been my students. I just needed to find a new "how." Since I no longer had a classroom for them to come to me, I decided that I would go to them.
My students had taught me the greatest lesson of all...what matters is not so much about what we learn in class, but what we feel in our hearts.
In September of 2012, I posted my plan on Facebook. I said I wanted to spend whatever time I had left visiting with former students. My purpose was to have a chance to see firsthand how my kids were faring and to witness how, if at all, I had helped shape their young lives. It was an opportunity that few people ever get, but many, and particularly teachers, would covet.
Within hours of posting, I had invitations from students in more than 50 cities across the country. In early November, I set off on my journey, traveling across America by bus, by train, just me and my red-tipped cane.
Over the next three months, I traveled more than 8,000 miles from Miami to New York, to America's heartland and San Francisco's Golden Gate, visiting hundreds of my former students along the way. I had hoped I would discover that I'd instilled in at least some of them a lasting love of books and literature, and a deep curiosity about the world. But what my trip taught me was something even more gratifying.
What I learned from my travels was that my students had grown up to be kind and caring people.
People who picked me up when I fell over curbs, read to me from books I could no longer see, and cut my food when I could not grasp a knife. They shared with me their deepest secrets, introduced me to their families and friends, sang to me my favorite songs and recited my favorite poetry.
As I had hoped, they recalled favorite lessons and books from class, but, to my great surprise, it was our personal time together that seemed to have meant the most to them. Those brief, intimate interludes between lessons when we shared heartaches and vulnerabilities and victories were the times my students remembered.
And it was through them I realized that those very human moments, when we connected on a deep and personal level, were what made my life feel so rich, then and now. My students had taught me the greatest lesson of all. They taught me that what matters is not so much about what we learn in class, but what we feel in our hearts.
I am a pragmatic man. I know there is no reason I should still be alive. The cancer never lets me forget that it and not I will ultimately win this battle of wills. I know the disease will have its way with me, and sooner, rather than later.
My limbs are withering and my memory is fading. Yet as my world dims from the tumor growing in my head, I see ever more clearly the gifts the promise of an early death has brought.
My travels are done, but my students are never more than a phone call or an e-mail or a Facebook message away. And from the lessons I learned on the road, I, to borrow from the great Lou Gehrig, will die feeling like the luckiest man on Earth.
David Menasche

Mark Twain : “I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.”