Twenty years old, of Ethiopian origin, adopted as a child, he had played in the youth teams of Milan and Benevento: Seid Visin he took his own life and left a letter-testament that hits straight to the heart. It was published on the Facebook profile of the «Mamme per la Pelle» association, founded by Gabriella Nobile, mother of two adopted children (the youngest, 10, is originally from Ethiopia, the oldest, 15, from Congo), who explains here: “This letter is of such immense power that it does not need any comment.
What I hope is that this news is not cannibalized, that it is not used and then immediately forgotten. After we published this letter, a lot of guys aged 15 to 20 wrote to us, all to say that it also happens to them just as Seid said: that they are insulted and excluded for their dark skin, but that it does not seem that this what nobody cares about. I hope this terrifying news helps take a step in addressing racism in a serious way. It is a battle that we do every day, clashing with those who say that racism does not exist in Italy. In the meantime, I would say to them to read these words ».
«Faced with this particular socio-political scenario that hovers in Italy, I, as a black person, inevitably feel called into question.
I am not an immigrant.
I was adopted when I was little.
Before this great migratory flow, I remember with a little arrogance that everyone loved me. Wherever I was, wherever I went, wherever I was, everyone turned to me with great joy, respect and curiosity. Now, however, this atmosphere of idyllic peace seems so distant; it seems that everything has mystically turned upside down, it seems to my eyes that winter has fallen with extreme impetuosity and vehemence, without warning, during a clear spring day. Now, wherever I go, wherever I am, wherever I am I feel on my shoulders, like a boulder, the weight of people’s skeptical, prejudiced, disgusted and frightened looks.
A few months ago I was able to find a job that I had to leave because too many people, mostly elderly, refused to be served by me and, as if that were not enough, as if I did not already feel uncomfortable, they also pointed to the responsibility for the fact. that many young Italians (whites) could not find work.
After this experience something changed inside me: as if in my head some unconscious automatisms had been created and by means of which I appeared in public, in society different from what I really am; as if I was ashamed of being black, as if I was afraid of being mistaken for an immigrant, as if I had to prove to people, that they didn’t know me, that I was like them, that I was Italian, that I was white.
Which, when I was with my friends, led me to make jokes in bad taste about blacks and immigrants, even with a thundering air I said that I was racist towards blacks, as if to affirm, as if to emphasize that I do not I was one of those, that I was not an immigrant. The only thing dominating, however, the only thing understandable in my way of doing was fear.
The fear of the hatred I saw in people’s eyes towards immigrants, the fear of the contempt I felt in people’s mouths, even from my relatives who constantly invoked Mussolini with melancholy and called “Captain Salvini”. The disappointment in seeing some friends (I don’t know if I can define them as such) that when they see me they sing the “Casa Pound” chorus in unison.
The other day, a friend, also adopted, told me that some time ago while he was playing soccer happy and carefree with his friends, some ladies approached him saying: “enjoy your time, because in a while they will come and get you to take you back to your country ”.
With these raw, bitter, sad, sometimes dramatic words of mine, I do not want to beg for commiseration or pain, but only to remind myself that the discomfort and suffering I am experiencing are a drop of water compared to the ocean of suffering that I am experiencing. those people of marked and vigorous dignity are living, who prefer to die rather than lead a life in misery and hell. Those people who risk their lives, and many have already lost it, just to smell, to savor, to taste the flavor of what we simply call “Life” ».