A-Infos (en) Italy, FAI, Umanita Nova #35-25 - Sandro Morena: The Joy of Militancy. The New Germinal Release (ca, de, it, pt, tr)[machine translation]

There was a moment during the evening at Carso in Corso in Monfalcone 
dedicated to Sandro Morena on Friday, November 7th, when I felt like the 
very walls were shaking. A seismic shock from pure collective vibration: 
it was Barrio Alto who had just started the right song, the one that 
made the skin on your arms stand up and the glasses on the table bounce. 
A music as rough, mixed, anarchic as certain written walls: world music 
from the border, from the suburbs, to the struggles, to the toasts and 
the scars. And above all, to the stories of those who never backed down.

The event dedicated to Sandro-comrade, oral historian, activist-wasn't a 
pristine memorial. It was a family dinner where everyone brought 
something: a memory, a bottle, a piece of music, a laugh. Anarchic 
conviviality, the kind that Sandro truly loved, became the cornerstone 
of the evening. More than a memory, a revival. More than a 
commemoration, a celebration where melancholy melts away in the desire 
to be together again.

Between a guitar and a choir that knows no discord because anything 
goes, there was that "joy of militancy" Sandro often spoke of: a formula 
that came as naturally to him as pouring wine for guests or aligning a 
political discussion without turning it into an intellectual ring. 
Barrio Alto, Paolo Zei, Laura Fogagnolo, Alessandro Guerra, and Piero 
Purich did their part: it was the perfect soundtrack for that Bisiacaria 
that refuses to surrender to institutional hatred and continues to 
defend its libertarian spaces as if they were collective existences.

Within this atmosphere, the new issue of Germinal also arrived, the one 
dedicated entirely to Sandro Morena. An issue that isn't leafed through: 
it's embraced. It's now available for purchase at Germinal on Via del 
Bosco in Trieste and at Caffè Esperanto in Monfalcone, with the option 
of requesting a digital or paper copy.

Leafing through it, you can almost hear Sandro speaking. His many lives, 
his thirst for knowledge, his way of making oral history like bread-with 
his hands-are conveyed through contributions that are both lucid and moving.

Alessio Lega's closing poem is a heartbreaking one: a portrait of Sandro 
laughing "among the gendarmes," a laugh that undermines the very 
foundations of the State, more than a hundred academic treatises. Then 
there are the words of the comrades of Caffè Esperanto, who remember the 
generous and radical man who donated the headquarters to the collective, 
transforming a place into a political promise that continues.

The cover, featuring a graphic reworking of a painting by writer Mattia 
Campo Dall'Orto, and an inside illustration by Anton Shpacapan Voncina, 
as well as a photo by Mara Fella, enrich the iconographic sources of 
this issue, which features images sent to us by many, portraying Sandro 
at different stages of his life.

Anna Di Gianantonio recounts the "joy of militancy" as a connection and 
freedom; Gualtiero Pin paints a portrait of travel, combat, and memory; 
Chiara Paternoster of the Associazione Esposti Amianto recalls Sandro's 
immense work in uncovering the truth about asbestos; Piero Purich 
portrays his "polytropos" side, a traveler through space and time; Marco 
Niro reconstructs Sandro as a mentor, the one who, with stubborn faith, 
was able to inspire new writers and new stories. And then came the 
contributions of his comrades, friends, and his niece: Federico, Andrea, 
Giustina, Liviana, Monica, Gigi, Ciua, Tiziano, Paolo De Toni, Massimo 
Carlotto, and many others who contributed. Each one adds a piece to the 
story of a militant who never stood still. A polyphonic symphony 
emerges, as if Sandro's story itself were told by a chorus: that of his 
community of comrades, friends, associates, and accomplices. And each 
voice says the same thing: it's not just about remembering him, but 
about continuing him.

Barrio Alto's music knit everything together: the words, the glasses, 
the hugs. And as the party continued, someone said that Sandro would 
make a toast, then set up the microphone, give a couple of giant 
critiques or an absurd chorus, and finally enjoy the celebration of the 
community he loved so much.

And perhaps that's precisely the point: never leave us alone. And it's 
in the joyful chaos of our evenings, in the copies of Germinal passed 
from hand to hand, in the chants and discussions between Trieste, 
Gorizia, and Monfalcone, that Sandro continues to be with us.

Because memory is a struggle. And our struggle, joyful, has become music 
and a copy of our Germinal. Once again. For Sandro and with Sandro: 
because if we don't dance, it's not our revolution.

Luca - Caffè Esperanto

https://umanitanova.org/sandro-morena-la-gioia-della-militanza-la-nuova-uscita-di-germinal/
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