February 9, 2011
Tonight militants Casaggì Florence Italy and Young have said Paolo Di Nella, militant of the Youth Front dall'antifascismo killed in 1983. Two thousand posters bearing his name and a phrase in his memory, was displayed in every street, every school, every faculty and groups of young people everywhere in the city and major towns in the Province of Florence. Paul, on the night of February 2, 1983, was on billboards in the streets of Rome, along with another militant of the then youth movement of the MSI. Two people from behind, attacked him while he was intent on putting up a poster, shot in the head with a blunt object. He died Feb. 9, after a week of agony.
At his bedside, for the first time, also noticed the then President of the Republic, Sandro Pertini, sanctioning the de facto end of the wall of silence and complicity, which for decades had relegated to the sidelines nazionalrivoluzionaria youth, leaving the sad motto "kill a fascist is not a crime" was not only a macabre extra-parliamentary practice, but also a goal desired and sought by those who belonged to the bow constitutional and sometimes even to the organs of state. Paul died while doing a noble gesture, militia and freedom. He died putting up a poster for Villa Chigi, a space then abandoned and degraded, the Youth Front was fighting to make the citizenship form of community and neighborhood place social. Many years later, thanks to the path taken by the political right which has led many of his comrades in the struggle to be part of the institutions, that space was returned to the people and today bears his name.
Paul was and is an example of a militant made of ideas, rebellion, innovation, irreverence, major themes of passion, sacrifice and struggle. A life lived fully, that someone has cut off prematurely, but that still left an indelible mark on those who still dreams to pursue that ideal witness. His memory is not just the traditional identity of a political party, but should be a warning to the whole country to replace the blind hatred with love for the gift of self. A lesson to those who, thirty years later, would transform the political competition in a gang war.
" I fight for you, any man, but you do not listen to me.
I die for you, any man, and you despise me.
Why? It does not matter.
My melancholy eyes,
my radiant youth,
my warm blood ruby:
I gift them to you, any man.
I do not have your riches,
not want me for the warmth of your cozy home.
Everything I leave you, even my life. "
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