sin fronteras - Gabriele Di Mascolo


sin fronteras - Gabriele Di Mascolo
gabriele di mascolo | photographer
my country is far away
yet to close,
or is there an area
where blood is mixed
Milonga de andar lejos, Daniel Viglietti
There is a center. And this from a periphery. There is a direction, or rather two, opposite .
A line on the ground. Who is on one side and who is on the other. Then maybe you play and the
positions changes, but the beginning of course, impossible to understand. Here or there. A stick
in the sand, chalk on the asphalt, a line on the map. Then he mades the team. The captain is
always the captain and decides. The world is full of them.Nations have loads of them. Captains,
marshals, Presidents. They choose players, they interpret the rules. For centuries, that they
explain. Since this morning I do not understand anymore.
The play of children is always an equal footing. Davanti alla disuguaglianza di opportunità, nel
gioco, anche il bambino più timido diventa un ribelle. If it is not the same for all the game is not
worth it. And if the same goes on I don't play. Arms folded. Point. No one can budge it. Better
death than to play with these rules. Better death.
Guatemala, Central America, South. Teams are done for some time. He played enough to know
that those on the other side are the strongest. This way, unrepresentative captains continue to
explain the rules that we no longer understand. Not today. It was born in a place without choice,
and if a team is already good and ready, believing that the world is that yard, that piece of land.
My land is poor, is not developed, we were not able, too much crime, too much drugs, too much
corruption. By dint of repeating end up believing it, it must be true.
Then it turns out that the 'Elsewhere, told, imagined, phoned possible. The lights have not yet
seen, dazzle from afar, like a call, an insult, a challenge that can not resist.
gabriele di mascolo | photographer
The voices come and go, from north to south and vice versa. On the wire and on track. A continuous flow. But what remains here, is still the violence. Poverty, street shots, the exodus to a
better life, the family gathers in a phone center, the money received at the agency, when it arrives.
Crumbs that fall from the table.
Everything has a right and a wrong side. And who is not content to stand upside down on the
world map, then a part. It was decided to follow the voice on the other end of the phone. The body
is claimed like a merchandise. An illegal market (merchandise). So much per head, two to three
thousand dollars a piece. Stamp printed in front of him and sends it to the North. If the rules
were worth what a bunch of bananas! No. The rules are different. Are written. Not me. Then he
directed us to the jungle. Although there are the rules. Unwritten but known to all. (but everyone
knows) Everyone knows the coyote, he knows the road. "As the wolf and the jackal, the coyote is
an opportunistic predator. It feeds on mammals, including carrion, rodents to large deer, goats,
migrants ". Look for them, pulls' em, eat it and hope a little at a time. But his role is in the game.
Someone's gotta do it. Collects the money and accompanies the players on the other side of the
line. Sometimes only to the border.
“The beast”, along with other goods, brings back passengers. The goods covered, cars, and otherwise ruin themselves, human beings, which advances space. ? Those who fall behind remains,
often invalid. The church, near his home, offers salvation of souls at an affordable price, but
during the journey gives some hot meal and offers a couple of dry nights. God bless you. Free.
Some borders are lines on the map. Some are furrows on the earth. And barriers, barbed wire,
walls, guards and vigilantes. The North protect himself. It grants in small doses.
Whoever touches the wall and no one sees it, it passes. Who is seen comes back, two steps, three
countries and one leg less. Please try and be as (un) lucky. Otherwise the prison, you're still a
ride. If you buy the paper desert, you cross it. If you die stay there. Archaeology of migration,
called it a day. Who goes there goes to a painting. United States of America. Other suburbs, another South, other captains, another game. Who can stay here now to send back letters, money,
flare. That meet other travelers in the opposite direction. Those who can not, you lose. The picture falls.
Better death than to play with these rules. Better death, says those who stand and watch the
game. Not his.
Simone Perini
The photographic project, shoted entirely in black and white film, was carried out from February to April 2009,
between Guatemala and Mexico, with the aim of telling the travel of migrants to the border with the United