sign for Roberto Saviano

there is a collection of signatures that came out a few days ago to support Roberto Saviano, the writer of the book Gomorrah, the book about the criminal system in my region and its huge economic power, which appeared a couple of years ago and i really suggest to read to anybody who still hasn't.
not only he's been living under death threaten for the last 2 years, but also people back in campania despise him for having brought shame upon their country. right, like if it was his fault. so a collection of supporting signatures is the least one can do to show that this is not the only reaction people have had about that book.

please have a look - the english translation follows the italian text - and if you feel like, please sign:

Appello per Saviano

I was born in the land of Camorra, in the spot of Europe with the highest number of murdered people, in the country where barbarity is tied to business, where nothing is worth anything if it does not produce power. Where everything tastes like a final battle. It seemed impossible to have a peaceful moment, not to live the whole time inside a war where every act can become a surrender, where every need becomes a weakness, where you have to conquer everything ripping the flash from the bone. In the land of Camorra, fighting the clans is not class struggle, it is not asserting the law, nor claiming back the right to be citizens. It is not becoming aware of one's own honour, nor defending one's own pride. It is something more fundamental, it is wildly carnal. In the land of Camorra, knowing the asserting mechanisms of the clans, their extraction kinetics and their investments means to understand how one's own time works in every respect, and not only within the geographic limits of one's own land.

I had my feet soaking in the swamp. I had water up to my thighs. I could feel my heels drown. In front of me, a huge fridge was floating. I threw myself onto it, I grabbed it strongly with my arms, letting it transport me. I remembered the last scene from "Papillon", the movie with Steve McQueen based on the novel by Henri Charriere. Like Papillon, I also looked like I was floating on a sack full of coconuts, trying to take advantage of the tide in order to escape from Cayenne. It was a ridiculous thought, but in some moments you cannot do anything but letting your own delirious feelings go along, as if they were not something you chose, but something you simply endure. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout out loud, I wanted to rip my lungs apart, like Papillon, with all the strength in my guts, bursting my trachea, with all the voice that my throat could still pump: "You damned bastards, I'm still alive!"