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Rating: Well yes, it is summer.
But, despite unfavorable climatic conditions both for the body and the brain and its contents, our tireless institutional leaders continue, unperturbed, to carry out their duty. Precisely, while (a significant?) part of our fellow readers focuses (in an excessively cerebral manner) their interests on the possible summer destinations of Bobo Vieri with the current showgirl in tow, gets scandalized by Simona Ventura's cellulite (it is known, it is the curse of the century) or perhaps plays, with the complicity of some press, the Isola Dei Famosi guessing game, the undersigned turns attention to the summer's measure/hot topic: the amnesty.
It is expected that, through this measure, a promiscuity of individuals totaling about 11,000 units will leave the homeland prisons before the complete serving of their sentence. Far from evaluating the related issues of the case, this institutional event gives me the opportunity to tell you what might be the 'soundtrack' of the amnesty, the anthem of prisoners all over Italy.
A syncopated beat, worthy of the best '90s dance music, introduces 'Nun è overo niente' ('They're all lies' for those not well-versed in the Neapolitan dialect), a dramatic story in colloquial form of a brother's visit to prison, masterfully performed by two giants of the neomelodic song: Enzo Caradonna and Mauro Nardi.
After ensuring each other's health conditions, they immediately get to the point: the prisoner expresses his discomfort to his brother and the intention to see the light again as soon as possible, appealing to his substantial economic capabilities. Therefore, emblematic is the verse 'Io nun c'a faccio chiù, te prego famm'ascì, si ricco tu o può fà' ('I can't take it anymore, I beg you, make it so that my weary limbs can find rest beyond this narrow perimeter, your pecuniary availability allows you to intervene so that what I ask of you is realized'). The delicate, yet current theme of the judicial system's corruptibility is tackled with unprecedented melodramatic emphasis, the voice breaks from crying, a comforting fraternal response is expected, and instead, the rejection from the other side leads to the collapse of all bright proposals of freedom.
'Nun è overo, nun è overo niente' - thunders the brother with heartfelt authority - 'Cu'e sord' nun s'accatta a libertà, nuje p'a legge simm tutt'eguali, e chi ha sbagliato aropp'adda pava'. This phrase is the conceptual core of the song. Some oddities of the judicial system have sadly accustomed us to an utopian conception of equality in front of the law. But the author Caradonna rehabilitates justice as a timeless value, stripping it from the aura that made it appear to us almost a tradeable good.
Sure, prison is hard for everyone, but it is right that those who have erred pay their debt to justice, even if, often, it feels like time never passes, everyone has forgotten you, and, outside, life no longer makes sense (The image of the 'sheet of paper' as the sole companion of the detainee is moving). The story ends with justice following its regular course, and with the inmate not returning home before the time set by the sentence.
A cue for reflection and emotion, as well as a touching life lesson on defending values and their rightful pursuit.
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