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The picture of little Aylan, the 3-year old Syrian refugee who drowned near the Bodrum shore, has echoed during the last few hours in all its visual power on the media and on the social networks, provoking the indignation of the web. A strong image as  is the cruelty of what it shows, that pushes nearly everyone to talk about  “the wreck of humanity”.

In a short period of time this picture has gone viral and shocked consciences on Facebook walls, on twitter profiles and on the blogs, prevailing over selfies and other every-day posts. “It is right to post it, we cannot turn our backs on reality” – this is the verdict of people on social networks, that on the web have adopted the hashtag  #Aylan.

It is said to be a symbolic image, one that “shakes the world”. This is a photo that, on the one hand, is used to prick the conscience of those who speak but do not act, who live inside the comfortable bubble of “out of sight, out of mind”, but on the other hand, it is a picture that reminds information – too often busy with gossip and trash news – its dignity and its main duty, that of bearing witness and spark reflection.

The super-technologized West manifests its inability to manage the emergency. The solutions adopted in time have caused – and are still causing disasters. Indifference at first, then faked solidarity (as it happened last April, when news about over 800 migrants who have died on the coast of Libya spread), finally walls, policemen, and barbed wire.

The only real solution would be to go to those countries, help them re-establish true democracy regardless of convenience and oil business, create the necessary conditions for a peaceful life; but western countries, the same ones that intervene rather quickly when economic interests are involved, this time are hesitating. Diplomacies are groping, the UN is taking time. Whereas those who suffer the consequences, as always, are the weakest and the most defenceless members, children in the first place.

Those who do not have the strength to stay afloat, to resist desert sands, those who are crushed by rushing trains.  The routes of migrants, in fact, are not always maritime. The Budapest station – for instance – has been once again, the heart of a clash between the despair of refugees and the attempt of the Hungarian authorities to manage the emergency. After two days of blocked accesses, the railway station has suddenly reopened and thousands of migrants have taken it literally by assault, driven by the illusion of being able to leave.

They hoped to reach the West, Germany, and to leave the country. But those trains have not taken them across the border, but to the refugee camps. That today are mostly rejected. In a way, those trains have turned into a kind of trap, although it was said in all the languages – from the speakers they have explained in Arabic and English – that no international routes would have been covered by trains departing from the capital. But who is fleeing, guided by hope, cannot understand it. Or perhaps, desperately does not want to do so.

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