remember the thousands and thousands of men, women, elderly and children, left to die in a dark foiba, buried alive among the dead. Why are the bullets. I remember teachers, priests, soldiers, workers, students, tortured and killed by Yugoslav communist militias in schools, in the street, at church, at home. Corpses scattered mercilessly throughout the northeastern border of Italy. I remember young women tortured with hot pincers, locked in iron cages, raped and exposed to the mockery of men of Tito. I remember those perpetrators still unpunished, acquitted of murder for having worked in the territory "extra-" or never even tried. I remember the desperation of 350 000 Italian exiles in Rijeka, Istria, Dalmatia. Forced to abandon their homes, their lands, their memories rooted in centuries. I remember thousands of people disappeared into thin air that Italy, Europe and the world have pretended to forget. I remember the silence of the historians of the party and the omission of an accomplice Italian school, so that the younger generations do not know, because they do not remember. On 10 February each year, "Day of remembrance for the victims of the sinkholes, the exodus Julian - Dalmatian and events of the eastern border" I wear the tricolor ribbon to bestow my gratitude to these Sons of Italy too long forgotten. I remember. And you?
(FROM SITE http://www.10febbraio.it/ )
... Do not cry for me. I have never felt so strong as this night of waiting, which is the last of my life. You know I'm dying for Italy. We are thousands of Italians, thrown into ravines, killed and massacred, deported to Croatia mowed daily hate, hunger, disease, slaughtered unjustly. Open the eyes of Italians and aim their eyes toward this troubled territory of Istra is and will be Italian. If the tricolor of Italy will, I hope, also to fly on my Cres, kiss it for me, with my children. Tomorrow they will kill me. Do not kill my spirit or my faith. I'm going calmly to his death and as my last thought will be turned to God and I welcome you, I leave, so my cry, very strong, stronger than the blasts of machine guns, will be: live Italy! ".
(THE TESTAMENT OF STEPHEN PETRIS WRITTEN IN THE PRISON OF THE RIVER October 9, 1945 the night before being shot).
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