This column was to be called Angels of Italy. In a moment that seems so extraordinary, opening a window on the tenacious normality of those who continue to make the country work is an idea that has convinced us. Collect rumors of those who work every day leaving home and loved ones - and then return (if and when they are given to do so) with the doubt that they will harm them. Small stories of an even more difficult quarantine, precisely because it is permeable. Sacrifices of ordinary people. That it seemed nice to us to get to know you. In the choice of the title we went back with our thoughts to the Angels of the mud of Florence, common heroes to the rescue of the flood of 1966. And then to the firefighters of Ground Zero, the Angels of New York. These are words that always come back when history takes turns that make us lose: angels, heroes. They refer to the prodigy that we have inside and that knows how to transcend the human skin. However, knowing the people that we will have the pleasure of introducing you to in the next few days, looking at their eyes in photos, we noticed that there was nothing prodigious.
Nothing that betrayed the fact that those expressions and those eyes were exactly the expressions and eyes that we would have in their place. Neither heroes nor angels. Trivially human eyes and faces. Weakened. Inhabited by fears, insecurities. But also from sparks of courage.
So we got it. They are not heroes, they are not angels. They are us. We are.
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