Stories matter
"In the Church, especially in its most complex and vital areas, at the crossroads of ideologies and the social trenches, the Jesuits were, and remain to be, steadfast in confronting humanity's burning needs and proclaiming the Gospel's perennial message"(Paul VI).
This sentence has always impressed and fascinated me since I first heard it. And I believe now -- albeit in a small way -- I have a concrete and direct experience of it. I have the great opportunity and good fortune to experience one of my formation stages at the Centro Astalli,the Italian branch of the Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS). I believe Centro Astalli rightly represents one of the "most difficult and leading fields", one of the "social trenches", where precisely that confrontation between "the burning needs of man" and "the perennial message of the Gospel" is lived.
Centro Astalli was born in 1981, a year after then-Father General Superior of the Society of Jesus, Pedro Arrupe, launched an appeal. Struck and stunned by the suffering of thousands of Vietnamese "boat people" fleeing war, he asked Jesuits worldwide to "bring some relief to such a tragic situation", thus giving birth to JRS. Since then, Centro Astalli has been accompanying, serving and advocating for refugees through a range of services, which have expanded and diversified over time, from initial reception needs to facilitating integration and insertion into society, awareness-raising, and advocacy.
The canteen was the first service established in Via degli Astalli, a stone's throw from Piazza Venezia, in the beating heart of central Rome. If you pass by that street at lunchtime, you come across a large crowd of people (by the way, very diverse!) who queue for a hot meal each day. I often wondered if the countless tourists who cross that street daily have ever been shocked by the long line of people. Or if the tourists have ever bothered to ask about the life stories of people queueing for a hot meal in one of Rome's central streets.
At the beginning of this experience, I must confess that it was not easy to see among those lined up the human beings with stories to tell, with dreams and aspirations, with the desire to start living a 'normal' life again, and with friends and relatives left behind who knows where in the world.
While listening to their stories--stories of boys, girls, men, women, of people, like me (a writer) and like you (reader)-- I was reawakened to their humanity. Listening allowed me to mistrust them no longer and not keep them at a distance. I overcame the borders physically drawn on maps and perversely carried within us, preventing genuine encounters. Borders sometimes make us consign others into marginal space--physical and mental--so that our conscience may not be disturbed.
Hannah Arendt, in "We Refugees", speaks of a middle-aged man whom "no one wanted to treat as a human being endowed with his dignity" and writes: "I soon learned that in this mad world, it is easier to be accepted as a 'great man' than as a human being. I am increasingly convinced that this unhealthy trend can be reversed by creating spaces and moments of direct encounters with refugees and listening to their stories - as is promoted and facilitated by the project in schools "Windows - stories of refugees". But unfortunately, stories seem to be of little interest lately, especially when we hear so much about the numbers of refugees and migrants, decrees, and emergencies but never about their personal stories.
Indeed, they are stories that are anything but easy to listen to. They are full of hardship, pain, and extreme suffering, yet at the same time, in a truly inexplicable way, they can convey life and unprecedented hope. Stories of resurrection, in which death and life are linked in a mysterious paradox. Despite and after all they have suffered and gone through, seeing their ability to get back on their feet, not give up, and start a new life is what gives me hope in the possibility of a better world. Seeing their faces light up a smile makes my heart vibrate, energises me, and frees me from the misery and sense of helplessness that sometimes takes hold of me when I think of wars, hunger, natural disasters, and the injustices in the world.
Stories matter. Their stories affect us. Their stories save us.
Let us listen to them!
Lorenzo Zura, Jesuit scholastic





