’O divieto ’e parlà napulitano:

quanno l’esclusione sociale

accummencia â scola

6 Aprile 2018

Nato e crisciuto dinto ô Rione Sanità ô pprincipio ’e l’anne sittanta, io fuie fra chelli ccriature ca l’italiano era semplicemente chella “cosa” ca aviv’ ’a sapé parlà pe puté ghì â scola e pe sperà ’e t’inserì – nu iuorno – dinto â società ca steva fora ô quartiere, dinto ô munno lavorativo d’ ’e gruosse.

O ammacaro chesta era speranza ’e tutte ’e ggenitore cuscenziuse.

E nuie criaturelle ce ’o mparàvamo, l’italiano, comme meglio putévamo fa, senza fa discussione e senza neanche penzà a qual’era ’o motivo, e si chisto po era giusto o sbagliato.

Se sape, quanno uno è criaturo cierti ccose ’e ffa pe na quistione d’emulazione – ’e piccerille vanno totalmente a fiducia verso ê gruosse.

Ma nemmeno m’arricordo a màmmama o a pàtemo ca discutévano ’e l’esclusione d’ ’o nnapulitano da ’o sistema educativo italiano. Chesto, ovviamente, pecché pure dinto a l’adulte d’ ’o proletariato urbano, ce steva nu sentimento ’e rassignazione rispetto â funzione sociale limitata d’ ’o dialetto.

E mo, penzànnoce roppo tante anne, comme m’ ’a cavaie? Accummincianno da ’o primo iuorno a l’asilo, a parlà na lengua ca eva ntiso quase esclusivamente pe dinto â radio e pe dinto â televisione?

Onestamente nun m’arricordo.

Chello ca ancora ogge, roppo quarant’anne, m’arricordo troppo buono, però, e ’o ttengo a mente comme si fosse succieso aiere, è nu stato ’e panico continuo; no sulamente pecché era ’a primma vota ca me alluntanavo d’ ’a casa e da ’a famiglia, ma pecché sentevo ’ncuorpo a mé ca ’a scola, nun vulenno sentì ’e penziere e ’e pparole meie propio, cu ’o riesto ’e l’esperienze e tutte ’e ccose ca io sapevo già vicino, chella scola se vedeva ca me disprezzava;

’a scola me teneva da ’e 9 fino ê 4 e meza d’ ’o pomeriggio ma ’o stesso me pareva ca chesta nun me vuleva, e cchiù necessario ancora nun me vuleva pe chello ca ero io overamente; ’ncuorpo a mé ’a scola disprezzava a mé, â famiglia mìa e a tutta chello ca cu ’a lengua e ’a cultura nosta rappresentàvano.

Era chistu senso ’e disprezzo ca veneva ’a chille ca avésseno avut’ ’a essere ’e Maestre e ’e Professure nuoste a fa nascere ’o pànico,

chella paura ca io e e ’e cumpagnielle mìe tenévamo tutte quante, da ’o primo a l’ùrdemo, stampata ’nfronte.

Chi cchiù e chi meno, se vedeva ca ce sentévamo tutte quante ’e murì, pecché ’a scola ce vuleva fa scurdà chi èramo; ’e Maestre ce vulévano mparà a parlà bene pe ce furzà a essere perzune meglie, gente meglie.

Comme si se putesse overamente furzà a na perzona a addiventà, a èssere meglio.

Cchiù llà, â siconda, â terza elementare, ’e ccose nun cagnaino. Anze accumminciaie a me fa chistu suonno malamente, tutte ’e nnotte; Chino ’e paura, da ’a scola me me ne vulavo. Arrivavo fora ô purtone facenno ’e scale a qquatto a qquatto, e cacciavo ’a capa ’mmiezo â strada addó finalmente putevo turnà a risciatà.

’A scola, pe mé ca songo crisciuto dinto a na famiglia proletaria ’e perzune ca parlàvano principalmente napulitano, nun è maie stata nu posto d’accoglienza, d’inclusione o d’educazione cìvica.

Mo songo passate tante anne ’a che io iette â scola e ancora ogge ’e tasse d’evasione scolàstica songo sempe fra ’e cchiù àvete d'Europa. E songo paricchie chille ca se ne ièsceno ca ’e probbleme ’e paricchî giùvane Napulitane, comme ’a delinquenza e ’a violenza, compresa chella gratuita, se ponno risòlvere sulo dinto ê scole. Sulo ’e scole, dìceno cierte, le ponno mparà a chisti giùvane l’empatìa, ’a simpatìa pe n’ato èssere umano (συμπάθεια) e addirittura ’o valore d’ ’a bellezza – l’estètica.

Ma simmo sicure?

Simmo sicure ca na scola ca le nega a nu criaturo ’o deritto ’e s’esprìmere cu ’a lengua, cu l’identità soia, simmo sicure ca – accussì comm’è, cìnica fino a fa paura – ’a scola italiana a chistu criaturo o gióvane napulitano le putarrà maie mparà nu valore comme l’empatìa o ’a simpatìa?

E site sicure ca vuie, si fùsseve uno ’e chilli guagliune d’ogge ca se tròvano dinto a na situazione ’e debbulezza sociale forte, spisso senza neanche nu genitore vicino a ve fa na guida o a ve dà cunforto, site sicure ca vuie a na scola ’e chesta ce ìsseve?

The ban on the Neapolitan language: when social exclusion begins in school

April 6 2018

Born and bred in the working class Rione Sanità of Naples in the early seventies, I was among those children to whom the Italian language was simply “that thing” you had to know in order to attend school and to hopefully access – one day – the society beyond the block, the grown ups’ world of work.

Or at least this is what all conscientious parents hoped for.

We kids got on with it and learnt Italian as best as we could, without complaints and without even thinking about the reason behind this need, and without questioning whether it was right or wrong.

It’s a known fact, kids just emulate their elders, children placed their complete trust in the grown-ups.

Nor can I recall, however, my mum or dad ever discussing the exclusion of the Neapolitan language from the Italian education system. Naturally, the reason for this was that among the adults of the urban working class lay a feeling of hopelessness as to the limited function of the Neapolitan dialect.

But, as I recall this event after so many years, how did I actually get on? On my very first day in nursery, talking a language I had almost exclusively heard on the radio and through the television set?

Honestly, I can’t remember.

What I can still vividly remember forty years later, however, as clearly as if had only happened yesterday, was a state of continuous agony. Partly caused by the first separation from my home and my family, but also by a clear -feeling deep inside of me: since the school was not in the slightest interested in my own thoughts and words, along with my previous experiences and knowledge, it was clear to see that the school despised me.

I stayed in school from 9AM till 4:30PM and yet I felt that the school didn’t really want me, and, most importantly, it did not want me for the person I really was. In my mind, the school despised me, my family as well as all that our language and culture represented.

And it was this same utter contempt, by those who were supposed to be our Maestros and Teachers, the origin of the inner panic.

The sheer fear that my classmates and I had written all over our little faces.

We were all visibly, to different extents, petrified with fear for school wanted us to forget who we were; Our teachers wanted to teach us how to speak well and force us to become better individuals and people.

As if you really could force someone to become, to be a better person.

Later on, in P3 and P4, things did not change. On the contrary, I began to have this regular bad dream, every night; trapped in fear, in my nightmare I flew away from school. I got to the gate skimming down the stairs, and sticking my head outside on the street where I could finally breathe again.

Having grown up in a working class family where Neapolitan was the primary language, to me school has never been a welcoming place, a place for inclusion and civic education.

Now, so many years have passed since I went to school and truancy rates in Neapolitan schools are still among the highest in Europe. And all the while many commentators suggest that the solution to the problems of many young Neapolitans, such as crime and violence, including unprovoked attacks, can only be resolved by the school? Only schools, they believe, can equip young these young people with the necessary empathy and sympathy skills, along with the values such as beauty and aesthetics.

But are we really certain? Are we certain that a school that negates the child’s right to speak their language and express their own identity, are we sure that, despite its being cynical to the point of instilling dread, Italian schools can really teach a child or a young person values such as empathy or sympathy?