I spend a lot of time on Facebook and use WhatsApp constantly. Both have fundamentally changed how I get information and how I communicate—at work and in my personal life.
It's fast communication. It erases distances, both in time and space. But it doesn't engage all the channels we use in an old-fashioned face-to-face conversation, and that can be limiting. You have to learn to choose carefully, to filter the useful messages from the noise.
On Facebook I've reconnected with old friends—friends from years ago. I've shared opinions, feelings, and information with people I knew but never would have had real conversations with; I've also connected with complete strangers. And mostly, it's been positive.
What struck me most, though, is discovering countless parent groups on Facebook. Mothers and fathers turning to social media to find comfort and share their struggles—big and small. That's a real resource, and I think we need to learn to use it more and better.
As a mother, what grabbed my attention most were parents dealing with their children's disabilities—people I could exchange ideas with, offer each other comfort. Without ever having met. That, I think, is the truly revolutionary part of social media.
There are groups fighting for the rights of disabled people, their families, and caregivers (#unaleggesubito, #caregiverFamiliari). Through social media, they've been able to publicize their battles and collect signatures for legislative proposals.
That's the mission of the group "Disabled in Body, Able in Heart," which aims to be "a page that represents the utopia of a possible society... a virtual meeting place, but real in heart and intention... where you can air your anxieties in search of brotherly consolation and hope."
The page shares information, news about laws and regulations, but it also shares a way of facing difficulty with a smile. In the posts, it seems everything is possible for everyone; no handicap can stop life if you have the right resources and energy.
But it's the individual messages and people that really move me.
There's Jacopo from Livorno, who, using his physical disability as a shield, started a nonprofit called "I Would Like to Take the Train" to "tear down prejudices and clichés, in an ironic and irreverent way"—where people can report services failures and illegal treatment of disabled people, or share encouraging experiences and news. A funny, ironic video he made with friends from Livorno, set to a song by Jannacci called "I'm Coming Too, No You're Not," could be called a manifesto against architectural barriers.
There's Viviana, a super mom, who posts a greeting and a wish on her profile every day with her son Tiziano—"Titto"—a boy with severe disabilities who needs round-the-clock care and supervision. Viviana keeps us updated on his health. She's cheerful despite the adversities that sometimes seem to pursue her.
We have laws that protect rights, and a society trying to tear down barriers and obstacles. But what our children still lack are real relationships.
I think that for Viviana, sharing her experiences and receiving so many encouraging and genuinely affectionate messages is invaluable. It's opening herself to the outside world—having relationships without leaving home. Where leaving her son in difficult circumstances wouldn't be possible.
Then there's a father who opened a profile, "Diary of a Lucky Father"—he tells his story and his life with his son Tommi, who has neuromotor disabilities. For his son he's created a kind of TV news program where he narrates events from their life and gets lots of views.
A young follower of Tommi and his parents left this thought: "Tackling real, delicate subjects like a child's illness on Facebook is an excellent message, especially for an adolescent like me, who wants to have a family and hopes everything will work out right."
Chiara, a mother, opened the profile "Us Against This Thing With No Name." In her profile bio, she writes: "I love Riccardo, and his great battles teach me which are the small important things in life. And I love who I've become because of him." Riccardo's mother shares struggles, thoughts, and reflections—often hopeful—and useful information for others facing similar challenges: tips on vacation spots equipped and organized to welcome families with disabled children.
Her thoughts make people reflect—even those without disability in their homes. One in particular struck me: a twenty-three-year-old wrote that meeting Riccardo's life and disability, witnessing Chiara's daily battles fought with such hope and energy, helped her face her own fears and difficulties.
Antonietta, through "Life on a Wheelchair," describes "the challenges a girl in a wheelchair faces moving around the city." She posts many things, and her need to have friends and stay in touch with them comes through clearly.
Real friends and virtual friends talk to each other on social media. They look for connection, sharing loneliness, problems, joys, and hope. And since real relationships and real friendships often don't exist, sometimes we make do. Because let's be honest—what's still missing in the real world is a real network of friendships around people with disabilities.
My daughter, now sixteen, was surrounded as a child by lots of other children—friends and cousins. We'd go to parties, dinners, and playdates together. Then everyone grows up. And in the social life teenagers imagine for themselves, in their friendships and nights out, kids like Caterina or Titto usually aren't included.
We have laws protecting now universally recognized rights, a civil society that, for better or worse, tries to tear down barriers and obstacles. But what our children still lack are relationships.
That's when virtual friends and acquaintances, with a word, a thought, or a reflection, can make you feel less alone.
That's what comes through in the profile of Gianluca Nicoletti, a journalist with an autistic son who will soon age out of school—usually the only connection point with society and real peers. He's spoken many times about his son's lack of friendships and those of other young people with his difficulties. He created the profile "For Us Autistics," organized projects, and developed experiences to involve non-disabled young people. He also made a film, "Tommy and the Others," which he's been showing in schools and high schools across Italy.
My daughter has a rare genetic disease. There are only a handful of people with this condition in Italy and the world. There's an Italian Association, "Not Just 15," and an international one, "IDIC15," that coordinate research and studies on the disease.
But it's through WhatsApp that we've managed to connect Italian families dealing with it. Some have never met in person, but we share worries, experiences, medical and social information. We talk about our rights, but mostly we comfort each other about "what to do" and "how to do it" in the face of our children's many challenges.
I also use a WhatsApp group (Parents Fighting Back, District XIV): Last year, when we ran into problems with local authorities, we found each other through our children's schools. We realized we needed to stay coordinated, to keep informed about difficult issues related to cuts to social services and school problems. We filed a legal appeal to stop a decision that would have pulled our children from their classes mid-year. Communicating together was crucial. And we reached many families who didn't know their own rights.
The word "social" emphasizes that these are means of social communication—fast and unfiltered. Reality has no more secrets. Nothing can be hidden. Even major scandals or injustices, news that once only appeared in print, now bounce across the network at incredible speed and generate countless reactions and opinions.
And here too, reactions—or the lack of them—to certain news reveal people's feelings and character. Maybe that has its own value, whether positive or negative.
Monica Leggeri, 2018