Sergio's father has been granted clemency. (To learn his story, see the book review on p. 26.) The case received little public attention, perhaps because a tragedy of such magnitude called for respectful silence. We cannot stay silent.
To prevent more acts of desperation, we must sound an urgent call—one that reaches as many people as possible and translates into concrete help. Open your eyes, open your heart, and listen to those living in unbearable circumstances that inevitably lead to desperate acts. How many times have we learned of parents bearing alone, behind closed doors, the tormented life of a child afflicted with psychosis, autism, schizophrenia? Even today, this happens.
Out of love for that child, they accept his bizarre, violent, incomprehensible behavior. Out of love, they endure superhuman effort, sleepless nights, endless manipulation—anything to calm his rages, his screams. Out of love, they refuse help from others who might offer counsel, because exhausted as they are, they no longer see that their way of showing care has become harm: to him, to themselves, to their other children.
When these parents finally seek people or organizations that might help—or at least offer relief—they often become sharply critical. Only we know how to treat him. We won't have him sedated with tranquilizers. We won't have him taken from home. The circle closes. Help is refused because, more often than not, the parents themselves prevent it from being offered.
What can we do? How can we help? How do we break free from a situation that is unbearable to live and impossible to transform alone?
First, I want to say with conviction something an educator told me years ago: "Parents of disabled and non-disabled children alike must understand that certain changes do not happen through mother or father. Only an outsider can break certain patterns." Mother and father are essential for a child's healthy growth. But they cannot do everything.
Second, we must never ask parents to "do" what is not their responsibility under the excuse that no one else is available. In difficult cases, it is too easy to hide behind "we don't have qualified staff" or the hollow "we'll see what we can do"—leaving parents with the burden, as if they didn't have enough already, of becoming full-time experts themselves.
Third—and this is the most important—we must free families from the idea that love conquers all. Love for a child's wellbeing means he must be supported in the best possible way by schools, services, centers, clinics, doctors, educators.
Only with help from others can we avoid destroying a family's life. Only with "others" can we continue to love and truly want the best for our child.
I make this appeal to readers of Ombre e Luci, asking you to share it with others. May we never again hear of cases as desperate as Sergio's parents faced. Alone, you can die and cause death, because strength eventually runs out and despair finds an open door. Together—with others who step forward without needing to be asked or invited—we can find paths and resources to escape. Because as Helder Câmara said:
if a man dreams alone, the dream remains only a dream, but if many men dream the same thing, dreams can become reality.
Mariangela Bertolini, 2008