We travel for two hours from Valdivia,  crossing dirt roads and taking a ferry in order to get to the entrance of Fundo Punta Galera, located in Chaihuín, an area of Los Rios. This vast Fundo is a large private estate which was "regained" a few weeks ago by the Mapuche community called Lonko Pablo Nauco.
To show it, a Mapuche flag is fluttering at the entrance, and a banner announces that the community has managed to regain the land: the bolt securing the gate seems to convey the message "no one can enter here anymore".
The community is very suspicious because they fear that the "owners" of the large estate or the police may take action to get the land back. However, we are allowed to enter thanks to the contact we established with the werkén, i.e. the spokesperson of the community.
After crossing another dirt road, surrounded on one side by rich eucalyptus vegetation and on the other by the powerful view of the Pacific Ocean and its virgin beaches, we finally meet the community.
After several handshakes and a more in-depth introduction of who they are, some community members begin to tell us the story of their families and their ancestral lands.
The territory where we stand - which has always been inhabited by Mapuche Lafkenche communities of the coast - was donated by the Chilean State to a French noblewoman in 1922. Fortunately, she never took an interest in the matter and never set foot on "her land", therefore the sale of the land did not have any impact on the life of the indigenous community.

Current situation

In March, 3 attacks were carried out in different areas of Israel causing 2 victims in Hadera, 4 in Beersheba and 5 in Tel Aviv on March 30th. In response to these incidents, Israeli Prime Minister Naftali Bennett announced a tightening up of public security measures. The same evening some clashes occurred in Jenin, Ramallah and Nablus, as well as in the refugee camps of the main cities.
The Israeli newspaper Haaretz published the results of a research conducted by the association “Breaking the Silence”, according to which Israeli soldiers are allegedly collecting sensitive data on Human Rights activists in the South Hebron Hills, with a particular focus on the ones coming from European countries. This action would pursue the objective to identify activists by taking photos of their passports and faces, in order to keep a file on them in the system called Blue Wolf which already collects sensitive data to monitor Palestinian citizens. In this way, the access to the country would be prevented for them from the arrival at the airport.

Sharing, Work and news about Volunteers

In March, the volunteers guaranteed a presence both in the south and north of the Occupied Palestinian Territory, with particular attention to the Jordan Valley. In this area, new villages were explored, getting to know new contexts and communities dedicated to pastoralism. Unfortunately, the conditions for accessing the land have worsened in recent months. Israeli settlers graze their flocks undisturbed on Palestinian lands, while the legitimate owners of the area barely access them since they are attacked and expelled by the settlers protected by the army.

A dark tent, a feeble light of a rechargeable lamp, a two-year-old child sitting on the floor while eating with a thousand coloured face into the plate.
The colour of his story, the colour of his genealogy, the colour of the refugee camp dust, the colour of non-existent tissues, the colour of the greasy, which first reaches the nose and then the mouth.
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such an overflowing violence.
Feet without socks running over sharp stones, trousers too large and underwear that are too expensive to be seen here, while outside it’s raining and the frozen air’s blowing from snow-clad mountains.
May a law exist for returning the toys, the fold-back blankets, the kiss taken before entering school, the bow on the smock, the bedtime stories and all the tenderness needed when you are a child?
Who’s going to compensate with a caress for each slap in the face?
What kind of man will become the one who has never been a child?
While I’m wondering about it, I think to the empty space of that tent; the answers to these questions take my breath away.
The road taken by these young ladies and men with big eyes, completely dirty, that hug you, scream and sing “bella ciao” passing our tent. A minute before they are playing and a minute later they are crying because of the blows; the road I see takes my sleep away.
In this night, that tent, that face in the plate, all the ongoing or breaking-in wars, all the emigrating people, the jails full of forgotten persons, the tortures, all the closed borders, all the commentators seated chatting, everything is stronger than the thunder of this rain that falls incessantly on this tent.
A dark tent, a feeble light of a rechargeable lamp, a two-year-old child raises his face up from the plate where he was eating and, in spite of the stink, I can smell the bright wonder of childhood. I wish the world to stop right now so that such unaware smile could remain there forever.

Olena lifts her gaze from the iron looking tense:
“Is it the siren?”
I look around,
I go outside in the courtyard and listen,
construction workers working,
cars honking in the traffic,
everything seems fine.

“No” I answer “I don’t think so”.

Olena slightly lets herself go
with teary eyes:
“I think I am going crazy, I hardly sleep, my life has been hard in the past, but I never imagined I would live a situation like this.”

“By now, when I hear the siren I sit down and pray, this is what is needed, pray for healing from the disease of power and money, which has infected the mind of the person who started it all.”