Open letter to Donald Trump: ‘We are not parasites, we are living memory’
From this old continent, tired but still capable of dreaming, I write to you, Mr Trump.
I write them as a European, as a son of a land that has known blood and beauty, ruins and cathedrals, despair and art. I write to you with the voice of one who, over time, has learned to walk on ashes to make seeds.
You have called us parasites. She said we do not deserve America’s help. That we are a burden, a burden, a tired echo to be distanced from. His deputy, JD Vance, recoiled, saying he hates helping Europe.
Well, let me tell you who we are.
We are the wrinkled hands that rebuilt cities destroyed by bombs, including American bombs, and did so without rancour. We are the mothers who raised children without fathers who returned from the war. We are the hoarse voice of Edith Piaf, the silences of Primo Levi, the marble that Michelangelo caressed to make light. We are the symphonies of Beethoven and the libraries of Sarajevo. We are the hard bread divided into three during the winter of ’45, and the squares of Paris, Warsaw, Rome that shouted ‘never again’ with empty pockets but swollen hearts.
We are not perfect, sure. But we are not a parasite.
We are allies, sometimes naive, sometimes proud, but always capable of remembering. And in that remembering, there are you too. We have never forgotten you. On our beaches, your names are engraved in crosses. Your woollen jackets still peek out from the bottom of the Norman trenches. Your music coloured our 1950s, your civil marches inspired our battles for rights.
If you turn your back on us today, know that we will not shout at you. But neither will we beg her. We will stand up, as we always have.
Because Europe is fragile, but stubborn. It is old, but proud. It invented war, but also the idea of peace. And today, with all its contradictions, it still remains one of the few places in the world where a man can speak freely, love who he wants, believe or not believe, fall and have a second chance.
We do not hate helping. We have learnt that helping is what makes us human.
If he really wants to make us enemies, he will find us steadfast. But if he wants, again, to be part of our common history, he will find in us not parasites, but keepers of memory, culture and alliance.
With pain, but without shame,
A European
