The interned (this is how they're called) speak of themselves briefly, they must have gotten used to visitors and learned to use their one minute each. "They came here as if it was the zoological garden". They say their name, age, years they have spent there, and one or two essential phrases

Salvatore comes from Comiso, he's young and he start crying: "i miss my mum". The JPH close on the 31st of March "but it's a Sunday!" he says alarmingly.

A major part of the JPH has been confiscated by the Commission chaired by Mr. Ignazio Marino, and a couple of other wards have been shut down.

We have just visited the first ward, the director warned us: "at the third ward it will be harsher". It's the old "rough ward". They're won't be any impulsive act, just faces and kind, anxious, sad gestures.

Pasquale, 45: "I don't want it to close". He's very sick, he shows us his self-wounded arm, and warns us: "I'm going to hang myself tonight", he's been in and out of many JPH:"this is the best one". We can't help him, they say whilst shaking their heads. He always comes back.

The bed of restraint is kept in a white and clean room. Actually all the ward has just been freshly renovated, painted, the floors wiped, the bathrooms too, and the dining room is in common. It's a normal bed, with a belt which is to be placed upon the chest. There are three of those in total.

In the next ward a young man clings to my neck and impulsivly kisses me, he does the same with the direct which is far taller than both me and him. He then rushes into a performance for the young photographer, combining coats and hangers, papers, drawings and sweets.

Who comes here isn't persecutable, but is declared socially dangerous. After a 2 years deadline, it's extendend to other 2 years (or 5 or other 10). Infinitely. Mostly because they have no other place to go and noone wants to welcome them. A disgrace.

The rooms are open, big and bright, six people, no bunk beds.

It's not true thay they aren't compliant to speak or that they lie. This place remains shameful, where infirm people are kepy imprisoned and where innocent ones are kidnapped for there is no place for them outside.

There are 183 internated in Barcellona today, plus 18 "normal" convicts added for work force. The majority of them is here for nonsense reasons. Nearly forty has commited one or more murders, approximately all within the household.

When we exit the last ward, the gate is closed behind us. The young interned who has never stopped improvising cerimonies and greetings holds on to the bars of the gate and blows frantic kisses with his hand, whilst we turn to say goodbye. When he have reached a safe distance - and his shyness is comfortable - we hear a heartbreaking cry: "Amoreeeee".