“This Valley has no memory,” he said, as we sat on the roof of the abandoned office block. Looking out at the mountains that surrounded us, the peak of Valsusa, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was right.
Valsusa has made a habit of forgetting. Villages that were once lived in are now abandoned and crumbling, places that once had names now lost to the weeds. And decade after decade of cement and steel and tarmac have smothered the fields of the valley floor.
In Valsusa, to not forget is a profoundly political act.