Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished listeners, attentive souls and watchful consciences,
today I address you with a burdened heart and an awakened mind, to speak of a subject that is neither a matter of light opinion nor of sterile polemic, but which concerns the most precious core of our society: our children, the young, those who have not yet reached full maturity of age and responsibility, and who nevertheless already walk the roads of the world — at times illuminated, at times treacherous.
In our time there is a growing unease that moves silently among families, among institutions, among those who bear upon their shoulders the weight of public affairs: unease for the safety of minors, for the places they frequent, for the experiences that are offered to them and at times imposed upon them with flattery and seduction. We cannot refuse to look this issue in the face; we cannot take refuge in the comfortable illusion that “things will go as they must go” or that “young people must make their own experiences.” For not every experience is a school, and not every freedom is growth: there are experiences that corrupt, freedoms that imprison, pleasures that leave deep wounds behind them.
In this age of dazzling lights and thunderous sounds, of venues that flourish like temples of the night and of gathering places that promise limitless amusement, a great and very serious question rises before us: what is the responsibility of those who open the doors of such places, and what is, at the same time, the responsibility of parents who entrust to them — even for only a few hours — the fate of their underage children.
I shall not speak in an accusatory tone, as a severe judge who condemns, but as a man who reflects, who questions his own conscience and that of others, who asks frankly and respectfully: are we truly doing everything that is necessary to safeguard our young?
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First of all, it is necessary to turn our gaze to entertainment venues: discotheques, dance halls, clubs, night and day gatherings, places where youth loves to meet in order to share music, words, laughter and, at times, what ought not to be shared.
Whoever opens one of these places, whoever manages it, whoever gains economic benefit from it, is not merely carrying out a commercial activity. Whether he wills it or not, he assumes a moral and civil responsibility. Those walls are not simply containers of entertainment: they are spaces in which human destinies intertwine, in which young hearts may find joy but may also be wounded, in which a single neglected act of vigilance can become an irreparable tragedy.
It is a sacred duty of those who manage such venues to guarantee the greatest possible safety: the safety of the structures, the safety of entrances and exits, the safety of equipment, the safety of the number of attendees with respect to the permitted capacity. And mere formal obedience to written regulations is not enough: what is needed is that living attention, that vigilant eye of one who knows that in his hands there lies not only a licence, but the life and physical safety of young people.
It is necessary to ensure that minors are not admitted into contexts that are not suitable for them, that alcoholic beverages or substances capable of altering their consciousness do not reach their hands. For the minor, by his very nature, is not yet fully capable of evaluating consequences; he is more vulnerable to the fascination of what is forbidden and to the pressure of the group.
Whoever serves alcohol to a minor, whoever closes his eyes before what he sees, whoever pretends not to know that in a corner, in a secluded room, dangerous substances are being exchanged, is not neutral: even through omission he becomes a participant in the harm that may result. And there is no economic gain that can justify such blindness. Every ticket sold, every drink served, every admission validated carries within itself a question: “Have I done everything possible to ensure that this young person returns home safe and sound?”
The venue that welcomes minors must become a place of protection, not an arena of risk. The music may be loud, the lights may dance, joy may spread, but the conscience of those who organize must be more vigilant than the din that fills the hall.
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But, my friends, it would be unjust and incomplete to stop at this consideration alone. There is another responsibility, perhaps even more profound and original: that of parents.
It is not enough to cry out scandal after misfortune has occurred; it is not enough to point the finger at managers, organizers, institutions, when we ourselves have been the first to close our eyes for the sake of convenience or to indulge desires we did not dare contradict.
The parent is the first guardian, the first educator, the first custodian of the child’s good. He is the one who keeps watch while the child sleeps, who foresees what the child cannot yet imagine, who measures the dangers that the adolescent, through enthusiasm or lack of awareness, does not perceive.
True love does not coincide with permitting everything; it does not consist in always saying “yes.” At times love wears the severe face of limits, of justified prohibition, of prudence that saves. There are places into which a minor should not set foot; there are environments that do not educate but deform; there are companies that do not elevate but drag downward. And parents, if they truly love, cannot pretend not to know it.
It is no sign of modernity to allow one’s child to go everywhere at any hour, consoling oneself with the deceptive thought: “Everybody does it.” For not everything that is common is good, and not everything that is widespread is just. Many tragedies of which we hear the account, many nights ending in tears and sirens, are preceded by a single small act of carelessness: a “Go on, what could ever happen?”, a “They’ll manage, they have to learn”, a “Better that they make their own experience.”
Yes, children must grow, they must learn, they must confront the world. But not alone, not without guidance, not without discernment. The adolescent pushes toward the boundary; it is the parent’s task to establish where that boundary lies — not to oppress, but to protect.
The responsibility of venues and the responsibility of parents intertwine, complete each other, and mutually call each other to account. The safest venue in the world will not suffice if a parent knowingly exposes his child to what is not suitable for him; the most attentive family will not be able to protect if, on the other side, it encounters indifference, greed or negligence.
An alliance must be born: an alliance for the protection of minors. Not war, not mutual accusation, not a comfortable passing of blame from one to another, but frank and loyal cooperation. The manager who reports risky behaviour is not a denouncer, but a custodian; the parent who asks questions and verifies is not an oppressor, but a loving guardian.
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And there is a final, solemn reflection.
We shall not be protecting only individual boys and girls, individual evenings, individual lives — which would already be enough, since every life is unique and sacred — but we shall be protecting the very future of society.
For the world of tomorrow will be made by these young people: by how we shall have safeguarded them, by the wounds they will or will not have received, by the trust or mistrust that will have taken root within them. An adolescent who is lost, abandoned to himself, wounded by substances, by violence, by intoxication raised to the level of normality, is not only a personal drama: it is a fracture in the fabric of our community.
Therefore I invite you, with a voice that would be both firm and fraternal:
safer venues, more present parents, a more vigilant society.
Not to take joy away from the young, but to safeguard their true joy; not to extinguish their enthusiasm, but to prevent it from burning them; not to imprison them, but to guide them toward a freedom that does not wound.
Let us keep watch over them.
Let us keep watch before it is too late.
Let us keep watch, not out of fear, but out of love.
And may each one of us — manager, educator, administrator, parent or simple citizen — one day be able to look back and say: I did what was in my power so that our children might be safe.
This, and nothing else, is the true sign of a society worthy of being called civilized.
This post is also available in: Italiano (Italian)
