Since some days I have been hanging out in Italy, the country of my ancestors and possibly the place where I will eventually end up after my working life. The prospect of the perpetuating hedonistic circumstances, the wine, the food, the great weather and the amazing beauty of the landscape (and the people in it), is appealing. So why is it that I have this eerie feeling of something not being right somehow?
The answer is no different than the ample reasons I have already provided, in the many entries spread over this blog. As much as the Italians love life, they equally much do not care about the greater picture of society. What I observe in this country, is a frightening lack of consideration for others, as well as the absence of a basic courtesy, from the regular Italian towards the people around him. This becomes clear with every encounter one has with them, while circulating in the daily social traffic. For instance, people do not queue up for anything. In shops, at parking lots or at the train-station, it appears that the basic rule is, to fight for oneself. People seem to have a cocoon-like shell around themselves, which protects them from the angry gazes, thrown around in abundance, when some person manages to skip an entire queue of twenty in order to be the first one to get serviced.
Another example: driving a car in this country is a hazardous undertaking. No matter how professional or cautiously one drives, there is always this dangerous, life threatening disaster pilot coming from the opposite direction, who will not yield from your side of the road – while overtaking someone across a solid white line – until right before the almost unavoidable collision. In the last second, he will swirl into his own lane, with a look on his face which tells you that he was able to keep his cool, and therefor has every right to despise you for wetting yourself while trying to save your life. And that of your family. To my dismay, I must admit that the stereotype of the Italian Kamikaze driver is true. And the many crosses and bunches of flowers along the road, arranged around little portraits of very young but very dead people, bear witness to this horrible fact.
But the general conduct in Italian traffic is not the main thing that is actually bothering me. It is the total absence of comments on the current Italian Caesar Nova, Silvio Berlusconi, that cannot cease to amaze me. While we – in the Netherlands and probably in any other civilised country on the planet – are bombarded by the press with all kinds of scandalous stories on this man, here in Italy one hears nothing. It is as if no one here is aware of the reputation of ridicule and self enrichment he sports. I hear no discussions at all. Not in the bars and not at the dinner table. I see nothing on TV or in the newspapers. And if I do try to bring something up, I am told to hush up and just leave it alone. Do I have a better option? Of course, I have to admit, I don’t.
There is one thing that does become clear though. I have seen many comparisons between Berlusconi and Benito Mussolini in the Dutch press, and these seem to be without ground. They are based on the cap Berlusconi tries to put on the free press and the third power – the juridical one – in this country. These attacks on the accomplishments of democracy may be a fact, but that’s where any similarity between the two persons stops. Berlusconi comes across as a narcissist, vain man, who unhesitatingly indulges in the luxuries of the Good Italian life, la Dolce Vita. He spends loads of money on little pleasures – and girls – and has little eye for the greater good of society or the state. More so, he fosters his own benefits with a relentless focus. His attitude is in stark contrast to the very straight, intellectual and thoroughly educated Mussolini, who could probably spare nothing but loathing for someone like Silvio. After reading some of Benito’s texts, one cannot escape the impression that he would have hung Berlusconi from the highest tree as soon as he would have had the chance. There would be no place for a parvenu like him on Mussolini’s watch.
Just for good measure: I am no friend of Mussolini’s, but sometimes one thinks that a dictator like him is exactly what Italy needs. This observation in itself is sad enough. It lays bare the absolute despair one feels when trying to understand this country and the appalling state it is in. Why does it screw itself up like this? One answer lies in the powerful gerontocracy that is sitting in the political drivers seat. Italy has a class of rulers which has it’s tentacles tightly spread over every nook and cranny of government. And it seems that it will do anything to remain in business, even if it means swapping political colour overnight. Have they got no shame? The answer is: no! They don’t. Politics is no place to have principles in this country, and no one is going to bother about consistency, reliability or rationality when it comes to the big power play. The only thing that matters here, is to stay on the ball and to make one’s easy money.
One would expect things to change in times of High Tech and Internet, where any injustice is quickly plastered across every computer screen in cyberspace. If even the Iron Curtain can fall, the Chinese can go capitalists on us and if scores of monocratic despots can get ousted by angry mobs, why shouldn’t Italy be able to turn into a real, adult country? The answer must be negative, alas. And the reason for this, is the eternal belief every Italian has; this rock solid conviction that nothing will ever change. That very belief is even stronger than the Catholic religion that sits on every street corner in the form of these cute little chapels, and which one can see hanging over every door, as a crucifix, the obligatory talisman, that is supposed to protect every Italian house against ill fate.
Will I, despite of my far from positive considerations, ever end up living in this Southern-Alpine Snakepit? I might, actually. But only if I do not have to work any more and I only have to concentrate on the maintenance of my vegetable garden. In the evening, I will sit on the bench outside and nip my self made wine. And I will be as aloof as any other Italian while I blend into the landscape like everybody else.
