Impressions from a run-down hotel
On the outskirts of Treviso
From the escalation of war in Ukraine to the protests in Iran and the resurgence of a (new) new left in Latin America, 2022 has been an extraordinary year. Frankly, with all that’s gone on over the past 12-months, it’s sometimes felt trivial writing about Italy. But, as we all know, this country has also, in its own way, experienced significant changes. Some, like the elections, have been covered worldwide; usually pretty badly. Others, the deeper shifts and continuities of national mood, are harder to pin down. In this final newsletter of the year I therefore want to offer my own unapologetically small scale, personal reflections on how I feel about living in Italy right now, and how I’m processing the changing political mood. This is not a scientific analysis by any means. Not at all. So take it all with a pinch of salt. Nevertheless, I hope as an unedited festive stream-of-consciousness postcard - delivered from the heart - it might offer some food for thought. In order words: please indulge me!
I’m writing this from the terrace of an airport hotel on the outskirts of Treviso. Tomorrow I’ll be taking a plane to the UK to spend a week with family, and unwind a bit before a busy January. I’ll be honest, I’m knackered. But it’s a pleasure to have a little time alone to write this; and besides I’m in the mood for a little summing-up. So where to start? Looking up from my screen I can see the dome of a beautiful Venetian style church which I think is called the Chiesa di Santa Maria Maggiore. It’s hazy but I can just make out the Dolomites somewhere in the distance. At least I think I can. The air is crisp but warm-ish, and romantic orange lights are casting an atmospheric glow in the streets below. Still, something’s wrong. I feel uncomfortable. There’s an itch in the back of my throat. The haze around me isn’t mist, it’s air pollution. It’s not fog, it’s smog. I whip out my phone. According to my usual weather app PM10 levels are apparently 75.7; i.e. some of the worst in Europe. Crikey!
Treviso is a strange place. I’ve passed through dozens of times but I’ve never ventured past the train station or airport until now. What can I say? Earlier on I did some window shopping. 99% of the the boutique stores seemed to be filled with varieties of neon-coloured puffer jackets. Not my kind of thing I have to say. I peeked in some wine bars and osterie and I looked at some handsome statues around the central Piazza dei Signori. One highlight was a replica of the 16th Century ‘Fontana delle tette’ (literally ‘the boob fountain’) which lived up to its name. I found an old fish market, surrounded by canals, which reminded me a bit of Rialto. The Christmas lights are scattered around the waters here and the effect is both etherial and, at the same time, hideous (I for one would have avoided erecting an enormous twenty-metre tall glowing red luminous heart in the middle of the main canal; though you have to admire the uninhibited gaucheness I suppose). An hour or so ago, before coming back to my room, I purchased a 2kg panettone from a well-known pasticceria called “Max”. It cost far too much and as I walked through the street passers-by gazed in awe at the elaborate baroque golden box. Unfortunately, I’ll probably have to abandon the packaging if the thing is to fit in my hand luggage.
On the surface Treviso has everything one could ever hope to like about this country. It’s a town of modest beauty, made remarkable by some magic of Italianness. There is one thing though. In September, in the Senate elections, 44% of Treviso residents effectively voted to prop-up Meloni’s government. Support for the far-right here is well above the national average, and it’s been that way for a long while. A man named Luca De Carlo was the main beneficiary this time round. De Carlo is pretty moderate as far as right-wing candidates go (whatever that means). His main concern is about national food sovereignty. He is particularly fixated on cheese and he’s currently co-drafting new governmental norms which seek to protect artisan gelato makers by overriding an EU directive on powdered milk. Actually, funnily enough, despite having been labeled a ‘remainiac’ by some more partisan frenemies on the UK left, I happen to agree with him on this point. Less funnily, as a Fratelli d’Italia militant, De Carlo is also a man who I’d describe as “quietly monstrous.” In a recent interview when asked if he supported gay marriage he responded ominously “yes, as long as they don’t create any problems.” A few minutes searching on YouTube and I found him giving a hate-filled speech against refugees in which he pledged to stop “any of them” being housed “anywhere near” Treviso or Belluno, where he was once mayor. Once, during a Facebook exchange, he voiced his seemingly unironic admiration for Nazi propagandist Joseph Goebbels. The post was hastily deleted. People shrugged and the scandal was forgotten.
In a sense, on its own, none of this means anything much. But on this afternoon’s walk, I was reminded of a side of Italy I don’t think about as much as I probably should. I live in an aging, ex-socialist-still-left-leaning bubble of a hilltop town. We have an independent, “green” mayor, a well-stocked library, and ample refugee housing. Most bar chat could be placed somewhere on a ‘progressive’ spectrum. It’s a “left wing stronghold”, yes, that sounds good, but it’s also a sleepy hollow. Aside from the odd quip about cash payment limits, nobody can be bothered to talk much about the government. There are a lot of PD members in the community and many are focused on the long-game of rebuilding their flailing party (and good luck to them…). Still, when I step outside that bubble I often find it’s like entering a maelstrom. Last month, visiting Turin, I found it as elegant and beguiling as ever, but the homelessness was noticeably worse than I’ve seen in the past. Milan remains a vibrant, cosmopolitan youthful place, but the cost of living crisis, and sky-rocketing rents mean that even McDonalds was forced to closed its branch in Piazza Duomo a couple of weeks ago. Aosta, which lies at the foot of Mont Blanc, and where I went hiking on a snowy November weekend, is stunning. Nevertheless, despite being located just a few kilometres from the luxury resorts at Courmayeur, the infrastructure is far worse than the French side of the border. The decline is palpable.
Yet Treviso, more than any of these other towns and cities, reflects the real bitter core of the Italy that is currently throwing its support behind Meloni. It’s a similar story in Bergamo, Ferrara, Belluno, Mantova, Cremona and many other places. The collapsing bourgeoise of the provinces - along with shopkeepers and lower middle-class professionals - are the central protagonists. They live in cities where public services are still well above the European average, where schools and hospitals are relatively “good” but many of them are struggling to keep up with inflation and taxes. These are relatively affluent people who are fed up with centre-left and EU efforts to get them to pay more. They also live in small urban areas where, in my experience, many lesser-well-off, less-fortune people find themselves stuck for various reasons. In all of the aforementioned cities I’ve met migrants - many of them refugees - who are forced to camp in the streets without support from NGOs or local institutions. Perhaps relatedly, there are noticeably more cops in these cities than elsewhere (at least, they seem to be more visible.) In Treviso in particular, the carabinieri sit about and loiter in a manner that to me feels aggressive, even provocative. Parked in their cars, beneath graffitied swastikas and Celtic crosses, they make a rude image which inevitably generates a certain low-level paranoiac atmosphere. It’s grim. Really grim.
Let me put it simply: between the extremes of visible racist hate crime and Dolce Vita Amalfi Coast selfies there’s another Italy which is just about “getting by.” People are (still) spending a lot of money, people are still milling about for hours over espressos to laugh and talk. Yet, for some groups in society, bank balances are starting to meaningfully dwindle for the first time in decades; crisis fatigue is kicking in, and wilful blindness to violence is de rigueur. Many people – not a majority, but more than would admit it openly - want to trust Meloni. Many would oppose the idea of fascism if asked. Most would reject any association with Mussolini. Most want to believe Meloni is more moderate and sensible than she is, and many will be ready to jump ship as and when her honeymoon period comes to an end. At the same time, oddly enough, or perhaps by extension, there is almost no sense of Italian pride these days. In Brexit Britain you can barely move without encountering some kind of bravado jingoistic nonsense. That plague has infected everyday speech, everyday culture, everyday assumptions to the point that nobody even seems to notice it. In Italy, for better and worse, that’s not the case. The Meloni vote, at least as I see it, is purely transactional, selfish, short-sighted. It’s based on almost nothing at all. To be clear, that’s not supposed to be comforting.
I guess what I really want to say with this little Christmas Message 2022 (forgive me) is that Italy can surprise you. Last December The Economist awarded Italy ‘country of the year’ status on account of its relatively prudent Covid response, the success of the rock band Maneskin at Eurovision, the Men’s Football Team’s victory in UEFA EURO 2020/1 and most of all due to the stabilising influence of the ex-PM Mario Draghi. Now look where we are! No, Italy isn’t what you expect. But it’s never dull. Civic space may be fractured, defiled by years of Berlusconismo, but this country is still more vibrant than many. An example: last week Meloni announced a plan to cut a state allowance which gives teenagers money to spend on accessing cultural institutions. Presumably she thought museums and cinemas and theatres were an easy target for austerity. She was wrong. Tens of thousands of parents have been mobilizing in recent weeks to protest that decision; and now the Cultural Ministry is trying to u-turn. Then there are the school occupations, the constant piazza demonstrations, the incredible local networks of civil society organisations, the strong local governments, the playful campanilismo, the democratic spirit of the national cucina povera. I could go on…
Of course, I don’t want to downplay the racism, the violence, the sexism, the utter horrors of this place. From Treviso to Florence to Palermo I’m sickened to see so little concern towards the struggles women, queer people, black and brown people and many others will now inevitably face due to the new post-fascist administration. But I also see solidarity. Don’t forget: liberal and left wing parties technically have more support in this country than the far right; and non-voters, however misguided in their abstention, cannot be equated with supporters of the emerging regime. From the brilliant bookshops and clubs of Milan’s Porta Venezia to the single anti-fascist ‘chicken’ sticker I found on a lamppost in rural Campania earlier this year I am heartened, and filled with hope, by the resolve of Italians. Yes, electoral politics is a mess. And while the PD has a chance to rebuild itself - for example by voting eco-feminist Elly Schlein as leader - her victory, even IF it were feasible, will not solve things on its own without credible economic proposals coupled with some kind of real democratic revival. A pipedream? Who knows. People often ask me why I’m still here. “Aren’t you tempted to leave Italy now that Meloni is in charge?” they say, meaning well. Frankly, I find this a laughable question. Why wouldn’t I be here? And where else would I go? Italy has so much going for it, in its past, its present and, as I hope I sometimes show in this newsletter, its future. There’s a time and place for cynicism. But I continue to believe this country can yet get its act together, and, whatever the next years bring, I’m ready to do my part to help build that future in whatever small way I can. I mean, what else can any of us do really?
So there you go. That’s it. Forgive the platitudes. I’m out of words, and this rant is officially over. Thank you – all of you – from the bottom of my heart, for continuing to read and share these notes. I’m off now, to try and cram that enormous panettone into my case, to get to bed, to sleep for a bit and to spend some quality time with loved-ones. More from me in January but in the meantime buone feste e buon anno a tutti. Ciao.
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