Liberation Day: The Politics of "Bella Ciao"

RST attended three April 25, 2015 Liberation Day ceremonies.  At 2 of them, and possibly 3 (we left before the end of the 3rd one, televised by RAI 1), the "Bella Ciao" anthem was sung.  To further understanding of the importance of the song and its place in Italian culture, we are republishing a revealing 2010 piece by writer and translator Frederika Randall.  Following her commentary, Randall presents the song's lyrics in Italian and English.

Frederika Randall returns as guest blogger with this post, that begins with a curious but telling incident at a Rome public school. Randall has written about Italian society, the arts, literature, film and culture for the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, and now reports on politics for the Nation and the Italian weekly Internazionale. She lives in Rome.


The G.G. Belli is a middle school in Prati, named, as state schools in Italy are, for famous men--in this case, the great 19th C Romanesco sonneteer Giuseppe Gioachino Belli. (Just about the only schools honoring famous women are those named after female saints and martyrs.) On an ordinary day, not much happens at the G.G. Belli beyond the usual stuff that happens in a school full of budding teenagers. But May 27 was no ordinary day.

The school orchestra had been invited to the Education Ministry in Trastevere, to give a special concert for several illustrious members of the Berlusconi adminstration including the Undersecretary for Education, a certain Giuseppe Pizza (I had to look him up, a former Christian Democrat politician, I learned from the Corriere della Sera, who never merited a single dispatch by the national wire service ANSA in his first forty years of service.)

And so the kids performed their program and after they had finished, they played, by way of an encore, a few bars of Bella Ciao, a rousing partisan song dear to the Italian Resistance, and a piece of music known around the world.

Bad choice.

Minutes later, the Belli’s principal was fit to be tied. She immediately dashed off a letter to the teaching staff, students and parents calling the encore rendition “a deplorable act” and suggesting it had been prompted by some unnamed adults.

So what was wrong with playing Bella Ciao?
Only a few years ago the anti-Fascist Resistance was practically sacred in Italy, for it was the resistance movement that had battled the Nazi invaders and the Fascist dictatorship and gave birth to the Italian Republic in 1946, and the constitution in 1948. But for some on the right, Berlusconi among them, the Resistance smacks of disobedience, of insurrection, of the Communist brigades among the partisans who fought Mussolini and who some once feared would inherit power after the war. Berlusconi--who regularly campaigns on an anti-Communist platform despite the fact that the Italian Communist Party was dissolved in 1991, before he entered politics—not only governs with the support of the former neo-Fascists, he has often had kind words for Mussolini, who he seems to think has an underserved bad rep. A lot of people on the right don’t like Bella Ciao. In parts of Northern Italy, where the extreme rightists-separatists of the Northern League govern, the song was banned this year on April 25, Liberation Day.

We can only guess that the Belli school principal had all these facts in mind when she chastised the kids for playing Bella Ciao. The performance had “cast a lingering shadow of discredit, placing the entire school in difficulty,” she warned. “We must never forget our duties toward our hosts,” she added, urging the parents to send letters of apology to the ministry. God knows these are grim days for school budgets, but her reaction seemed, well, a little excessive.

The parents thought so, too.
After a flurry of organizing on Facebook, a little group of kids and parents (see above left) turned out one morning to sing Bella Ciao in front of the school as the students were going in. For a video of the event, see http://tv.repubblica.it/copertina/bella-ciao-al-belli:-un-coro-contro-la-censura/48424?video
******

Prequel: In the summer of 2008 my husband and I were traveling through Montpelier, Vermont when we heard a busker playing Bella Ciao on the street. “It’s a beautiful old Italian partisan song,” the musician told Vittorio, who’s not only Italian but old enough (just) to remember the Resistance. They sang it together, Vittorio in Italian and the busker in English.
Strange to say, there is some uncertainty about the origins of the song. Although there’s general agreement on the lyrics, they do vary slightly from rendition to rendition. Those below come from Wikipedia, which also offers several English translations. Mine, below, is an attempt to provide a singable text that follows the meter of the Italian. To that end—sorry about that--some of the Italian words have been preserved.

Most musicologists believe Bella Ciao was adapted from a work song of the mondine, the women who worked in the rice fields of northern Italy, standing knee-deep in cold water, picking out tiny weeds. But recently, an amateur musical historian noticed that the melody of Bella Ciao was astonishingly similar to a klezmer song called Koilen, recorded in 1919 in New York by a Gypsy klezmer performer from Odessa named Mishka Tsiganoff. It was theorized that perhaps the song had made its way to Italy via returning Italian immigrants in the 1930s. Although an Italian origin is more likely, it does seem odd that a work song (and a stirring resistance melody) would be so melancholy, so minor key, as this one.

And now, for the good news: for the first time in many years, the National Association of Italian Partisans not only didn’t shrink in size as its members aged and died, but actually grew by some 20,000 members, many of them young people from 18-30 years of age.
So maybe there is a future for the Resistance after all.

Bella Ciao [this version is devoted to the Iranian dissidents]



Una mattina mi son svegliato,
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
Una mattina mi son svegliato,
e ho trovato l'invasor.
O partigiano, portami via,
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
O partigiano, portami via,
ché mi sento di morir.
E se io muoio da partigiano,
(E se io muoio sulla montagna)
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
E se io muoio da partigiano,
(E se io muoio sulla montagna)
tu mi devi seppellir.
E seppellire lassù in montagna,
(E tu mi devi seppellire)
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
E seppellire lassù in montagna,
(E tu mi devi seppellire)
sotto l'ombra di un bel fior.
Tutte le genti che passeranno,
(E tutti quelli che passeranno)
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
Tutte le genti che passeranno,
(E tutti quelli che passeranno)
Mi diranno «Che bel fior!»
(E poi diranno «Che bel fior!»)
«È questo il fiore del partigiano»,
(E questo è il fiore del partigiano)
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
«È questo il fiore del partigiano,
(E questo è il fiore del partigiano)
morto per la libertà!»
(che e' morto per la liberta')

--Anonymous


And here, in English is that “beautiful old Italian partisan song”

Early one morning, as I was waking
Oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
Early one morning, as I was waking,
I found the foe was at my door.

O partigiano, please take me with you
Oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
O partigiano, please take me with you,
For something tells me I must die.

If I should die then, as a partigiano,
If I should die in the hills, in the hills up there,
If I should die then, die in the hills there,
Then you must dig for me a grave.

Up in the hills there, dig me a grave then,
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella cia, ciao, ciao,
Up in the hills there, lay me to rest there,
There in the shade of a flowering tree.

So all who pass by, so all who pass by,
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
So all who pass by, so all who pass by,
Will see a splendid flowering tree.

The flower of freedom, of the partigiano,
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
The flower of freedom, of the partigiano,
Who died so all may now be free.
It’s the flower of freedom, of the partigiano,
Who died so all may now be free.

--tr F. Randall

Carl Ipsen's "Fumo: Italy's Love Affair with the Cigarette"

Filtered Nazionali.  We smoked
the real thing. 

Our introduction to Italian smoking habits came in the fall of 1962, when we were both students in Stanford University's study abroad program--this one in Florence.  We were pack-a-day smokers, too, and either unaware or unconcerned with the health effects of our habit; it was two years before the U.S. Surgeon General's report firmly linked smoking to lung cancer.  Marlboro was our brand of choice (it was first sold legally in Italy in 1954), but it was prohibitively expensive, and so we settled for Winstons ("taste good like a cigarette should") when we could get them, but mostly smoked Nazionali, a harsh, unfiltered smoke made with Italian dark tobacco.  At the time, Nazionali was the best-selling brand in Italy by far; despite the "boom" of the 1950s, most Italians could not afford to smoke anything else on a regular basis.  The boys described in the novels of Pier Paolo Pasolini were obsessed with cigarettes, but too poor--certainly much poorer than we Stanford students--to smoke anything but Nazionali.

Pietro Saporetti, "Emancipated Woman,"
1881.  Smoking among women
was rare at the time.  

Not wanting to get lung cancer, we quit cold turkey in 1969, and American smoking rates fell throughout the 1970s.  But Italians--as a group--did not quit.  One of the conclusions drawn by Carl Ipsen's Fumo, his new, engaging, and fascinating history of "Italy's love affair with the cigarette" (the subtitle) is that more Italian men gave up the habit in every decade after 1950 as they became more middle class and health conscious, but more Italian women smoked every decade after 1960 as they became more liberated and assertive. Overall Italian smoking rates did not decline until after 2000.

Then, in January, 2005, under the regime of Silvio Berlusconi and his anti-smoking health minister, Girolamo Sirchia, an extraordinary thing happened.  A smoking ban passed by the Italian parliament went into effect.  It was known as the Sirchia Law, and it was, by Italian standards, draconian: smoking was prohibited in all public  places and offices, but also in bars and restaurants and other shops, which were, of course, privately owned.

The Sirchia Law wasn't the first effort to regulate smoking.  In 1962, the parliament had banned all cigarette advertising; in 1975, a nationwide ban on smoking in certain public places (hospital corridors and school classrooms, for example) was instituted--neither was enforced.  In 1985, a ban on smoking in all public places and offices, including bars and restaurants, was introduced but not passed; at that time, some local jurisdictions acted to enforce the 1975 ban (as in Empoli) or enacted their own local bans (as in the leftist bastion of Bologna).

We arrived in Rome on our regular spring visit just months after the 2005 prohibition was implemented nationwide.  We were sure it would be ignored, that hardcore Italian smokers--and many fit that description--would not surrender their smoking privileges easily.  We were wrong.  The Rome courtyard ("cortile") of Montecitorio (home of the Chamber of Deputies; Italy's House of Representatives) was, Ipsen notes, renamed "cortile Sirchia."  One of the few protests took place at the Termini train station, where journalist Giordano Bruno and TV host Funari lit up in a bar.  They were arrested, taken to a police station, and fined.  The law brought new pleasures, too: Romans (and other Italians) love their restaurants and their cuisine, and the smoking ban allowed them to enjoy those spaces smoke-free and to "properly" taste their food.

What Ipsen describes as the "cigarette century" in Italy began in the late-19th century among elites and spread downward in the social structure during the Great War and after.  The brand Nazionali was introduced by the Italian tobacco monopoly--the Monopolio--in 1900.  Triestian novelist Italo Svevo
made the cigarette central to his 1923 novel Zeno's Conscience, whose protagonist, Zeno, became "Italy's most famous smoker." (Svevo is a novelist we prize highly; we went to Trieste to follow his walks, during which he smoked, but we did not.)

Smoking depicted as elitist and decadent, 1930

Unlike in Germany, where Hitler instituted an anti-smoking campaign, Mussolini's regime--he was a non-smoker and into the cult of the body---did not discourage smoking. Indeed, several Fascist brands were introduced in the interwar years: Eja, featuring the fascio littorio symbol; A.O.I., (the initials representing Italian East Africa); O.N.D. (initials representing Opera Nazionale Dopolavoro, a Fascist after-work association).  Ipsen notes n this period, as well into the late 1900s, the Italian state was profiting handsomely from its monopoly, while knowing Italians were dying from smoking.

Me ne frego brand, 1935

Italo Balbo's flights to Rio de Janeiro and Chicago were both commemorated with cigarettes.  The story goes that a new Egyptian tobacco cigarette called Me ne frego ("I don't give a damn") was handed out to Italian troops on their way to war in Ethiopia in 1935. By encouraging the cultivation of tobacco in the southern province of Puglia and the Italian colony of Libya, the Mussolini government also achieved "autarchy" (economic self sufficiency) in the cigarette business, as it wanted to do in all sectors.

The offer of a cigarette is an
invitation to "friendship." 1954.  Ipsen
comments that outdoorsy woman in the ad
promoting Eidelweiss cigarette seems
to be offering more than just friendship.

Women's smoking was minimal--yet controversial--until the 1970s; in 1965, only 8% of Italian women smoked.  A woman with a cigarette in her hand could mean almost anything, including liberation, emancipation, transgression, decadence, or modernity.  If her palm was up, the sexual innuendo was heightened.

A dominant Giovanna, cigarette in hand, bends the
weaker male to her will.  Ossessione (1943)

As late as the 1940s, a woman smoking in a film signified a healthy penchant for dominance--the femme fatale, a Lady MacBeth up to no good, as in Ossessione (1943). Even so, Eva, a cigarette for women, was introduced in 1924.

The startling rise in women smokers began in the 1970s and continued into the next decade, when some 28% of Italian women smoked.  Rates were high among educated women, too; they not only rejected Fascism's body fetish, but used smoking as a sign of gender equality and independence. According to Ipsen, Italian feminists smoked in large numbers.

Mina, 1964.

Women's smoking was also supported by celebrity smoker/advocates, including Anna Magnani,
Sophia Loren, Silvia Pampanini, and the pop singer Mina, who in 1964--the year of the Surgeon General's report--celebrated smoking with a tune called "Fumo Blu" (Blue Smoke) ["Con me tu puoi/Fumare la tua pipa quando vuoi" - "With me you can smoke your pipe whenever you want"].

Smoking kills, but you can protect yourself 
with this filter, according to this ad.  

As we have seen, Italians were roughly 20 years behind Americans in accepting the health consequences of cigarette smoking and turning away from the habit.  The rush of women to smoking in the late 20th century accounts for part of the difference.  In addition, Italians were much more likely to believe that filtered cigarettes eliminated much, if not all, of the health risk.

Finally, Ipsen argues provocatively that Italians were "less risk averse" than Americans, steeped in a culture of "menefreghismo" ("I don't give a damn-ism").  They loved their lottery, drove their motorscooters without helmets, refused to wear seat belts and--here's the clincher--used the withdrawal method to prevent pregnancy.  "Withdrawal," writes Ipsen, "resembles a game of chance."  It's "risky, but with a margin of error that might or might not seem acceptable, it does work."  And so they smoked.

Carl Ipsen Fumo: Italy's Love Affair with the Cigarette was published this year by Stanford University Press.  It is widely available.

Bill

A postscript.  The appendix to Ipsen's book includes legal material he submitted in a case brought against a tobacco company by the family of an Italian man (who went on to live in Canada and the US) who died from smoking. Ipsen analyzed the Italian media's coverage of the risks of smoking for a law firm representing the tobacco company to support the defense that the man understood those risks. In a brief preface to the appendix Ipsen describes his as a "cautionary tale for other scholars attracted by the significant fees paid for work of this sort. I was told that the law firm received a summary judgment in its [its client's] favor in the case." Perhaps this book is partly Ipsen's effort at atonement, since in the book he concludes - in contrast to the material submitted to the law firm - that Italians were given much contradictory evidence about smoking and that the media promoted the notion that the link between smoking and lung disease was not clear and that filters or 'light' cigarettes could prevent any or much harm.  Dianne

Luigi Conconi, Ebbrezza ("Inebriation"), 1888.  Conconi also titled the painting "La vita libera" ("The free life" - Ipsen
suggests "libera" may have something of a "libertine" meaning here. 

The Egyptian Academy: A Breath of Modernism in Valle Giulia

High modernist buildings are rare in Rome, and when we saw that the Egyptian Academy of Fine Arts was on the lists of sites for the annual OpenHouseRoma event, we couldn't resist.  We had been there once before, for an evening film screening, but had not seen much except for an interior stairway and the auditorium.  This would be different.

And it was, and wasn't.

The Academy, as it looked in the mid-1960s

The Egyptian Academy was founded in 1929, and for most of the following 30 years was located in one of the Emperor Nero's palaces on the Oppian Hill (Colle Oppio), across from the Coliseum.  In 1966 the Academy moved to its current location, at via Omero 4, in Valle Giulia, onto what one might call "academy row."  At the time it was the only Arab-African Academy in Europe.

Berlusconi (left) and Mubarak at opening of the remodeled
Academy, 2010

Little information is available about that building, except that it was subject to an extensive
remodeling under Egyptian architect Hatem Said early in the new century, reopening in 2010 to guests that included Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak and his Italian counterpart, Silvio Berlusconi.

We had parked our scooter down the hill and walked up, negotiating still another Rome stairway filled with trash.

The Academy facade, after an $8 million renovation.
Worth every cent.

The tour was scheduled to begin more than a half hour later, so we busied ourselves looking at a display of Egyptian modern art on the first floor.

The courtyard, from the interior

The remainder of our wait was spent in the superb, simple, square courtyard at the back of the building: grass, sculptures, places to sit, the frame of  rectilinear modernism recalling the Kennedy Center (1971) architecture of an earlier era.

As it turned out, the "tour" was of the Egyptian art we had already seen, as well as a subterranean museum of ancient Egyptian artifacts--not our fancy--not, at least, on this day.  We bailed out, headed for another venue.  And pleased to have experienced the pleasures of the Academy courtyard.

Bill

More bizarre behavior from Gadhafi



Gadhafi's tent in Villa Pamphili, Rome

As a follow-up to Bill's post on the Italy-Libya connection, we offer an example of the ruthless dictator's bizarre behavior:  his insistence on putting up a large tent in Rome's largest park - Villa Pamphili (see post on the park).  Gadhafi has done the tent bit in Italy more than once, but the first time - and his first visit to Rome - was in June 2009, when he came to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the historic agreement with Italy that involved reparations (as described in the earlier post).  Apparently the tent stunt is to acknowledge his bedoin heritage (tho' he sleeps in the palatial buildings near the park, we're told).  On some of those occasions he was accompanied by "Amazonian bodyguards" and 30 Berber horses.  Crazy is as crazy does.

Berlusconi's "slavish" attention to the Libyan dictator has been roundly criticized of late, of course.  I suppose shutting down Rome's largest park was minor in the scheme of things.  Bloomberg had a good piece on Berlusconi's kow-towing to Gadhafi, and its repercussions.  Watch the company you keep.

Dianne

Eating Ethnic: Rome's Kebab

We have been coming to Rome regularly for 17 years, and not until our last visit did we eat a Kebab. I had been longing to try the Roman version of this Mediterranean/Middle Eastern fast food, and one night, when the trattorias were closing and it seemed to late for the standard plate of pasta, I succeeded in muscling Dianne into Asterix 2, on via Ostiense. (You shouldn't have difficult finding a Kebab shop in Rome, but if you do, there's a website that lists them all--and even rates the Top 10: http://digilander.libero.it/romakebab/

The Kebab resembles the Greek "gyro," the latter so-named because the meat gyrates/turns on a spit as it is cooked.  But the dozens of Kebab shops in Rome are owned not by Greeks but by Egyptians, Turks, and Kurds, and the sliced meat for which the gyro is known--lamb--has been replaced in Rome by veal or, in most cases, a combination of veal and turkey. Kebab Valenziani (via Augusto Valenziani, 14), an Egyptian shop [see photo],
serves three meats from separate spiedi: beef, veal, and chicken. Most shops offer two kinds of bread: an Arab bread often made on site, and the familiar Italian Ciabatta. Condiments vary, and include hot sauce, sesame sauce, yogurt, lettuce, tomatoes, mushrooms, zucchini, olives, onions, green peppers, carciofi and, perhaps in a concession to the Greek tradition, feta cheese.

We ordered ours with "everything" and were aghast at the size of the thing. One serves two, and seated on stools in the cramped shop, we passed the Kebab back and forth about 10 times, along with a Diet Coke. Fresh, great range of flavors, healthy ingredients.
A starving writer could live on one of these a day. Although some will prefer to "portare via" (take out, literally carry away) their Kebabs, we recommend dining in, enjoying the colorful interiors that many of the shops present. The photo is of Asterix 2 (we think).  You'll see it looks nothing like Eataly, which opened in Rome this summer.  Nor does it have the art to go with food that we savor in EUR at Caffe' Palombini, but it has it's own ambiance, one could say.

Sadly, the Kebab is understood as an "ethnic" food and has begun to suffer from the anti-immigrant sentiment currently infecting Italian politics. Berlusconi's center-right national government has been supporting local efforts to ban ethic foods. One such effort is underway in Lucca--the site of 4 Kebab outlets--where the city fathers voted to ban any new ethic food shops, and another has been launched in Milan, with support from the conservative (and anti-immigrant) Northern League.  These are no doubt the same folks who find Europe's largest mosque - in Rome - disturbing.

Minister of Agriculture Luca Zaia, asked if he had ever eaten a Kebab, replied, "No--and I defy anyone to prove the contrary. I prefer the dishes of my native Veneto."

Our advice, Luca, is try one.

Bill

Let's "Chattare" Redux

In my "Let's 'chattare'" post, of March 29, I wanted to put in more about "show girls" and Berlusconi. There are so many English language words used whenever the media writes about the Italian Prime Minister and his escapades with scantily-clad young (often too young) women.

But I only made a brief mention of "show girl" because I found myself tripping up over "veline" (and sometimes I have seen "velini" - which seems like it should be masculine plural) and "showgirls". I couldn't figure out the difference - though obviously one word is Italian and one is American (I won't even deign to say "English"). So, I asked our Roman friend and linguist, Massimo. I love his answer and repeat it with his permission:

"I will do the best I can to clarify this subtle and unfortunate neologism: the singular of "veline" is "velina" and usually it is a girl (not many "velini" around - TV biz is a sexist world). It's a girl usually very attractive but not always (or necessarily) talented. A "showgirl" is a sort of umbrella term to mean a young woman that either hosts a show, or can dance and/or sing (rarely decently enough). There is NO way, in my opinion, that these persons can reach their "artistic" goals w/o hitting TV producers' (or politicians') beds or sofas first.

"Today, we tend to define "veline" as all the girls who "want to be on TV" and attend various shows w/o being particularly talented. But after all, hasn't one of them become a minister of the Italian government?

"The word "velina" re-entered our everyday vocabulary a few years ago, with a TV program called "Striscia la notizia" (a semi-serious TV news, which is still going strong). Scantily clad skating girls would bring the news to the anchors written on a thin sheet of paper: a "velina". "Carta velina" is the kind of paper that we used for carbon copies in the pre-PC era.

"During the Fascist ventennio (decades), "veline" were the copies of the official version of the news that circulated in the Department of Propaganda - and that's the origin of the word: according to the screenwriters of the program that was supposed to be ironic and funny."

I told you he was a linguist! And just today Bill and I were listening to a somewhat dated Italian news report on Berlusconi's problems last year with the scantily clad and maybe underage, and likely paid... prost... well, make that again young women. And in the newscast were English words imported into the Italian, such as "mission", "scup" (as in "scoop"), "gossip", "topmanager", "first lady"... to mention a few!

Dianne

Obamamania Italian style

Russians may be cool about him, but Italians are crazy for Obama, in our experience.

Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi (he of the gaffes and young women scandals) takes every opportunity to be photographed with the U.S. President, as in this picture from April's G20 summit... yeah, that's Berlusconi in the middle with the thumb's up sign behind Obama's head, or as someone said "amateur hour at the G20". (For background on Berlusconi, see Frederika Randall's recent online piece in The Nation. http://www.thenation.com/doc/20090629/randall) Berlusconi also famously referred to Obama as "abbronzato," which means "tan." Not to be outdone by his own gaffe, Berlusconi later said he would arrive at the White House also "abbronzato."

Right now, of course, Obama is in L'Aquila, the large city devastated by the earthquake this Spring, meeting with the G-8. So photos of the U.S. President are everywhere.

We encounter Obamamania everywhere we go in Rome, and not just among our leftist friends.

The woman who runs the long-established trattoria "Il Vascello" in Monteverde Vecchio has a collection of Obama items, and can't stop talking about him... in the same loud and enthusiastic voice she uses to tell you the daily specials.

The co-owner and barrista at the wine bar, "Il Baccoco" in Trastevere, tested us out first. "Obama?..." he asked, when his voice implying a question. When we indicated yes, we are Obama supporters, he sped up his Italian and waxed well, if not eloquent, at least enthusiastic, about our relatively new President.

And, perhaps more surprising, the men behind the counter at our small, local P.O. in Monteverde Nuovo, are hardly disgruntled postal workers. When they discovered I was sending a letter to the U.S., they started quizzing me about Obama and debating about whether the "speranza" or hope would really turn into action--they hoped it would.

We still have a small roll of Obama campaign stickers ("I voted early for Barack Obama") from our 6 weeks last Fall working on the campaign in the suburbs of Cleveland. We doled them out to some of these Obama fans, who were clearly elated by the souvenirs.

A question we have for these Obamaphiles is whether they also support their right-wing Prime Minister Berlusconi and Rome Mayor Alemanno. Hard to tell.

But for now, we'll enjoy the enthusiasm of the Italians for a U.S. President (for a change).

Dianne

Liberation Day in Rome - postscript

Liberation Day update... we spent a couple hours yesterday in one of Rome's "reddest" neighborhoods, Garbatella, built in the Fascist years - architecture we find fascinating.

We were aiming for something billed as Liberation Fest at a social club, but it was too much not us for us to try it... garage bands at full volume (we should've known band names like Red Alert, 5 Boots, Godzilla e Lei (and you), and 3 Kids with Mustaches) were not going to be aimed at us, mostly young men hanging about outside (photo at left). An alternative across the street was 3 socialists, in the courtyard of their party center, droning on to a crowd of about 50 (when they say they're going to say "due parole" (2 words, literally), look out! - be prepared for 30-60 minutes).

But we were buoyed by seeing a group of 20- and 30-somethings taking a walk with their children and babies in strollers while singing "Bella Ciao." ("goodbye, beautiful" - the partisans' song -- the link will take you to a lovely version of the song).

We came across a mini street fair... for sale, anything from Che hats to bio-friendly products to solicitations for Palestine to porchetta (spiced roast pork sandwiches... you can bet we opted for that) and beer....

We read today Berlusconi has done an about-face on April 25, but he wants to call it Liberty Day, not Liberation Day... gag - the appropriation I mentioned in yesterday's blog.

Bella ciao, Dianne

Liberation Day in Rome

April 25 – today is Liberation Day, the day Italy celebrates its liberation from the Nazis. On this date in 1945, Milan and the other large cities of the north were considered liberated by (most agree) the partisans, as southern Italy already had been by the Allies.

But it might better be called Contestation Day. Over the years, the date has been reserved for leftist celebrations. But the right increasingly wants to contest the leftists’ view of Italy’s liberation, and specifically to contest the positive participation of partisans, communists, and whether these two groups overlap. Each year we watch the Italian politicians take strange - and often uncomfortable (even for them) - positions as the date nears. With the right wing in firm control of the nation (Prime Minister Berlusconi) and even cities as historically left as Rome (Mayor Alemanno), the issues dominate the media: who “controls” April 25 or takes center stage; did the partisans really liberate Italy, are there good and bad partisans, were the partisans all communists?

A few years ago we read about the possibility that Berlusconi wouldn’t even publicly acknowledge April 25; then – hot news! - he bussed a former partisan on the cheek. This year the headline-grabbing topic was where Berlusconi would present himself on April 25, and whether he and the right-wing parties would appropriate the holiday. One proposed setting for Berlusconi today was Onna—the small town near L’Aquila that was completely destroyed by the recent earthquake and, more to the point of April 25, was the scene of Nazi execution of 17 civilians in 1944.

The (acknowledged by most) diplomatic President (a largely figurehead position) of the country is former communist Napolitano, who manages to bring the meaning of the day back in focus. Don’t try to divide the partisans or minimize their role, he says.

A poster put up by Italy’s now small Communist Party announces: “without the Left, without Communists, there’s no liberation” (see photo).

The intensity of feeling that surrounds April 25 reveals how central the events of World War II remain for Italians, left and right. In contrast, Americans generally agree on the meaning of that conflict, yet remain bitterly divided over the war in Vietnam and, indeed, over the meaning and interpretation of the political, social, and cultural upheaval known as the “sixties.”

Rome the Second Time is the only guidebook we know of that discusses the Nazi occupation of Rome in 1943-44. One of the itineraries takes the Rome visitor to the site of several resistance actions, including Porta San Paolo, where the initial resistance was staged and today’s Rome Liberation Day activities unfold; via Rasella, where a German column was bombed by the partisans; and the SS torture chambers of via Tasso. Our book also takes you to the Fosse Ardeatine on the outskirts of Rome, where 335 men were executed and their bodies covered up in these Ardeatine caves, now a deeply moving memorial to the senseless murder of civilians.

Dianne