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Showing posts with label Liberation Day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Liberation Day. Show all posts

Saturday, May 7, 2022

"Bella Ciao" comes to Ukraine



"Bella Ciao," Italy's anthem of freedom, resistance, and sacrifice, is now being sung, in translation, by Ukrainians in their epic struggle against the horrific Russian invasion of their country. Here's a link to a Ukrainian rendition, with translated Ukrainian lyrics, posted on Facebook several weeks ago: 

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=4989089647852306

and on YouTube with new lyrics, here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsJYGzwOhKM



In 2010, Frederika Randall, a dear friend and a brilliant translator and journalist, wrote about "Bella Ciao" for this blog. "Most musicologists," she wrote, "believe Bella Ciao was adapted from a [late 19th-century] work song of the mondine, the women who worked in the rice fields of northern Italy." 

Between 1943 and 1945, the song was adapted by the Italian resistance movement that helped liberate Italy from the Nazi occupation and Mussolini's Fascist dictatorship (although it's not clear it was ever sung by the Partisans). After the war it achieved world-wide circulation. The lyrics, as sung today, were first published in 1953, and the song grew in popularity in the 1960s. Some years later, it circulated within the dissident movement in Iran. The song has been covered some 25 times in Italian and in many other languages. Today it is sung in Italy on April 25, Liberation Day, celebrating the country's liberation from the German/Nazi occupation. 

Here's the link to Frederika Randall's post (republished in April 2020), which focuses on a controversy that developed over students at a middle school in Prati singing a portion of the song. The post includes the Italian lyrics to "Bella Ciao" as well as an English translation.  

https://romethesecondtime.blogspot.com/2020/04/liberation-day-politics-of-bella-ciao.html

It is with great sadness that we must write that Frederika died in May, 2020, a month after publication of the re-post above. 






  




Tuesday, May 5, 2020

The 1943 Rome epidemic, that wasn't



Isola Tiburina, location of the Fatebenefratelli hospital

The "partisan card" for Giacomo Cesaro,
father, Giuseppe, who shared this story.
Issued by the "Ministry of Occupied Italy,"
it shows the older Cesaro was a
member of the "Justice Freedom" brigade.







The story that follows appears in Pietro Borromeo's book, Il giusto che invento' il morbo di k. (Fermento Editori, 2007). Pietro is the son of Giovanni Borromeo, a protagonist in the events described. Giuseppe Cesaro, chief of the press office of ACI (the Italian AAA), and a writer, shared the story with family on April 25, a day celebrating the 1945 liberation of Italy from the German occupation.  It is reprinted here--in English translation, followed by the Italian version--with permission.
[Update 4 May 2021 - this invented disease also is known as "Syndrome K" in English, and is the subject of a new documentary of the same name, with a release date of 1 June 2021 in the US.]







During the Second World War in [occupied] Rome, there was a terrible epidemic of an unknown and dangerous illness.

Isola Tiberina with its Fatebenefratelli Hospital.
It was known as "disease of K," it had very serious symptoms, and was extremely contagious, but thanks to the intuition of three exceptional doctors (Giovanni Borromeo, Adriano Ossicini and Vittorio Sacerdoti), there was not a single fatality. All those who were sick, put in isolation in a pavilion of the Fatebenefratelli Hospital, were miraculously saved, as were the doctors and nurses, notwithstanding that the "disease of K" was extraordinarily contagious.

It all began on the 16th of October, 1943, the "black Saturday" of the Roman ghetto, when the [Nazi] SS conducted a horrendous roundup, forcing 1024 people, among them hundreds of children, to board the trains of horror headed for the death camps at Auschwitz.

Dott. Giovanni Borromeo
However, some succeeded in avoiding the Nazis and saving themselves [from the trains], seeking refuge on Tiberina Island, where the courageous doctor Borromeo, head of the hospital, decided to shelter them all--almost one hundred. It was obviously necessary to compile medical records for these special patients.  And so the three physicians, in particular Vittorio Sacerdoti (who, because he was a Jew, had already been victimized by the [1938] racial laws and was working at the hospital under a false name, protected by his supervisor, Borromeo), imagined a horrendous illness, devastating and highly contagious, the "disease of K," with the "K" referring to Kesselring, the ruthless Nazi official--or, according to other sources, Kappler, the inhuman Rome persecutor.

Those taken in--the fake sick--were put in a special ward, in isolation.

On the evening of October 16, 1943, when the Nazis arrived to search the hospital, they found the three doctors--Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti--with masks covering their faces, extremely worried about the scope of this unexpected and dangerous epidemic.  The Nazis--there was a doctor among them--demanded to see all medical records, but, when asked by Doctor Borromeo to visit the sick in person, were fearful of this terrible "disease of K" and preferred, instead, to leave. 

And so all the sheltered, pretend patients were saved from the Nazi horror.

But the story does not end there.

Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti continued to help Jews  and partisans on a daily basis. They installed a hidden radio transmitter in the basement of the hospital in order to stay in contact with other partisans and with Radio London. They declared the pretend patients deceased from the "disease of K" and procured false documents to allow them to flee, exposing themselves to great risk in a sad historical moment in which denouncements to the Germans were the order of the day and the hospital was swarming with spies.  

These three courageous physicians did not retreat before the horror and the fear, because, as Adriano Ossicini continued to assert in interviews after the war,  "One must seek to be on the side of what is right, always."  

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Durante la seconda Guerra Mondiale a Roma ci fu una terribile epidemia di una malattia sconosciuta e pericolosa. 

Si chiamava morbo di K., aveva sintomi molto gravi ed era estremamente contagiosa, ma grazie all’intuizione di tre medici eccezionali (Giovanni Borromeo, Adriano Ossicini e Vittorio Sacerdoti) non ci fu nessuna vittima. Tutti i malati, messi in isolamento in un padiglione dell’Ospedale Fatebenefratelli, si salvarono miracolosamente e così anche i medici e infermieri, nonostante il morbo di K. fosse molto contagioso.

Iniziò tutto il 16 ottobre 1943, il “sabato nero” del ghetto di Roma, quando le SS fecero un orrendo rastrellamento costringendo 1024 persone, tra cui centinaia di bambini, a salire sui treni dell’orrore per andare a morire ad Auschwitz. 



Qualcuno però riuscì a evitare i nazisti e a salvarsi, cercando rifugio proprio sull’isola Tiberina dove il coraggioso dottor Borromeo, primario dell’ospedale, decise di ricoverarli tutti, quasi un centinaio. 
Ovviamente bisognava compilare una cartella clinica per questi pazienti speciali. E così i tre medici, in particolare Vittorio Sacerdoti (che in quanto ebreo era già stato vittima delle leggi razziali e lavorava sotto falso nome all’ospedale, protetto dal primario Borromeo), immaginarono una malattia orrenda, devastante e contagiosa, il Morbo di K., dove la K. indicava in realtà Kesselring, lo spietato ufficiale nazista, o secondo altre fonti, Kappler, il disumano persecutore di Roma. 

I finti ricoverati furono messi tutti in un reparto speciale, in isolamento.

La sera del 16 ottobre 1943, quando i nazisti arrivarono a perlustrare l’ospedale, trovarono i tre medici, Borromeo, Ossicini e Sacerdoti con delle mascherine sul volto, preoccupatissimi per lo scoppio di questa improvvisa e pericolosa epidemia. I nazisti allora pretesero di vedere tutte le cartelle cliniche, dato che c’era anche un medico tra loro, ma alla richiesta del dott. Borromeo di andare a visitare personalmente i malati, ebbero paura di questo terribile morbo di K. e preferirono andarsene. 

E così tutti i finti malati ricoverati in isolamento si salvarono dall’orrore nazista.

Ma la storia non finisce qui. 

Borromeo, Ossicini e Sacerdoti continuarono quotidianamente ad aiutare ebrei e partigiani. Installarono una radio ricetrasmittente clandestina negli scantinati dell’ospedale per restare in contatto con gli altri partigiani e con Radio Londra, dichiararono morti proprio per il morbo di K. i finti pazienti e procurarono loro documenti falsi per farli fuggire, esponendosi così a grandi rischi, in un triste momento storico in cui le delazioni ai tedeschi erano all’ordine del giorno e l’ospedale pullulava di spie.

Questi tre medici coraggiosi non arretrarono davanti all’orrore e alla paura perché, come non smetteva di raccontare nelle interviste dopo la guerra Adriano Ossicini: “Bisogna cercare di essere dalla parte giusta, sempre”.

(Pietro Borromeo, figlio di Giovanni Borromeo ha raccontato questa storia nel libro: Il giusto che inventò il morbo di k. Fermento Editori, 2007)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 During the Second World War in [occupied] Rome, there was a terrible epidemic of an unknown and dangerous illness.

It was known as "disease of K," it had very serious symptoms, and was extremely contagious, but thanks to the intuition of three exceptional doctors (Giovanni Borromeo, Adriano Ossicini and Vittorio Sacerdoti), there was not a single fatality.  All those who were sick, put in isolation in a pavilion  of the Fatebenefratelli Hospital, were miraculously saved, as were the doctors and nurses, notwithstanding that the "disease of K" was extraordinarily contagious.

It all began on the 16th of October, 1943, the "black Saturday" of the Roman ghetto, when the [Nazi] SS conducted a horrendous roundup, forcing 1024 people, among them hundreds of children, to board the trains of horror headed for the death camps at Auschwitz.

However, some succeeded in avoiding the Nazis and saving themselves, seeking refuge on Tiberina Island, where the courageous doctor Borromeo, head of the hospital, decided to shelter them all--almost one hundred.  It was obviously necessary to compile a medical record for these special patients.  And so the three physicians, in partuclar Vittorio Sacerdoti (who, because he was a Jew, had already been victimized by the [1938] racial laws and was working at the hospital under a false name, protected by his supervisor, Borromeo), imagined a horrendous illness, devastating and highly contagious, the "disease of K," with the "K" referring to Kesselring, the ruthless Nazi official--or, according to other sources, Kappler, the inhuman Rome persecutor.  

Those taken in--the fake sick--were put in a special war, in isolation. 

On the evening of October 16, 1943, when the Nazis arrived to search the hospital, they found the three doctors--Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti--with masks covering their faces, preoccupied by the scope of this unexpected and dangerous epidemic.  The Nazis--there was a doctor among demanded to see all medical records, but, when asked by Doctor Borromeo to visit the sick in person, were fearful of this terrible "disease of K" and preferred, instead, to leave. 

And so all the sheltered, fake patients were saved from the Nazi horror.

But the story does not end there.

Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti continued to help Jews  and partisans on a daily basis.  They installed a hidden radio transmitter in the basement of the hospital in order to stay in contact with other partisans and with Radio London.  They declared the pretend patients deceased from the "disease of K" and procured false documents to allow them to flee, exposing themselves to great risk in a sad historical moment in which the accusations of the Germans were the order of the day and the hospital swarming with spies.  

These three courageous physicians did not retreat before the horror and the fear because, as Adriano Ossicini reccalled in an interview after the war,  "One must seek to be on the side of what is right, always."  

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

"Liberation Day" 2019 :The Left turns out (there are not "nice people" on both sides) and parties.

"Liberation...April 25...Pigneto Neighborhood Party"


Bear with me; I'll get to the party after "due parole" ("2 words" - I'm being a bit ironic, because in Italian for us that usually means the speaker is about to launch into a long discourse).  Let me first set the stage a bit.

For non-Italians and others who many not recall, April 25 is Liberation Day in Rome, a date - in 1945 -  selected by the state to celebrate the liberation of Italy from the Germans.  Rome was liberated earlier, June 4, 1944, as the Allies moved up from the South, driving the Germans north.

"In the social fight, LIBERATION!" (One can see why Salvini might not have liked this.)
As Bill pithily and eloquently explained in a 2009 post, it's also a contested day, because the right-wing doesn't want to celebrate a day which communists, the Jewish community, and heirs of partisans see as theirs. Not much has changed in 10 years.

That contestation continued this year, when the Deputy PM and leader of the right-wing, anti-immigrant party the Lega, Matteo Salvini, declared he would not show up at any Liberation Day events, because, as he said, "On April 25 there will be parades, partisans, anti-partisans, fascists, communists, reds, blacks, and greens, blues, yellows, reds. We are in 2019, I am not interested in the fascist-communist derby...." (He chose instead to go to Corleone, a Mafia-infested town in Sicily to show (off) that his government was combating the Mafia.) 

Comparing the liberation of Italy from the Nazis to a soccer game -  a "derby" is a soccer tournament that pits the two biggest rivals against each other - is trivializing it, to say the least. Very clear echoes of "there are fine people on both sides."  (For a discussion of the right-wing brazenness and the dangers of indifference, see Roger Cohen's op ed in the NYT.)
A very short 2 blocks from our door we found, instead of the usual sleepy
enoteca (think 'wine bar') with 1 or 2 customers, this crowd, live music,
lots of emptied wine and beer bottles.


This year the turnout on the left seemed especially high, and, the Jews and the partisan organization (ANPI - Associazione Nazionale Partigiani d'Italia) marched together.  They had not in the recent past because (as I recall) of ANPI's support for Palestine.
(For more on Liberation Day, see Frederika Randall's excellent post on the partisan anthem, "Bella Ciao.")

 Almost all our friends in Rome participated in the day in some way.  One took his granddaughter to lay flowers at the Fosse Ardeatine, the caves where more than 300 Italian men were summarily executed by the Nazis in retaliation for a partisan bombing that killed 33 German soldiers in March 1944. (Here is a post on the Fosse Ardeatine, which is also in an itinerary in our book.)
"The future is now; it's time to act" (and something about "big projects
for the environment") - slogan and picnic.


Leave it to the Left to be intensely political and also to enjoy themselves.  The neighborhood we chose to live in this year is without doubt a leftist one. Bill is collecting slogans and posters and will post them at some point.  I've included a few here that were put up for the street celebration.


Posters advertising the party; graffiti protesting gentrification.
The red flag in the distance is an ANPI flag.
A prize ceremony, showing the ethnically-mixed neighborhood. Not sure
what the prizes were for. The "prize" was a red ANPI neck scarf.
Basically our 2019 Liberation Day story is that we decided to walk out our door the evening of April 25 and within 2 blocks were in the midst of an enormous street party.  Pigneto was celebrating Liberation Day as perhaps only Pigneto - a mixed social class and ethnic neighborhood with leftist roots going back to Pasolini - can.  The photos and captions above and below illustrate the day.


Dianne




Bars popped up where none had been before. Musicians too.
Those open store fronts to the right are bars without any signage that
haven't been open before while we've been here, and may not be again.
One wonders if they are licensed, legal, etc. But, hey, it's Pigneto!



Again, a street near us, usually quiet, now spilling over with customers,
and, yes, it's a car-driving street.



There were games - foosball, ping pong - babies, dogs,  you name it.

Basically a message to the governments of Rome and Lazio (the province in which Rome sits):
"Over our territory, we will decide!"

A good time was had by all.



Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Best Posters of 2016


"Best" Posters has become a yearly feature of RST, and here we are once again, offering the "best" of 2016, all found in Rome in April, May and June.  Though the internet has doubtless eroded the presence and influence of posters in Italian culture, they nonetheless have a role here that they don't have in the U.S.--except perhaps in times of political upheaval like the late 1960s.  I am tempted to claim that postering is more common in societies with a significant leftist heritage--they were a significant feature of the visual landscape in China in 1979, for example, when we were there--but I can't say for sure that's true.

Postering also appears to aggregate in specific places.  Some locales in Rome--especially outlying suburbs--are more likely than others (e.g. the Centro) to have large numbers of posters.  We found an especially rich lode in Serenissima, on Rome's outer eastern side.

What makes a poster "best"?  Design.  A compelling message.  A story we haven't heard, or, if we do know the story, the sense that the poster reveals something quintessentially Italian or Roman.  In 2016, as was true in 2015, some of the best posters are those done by the far-right fringe.  They're angrier, and that can make for more compelling posters.  And most of the centrist political posters--ubiquitous during the run-up to the Rome mayoral election--are pedestrian.

Still, the left can produce some decent posters.  The one below at least goes beyond Vota Communista ("vote Communist").  It's both weird and refreshing to see that Italian Communism still exists; it all goes back to the important role played by Communists in the Partisan movement that battled the German occupation during World War II.  Today, according to the poster below, the enemies of the Communists are petty politicians (politicanti), the European Union, NATO, and the banks.
Enough! (vote Communist Party).
This poster (below), which appears to be part of the student mainstream at one of Rome's great universities--La Sapienza--strategically links the current generation of anti-fascists with the partisan wartime resistance:

Yesterday partisans, today anti-fascists.
What's with the German?

Resistance is also the theme of the poster below, authored by an organization (we presume) called Partizan.  Although the poster would seem to be appealing to thoughtful people ("Thinking people must resist"), the gas-masked figure looks anything but thoughtful.


Casa Pound, a right-wing bad-boys organization named after the American poet, Ezra Pound, who cozied up to the Mussolini regime in the early 1940s, is perhaps the most frequent posterer in Rome, helping to keep the form alive.  The Casa Pound folks are opposed to immigration, and beyond that they're big on not surrendering to the powers that be.  They appear to relish physicality and to locate their heroic heritage in ancient Rome.
Alcuni Italiani Non Si Arrendono!
"Some Italians Don't Surrender!"

"What is written with the blood of the fathers is not erased with the saliva of the politicians."
A close-up of the upper left portion of the above poster:
Scary dudes
The Blocco Studentesco ("Student Block"), responsible for the poster below, is a 2006 offshoot of Casa Pound, focusing on school issues.
Not quite sure what's doing on here.  "They Aassault/We Laugh!" Joyous resistance.
Once in a while the poster left gets its act together and posters against Casa Pound.  This poster grounds its opposition in an open immigration ideal--in Italian multiculturalism.
And mostly in English
As in the United States and England, there's strong opposition in Italy to international trade agreements that presumably cost workers jobs.  The message below is significant: No al TTIP refers to the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership, a proposed trade agreement between the EU and the United States that's been in the works since 2014.  The anti-TTIP folks are concerned that the nation states of Europe will be victimized by transnational corporations--especially, according to the poster's graphic, American companies

"Let's liberate ourselves from the 'Liberators'"
 Also under attack are austerity measures advocated by wealthy, creditor countries (like Germany) and imposed on poor, debtor countries (like Greece, Spain, and, to some extent, Italy). A decent graphic here (Piano B [Plan B]), but the poster's too busy to be visually arresting.


One of our design favorites is this poster, of uncertain political ideology.  It reads Roma non si vende"--"Rome is not for sale."  And it communicates this message with a delightful image of the Coliseum in a shopping cart.


Another top-design candidate is this anti-immigrant political poster ("We'll Stop the Alien Invasion"):


The poster below is austerely anti-design.  And yet its message--Siamo Già Tra Voi ("We are already among you") and signed "(hashtag) Enemies of the City," is compelling in its mystery and threatening tone.


The "What Happened to Dino?" poster that we found near Porta Metronia was mysterious, too, because we had no idea who Dino was.
Do you know what happened to Dino?
The most common poster in April was, understandably, the one below, announcing Liberation Day: 25 April.  It's not obvious why the date April 25 was chosen in 1946.  Although Liberation Day in general celebrates Italy's liberation from the horrific German occupation--and honors the resistance to the occupation--the country was not actually entirely free of the Nazis until May 1, 1945.  According to some sources, April 25 is important because on that date the National Liberation Committee of Upper Italy (CLNAI) proclaimed in a radio annoucement the death sentence for all Fascist leaders (Mussolini was killed 3 days later).  Others note that April 25 was the day Turin and Milan were liberated from the Nazis.  More than you needed to know.


Bill
For the best of... 2014 and 2012, check the links.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

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