Dance on a volcano (thanks to Phil Collins)

In Italy the mood is extremely tense. Thousands of people had yet again taken to the streets, venting their anger, menacing to occupy the institutions. They are called the “pitchfork” protesters, a quickly-coined name which makes you think of some kind of mediaeval rebellion of peasants. But if you take a closer look you realise that, yes, there are some farmers in there, but the composition of these vast numbers of people that have taken to the streets is way more varied. So, who are they? They’re unemployed, small entrepreneurs on the brink of bankruptcy or already bankrupt, truck and cab drivers – the first, these, to start the protest – and many more representatives of the by now generalised condition of “precariat”. In a word, these are the protagonists, or rather the victims, of a generalised increasing proletarianisation of lower-middle to middle class strata that five years of recession are pushing relentlessly into poverty.

These are the classical historical preconditions for some kind of right wing authoritarianism to take over. The signs are there. A lot of these people had been flanked by fascist or para fascist football supporters who have turned the protest into violence. The populist leader Beppe Grillo has invited the police to show their solidarity to the protesters, spreading a palpable sense of panic among institutions and the media. Panic which materialised all too clearly when a policeman took off his helmet, a gesture that openly shows a symbolic way of reaching out to those whose protest he was supposed to stop and possibly suppress. This is also taking place while there is a widespread delegitimisation of the traditional foundation of liberal democracy, based on the party system.

None of the three major protagonists of Italian politics, Berlusconi, Grillo and Renzi, has a seat in Parliament. Those who actually are in Parliament, are completely mistrusted and resented by the general public. The government led by Letta, in a widely despised coalition with the now in tatters Berlusconi party, is a “dead institution walking”. The election of Renzi who is a youthful but quite shallow-sounding harbinger of blairism twenty odd years late, has pretty much signified the end of the major party of the centre-left as we knew it. While his rise to the leadership of the centre left has increasingly fractured and fragmented the PD, it is not really clear how his proposed modernisation, which basically amounts to push even further liberalisation of the economy and the shrinking of the state in order to better accommodate the needs of the market, will be able to rescue this resentful “reserve army” of discontent, who are seemingly ready to attack the institutions.

The situation, in a word, is serious and the risk of some kind of authoritarian development is on the cards. “Italians are not able to rebel” was an often-heard adagio by commentators. Up to a few years ago, maybe, when the postindustrial Western european model that Italy had embraced without having the right numbers to do so seemed to guarantee against any sort of real social revolt. The tragedy is that this still seems true for those on the Left, while the populist Right has always proved more effective to turn desperation into action. As it is clearly doing now.

Magic and Loss

When you pass through the fire, you pass through humble
You pass through a maze of self doubt
When you pass through humble, the lights can blind you
Some people never figure that out
You pass through arrogance, you pass through hurt
You pass through an ever present past
And it’s best not to wait for luck to save you
Pass through the fire to the light
Pass through the fire to the light
Pass through the fire to the light
It’s best not to wait for luck to save you
Pass through the fire to the light
As you pass through the fire, your right hand waving
There are things you have to throw out
That caustic dread inside your head will never help you out
You have to be very strong ’cause you’ll start from zero
over and over again
And as the smoke clears there’s an all consuming fire
Lying straight ahead
Lying straight ahead
Lying straight ahead
As the smoke clears there’s an all consuming fire
Lying straight ahead
They say no one person can do it all
But you want to in your head
But you can’t be Shakespeare and you can’t be Joyce
So what is left instead
You’re stuck with yourself and a rage that can hurt you
You have to start at the beginning again
And just this moment
This wonderful fire started up again
When you pass through humble, when you pass through sickly
When you pass through, I’m better than you all
When you pass through anger and self deprecation
And have the strength to acknowledge it all
When the past makes you laugh and you can savor the magic
That let you survive your own war
You find that that fire is passion
And there’s a door up ahead, not a wall
As you pass through fire, as you pass through fire
Trying to remember its name
When you pass through fire licking at your lips
You cannot remain the same
And if the building’s burning, move towards that door
But don’t put the flames out
There’s a bit of magic in everything
And then some loss to even things out
Some loss to even things out
Some loss to even things out
There’s a bit of magic in everything
And then some loss to even things out
Lou Reed, Magic and Loss (1992)
Writer(s): Michael Rathke, Lou Reed

L’ultima stazione

Oggi, a Firenze, una via crucis di lungo periodo si ferma ad una stazione che speriamo davvero sia il capolinea. Le miserande spoglie del massimo partito comunista occidentale del secondo dopoguerra si riuniscono nell’ennesimo esercizio di immedesimazione/trasformazione nel proprio nemico, avendo abbandonato ogni speranza di batterlo altrimenti.

Che questo partito fosse un povero sonnambulo già dagli anni Settanta è un altro discorso. Era pur sempre un interlocutore. Ma questa kermesse di liquidatori fallimentari intrappolati in un infinito parricidio?

Hanno avuto il migliore come ostetrica e il migliorista come becchino.  Sono il nuovo che avanza (nell’altro senso, quello del rimasuglio).

Meno Renzi, più Lucie.