The temptation of the post September 25th is to shout to the progressive world that “the guard is tired” and that some buildings and offices must be cleared. This is what it would be necessary to say a few hours after the opening of the polls to grasp the meaning of the vote that catapulted Giorgia Meloni’s true right to the presidency of the Council, relegating the left to a presence, at least for the next five years, marginal or, worse, irrelevant.
Yet the opportunity was great. But she got lost in the labyrinths of propaganda and planned strategies for a few more votes. There was the pandemic that forced us to stay at home, which suspended our lives in the grip of fears marked by the sound of ambulances and the proclamations of those who knew more than science, which imposed new behavioral models on us. To complete the work, the aggression of Russia against Ukraine that plunged us into the harshness and cruelty of the second war in Europe (let’s not forget Serbia) with an attached nightmare of nuclear threats. The withdrawal of ambassadors is missing.
On the horizon stands the recession with the warning of the energy bills and, today, the reality of the Right, the real one, which takes place in Palazzo Chigi. To do what? Those who have always observed the world without understanding much of it ask themselves not without expressions of surprise. Simple, the Right will do the Right, with the same intensity and with the same commitment that the self-styled left has put into running to the center or looking up. The two are held. And it will do so with the determination of those who for years have lived with frustration the ideals heralded throughout Europe, from Vox to Orban, certainly not exciting or shareable that at a certain moment, given the many doors left open guilty, entered with a great career and in the short span of a luster in our lives. Do you want the Right to lose the opportunity to stay in power and lead the game for the entire term?
He will defend her with his nails. In short, there is no game without sensational upheavals.
The opportunity that had presented itself to the so-called progressives in recent years was unrepeatable. Attempting to change the country, eliminating the ugliness that has plagued it for decades and preserving the good that our grandparents and fathers left us, today unfortunately denigrated or put in the attic. After every great war or epochal event, people have always managed to bring out the energies – obscured by larger and unexpected events – the inventiveness – that only new and urgent needs are able to solicit – and the courage – indispensable for any undertaking. It is called – the whole – change. In Italy, looking back, it goes by the name of an economic miracle and not just an economic one.
Before September 25th this all did not appear in the obscure and insincere programs of competing parties and leaders. The focus was on the sympathy or antipathy of the contenders. And what was behind it, what was unspoken? What interests did each one become spokesperson or defender of? Go and understand. Healthcare, once the great pandemic emergency passed, is once again the favorite prey of private capital, which will never stop thanking a billionaire market to dive into. And while doctors and nurses are becoming scarce in hospitals, private health care raises its head and begins to invade that market and take the best of it, the so-called excellences. The heroes of the fight against the virus have been forced to retreat. Talk about it during the election campaign? Not at all, this too was a missed opportunity.
And any mention of our universities? It was necessary to find him in the folds of some speech in the square, between a scream and a promise, between an offense and a gratuitous malice. Always to avoid having to face the gigantic problem of education, scientific research, innovation. And what about the economy? And of the eternal and oppressive tax authorities that never satisfy anyone, entrusted to the loyalty of a few?
Even concepts of unprecedented ferocity flew against the poor, the unfortunate, the idle, artfully forgetting the clever ones who for decades have plundered the entire country, unnerving it. And then, the faces. Stainless with the passing of the years and the legislatures, who try to embellish themselves on any occasion with the prodigious lifting of power. And all to complain about an electoral law created to perpetuate the privilege, and to mitigate any setbacks or amplify successes. It was enough to change this unfair and fraudulent law that accompanies us to the polls; but no one thought about it and found it convenient. It is yet another mockery of the Italian vote in the high exercise of democracy, today the perfect alibi for the losers.
Yet it took little, a minimum of good will and to deepen some memories of good reading or to listen to the real heroes of our past. Too many words have covered the uproar that sometimes comes from the bottom of society, from the cities that the moral and social crisis make more ugly, therefore unlivable. The cry that starts from the penultimate, the last, modern re-edition of the Silonian echoes when he speaks of Torlonia in Fontamara is not even taken into consideration. Do you remember?… At the head of all there is God, master of heaven … Then comes Prince Torlonia, master of the earth. Then come the prince’s guards. Then come the dogs of the prince’s guards. Then, nothing. Then, still nothing. Then come the peasants. And we can say that it is finished ”. But how annoying words are! This is where the deficit of culture and political culture comes from, which is reflected on that mass of those who do not go to vote and choose.
Here lies, in these words which are intended to be warm and reassuring, the real reason for the detachment of Italians from their own political class. Because none or very few marginal characters have inflamed the hearts of us pariahs of the democracy of the third millennium. And without passions everything flows like river water on stones, it never stops, but smoothes our dreams, passes and goes over our needs for a better life, without however affecting. A civilization that entrusts the fate of many to the smart ones. September 25 was worth fighting, as Orwell wrote in his Homage to Catalonia when he rushed to Barcelona to join the republican militias and thus oppose any form of totalitarianism or dictatorship. Even at the cost of joining a slightly down-and-out army of anarchists.
On September 25, neither the parties nor the voters did their job. The former do not provide a perspective, the latter do not demand it. Everything was short, without being intense, repetition of rites that would like to be modern and in step with the times, but which expire in superficiality, deserving of attention to which we dedicate, if it goes really well, about thirty seconds.
Not even the gift of a manifesto to remember what the duty of any citizen of the Republic is. Yet it would have been enough to leaf through the admirable description of the American depression that Steinbeck made of it with the words entrusted to the protagonist of the wonderful “Furore”. To escape the rigors of the law, Tom Joad greeted her old mother by telling her“… I will always be there, hidden and everywhere … where there is someone struggling to feed those who are hungry … where there is a cop who beats someone … I will be in the screams of those who rebel … and in the laughter of children when they are hungry and know that the soup is ready. And when our people eat the things they have grown and live in the houses they built… ”.
Isn’t it a great political manifesto? isn’t that what should be promised and done?
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