If the M5S and the Lega embody two different faces of Italian populism, their choice of Prime Minister, Giuseppe Conte, the self-dubbed People’s Advocate, represents their common denominator: the apotheosis of the common man.
Grillo’s movement articulated Italy’s widespread disenchantment with the traditional parties of left and right, seen as self-serving oligarchies. If they were swept away and ‘the people’ could express their ‘will’ online all would be well. For the past two years the patent absurdity of this ingenuous belief has been conclusively demonstrated by the ever-increasing mounds of refuse, potholed streets and self-combusting buses presided over by Rome’s inept M5S administration. Like Trump’s electoral base, though, the Five Star Movement’s supporters remain unmoved by their idol’s incompetence. Their commitment is based on faith not reason.
While the M5S reflects a naive optimism- if only the corrupt politicians are swept way, all will be well, no need for experience, expertise or competence - Salvini’s Lega represents the darker face of populism: the belief that ordinary Italians have two concrete enemies seeking to destroy their identity: the European Union undermining their ability to decide their own destiny, and non-Caucasians polluting their ethnic identity. Although a moment’s reflection reveals the inherent absurdity of believing an ordinary Italian’s economic woes will trouble an Italian billionaire simply because they share a passport and skin colour, the misconception serves to deflect people’s attention from the real cause of their distress: the increasing weakness of Europe’s individual national governments in relation to global companies. The European Union, on the other hand, has had some success in calling them to heel. It also attempted to mitigate Italy’s immigration crisis by seeking to distribute the newcomers across the Union rather than leaving Italy to fend for itself. It was the other member states who opposed the move. A cynic might wonder whether, rather than the product of naivety, Salvini’s policies are actually aimed at promoting the interests of the one percent by targeting the institution capable of championing the common man against international finance and globalised companies, and reducing the profitable pool of immigrant workers available for gangmasters to exploit in southern Italy. The far right’s love affair with Putin - a strong EU would limit Russia’s political influence in the continent, used to promote the European financial operations of Russian oligarchs - gives the theory additional weight.
And then there’s Conte. Unlike Mario Monti, for example, he’s clearly been plucked from the second division of technical experts, and as such we common folk recognise one of our own. A Monti or a Prodi has no need to primp his cv - we do. When I was applying to university in the early sixties I numbered my membership of the school athletics team amongst my achievements. I didn’t feel it necessary to add that I owed my place to a flu epidemic which laid low all the school’s decent athletes, that it had happened five years previously, and that my place lasted for just one match. If I were suddenly plucked from obscurity to be offered the post of Prime Minister I would probably refer to my experience teaching undergraduates - and feel it unnecessary to mention I did so at an FE college, rather than at Oxford or Harvard. I might allude to my managerial role as Head of Humanities and Course Director of the BA degree, without revealing that the Humanities section consisted of fewer than a dozen staff, and the undergraduate degree had only twenty students. However, I hope I would have the good sense to reject the offer and suggest they seek someone with outstanding achievements and proven competence.
I’m not suggesting that I’m in the same league as Conte: if he’s in the Championship, I belong in the second division of the Southern League. He may prove to have exceptional political skills but someone from the Premiership would be a safer bet. But, if his role is merely to provide a mask for Salvini and Di Maio, who better than someone whose very mediocrity embodies populism’s rejection of ‘elites’ and ‘experts’?
I've just re-read last year's cheery newsletter, and was interested to see how my gloomy predictions for 2017 compared with the way things actually turned out. As is customary for soothsayers with cloudy balls, some things went better than I'd foreseen, others worse.
To begin with the upside: neither Fillon nor Marie Le Pen won the French election. Although I'm not an admirer of his economic policies, I am heartened by Macron's commitment to greater European political unity. Admittedly his refusal to accept France's due quota of refugees raises some questions about his willingness to subordinate perceived national interests to the greater European good; however, it was very refreshing to hear a charismatic leader clearly identify the steps necessary to provide a secure future for Europe's citizens. Are you listening, Jeremy? More good news came from Holland with Wilders' defeat. And that's about it.
The AfD's support grew at the German elections and that of the two mainstream parties declined. At the time of posting, the attempt to form a "Jamaican coalition" having failed, Germany is still lacking a stable government. The only glimmer of hope is the rumour that Schulz may make a firm commitment by Merkel to greater European integration a necessary condition for the SPD's participation in a coalition government. Brexit staggers on and, despite Juncker offering to allow the UK to rescind clause 50, Sergio Romano's view that an EU without the English offers a real opportunity to move the European project forward is widely shared in continental Europe.
Last year I lamented the fact that our income had fallen by 13% owing to the fall in value of sterling thanks to Brexit. Now, because of the British negotiators' comical incompetence, and the consequent declining confidence in the pound, it's down by 20%.
To turn from misery caused by human folly to that bestowed by indifferent Nature: heavy snow falling continuously from January 15th to the 19th resulted in the deepest snow we have ever experienced. In our courtyard it almost reached the first floor windows of out neighbour Polonio's house, a drift around three metres deep:
The snow was too deep in the centro storico for the village snowplough to cope so all the residents had to dig a trench along the street:
Our car transformed itself into an igloo:
On the 22nd the Civil Defence arrived with heavy snowploughs and cleared the main roads whilst armies of young volunteers dug out the cars and cleared the snow from the centro storico by hand.
The snow was accompanied by a power cut which lasted for eighteen and a half hours, and 144 shocks above 2.0 on the Richter scale in one day, four of which were over 5 in the space of an hour causing the house to shake once again. We also had a day without running water: not a major problem as one only needed to go into the courtyard to scoop up a bucket of snow! Finally, a tornado blew the church clock from the tower.
Fortunately our friends Tony and Shona, who had come over to help us celebrate Pat's se***tieth birthday on the 30th December, left for England on the 5th of January the day the preceding snow fall arrived and so escaped being trapped. The birthday itself was very enjoyable. Together with Sophy and Adam, Candy and Quinn, Pat's sister, Deborah, and friends Tony and Shona and John and Jean we had an excellent meal at the Villa Funari in Servigliano:
As well as monthly get-to-gethers with local ex-pats in the village restaurant our lives have been brightened by vists from friends. My former colleague, Chris Bell stayed with us in May. We had an abortive trip together to Osimo to see an art exhibition: I'd managed to pick the gallery's closing day!
Our trip to Urbino three days later was more successful.
In October my old schoolfellow, Stephen Burrough and his charming French partner, Maryvonne., came to stay. I last saw Steve in 1961 when we studied A Level English together and were joint editors of the school magazine. Their visit coincided with the annual chestnut festival at a neighbouring village, Smerillo. I'd heard that one of its attractions, the Fesso - a dramatic cleft in a rock face dating back several million years - had been closed to the public since last year's earthquakes. However, I took Maryvonne down to see it on the off-chance it might be open. It was:
As we returned, making our way past the throng of people walking down the cliff towards the cleft, I noticed a placard lying on its side just before the footpath reached the Fesso. It read, 'By order of the mayor, it is strictly forbidden to proceed beyond this point.'
Their visit was immediately followed by one from our old friends Phil and Maggie who used to live in Smerillo before moving first to the Dordogne and then Nottinghamshire, before finally settling in Spain. Finally, Jane Fineren stayed with us for a few days in late November. Her holiday home had been declared unsafe after the earthquake and she came over to discuss its renovation with her architect and the local council.
I went over to the UK at the beginning of August to bring our grandson, Quinn, back for a holiday. His mother, Candy, joined us for the final week of the month accompanied by a friend, David. Contrary to our hopes - and James Duffy's maxim in Dubliners - their friendship is purely platonic. We had an excellent time including several trips to the seaside:
and events in the village:
But for Quinn the undoubted highlights were a trip to the tree-top walk at Ripatransone - he produced this film from the footage I shot -
and a visit to MotorPark at Campofilone where he and David went kart racing:
In July, Sophy very generously paid for our holiday in Matera to celebrate our Ruby Wedding. The trip was made possible by Tony and Shona very kindly offering to look after our dogs while we were in Basilicata. Matera will be European City of Culture in 2019 and deservedly so. We stayed in the district known as the Sassi which consists of gentrified cave-dwellings. In 1952, horrified by the inhabitants' living conditions - he declared the whole country should be ashamed - the then prime minister, De Gasperi, took steps to move them from their squalid homes into newly built council flats. Today, the caves have been rehabilitated and, furnished with mains drainage, running water and electricity have become extremely desirable residences. They give Matera a unique character. Le Marche, where we live, is full of beautiful towns and villages but they are all fairly similar to one another. To visit Matera is to experience something utterly different; paradoxically, the same effect that Dubai had on us on when we first visited the city.
A few weeks ago the clock was replaced in the San Pietro's church tower and its half hourly chimes ring out across the village once again. Repair work has begun on San Michele, the parish church damaged in last year's earthquake; Westminster has belatedly begun to exercise its sovereignty regarding Brexit's terms; and Sophy and Adam are spending Christmas with us this year. At last I begin to feel some glimmers of the hope traditionally associated with the season of goodwill. I hope you do too!
Apologies to all the faithful followers of my blog - two at the last count - who may have wondered why there have been no posts since December 2014. One reason was that most of my fading energy over the last two years went into my translation of Liverotto Uffreducci*; the other that I became tired of ineffectually brandishing my pen like a downmarket Lear and asking the winds to blow and crack their cheeks at the follies of ingrateful man.
However, having received many Christmas newsletters from friends detailing the interesting things they've been getting up to over the last twelve months I felt it would be churlish not to respond with a brief account of how Pat and I spent 2016.
I went to the UK three times: in April during Quinn's Easter holidays, in early August to bring Quinn over for three weeks' holiday, and in September for Matthew's fiftieth birthday party. As usual, I managed to lose something. In April I left my jacket and wallet at Matthew and Charlie's and Matthew had to make a trip to Candy's the following day to bring them back. In September I excelled myself by managing to lose my passport at Matthew's party. Fortunately, a friend found it in his car and I was able to pick it up the following day. James and his son Ollie came over from Australia for the party. His daughter, Ruby, who is on a French exchange, was also there as was Matthew's son, Josh. As Candy and Quinn were also at the party I was able to spend the evening with all four of my grandchildren. James and Ollie came over to spend a few days with us before heading back to Australia.
Although it was late September it was still warm enough for them to go swimming in the Adriatic. Candy came over for the last week of August to take Quinn home. He had a few riding lessons while he was here, but the undoubted highlight was the tree-walk at Ripatransone.
Pat went to visit Sophy and Adam in Dubai in March and Candy and Quinn twice: once in October and again in late November.
In July, together with seven English friends who live, or have holiday homes here, we helped run a week's English course for a dozen of the local children. The kids were great and we all had a good time. Whether they learned much is another matter! As always we've spent many an enjoyable evening with our friends who have holiday homes here although sadly, unlike last year when my old university friend, Mike, and my friend and former colleague, Chris, stayed with us, we haven't had any friends over from the UK. An English friend, Sue, who like us lives permanently in Montefalcone will be sharing Christmas lunch with us. Sophy and Adam arrive on the 28th ready for Pat's seventieth birthday celebrations, followed by Candy, Quinn, Pat's sister Deborah, and our friends Tony and Shona on the 29th.
In December, thanks to a very generous contribution at Christmas from Sophy and Adam, I bought an Apple Watch. Most purchasers are attracted by its fitness apps; I was interested in its enabling me to avoid pulling out my phone in situations - walking the dogs, shopping etc - where I'm likely to drop it. So I have my shopping list on my wrist, can control the music I listen to while walking the dogs from my wrist, and can set timers which vibrate on my wrist when I'm cooking: my increasing deafness means I rarely hear the inbuilt timer on the cooker. I can also send Pat a message from the watch asking her to put the kettle on when I'm about to return with the dogs from their afternoon walk. It also notifies me about major events and, on those rare occasions when they send one, about messages from friends or family. So I would recommend a smart watch to any of you who find advancing age brings advancing clumsiness. We also replaced the car this year. It was beginning to show its age, costing us almost €2,000 last year to have the clutch replaced. Although it's still a Subaru Forester, unlike its predecessor it has an automatic gearbox which took me some considerable time to get used to as, unlike Pat, I'd never driven an automatic before. I find it better than a manual for negotiating hairpin bends when going up hill as there's no danger of stalling, worse when going downhill as you can't control the speed via the gearbox (well you can if you select manual drive, but that's a step too far at present).
That's the good stuff; now for the bad. To begin with the trivial: in January I went to my GP to arrange a hearing test at the local hospital. When I arrived in Amandola the hospital seemed strangely deserted. On reaching reception I found a notice saying that the outpatient department was closed for the hospital's patronal festival! I returned in February and was told that the specialist wouldn't be available until March. I returned in March and was told the computer system for was down and it was therefore impossible to book a test. Foolishly, I gave up at that point. To move on to the serious: on June 26th, Brexit - causing our income to depreciate by around 13% thanks to sterling's fall in value against the euro, and probably heralding the collapse of the EU, our one chance of security in an increasingly unstable world; on August 24th, woken up in the night by the house being violently shaken by the earthquake which destroyed Amatrice and other villages, damaged the local hospital and killed 297 people; on 26th October while I was watching television in the evening, Pat was in the U.K., the metal anti-seismic ties in the sitting room began to writhe violently as the house was shaken by another powerful earthquake; on 30th October we had just woken up when an earthquake struck again, this time destroying Castelluccio, our local hospital and Saint Benedict's Basilica in Norcia; November 8th, Trump wins the US presidential election. 2016 is undoubtedly the worst year of my life since the end of the Second World War.
Sadly, 2017 may well be even worse, if not for me personally providing there are no more tremors and the pound stabilises, almost certainly for the world at large. In next year's elections France has a choice between Fillon, an avowed admirer of Thatcher whose economic plans include sacking half a million public sector workers, and Marie Le Pen who wishes to take France out of the EU.; Italy's leading contenders for power are the foul-mouthed Grillo, who wants Italy to ditch the euro, and Salvini, who shares Mussolini and Putin's penchant for being photographed half-naked and wants Italy to leave the EU; then there's Wilders in Holland; a threat to Merkel from the extreme right and so on. Trump will have assumed office and may well renege on NATO, leaving Europe's collection of petty 'sovereign' states to Putin's tender mercies. As Yeats put itso presciently, this Christmas instead of the Prince of Peace we're waiting for the rough beast to slouch towards Bethlehem to be born.
* Also available from the Apple iBook Store. Royalties go to Montefalcone's cultural association, Pro Loco 2000
Regular readers of this blog will have noticed, with relief, that I've posted far fewer items than usual this year. Paradoxically this is due to my logorrhea having increased rather than diminished. My translation of two texts about the Apennine Sibyl having been finally published this July, I've turned my attention to writing a history of Montefalcone and have got as far as 1849. As the market for this is even smaller than that for a book about the Sibyl I am intending to publish it as an ebook, using Apple's iBooks Author app. Once that's done, I'll think about doing a Kindle version for those sad souls who don't possess an iPad.
Pat as usual visited the UK several times: in November she saw a performance by the Vienna Riding School at Wembley Arena. In September she stayed with Laurie and Steve at their home in Boston, Massachusetts. In contrast, I've steered clear of John Bull's island - and his former north american colony - completely this year, though I guess I'll have to venture over next year to get some new glasses. In July Pat and I went to Ravenna for a couple of days to celebrate our third-seventh wedding anniversary. The mosaics were marvellous, the ubiquitous cyclists a pain in the backside.
However the lack of travel has been more than compensated by our having visitors. Chris Bell came over in June, lured by my promise that the month is always sunny in Italy. It rained most of the time he was here; maybe I should have gone into politics or advertising. Candy & Quinn fared better when they came over in August. Maggie and Phil came to stay in September, and kept me company while Pat was on one of her trips to England. As always, the day boys - Tony and Shona, John and Judy, and Jane - were entertaining company. Our neighbours Norman and Jayne have sold their holiday flat to another English couple, Keith and Elaine, who seem very pleasant. They both worked in FE - Keith ending up as principal of Bristol College, a large FE conglomerate in the eponymous city.
On a sadder note, our friend and builder, Peppe Alessandroni, passed away in July. And, as I write, Sophy and Adam, having spent a few days with us, are on their way to his sister's in England for Christmas. Candy, who has just started a new job as Marketing Manager for a housing association, and Quinn are unable to come over this year, so Pat and I will spend Christmas on our own for the first time for many years.
This year we're having a traditional English Christmas dinner - a goose, not a turkey as the semi-literate idiots who are currently writing and producing the Archers seem to believe. One of the soap's characters having stated erroneously that A Christmas Carol featured a turkey, I was interested to see how Carol Tregorran's reading from the story at the Grundys' Christmas Turkey Pardon would pan out. Obviously someone alerted them in time, as the reading stopped short before we got to Scrooge ordering a goose for the Cratchetts. Which, of course, made the reading pointless.
And, of course, folly is widespread as this year's European elections showed. And the europhobic poison is spreading to Italy. The potty-mouthed comedian, Grillo's, anti-euro Five Star Movement attracted a fair number of votes. The racist Northern League, under its new leader Salvini has changed from working for a federal Italy or an independent northern Italy within the EU, to wanting to withdraw from the EU. He's allied himself with Marie Le Pen in the European Parliament. Fortunately, anti-EU sentiment is not endemic in Italy and the pro-EU PD increased its share of the vote at the European elections. I note that Cameron has pulled a masterstroke in The UK by proposing that Scottish MPs should no longer have a vote on matters relating solely to England. So a Tory majority for ever: kiss goodbye to the NHS and the BBC as those two organisations, subject to constant vilification in the tabloid press, are sold of to his chums. At least in Italy corruption is out in the open, in the UK unless you subscribe to Private Eye you think it doesn't exist.
On second thoughts, perhaps I'll pass on next year's visit to the UK.
Although my heart quite liked the idea of Scottish independence, my head told me it would be disastrous for the interests of the ordinary Englishman or Englishwoman. Without its Scottish contingent Labour would never have sufficient MPs to form a Westminster government.
A few months ago some political commentators claimed that Assad quietly supported Islamic State terrorists infiltrating the Syrian opposition forces, counting on their presence to weaken American opposition to his regime. The volte-face has occurred, whether or not Assad was actually engaged in the machiavellian manoeuvres attributed to him. I naively wondered whether Cameron had a similar strategy: secretly working for Scottish independence, whilst publicly opposing it, in order to ensure a permanent Tory majority at Westminster.
His speech, this morning, welcoming the Scottish voters' rejection of independence, stripped the wool from my eyes as I realised that he was playing a far deeper game. One which involved Labour and the Lib Dems as his unwitting stooges. As part of the attempt to persuade the Scots to say no to independence, all three English parliamentary parties promised greater devolution of powers to Edinburgh. And the logical quid pro quo? Cameron revealed it this morning: acting to settle the West Lothian question. If the Scots are to control their internal affairs without English interference, justice requires that they can't interfere in ours. The undercover privatisation of the English NHS can continue apace without the Tories having to worry about Labour having sufficient English MPs to resist the process - ever.
My despair was complete when the BBC followed their broadcast of Cameron's speech by interviewing Farage, the leader of the "Turkeys, Vote for Christmas" party. My sole consolation: as it's still part of the UK, the English can always protect themselves from Dave and Nick's Brave New World by moving to Scotland.
Europhobes claim to be opposed to rule by 'unelected bureaucrats from Brussels'. In reality, of course, those bureaucrats are answerable to the European Commission and the European Council: the former made up of commissioners nominated by the democratically elected governments of the EU's member states, the latter composed of the heads of those self-same governments. However the most directly democratic European institution is the European Parliament, elected by universal suffrage across the EU. And, after the 2014 election, it was the democratically elected parliament, rather than the European Council, which was supposed to choose the next President of the European Commission. A step towards greater democratic accountability one would have thought.
Here's David Cameron's take on the change as reported in Tuesday's Corriere della Sera - strangely, I could find no mention of his statement in the British press, so can't quote him in the original English. I guess its logical absurdity would have been apparent to even the dimmest eurosceptic:
… cedere potere al Parlamento europeo, riconoscendogli la possibilità di esprimere un suo candidato, vuol dire innescare un processo irreversible. [… to cede power to the European Parliament, allowing it the possibility of choosing its own candidate, means sparking off an irreversible process.]
One which would lead to greater democracy, but which is fiercely opposed by Cameron and the other self-proclaimed opponents of rule by unelected Brussels bureaucrats.
A clue to what lay behind his topsey-turvey logic can be found in yesterday's Corriere which contained the following statement by the former Vice-President of the European Commission, Antonio Tajani:
Nell’Europarlamento non c’è mai stata una maggioranza precostituita, ma una la si è sempre trovata. E l’Europarlamento, come unica istituzione Ue eletta dai cittadini, ha una grande responsabilità: quella di consolidare appunto l’Europa dei cittadini, non dei banchieri, delle lobby. [There has never been a pre-established majority in the European Parliament, but one is always found eventually. And the European Parliament, the only one of the EU's institutions to be directly elected by its citizens, has a great responsibility: that of strengthening a Europe which represents its citizens rather than bankers or lobbyists.]
It's no wonder that Cameron, Farage, Le Pen and Salvini are opposed to a European Parliament which could threaten the interests they front. The pity is that they have persuaded so many ordinary people to reject the one European institution which could possibly protect their interests.
