THE JOY OF THEIR LIFE:

New Zealand Listener, Volume 5, Issue 127, 28 November 1941, Page 6

THE JOY OF THEIR LIFE:

Written for "The Listener" by

ALEXANDER

SCHWARZ

OR twenty years the life of the people in Italy was not very, joyful. Wars and economic crises followed each other in rotation and the rigid regimentation of the Fascist regime did not appeal to the taste of the Italians. But on the tenth of June of 1940 at six o’clock in the evening, Mussolini announced from the balcony of the famous Palazzo Venezia that he "was giving them (the people of Italy) -THE JOY OF THEIR LIFE ... TO GO TO WAR AGAINST BRITAIN .. ." These were his actual words. Well, joy is a good thing and everybody likes it, particularly in Italy, but the trouble is that the Italian people have a different conception of joy from that of their "joy-supplier." They did not show the great delight and enthusiasm which their leader expected from them. In one word they did not consume this new kind of joy. The crowd of forty thousand welldrilled blackshirts shouted deliriously when they heard the declaration of war from the Palazzo Venezia, but the millions of factory workers in the industrial, north, in the big industrial centres of Torino, Genoa, Milano, Ferrara, and Bologna listened sullenly to the speech relayed through the loudspeakers. There was no shouting, no smiles, and no JOY. The listening-in was compulsory, and so they had to come and listen in, but joy cannot be made ‘compulsory. Pale faces, soundless mutterings, and mute curses were the only reaction of the masses. Not one EVIVA, not one DU-CE. ... Wordless the crowd dispersed. The atmosphere like chilly autumn wind. Three Wars And-Then Another This was the kind of joy.that the Italian people received after seventeen

years of the Fascist regime of cut wages, unemployment, starvation, and terrorism. Two major and one smaller war within four years. There were more women mourning in the villages and towns than at any other period in the history of Italy. War cripples and wounded all over the country, and now they were told to take the joy of their life in the form of a bloody World War against the English who were their friends from time immemorial, and the most popular foreigners in Italy. Between 1925 and 1932 I used to go every year for two or three weeks to Italy. There is no better country in the world to spend one’s summer holidays. It is a beautiful country, and the simple people are friendly, hospitable, and always ready for a good laugh. But the longer the Fascist Regime lasted the longer the faces of the people became. You do not see very much of the real Italy if you go there for a short tour and visit only the larger cities, which are more or less eyewash for the foreign tourist. The largest industry in Italy is the hotel industry, depending on American and British visitors mostly. This gives the appearance of prosperity to the Italian cities, but if you scratch the thin surface of glamour, you get a very different picture even in the towns. But I want to speak here about a. completely different world in Italy, that is the rural Italy with its millions of poor cafonis. Landless Millions Something like thirty million’ souls make up the rural population of the land where the lemons blossom, and over ninety per cent. of these are landless. The land is owned by the signoris, that is the landowners, mostly members of the Italian aristocracy, hence Italy must be regarded as a semi-feudal country from the economical point of view. The ownership of the land is not based upon the efficiency of the owner but on privilege. This is one of the cancers of that fine country.

The rest of the agricultural population are the cafonis, the landless agricultural wage-earners. Although they own usually a small house which is more often than not just a hovel, and vegetable garden, which could be covered by the shadow of the couple of donkeys, their main income comes from the wages earned by cultivating the estates of the signoris, supplemented by the money sent by some member of the family who has emigrated to the United States or South America. Road building, work in the quarries (especially in the South), and fishing, are the sources of income for the rest of the cafonis. Their life is hard, with long hours of work-14 to 16 hours daily-and very low wages (a couple of shillings per day). Such is the frugal and humble life of the Italian peasants. No Escape to Paradise In spite of all these hardships, they were perhaps the most contented people in Europe. A glass of thin red wine, some cheese, and a slice of bread after a long day of hard work made them quite happy and cheerful. But when the Fascist regime drew the ropes tighter and tighter, Italy became a prison for her people. There was no more emigration to America, which is Paradise in the eyes of every cafoni. Emigration has been prohibited except for a very few. The same applied to those who used to go to France, Switzerland, and to other Continental countries seeking work at road building. Then no cafoni was allowed to leave his village without the written and stamped permit of the podesta, who used to be the Mayor, but is now merely a trustworthy member of the Fascist Party. The cafonis were completely at the mercy of the local signoris, who did not lose much time in reducing wages below the breadline. The cafonis were absolutely helpless, they could not even go to the next village to try to find work, for the podesta gave permits only to the very few enthusiastic

supporters of their enslavers, and the rest were reduced to actual slavery. This is what the Corporative State means for the millions of mute sufferers in Italy. What the Tourist Doesn’t See I have spent many weeks tramping in Italy, walking from village to village in the north, and in the south from Trieste to. Brindisi, and from Palermo to Messina in Sicily. I have seen nothing but misery and desperate faces from coast to coast. Hopeless bitterness in the once rich and happy Lombardy, curses and superstitious anger in Umbria and in the south, and naked, utter poverty in Sicily. This is the picture of that other world in Italy which the tourist does not get to see, for he is blinded by the glorious architecture and the art of the Renaissance masters. If you want to see the real Italy, or perhaps the underground Italy, you have to forget about the modern, comfortable, and speedy vehicles of the twentieth century and walk along the dusty, remote village roads of Sicily, Umbria, and the Abruzzos. There you will see the poverty-stricken, desperate people who regard the Fascist regime as the rule of Antichrist. If you are a doctor you will also. see the traces of a dreadful disease caused by poverty and under-nourishment; the pellagra. You will see people in rags and barefooted. I remember once hiking for weeks in Sicily and I did not meet one person with shoes on his feet. All were barefooted, but not because they liked it, but because the Fascist regime needs the money for the glittering false glamour of the Army. For food they have polenta in the morning and polenta in the evening. It is the cheapest food (Continued on next page)

Mussolini’s *Gift’’ To His People

(Continued from previous page) in the world — roughly ground maize boiled in hot water. For three hundred and fifty days in the year, twice daily, this is the stuff which feeds the heroes of the Duce. From Tarviso in the north sto Faggia in the south if you ask any cafoni how things are he will answer with just one sentence: " grand miseria, signore, grand miseria." Opposition is Growing But sometimes one can see something else than mere mute resignation. Although all political organised resistance has been crushed by the brutal methods of the Duce, spontaneous and permanent struggle goes on in the villages. This resistance is not yet strong enough to overthrow the regime, but it is increasing daily; it will gather strength and momentum till the reckoning day. The whole Italian people, the workers and the peasants, are against the Fascist Government. Even in the Fascist Party there are tens of thousands of disillusioned and disappointed men and women who have seen their ideals frustrated by the corrupt regime. The peace-loving people of Italy have nothing but hatred for the Blackshirts, who have brought war after war with incredible sufferings and miseries for the masses. The democratic, freedom-loving spirit is deeprooted in Italy. In every village they will talk to you about Garibaldi. Their greatest treasure in the world is a scarlet shirt worn by some of their grandfathers serving in the famous Garibaldi Redshirt

Brigade. In many villages they keep these old worn-out, sometimes bulletholed, red shirts like precious religious relics and kiss them with tears in their eyes. The memory of Garibaldi’s freedom army is more alive than it was 50 years ago. The Italians are not cowards, they can fight, if it is for real freedom and the rights of the people. But they have nothing but contempt for the Blackshirts. The Battle of The Walls The gaols of Italy are crowded with anti-Fascists, and thousands have. been deported to the notorious Lipari Islands. Thousands have been killed by the Blackshirts. But the struggle does not stop. On the contrary it is getting sharper. One has just to keep one’s eyes open to see the signs everywhere. I remember once in Naples, I think it was in 1931, there was a virtual battle of the walls. The official Fascist Party covered the walls of the city with propaganda posters as big as an elephant having written on them " Eviva Il Duce" and below "Eviva Il Guerra,’ with the big swollen face of the Duce glaring down upon you, in tin hat, and a martial look that made you shiver. But during the nights nearly all of these placards were torn down by the silent working antiFascists, even from very high walls, and written -across them you would see " Abasso il Duce, abasso il guerra," (down with the Duce, down with war). This went on for days and weeks. As

the posters were replaced in daytime, so they were besmirched and torn down during the nights. I went one morning to the beautiful San Martino (this is a fairly high hill overlooking the whole city and Bay of Naples). There is a fine old church and museum on the top of the hill. Very high walls and a still higher stone archgate separate the museum from the rest of the world. Around the gate at the entrance there are usually half a dozen Blackshirts lingering watching the public. Above the head of the sentry on the top of the 40 foot high stone gate I saw written in big black letters: " Dove Matteoti?" (Where is Matteoti?) Matteoti was one of the most popular anti-Fascist leaders and was murdered 15 years ago in the most abominable way at the order of the Duce. But his memory is alive among the people and his name haunts the Fascists. How they managed to get the script there, on the high walls watched by a guard, I do not know, but it proves their resourcefulness. All over the Peninsula from the Alps to the end of Sicily, these sentences appear every morning afresh, written by unskilled hands in big awkwardlooking letters with charcoal, in the towns and in the villagés, on the walls of factories and farm houses, even on the rocks of the Alps: " Abasso Il Duce, Abasso Il Guerra." There is perhaps no Government in the whole world which is hated more intensely. The " Glorious campaigns " in Abyssinia, Spain, Albania,

Libya, and now against Russia will hurry on the revolution in Italy. The internal tension is incomparable-greater than in Germany or any other country overrun by the Nazis or Fascists, The Fascist terror, and limitless exploitation of the people, broke the morale and unity of the Italian people long before the war started; the defeats of Albania, Abyssinia, and Libya have-dis-integrated the spirit of the Italian army; and the powerful blows at Taranto and in the Aegean, economically and militarily. One or two more heavy blows and the whole fabric will collapse.