[After George F. Babbitt, the main character in the novel Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis.]
Ok, let's summarize it.
The guy in the photo, Mr. Cosimo Mele, is an Italian MP representing the center-right party UDC (Union of Christian and Centre Democrats). UDC is, even if small, the main party which slavish represents the ideas and the ideals of the catholic hierarchy in the Italian parliament. Thereby, UDC MPs present themselves as the champions of christian family values and christian morality in the Italian Parliament and have passed laws which
- incentive or protect a family model which is strictly based on the catholic view, banning any official approval of any other form of family, which is not based on a regular (and possibly catholic) marriage;
- introduce severe punishments not only for the sale of dope , but also for the possession of even small quantities of dope without distinction between "strong" and "light" (for example cannabis) dope;
- make prostitution illegal (but punishing the prostitutes and not the customers).
UDC party representatives lead a fight to "moralize" the Italian Parliament too and they have repeatedly stated that "dope addicted people cannot write and pass laws, prostitutes' customers cannot talk about family, children and human rights"
Mr. Mele, this new Cato the Censor, distinguished himself for statements avocating the need to protect "our" christian values and for signing a law proposal to publicly denounce the usage of dope made by senators and MPs.
Now, it happens that a couple of days ago the gossip scene of this trashy Italian summer has been shaken by a sordid story involving politics, dope and prostitution. An escort girl had to be medically treated in a hospital in Rome, after abusing of cocaine and alcohol during a sex party in a 5 stars hotel, which was attended by another prostitute and by an Italian MP.
Alas, after two days of rumors, Mr. Cosimo Mele was forced to address the press and admit the he is the involved MP. Subsequently, he resigned as MP of UDC, "in order to avoid a press campaign against the UDC". His resignation was promptly accepted by UDC secretary Lorenzo Cesa, who interestingly motivated it with the incompatibility of Mele's customs with the party values. Even more interesting and sad is that the clever Mr. Mele did resign as UDC MP, but not as MP at all, which means that he will simply keep sitting in the Italian Parliament, doing the shit he was doing before.
This story happens just a couple of week after Mr. Gustavo Selva, a former fascist now senator of the right-wing party AN (National Alliance), made show of suffering an heart attack, in order to use an ambulance to avoid the chaotic traffic of Rome and quickly reach a tv studio, where he was scheduled for an interview (see the whole story in the blog of my friend Mattia). Mr. Selva announced triumphant on the tv screens, that he had tricked the doctors and "hijacked" the ambulance to reach the tv studio in time for the interview. Following the initial roaring polemics (including the critics of his party colleagues), Mr. Selva had announced his resignation from his seat in the senate, but he has lately made clear that he will simply leave his former party, in order to become a senator for Silvio Berlusconi's party Forza Italia, where his "sins" are minimal compared to the ones of Forza Italia's Senators and MPs involved in mafia or corruption affairs...
This display of public virtues and hidden practice of private vices is so intrinsically Italian, but it still makes me very sad and angry. Some years ago it was sung by one of the IMHO best Italian rappers, Frankie Hi-NRG, in his famous song "Quelli che bensano", a title which might be translated into English as " The babbitts". I played this song in my music player, immediately after reading the news regarding Mr. Mele....
Frankie Hi-NRG - "Quelli che benpensano" (1997)
Sono intorno a noi, in mezzo a noi, in molti casi siamo noi a far promesse senza mantenerle mai se non per calcolo, il fine è solo l'utile, il mezzo ogni possibile, la posta in gioco è massima, l'imperativo è vincere - e non far partecipare nessun altro - nella logica del gioco la sola regola è esser scaltro : niente scrupoli o rispetto verso i propri simili perché gli ultimi saranno gli ultimi se i primi sono irraggiungibili. Sono tanti, arroganti coi più deboli, zerbini coi potenti, sono replicanti, sono tutti identici, guardali : stanno dietro a maschere e non li puoi distinguere. Come lucertole s'arrampicano, e se poi perdon la coda la ricomprano. Fanno quel che vogliono si sappia in giro fanno: spendono, spandono e sono quel che hanno...
Sono intorno a me ma non parlano con me... Sono come me ma si sentono meglio...
.. e come le supposte abitano in blisters full-optional, con cani oltre i 120 decibels e nani manco fosse Disneyland, vivon col timore di poter sembrare poveri : quel che hanno ostentano, tutto il resto invidiano, poi lo comprano, in costante escalation col vicino costruiscono : parton dal pratino e vanno fino in cielo, han più parabole sul tetto che S.Marco nel Vangelo.. Sono quelli che di sabato lavano automobili che alla sera sfrecciano tra l'asfalto e i pargoli, medi come i ceti cui appartengono, terra-terra come i missili cui assomigliano. Tiratissimi, s'infarinano, s'alcolizzano e poi s'impastano su un albero - boom! - Nasi bianchi come Fruit of the Loom che diventano più rossi d'un livello di Doom..
Ognun per se, Dio per se, mani che si stringono tra i banchi delle chiese alla domenica - mani ipocrite - mani che fan cose che non si raccontano altrimenti le altre mani chissà cosa pensano - si scandalizzano - Mani che poi firman petizioni per lo sgombero, mani lisce come olio di ricino, mani che brandiscon manganelli, che farciscono gioielli, che si alzano alle spalle dei fratelli. Quelli che la notte non si può girare più, quelli che vanno a mignotte mentre i figli guardan la tv, che fanno i boss, che compran Class, che son sofisticati da chiamare i NAS, incubi di plastica che vorrebbero dar fuoco ad ogni zingara ma l'unica che accendono è quella che da loro l'elemosina ogni sera, quando mi nascondo sulla faccia oscura della loro luna nera..
An English translation could beThey're all around us, among us, in many cases we are the ones making promises that we never keep, unless for selfish reasons. The only end is usefulness, the means are every possibility, the stakes as high as can be, and winning is an imperative - and don't give anybody else a chance to participate. In the logic of this game, the only rule is being shrewd: no scruples, no respect for others because the last ones will remain the last if the first are inaccessible. They are many of them, arrogant with the weakest, servile with the powerful, they are replicants (1), they are all identical, look at them: they hide behind masks and they're indistinguishable. They climb upwards like lizards, and if they lose their tail, they buy a new one. They do what they want so that people will know what they've done: they spend money, spread money, they are what they own....
Chorus:
They are all around me, but they don't speak to me.... They are like me, but they feel better than me.... (x2)
... and just like suppositories, they live in fully-optioned blisters, with dogs louder than 120 decibels and more dwarves than in Disneyland, they live with the fear of looking poor: they show what they have, all the rest they lust after, then they buy, in constant escalation with their neighbor: from the lawn up to the sky, they have more satellite dishes (2) on their roofs than Mark has parables in Gospel.... They are those who wash their cars on Saturdays and then spend the evenings scorching the asphalt and hitting little kids, they are average (3), like the class they're part of, they are ground-ground(4) like the missiles they look like. Uptight, they cover themselves in powder (5), soaked in alcohol and then they smash themselves against a tree - BOOM! - Noses white as Fruit of the Loom that become redder than a level of Doom (6).
Chorus:
They are all around me, but they don't speak to me.... They are like me, but they feel better than me.... (x2)
Each one out for himself, keeping God for himself, holding hands across the church pews on Sundays - hypocritical hands - hands that do things you don't talk about, in fear the other hands might talk - what a scandal - hands that then sign petitions for expulsions (7), hands as smooths as castor oil (8), hands that wield billy clubs, hands that stuff their pockets with jewelry, hands that climb on the back of their brothers. Those that say, it's no longer safe to walk at night, those who go with a whore while their sons watch TV, those who act like the boss man, those that buy "Class" (9), those who are so sophisticated they call the NAS (10), plastic nightmares, those who would like to set every gypsy woman on fire, but the only ones they turn on is those who give them charity each night, when I hide myself on the dark side of their Black Moon (11).
NOTES:
(1) A reference to the movie "Blade Runner," but also a play on words: "replicante" means somebody who copies the doings of someone else.
(2) A pun on the Italian word "parabola": a television satellite dish and Christ's stories from the Bible.
(3) The word "medi" refers to the middle class, as well as someone or something considered dull or average.
(4) "Terra-terra" is an expression sued to describe somebody that is not not so smart and interested only in material matters. It is also used to for ground-to-ground missiles.
(5) While "s'infarinano" literally means "They cover themselves in flour," it actually refers to snorting cocaine.
(6) A computer game showing lots of blood and violence.
(7) In some neighborhoods, petitions are circulated for the expulsion (sgombero) of squatters and immigrants.
(8) Black-shirts (camice nere) of the historic Fascist regime forced their enemies to drink castor oil.
(9) "Class" is an Italian "lifestyle" magazine, a mix of "Playboy," "Max," and "Fortune."
(10) NAS stands for "Nuclei Anti Sofisticazione," an anti-drug branch of the Italian carabinieri or state police.
(11) "La Zingara" (The Gypsy Woman) was an Italian television game show where a gypsy woman dealt cards to contestants who, in turn, answered questions with the hope of winning money. The "Luna Nera" (Black Moon) was a bad luck card. There's a double meaning in the line "set every gypsy woman on fire, but the only ones they turn on is ...." According to Frankie, it means both "switch on that TV show AND set the gypsy woman on fire, as Italian fascists set gipsy caravan homes on fire." T
And finally, here you can see the videoclip and hear the song.
Andrea
