MILAN — Politics is a show, and every country has its favorite. The United States is bringing on yet another Hollywood classic (the aging action hero, the desert, the border, the money). France is offering its periodic re-enactment of its Revolution, with gilets jaunes replacing sans-culottes. Germany’s national orchestra is saying goodbye to an exhausted chancellor/conductor. Britain is deep into a Shakespearean tragedy of its own creation: to leave or not to leave Europe…?
And what about Italy? It’s a music festival, of course.
The Italian Song Festival (Festival della Canzone Italiana) is held annually in Sanremo, a quaint seaside resort near the French border, and is by far the most popular television event of the year. This year it will be broadcast live between Feb. 5 and Feb. 9. Held since 1951, it is used for picking the Italian entry to the Eurovision Song Contest and today it attracts more than 12 million viewers — more than half of the country’s TV audience. It combines a song contest with some comedy and a few handsomely paid international guests. Advertisers scramble to squeeze their products into five days of prime-time broadcasts.
But Sanremo, as it is known, is far more than a song contest. It’s a national gathering, like the Academy Awards in the United States. It’s a truce in quarrelsome times. It’s predictable and reassuring. The young like to trash it live on social media, but they too watch it, and talk about little else for days. That is why I’ve accepted an invitation to join the festival’s giuria degli esperti (experts jury), which includes writers, actors and film directors (Sanremo’s organizers didn’t know I was planning to write about them, of course). But watching the Barnum from the inside? How could I say no? It’ll be a master’s degree in political science, anthropology and social studies — all in a few days.
Sanremo’s presenter — and artistic director — changes regularly. Last year and again this year both roles have fallen to a soft-spoken pop singer in his 60s, Claudio Baglioni. His 1972 song “Questo Piccolo Grande Amore” (“This Little Great Love”), lamenting a young man’s obsession about his unattainable beloved in her ultrathin T-shirt, is still an unofficial national anthem; every Italian can sing along with it. On Jan. 9, during the preview news conference, Mr. Baglioni answered a question about immigration. It’s a sensitive topic; the populist government is openly fighting it. He complained that the public mood has turned “nasty.” He said that this government, just like the previous ones, is mismanaging immigration, this time allowing a”a farce” by leaving 50 asylum-seekers at sea for 19 days. (They were finally brought to shore the same day by the Maltese Coast Guard and will be distributed across nine European Union nations).
All hell broke loose. The director and presenter was crucified on social media, government ministers attacked him and state television executives voiced their disapproval. Matteo Salvini, Italy’s interior minister and leader of the anti-immigration League, said: “I like Claudio Baglioni when he sings, not when he gives political speeches.”
Italy split — not along traditional party lines, but in more imaginative, unexpected ways. Sanremo’s old devotees argued for freedom of expression, even though they had voted for the populist parties, Mr. Baglioni’s fans defended him, and scores of pop singers — rarely heard on these topics — passionately took sides. Political pundits who can’t tell the difference between a refrain and a remix wrote thoughtful columns. For a few days Italy was transformed into a huge debating society. Until everyone got fed up and started arguing about something else.
A country where immigration is discussed because of a song contest but not in Parliament? Is that worrying? Actually it’s quite interesting, and somewhat refreshing.
Italy is indeed in a new mode. The 2018 election winners — the Five Star Movement and the League — approved a painful budget, after a long hassle with the European Union Commission — and are jockeying for position before the European election (May 23 to 26). They disagree about most things, from self-defense to infrastructure, vaccination to immigration. But the League, which received 17 percent of the vote in the 2018 election, is booming, and is now credited with a stunning 36 percent of public support. By contrast, its governmental partner, Five Star, is losing pace, down from 33 percent to 26 percent, as Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte whispered to Germany’s chancellor, Angela Merkel, in Davos on Jan. 23. Luigi Di Maio, its young leader, is worried and confused. After praising France’s president, Emmanuel Macron, at the end of 2017 (“The Five Star Movement believes deeply, just like you, in Europe’s refoundation”), on Jan. 8 he posted his praise for, and even offered logistical support to, the Yellow Vests in France: “Yours is the same spirit that has animated the Five Star Movement and thousands of Italians since our birth in 2009.”
But, like an embarrassed spouse, his colleague Mr. Salvini was quick to point out that the Italian government is against violence.
And so are Italians, it must be said.
To many foreigners, Italy may look and sound like an endless festival. But this noisy, messy, passionate discussion actually keeps the nation together, especially at times like this. A new migrants’ crisis is taking place over a boat carrying 47 people that has been prevented from docking in Sicily. People shout and argue and many say unpleasant things. But they don’t clash in the street or hate each other. Social tensions in France, Britain and the United States run higher. We have no Yellow Vests in Italy, no Brexit-like psychodrama, no shutdowns and no walls. To be sure, we are arguing again about boats with migrants. But our national pressure cooker is fitted with a valve so that political steam is slowly and safely released. It’s an orchestra of finely tuned humanity, even if that humanity sometimes rises alarmingly in pitch.
For Italians, even disharmony is a sign of sanity, decency and, most important, joie de vivre. And no populist government can change that.
Beppe Severgnini is the editor in chief of Corriere della Sera’s magazine 7, the author of “La Bella Figura: A Field Guide to the Italian Mind” and the forthcoming “Off the Rails: A Train Trip Through Life,” and a contributing opinion writer.
Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram.
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Home » Analysis & Comment » Opinion | Italy’s Strength: Comfort in Disharmony
Opinion | Italy’s Strength: Comfort in Disharmony
MILAN — Politics is a show, and every country has its favorite. The United States is bringing on yet another Hollywood classic (the aging action hero, the desert, the border, the money). France is offering its periodic re-enactment of its Revolution, with gilets jaunes replacing sans-culottes. Germany’s national orchestra is saying goodbye to an exhausted chancellor/conductor. Britain is deep into a Shakespearean tragedy of its own creation: to leave or not to leave Europe…?
And what about Italy? It’s a music festival, of course.
The Italian Song Festival (Festival della Canzone Italiana) is held annually in Sanremo, a quaint seaside resort near the French border, and is by far the most popular television event of the year. This year it will be broadcast live between Feb. 5 and Feb. 9. Held since 1951, it is used for picking the Italian entry to the Eurovision Song Contest and today it attracts more than 12 million viewers — more than half of the country’s TV audience. It combines a song contest with some comedy and a few handsomely paid international guests. Advertisers scramble to squeeze their products into five days of prime-time broadcasts.
But Sanremo, as it is known, is far more than a song contest. It’s a national gathering, like the Academy Awards in the United States. It’s a truce in quarrelsome times. It’s predictable and reassuring. The young like to trash it live on social media, but they too watch it, and talk about little else for days. That is why I’ve accepted an invitation to join the festival’s giuria degli esperti (experts jury), which includes writers, actors and film directors (Sanremo’s organizers didn’t know I was planning to write about them, of course). But watching the Barnum from the inside? How could I say no? It’ll be a master’s degree in political science, anthropology and social studies — all in a few days.
Sanremo’s presenter — and artistic director — changes regularly. Last year and again this year both roles have fallen to a soft-spoken pop singer in his 60s, Claudio Baglioni. His 1972 song “Questo Piccolo Grande Amore” (“This Little Great Love”), lamenting a young man’s obsession about his unattainable beloved in her ultrathin T-shirt, is still an unofficial national anthem; every Italian can sing along with it. On Jan. 9, during the preview news conference, Mr. Baglioni answered a question about immigration. It’s a sensitive topic; the populist government is openly fighting it. He complained that the public mood has turned “nasty.” He said that this government, just like the previous ones, is mismanaging immigration, this time allowing a”a farce” by leaving 50 asylum-seekers at sea for 19 days. (They were finally brought to shore the same day by the Maltese Coast Guard and will be distributed across nine European Union nations).
All hell broke loose. The director and presenter was crucified on social media, government ministers attacked him and state television executives voiced their disapproval. Matteo Salvini, Italy’s interior minister and leader of the anti-immigration League, said: “I like Claudio Baglioni when he sings, not when he gives political speeches.”
Italy split — not along traditional party lines, but in more imaginative, unexpected ways. Sanremo’s old devotees argued for freedom of expression, even though they had voted for the populist parties, Mr. Baglioni’s fans defended him, and scores of pop singers — rarely heard on these topics — passionately took sides. Political pundits who can’t tell the difference between a refrain and a remix wrote thoughtful columns. For a few days Italy was transformed into a huge debating society. Until everyone got fed up and started arguing about something else.
A country where immigration is discussed because of a song contest but not in Parliament? Is that worrying? Actually it’s quite interesting, and somewhat refreshing.
Italy is indeed in a new mode. The 2018 election winners — the Five Star Movement and the League — approved a painful budget, after a long hassle with the European Union Commission — and are jockeying for position before the European election (May 23 to 26). They disagree about most things, from self-defense to infrastructure, vaccination to immigration. But the League, which received 17 percent of the vote in the 2018 election, is booming, and is now credited with a stunning 36 percent of public support. By contrast, its governmental partner, Five Star, is losing pace, down from 33 percent to 26 percent, as Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte whispered to Germany’s chancellor, Angela Merkel, in Davos on Jan. 23. Luigi Di Maio, its young leader, is worried and confused. After praising France’s president, Emmanuel Macron, at the end of 2017 (“The Five Star Movement believes deeply, just like you, in Europe’s refoundation”), on Jan. 8 he posted his praise for, and even offered logistical support to, the Yellow Vests in France: “Yours is the same spirit that has animated the Five Star Movement and thousands of Italians since our birth in 2009.”
But, like an embarrassed spouse, his colleague Mr. Salvini was quick to point out that the Italian government is against violence.
And so are Italians, it must be said.
To many foreigners, Italy may look and sound like an endless festival. But this noisy, messy, passionate discussion actually keeps the nation together, especially at times like this. A new migrants’ crisis is taking place over a boat carrying 47 people that has been prevented from docking in Sicily. People shout and argue and many say unpleasant things. But they don’t clash in the street or hate each other. Social tensions in France, Britain and the United States run higher. We have no Yellow Vests in Italy, no Brexit-like psychodrama, no shutdowns and no walls. To be sure, we are arguing again about boats with migrants. But our national pressure cooker is fitted with a valve so that political steam is slowly and safely released. It’s an orchestra of finely tuned humanity, even if that humanity sometimes rises alarmingly in pitch.
For Italians, even disharmony is a sign of sanity, decency and, most important, joie de vivre. And no populist government can change that.
Beppe Severgnini is the editor in chief of Corriere della Sera’s magazine 7, the author of “La Bella Figura: A Field Guide to the Italian Mind” and the forthcoming “Off the Rails: A Train Trip Through Life,” and a contributing opinion writer.
Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram.
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