Reflections of My Italian Experience - Part 2

We traveled throughout Italy, around 30 of us students and faculty, from Rome to Florence and Sienna; from Rome to Naples and Pompeii; from the Amalfi coastline to the most southern spots in the heel of the boot, Lecce, Gallipoli, and Otranto. Most of the time I did not notice the hot summer sun; in fact, I don’t believe it rained at all during the entire month. But I was too enthralled with the whole experience to care about the heat. To look out of the window of the bus at the rich Tuscan countryside covered with beautiful vineyards, the castles and fortified towns at the tops of great hills, the miles of olive trees or the steep cliffs that dropped into the Mediterranean could have only been more breathtaking had we been allowed to stop and run through them.

There were some desolate places along the way, poor neighborhoods in Rome and Naples, deserted farms in the country, and some places destroyed from campaigns during the second world war, but I have a way of finding that sort of thing fascinating by daydreaming about the people who lived there in the present and those of past generations. Each town was more beautiful than the next. Several towns I believed were so quaint and perfect that I wanted to buy a villa and live there.

My enchantment with Italy lasted almost three weeks. It is at that point that many students found themselves in one of two categories: they either assimilated into the culture or were desperately struggling with the differences. The novelty had worn off; reality was beginning to set in for all of us. Petty complaints about the distaste for tiny elevators, the lack of air conditioning, and limited laundry facilities ran rampant. But for me it was different. I just walked up the stairs, left the windows open for a breeze, washed my clothes by hand, and hung them outside on the balcony to dry. Yes, the novelty disappeared.

I did not feel like an outsider; I felt that I had become part of Italy. And, with that, I began to notice some of its shortcomings; something bothered me. Something began to change. It had nothing to do with the buildings, the sights, or the endless parade of pasta dishes. I was beginning to know the people, their lifestyles, their habits, their fears and frustrations. It was no longer a tour; I was not looking in through a window. I was confused in a way, even though this was what I had hoped for, to gain an understanding of these people.

From this point of view I noticed the anti-American sentiment. I overheard casual conversations. It was evident from the graffiti on those old buildings built in the 17^th and 18^th centuries. In black spray paint, just at eye level, those who were against the war in Iraq scribbled, “No bombs for oil,” “Americans go home,” and “Kill Bush.” A stencil portraying the American president had the words, “Go Home Bush” since he visited Italy recently to discuss the position on the Iraq war with the Italian president Berlusconi who supported the American occupation. Still another piece of graffiti cursed, “Fuck Bush.” Rainbow-colored flags hung outside many windows, swaying in the breeze calling for “pace,” which is Italian for “peace.” I noticed it quite early in most of the towns I visited. I decided then that it might be best to lean on my Hispanic heritage if I had to, though most times I spoke Italian in the street, in the taxis, on the buses, and in the stores. The 4-credit course I was taking there in Italy was a great help to me in communicating to Italians when I was out on my own and not relying on the teacher for translations. I loved the Italian class I was taking and spoke Italian whenever I could. My dictionary and phrase book showed the wear and tear of my study. I kept them with me constantly. When I would go out with my friend Ana, I often acted like her tour guide, helping her change her money and pointing out different things in the street calling them by their Italian names. I am forced to admit that that I did it as much to reinforce the words I learned as I was hoping the locals would believe I was one of them

The dialects of the language are a bit of a challenge; some of the words can be different from region to region. Some areas have a dialect that sounds more like Spanish than Italian, which made communication so much easier for me. My Italian must have been decent since the storekeepers often asked me which region I was from; and their faces did not hide the shock when I told them I was not from their country, “Non sono Italiana.” They would often respond, “ahhhh…di Spagnola?” (from Spain). Cheating, sometimes, I would say, “Si” (“yes” in Italian and Spanish). They would nod and smile and speak a few words in Spanish to me. In my mind, it was close enough – after all my ancestors were from Spain. On occasions, I would tell the truth and say that my parents were from Puerto Rico. I was confused for having Greek heritage. Maybe it was just because of my dark hair and brown eyes; maybe it was because I changed my clothes a little bit by adding a few Italian pieces to my wardrobe or a scarf to my hair or shoulders to dress “alla Italiana.”

On one occasion, I assisted Ana with a purchase and had a simple conversation in Italian with the clerk. Ana continued to speak English and used me as her translator. At the end of the conversation, the clerk asked me if my friend was speaking English, to which I hesitantly replied, “Si.” Ana’s accent was distinctly (at least from an American’s perspective) “southern.” He then asked me if she was from England and to my amusement I realized he did not think that both of us were from an English-speaking country. I shrugged my shoulders telling him in his native tongue, “No, she’s American! What do you expect?” He let out a great belly-laugh, as did his coworkers. I could not help but laugh – at the sound of their laughs. Ana was not as amused when I translated the conversation to her after we left the store, but she later joked about how I was able to “pass.”

Dialect is not the greatest difference between the northern and southern regions of Italy. The differences between the north and south of Italy are still as strong as they have ever been. There is still a tremendous imbalance of wealth and resources between them. The south is still largely underdeveloped. Among the students, there were often comments expressing disapproval and surprise, “There is nothing out here.” Still other students verbalized their ideas to expand development, particularly near the coastlines, “This is prime real estate…perfect place for condominiums.”

The unemployment rates soared in towns like Lecce, which was trying to build up its tourism industry by restoring the historical center of town during the time I was visiting. The migration of former agricultural families to the north exacerbates the economic problem. Noticing the differences, I decided it was time to ask questions about the political climate of the country. I knew their national solidarity was relatively new; that is, it is not hundreds of years old. The extension of voting rights to all citizens was granted after World War II. All the places we visited were the best Italy had to offer a touring student, but I longed to know the complete story: how it was to be an Italian citizen.

The most difficult transition for me was being able to know what was going on around the world. I tried to catch the local news channel on television or read the newspaper whenever I could so that I could stay abreast of important news events. At first I wondered if the language barrier was the issue, but it became more apparent to me that the Italian news media simply did not address world events in the way to which I was accustomed as an American citizen. It was sporadic. There is not a television station or newspaper in America that does not cover world politics, political climates, or the fumbling of the latest politician to hit the circuit in that up-to-the-minute kind of manner. The hotels did not have the Cable News Network (CNN), which I completely depended upon back home. Instead, reporters informed viewers of the weather and whatever local restorations were being conducted. I recall a story in the newspaper about a man who was the victim of a terrorist attack in the 1990s who was now pushing for some type of support group. Once in a while they would mention the deadline of the handover of the Iraqi government by the United States. I could not help but feel disconnected. Then I remembered that somewhere during my pre-departure research there was a note about censorship. I shocked myself at the way I nearly dismissed the information upon reading it. Slowly, but surely, it was coming back to me.

I became friends with one of the teachers, Lucrezia; and we often talked about superficial things. Sometimes I would ask her to tell me the story behind a particular sight of interest. She often heard the class during day trips have some type of political conversation that was usually rooted in controversy. We students did not think it was anything out of the ordinary to have one of those Democrat-versus-Republican spirited talks. After all, it is common at home. I noticed she would often quietly rise from her front seat to the back or middle of the bus or sit in an empty seat at a table listening without comment. Her only response was the occasional rise of her eyebrow or her slight smile that reminded me of the Mona Lisa.

While we were in Lecce, Lucrezia invited me to go to lunch with her one day. I happily accepted. We sat at a little outdoor café and enjoyed a couple of “rusticos,” a local delicacy of flakey pastries stuffed with mozzarella cheese and tomatoes. We talked briefly about the heat and the Italian classes. The conversation shifted when she mentioned there was not much to do in this little town, how much she preferred “Roma,” with its fast pace and international community; and we compared American and Italian government structures. It was then I decided to press the conversation further.

I mentioned my frustration with accessing world news, although, by then, I was gathering my current events on the internet. She told me, “The news media is censored in Italy; there is almost no negative reporting when it comes to local politics and little when it comes to world politics.” She then advised me, “Do not trust the newspapers. They do not give all sides of the story.”

I noticed her demeanor became a bit somber, and then she asked, “Tell me what you think of your President Bush.” I squirmed in my seat. I disagreed with a lot of his policies but always remembered that when abroad, I am an ambassador of America. Not wanting to bash him internationally, I said, “I was happiest with him when he rallied nationalism during the September 11^th attacks. He gave me hope for him as a leader, though I am not a Republican supporter. I am an independent…I am particularly not supportive of his foreign policy, it’s his weakness…I don’t agree with pre-emptive war tactics in Iraq. Honestly, I feel the president is beginning to alienate us from potential and current allies.”

Lucrezia seemed surprised at my answer, leaving me to sit with her in silence for a minute. Anxious to fill up the quietness, I continued: “Look, I’m not aware of your political views. I just wear my thoughts and feelings on my sleeve. Sometimes I hate it. “ Lucrezia’s eyebrows lifted; and I said: “I just think as the only superpower in the world, the United States has a number of unique responsibilities; and one of them is to avoid ‘strong-arm’ tactics. We should be setting the example for the world, an example they would want to follow. War even in the name of pre-emptive war, is still war. Iraq was not responsible for 911…Ignoring the United Nations tells other countries they can do the same…”

I consciously stopped myself, since I know I can get long-winded on the issue of foreign policy. Waiting for the ball to drop, I held my breath at her response. Calmly, she said: “You are right and you are the first American I have talked to who said that. I meet too many American students who are either ethnocentric or know nothing about what is going on in the United States; and I don’t understand it because of your freedom…” She explained: “With all the freedom to get good information, I don’t understand those people who don’t take the time to see it.” It was her turn, but her voice became lower: “Berlusconi is a lot like your president, but worse.”

She went on to tell me about the censorship he instituted, that people could not feel comfortable to speak out against the government, and comedians were no longer allowed to poke fun at politicians. We compared how both leaders were looking for legal outlets to expand their powers. She said all of this in a quiet voice occasionally looking over her shoulder. I asked her if she was worried someone would hear her; and she shushed me, nodding yes. We continued our conversation for two hours sharing our views and her sadness that Italy, in her opinion, has not only not lived up to its promise but has taken serious steps backwards. That is when I began to miss my America. That even with all of its faults, I have never once worried about who would overhear any political discussion in which I might be involved. It was completely unsettling to me; it was completely undemocratic, completely un-American.

Visiting the mayor’s office the next day was much more of the same type of bantering with Lucrezia. The mayor was out of town for the day, but the Vice Mayor substituted. We learned a lot during our few minutes with him. He was very gracious. I learned that cities did not make any of their own laws, rather they follow that of the region. My own opinion, perhaps that is why they are suffering. One student asked pertinent questions about the Vice-Mayor’s position on the communist party; and that led to questions about his feelings toward Berlusconi’s performance. Lucrezia, who was sitting next to me, whispered: “Oh no…I hope he answers this right.” The vice-mayor’s response took the middle road and was not a direct answer. It was simple: "Well, Berlusconi is the head of my party. All people do good things and make mistakes too. We will see what the people think at the next election.” Lucrezia buzzed in my ear, “Good answer! No details of what he thinks.”

My head was spinning. I have always known deep down in my gut that everyone, no matter how beautiful or charming they may be, has skeletons in their closet. I was determined to uncover Italy’s. My conversations with Lucrezia lit a fire under me. Immediately, I went to the computer lab to find evidence of what she told me. It was there. Not in Italian media, but still there. I found the BBC was a good resource: “…Mr. Berlusconi is the head of a vast business empire spanning newspapers, TV and radio, film, football, advertising, insurance, food and construction.” His family firm controlled three commercial television channels. His media empire also included, “Italy’s largest publishing house, Mondadori, and the leading daily newspaper, Il Giornale” and his company, Fininvest has accumulated another 150 companies under its roof (Profile Silvio Berlusconi). Well, this explained a lot. I was interested in finding more. Hurriedly, I sought to remove the dust from Italy’s bones; and I found the prime minister was once involved in a corruption trial, which claimed he tried to bribe judges; but a new law passed by the lower house of Parliament grants immunity by banning “…any court proceedings against the holders of Italy’s five most senior posts as long as they remain in office…magistrates can investigate allegations against the five top figures, but cannot bring them to trial” (Berlusconi Granted Immunity). I remember Lucrezia telling me all these things, but to see it in print made me feel outraged; and my feelings changed. My love affair with Italy was over.

Only two weeks before, I thought I could live there forever; and then it began to fade for me. I was quite literally wined and dined by Italy. The noise and laughter rocked me to sleep in the late night hours. All the exciting cities and quaint towns that seduced and charmed me had done so by their handsome looks and wealth. I found the hidden secret. Italy’s skeletons are not found in the cupboards of a church that hold the martyrs. It is in the powerlessness of the cities; it is the loss of their freedom to speak what is on their hearts and minds.

What I needed was their strength and their freedom, which is what I need most in a relationship. It is the freedom to be who I am, to believe what I want, to have access to information, to express my desires, hopes, fears, and frustrations that I value most of my American lifestyle. This is the greatest reflection of my Italian experience.

My class in World Affairs and my trip to Italy created an excitement and a determination within me to learn more about not only where the history of my society and government came from but to explore and discover the opportunities that lay in its future. It has taught me about compassion, compromise, and certainty. The experience opened my eyes, my heart, and my mind to a different culture. It has taught me that although I must know where I came from and what my mistakes may have been, it is critical to know where I stand in the present. It is important to know that even if I do not have all the answers, I accept most will elude me, and still I cannot cease the search for them. I know that life and civilizations are evolutionary processes where the past, present, and the future connect with one another with the hope of becoming better through understanding and preparation.

I am fine even though my summer romance ended, like the old adage says: It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. I will not bash love. It is a fundamental need of humanity to give it and receive it. We all know a particular love interest is not forever but the emotion in our heart and soul is; and it is timeless. It is just transferred to another. So it is for me that I am in love with trying to understand the affairs of the world and its impact on humanity.

I came back to the States with a renewed spirit – the kind you can only receive through deep prayer and meditation – from spending so much time in the churches of Italy. I came back with new sense of healing – the kind you can only receive through giving to others less fortunate. And I came back with a new sense of focus, purpose, and strength to take care of myself and pursue my goals to become an attorney. I learned I could depend on me. While the world spins around and everything around you changes, I found that the only constant on which I could rely was in me all along – my hopes, my faith, and my love.

Read part 1 of Reflections of My Italian Experience at http://lawdoctorlee.hubpages.com/hub/Reflections-of-My-Italian-Experience

By Liza Lugo, J.D.

WORKS CITED

BBC News UK Edition. “Profile Silvio Berlusconi: Silvio Berlusconi is Italy’s richest man

whose reach is hard to escape.” Jan. 13, 2004. <http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/3034600.stm.> 7/26/2004.

BBC News UK Edition. “Berlusconi Granted Immunity.” June 18, 2003.

<http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/3000362.stm> 7/26/2003.

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