North of Naples, South of Rome

by Tullio, Paulo;

  Clean Hands

  It’s not often that momentous changes can be pinned down as stemming from one specific event in history. Caesar crossing the Rubicon and the conversion of Constantine spring to mind, but little else. The breaching of the Berlin Wall has created changes throughout Europe that will continue to ripple for years. In Italy it could be said to have caused a revolution and the creation of the Second Republic.

  Since the end of the Second World War the Christian Democrat Party has had an uninterrupted span of government. The reason for this is simple: the only alternative for the electorate was the Communist Party. As the largest opposition party, they were seen as a threat not only by the ruling élite, but also by the Americans. In the years immediately following the war millions of dollars were channelled into Italy overtly by way of loans and grants for rebuilding the war-damaged economy, but also covertly through the CIA, whose express aim was to keep the Communists from power. Gladio, a secret cellular network, was set up with CIA help after the war. Each cell was made up of three people – an officer and two others. No cell knew the members of any other cell; only the area commander knew the officers of the cells under his command. One of these well-armed, expressly anti-Communist cells was made up of my father, his cousin Dino and his uncle Antonio. In the event of a threatened Communist take-over, Gladio would be put into action – this despite the fact that secret societies were officially forbidden by the state.

  As their name suggests, the Christian Democrats, ever since they were founded, have been closely allied to the Catholic Church. As with similar European parties, the main planks of their credo were family values and anti-Communist fervour. In this, at least, they were at one with the Church. This bipolar axis was augmented by a further accommodation with the Mafia in Sicily and the Camorra in Naples. Crudely speaking, this alliance had money to buy support through patronage, moral authority from the pulpit, and, with its links with the underworld, the means of policing its friends and enemies. Just as at local level a mayor increases his power with his length of tenure, the Christian Democrats built up an edifice that until recently seemed impregnable. Effectively Italy had a one-party state that dispensed jobs and government contracts to its friends and created difficulties and obstacles for its enemies.

  Italians were well aware of the corruption in government. Everyone had been party to it to some degree or other. That their politicians were on the make was a self-evident truth; no one doubted it. It was reluctantly accepted by many as the price to be paid to keep the system functioning and the Communists out of power. The fact is that for perhaps the majority of Italians this Augean stable of corruption was not just the best of a bad lot, it was a system that brought prosperity. By 1989 Italy could rank itself fourth in the world’s developed economies as measured by gross domestic product. All over the country evidence of this prosperity was there to see. Not only were large civic projects started and sometimes even finished, but the staggering waste of money in almost all ventures was seen in itself as evidence of the vast wealth of the state. Most middle-class Italians had two or three houses, at least two cars, their children had motor bikes, their houses were filled with all the latest high technology. The boom was explosive. Families who had been chronically poor for generations had money to spend. They took foreign holidays, they bought luxury goods, they took up hobbies and sports. For all the known defects of the system, it none the less provided work and prosperity.

  With the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Christian Democrats lost their main justification for being in power, other than their own self-interest. Meanwhile the Communists were suffering the same swing against them as was taking place elsewhere in Europe. In a matter of months they were no longer a credible alternative government. In response they changed their name to the Democratic Left, and most of their policies as well.

  In April 1992 the first cracks began to appear in the government edifice with the exit of Bettino Craxi, the Socialist prime minister. By the start of 1993 the entire superstructure had begun to collapse like a punctured tyre. What had looked so solid, so immutable, so permanent, had begun to fall apart with a rapidity that was alarming. In Sora, for decades a stronghold of the Christian Democrats, the party polled less than 1,000 votes out of 22,000 in the spring elections of 1993 and, all over Italy, support again collapsed in the autumn local elections. The four government parties together polled only 14 per cent of the vote. If it were not for the system of staggered elections in Italy, whereby only a portion of the delegates are elected at a time, it is clear that the Christian Democrats and the Socialists would be left with barely a deputy to their name after the general election of 1994 if voting patterns continued. Their rout has been virtually total; so much so that in many electoral areas anyone standing against them was almost assured of success no matter what their policies. In a still evolving revolution it is far from clear what the currents and the driving forces are. It is true, however, that the first broadsides were fired on the ancien régime by the judiciary.

  What gave the honest man a chance to change the political morass was a dispersed but gradually growing awareness that the tide of history was on the turn. The newspaper La Republica was more fearless than others in continuing to report corruption and abuses of power. La Rete, a newly formed political party in Sicily that was overtly anti-Mafia, brought a new awareness to the mainland of the links between the Mafia and the establishment. Young investigative magistrates champed at the bit and did not always find as their politically appointed superiors directed. The Lombard League, the fastest growing political force, weighed in behind the investigations into corruption. The news programme on the third state television channel, TG3, was in the vanguard of bringing alternative voices and opinions into the public forum. These disparate movements were the tinder for the revolutionary fire.

  Even within the establishment there was discontent on the back-benches. Deputies were increasingly aware that they were no more than a rubber-stamp legislature, that the real power was in the hands of a small coterie christened CAF by the press – Craxi, Andreotti and Forlani. The prospects of political advancement for these back-benchers were non-existent and the political wind was turning. The smart move was to be on the side of change. Mario Segni was the first Christian Democrat to jump ship with a group of followers and set himself firmly outside the existing power bloc, thus probably ensuring his political survival.

  In Sicily the balance of power had shifted. Huge profits from the heroin trade had swelled the coffers of the Mafia to the point that they now had more money and more guns at their command than the politicians. This was demonstrated to the government and the public by the murders in Sicily of anti-Mafia judges Falcone and Borsellino. For once everyone was agreed – something had to be done.

  The Church’s authority and its respect from the faithful was also haemorrhaging: no longer could the Christian Democrats assume that support from the pulpit would translate into votes. The alliance that had served so well for so long was unravelling. The scene was set for the revolution.

  Antonio di Pietro headed the investigation into corruption in Milan. One of his first acts was to issue all the members of his team with portable computers. All their files were kept on disk and always on their persons. Theft of documentation, a constant problem during previous investigations, was avoided. His investigations have crept relentlessly and fearlessly up the political ladder. Currently he is snapping at the heels of Craxi. Since his investigations began, di Pietro has been lionized by the press; his name is spoken with respect in every bar. He is honest, and is being cast in the role of saviour of the people.

  The effect of these investigations has been to reinvigorate the judiciary. Once the docile lap-dogs of the politicians, they are rediscovering their power and their purpose. All over Italy the prefectures are doing what was once inconceivable – they are investigating all levels of government, thoroughly and decisively. Suddenly politicians from local to national government are being handcuffed and lock
ed up pending their hearings. Italy’s none-too-salubrious gaols are now holding men in Armani suits and Gucci shoes. Many of them find their new position so intolerable that after a few hours they beg to make a voluntary statement to the magistrates incriminating everyone they know. Many have simply committed suicide rather than go through the due process. Like the witch trials of the sixteenth century, each confession brings new investigations. The judges’ campaign has been christened mani pulite – clean hands.

  As usual in Italy, nothing is entirely clear. The state apparatus is not sitting idly by while its world collapses around it. By late 1993, more than a year after the main thrust of the investigations had begun, stories have emerged of judges who have taken bribes. This is clearly intended by the establishment to dull the edge of the mani pulite campaign by implying that the investigative magistrates are as corrupt as those they are investigating. It is commonly accepted in local bars that the strange spate of terrorist bombings in the summer of 1993 were state-inspired, their purpose being to shift media attention from the corruption investigations. So far these manoeuvres have not stopped the relentless probing.

  The problem that will have to be addressed is that no one has spotlessly clean hands. It was impossible to live in Italy and not be tainted in some way by the pandemic corruption that has existed for the last half century. Most people who have a job today owe it to some kind of raccomandazione‚ a recommendation accompanied by implicit or explicit emoluments. That was the way it worked. Whether it was to your liking or not, to survive you had to play by the rules. Ultimately recriminations will have to be based not simply on infractions of the letter of the law but rather on the degree of abuse. Clearly there are those who have worked the system not solely because it was there, but with self-interest as their sole motivation. By late 1993 Carlo de Benedetti, the head of Olivetti, was arrested and subsequently released. He is a good example of where and how investigations should proceed, since he has been in the forefront of the calls for change. He was arrested, albeit briefly, on charges of paying money illegally to political parties, something he readily admitted to, since it was impossible to keep Olivetti trading without doing so. It is clear that those who worked within the corrupt system to survive cannot be bundled into the same category as those who created and ran the corruption.

  Italians are sanguine about this. They say that a man who collects honey will lick his fingers. In their hearts they know that they would behave no differently. What irks, now that the carcass of the First Republic is exposed to scrutiny, is the certain knowledge that the huge state deficit that has been created can only be paid for by the average citizen. Those who have defrauded the state of millions of pounds will almost certainly be left to enjoy their spoils. The Italian parliament has even debated a proposition that would give an amnesty to any malfeasance perpetrated before 1989 – a simple expedient that would allow the legislature to legalize their many and compound crimes.

  How the deficit has been created is remarkably simple. It appears that for practically every government contract the deal went like this. A new bridge is needed; the government, in the shape of the man who will sign the contract, approaches a builder. It will cost £10 million. The contract is then agreed for a greater sum, and the builder makes a large donation to the coffers of the party. Easy. As long as the money circulated within the Italian economy it appeared to work. When it started finding its way abroad in increasingly large amounts the fissures became apparent and the system teetered towards collapse. The amount of money that flowed into party coffers by this means in the good years is awe-inspiring. Unfortunately for all the major parties, by 1993 donations elicited by the old means had dried up and they found themselves virtually bankrupt, to the delight of many embittered taxpayers.

  Political debate currently centres on the mechanics of the new republic. Complicated formulas involving proportional representation and first-past-the-post elections are under discussion. As with the German model, parties that poll less than 5 per cent nationally will now have no deputies in parliament, eliminating a lot of the tiny splinter groups. These proposed changes will affect all four tiers of government, and most of the changes can only be for the better.

  The general revulsion Italians feel now that so many scandals have been exposed extends to Sicily and its attitude to the Mafia. The autumn elections of 1993 put Leoluca Orlando, founder of the anti-Mafia party La Rete, into power in Palermo. All over Sicily his party has swept into town halls, changing for ever a fifty-year status quo.

  All over Italy the structure of the new Second Republic will bring considerable changes at local level. Most importantly, a mayor can have only two terms of office – an eight-year reign. This one change will do more to stem the creation of feudal baronies in the comuni than anything else. In the first term of office a new mayor will have all the enthusiasm and purpose of a neophyte. In the second term he will not be dependent on doing favours to get votes, since he will not be able to re-present himself. This alone will clean up local politics and will certainly have a grass-roots effect on the upper levels of government. The only quibble I have with this is that it is not retrospective. So a mayor who has already been in power for twenty years or more can have another eight from the next election.

  In Gallinaro mani pulite has brought changes. In 1993 the mayor of twenty-two years, Alberto Cassale, was removed from his post as mayor and as a provincial councillor by the prefecture in Frosinone. The reason for this was almost a trifle – the granting of planning permission for a new chemist shop on the superstrada that passes through the comune of Gallinaro, owned by my cousin Cesidio. Athough in itself a very minor infraction of the law, since the shop should have been in the town centre, it was sufficient to cause his removal from office. My first cousin, Luigi Tullio, has replaced him.

  Other investigations into Gallinaro’s administration are still pending, mostly relating to the disbursal of the earthquake rebuilding funds, which by 1993 totalled some 15 billion lire, about £7 million. These investigations were put in motion by the three opposition councillors, who made a denuncia, a formal complaint, to the magistrature. Where once complaints like these simply disappeared into a quagmire of paper, the new ethos of honesty and transparency in government has ensured that they are pursued and investigated. After nearly fifty years of quiescent magistrátes this has come as a shock. To discover that what has always been acceptable behaviour is actually against the law has caught many administrations on the hop. The plea that ‘we’ve always done it like this’ goes unheeded.

  The new openness has made its first few tentative steps in Gallinaro. Under my cousin’s aegis the town hall now places a copy of its agenda for council meetings on public display. All are welcome to attend. Even the opposition councillors, who include my old friends Silvano Tanzilli and Antonio Appruzzese, feel that a new era is dawning. They are given access to information that was once kept from them. The word in vogue is trasparenza. The divisions that had so bitterly split the town are healing beneath the genuinely kind smile of my cousin. Where discord was the rule, a new sense of common purpose seems to be evolving. The opposition councillors are even prepared to give my cousin a honeymoon period of some six months to see if he is a creature of a different colour from his predecessor.

  The previous mayor, Alberto, has left a legacy of distrust and enmity which Gigino, as Luigi is known, will have to redress. The main division is between the town itself, the centro storico‚ and the rest of the comune where Alberto’s main support came from. Almost wilfully, Alberto allowed the old town centre to decline. No attempt was made to keep traders from leaving for the greener pastures of the superstrada. Clementina’s butcher’s shop is about to close, so is Ida’s hardware shop, and Sinella is even talking of closing the bar. This last would be catastrophic for the town centre. With no focus for social interaction, the town will simply become a dormitory for those who work and play elsewhere. The declining numbers who return in the summer will have nowhere to meet. Th
ese trends are not irreversible. With a little good will and vision, the town hall could do a lot to revive the town centre. What is needed is the will to do so.

  The change in the government’s finances will have a big impact on the comuni of Italy in the next few years. The big problem facing the comuni is fuori bilancia expenditure – sums not accounted for within the normal budget since it was always supposed that they would be paid for by central government. It is increasingly unlikely that this will be the case, so the citizens of each comune will have to pay through increases in the house taxes (there are three). Of all the prospects on the horizon, this is probably the most frightening for taxpayers. Only now are they discovering that grandiose projects such as large floodlit football pitches in mountain villages have not actually been paid for. Lavish sports facilities that are barely used will now be billed to the town’s citizens. The realization that higher taxes will have to be paid to put the balance sheet right is a source of horror for most Italians.

  It is this that has caused the Italians’ pervasive rage in 1993. The slow understanding that they have all been ripped-off by their politicians is causing profound resentment. Politicians have been hounded and stoned in the streets by their angry constituents, they have been forced to leave restaurants, they are heckled and insulted wherever they go. Unfortunately, as yet, there is no mechanism in Italian law whereby the stolen money can be recovered. What rankles is that the very architects of the economic chaos will be able to live happily on their ill-gotten piles of loot, at worst in the exile of an offshore tax haven.

  The shortage of cash is already being felt in Gallinaro. The August festa of San Gerardo was a far more subdued affair in 1993 than it has been in the past. The main contributors – the emigrants in Belgium, the local businesses and inhabitants, and the regional funds – are all under financial strain. Despite the lack of funding, once again Gallinaro and San Donato hosted a conference on emigration for nearly 600 people, all of whom were fed a six-course meal in the local hotel; £9,000 was spent on this. For the first time in the three years this conference has been held questions were asked – and not just by me – as to whether in the current economic circumstances simply eating what money is left makes any sense.