February 25, 2013

She just turned sixty this winter. She used to earn 900 euros before the crisis, working as a nurse in difficult neighborhoods of a big city. Because of the crisis she now makes 400 euros per month. Yet she pays all of her taxes and welfare contributions. She has been working since she was 17. In the work place she has often been underpaid and underappreciated and once, even sexually harassed. She recently injured herself again and she is self-employed like a lot of Italians, so when she takes a day off she makes no money. She decided her day would be best spent resting at home rather than voting, like 25 percent of Italians today. She is my mother.

He is turning seventy this summer. He has been peaking outside the window trying to decide whether to go vote, waiting for the snow to stop. In the end, he goes out. He has always voted for the Right. He wishes he could vote for a better conservative candidate, but the leader is the only man that seems to be able to hold the Right-wing coalition together. His pension was cut because of austerity. He is angry with Monti’s government, or, as he calls him, the Professor. None voted for him. So he votes for Berlusconi instead, like a quarter of Italians. This man is my father.

He sent his ballot via mail two weeks ago. He votes from abroad, where he is about to graduate from a prestigious American university. He knows there are no jobs for him back home – he has not given up on looking, but he knows. He voted for the Left-wing party. He has always voted for the Left, but never for the larger Democratic Party. He finds their leader utterly uncharismatic and spineless, their agenda bland and largely irrelevant. He voted in the primary election too, even though he knows the party is a concoction of apparatchiks, anachronistic trade unionists and bipolar Catholics who throw a tantrum whenever immigration reform or gay marriage is brought up. His biggest dream one day is to be able to move back home if he wants, or at least to be able to avoid explaining why a sexopath is again Prime Minister to all of his foreign friends. Like twenty-five percent of Italians he voted for the Left. This person is me.

This Christmas he celebrated his new job contract. For the first time in a year, instead of a one-month renewal, his contract got renewed for four months. His family celebrated with a champagne bottle. With a youth unemployment rate above 30 percent, any job that pays slightly above minimum wage is like a status-item. I don’t know whom he voted for. Maybe he did vote for Grillo’s party, a party whose stated aim is to make the political system implode from the inside. All the exit polls underestimated Grillo’s results by a margin of 5 percent. Some people are too ashamed of the party they vote for, because they are voting out of anger. No one seems to know who these people are, but they are 25 percent of us. One of them might be my brother.

We have been sleepwalking as a family, as a nation. Over the past two decades, as we were searching for the reasons of our decline we have blamed the euro, the Muslim terrorists, jobs outsourced to China, earthquakes and global warming. We have searched for our enemy among the American investment bankers, the Brussels bureaucrats, the Vatican hypocrites and the Moroccan baby escorts. But on February 25, 2013 we woke up and realized that our enemy could be found within the walls of our houses and sitting across from us in our offices. Our enemy had been there all along. We were too busy yelling and watching TV and talking past each other. On February 25, 2013 we finally met the enemy. Our enemy is us.

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