Two Italys

In these days before Christmas, I feel, within me, two Italys that live together. One wounds, the other saves. One is made of harshness and misunderstanding; the other of poetry and grace. Both are real, but they pull me in opposite directions: one pushes me away, the other draws me near.

Italy #1

The Italy that wounds me is an Italy that sometimes raises its voice not out of cruelty, but from its own wounds it doesn’t yet know how to name. It expresses hardship through brusqueness, not always knowing how to turn suffering into language. It is the Italy of Alberto Moravia’s Roman Tales, where misery is not only economic, but also emotional: a world made up of characters who shout, manipulate, live with distrust in their eyes and frustration on their lips. This Italy is also sometimes experienced on the street: the woman in Florence, riding a bicycle, shouting at tourists to go home. It's the Italy of Totò, "the Prince of Laughter", through film which makes you laugh, but also brings with it a vein of despair, where dignity is often bartered for advantage. It's a smaller Italy, that sometimes raises its voice in judgement instead of understanding, that hurts unintentionally.

Italy #2

And then there's the other Italy. The one that inspires me and perhaps, in doing so, saves me. It is the Italy of Dante, which transformed suffering into vision. It is Italo Calvino's Italy, in which lightness finds a way to resist the weight of the world. It is the Italy of Zia Rina and Zio Vito, who welcomed me into their home and their lives with generosity and warmth. It is the Italy of Fioravante, whose joy quietly brightens the sadness that surrounds him. It is a culture that does not exile, but welcomes; of beauty that consoles.

This second Italy, silent but essential, is both noble and profoundly human. It lives in caring people like Lino Pertile, whom I first came to know through his writings on Dante, and later came to know in person. Through his attentive listening and generous replies, he welcomed me in thoughtful conversations. That Italy does not shout, but leaves lasting traces.

Between 2 Italys

These two Italys – of difficulty and of grace – do not cancel each other out. They coexist, as in Dante’s own journey: suffering together with beauty, exile with homecoming. This is the spirit of the season, in which hope and light can illuminate darkness and despair. And perhaps it is also the goal all year round: not to try to escape the tension between these two worlds, but to live within it with courage and to transform suffering into art.