Discourses on Revolutions

Discourses on revolutions

Dictators, Democracy, Fundamentalism, and Superpowers

By

Vittorio (Victor) Bellini

Discourses on:

Mussolini, Hitler, Socialism, Democracy, Human rights, Fundamentalism, Wall Street, Superpowers and the American Dream

Copyright © 2016 by Vittorio Bellini

Smashwords Edition

Also by Vittorio (Victor) Bellini

Adventures in Multinational Business

- The Libyan Affair

- The Casablanca Connection

-The Russian Oligarch

- The Mexican Seduction

- The Chinese Manuscript

Other novels

- A Secret

- The Union

- La Mano del Destino (in Italian)

- Inspired in Venice

Short stories:

- One-night Stands

- Sex in Vienna

- Delusional Paranoia

- Revolutionary times

Biographies:

- Amen!

- A turbulent Career

Available in digital and paperback formats

from most online bookstores

For information: leopardpress@outlook.com

On Political Correctness

Poetry is often used satirically to sing the praises of love and politics. The following poem, written in Roman dialect well over a hundred years ago, is still valid today. The original rhymes beautifully, while the translation (my own) is mostly literal.

In the shade (all’ombra)

While I read my daily newspaper

Sitting in the shade of a haystack

I see a pig and I say: hello you swine!

I see a donkey and I say: hello you jackass!

Maybe these animals do not understand me

But at least I have the satisfaction

Of calling them for what they really are

Without worrying about ending up in jail

Trilussa (Roman poet 1880-1950)

***

Foreword

What follows is an imaginary set of conversations between a newsman researching a subject on contemporary social transformations and a well-travelled retired professor with strong political and social convictions.

The conversations take place in a resort hotel on top of a mountain in central Italy, the same place where Mussolini was held captive and then rescued by his German friends in 1943.

It’s the summer of 2014 and the subjects being discussed are all of a controversial nature, reflecting the political and social divide in a western world driven by the USA.

***

A quote from Voltaire

*

"Life is difficult", said his friend.

"Compared to what?" asked Voltaire.

*

Introduction

On a hot midsummer day of the year 2014 I left Rome for a leisurely ninety-minute drive east of the city, to the Abruzzi region. My destination was the Gran Sasso - the highest massif of the Apennine range in central Italy, at nearly 10,000 feet.

The mountain is a year-round tourist attraction, not only for winter skiing, but also for summer climbing and trekking. Its National Park, straddled across the central part of the mountain, is one of the best in Italy, offering visitors a rich and diverse presence of flora and fauna. It has a number of well equipped ski lodges, one of which - Hotel Campo Imperatore - was frequented by the Italian aristocracy during the heydays of the Fascist era. The five-storey red brick structure was built on a rocky plateau very near the top of the mountain in 1934. It was a luxurious year-round tourist resort with some 50 rooms for the rich and famous, including top politicians and their entourage.

In those days Campo Imperatore could be reached by private car in summer, but only by cable car in winter, due to the heavy snowfall and dangerous road conditions at that altitude. The hotel had all the comforts expected of a classy mountain resort, including a large indoor swimming pool; a well equipped gym; a sprawling glass-roofed lounge to read, chat and relax; a cocktail bar and an elegant dining room. The place was further embellished by tasteful artistic décor, with contemporary paintings, frescoes and mosaics.

I had been to Campo Imperatore before, but never as a guest of the hotel. I wanted to feel the emotion of staying at that hotel for at least one weekend, to see first hand the room where Mussolini was held captive in August 1943, after being removed from power. It was supposed to be a secret and safe hideout to protect him from potential lynching by the Partigiani militia, but it didn’t last long. Two weeks later he was rescued by the German SS using gliders, in cahoots with sympathetic Italian soldiers assigned to guard him. He was then taken to Northern Italy where he formed the Republic of Salò, in a futile attempt to regain power.

As a respected long-time syndicated columnist for Italian newspapers, I wanted to examine that particular period of time and put it in perspective, juxtaposed to what’s been happening since then. It was part of an ambitious research project I had for my retirement years, aimed at writing a piece about social transformations in the twentieth century. I also wanted to see in person the place where Mussolini was detained, and talk to old-timers who might have had firsthand knowledge of what it was like seventy years earlier.

.

I drove out of Rome in mid morning and entered the first of two long tunnels going through the massif. I stopped at Fonte Cerreto, the village with the cable car station, and had a coffee at the local bar. I reflected on whether to drive all the way up or take the cable car. It being a hot sunny day, however, I wanted to enjoy the spectacular views unfolding along the way.

From Fonte Cerreto the road climbed up via a long series of tight curves, crossing barren lava-like highland plateaus and vast expanses of meadowy fields. A number of fearless cows and goats grazed happily here and there, often sauntering lazily across the road to observe unperturbed passing cars.

As I drove up, the landscape became increasingly rocky and desolate, which gave me an eerie feeling of being on another planet. All I could see looking up at that altitude was a wide range of sharp grey peaks, like spears reaching for the sky. But looking down at some points over rocky escarpments, the scenery was much more earth-like and absolutely stunning. Lush patches of greenery punctuated by small bodies of water - more like ponds than lakes - reflected sunrays in blinding silvery flashes. A colourful array of spring flowers, including poppies, daisies, violets, lilies and tulips made those meadowy patches look like Cascella paintings. Both views, upward and downward, highlighted the diversity of Nature, with opposite but equally impressive sceneries.

I reached the end of the road at Hotel Campo Imperatore, sitting on a large clearing just a few hundreds feet below the highest peak, known as the Corno Grande (big horn). A large dual-domed Observatory was also built on that same clearing, across a parking lot separating the two buildings. I parked the car in front of the hotel and looked around me. I indulged in filling my lungs with a few deep breaths of the purest of air. There was no visible life in that neighbourhood, nothing moved, nothing made the slightest sound, but those buildings had seen the passing of life-changing events, including a daring military rescue that changed the course of history.

I looked up in awe at the Corno Grande. It glowed in the sun as it soared proudly to the sky. It was accessible part of the way via a steep, stony and narrow pathway, but I felt that only mountain goats could negotiate its rough contours. I had no intention of trying, despite a strong temptation to do so. There were very few cars parked and no one in sight. I looked at my watch: it was just past twelve noon -- time for lunch. I walked to the hotel and entered the lobby.

I felt funny just being there, as images of what it was like seven decades earlier flashed ominously in my mind. Fascism had written a very dark page in the history books of Italy. Benito Mussolini, Il Duce, had ruled the country for well over two decades with an iron fist, and had changed the national ethos in fundamental ways. I was not yet born in those days and had no first hand knowledge of what was going on, but my parents lived through it and told me a lot of stories not normally found in history books.

I stood in the lobby for a minute or so just looking around and reminiscing about what I knew of the man. In 1922, when Benito was appointed Prime Minister by a reluctant King Vittorio Emanuele III, Italy was barely fifty years old as a fully unified nation, and it was still reeling from a crippling first world war that left deep scars in all those who managed to survive.

Being Italian at that time was not yet fully appreciated. Most people still considered themselves citizens of former independent regions. They were not yet fully on board of the Italian national ship. A sense of nationalism was still missing, despite the use of a common language and a common heritage dating back to Roman times and accentuated by a glorious Renaissance. As a nation Italy was still in its formative years, still young and inexperienced compared to its much older continental neighbours.

Mussolini knew that much. He was a journalist and a teacher, and lived in different countries of Europe. He spoke English, French and German fluently. As a revolutionary, he followed in the footsteps of Garibaldi, Mazzini and Cavour in wanting to see Italy united and strong as a military power. He wanted to reinforce and consolidate Italy’s young colonies in Libya and in black Africa. He wanted all citizens, from north to south, all along the Italian peninsula, to be proud of belonging to one nation.

But history was not on his side. Too many fratricidal wars had been fought already by bellicose dictators, and too many foreign powers had occupied, on and off, various parts of the Italian peninsula. A thousand years of dark ages had destroyed the unity that existed during the Roman Empire. It therefore needed to be rebuilt, even if on a much smaller scale.

Mussolini couldn’t wait. By 1932, ten years after taking power, he had become the unchallenged ruler of the country and one of a handful of strong men in Europe. He wanted to join other European nations as a strong colonial power and wasted no time in accelerating the development of Libya and adding Ethiopia to the existing colonies of Eritrea and Somaliland. He then unified the last three into a single colony known as the Dominion of East Africa.

Hitler was impressed and inspired by Il Duce. The two men soon became close friends, both believing in the need for absolute power to get things done. Inevitably then, in 1938, as Hitler pursued and enacted his hunger for territorial gains, Il Duce joined him. Together they signed a military pact, known as the Rome-Berlin Axis. He and Hitler were like-minded fellow dictators and kindred spirits. Mussolini was impressed by how quickly Hitler managed to rebuild the German military machine and was mesmerized by his rhetoric and aggressive ways.

The real reason why Mussolini chose to join Hitler, however, will never be known. Several explanations have been formulated by pundits and historians, but nothing has been proven beyond doubt. The fact of the matter is that most Italians had no appetite for another war twenty years after the end of the first one. The Italian military machine was already spread thin in four African colonies, and was busy adding Albania and part of Dalmatia to the Kingdom. The only plausible explanation for joining Hitler is Mussolini’s natural ambition and megalomania. He probably thought that together, the two of them, could conquer all of Europe and maybe even the world. How wrong they both were!

***

Chapter One

Mussolini’s suite

Hotel Campo Imperatore deteriorated over the years for lack of attention. The post-fascist years were not kind to it, as most well-to-do Italians shunned the place for fear of being labelled fascists. As a result, the hotel lost most of its former shine, but it was still worth a stay, if only for historic reasons.

As I looked around I felt like I was transported back in time, to the flash and glam of the mid-thirties and the inevitable finagling of the rich and powerful and their paramours, including Mussolini’s. I wondered what Il Duce felt like while being detained in that hotel, as a prisoner in his own playground. I wondered whether in those solitary days, locked up in his room, he ever examined his conscience and regretted anything of what he did.

I rang the bell to alert the receptionist and, a few minutes later, a middle-aged man appeared. He was short and portly, balding badly, but with a friendly smile and affable manners. He wore casual clothes and looked surprised to see me there. I instinctively looked at my watch. It was half past noon, time for lunch.

Hello, can I help you? he said as he approached me.

Hi, I wonder if you serve lunch somewhere in the hotel.

He looked me over with curiosity, trying to understand who I was.

I take it that this is your first time here, right? he asked.

Yes, it is, I replied.

Would you need a room?

I would indeed. I like to stay for a night or two if possible.

"Yes, of course, welcome