Mari (Border's Writing Assignment 2)

Mari. I met her through a friend of mine. She’s Italian and studying English, Chinese, and French as a fifth year university student. We decided to do a language exchange of Italian, English, and Chinese. Saturday, 3pm, at the Piazza di Spagna, I waited. I knew it was her immediately. Wrapped in a classic black coat beautifully paired with a voluminous white turtleneck sweater, she was chic in her simplicity. She lingered on the Spanish Steps, scanning the plaza below for my arrival. I spotted her from atop and called out her name with excited nervousness. She turned around and both of us greeted each other with flushed smiles.

Then off we go! Rows of shops, lines of cars, and crowds of people passed by, but I was not aware of my surroundings anymore. My eyes, ears were all focused on her. Her voice painted alluring images of Italian culture, food, and life. We shared our study abroad experiences, and in between I learned some Italian! The next time I stopped, I was standing at the center of Piazza Navona. As if awoken from a dream, I gazed across the open piazza framed by quaint, charming cafes. We strolled passed two fountains at the heart of the square and finally relaxed outside in a café’s terrace nestled conspicuously in front of La Fontana del Moro. I mumbled something along the lines of, "Scusi, cioccolata calda per favore." Success! The waiter understood, and I think I may just have impressed my new friend.

Seated comfortably in our idyllic setting with a heavenly hot chocolate in hand, our voices again clicked away as the flowing waters, clattering plates, and rushing steps all faded away against a backdrop of a glowing sunset on this ancient piazza. We resumed our talks about life abroad, Italian and English literature (Did I mention how well-versed she was in Dante, the Bronte sisters, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and other classics? Now on my list of Italian authors to read are—when I do master the language of love—Luigi Pirandello and Italo Svevo.), and naturally arriving at my designated topic of discussion: the immigrant protests in southern Italy. She explained the prevalence of discrimination in Italy, a nation where even people from the north and south are divided. Both harbor antagonistic sentiments toward one another: the northerners referred to as “polentoni” and the southerners as “terroni.” Polentoni derives from polenta that mockingly alludes to cornmeal porridge hungry northerners and torreni translates to backward peasants who are the socially inferior southerners. Neither side relents on degradingly stereotyping the other.

As expected, this prejudiced nature extends to the African immigrants persecuted in southern Italy. The recent riots of these immigrants arose in response to racism and wrongful assaults by local Italians. With both parents from the south (one from Campania and the other from Sicily), Mari explained this complex racially charged situation. She explained the plight of these tireless illegal immigrant laborers, working endless days and nights for pitiful pay. They are the ones toiling away in the fields, picking fruits and vegetables. They perform jobs that most Italians shun, jobs viewed as beneath their dignity.

The recent economic crisis exasperated the tensions between these immigrants and local Italians. With mounting job loss across Italy, especially in the north as large companies lay off workers, more Italians fear their jobs were “stolen” by the illegal immigrants. However, this is not true since most of these illegal immigrants did not hold such jobs. Nevertheless, animosity and hostility further escalated, and the government fed this unfounded fear. One case Mari gave was Lega Nord (North League), a prominent political party in the north, supporting a program termed “White Christmas.” Euphemistic in name, the program permitted government officials to inspect house by house on Christmas day for illegal immigrants, checking each suspicious resident’s immigration documents. Not only did the Italian government not help to alleviate the hardships of these immigrants, it further bred local Italians’ growing prejudice against them. Her grave eyes revealed her disappointment and disapproval of such racial hatred as she repeated, “It is a very bad thing.” A very unfortunate and bad thing indeed.

I sipped the last few drops of my hot chocolate and looked beyond the darkening horizon, distantly recalling the sad realities of racism in America before and after the abolition of slavery. Mari continued. This time she tried to provide an answer to explain the continued racism in Italy. She began with Fascism. Italy’s fascist ideals, led by Benito Mussolini, were mostly racist. However, Mussolini’s dictatorial regime did not last long. Thus, fascism met an abrupt end with the violent death of Mussolini. On the other hand, Spain had a relatively longer time under fascist rule and eventually ended with a natural transition to democracy after Francisco Franco’s death. Mari suggested that this difference is relevant when comparing why Italy may be more discriminatory against outsiders than Spain. Spain endured a longer rule under fascism so its people remember and understand well the meanings and purpose of fascism. On the contrary, Italians may not fully understand the terrible racism and damaging ideals of fascism. Consequently, more young adults today join fascist groups that try to revive Mussolini’s legacy. When describing this occurrence, Mari again shook her head as she chides, “They just don’t remember or know how bad it is, how racist it is.”

The sun had long set after our conversation quieted to an end. The heated lamps, hovering above the tables, casted a warm glow around us but could not stop the freezing wind seeping into my bones. At that moment, I didn't care. I was lost in my thoughts, absorbing all I had just heard. Sitting here, overlooking the piazza, and sipping my (now cold) chocolate, I am struck by my contradictory state. Here I am in a bourgeois setting contemplating on how such a picturesque world can be so tarnished through racial antagonism.

Despite the difficulty in communicating some aspects of the immigration and racial situations, our conversation effortlessly flowed from one topic to another. I looked at her and this time I smiled as both of us, at the same time, tucked our hands in our pockets to shield them from the biting cold. It had been four hours. I did not notice the time, only that I didn’t want it to end. Sitting there with her against the cold, I know I must wait until our next encounter to resume our discussion. After a brief stop at my apartment and some quick Italian lessons in my kitchen (where I attempted to learn some kitchen vocabulary), I hugged her goodbye. And then she was gone. But rest assured, we will meet again. In the meantime, I wish your days are filled with many wonderful encounters!

Arrivederci amici!

Alexis