He is currently writing a pamphlet to argue that there is no such thing as a ‘just’ peace, otherwise there would also be a ‘just’ war; that peace is an absolute principle of law, and therefore its opposite is nothing other than a crime; that there is no such thing as the ‘soldat inconnu’ or ‘unknown soldier’, but only the ‘missing victim’; that it is a mental illness (perhaps, but only ‘perhaps’, preferable to war) the mutual deterrence provided by dissuasive weapons – that is, the instrument that brought decades of peace following the totalitarian world wars of the last century, and ultimately the non-violent liberation of a part of the world that had been pinned down under the iron heel of political police forces and proletarian dictatorships. It is the ideology of the flotilla, the attempt to give the initiatives of the International Criminal Court the legal form of dogma; it is the platform upon which hinges all the ambiguity surrounding resistance to the European rearmament plan against Russian aggression in Ukraine and along the entire eastern front. Zagrebelsky’s ideas explain the defence of the white flag by a pope oblivious to the meaning of words, and shed light on the attribution of extreme reasonableness to Putin by a lady such as Ginevra Bompiani, who has no inkling whatsoever of the meaning of words.

‘Educare a occhio e croce’ would seem to allude, at least in the best sense of paideia, to the formation of a citizen; better still, to the intellectual—rather than emotional—construction of a mature human spirit, one that is aware of the crooked nature of humanity. It would therefore imply an introduction to politics, to the tragic sense of life, and to its painful truth—which certainly encompasses questions about war and just peace. Instead, with Zagrebelsky, one is inundated with guidelines devoid of any connection to the reality of things, all subservient to ‘oughts’, to ethical absolutes, to a disembodied and empty notion of the common good: the ‘mis-educator’, however well-intentioned, perfectly embodies – in pure paradox – the void described by Tacitus as an expression of the devastating pax romana: he creates an intellectual desert and calls it peace. Without a concept of justice, without the contractual validation of security—which provides the foundation and framework for the state and the community—and without the authorisation to defend oneself against threats, the very concept of peace is useless; and to fail to recognise this, to deny it, is highly counter-educational. Zagrebelsky’s argument is simply a eulogy to unjust peace.

The special mention for the best work on tennis goes to Giulia Della Cioppa, La mancina (Bompiani, 2026), a coming-of-age novel that opens with a sentence that is already a weltanschauung: “Much of what I know I learnt on a court”. The protagonist takes to the court at the age of nine, accompanied by a father who has only ever watered and swept the courts, who repeats “I had teeth but no bread” and places upon her shoulders the talent he was never able to nurture. “They’re watching us from up there; your path is written,” he says from outside the fence, but she, inside, sees something quite different. Then come the academy, the junior tournaments, the rankings, and the scales every morning. Della Cioppa writes with geometric precision and overturns the fairy tale of the champion moulded by a parent: here, the only way to save oneself is by stepping outside the fence.

Finally, the ‘Fuoriclasse’ section, read, selected and voted for by students, awards the prize to Rosario Esposito La Rossa for "La tregua di Natale" (Garrincha Edizioni, 2025). Flanders, December 1914, the trenches at Ypres, the first winter of a war that was supposed to end in a matter of weeks. On Christmas Eve, decorated trees appear in the German and British trenches, Christmas carols ring out, and the following morning, men who had previously been firing at one another step out into no man’s land, shake hands, exchange tobacco and chocolate and… kick a football about. The students’ decision to select this particular book in a period marked by conflict is an act of faith in the transformative power of sport: the stubborn—and by no means naïve—idea that a football can still break through barbed wire. While adults continue to dig trenches, young people, thankfully, keep searching for a football.

From his sacking by Roma to his dream of saving the team where he came through the ranks – all in one series.

It begins with the risk of failure – “Ostiamare is finished” is one of the phrases heard at the start of the trailer – and ends with promotion from Serie D to Serie C. This isn’t a spoiler because, as they say in these cases, the beauty lies in the journey. It lies in watching a former footballer and a budding coach go on to become president as well. “Alongside the dream lies responsibility,” is the testimony of someone who found himself waiting for new changing rooms, designing the shirts for the following season, consoling, reprimanding and motivating the players, and cutting unnecessary costs. “At first I thought I’d recreate what I’d experienced during my career at Roma and with the national team, but there are costs involved. I’ve rediscovered the world of my childhood – the beauty of the straightforward, no-frills football played by amateurs, its more intimate nature and its closeness to the people.” A fundamental concept of the documentary: “You go back to the essence of football,” De Rossi tells his team during a barbecue at the training ground. In another scene—one of the funniest—De Rossi and his right-hand man, Luca Beccaceci, discuss the impact of breakfasts on the budget. “Having to think like an owner is an advantage,” the Genoa manager tells journalists at the Sky Campus, “because it allows you to engage with every area of the club, starting with those who manage the figures. You understand the dynamics and where the difficulties arise – the same ones faced by Serie A clubs, despite the figures being completely different.”

Dan Sucu, the Rossoblù chairman, will be pleased to have such an understanding counterpart. Relations are already good: “Sooner or later, everyone gets sacked. Genoa have bucked the trend so far; they didn’t sack me when it would have been madness not to,” he said, referring to the many managerial changes in the first 11 matchdays of Serie A. De Rossi has already experienced the precarious nature of the manager’s job, yet “I’m almost having more fun now than when I was playing”. His priorities are clear: “My commitment to Ostiamare won’t influence my future decisions, not even if I were torn between an offer from abroad and one in Italy. There are aeroplanes and video calls, and I make no secret of the fact that one of my goals is precisely to manage in a foreign league.” Management as a vocation. “The only thing that might hold me back is being away from my family. But we’ve made a pact amongst ourselves and sooner or later we’ll be back together as a family. Not always being close by is emotionally draining.”

The coach’s role: “I’m almost having more fun now than when I was playing”

Finding himself behind the cameras for the first time, it was inevitable that he would face the judgment of his wife, the actress Sarah Felberbaum: “When she saw the first two episodes, she tore them to shreds. But then she was very happy with the final result and with how my personality came across.” A person who has decided to reveal himself for the first time from a different perspective: “I’ve never been afraid of the spotlight on the pitch, but I have been a bit wary of the one off the pitch. I’ve never been interested in telling my story through autobiographies; there, you tend to show only the best side of yourself. Here, the protagonist is Ostia.” The neighbourhood that gives Rome access to the sea, a city within a city, a place which, like so many others, needs to safeguard and restore the spaces where a community thrives. Starting with the football pitch. “It’s true that today’s youngsters are very different from us. Even I, had I been born in recent years, would probably have spent more hours in front of a screen and fewer in the pine forest where I used to play. When you play sport, however, there’s a sort of return to one’s roots. We have more modern balls and boots, but the spirit is the same as it was fifty years ago – ‘old-fashioned’ in the most positive sense of the word.” There are still young people who cry over a lost regional final in Ladispoli or get angry about a penalty the coach wouldn’t let them take. That’s why the advice of those who experienced these situations until just a few years ago is still valid: “With the lads, whilst emphasising respect for roles, I never put any distance between us; I didn’t let my own experience weigh on them.” There’s another thing he didn’t do, reveals someone who worked with him on the documentary: take to the pitch with them. “We were waiting for him to be tempted to kick a ball, but he held back whenever one came near him.” “I don’t feel like playing any more; since I retired, I’ve only played one match because of sponsorship commitments. I’d misread the contract.” He’s joking, but not entirely: “I’ve always seen football as a competitive sport; it’s awful to see yourself with a paunch at matches between former stars.”

It is more appropriate to manage Genoa and focus on Ostiamare, without ever stopping loving Roma: “I don’t have to hide anything; it would be silly to do so. The things I do aren’t at odds with one another; I love my life as it is now and I don’t regret the past.” Not least because the future is full of dreams to fulfil: “At my first away match at Seravezza-Pozzi (Lucca), there were three supporters. I’d like a lad from Ostia, 30 years from now, to call himself an Ostiamare supporter and talk about the outpouring of love for this team.”

“Of course, I’ve matured, but I think I’ve remained a normal lad. Normality is the most important thing; it’s what connects me to people, both at work and in my private life,” added Jannik after speaking about values earlier this week, on his first morning as Allianz’s Global Brand Ambassador. “Kimi is a very laid-back lad, a normal person. I think that’s what connects us more than anything else,” Sinner continued, referring to Antonelli, whom he had congratulated on his world title.

“We live in a world where there’s so much attention, so many people who want to get into your life and you never know why. But I don’t think I’ve ever lost my sense of normality,” he concludes, explaining the value that matters most to him. Being normal. Spending time with his family, playing on the simulator, washing his car by hand – even if it’s a Ferrari. Kimi does it too; his, of course, is a Mercedes. Jannik photographed him; Kimi told the story. Normal lives led by extraordinary young men.

It is noteworthy that Jannik’s hobby is the driving simulator he has had installed at home, while Kimi plays tennis for recreation. These are stories that not even the most advanced artificial intelligence could generate, as they would appear too implausible to be credible. And yet, that is precisely the case.

They wear watches from one sponsor and suits from another, but if it were up to them, they’d be in tracksuit bottoms or shorts and trainers all day. Kimi lives on his parents’ pocket money because otherwise he’d spend it all on cars, says his mum Veronica. Jannik probably stopped getting pocket money ages ago and has started buying the four-wheeled toys he loves so much himself.

They describe themselves as friends and would certainly know how to spend whole days together. Kimi would ask Jannik for the secrets of his tennis, and Jannik would ask Kimi how to tackle a certain bend at full speed. “I’ve always said that one day you’ll see me in a racing car…”, Sinner joked recently. “I can’t wait to organise a day out go-karting or in a GT3 with Jannik, who’s a friend,” Kimi said.

“What Kimi has managed to achieve is incredible. At twenty, he seems to do everything with astonishing ease. It looks normal, but it isn’t. He went through some tough times in his first season, worked incredibly hard and learnt to handle certain situations with a speed that only a phenomenon can possess. It moves me deeply to watch him.” The words Jannik dedicated to Kimi could easily have been spoken by Antonelli when discussing Sinner. At times, it feels as though they are looking in a mirror. Recall the ease with which Jannik won at Wimbledon or in Rome. They know how to turn their ordinariness into something special. They are reminiscent of Francesco Renga and Ermal Meta when they sang: “What’s wrong with being normal?”.

That said, the fact that Jannik and Kimi, despite their ordinary lives, have managed to become exceptional is another matter altogether. They had the talent, and they’ve been working at it since they were children. They sacrificed part of their youth to pursue their dreams, becoming number one in their respective sports. And now that they’re exceptional, they want to hold on to their ordinary lives at all costs.

Kimi manages it a bit better because he has fewer protective filters and Mercedes lets him express himself as he pleases, whilst Jannik sometimes seems afraid to mingle with people. But perhaps it’s also a difference in character – the sort that exists between someone from South Tyrol and someone from Emilia, between a lad from the mountains and one from the plains.

“I know Kimi and his father a bit. They’re ordinary people. Kimi isn’t the sort of person who needs to be seen in a fancy car; he’s a very laid-back lad. I think this ordinariness is what connects us more than anything else,” Jannik went on to say, revealing another similarity between the two: their families. Present, but not overbearing. Affectionate, but not smothering.

“Marco, Kimi’s dad, who used to race himself, had a team and knew his stuff, never said a word to me about managing his son when he was racing against me in karts,” says Dino Chiesa, with whom Kimi took his first steps in the sport.

Whilst many coaches believe that the best asset for young players is to be orphans, in the case of Sinner and Antonelli we can safely say that this is not the case. Jannik and Kimi need the reassurance of their parents – the kind that their father Marco provides for his son by standing by his side in the pits every race weekend.

The other day, Sinner described Darren Cahill as almost a second father to him, given the way he had advised him through difficult times. A bit like Toto Wolff is to Kimi. They’re identical in this respect too.

This development allows Ferrari fans to dream, as at some point Jannik decided to part ways with Darren to embark on a new adventure with a new manager. It remains to be seen whether, at some point in the distant future, Kimi might also choose to leave his long-time mentor.

The current state of play, as seen during a site visit on Thursday. The reinforced concrete load-bearing structure is already clearly defined: it hints at the undulating shapes of the stands, creating an intimate and well-proportioned space where visibility will be excellent. Work is currently underway on installing the external metal cladding, which gives shape and character to the entire complex. This will be followed by the installation of the main roof structure, together with the final structural steelwork. Work will then move on to the interiors. According to the contractor, by the end of 2026, 45 per cent of the works will have been completed. The facility is scheduled for handover in December 2027, following 26 months of construction. The aim is to hold the grand opening in the following calendar year – certainly in time for the 2027/28 football season. However, Venezia’s management are confident they will be able to inaugurate the Bosco dello Sport a few months earlier, in the spring, whilst the league season is still underway. In short: the countdown has begun.

It will be an aesthetic, functional and geographical revolution for Venetian football. The old, romantic Penzo stadium will be retired after more than a century of distinguished service. No more Serie A football surrounded by water, in the heart of the lagoon, but this is the price to pay to propel Venezia into the modern age once and for all. The current stadium has a capacity of 12,000. Its successor at the Bosco dello Sport will have a capacity of 18,500, of which nearly 2,000 will be allocated to the hospitality area – four times the current size. It is a significant leap in scale, but not out of proportion: the club and industry insiders specifically wanted it this way. Even if this means – according to UEFA parameters – having to forgo the possibility of hosting major continental events, such as the European Football Championships. “The aim that guided our decisions was to optimise the stadium’s capacity and day-to-day use, avoiding the ‘cathedral in the desert’ effect,” explains Silvia Prandelli, senior principal at Populous, the international architecture and design firm in charge of the project. Its portfolio also includes the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium and the redevelopment of the Sinigaglia Stadium in Como. “Venice is set to become a model of excellence for Italian sports infrastructure. A project like this has been long overdue.”

Compared to the Penzo, which can only be reached on foot or by vaporetto, the Bosco dello Sport is strongly focused on accessibility: it is a stone’s throw from a motorway junction, near Marco Polo Airport, and will be linked to an extensive cycle and pedestrian network, pending the far more important rail link, the construction of which, however, will take at least a few more years. There are also plans for 2,800 parking spaces. And of course, in the name of convenience, get ready to say goodbye to those long pre-match walks. For Venezia fans, making their way through the historic centre to the Penzo stadium, from bacaro to bacaro, from cicchetto to cicchetto, has always been a ritual as cherished as the 90 minutes of play. So for the new stadium, they’ll have to come up with a new one. Some elements will remain: the orange-black-and-green club is in fact working on a plan to involve the business owners along the traditional route at the new site as well, complete with kiosks and the relocation of signage, whilst covering part of the logistical costs. As for the rest, the big gamble is that the sense of wonder will outweigh the nostalgia. Staying in Serie A would help.

What you have just read is an extract from editor-in-chief Claudio Cerasa’s newsletter, La Situa. You can subscribe here – it’s simple and free.

The book’s fundamental insight is encapsulated in its title, which reverses the proposition with which Wittgenstein opens the Tractatus: the world is not everything that happens, but everything that remains. What happens becomes part of the world to the extent that it leaves a trace and continues to have an effect. A promise can bind us many years after it was made, just as a decision can shape our lives long after the circumstances that prompted it have passed. The present cannot be understood without what of the past remains inscribed within it.

Ferraris calls this principle ‘hysteresis’, borrowing the term from physics which describes, for example, the ability of a magnetic material to retain the effects of a field even after it has been removed. The philosophical extension is more radical. Hysteresis is not the same as memory or mere duration, but denotes the condition by which effects persist beyond their causes and generate new configurations of reality. This gives rise to a conception of being not as an immobile substance traversed by time, but as the result of processes that acquire stability over time.

What makes this structure more evident today is the digital revolution, not because reality has become digital or can be reduced to information, but because the extraordinary capacity to record and preserve actions, words and behaviours has brought to light a principle that has always operated in the world: the persistence of traces and their ability to continue to produce effects. Even the mobile phone, originally designed as a tool for speaking, has gradually been transformed into a machine for writing, recording and storing. It is precisely this perspective that gives rise to what Ferraris calls ‘technosophy’ – a metaphysics that does not merely reflect on technology or judge its consequences, but utilises it as a tool for understanding reality. Rather than distancing humankind from its own nature, technology enables us to recognise its deepest structures and, through them, to gain some understanding of the very constitution of the world.

This era, much like the late 18th and early 19th centuries – a time of profound transition – calls for true philosophy: that is, conceptual frameworks capable of interpreting reality through the lens of reason. ‘Finding the human’ in the age of artificial intelligence does not mean taking refuge in the cheap sentimentality of so-called belles-lettres about beautiful souls, but rather in the creativity – and I emphasise this word – of reason’s interpretative potential and its logic. Ferraris’s theoretical momentum is powerful, regardless of whether one shares his perspective, first and foremost because he strives to provide an interpretative paradigm of reality. If philosophy does not do this, it is dead and buried. It remains only as a name to be specified – the philosophy of this or that – thereby emptying it of all meaning, or as an adjective to be tacked onto the dialogues of some pretentious television series.

Philosophy is either the codification of its own time, and of time in its entirety – that is, of the whole human experience – as grasped through thought, or it simply does not exist. But this possible ‘non-existence’ of philosophy is not the neutral disappearance of some discipline. If what has been said above holds true, the disappearance of philosophy coincides with the very disappearance of a specific, and irreplaceable, possibility of thought.

And yet that book, which was then dismissed as a babble of pacifist ranting, now leaves one aghast thanks to its prediction of a tool that would not only enable any goods to be delivered instantly to any corner of the globe, but also allow anyone to broadcast their own videos to the entire world population. One begins to wonder whether Patchen had travelled into the future and returned when one comes across the passage in which he describes ‘a machine that writes books’: there are buttons to determine the characters, the setting, the plot – rather like in Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum, where a computer was imagined capable of adding snow to Madame Bovary to automatically transform it into Anna Karenina – and, above all, the literary genre, for example a light-hearted novel set in New England. As with books written in series by AI, ‘it is simply a matter of incremental progression, until one arrives at a particular type of person out of millions of possibilities, a house, a chair, a specific instance of incest, adultery or violence’: the important thing, the inventor explains, is that the quality should be nothing special; otherwise, the public becomes suspicious and realises that behind the exquisite prose lies a machine. Eighty years have passed, but even then Patchen had sensed that AI would fulfil a need deeply rooted in the human soul: the need to write badly.

Rachel Aviv became a writer because her mother was obsessed with The New Yorker. The Pain That Remains brings together seven stories, published by Aviv in The New Yorker – her mother’s dream. They are stories of trauma and mental illness, but above all of mothers and daughters: that primordial, tangled and inescapable psychological bond, which Aviv felt the need to revisit following the transformative experience of motherhood.

Whilst rereading her notes for a story written before she turned thirty – the one about Linda Bishop, a woman with a psychiatric diagnosis who starved to death in an unoccupied house – she realised she had omitted the fact that, as a young woman, Bishop had given birth to a son who was immediately put up for adoption. She had also omitted a detail regarding Hannah Upp, who, from time to time, during episodes of dissociative fugue, would disappear – sometimes for months – without retaining any memory of what she had done. This always happened at the time of year when her mother had given birth to a baby who died shortly afterwards.

All the essays in this book focus on the traces left by pain, on the trauma that is unconsciously passed down and resurfaces elsewhere, transformed. There is the submerged pain and displaced love of Emma, a Filipino migrant who left her homeland to ensure her daughters a life of dignity; that of Mary, who has recovered from psychosis but has become unrecognisable to her daughters (Aviv was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for this story); and the pain reworked and distorted in memory by Elizabeth Loftus, the famous psychologist who has dedicated her life precisely to demonstrating just how changeable and unreliable memory is. Finally, there is the story of Alice Munro, who kept silent about her partner’s abuse of her daughter Andrea so as not to risk her whole life being reduced to that trauma. A victim of violence herself, she sublimated the abuse of Andrea into her short stories, ‘turning life’s difficulties into gold’, as Jenny, another of Munro’s daughters, tells Rachel Aviv.

The trust the interviewees place in her is striking: during these intense conversations, they themselves come to understand something new about themselves, which Aviv conveys through her writing with clarity, modesty and without judgement. As a child, Aviv suffered from anorexia, and the long course of psychotherapy – described as intrusive and humiliating – shaped her life and the purpose of her work: to convey an ineffable experience such as mental illness. She is drawn to stories with an unstable point of view, and knows that the mother-daughter relationship, more than any other, defies a fixed perspective. Faced with the realisation that ‘the little girl who endures certain things becomes an adult who, in turn, inflicts wounds – without even knowing which ones – for which, years later, she will be asked to repent’, attempting to bring to light the traces of the pain that remains is a courageous endeavour to reclaim the fragments we have separated from ourselves because they are too heart-wrenching, and to make sense of them, until we can piece them back together and become whole again.

In the small cemetery overlooking the sea, there is a white gravestone, standing in a row amongst the others. It reads: John Hasluck Cole Symington, born in Blackhill, Great Britain, in 1894, died in Portovenere on 25 December 1915. A twenty-one-year-old lad, an officer cadet on the British merchant ship Teesbridge, which was, perhaps, carrying spices and tea from the Indies to the capital of the Empire.

I first saw that gravestone by chance. But I stopped, lost in thought, thinking of a young man from a hundred years ago. John, a young man in the prime of his life, aboard the mighty British steamer. The Great War had already broken out, but – as I checked on AI – there was no battle on 25 December in the Ligurian Sea. John is simply listed as having ‘drowned’. At Christmas, on the Teesbridge, people were surely toasting and singing. Perhaps no one shouted ‘man overboard’? What an unlikely death, what an absurd death, I tell myself, yet I find myself envying that grave a little, forever overlooking the light of the sea at Portovenere.

(The Teesbridge, too – I found out via AI – was not so fortunate. In 1929, it sank in the ocean off St John’s, Newfoundland. It literally vanished into thin air, along with its thirty-one crew members.) Yet, for some reason, this John is very dear to me, like a son. He died as a young man, so far from home. And who knows when his mother found out.

Just one thing, amidst the indescribable beauty of the cemetery with the sea on the horizon, soothes the sting of the absurd, of the nothingness that weighs upon me with every passing second. Beneath the name ‘John’, on a cross, three words are engraved: ‘TILL HE COME’.

It is archaic English, with the verb in the subjunctive. It is the exact same expression found in Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians: ‘Till He come’, until He comes.

Sleep, John, until he returns. When we finally see each other face to face. And all this pain, this anguish, this suffering will be over.

Among these works, which depict the virtuous relationship between the public and the private sphere a century before the concept became part of the repertoire of political clichés, are, for example, Giovani Segantini’s Spring Pastures and Caravaggio’s Supper at Emmaus, which became part of the Brera collection following lengthy negotiations with the Patrizi family and the decisive contribution of one of the association’s longest-serving presidents, Paolo Gerli of Villa Gaeta.

And this brings us to the point, namely that one cannot understand anything about Milan, its history and the reasons why its social fabric holds together despite the signs sent by last month’s devastation, the suburbs where libraries are being restored without a thought for how to attract people inside them, and an administration more accustomed to superficial cosmetic changes than to in-depth work – unless one delves into the nerve centres of that bourgeois, entrepreneurial and only partially aristocratic, which since the early nineteenth century has laid the foundations of solidarity and secular patronage around a highly concentrated yet very specific geographical and demographic area: La Scala, the Pinacoteca di Brera, the Poldi Pezzoli Museum, to which the Prada Foundation has been added in recent years for very good reasons. Alongside these institutions stands a dense network of supporters, ranging from ordinary members to trustees such as Francesca Luchi – who this year donated two monumental preparatory cartoons by Francesco Hayez and Pelagio Palagi to the Pinacoteca di Brera – and they not only enrich the collections but also propose and often fund projects and improvements.

Since 1926, the year the Associazione Amici di Brera was founded at the behest of Ettore Modigliani – the great art historian and superintendent forced to resign from his post following the enactment of the racial laws, and whose portrait, painted by Harold Knight during his stay in London for the major 1930 exhibition of Italian art at the Royal Academy of Arts (on display is a delightful memento of that adventure in which, due to Mussolini’s terrible idea of transporting priceless masterpieces by sea, disaster was narrowly averted), is one of this year’s major discoveries by the current president, the antiquarian Carlo Orsi; the association has had a relatively small number of leading figures, or rather, key figures. This is despite the fact that in 1939 it was suppressed by the Fascist regime and re-established a decade later by Fernanda Wittgens, the first director of Brera in the post-war period, who, whilst Modigliani was in exile, kept in constant contact with him to save the Pinacoteca during the war years.

Their names – from Ettore Conti to Lamberto Vitali, Aldo Bassetti and, indeed, Orsi, who was reappointed during the celebrations marking Brera’s 250th anniversary – appear in a series of diagrams reproduced at the bottom of each panel, and all demonstrate a long tenure except for one, that of Giulia Maria Crespi, who was in charge of the Amici di Brera for a very brief period between her time at the Corriere della Sera and the founding of the FAI, during which she is said to have shown a certain tendency to demand substantial donations. If you were to search for the dates of her presidency using AI, you would not find them. The catalogue, which will not only document the exhibition but also contribute to the cultural and civic history of Milan, is eagerly awaited.

Some observers note that this stalemate is an intrinsic feature of an infrastructure conceived during the second Albertini administration and subsequently marked by a series of setbacks, resulting in the opening of the first section only in 2022 and the second two years later. The extension of the M4 to Segrate, which was set to be fast-tracked thanks to the 420 million allocated by the Ministry of Infrastructure, came to an abrupt halt in 2025 following the decision (which was supported by Palazzo Marino, the Regional Government and the Ministry, but met with the obvious disapproval of the municipality of Segrate) to divert the funds to the M5 line to Monza, which was deemed more urgent.

The alarm raised by Biffi is justified by the fact that, according to the plans, the Porta dell’Est is the most important intermodal hub in Lombardy and perhaps in the whole of northern Italy; it connects the metropolitan public transport network with the Milan–Venice line and the Malpensa and Orio airport system, and diverts traffic away from the city, taking around 30 million car journeys off the roads each year and reducing congestion and environmental impact. High-speed rail, the motorway network and the metro must converge at Segrate to get this transport hub up and running; the problem is that, at present, there is no funding in place for the 3-kilometre section, nor is there a known timetable. At the opening of the Cassanese road, Salvini said that the ministry is ready to support the commitment alongside local authorities and will do everything possible to secure the funds needed to get the construction sites up and running. These remarks did not go down well with the mayor of Segrate, Francesco Di Chio: “The situation is this: the project is ready but the money isn’t there,” he explains to Il Foglio, “with consequences that go further: there are local projects such as Vastint – an urban regeneration scheme covering 25 hectares – and Westfield, spanning 108,000 square metres, which are awaiting the go-ahead for the M4 line, or else they will have to be scaled back.” As for the outlook, the mayor is not particularly optimistic: “Porta dell’Est involves two contracts: the metro line, which is managed by the City of Milan, and the station, which is the responsibility of RFI. Even though it does not pass through an urban area, the M4 route is not straightforward; it is entirely underground and must pass beneath the Idroscalo, facing significant topographical challenges. It will take 5–7 years to see the project completed; it is essential that all political and institutional stakeholders play their part, as Porta dell’Est has the potential to bring about a quantum leap in both passenger and freight transport.” Milan’s Councillor for Mobility, Arianna Censi, echoes this view, noting that the feasibility study has been approved, meaning the tender process can go ahead (funding permitting). The mayoral candidates are less involved and have yet to define their positions on issues such as this. The exception is Pierfranco Majorino, who speaks out in favour of the project in these terms: “I am in complete agreement and always have been; it is a vital necessity. The important thing is that the resources are additional to, and not in place of, those allocated to other projects.”

Varese and its surrounding area, linked to Milan by the ‘oldest motorway in Italy’ – the Milan-Laghi motorway (1924) – boast some notable connections: Giancarlo Giorgetti, Minister for the Economy, and Attilio Fontana, Governor of Lombardy, were both born and raised here, dedicating their work and attention to this area, which has always developed in harmony with the business world. The region is home to around 65,000 active businesses (with a strong focus on craft industries and SMEs) as well as long-established multinationals in the metalworking, fashion and technology sectors. Its proximity to Malpensa, Switzerland and the European transport corridors (Simplon and Gotthard) makes it a strategic logistics and commercial hub for exports. Varese ranks among the top Italian provinces in terms of industry’s share of total value added (around 24.8 per cent) and has seen record growth in exports (+23.2 per cent, the highest in Lombardy). The province’s economy stands at a value added of 29.7 billion, yet businesses continue to invest. According to data compiled by the Confindustria Varese Research Centre, in its annual investment survey—conducted on a representative sample—74 per cent of businesses reported having made at least one investment during the year, with the majority of these companies (41 per cent) investing more than in the previous period. Investments in plant and machinery took top place. Next came intangible assets, which are crucial for the future: investments in software (57 per cent), followed by investments in research and development (37 per cent) and those in patents, concessions, licences and trade marks (39 per cent). However, it is not all plain sailing: there has in fact been a slight slowdown in employment, and the economic cycle is showing signs of stabilisation and a more moderate pace of growth, in line with the general slowdown in the Lombardy economy.

And what about the future? The real turning point for the Varese-based industry may come from the Aerospace Cluster, established in 2009, which, by developing technologies linked to the artificial satellite system, can play a fundamental role in global development. After all, the Varese-Malpensa area has a long history in the aeronautical industry and has been a centre of international excellence in the sector for a century. Now, the cluster is set to host infrastructure that will accelerate economic growth and environmental sustainability. In the United States, there are already those working to take data centres into space. Today, the cluster represents the Lombardy aerospace sector in its entirety, comprising more than 200 companies employing around 22,000 people, generating an annual turnover of approximately 6.3 billion and exports worth around 3 billion – equivalent to roughly one-third of the sector’s national exports. “The trend in Lombardy’s aerospace exports in the first six months of 2026,” explains Paolo Cerabolini, president of the Lombardia Aerospace Cluster, to Il Foglio, “confirms the strength of a sector that continues to innovate and expand its presence on international markets. The figures compiled by the Confindustria Varese Research Centre speak for themselves: around 1.6 billion euros’ worth of exported goods and growth of +39.2 per cent compared with the first half of last year. These are not merely economic indicators, but concrete proof of the competitiveness and technological maturity of the aerospace supply chain, which brings together major players, highly specialised SMEs, universities and research centres. In a word: unique expertise. Driving this result is the strong global reach of our companies, led by long-standing partners such as the United States and the United Kingdom, alongside an increasingly solid presence in strategic markets such as Saudi Arabia, Australia and Brazil. As a cluster, we will continue to support the sector’s internationalisation, helping our companies to work together as a cohesive network and to capture new market shares on a global scale.”

The Cluster naturally includes the giant Leonardo (with an order book of 60 billion), a company in constant expansion which, in the Varese area, can count on its Helicopters and Aircraft divisions. “The integration and digitalisation of platforms,” explains Lorenzo Mariani, CEO and General Manager of Leonardo, “the development of industrial partnerships and targeted M&A (mergers and acquisitions) activities form the basis of the Strategic Plan that will enable Leonardo to play a central role in the new international defence and security (AD&S) industry landscape and to strengthen our position in response to market developments. The GCAP programme, the joint ventures with Rheinmetall and Baykar, the alliance with Airbus and Thales to create a European space operator, the technological development of the Michelangelo Dome, the integration of IDV into the Leonardo system, and the acquisition of Raft in the United States by Leonardo DRS represent the concrete steps towards realising our strategic vision.” A significant step forward for Lombard entrepreneurship as it looks to the future.

I was on my way back to Milan from a trip that had taken me to various towns in the Po Valley. I had tried to emulate a great example: Giorgio Bocca’s provincial itineraries. My assignment for l’Unità allowed me to rely on the secretaries of the local federations, individuals who knew their terrain and had their finger on the pulse of their towns. As an example, in Modena I requested permission to interview the elderly Enzo Ferrari, and a single phone call from the secretary sufficed to open the gates of Maranello. The Communists had a reputation for being serious people, and they were taken seriously. I had gathered a vast amount of material; I’d researched the political and social scene, the traditions, and even the cuisine of each of the towns. But nothing had been as revealing as that chance conversation on the train.

I had simply been listening. I had taken care not to intervene. There had been no need for me to ask any questions. The topic came up naturally. Just like in the pub the day after the matches. One man announced that he would be voting for the PCI because ‘there’s too much crime about’, and ‘in Russia they deal with criminals properly: they either eliminate them or send them to work in Siberia’. He was clearly invoking Stalin, even before Brezhnev. No other security decree would have satisfied him. Another complained about the high cost of living, stagnant wages and high rents. It was all the fault of the ‘thieving’ politicians in Rome, whom he punished by voting for the PCI. It is likely that a few years later he began voting for the Lega. One voted for the PCI because they were ‘on the workers’ side’. Another voted for the PCI because his father had been in the Resistance; democracy had to be defended against the fascists. Yet another voted for the PCI because they were “honest and knew how to govern well”. Frankly, I do not recall anyone saying they voted Communist “because Berlinguer was a good person and Andreotti wasn’t”. Giorgio Gaber’s song (“Qualcuno era comunista”) came much later, almost twenty years on.

In 1975, the shift in votes had been remarkable for a system characterised by a high degree of electoral loyalty, where victory or defeat had for years been decided by just a few percentage points either way. The mass entry of young people into the electorate had played a significant role; the voting age had only just been lowered to 18. There was the impact of 1968. The referendum on divorce had only just taken place. In short, a wind of change was blowing. All towards the left. And the PCI had managed to capitalise on it. In Emilia, it reached almost 50 per cent. But on a national scale, the percentage remained just over 30 per cent. In the general election the following year, it fared even better. But one in three votes does not constitute a majority. In many towns, joint PCI–PSI councils were formed. But the national government remained in the hands of the PSI and the DC. The PCI, still a large and cumbersome force, was excluded. It would remain so for a long time.

On the eve of the 1975 local elections, on a train to Milan, everyone was explaining why they would be voting for the Italian Communist Party

Something of the sort happened in the US mid-term elections. We witnessed some remarkable events. Abdul El-Sayed, the first Muslim senator in US history, managed to secure a resounding victory in Michigan despite Trump having labelled him a ‘jihadist’ and his opponents having branded him an ‘anti-Semite’. He was not deterred by the fact that he had advocated a wealth tax on billionaires, universal healthcare (i.e. healthcare that would probably be slightly worse for everyone, which is the great spectre haunting the entire West), and had proposed the dismantling of ICE, the anti-migrant police force. “Money out of politics, money into your pockets” was his favourite slogan. These are all issues that in the past had characterised and accompanied electoral waves of support for the right.

Many of the winners in this US election openly described themselves as ‘socialists’. In Trump’s parlance, this translates as ‘communists, left-wing radicals’. Darializa Avila Chevalier, the newly elected Member of Congress for New York, once even advocated the abolition of the police, prisons and borders, as well as the nationalisation of the means of production. It had been almost 40 years since Texas – a state as staunchly conservative as California (or New York) is considered to be progressive – had elected a Democratic senator. Agricultural Kansas had not elected one since 1932, that is, since farmers too had joined the sweeping wave of support for the Democrat Franklin Delano Roosevelt, feeling betrayed by Herbert Hoover, for whom they had also voted en masse in the previous election. Back then, they were furious about the drought and the collapse of farm prices. This time, it’s because of high diesel prices and because fertilisers are stuck in the Strait of Hormuz. Mississippi has elected its first Black senator since 1874.

At least 17 new governors are women. In New Mexico, a Native American woman has been elected. In Georgia – the slave-holding state that once sparked the Civil War – the governor, the Attorney General and the Secretary of State are all women, all of whom are Black. In Colorado, Admiral Eileen Laubacher – one of the women sacked by Defence Secretary Hegseth – defeated the fiery ‘Maga’ advocate Laureen Boebert.

One could go on. Quite rightly, media attention is focused on the most striking cases – on the victory of those whom common sense would have said ‘never again’. But it would be misleading to assume that America has suddenly shifted to the left, or indeed towards the far left. The vast majority of elected Democrats are moderates. And often moderates who have distinguished themselves by extending a hand of understanding towards their opponents’ positions and motivations. A prime example is Roy Cooper, the first Democrat to be elected senator for North Carolina’s tobacco-growing district (‘the land of nicotine’) in the last 18 years. He has always stood out for his willingness to engage in dialogue and extend a hand to Republicans. “OK, I’m not a socialist, and I’m not a right-wing Republican either. But I’m ready to work with anyone who wants to help bring down the cost of living” – this was his mantra at rallies.

There is a time for everything, says Ecclesiastes. There are times when the winner is the one who best tears down – or rather, best demonises – their opponent. Other times, it is the one who extends a hand to their opponents who prevails. Has such a moment arrived in America too? The moment of pluralism? Of course, voting against someone, rather than for someone, is always an important factor in mobilising the electorate. Even more so than ‘holding one’s nose’ and voting for the lesser of two evils. Trump has proved to be a millstone around his own party’s neck. Many Republican candidates have done their utmost to avoid being seen alongside their president. His approval ratings are at an all-time low. It matters little that there isn’t much enthusiasm for the Democrats either. What counts more is that voters are clear about who they do not want.

The vast majority of elected Democrats are moderates, who have distinguished themselves by reaching out to opposing views and motivations

Trump is the president who has made the least effort to be a president for all. He has always declared himself and acted as the president of one side – indeed, of the extremists on that side. Now he must resign himself, willy-nilly, to the idea that a minority (even the all-powerful President of the United States always represents a minority) cannot expect to call the shots on everything. The American system does not provide for different parties to form coalitions. Voters are registered as belonging to one or the other of the two major parties. It is up to the individual to make the choice, whether voting for the presidency, for Congress, for governors, for judges, police chiefs, county sheriffs, and so on. The primaries decide who stands as a candidate. But the problem of forming a coalition – a ‘historical bloc’, if you will – of bringing together a diverse range of forces, ideas, traditions, beliefs and interests certainly exists. The support of just one group is not enough. The right mix is needed.

Just as in that 1975 in the Po Valley that comes to mind, the decisive factor – the one that overshadows everything else – is the convergence of a multitude of different rivulets into a single floodwave. To the point of forming a sort of ‘vast field’. Contrary to all those who say ‘no, not you’. Anglo-Saxon political jargon has specific terms for this phenomenon. According to the Oxford Dictionary, a ‘big-tent party’ or a ‘catch-all party’ is ‘a political party whose members cover a broad spectrum of different beliefs and opinions’.

No ideological bias, no entrenched political rivalries can hold sway when the tide turns. The big news is that, it seems, this time round voters have punished animosity and aggression for being ‘biased’. Instead, they have rewarded the desire for dialogue. Trump’s campaign, once again, was characterised by an ‘us versus them’ mentality. By branding opponents as enemies and traitors. By calling them extremists, communists, anti-Americans and ‘woke’. A bit like how, in Israel, Netanyahu labelled all his critics – including those with whom he would now like to form a government of national unity – as anti-Semites or ‘useful idiots’ of Hamas.

The overwhelming response pointed in one clear direction. Americans voted en masse against the Republicans, Trump’s party, and in favour of the Democrats, the party opposed to Trump. There is no disputing this. Not even Trump is disputing it this time. The wind of change is blowing strong. But these were not presidential elections. Voters were casting their ballots, as is customary halfway through a presidential term (mid-term, in fact), to re-elect the House of Representatives and a third of the Senate. Trump says that if he had been on the ballot, his supporters would have won. The claim is not convincing, and it does not persuade even his own supporters. He insists that someone must have rigged the results. “How can anyone say it was all above board? With a result so far off the polls?”, he blurted out, despite having conceded defeat (unlike in 2020, when he lost to Biden). Such claims are no laughing matter, as they risk pushing the country toward a dangerous period of civil strife.

The health of a democracy can also be gauged by whether those who lose step aside without making too much of a fuss. This has even happened in Orbán’s Hungary and in Vucic’s Serbia, where he was swept from power by the elections following a student uprising. Stirring up Serbian nationalism by organising a state funeral for the war criminal Mladić did him no good. In the United States, Al Gore against Bush Jr. and Hillary Clinton against Trump had immediately conceded defeat, even though (due to a somewhat peculiar electoral system) they had received millions more votes than their opponents. In Italy, back in the day, Berlusconi had proved the grim predictions of the ending of Nanni Moretti’s film Il Caimano wrong. There were no street protests against his conviction. There was no futile attempt to keep his government afloat.

No ideological bias or entrenched political rivalries can hold sway when the tide rises. The ‘us against them’ approach has not worked

Trump willingly accepts only election results that suit him. And only rulings by judges, or by the Supreme Court, that find in his favour. True, he is not obliged to step down. These were not presidential elections. He has already shown, by inciting the storming of the Capitol in 2021, that he is not prepared to leave peacefully even if he loses. And in the event of impeachment – for which the Democrats would now have the necessary majority?

Ties, majorities by a single vote or just a few percentage points are not conducive to democracy. It can be risky. But it doesn’t work either if you change the rules of the game to make it seem as though there was no tie, that one of the two sides won by a landslide. Trump and his Republicans were counting heavily on redistricting – the manipulation of constituency boundaries. But the much-debated gerrymandering (a political slang term derived from Elbridge Gerry, the 19th-century governor of Massachusetts who invented the scheme, and from ‘salamander’, the shape produced by stretching, narrowing and shortening constituency boundaries as it suits) was to no avail.

Trump said he was surprised, and he is correct. Polls had suggested a difficult outlook for the Republicans, but not to this extent. The President did not anticipate such a result, nor did the winners. The Democrats do not yet have a manifesto. They do not yet have even the shadow of a leader. The Democratic Party has more aspiring leadership candidates than the ‘broad coalition’ here does. This will become apparent in the primaries for the next presidential election. The interesting thing is that there is no single explanation for how it all turned out. On closer inspection, the result points to a staggering variety of reasons why voters cast their ballots as they did.

Yes, of course, the doubling of petrol prices, inflation, the cost of living (for Trump, all just a matter of ineffective public relations). The perception that the tariffs have proven to be a complete failure. That the promised golden age was nothing but a fairy tale. A misguided war and, above all, a war (whatever anyone may say) that has been lost. The United States humiliated, diminished rather than ‘great again’. Petty squabbles and political – often personal – vendettas. An administration that favours the powerful and enriches the rich even further (starting, moreover, with the President, his family and friends), indeed taking it out on the weakest. It does not even leave them the crumbs; it does not produce the ‘trickle-down’ effect – the cascading impact of growth and enrichment, as remembered from the Reagan era.

Yes, all of that. But no single factor is sufficient to explain the uniformity of the election result, the scale of the defeat and rout suffered by one side, and the victory for the other. All this discontent could still have been directed against the Democrats, against the arrogance and high-handedness, the self-satisfaction of the hated elites, taking on once again the characteristics of a populist rebellion (whether left-wing or right-wing populism). What is most extraordinary, however, is the way in which a single current has carried and blended different, sometimes contradictory, orientations and components.

The tin in question is Spam, a mixture of pork and ham, processed for long-term preservation in tins that have been lining the shelves of American supermarkets and the cupboards of the most disadvantaged families since 1937. When sales of Spam rise, as happened in the years following the 2008–2009 economic crisis, it is not a good sign. A seasoned politician like Ted Cruz, a senator from Texas, knows this only too well. Following the 3 November election, he remained the only Republican in a senior position to survive amongst the thirty-two million inhabitants of a state that has turned its back on the party that once dominated it, choosing instead to put its trust in the Democrats. In the immediate aftermath, on his podcast, Cruz launched a scathing indictment of his own party, which he accused of failing to understand what is happening in the country: “The main problem – the cost of living – is as real as ever,” said the senator. Too many politicians have underestimated it; they have failed to grasp the situation. They have merely pointed to the macroeconomic figures: booming stock markets, median income at an all-time high and poverty at an all-time low. These figures are true, but they do not tell the whole story. Here are some much more concrete statistics that are closer to people’s everyday lives. Spam recorded record sales, reaching 113 million tins last year: a quantity almost equal to that sold during the entire Second World War. This year, 29 per cent of Americans have used ‘buy now, pay later’ schemes to buy groceries; a figure that, just two years ago, was half that.”

Setting aside Cruz’s attempt to downplay the war against Iran – of which he is a staunch supporter – and some difficulties in verifying the senator’s figures (Hormel, the company that produces Spam, does not release detailed figures on the tins), the analysis has some merit. Those 340-gram tins of gelatinous meat, which sell for $3.50–$4 in American supermarkets, are a lifeline for many families and a powerful indicator of hardship. They are also part of the country’s popular culture.

Spam was launched by Hormel on 5 July 1937, with a name created as an acronym for ‘spiced ham’ and a recipe – which has remained virtually unchanged for nearly a century – involving the processing of a mixture of pork shoulder, ham, potato starch, water, salt, sugar and preservatives. From Austin in Minnesota – the town that promotes itself as ‘Spamtown’ – Hormel supplies 41,000 tonnes of the product to the American market every year. The entire local economy revolves around Hormel’s production, which, amongst other things, requires the slaughter of 19,000 pigs a day to produce the company’s wide range of food products.

The Spam boom began during the Second World War, when American soldiers’ rucksacks were filled with tins, which were then distributed across Europe, particularly in besieged Britain where food was rationed: Margaret Thatcher recalled the years when a tin of Spam was considered ‘a delicacy’ on British tables. Huge stocks of pork from Minnesota also found their way to the Soviet allies, who were themselves grappling with supply problems. “In the army,” wrote Nikita Khrushchev in his memoirs, “there were many jokes circulating – some of them rather crude – about American Spam. But it was tasty. Without Spam, we would not have been able to feed our army. We had lost our most fertile lands.” The Ministry of War supplied Spam mainly to Asia, to feed the military and local populations: soldiers had so much of it at their disposal that they often even used it to lubricate their weapons. Even today, the Pacific war zones remain among Hormel’s best markets outside the US, whilst in very American Hawaii it is considered a traditional dish.

Its success continued after the war, and over time Spam became synonymous with a cheap dish, but also one that was excessive and intrusive. This is why the waves of unwanted emails that try to clog up our inboxes now end up in a folder called, precisely, ‘spam’. Here, the story becomes a cross between American and British pop culture. Because in 1970, Spam took centre stage in an episode of ‘Monty Python’s Flying Circus’, the hugely popular TV series. The famous British comedy troupe created one of their surreal gags by inventing a restaurant serving nothing but Spam-based dishes, and they also composed a song dedicated to the American tinned meat. These were also the years when the first computer networks of what would become the internet were emerging, and the nerds who populated the early versions of email in academic circles were die-hard fans of Monty Python. And when, years later, too many unwanted messages began circulating on their networks, they christened them ‘spam’, in honour of their idols’ television sketch.

However, the popularity of Hormel’s product goes hand in hand with the fact that it has also become a staple for those who cannot afford other foodstuffs. Over the years, Spam has therefore come to symbolise hardship and poverty. When Cruz warns Republicans and urges them to take note of the rise in Spam sales, he is pointing to the lesser-known side of America—the one that, if it decides to vote, can cause electoral earthquakes. Or blue tsunamis, as happened in the mid-term elections.

Cruz is technically correct when he states that ‘poverty in America is at an all-time low’, but the picture is complex, and it is not even straightforward to define what it means in today’s United States to be ‘poor’ and forced to buy more Spam than usual. According to the Census Bureau, which published its annual report on income and poverty in mid-September, in 2025 there were 34.5 million Americans living below the official poverty line, around ten per cent of the population. This is the lowest level ever recorded. Median household income rose to $87,460, the highest since records began in 1967. Among Hispanics, the poverty rate fell to 13.9 per cent – also a record low – whilst among African Americans it stood at 17.3 per cent. Even the indicators of so-called ‘American despair’ have improved: deaths from drug overdoses, which had exceeded 111,000 in 2023, have fallen to around 68,000 a year, and life expectancy has returned to pre-Covid levels.

The problem is what is being measured. The official threshold is a concept devised in the 1960s. A Social Security economist, Mollie Orshansky, took the cost of a basic food basket and multiplied it by three, because at that time families spent a third of their income on food. The method has remained the same, adjusted only for inflation. Today, a household comprising two adults and two children is considered poor if it earns less than $32,649 a year. It does not take into account how much they pay in rent, how much they spend on medical care, or whether they receive meal vouchers. This is why, for the past fifteen years or so, the Census Bureau has also calculated a supplementary measure, which factors in public assistance and essential expenses. And here, the record lows disappear. The number of people living in poverty stands at 44.4 million, or 13.1 per cent, exactly the same as the previous year. The reason is that this threshold does not track the price index, but rather what a normal life actually costs. In 2025, prices rose by an average of 2.6 per cent, whilst the cost of food, clothing, housing and utility bills increased by a greater margin. Among those living in rented accommodation, almost one in four is poor. Medical expenses alone have pushed 7.7 million people below the poverty line. There are 9.7 million children living in poverty.

Even those who keep the most vulnerable part of the country afloat bear witness to the struggle faced by ‘Spam Country’ – the America that subsists on cheap pork shoulder. Social Security prevents 28.8 million Americans, mostly elderly, from falling into poverty. Tax credits for families keep six million above the poverty line, whilst SNAP food vouchers help more than three million. In reality, SNAP (the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Programme) reaches far more Americans – over 40 million: for most, it is not enough to lift them out of poverty, but it makes poverty less harsh. However, it is precisely these programmes that have been targeted by the budget bill pushed through by Trump in July 2025, the One Big Beautiful Bill Act. According to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, a progressive think tank in Washington, since then around five million people – 12 per cent of recipients – have been removed from SNAP, and from January 2027 new restrictive eligibility criteria will come into force for Medicaid, the public health insurance scheme for those on low incomes.

The figures cited by the Republicans reflect the situation in 2025 – a year that ended before the war with Iran and the subsequent rises in petrol prices and the cost of living, and before most of the cuts had taken effect. There are no definitive figures yet for 2026, but all the evidence suggests conditions have worsened. Inflation has risen again; in September it stood at 3.7 per cent. To say that poverty levels are at an all-time low is to tell only part of the story. Those excluded from federal programmes still have to fill their cupboards. And a tin of Spam costs less than four dollars.

It is also in the light of this reality that the figures on electoral shifts recorded in the mid-term elections should be interpreted. For example, the effects of living in ‘Spam Country’ can be glimpsed behind the 35-point swing among Hispanics with low levels of education, who only two years ago had shifted towards the Republicans and have now abruptly reversed course. Or behind the 11-point lead that Trump had gained amongst African Americans and has now lost. The war is certainly a factor, and in the case of Hispanics, so too are immigration policies, but it is significant to note that the most significant shifts are occurring in places where poverty is most acute.

The most telling example is Mississippi, a state that is normally a deep red (Trump won it by a 23 per cent margin in 2024) but which has suddenly shifted towards the Democrats’ blue, with striking figures such as the 45-point loss suffered by the Republicans among local young people. Mississippi ranks last among the fifty states in terms of per capita GDP; it has the highest poverty rates and the lowest average household income. Here, the voting rules are among the most complex in the country and discourage participation, particularly amongst the most disadvantaged sections of the population – those who find it hardest to produce valid identification and to travel to polling stations. Yet the blue tsunami reached here too, bringing Scott Colom to Washington – the first Democrat elected to the Senate in Mississippi since 1982 and the first Black person the state has sent to Congress in quite some time. Before Colom, it was Blanche Bruce’s turn: it was 1875, and Bruce went on to take a seat in the Senate after being born into slavery on a plantation.

The America of AI tycoons and trillionaires like Elon Musk is a distant echo here, as is the New York scene where people vote for Zohran Mamdani and then do their ‘wellness’ shopping at Citarella or Eataly. Forty-five per cent of Mississippi’s food market is controlled by Walmart’s low-cost supermarkets, whose main local competitors are Piggly Wiggly and Food Giant. And Spam – the tinned meat that this time voted against Trump – is never missing from any of their shelves.

340-gram tins of meat, on sale for 3.5–4 dollars, which are a lifeline for many families and a powerful indicator of hardship

Monty Python’s surreal sketch about the restaurant that served only Spam-based dishes. Among their fans, ‘spam’ became synonymous with unwanted messages

The most emblematic example of ‘Spam Country’ is Mississippi. Here, the ‘blue tsunami’ brought Scott Colom into the Senate, the first Democrat since 1982.

Ted Cruz, a senator from Texas, said that Republicans had underestimated poverty and the cost of living: “Spam has recorded record sales”

The heart cannot be measured, but if one pays even the slightest attention, its beat can be felt. Every time the hymn ‘Alma misionera’ begins, Leone is moved; he watches the crowd moving to the rhythm of the music and sings along, smiling with rapture and amazement. So much for the end of history and the death of God (as Friedrich Nietzsche meant to say).

For years it has been claimed, almost as if it were dogma, that Latin America had been overrun by sectarian hordes. Advertising, money, television, radio, and gurus in suits. Aggressive proselytising, from one end of the continent to the other, from the favelas to the affluent neighbourhoods of the megacities. The Catholics, poor souls, dwindling in number, divided, with their hierarchies often accused of having entrenched themselves in their own circles and of no longer understanding the common sentiment. Administrators rather than shepherds, let alone among the somewhat disoriented flock. Then, suddenly, in Buenos Aires, two and a half million people turned up in the square for the Pope’s Mass. And just as many gathered outside the Basilica of Our Lady of Luján. ‘A historic moment’, ran the full-page headline in La Nación. More than those who welcomed John Paul II forty years ago. More than Rome sees at its large mass gatherings, including World Youth Days. This took place in Buenos Aires, in an Argentina that had long described itself as rather cold at the mere mention of priests, as secularised as – and perhaps even more so than – many other countries in the region. Now it too has succumbed to the inevitability of secularisation, which is often indistinguishable from the indifference towards religion that pervades elsewhere. In Uruguay, for example, the first stop on the long and much-anticipated journey of Leo XIV, the Yankee from Chicago who holds in his heart that strip of land he left behind last: Peru. The thoroughly American Pope, who votes with unashamed pride in the Illinois mid-term elections but who has not altered a single stop on the itinerary of his ‘expedition’ to South America, even though he had a lobe of his lung removed just a month ago.

It was in Uruguay that the Pope put his finger on the sore spot: the lack of interest in what faith represents and means today. He said this there because it is the homeland of proud and long-standing anti-clericals, but it was a message valid anywhere in the world, including Europe. It was during the vigil with young people at the Centenario Stadium in Montevideo. “Being with you this evening allows me to share a reflection on something that many Christian communities are experiencing today: the advance of secularisation and an increasingly widespread religious indifference. In many places, the faith is no longer passed on as naturally as it was by previous generations, and the number of people who go through much of their lives without a regular relationship with the Church, or with religious practice, is growing.” We are beginning to discover, the Pope said, “what it means to be a minority. But, even in these circumstances, there are those who persevere: parents who pray with their children, teachers who seek to live out and bear witness to the faith, young people who have discovered Christ and wish to follow him even when they feel alone; there are communities that continue to gather and priests who travel great distances to bring the sacraments to the faithful. Thinking of all this, a small biblical town kept coming to mind: Bethlehem’. And what does Bethlehem have to do with it? Well, Jesus was born there, and yet ‘it remained small. Nothing had changed in terms of its size or its political importance. Perhaps – and these are Leone’s words again – Bethlehem can teach us something about this reality: when there are few of us, when our strength wanes, or when we realise that our social presence is no longer the same, there is a risk of beginning to judge our situation by very human standards. The Gospel invites us to look at things differently. God chose Bethlehem, and this choice alone is enough to ensure that we do not equate smallness with insignificance’. Small, then, but far from insignificant. Indeed, as Ratzinger said, far more convinced of who they are and what they represent: creative minorities.

During his South American tour, Leone spoke at length in official addresses, homilies and off-the-cuff remarks. The media have devoted considerable coverage to his remarks directed at current leaders, in particular Javier Milei, who was publicly chastised for being a free-market advocate, paying little heed to the poor and – needless to say – a friend of Trump’s. It is clear that the Pope did not sing the praises of his host’s policies, but ultimately: he did nothing different from what Popes typically do when speaking in such circumstances. In September, he gave the same treatment to Emmanuel Macron at the Élysée Palace; in June, his address to the Cortes in Madrid caused a stir. The criticism is not directed at the individual: the Pope upholds the values of the Gospel whilst keeping an eye on the reality of this world. And, to quote him, if this is engaging in politics, then he has engaged in politics. Beyond that, however, Leo XIV’s speeches have also conveyed much more.

There is a common thread running through all of Robert Prevost’s writings: a return to the fundamentals of the faith and the need for genuine evangelisation. This is not a list of precepts, programmes or actions to be implemented after having been neatly written out at a desk. The example of the saints, in whom “one discerns an extraordinary unity between a passion for the Gospel and a commitment to building a nation rooted in brotherhood and solidarity”. Like Father Brochero, “a true lover of the Lord, who found in prayer the strength of his life”. Going out into the streets following the example of the saints, rediscovering the unshakeable value of small domestic churches, where faith is passed on in a simple and genuine way. “Dear parents and grandparents, young people need to see you praying, drawing near to the sacraments, treating your wives with respect, asking for forgiveness and living honestly even when this requires sacrifice. A child learns a great deal by seeing that his father knows how to kneel before God without feeling any less of a man for it,” he said.

Leone is experiencing this journey as a carefree homecoming, without too many worries. Such worries are for others – those who must anticipate and observe, analyse and study: Argentina could have turned into a sort of pilgrimage in the footsteps of Francis, who had never returned there since his election in the winter of 2013. A continuous tribute, even through the repetition of words and gestures. Yet that did not happen. Leone did indeed remember his predecessor every day, but he did not turn him into a saintly figure to be paraded or shown off to the people. He did not idealise Jorge Mario Bergoglio, a figure who is both beloved and, at the same time, a source of considerable inconvenience in that country; to confirm this, one need only look at the statements made over the years by influential figures in local politics. For Bergoglio was certainly no meek hermit who viewed matters from on high, but rather intervened with impetus and force, without worrying too much about the consequences. Leone was not afraid even to re-contextualise phrases that have become immortal, such as the todos, todos, todos shouted at World Youth Day in Lisbon. The Mother Church, welcoming to all, no matter what questions or baggage, sins or scars they may carry. No questions asked; one does not judge but embraces. During the Vigil with young people (moments that have now become iconic), Leo said that Francis uttered those words “with that insistence so characteristic of him, as if he wished to ensure that no one was left without hearing them. I would like to draw inspiration from those words to speak of what it means to live as disciples of Jesus: all towards Christ, all with Christ, all like Christ”. The form is the same; the substance changes.

Leone is not a man of rupture; this has been said many times before. The aim he has set himself is to mend torn fabric and widen the Church’s tent to welcome anyone willing to enter it: “The diverse sensibilities present within the Church, the strong convictions that animate each person, are a source of richness if they remain anchored to the certainty of unity as a gift received and a task to be undertaken,” he said in Luján. He does not break with tradition but rather recalibrates it. Between Masses and official visits, he has quoted Saint John Paul II countless times; the latter is increasingly becoming a point of reference and a model. He urged the Peruvian young people to bear in mind the words of Benedict XVI, whom he also quoted upon landing in Chiclayo: “The harmony between charity and truth calls us to put our faith into practice, spreading, with renewed joy, the fragrant scent of holiness. Let us remember that, without truth, love slips into mere sentimentality, and truth without love becomes rigid and cold”. He draws on his predecessor’s insights, making them his own whilst clarifying them. Francis, he said in Córdoba, “stated with particular clarity: ‘The Church is not a shop, it is not a humanitarian agency, the Church is not an NGO; the Church is sent to bring Christ and his Gospel to everyone […]. If, hypothetically, it were ever to happen that the Church did not bring Jesus, that would be a dead Church!’. How great, then, is our vocation! To be bearers of Christ’s presence, to make an encounter with Him possible through the Word, the sacraments and a closeness that helps others to recognise His presence in their lives. The people entrusted to your care wish to receive from you what the Church has treasured for them for centuries”.

On the eve of this trip, no one would ever have imagined that three million Peruvians would jubilantly accompany the Pope from the airport to the nunciature. No one could have imagined that in distracted Argentina, mired in perpetual financial crises and bloody political struggles, millions of Catholics of all ages would take part in vigils and Masses. Few regarded Uruguay as a country where, albeit as a minority and facing opposition, the faith thrives. Leo XIV is not the man who liberates from the caudillos; he does not see himself in the role of Simón Bolívar. “Long live Christ!”, he shouted from a window in Córdoba. He is the protagonist, the centre, the name most frequently mentioned by the Pope on this tour. “What enthusiasm! What joy! It is because we all know Christ. Applause for Jesus!”, he said as he emerged from Buenos Aires Cathedral. “The world awaits us and the mission has only just begun. That is why I invite you to commit yourselves to sharing the living hope, which is Jesus Christ, and to letting the Gospel ‘overflow’ into our villages, towns and cities, so that we may proclaim the glory of the Lord to all,” he added in Chiclayo. A journey which, ultimately, perfectly embodies – in words and deeds – the first message of his pontificate: “To fade into the background so that Christ may remain, to make oneself small so that He may be known and glorified, to give of oneself completely so that no one may miss the opportunity to know and love Him”. Not a slogan, but a programme.

"On certain issues, the Russians said they did not have a mandate," says Zelensky. The only issue discussed in depth was that of the prisoner exchange. “The ambitious goal was an ‘all-for-all’ exchange, or at least the exchange of a large number of people,” says the president. The U.S. negotiators took this proposal to Moscow, to Putin. There, they managed to agree on the exchange of over a thousand people (roughly between 1,200 and 1,300).

For the Americans, however, the most important aspect was not so much the concrete results as the resumption of the trilateral negotiation process, which had not met for nine months. The Americans, however, have finally heeded the Ukrainians’ request to include Europe in this format. “Next time, Europe will not be in the next room, as was the case in Abu Dhabi, but will sit at the same negotiating table,” Zelensky assures us. Moscow has accepted this proposal. The president has asked European leaders to decide by the end of November who will form part of the European negotiating delegation. “There will probably be three, four or five people, representing Europe as a whole,” he predicts.

For the time being, the Russian side does not wish to discuss a truce on the energy front. And the same applies to any ceasefire. “The Russians said: ‘Discuss it with Putin’,” reports Zelensky. The Ukrainian negotiating delegation replied that this is precisely why it is proposing a meeting at leader level. In the end, the parties agreed that the American delegation would go to Putin to discuss the matter directly with him. But no progress was made. “Putin himself does not support the ceasefire,” the president notes.

Another issue raised by the American side concerns a different security architecture in the world and in Europe following the war. Zelensky believes this could be a dangerous discussion. “It is precisely issues of this kind that lead to wars and escalations,” warns the Ukrainian leader, cautioning the United States and Europe. According to Zelensky, the order of events should be as follows: a ceasefire, an end to the war in Ukraine, and security guarantees for Ukraine. “You cannot turn everything on its head and start talking about changes to the global security architecture, only to address the end of this war at a later stage,” he argues.

In this regard, he recalls that in 2021 Putin had put forward precisely this idea to Joseph Biden: a redistribution of the balance of power in Europe and the world, involving the weakening or withdrawal of American troops from certain NATO countries. “Russia certainly cannot make decisions on behalf of the nations that are part of NATO,” says Zelensky. As for the territorial issue, the president states that he has repeatedly told the Americans that Ukraine will not withdraw and will not cede its territory to terrorists.

According to his account, for the first time the Americans responded to this position with a question: “And if Ukraine were to join NATO, would it be prepared to withdraw from the Donbass?”. Zelensky believes these discussions are too abstract and that Russia is unlikely to accept such a solution. He is currently discussing four specific issues with his partners: “If the Americans confirm all this to us, together with the other NATO partners, then I will ask the public: do we accept it or not?”, the president states. To reach this point, however, concrete proposals are needed, which are still lacking at present. "My question to the Americans is: if you provide us with something 'similar' to NATO, will there be American soldiers on our territory?" Their reply was: "No." But then, Zelensky asks, what exactly do security guarantees "similar to Article 5" and "analogous to those of NATO" mean? The president wants to see clear and precise points.

Apart from the prisoner exchange, there has been no progress whatsoever in the negotiations. Volodymyr Zelensky believes that Russia will be willing to take more realistic measures once the US Congress approves a substantial support package for Ukraine. “The package could comprise two elements: sanctions and weapons,” he explains. The president recalls the meeting he had in the autumn of 2024 with Donald Trump, then a candidate for the US presidency, at Trump Tower. On that occasion, he presented him with the “Plan for Victory”, telling him: “If you give us this and that, you’ll see that Putin will sit down at the negotiating table.” Zelensky believes the time has come to return to discussions on Ukraine’s military strengthening, as this could influence the situation. If Ukraine becomes much stronger, in fact, Russia will find it preferable to pursue a diplomatic solution. “Putin must understand this rationale,” concludes Zelensky.

Today, the Kremlin cannot put on a Potemkin village show; the destruction in the occupied areas makes even a papier-mâché facade impossible. However, it has begun to invest in farcical ceasefires to show the world that Vladimir Putin is willing to compromise. The first test took place in Oleshky, the occupied town in the Kherson region, where civilians had been without supplies for six months, forced to eat weeds and spoonfuls of honey dissolved in water. The humanitarian operations to facilitate the evacuation of civilians lasted five days, and the United States praised the cooperation between Moscow and Kyiv. Before the operation began, Il Foglio had obtained information on how the Kremlin was planning staged interviews with residents to shift the blame for the humanitarian crisis onto the Ukrainian army – despite the fact that for years it had been the Russians who had prevented residents from fleeing Oleshky, using them as human shields and hindering Ukrainian operations. Kyiv’s soldiers monitored the situation using drones; at times they even attempted to supply the population with food and medicines, and established codes with residents to inform them of any planned actions. However, the situation inside the town – characterised by destruction, a lack of everything, the impossibility of fleeing, of burying the dead, and of simply surviving – was spiralling out of control. Putin realised he could use the truce to his advantage: inviting cameras, organising tours for journalists, and manipulating the tragedy. He succeeded to some extent: on his state-run television channels, Oleshky was portrayed as a town under Ukrainian siege, and it all culminated in the final scene featuring Kirill Dmitriev – the Kremlin envoy sent to speak with the Americans – presenting First Lady Melania Trump with a drawing by a little girl who had fled from Oleshky to Russia. Subsequently, the town receded from public view, except in the testimonies of those who were taken to Ukraine and those who still wish to return. The truce was significant, yet it was staged to be theatrical, designed to be showcased and applauded, above all by the Americans.

On Thursday, at the Kremlin, whilst welcoming Donald Trump’s envoys, Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner, Vladimir Putin proposed yet another paper-thin truce. No longer in the Kherson region, but in Donetsk, in Kostiantynivka, a town which, according to independent maps monitoring the invasion, Russia does not control. The Institute for the Study of War (ISW) has highlighted the major differences between Oleshky and Kostiantynivka. In the former, Russian and Ukrainian forces face off from opposite banks of the River Dnipro; the town lies 3.7 kilometres from the front line, and all that was needed for a ceasefire was to agree on the time and date to stop firing. Kostiantynivka is a combat zone; there is direct contact between the two armies, and Moscow is attempting to bolster its presence in order to storm the town, sending its men to infiltrate it. A ceasefire could facilitate the infiltration of soldiers disguised as humanitarian workers.

Putin spoke of the ceasefire as if Kostiantynivka were already in his hands, and on several occasions the Kremlin leader claimed that the Russian army had captured towns that had in fact never been taken. He is often misinformed; his generals, in turn, are often misinformed by their men, who—in order to secure promotions—boast of having taken positions that remain under Ukrainian control: all it takes is a group of infiltrated soldiers or a radio signal to send the message to Moscow that a new location has been occupied. Putin may not be familiar with every detail on the map or the exact location of the front line, but he knows that Kostiantynivka is in Donetsk, the oblast that his army has failed to capture, yet which the Kremlin leader wants because he knows its strategic value for his future plans against Ukraine. Using the truce in Kostiantynivka to reinforce the soldiers’ positions whilst American propaganda and cheers hail the truce is very risky for Ukraine. Russia knows this; it knows that it is also risky for the Ukrainians to reject the offer. It is all part of the same plan: getting them used to the sham.

The collaboration between Silent Crow and the Belarusian Cyber Partisans “was a genuine partnership, a 50-50 effort. Both groups gained access at the same time”, explains Yuliana Shemetovets, the sole official spokesperson for the Cyber Partisans. “The aim is to liberate Belarus. And since the full-scale war began, helping Ukraine has become another, very important objective, because it is linked to the liberation of Belarus,” says the spokesperson. And why hack Rosstat in particular? “Because it was within our reach. We have access, I would say, to multiple subsystems in Russia,” says Shemetovets.

The hacktivists “had been inside the network for 5–6 months and could have stayed there longer”, but it was decided to wind down the operation because “there are other priorities”. During those months, the activists say, they managed to gain control of around 25,000 computers belonging to the Russian agency, as well as the servers that determine who can access the network and what they can do: the keys to the entire system. “Documents. Databases. Everything, including material classified as a state secret. We’re not just destroying their systems. We’re reading their secrets,” the Cyber Partisans’ X account wrote on 1 November.

The number of Russian war dead had already been estimated by various analyses to be between 350,000 and 500,000. Bloomberg’s in-depth report then showed that the poorest areas of the Russian Federation are the ones that have suffered the most: from the start of the invasion until mid-2024, in the Siberian regions of Buryatia, Tuva and Transbaikalia, approximately one in three men aged 18–49 died in the war.

The Belarusian Cyber Partisans were formed on 5 September 2020, during the Lukashenko government’s violent crackdown on the country’s democratic opposition. During those days, “some of the group’s founders hacked into the Chamber of Commerce’s website and published a message calling on anyone willing to help the protesters to come forward”, explains Shemetovets, who is not personally a hacker and works as an IT project manager in the United States. “Belarus is famous for its IT specialists,” continues the spokesperson, and today a team “with a reputation” has been formed, comprising a “core group of around 30 people and a further 70–80 volunteers”.

The Cyber Partisans are also collaborating with and supporting the Belarusian opposition fighters who have joined the Ukrainian army, the Kastuś Kalinoŭski regiment. “We help them whenever we can. If they need data for an operation, we provide that too. We support all Belarusians who are helping Ukraine.” This collaboration and support may also extend to other Ukrainian groups and the security services, but they always emphasise their independence: “We do not answer to the Ukrainian army; we do not work for any of the Ukrainian security services,” Shemetovets clarifies.

The Cyber Partisans’ notorious reputation stretches back several years. In 2021, they hacked into the databases of the Belarusian Ministry of the Interior. In 2022, they targeted the Belarusian railways to slow down the movement of Moscow’s troops towards Ukraine, and in November of the same year, they stole over 2 terabytes of data from the General Radio Frequency Centre of Roskomnadzor, the Russian censorship authority. In 2024, they made public the database of the KGB website, the Belarusian secret service. In July 2025, working with Silent Crow, they partially paralysed the Russian state-owned airline Aeroflot.

Last July, Russia declared the Cyber Partisans to be extremists and banned them. The group commented: “This is recognition by the Russian Z-dictatorship of the effectiveness of our work. We shall carry on as before!” On 12 November, the group also published confidential estimates from Rosstat on the population of the occupied Ukrainian territories – data that Moscow has been concealing since the invasion. Regarding future developments, spokesperson Shemetovets declined to provide details but assured us that the Cyber Partisans are continuing their work.

After two days of drama in Dublin over the name of a potential EU envoy, “the leaders have decided that our European team for the peace negotiations in Ukraine consists of the EU institutions and the E5 of the coalition of the willing”, said Costa. The principles are the same as those agreed in June. “Only Ukraine has the legitimacy to decide on matters concerning its territory and sovereignty,” explained Costa. “The EU has a central role to play in discussing Ukraine’s future, its reconstruction and its prosperity. Security guarantees must be addressed within the framework of the Coalition of the Willing, in close coordination with NATO,” added the President of the European Council: “We will work as a European team on this effort.” But it is an increasingly large and fragmented team. In Miami at the end of August, the national security advisers from France, the United Kingdom and Germany were present, as well as Bjoern Seibert, the chief of staff to the President of the Commission, Ursula von der Leyen. In Abu Dhabi this week, they were joined by Italy’s national security adviser and Anna-Maria Boura, Costa’s diplomatic adviser. In Dublin, it was decided that Poland’s national security adviser would also take part in the next stages of the discussions. Kaja Kallas, the High Representative for Foreign Affairs, who in theory is supposed to lead the EU’s foreign and security policy, has been excluded. The “European team” will consist solely of the advisers to the Presidents of the European Council and the Commission. Von der Leyen has long been at odds with the High Representative. Some Member States consider Kallas to be too hardline on Russia to take part in the negotiations.

“Europe will make its voice heard, clearly and with one voice, as part of the current diplomatic efforts,” Costa assured: “Our position is clear: the security of Europe and that of Ukraine are inseparable. And our objective remains unchanged: a just and lasting peace for Ukraine.” The problem is that there is no unity amongst the twenty-seven member states on the details of the negotiations with Russia. “A second, equally important phase is now beginning: defining the political and negotiating mandate under which Europe will participate in the next round of talks with Ukraine, the United States and Russia,” said Palazzo Chigi, following Italy’s formal inclusion in the team of European negotiators. “We must agree on what we are demanding and what Europe’s red lines are”, but “there is no consensus on the EU’s position. There are nuances”, explains a second diplomat: “There is not even consensus on sending Kallas”. In February, the High Representative had presented a document containing several maximalist demands to be put to Russia: an immediate ceasefire in Ukraine, war reparations, cooperation with international justice, and withdrawal from Moldova and Georgia. According to some Member States, Kallas’s red lines “are not realistic”, says the second diplomat.

Kallas is hated by the Kremlin, which has issued an arrest warrant against her. According to Bild, Putin is said to have presented Jared Kushner and Steve Witkoff with even more extreme demands to end his war against Ukraine: a review of the European security architecture, with NATO returning to its pre-1997 military posture (when the former Warsaw Pact countries began to join); Finland’s withdrawal from the Atlantic Alliance, and secessionist referendums in Transnistria and Gagauzia should Moldova join the EU. Almost five years after the start of the war, the EU still has no strategy on how to deal with Russia; it continues to accept the theatre of futile negotiations imposed by Donald Trump and now even allows the Kremlin to decide who may or may not sit at the table on its behalf.

Covid delayed everything, but the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art finally opened its doors this autumn. A massive spaceship in Exposition Park, somewhat of a sci-fi version – and even sleeker and less obtrusive on the skyline – of the Fondation Louis Vuitton in the Bois de Boulogne. The architect is Ma Yansong, who has designed a great many projects in China and also has a studio in Rome. Space-age lifts, a cinema and long corridors, and even a Starbucks – which always comes in handy for a refreshment break when the guides advise you to allow at least five or six hours to cover the 28,000 square metres.

His vast personal collection of paintings is astonishing, organised into quintessentially American themes – Westerns, Norman Rockwell… – alongside an impressive collection of comic strips, ranging from Tintin and Hugo Pratt to Carl Barks and Sendak, and even Van Gogh and Frida Kahlo. Numerous scenes depict 1950s American life in diners and barbershops, evoking a strong sense of post-war nostalgia. Lucas’s hoarding resembles that of Berlusconi, when ‘Il Cavaliere’ would ring up TV channels in the dead of night to buy up third-rate artists’ works, which then ended up in a massive hangar. Lucas has turned that hangar into a museum by throwing everything inside with little – again, very American – hierarchy among the works. If you’ve got the space, hang them all up. Paying visitors wander about in vintage T-shirts featuring Anakin Skywalker and Yoda’s quotes, expecting a celebration of Star Wars, but having sold everything to Disney, very little remains, even in the gift shop (where there’s always a queue). Just a few prop vehicles and some costumes—which he kept from the films—are displayed on poorly made mannequins for visitors to have their photos taken with. It is estimated that only 7 per cent of the museum is dedicated to Star Wars. Even of Indiana Jones—sold off as part of the package to the mouse in Burbank—all that remains is a bronze statue, almost a memorial.

However, the most remarkable feature is the ground-floor exhibition that explains to Americans what narrative art is – that is, art that tells stories, and thus art itself. It begins with a reconstruction of the Lascaux caves, followed by all the most famous paintings and artefacts, the Old Masters projected onto screens, the Sistine Chapel and the Code of Hammurabi: a concentrated selection of the best of civilisation, a 3D secondary school textbook. All fake, amidst something real. Some have suggested that such venues offer a potential remedy for overtourism, allowing visitors to examine pieces from the Louvre and the Vatican, or to zoom in on details of Trajan’s Column, without the need to board a plane or navigate the crowds at Ponte Sant’Angelo.

The author thus finds herself caught between two generations, between two instances of abandonment that mark an ending she had never given much thought to before. And so every desire fades away: no object is capable of generating possibilities any longer, but only a sense of heaviness – that of a melancholy which turns into nostalgia. Rummaging through shelves and boxes, the author rediscovers documents from a previous life—that of her parents, of course, but also her own childhood, as evidenced by school reports and photographs. A life that now remains anchored to that house to be cleared out and to that time that lives on only in memories: ‘Who would want these tape recorders with round reels, these slide projectors, the cocktail shakers, the compartmentalised plates for peanuts, the countless pepper mills, the collections of sugar cubes in old-fashioned sweet tins?’. There is also no shortage of ashtrays—objects that have almost entirely disappeared from every home—and Cinzano trays, both of which hail directly from an era when drinking and smoking were two activities carried out in unison.

Thus, these objects leave behind the impression of a moment (as Guccini put it), the semblance of a time that has passed so swiftly as to leave such innocuous objects to guard a hypothetical eternity. They owe this to the durability of their plastics, to modern chemistry which, long before AI, had guaranteed an infinite future for nut bowls and coffee pots, but not for the human beings who were meant to use them. We empty the outside to make room inside, Lingiardi observes in the preface, whilst not far away sacks pile up, ready for recycling and for those mass graves that are increasingly filled with everything that had seemed necessary, useful and desirable to us.

It is not strictly speaking laziness, though in some ways that has always been there; it is rather a sort of emptiness, as if someone had come along to occupy a space I considered my own, whilst demonstrating, moreover, that they could do so with disarming ease and skill. Artificial intelligence finds the words, constructs sentences, organises thoughts, identifies connections; it can imitate styles, change tone, be brilliant, ironic, melancholic; it can write an article in a matter of seconds, whilst I might spend an entire morning struggling to come up with a decent opening line. So why should I carry on?

I realise, of course, that the question is not only rhetorical but also flawed. I am well aware that writing is much more than simply producing a text or a competition to see who can master concepts, grammar and syntax better and more quickly. Yet knowing all this does not seem enough to restore my desire to do it. Alfonso Berardinelli wrote in this newspaper that ‘there is no escape for human intelligence. Let us not delude ourselves into thinking we can maintain a spiritual life alongside artificial intelligence’. Perhaps he, too, is exaggerating, but I certainly tend to agree with him.

Until yesterday, writing was also a way for me to feel capable of something, to make myself known: not necessarily good, not necessarily original, but at least recognisable and perhaps appreciated (one always hopes for that). Despite all my limitations, I felt I was giving voice to what I thought I understood about this or that subject. Now that voice seems superfluous to me. Having written on several occasions—with others in mind, especially younger people—about the risks of artificial intelligence eventually writing in our place, stifling our natural language and thus our thoughts, I find myself uncomfortably experiencing the effect on myself. But not in the sense – at least I hope not – that I am losing the ability to write, but rather in the sense that I am no longer sure it is worth doing. And that is perhaps even worse.

I realise that before I even formulate a thought, I’m already imagining how a machine might develop it; even before I look for a word, I think that ChatGPT would surely find a more precise and effective one; before I start an article, I find myself thinking that a better version of what I might write already exists somewhere. It feels like a pre-emptive defence, an early surrender even before taking to the field, perhaps a way of getting used to irrelevance before it even becomes official. On the other hand, once it is established that a well-argued and formally flawless text can be obtained in a matter of seconds by turning to any chatbot, what is the point of racking one’s brains to write it oneself? As far as I’m concerned, as I’ve already said, there remains the unquenchable pleasure of reading – of certain ideas that spring to mind without any pretence of being put down in writing, and of others that need to be written down to clarify them to ourselves – writing is that too. But otherwise, I’m becoming increasingly sceptical about the usefulness of writing. What gives me heart, however, is a firm conviction: that the great poets and writers are not in the least affected by what I am writing in this article. They will continue to write, without their energy being in the slightest way diminished by artificial intelligence or even by our whingeing.

Well, I’m in the clear, and I’ll defend myself by saying that I prefer Kafka. Alongside – or in contrast to – the epic, lyrical and snobbish poet of the French bourgeoisie and nobility between the 19th and 20th centuries, I place the mystical rabbi, the Hasid from Prague, an employee at an insurance company, more inclined towards parables and aphorisms than towards apotheosis and aesthetic glorification. Consequently, I must acknowledge not only my failure to read Proust’s entire masterpiece, but also my surrender to the absurd temptation of weighing up and comparing the two most incomparable storytellers of the twentieth century.

The reality and truth is that I read Proust not so much out of any particular passion for Proust himself, but because of the passion I harboured for his most timely and brilliant critics and interpreters – the very best of critical essay writing: namely Walter Benjamin, Erich Auerbach, Giacomo Debenedetti and Edmund Wilson. Incidentally, Proust (like Kafka) did not give rise to a school of thought; there were no ‘Proustians’ after him, just as there were no ‘Kafkian’ writers; instead, there were thinkers and critics whose interpretations of In Search of Lost Time made it possible to derive social and moral philosophy from a narrative.

I began at around the age of twenty by attending Debenedetti’s lectures on the twentieth-century novel – lectures which, following his death, became legendary and were later published in book form. But Debenedetti certainly did not measure up to Proust in the 1960s, when he taught his students that the revolution in the novel during the first two decades of the twentieth century was closely related to Freud’s depth psychology and Einstein’s theory of relativity.

Among the critics who discovered Proust in the 1920s, Debenedetti was the first to do so in 1925, when he was just over twenty years old, immediately observing that In Search of Lost Time lends itself to being anthologised, even though its most striking feature is a continuity of rhythm that renders it indivisible in its unbroken flow. The ‘Proustian tone’ asserts itself ‘from the very first line of the novel’. It is a ‘poetic magic’ that instantly creates a musical atmosphere, and whose perceptiveness does not miss a single sensory detail or any accompanying emotion the moment it arises.

If Debenedetti was himself, in person, somewhat like Proust, then for the melancholic and meditative Benjamin too – who was equally steeped in French literature (Baudelaire, Zola, Gide, Apollinaire, Valéry, Péguy) – Proust is a model, an example, a literary and biographical phenomenon. In the fifteen pages that Benjamin wrote in 1929, entitled ‘Towards a Portrait of Proust’, the portrait emerges right from the opening lines as follows: ‘The depths of the mystic, the art of the prose writer, the verve of the satirist, the learning of the scholar and the obsession of the monomaniac’. His great literary work either establishes a genre or dissolves it; it stands as a case unto itself. Benjamin, adopting a somewhat journalistic style for once, pulls no punches and proceeds by accumulation, speaking of the ‘greatest work of recent decades’, an ‘unusual illness’, ‘uncommon richness’ and an ‘abnormal disposition’. Proust drove his publisher to distraction with his revisions of the galley proofs, which were filled to the brim. He also said that he would have liked his entire work to be printed in a single volume with pages in two columns, and without any line breaks. Finally, here is the writer as a man: ‘Proust’s defining trait is not humour, but comedy; in him, laughter does not lift the world up, it hurls it to the ground (…) the unity of the family and the individual, of sexual morality and social decorum, effectively falls to pieces. The pretensions of the bourgeoisie are shattered by laughter’. And further on: ‘In his curiosity, Proust had something of the detective about him. To him, the privileged class was a clan of wrongdoers’.

On the other hand, Auerbach, as a social critic and philologist, in his 1927 essay entitled Marcel Proust: The Novel of Time Lost speaks of the “unprecedented richness of the linguistic fabric”, but not only that: “The nervous, pedantic and timid cadence of the sentences’ is that of ‘an extremely singular person, a monomaniac suffering from all manner of tics and obsessions (…) a hypersensitive capacity for observation, consistent to the point of madness and terribly aberrant; the colossal novel unfolds amongst his few motifs and events as if in a cage, without seeing the world flowing by right next to it’.

Well, there’s enough here to overcome any reluctance or even boredom that might prevent readers from reading the work in its entirety.

A final essay from 1931 concludes the reception of Proust and his work outside France. It is by Edmund Wilson, the master of American criticism, who in his book Axel’s Castle addresses and explains European literature from Symbolism onwards to his fellow Americans. Here it is: “Marcel Proust is the first great novelist to have applied the principles of Symbolism to fiction (…) His enormous novel is, on closer inspection, a symphonic structure rather than a narrative in the common sense of the term’. Yet Wilson corrects himself: ‘But anyone who has stopped at The Young Girls in Flower and knows only the subjective Proust is bound to form a mistaken idea of the quality of his genius (…) From this point onwards, we find ourselves violently hurled into the life of the outside world. The contrast between the dreams, meditations and lamentations of the neurasthenic hero and Proust’s powerful imagination lends dramatic force to a pervasive sense of humour’. Wilson says that Proust learnt from Dickens and goes on to surpass him, for example, in the tragicomic portrait of Baron de Charlus. Thus, stylistic musicality by no means exhausts the originality of In Search of Lost Time: “Proust ferociously dismantled the social hierarchy he had previously depicted. He shows us that the values on which it is founded are a sham.” Wilson is right. To understand Proust, one must not stop at his initial stylistic tone and his symbolist approach to knowledge and memory. Proust is a great and ruthless moralist; he reveals that even “the world of lovers can be a hell”.

What lies ahead? I shall read Capotorti and Sparvoli’s book to find out what else has been learnt about Proust after a century of critical studies, from Bataille and Contini right through to Orlando and Mariolina Bertini.

Not that it was any easier in the past. For many centuries, to sign one’s name, one had to find an oak tree infested with wasps: the growths in which the insects lay their eggs (known in botany as galls) were the main ingredient of the ink used to write "Hamlet", "Les Misérables" and Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Garfield cites a recipe far older than those masterpieces (it dates back to 1483): one had to crush the galls, add ferrous sulphate and gum arabic, and then wait two weeks, stirring every day. However, the drudgery of the inkwell remained: whether made of goose quill or steel, the pen had to be dipped back into it every two words. The most obvious idea then emerged: placing the ink directly inside the pen. So obvious, in fact, that it occurred to several people, and the fountain pen ended up with more than one ‘baptism certificate’: France, 1827; Iowa, 1867; Missouri, three years later.

Perhaps the most enduring founding myth is that of Lewis Edson Waterman, an insurance agent whose pen spilled ink onto an important contract in 1882. Before he could redraft the documents, a mysterious rival snatched the deal from under his nose; so he shut himself away in a relative’s barn and invented the perfect feeding system. A story almost certainly invented after the event, notes Garfield, “in such a sweet, American tone that, over time, even its protagonist would have been led to believe it”. Just over sixty years later, in France, a fountain pen saved a life.

During the Metz offensive in 1944, a rifleman had his windpipe severed by a piece of mortar shrapnel and could no longer breathe. Private Duane N. Kinman, aged nineteen, had nothing but a small pocket knife with him. He took the wounded man’s pen and said to him: “I don’t like doing this, but it’s the only way to save your life”. He then carved a slit, inserted the tip of the fountain pen into the windpipe, and his comrade began to breathe again. “The brand of the pen was not disclosed,” notes Garfield, with the typical regret of a collector. That pen did what every fountain pen should do: let something through, in just the right amount. It is the same definition that Garfield hears from Geoffrey Parker, great-grandson of the founder of that Parker company, who quotes his grandfather Kenneth: the fountain pen, he says, is “a controlled leak”.

And today? The figures read like an obituary: in the United States, 94 per cent of state schools use laptops and tablets for learning. Yet the number of exhibitors at trade fairs is on the rise, and twenty-somethings are returning to Manhattan’s stationery shops. “These days, pens are, in theory, no longer necessary,” says Theodora Helgason, who runs a specialist shop in Nolita, “and I think that’s one of the reasons why people like them now.” Schulz, after all, had realised this early on: rather than mourning them, it’s better to buy things that are about to disappear in bulk.

The term ‘mass radicalism’ stems from the observation that, due to a combination of internal and external circumstances, a multitude of extremist theories are reaching and seducing an ever-growing and increasingly vulnerable segment of the public; a poisoning of the wellspring brought about by the West’s desire for self-destruction. The first stage of this offensive, explains Fertilio, is the indictment of the traditional family, judged to be a theatre of alienation and abuse of every kind, reviled and stigmatised as ‘patriarchal’ and ‘sexist’, a source of mutual resentment, hatred and sadism, as well as oppressive towards women; nothing more than a scaled-down reproduction of a Western society that is itself sick, poisoned by the capitalist logic of power, property, money and profit: in short, both family and society are deemed unworthy, immoral and deserving of destruction.

We, the poor victims of this system, therefore urgently need a process of ‘collective re-education’. Mass radicalism offers us the mirage of an ‘enchanted garden’ of a religious, almost mystical nature, to be built through the social constructivism of a new, strong and enlightened elite. The first step in this process is a complete deconstruction and reconstruction of language, involving the imposition of the ‘official jargon’ typical of totalitarian systems. The ideology has a dual component – archaic and utopian – that is, at once naturalistic and scientistic. In very Platonic terms, ‘the world must be rebuilt from the ground up to become itself once more’.

And so begins the ‘waltz of prohibitions’. In describing the vast and menacing array of this new mass radicalism, the author takes pleasure in identifying ten schools of thought, each with its own followers. These range from the more traditional ‘revolutionaries’ (that is, the Marxist orphans and failures of the 1970s) to the far more tragic ‘destroyers’ and ‘nihilists’ (De Saussure, Deleuze, Guattari, Foucault); from the ‘redeemers’ (Reich, Fromm, Marcuse, Baudrillard, Barthes) to the ‘ephemeral’ (Warhol, Vattimo, Lyotard, Gadamer); from the ridiculous ‘apocalyptic’ (Pasolini, Naomi Klein, Noam Chomsky) to the decidedly comical ‘post-humans’, and so on.

The anecdote about Fertilio’s meeting with Michel Foucault, in the editorial office of a publishing house, way back in 1976, is particularly fascinating: “I was struck by the intensity of the aggression and contempt I felt being hurled in my face (…) as if he had sensed, many decades in advance, that our irreconcilable differences would have some consequence. Namely, this book”.

Whilst Burroughs’ novels represent one of the most unsettling reading experiences of the twentieth century, these texts offer a better understanding of the reasons behind them: his literary influences, philosophical interests, obsessions and, above all, the genesis of the cut-up technique, developed in collaboration with the artist Brion Gysin. The process is well known: cutting out words, phrases or passages from different texts and reassembling them into new sequences, producing unexpected combinations and meanings that the original text did not appear to contain. The pages also reveal a portrait of an author deeply marked by post-war America and its conformism. From a young age, Burroughs felt the need to break free from rules he perceived as oppressive. He recalls, for example, his experience in the Scouts, where even the time spent in the toilet was strictly monitored. Behind such episodes looms the shadow of puritanical morality, which continued to weigh heavily on his upbringing: during a trip to Santa Fe, he even felt guilty for having masturbated twice a day. A seemingly minor detail, yet one that reveals the conflict between individual desire and social discipline which would characterise much of his work.

No less interesting are the pages devoted to the writers who influenced his development. Burroughs surprises, as is often the case, with the unconventional nature of his judgements. Regarding Hemingway, he considers The Snows of Kilimanjaro to be his only true masterpiece, one of the most powerful accounts of death – or, to use his own words, of the ‘stench of death’ – in English-language literature. He compares it to the endings of Joyce’s The Dead and Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, a novel in which he particularly admires the narrative structure and symbolic complexity, whilst at times finding the dialogue somewhat stilted.

The theoretical core of the collection, however, remains the cut-up. For Burroughs, this is not merely an avant-garde game, but a tool for altering the relationship between language and reality. The technique is extended to tape recorders: voices and sounds are cut, overlaid and recombined. Writing thus takes on an almost magical function. Just as a ritual claims to exert an influence on the world, so too can language – when manipulated and freed from the ordinary sequence of words – bring to light something that would otherwise remain hidden. For Burroughs, in fact, the cut-up is not merely a matter of pure chance. Behind the apparent disorder of the combinations, profound connections, latent meanings and, at times, even mysterious ‘voices’ are said to emerge. Hence his interest in the psychophony research of Konstantins Raudive and Friedrich Jürgenson. Among the explanations proposed for those voices recorded on magnetic tapes – interventions by the deceased, extraterrestrial intelligences or the psychical energy of the experimenters – Burroughs significantly favours the latter: it is the unconscious memory that resurfaces through technology. Telepathy, auditory hallucinations and the unconscious thus become different ways of questioning the limits of consciousness. Burroughs recalls that even Freud, albeit with great caution, had taken the possibility of telepathic phenomena seriously; and he looks with interest at the theories of Julian Jaynes, author of The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind. According to Jaynes, consciousness as we know it today is a relatively recent development: people in the most ancient civilisations would have perceived the ‘voices’ generated by their own minds as divine commands.

Burroughs is less concerned with establishing whether such a theory is true than with using it to shake our certainties. This, ultimately, is the thread that links linguistic experiments, tape recorders, telepathy, psychoanalysis and literature: the attempt to understand where reality ends and where the mind’s construction of it begins.

The crucial question then becomes: what is consciousness really? Burroughs prudently avoids any definitive answer and resorts to an image far more effective than any theory: consciousness is like a ruler trying to measure itself. An insoluble paradox that perhaps explains why, beyond the provocations and Beat mythology that have accompanied his name, Burroughs continues to unsettle and fascinate to this day.

Final-year students at a Parisian secondary school are on a train to Naples for a school trip. On the train, two of them exchange tender moments. They are secretly watched by another boy and another girl, each unaware of the other’s presence. It is a film about glances and fantasies, inspired by a novella by Wilhelm Jensen of the same title: ‘Gradiva’ was the fantasy of an archaeologist in love with a bas-relief – possibly from Pompeii – depicting an unknown young woman whom he christened Gradiva. The 1903 short story owes its fame to Sigmund Freud’s interest; he studied the case as if a patient had just recounted it to him on the couch. Projections and fantasies, in simple terms. Put more bluntly, we fall in love with an image. Marine Atlan offers her own take here – it is her first film after years as a director of photography. The fair-haired Toni recounts the story of his Neapolitan ancestors: perhaps true, perhaps fabricated, perhaps half and half. His grandmother, a young girl working as a servant for a very rich man, who falls in love with her the moment he sees her. An earthquake strikes; his grandmother – who is pregnant – was outside and rushes home: not a single wall remains standing. The students observe the Greek statues, studying their anatomy. They are all in love with Toni, except for one girl who is convinced she is too ugly to attract attention, so she reads books. The teacher is passionate; the students are portrayed with wisdom and realism.

The legislation spreads the Superbonus tax credits – which banks could have used in 2027 – over ten years, thereby postponing the point at which the credit institutions that purchased those credits can recoup them. In Messina, before the committee of inquiry into the banking system, he had branded it as a South American-style approach to managing debt towards creditors, raising the spectre of debt restructuring and default, and had deemed it inconsistent with the Constitution.

Giorgetti began by saying ‘amusing’, and then conceded to the banker that the measure had been described as ‘South American’, adding: ‘and rightly so’. But he recalled the figures. The debt rescheduling concerns 23–24 billion in loans, whilst a Habsburg-style minister took it upon himself to absorb 140 billion in Superbonuses into the state budget: without that burden, he said, the debt-to-GDP ratio would have fallen to 132 per cent. And so, he concluded, “I stand by the Habsburg-style policy of these past four years”. The reference is to the bureaucracy of the Habsburg Empire, synonymous with rigour and sound financial management.

Giorgetti’s response came on the same day as the fiercest clash, that between Messina and Giorgia Meloni. Speaking at the European Political Community summit in Dublin, the Prime Minister had replied that the measures in the budget were not ‘South American’ in nature, and that the government’s decision was one of justice. Later that evening, Palazzo Chigi clarified that Meloni had understood that Messina was referring to the budget as a whole, and not to the provision on the Superbonus, to which, incidentally, some amendments are currently being made.

Ultimately, the banker and the Minister for the Economy agree on one point: that rule is, in fact, South American. The difference is that, for Giorgetti, it is the price of a Superbonus that he did not want. Tonight, S&P’s assessment of Italy’s credit rating will reveal what the markets think.

Meanwhile, an initial meeting is scheduled for 4 pm this afternoon at Palazzo Chigi between the Prime Minister, the Deputy Prime Ministers, Ministers Matteo Piantedosi and Guido Crosetto, the Under-Secretary to the Prime Minister’s Office Alfredo Mantovano, and the heads of the intelligence services and the National Cybersecurity Agency (ACN), where information is likely to be gathered which will then be shared with the opposition tomorrow.

Marco Carnesecchi emerged as the match-winner, dealing a crushing blow to the title hopes of Ivan Jurić’s Monza side, who had been in excellent form up to that point and had certainly played better than Atalanta. And who, particularly during those thirty seconds when the Atalanta goalkeeper turned into a wall, deserved to have scored a goal. Marco Carnesecchi, however, after a less-than-brilliant start to the season, was keen to show that he was still among the best in his position in our league. First he parried Gustavo Varela’s powerful but central shot; then he produced an incredibly elegant dive to his left to deflect Jay Robinson’s dangerous low drive; next, he demonstrated how to protect his near post against Varela’s fierce strike; and finally, he stretched to his right to parry Eddy Kouadio’s shot from the wing. With the exception of that one mistake, Atalanta’s number 29 demonstrated everything an aspiring goalkeeper needs to become an excellent shot-stopper.

The three best saves from matchday 10 of Serie A

1. Marco Carnesecchi in the 23rd minute of Monza v Atalanta 0–1 – 5 points;

2. Chrīstos Mandas in the 41st minute of Napoli v Lazio 1–1 – 3 points

3. joint first: Lorenzo Palmisani in the 50th minute of Cagliari v Frosinone 1–0 – 1 point

3. Elia Caprile (joint top) in the 54th minute of Cagliari v Frosinone 1–0 – 1 point

The ranking

1. David De Gea (Fiorentina), Lorenzo Palmisani (Frosinone), 13 points
3. Filip Stanković (Venezia), 12 points
4. Mike Maignan (Milan), Chrīstos Mandas (Lazio), 11 points
6. Guglielmo Vicario (Juventus), 9 points
7. Vanja Milinković-Savić (Napoli), 6 points
8. Marco Carnesecchi (Atalanta), Wladimiro Falcone (Lecce), 5 points
10. Justin Bijlow (Genoa), 4 points
11. Edoardo Corvi (Parma), Josep Martínez (Inter), Alex Meret (Napoli), Maduka Okoye (Udinese), Lucas Perri (Torino), 3 points
16. Elia Caprile (Cagliari), 2 points
17. Pierluigi Gollini (Roma), 1 point

What you have just read is Guanti sporchi, a light-hearted football-themed piece about Serie A’s number ones and the save that somehow made the football weekend even better – at least from the perspective of that minority who dress differently from the rest on the pitch. You can find all previous instalments here.

In the world of comics, we’re discussing Papereneide, written by Francesco Artibani and illustrated by Simona Capovilla, which has just been collected in a volume by Panini Comics. It is a work that strikes a delicate balance: respecting the framework of Virgil’s poem whilst simultaneously adapting it to the Disney formula, characterised by misunderstandings, iconic characters, adventure and humour. And in this, the writing and artwork succeed extraordinarily well in transforming the imagery of antiquity into something that feels instantly at home with the Ducks, without making it seem like a mere costume play.

In the realm of film and television, "Ramayana – The Birth of a Legend" is a must-see for all enthusiasts of Indian cinema and mythology alike. One of the oldest and best-known tales in Indian culture, which for centuries has spanned literature, religion, theatre, dance, art and popular culture, now comes to the big screen as a contemporary blockbuster, featuring stunning visual effects and a soundtrack that brings together two Oscar winners from seemingly worlds apart: A.R. Rahman and Hans Zimmer. 

Finally, the recommendation for the gaming world is the Magic: The Gathering | Star Trek expansion. A major event in which Wizards of the Coast brings characters, spaceships and stories from virtually the entire science fiction saga into Magic: from the original series to subsequent adaptations. Rather than simply placing Picard’s face or the Enterprise on existing cards, as is often the case with these crossovers, they are translating Star Trek into the language of the TCG, exploring its mechanics, stories and characters. 

Three features to help you navigate the world of entertainment and pop culture, a realm of major new releases and big comebacks, age-old stories and unexpected crossovers. DECODER is here to decode the present, including through its new popular myths, piecing together, week after week, feature after feature, a vast map that charts, more than ever before, the infinite nuances and directions of our present. Join us next week for another trio of unmissable titles. 

All it takes is one boy thousands of kilometres away

The first wave began during the night of 1–2 November, when the refrigeration systems at several Coop supermarkets in Sicily, between Catania and Palermo, stopped working properly. Hackers remotely tampered with the control units of fridges and freezers, altering the temperatures and spoiling the goods. The National Cybersecurity Agency (ACN) subsequently detected incidents at a Tuscan catering company and a frozen food manufacturer in Emilia-Romagna, and in the following days reports came in from Molise and Veneto. The pattern mirrored that of the attacks on French supermarkets on 12 October.

This is precisely where Crosetto begins. The problem with these new forms of warfare and terrorism, he explains, is that to strike a company, a community or an entire country, all it takes is a young man living thousands of kilometres away: the same person who could disable a supermarket’s refrigerators could also disable those used to store blood, or blow up a hospital’s electrical system. And then there are the states, with even more sophisticated means. The minister also points out that in recent years, thousands of pieces of health data have been stolen worldwide, stored in the hope of one day being able to decrypt them using quantum computers.

The government is, for now, playing down the damage. Following the meeting on 3 November at Palazzo Chigi with the ACN and the intelligence services, it spoke of a “limited impact”, with no health risks associated with the thawing of the products. The weak point lay in commercial operations with obsolete security systems, interfaces directly exposed to the internet and weak authentication, and ACN director Andrea Quacivi confirmed in Parliament that the attacks were facilitated by out-of-date software.

Who’s behind it

On 4 November, two pro-Russian hacker groups, NoName057(16) and Z-Pentest, claimed responsibility for the attacks in a video posted on social media, threatening further action against “water systems, power stations and industries”. The claim, however, raises doubts: as the Post noted, it contains no details useful for confirming it, neither regarding which shops were targeted, nor how or when. And even ACN has said that it is too early to understand what really happened, because groups such as NoName057(16) try to attract attention by any means possible.

Crosetto has no doubts about who is behind cyber warfare in general: it is Russia, China and Iran. Entrepreneurs such as Musk, Zuckerberg and Bezos, he says, want to make money. Those nations, on the other hand, want to weaken democracies and Europe, because for autocracies, societies based on the welfare state are a virus.

The bounty on Tajani and the bomb threats

The second wave targeted individuals. NoName057 set its sights on 18 people, including Foreign Minister Antonio Tajani, Rome’s Chief Prosecutor Francesco Lo Voi and the Director of the Postal Police Ivano Gabrielli, publishing their personal details, telephone numbers, email addresses and home addresses on the dark web, and offering money in exchange for further information. Tajani clarified that he was referring to pro-Russian hackers, and not the government in Moscow. According to Crosetto, Tajani is a target because he holds clear, anti-Russian views. Finally, on Thursday, false bomb alerts affected flights across half of Europe, including seven at Fiumicino, Malpensa, Linate and Pescara, with fighter jets scrambled.

Cognitive warfare, and what to do about it

But Crosetto’s real concern lies elsewhere, in what he calls ‘cognitive warfare’: the ability of certain organisations to use social media to push people not only to buy a product or go on a holiday, but also to hate the society in which they live and the values of democracy, fuelling anger and violence. It is an issue on which, he admits, he has also been mocked. And interference, he adds, is already happening every day – from Russia, Iran and China – particularly in the run-up to the 2027 general election.

Italy and Europe are defending themselves with cyber agencies, but nowhere in the world is anyone equipped to fight and win the hybrid and cognitive war. The proposal, which Crosetto says he has already put forward to the European Union and NATO, is to change approach: “If we limit ourselves to defending against hybrid warfare attacks, we have already lost”. We must stop hostile actors before they strike, without waiting for the absolute certainty that democracies usually demand before taking action. This is why the Ministry of Defence has called for the establishment of a cyber force – that is, a dedicated armed force. And it is asking platforms such as Meta and TikTok not to wash their hands of the matter, but to put filters in place so that young people are not profiled and manipulated.

Today, hybrid warfare is also on the agenda of the G7 foreign ministers’ meeting in Paris, following a proposal by Tajani. Tomorrow it is the turn of the Ministry of the Interior.

From his early days on Dylan Dog to the graphic design of Nathan Never, right through to his work with Marvel and DC, Castellini helped to blaze a trail that seemed impassable to many Italian artists, harking back to an era when the European, Japanese and American schools of art appeared to be separate worlds. Crossing those boundaries – as the first Italian to have worked overseas for Marvel – was first and foremost a personal achievement, of course, but also proof, for those who would follow, that such ambition could become a career.

An art form characterised by meticulous attention to detail, which, with echoes of Michelangelo, still invites us today to slow down. ‘Art is not just the end result,’ he observes, ‘within a drawing lie the experiences, joys and sorrows of the person who has learnt to create it.’ It is from this conviction that his stance on artificial intelligence also stems: no absolute opposition, but a call to clearly distinguish between images generated by AI and works drawn by a person, even when using digital tools.

This sense of responsibility is also reflected in his favourite character, the Silver Surfer: immensely powerful, yet capable of not abusing his strength, guided by respect for life and for the greater good. The hope for future generations is that they, too, will continue to wield this power: so that in the comics of tomorrow, the most human experiences of every artist who puts their creations down on paper will always remain recognisable.

What happened? 2023 is the year when everything falls apart. In April, Evans Richardson, his partner, aged 43 and head of staff at the Studio Museum in Harlem, dies. No one knows: Sufjan has never spoken about his private life; he has always let his songs speak – and remain unsaid. In August, he wakes up one morning to find his hands, arms and legs numb. He is unable to walk. A trip to A&E, two weeks confined to a hospital bed, and the diagnosis: Guillain-Barré syndrome, an autoimmune disease in which the immune system attacks the peripheral nerves. He recounts it in September, with a photo of himself in a wheelchair and a caption that’s already a joke: ‘yours truly from a wheelchair’, forever yours from a wheelchair. Rehabilitation begins: intensive physiotherapy, learning to stand again. In October, ‘Javelin’ is released – his most intimate album since ‘Carrie & Lowell’ – and on the day of its release, a dedication to Evans appears on Instagram: ‘the light of my life’. It is his coming out, and part of the press focuses on that rather than on his grief. The songs do not name names: they address broken relationships, guilt, and pleas – but after that dedication, everything becomes clear. Then silence. No concerts – and in any case, he had not performed since 2018, the night of the Oscars when he sang “Mystery of Love” for Call Me by Your Name. After six months, he was walking again.

To understand why his absence weighs so heavily on the music scene, we need to go back to the start of the millennium – which now feels almost like another geological era. Music discussed on blogs, MySpace, the first iPods, Brooklyn as the spiritual capital of the new rock scene. American indie in the noughties brought together Arcade Fire, Grizzly Bear and Bon Iver: cultured young people, often from the provinces, keen to rediscover folk, orchestral arrangements and, above all, the song as a handcrafted artefact. Sufjan was the perfect embodiment of this. He announced his intention to dedicate an album to each of the fifty US states but ended up making only two, "Michigan" and "Illinois", and years later admitted it was merely a publicity stunt. Yet he stands entirely on his own; he is an outspoken Christian in Bush-era America, adored by a secular and progressive audience. He often mentions God in his songs, and on the same album he recounts the story of the serial killer John Wayne Gacy with sublime compassion. ‘Chicago’ features on the soundtrack to ‘Little Miss Sunshine’, and with him, the indie scene discovers it can be pop without compromising its integrity. It is the last era in which a musician can build a slow-paced world, made up of full-length albums to be listened to from start to finish, before streaming shatters it all. And yet it is streaming itself that cemented his status: ‘Fourth of July’, whispered at his dying mother’s bedside, surpassed half a billion streams. Little by little, Sufjan went through all these transformations – the dizzying electronica of The Age of Adz, the grief over his mother’s death in Carrie & Lowell, the American malaise of The Ascension; despite himself, some wrote that he had become the ‘poster child for death’.

Now the recovery is slow. In 2025, in his first interview since the collapse, he says he is “okay”, that he feels “in a state of recovery and survival”, but no concerts, tours or recording sessions. He talks about gardening, walking the dog, and the Asthmatic Kitty label he founded with his stepfather – the Lowell from the album. He works a little on other people’s music, saying “I’m at the service of other things”. The world carries on without him. *Illinoise*, the dance show based on the 2005 album, does well on Broadway and wins a Tony; reissues are released to mark the twentieth anniversary of *Seven Swans* and the tenth of *Carrie & Lowell*; he produces a children’s album for John Legend. Then came Meg Lui’s album, recorded in his home studio. Then the Kingston gig. And now the Christmas song. Which, like all his Christmas songs, is a strange affair: no sleighs, no joy, but rather a catalogue of wrongs and a plea for forgiveness. He describes himself as ‘a misanthropic man’ who sees the worst in things, and explains that he loves ‘the idea of a Christmas apology’. The video is made up of six thousand hand-painted frames – the sort of artisanal madness reminiscent of the noughties, when the world was smaller and he was younger. Christmas, on the other hand, has always been his laboratory: since 2001, he’s been recording Christmas songs as gifts for friends and family. Starting afresh with a gift makes sense in its own way. Whether it’s the beginning of something or just a truce, next year will tell.

The series, the two artists continue, “has completely changed our lives. We used to work for other people, whereas now we’ve managed to work mainly for ourselves. It’s given us much more freedom and the chance to take music seriously as a profession”. Success, however, hasn’t turned them into unapproachable celebrities. “In a sense, we’re still anonymous. We can move about freely in the world and we’re not the sort of people who are constantly stopped for an autograph when we leave the hotel.” There is also a more personal satisfaction: knowing that we’ve introduced someone to music. “I enjoy meeting young people who tell me they’ve been influenced by us or have discovered new music thanks to us.” Although, they admit, “it’s hard to really believe that our work can have the same impact that other musicians have had on us.”

Their relationship with the 1980s, however, is less nostalgic than one might imagine. Both were children during that decade and their perception of those years is ‘an image constructed in retrospect’. Music, however, has remained an important point of reference: “We listened to a lot of songs from that decade, probably more than we realised, partly thanks to the pop radio stations that kept playing them.” Their relationship with television was different. “I don’t have many memories of the programmes from those years, but I really liked the original MacGyver series,” says Stein.

So why does popular culture constantly look back to the 1980s? “I’d heard that everything follows cycles of 20 or 25 years. What was popular back then comes back because there’s a new generation discovering it,” says Dixon. But it’s not just a matter of generational change. “The 1980s were a period when electronic and synthetic sounds and special effects began to explore different possibilities. Technology changed and people began experimenting very quickly, creating a wide variety of music, images and techniques,” they explain. Then, with the arrival of the 1990s, part of that aesthetic was abandoned by the mainstream, though it did not disappear from underground music. “Perhaps today we look back on the early versions of those technologies with a certain fascination. But the image of the 1980s is different for each of us.”

On the future of electronic music, the two musicians do not seem particularly impressed by the constant evolution of instruments. “Innovation lies in approaching something familiar from a different perspective, or in combining two elements that do not normally go together.” They add: “We don’t believe there are many completely new ideas. Most things can be traced back to fairly simple elements, but that doesn’t mean we should downplay what is being created.” The point, in short, is not just the sound, but today “it is easier than ever to produce generic music, using samples, templates, presets and instruments that allow you to sound like everyone else. Even artificial intelligence can be used to copy something. But you can be just as derivative by following an academic path and trying to make music like John Williams. Originality depends on the ideas behind the music, not on whether it’s electronic or not.”

When it comes to artificial intelligence, their stance becomes even clearer. “We don’t believe it will have any effect on our music, other than making certain tasks easier for us.” The problem, for them, is the risk that technology might end up replacing creative work. “If someone can do something more cheaply, they will. But why try to take away art instead of doing something good for people, like producing low-cost medicines?” The two musicians do not reject every application of AI, provided it remains a tool in the service of creativity. “The question is how much you really learn when something does everything for you.” They are therefore willing to use technologies that simplify the work, for example “those that allow you to isolate individual instruments in an old recording”. It is a different matter, however, to ask AI to compose a track for them: “We have no interest in doing that. The beauty lies precisely in the creative process.”

Finally, there remains the most difficult question for anyone whose name has become synonymous with international success: how do you avoid becoming a prisoner of it? “It’s something we grapple with every day. You have to do something different that becomes just as popular as what made you famous. But the chances of succeeding are rather slim.” Repeating the formula of Stranger Things, after all, wouldn’t be a solution, because “it would bore us”. The path to follow is to “develop interesting collaborations, take on new projects with directors who trust you and support their ideas. Create something new together, hoping it isn’t just a spin-off of what you’ve already done. And perhaps one of these projects will become popular. We’ll make music; it’ll have a certain sound, and people may or may not listen to it”.

The Hedgehog’s Dilemma is structured in the same way and renews our sense of wonder at a children’s story composed primarily of words which, even more so than images, are capable of setting the imagination free and training the mind to embrace surprise and creativity (there is no need to consult the Talmud, but the learned sages of Judaism used to say that ‘all songs are written in black on white and white on black’). Tellegen’s tale captivates not only because it demonstrates how children’s literature can also speak to adults, but also for its tender narrative, which revolves around shyness and the compromises one is forced to make with oneself in order to become an integral part of a community.

The hedgehog of the title, in fact – so shy that he often doesn’t even have the courage to open the door to the few visitors who come to see him – decides to throw a party, but even the invitation is tinged with an ambiguity that reflects his solitary nature (“but if nobody comes, that’s fine too’), a sort of double of the animal in Perec’s The Sleeping Man (though Schopenhauer had already used the hedgehog as a metaphor for the difficulties of human relationships), who finds protection from the outside world in solitude. Centred on this letter – and thus on the dilemma of whether to put himself out there in front of others by overcoming his fear – the hedgehog’s imagination begins to dwell on the mishaps and failures that could ruin a party (the absence of guests, the lack of conversation, the risk posed by its quills), but also about how lovely it might be to have an elephant, an ostrich, a badger or a camel around. Tellegen, aided by Annemarie van Hareingen’s quirky and comical illustrations, has written a fairy tale in which young children are introduced to the unknown and the fear of being alone, whilst older readers will find in the hedgehog’s soliloquies a question about how much closing oneself off from others hinders one’s place in the world.

Now that I am a father and read stories to my child, I have realised that this exercise in imagination is gradually disappearing from many of the books we leaf through together; the narratives are simplified and the messages conveyed in a cloyingly didactic manner, to the extent that it feels as though we are witnessing the very same process of constant streamlining that dominates contemporary society; as if young children were meant to be accustomed, right from the start, to not seeking wonder and amazement. Fortunately, however, there are books like The Hedgehog’s Dilemma, which I am now going to start reading to my son again, confident that I will be moved all over again (without letting on too much).

Antonelli built much of his reputation in September, with two consecutive victories at Monza and Madrid. In Brianza, he won after starting in nineteenth place, having overtaken 25 times, becoming the first Italian to win the Italian Grand Prix since Ludovico Scarfiotti, sixty years ago. A week later, in Spain, he secured his eighth victory of the season. All this in his second season in Formula 1.

However, while Antonelli finished first on the track, in terms of pay he remains in the lower half of the grid. In the drivers’ salary rankings compiled by Sitiscommesse, his contract with Mercedes – valid until 2027 – is worth a fixed sum of around one and a half million euros a year, on a par with Gabriel Bortoleto of Audi and just above the four drivers who earn less than a million. At the top is Verstappen with 65 million, more than forty times as much. Hamilton follows on 55, whilst Charles Leclerc and George Russell, Antonelli’s team-mate, are on 30.

Formula 1 contracts are not made public, and these figures are estimates, relating solely to the fixed salary, excluding bonuses, personal sponsorship deals and image rights. However, paddock sources have long agreed on the relative standing of the drivers, and the gap between the top and bottom of the list exceeds 60 million.

Even Lando Norris, the reigning champion, earns far more than him. The McLaren driver, who won the title last year, earns 25 million – almost seventeen times as much as the man who took it from him. Fernando Alonso, aged 45, receives 15 from Aston Martin. Carlos Sainz, Alexander Albon, Oscar Piastri and Pierre Gasly are on around ten million, as is Lance Stroll, who is the son of Aston Martin’s owner and has an open-ended contract. The figures drop sharply from there, with seven million for Sergio Perez at Cadillac, six for Nico Hülkenberg and Esteban Ocon, and four for Isack Hadjar and Valtteri Bottas.

Such a gap depends on when Antonelli signed. The contract with Mercedes was signed in the summer of 2024, when he was eighteen and racing in Formula 2, and it secured him the seat that Hamilton was vacating to move to Maranello. Salaries in Formula 1 are set upon signing and remain the same until the contract expires, and on the day he signed, Antonelli had not yet competed in a Grand Prix.

For Hamilton, the opposite is true. He turned 41 in January and hasn’t won a title since 2020, but Ferrari is paying him 55 million a year until 2027, with an option for 2028. Maranello’s calculations, after all, relate more to the brand than to the track: according to some estimates, the Briton’s presence would have brought the Scuderia over 100 million in additional sponsorship revenue last season alone, particularly in the British market.

On top of the fixed salary come performance-related bonuses, and for Antonelli, the title changes the figures. According to QuiFinanza, with the World Championship win, the bonuses could take the total to over 15 million dollars. This remains an estimate, like all the figures circulating in the paddock.

These figures could soon change for everyone, starting with Verstappen. His contract with Red Bull runs until 2028, but there has long been talk of a clause that would allow him to leave at the end of the season, with McLaren and Mercedes among the possible destinations. Russell’s contract expires at the end of 2026, with an option for a further twelve months.

The same applies to Antonelli. His contract expires in 2027, but with a world title under his belt, Mercedes has no reason to wait: as we wrote on 3 November, the next deal is expected to be worth around thirty million euros per season – twenty times the amount he earned when he won the World Championship. Meanwhile, at the age of twenty, the world champion washes his road-going Mercedes himself and still lives on his parents’ allowance – the very same parents with whom he celebrated the title at the track.

The crisis, the upheaval, begins on Thursday afternoon. At the very same time, in Rome, just a few metres away, Messina is being questioned by the Banking Committee and Giorgetti by the joint committees of the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate. It is a scheduling error. That is how FdI views it. On the very day that Giorgetti is outlining a complex budgetary manoeuvre – the last of this parliamentary term – Messina is summoned by Forza Italia’s Pierantonio Zanettin to have his say. For the newspapers, it is a Messina-Giorgetti clash, even if only in terms of image. No one could have foreseen such an attack from Messina. No one. Four years in opposition had never done as much damage as these words: ‘South American-style regulations’. In Milan, Giuseppe Castagna, CEO of Banco BPM – the bank considered close to the Lega, which could soon merge with Crédit Agricole – is stunned. He is heard to say: “Messina has gone too far.” Another call goes out from Messina to Giorgetti. Meloni’s statement from Dublin clarifies that her immediate response had stemmed from a misunderstanding. On the phone, Messina acknowledges to Meloni that she has “restored the country’s reputation”, but also tells her that it would be a shame to lose it. 

The fallout from a misguided decision – the Superbonus, a measure that no government prior to Meloni’s had the courage to halt – has led to the most serious incident of this parliamentary term: a dispute between the Prime Minister and Italy’s most prominent banker. To reduce the debt, Giorgetti is spreading the Superbonus liabilities over ten years. This is hitting the banks – institutions that have already faced a tax increase, justified by the exceptional profits of recent years, a period of governmental stability. It is a rule that is now being removed, merely ‘a temporary measure’, as Giorgetti would put it. Messina’s target is Giorgetti, his party (to what extent is unclear), and the Lega. The Italian Banking Association (ABI) and the CEOs of the credit institutions that look to Messina for guidance speak of ‘aggressiveness’ on the part of the Lega – behaviour that, for Messina, is typical of ‘bullies’. It is this unease that prompts Messina to intervene. Paradoxically, the opportunity is provided by the government itself: the Banking Commission. The misguided phrase that irritates Messina, they say, is ‘debt consolidation’, a phrase used by the Minister for the Economy. For the banks, it smacks of Argentina and is causing anxiety on the international markets. For Meloni’s party, however, Messina’s response comes across as ungrateful. Marco Osnato, the chairman of the Finance Committee from FdI, says that ‘the tone used is surprising. We would have preferred to agree with the banks as much as possible, but we are certain that, in the end, the sacrifices made by the banks will have repercussions on their customers’ interests. As for the accusation of being ‘South American’, I don’t know whether Messina was referring to Lula or Milei.” The speculation is so sinister that some in the majority are venturing the idea that Corriere della Sera is shifting to the left, the start of an attack: banks and newspapers. There is a sense of extremely powerful hostile forces in the air, and there are even those who are smiling. They say that when Salvini heard Messina speak, he remarked: “Here’s a victory for the League – see, we were right, weren’t we?”

Anyone phoning Messina to gauge the atmosphere within the government is told that relations with Meloni are excellent, though less so with the others in the government. The name ‘Giancarlo’ – Giorgetti – comes up again. Messina speaks to him very late in the evening, after speaking to Meloni. They are both extremely shrewd players and both claim it was merely hyperbole on the part of the newspapers. They are playing it down. Messina points out that the debt is nothing more than the placement of government bonds and that if certainty is lost, the spreads will go haywire. A bewildered Tajani tries to intervene, to step in, because ‘sacrifices are never pleasant, but there was no other way’. Forza Italia tries to take credit for the amendment to the bonus spread. The entire Budget Bill is on the table. Trade unions are summoned to Palazzo Chigi. The leader of the UIL, Bombardieri, emerges and announces that ‘the cuts’ to education and healthcare have been scrapped. Meloni is forced to explain in a video that it was not a cut. Even basic courtesy goes out the window. Ignazio La Russa also speaks out against Messina, ‘because describing a budget as “South American” is offensive. To South America’. There is another shocking remark from Messina that opens up new possibilities: his call for the government not to view the banks as an ‘ATM’. He suggests looking elsewhere: “It’s not just the banks that have made profits. There are many sectors, not just the energy sector.” This comes across as a call to tax state-owned companies – Enel, Eni – managed by Claudio Descalzi and Flavio Cattaneo. It is the extremely dangerous scenario of everyone against everyone, and a new player is emerging: the PD, the left. The likely next Minister for the Economy, Francesco Boccia, has indicated that amendments will be tabled to “adjust the bonus spread” and that these will be cross-party amendments, whilst adding that Messina’s words “are correct”. If a single remark by Messina has caused a “shockwave”, what does his overture to the left amount to, just a few months before the elections? Claudio Durigon, the League’s strongman, says that “the right has agreed to and asked the banks to make a sacrifice, but the left, I would remind you, is in favour of a wealth tax”. Which left? Claudio Mancini, a PD MP who was almost a de facto Minister for the Economy during the Conte II government, with Gualtieri at the Ministry of Economy and Finance (MEF), sides with Messina: “Messina is right; he’s right about everything. The ‘bonus-spreading’ rule is an absurd piece of legislation. It’s Giorgetti’s headbutt, a bit like Zidane’s. Giorgetti lost 4–0 on the Intesa-Unipol-MPS-BPM issue and committed a foul in retaliation. The minister must explain why he prevented Unicredit from taking over BPM; he must explain his close relationship with Lovaglio. I also recall that there is an investigation by the Milan Public Prosecutor’s Office. The Banking Committee will remain in place and, over the coming years, will serve to shed light on Giorgetti’s actions”. New in-house tribunals are being prepared for a new era. The PD has found ‘comrade’ Messina, and Messina already has a party ready to amend the rules in his favour. Mancini adds: “We can win the elections. And the problem is starting to get serious.”

A reassuring message has been issued via Bloomberg, which has published an analysis of the conflict between the sons and the role of Francesco Milleri, a trusted confidant of Luxottica’s founder and chief executive of EssilorLuxottica, the French group in which Delfin holds a 32.5 per cent stake. The Del Vecchio family’s financial resources “are ready to underpin, over time, a credible industrial project to make Generali bigger and more international,” the article states. “Options could include acquisitions by the insurer, participation in a capital increase, or support for a broader merger or consolidation. The holding company is not preparing a project of its own: for now, it intends to collect dividends, wait and support the right project, if and when it emerges.” However, “it could play a decisive role following the completion of Intesa’s acquisition of Montepaschi, when the new shareholding structure surrounding Generali becomes clearer. All this is conditional on the tensions between the heirs and the pressure from certain family members to reduce financial investments not derailing these plans”.

A conclusion that casts a shadow over the ambitious plan and confirms all the concerns circulating in stock market circles. This climate of opinion is a cause for concern for Romolo Bardin, who, with understandable anxiety, is steering a ship buffeted by Leonardino’s constant outbursts and the irritated reactions of his relatives. A fortune estimated at around 43 billion euros – attributable primarily to the stake in EssilorLuxottica and the market values of Montepaschi, Unicredit and Generali – cannot be thrown to the wind.

Of course, it will then be necessary to understand what the other players’ plans are. Messina insists on rejecting any role other than that of a stabilising force; he does not wish to propose more than three representatives on the board and has no intention of expanding abroad, not even indirectly. But many are wondering whether Intesa Sanpaolo has spent 35 billion euros simply to enter the cage of the Lion of Trieste and act as a guardian. Andrea Orcel, too, has denied wanting to take control of the company, but has spoken of “closer collaboration” both in the insurance market and in asset management. And he said this as if he were already on speaking terms with Philippe Donnet, who has been running Generali for ten years.

It is too early to consider long-term strategies before knowing whether and how Del Vecchio’s company, currently in disarray, will be sorted out. And what role Milleri, whose term expires next spring, will play. EssilorLuxottica has lost 40 per cent of its market value in a year; the board of directors has reaffirmed its confidence in him, but everything is in a state of upheaval.

Moreover, the approaching elections cast doubt on an important stakeholder such as the government, which has sent out two messages in recent years. The first was crystal clear: Generali must remain Italian; no agreements that call into question its national primacy. This was evident in the hostility towards the deal with the French firm Natixis on asset management, which was subsequently scrapped a year ago. The second is more ambiguous because Italian ownership requires strategic certainty. But who can guarantee this at the end of the parliamentary term?

The issue of Donnet, who has been criticised on several occasions by both Leonardo Del Vecchio and Francesco Gaetano Caltagirone, should not be underestimated. Their criticisms all remain valid: a lack of ambition regarding growth through overseas acquisitions; disagreements over the role of Mediobanca (will Intesa now support the capital increases that Mediobanca has been reluctant to approve?); and objections to the business plans and, consequently, to the management team.

Generali’s fate has never been a ‘family affair’, both because it remains the Italians’ piggy bank – even if no longer the only one – and because of the Treasury bills in its portfolio that guarantee its policies and the public debt.

“A ‘South American-style measure’,” said Carlo Messina, CEO of Intesa Sanpaolo, in very harsh terms. The reference is to Article 37 of the draft bill, which spreads the Superbonus tax credits over ten years: this concerns the final ‘maxi’ instalment, amounting to 20.5 billion euros, which the government has unilaterally decided to pay not in a single year but in ten manageable instalments of around 2 billion each. For the state, the gain is minimal: no impact on the deficit, given that the credits were issued and accounted for in 2023, and therefore no additional margin to spend; but an indirect benefit of 550–600 million in reduced interest expenditure due to the avoidance of issuing 18 billion in debt in 2027. That is not much, considering that interest expenditure in 2027 will amount to 103 billion. The bill is much steeper for creditors – mainly banks – who will have to record a write-down of approximately 3 billion euros on their balance sheets.

This is a very sensitive issue, not only because of the economic consequences for the banks but also because of the reputational implications for the state. In the 3 November edition of Il Foglio, we wrote that this amounted to a ‘debt restructuring’, or in other words, a ‘default’. The Italian Banking Association (ABI), during its hearing on 10 November, aware of the sensitivity of the matter, had been more diplomatic: the measure “would appear to be tantamount to a forced restructuring of government debt”. But evidently the political class failed to grasp this. Thus, during Thursday’s hearing, Messina cut straight to the chase by evoking the scenario of an Italian default: “It is a South American-style debt management measure”. 

“It’s unbelievable,” said the CEO of Intesa Sanpaolo. In the ECB’s terminology, this is called ‘forbearance’; it is a technical measure that will lead banks to classify this as a default, with the risk that this could trigger a cross-default on all Italian government debt.” Messina outlined a scenario of extreme risk for the Treasury, precisely to emphasise that one cannot intervene so brutally on such sensitive matters. Of course, the CEO of Intesa has no interest in raising the spectre of a BTP default, given that Italian banks (and Intesa above all) are the main holders of public debt: undermining the credibility of the state as a debtor means devaluing the 600 billion in government bonds held by the bank as a creditor. The point, therefore, is that “there could have been better solutions for obtaining liquidity”, Messina emphasised.

Presumably, the bricklayer who came up with the ‘Spalma-Superbonus’ must have thought that the scheme worked in a similar way to deferred tax assets (DTAs). In that case too, after all, it involves the suspension until 2027 (in addition to those already established for 2025 and 2026) of tax deductions amounting to 2 billion. In both instances, in short, we are dealing with a state entitlement (deduction or credit) that entitles the holder to avoid paying tax on the corresponding amount. If DTAs can be deferred, then the Superbonus can also be spread out over time.

The problem, however, is that they are by no means the same thing under international accounting standards and the ECB’s supervisory rules to which banks must adhere. These are two different accounting items, with very different consequences. DTAs are classified under ‘taxes’ and their deferral does not imply the recognition of a loss. Whereas Superbonus receivables must be recorded under item 140 of the profit and loss account: ‘Gains/losses from contractual amendments without write-offs’, resulting in a write-down with implications for liquidity and, indeed, the profit and loss account. ‘Someone probably thought the impact was the same as under the rules on DTAs,’ says an expert in the field. But this is by no means the case. The damage is direct for the banks, but it could also be enormous for the state. This is because it is unclear whether accounting standards and EBA/ECB rules require banks to classify the debtor (i.e. the state) as insolvent. And one difference compared to the deferral of DTAs lies in the fact that the latter was established following an agreement with the banks, whilst the Superbonus deferral is a unilateral decision by the debtor.

The ECB was not consulted by the government on this measure. Not that there was any obligation to consult it, but this suggests that whoever drafted the legislation did not fully grasp the sensitivity of the matter and its implications, given that there was no prior consultation with either the banks or the regulatory authorities.

These critical issues had already been highlighted during a parliamentary hearing, in cautious and measured terms, by Marco Elio Rottigni, Director-General of the Italian Banking Association (ABI), but they had evidently not been taken on board. Messina was far more explicit, referring to a ‘South American-style regulation’ that risks leading the country into ‘default’. The issue, framed in these terms, was better understood, not least because it made its way into the international press and onto the radar of investors and rating agencies.

Politicians have also taken notice. “The signal to the financial markets is terrible,” says Antonio Misiani, the PD’s economic spokesperson. “The government must backtrack and scrap this provision.” But even within the government, given what is at stake, the idea of revising the provision is gaining ground. Signs to this effect have come both from Giorgetti and from yesterday’s meeting at Palazzo Chigi with the social partners. Otherwise, the matter will end up before the Constitutional Court, but with the possibility of a more immediate penalty on the markets.

In short, there is a risk that the whole thing could come crashing down. So it is high time that Giorgetti shored up the load-bearing wall before it is too late.

The class action seeking an injunction brought by various associations (led by Moige, the Italian Parents’ Movement) against Meta and TikTok is based on his ‘pro veritate’ opinion, in proceedings that are due to conclude shortly before the Milan Commercial Court.

What is the key point?

Social media platforms are designed like slot machines, to induce addiction by stimulating the limbic system at an age when the prefrontal cortex has not yet matured. They encourage a constant search for gratification, accompanied by bursts of anger and resentment when this need is not met. These effects are also evident in data on alcohol consumption and gambling, which are alarmingly widespread among minors. Added to this is the premature sexualisation of childhood: online pornography is the most widespread form of sex education, leading to the paradoxical resurgence of gender stereotypes that had been dismantled over decades.

How does this work?

Because sex education is based on the objectification of women, without fostering experience of or skills in managing intimate relationships. The children involved in horrific incidents such as those in Caivano and Palermo have learnt from pornographic platforms.

Is it ever possible to ban minors from using social media?

The solution is to require Meta and TikTok to design platforms suitable for children and teenagers. At the same time, it is vitally important to ensure ‘digital detox’ zones, such as schools, to help preserve the mind’s analogue processes, which enable depth of thought, planning and sustained attention.

How much do adults need it too?

Unfortunately, social media has contributed to the phenomenon of ‘adultescents’: parents who are very kind and affectionate towards their children, but who are grappling with unresolved adolescent conflicts. They are incapable of emotional restraint or of enforcing rules. Authority is not in their repertoire. We are witnessing an infantilisation of adulthood.

People in their forties like Zerocalcare?

This represents a striking case of an adult who appears indistinguishable from a teenager—an individual to whom I would never entrust the upbringing of a child. Nor should we overlook the mothers in Bologna who positioned themselves between their protesting children and the police: such behavior constitutes a form of infantilization that benefits no one, amounting to a renunciation of the parental role.

Is this a generational issue?

There are also ‘grandparents of the new generation’: one need only look at the social media profiles of certain people in their fifties and sixties, who give teenagers a run for their money. Such a grandparent is certainly not in a position to make sense of their grandchildren’s emotional turmoil. The concern is that society might one day awaken to ask: ‘How on earth did we fail to protect these young people?’. It is clear that, in practice, a parent cannot address this alone: the most effective action comes through the numerous associations already active and, speaking as a Catholic, through the work the Church carries out in parishes with family groups.

Does artificial intelligence complicate matters?

The sentencing judgement for the very young murderer of Aurora Tila states that the young girl sought advice from her ‘best friend’, ChatGPT. The problem is not artificial intelligence but loneliness, the absence of an adult to recognise her distress. I have expressed my views on AI to the Bioethics Committee and the Senate’s Human Rights Commission, calling for two safeguards: the first is that if you purchase or book a service of any kind, you must, if you wish, have the option to speak to a person; the second is to ensure a human presence, at least in sectors such as healthcare: AI has superior diagnostic capabilities, but an algorithm cannot communicate the results to you. Let us make use of artificial intelligence, but without neglecting the relational aspects.

She is an adviser to the ‘family in the woods’, a case that has divided public opinion like few others.

I do not wish to comment on the legal aspects, but I regret that the opportunity was not taken to engage in a more profound reflection on the challenge that this family – to whom an apology will one day be due – has posed to our bourgeois society. Their way of life is not my own, but it deserved an effort to understand it. The silence of the progressive world regarding those who advocated ultra-progressive values such as radical environmentalism and the rejection of waste – with an almost neo-Franciscan agenda – was remarkable. Yet even the Church remained silent.

Three minors needed to be protected.

There are less brutal ways of going about things. The fact that they did not enrol their children in a state school and used an outdoor dry toilet did not justify dismissing decades of research on parenting and family love. Nathan and Catherine are not a pair of reckless individuals, but a couple who have matured on a human and spiritual journey, forming a family unit rich in affection with their children – a fact that should instead make us reflect on the disasters within our own middle-class families.

One eye on the crucifix and the other fixed on the camera lens. Those who manage this continue their religious life without any particular distress

Before chef-priests and influencer-priests, the unwitting trailblazer for the cassock in 16:9 format was Sister Cristina. Her victory on the talent show The Voice, under the artistic guidance of rap icon and cannabis advocate J-ax, quickly made headlines around the world. So much so that the video of her first performance, in which she sang Alicia Keys’ ‘No One’, was the fourth most-viewed video on YouTube worldwide in 2014. The vocal range of the twenty-five-year-old nun was enough to make half the pop scene green with envy; the four judges were blown away, whilst other Ursulines went wild with joy behind the scenes. Sister Cristina’s rise through the television ranks (including appearances on private channels and singing competitions) culminated in a lucrative contract with Universal and global success. This was followed by a gold disc, guest appearances on American television and, in Italy, a stint as a contestant on Ballando. However, the habit began to feel increasingly restrictive, prompting her to bid farewell to the Ursulines, adopt the name on her health card (Cristina Scuccia) and take part in Isola dei famosi alongside, among others, the Jalisse. Even without her vows, former Sister Cristina continues to make a splash: members of the clergy stand out on screen, especially when they are not praying. And so the camera keeps rolling.

The unwitting pioneer of the 16:9 habit was Sister Cristina, thanks to the talent show ‘The Voice’. From there, she ended up on ‘Isola dei famosi’

Not that it was off the air before, of course. On Tv2000, a television channel controlled by the Italian Bishops’ Conference, priests and nuns appear regularly. One of them, the Cistercian monk Don Domenico de Stradis, co-presented a cookery programme entitled ‘Quel che passa il convento’ for fourteen years. The programme fits squarely into the culinary programme format, with a mock kitchen set up in a television studio, numerous guests taking turns at the worktop, and the inclusion of “products for commercial purposes”. For the cameras, dishes based on ancient convent recipe books are cooked, all seasoned with brief spiritual reflections from the monk-gardener. The programme, which ended in 2024, was one of the channel’s longest-running and most popular shows, so much so that, together with “La Santa Messa”, it helped Tv2000 close out the spring of 2017 with a 12.3 per cent increase in audience share compared to the same period the previous year, ranking on a par with Italia 1. But for every programme that ends, even stronger ones emerge, on a channel that has even gone international. And this time, not in a studio. “Le ricette del convento” has been airing on the Food Network – Warner Bros. Discovery Italia’s culinary channel – since 2022 and already boasts nine series, over 60 episodes and even two bestselling cookbooks. The show is set in the austere kitchen of the Benedictine abbey of San Martino delle Scale in Sicily. At the hob are Father Salvatore and the elderly theologian Father Anselmo, who uses every carrot he slices as an opportunity to recount a personal anecdote or a story about his monastery. Both tinker with ingredients and large pots whilst wearing their cassocks, without even rolling up their sleeves. This has raised some concerns amongst social media users about the hygiene conditions in which the two monks cook, watched over by a statuette of Padre Pio placed in the corner of the room. In a monastery, however, substance is what counts; the important thing is that the dish adheres strictly to the ancient recipe book (here too) kept secret for centuries in the monastery’s drawers and only now made available online and in bookshops. No brands are in plain sight, no shots of sponsors; the oil is in an unmarked bottle. A third monk enters the scene. It is Father Riccardo, a theology student and the abbey’s ‘golden voice’: he doesn’t cook, he simply eats. As soon as the dish is ready, in every episode he emerges from the back of the kitchen singing ‘Add a place at the table, there’s one more friend’ – his battle cry – then tucks in and savours the fruits of others’ labour. On his second appearance, however, he strikes up a Latin chant, which Father Anselmo hastens to explain, detailing the occasions on which it is sung within the abbey. But not before reminding the audience that this and other recipes can be found in the book, shown in the foreground.

The initiative features “Le ricette del convento” and “La cucina delle monache”. Rather than a television studio, the setting is the austere kitchens of ancient Italian monasteries.

The Food Network, however, gets everyone cooking. Even those who usually sell cookware rather than using it, such as Giorgio Mastrota (‘Casa Mastrota’ is now in its second series), or fictional characters like the Weasley twins invented by J.K. Rowling – namely the British actors James and Oliver Phelps (‘Harry Potter: The Cake Wizards’). So why limit ourselves to monks? Over six series, “La cucina delle monache” (with just one book to its name, for now) has given four nuns the chance to take on the Sicilian male competition from Umbria, more precisely from the ancient Benedictine Monastery of Sant’Anna. Mother Noemi, the abbess, was once a promising basketball player, “but she chose to be an athlete of the Lord” (as she is introduced in the programme). Then there is Sister Debora, an architect and culinary expert; Sister Miriam, who, after four degrees, “discovered the true meaning of life only in the word of the Lord”; and finally the novice, Sister Eleonora, a psychology graduate. Here too, the ancient Benedictine recipe books are dusted off, but the presentation seems slightly more understated and at times subdued compared to the men’s version. No one enters the scene singing in Latin, but on the other hand, there are a few rolled-up sleeves for cooking.

On the Discovery channels, however, the convent is a recurring setting: not just a kitchen, but also a place of re-education. In this respect, the docu-reality show “Ti spedisco in convento” is nothing more than the clerical response to Rai 2’s “Collegio”. But here there are no fake teachers played by actors; instead, there are five real nuns who put young women – accustomed to excess, social media, parties and a frenetic pace of life – to the test with rules, prayers and monastic routines. No mobile phones, no extreme hairstyles, no consumerism. And whilst the original English version, “Bad Habits, Holy Orders”, on Channel 5 lasted for just one series, in Italy Discovery+ (and later Real Time) aired no fewer than three. A huge success underpinned, of course, not only by the results achieved on the small screen, but also on the very small screen. With official clips, memes and various parodies on social media, the programme racked up millions of interactions, including likes, views and comments. In the second series, the scene in which 20-year-old Nanda Alfi from Gallarate – sent to the convent – stripped naked in front of Sister Carolina, shouting “I’ll show you my boobs”, was picked up by newspapers and gossip sites, becoming one of the most talked-about and shared moments of the reality show. It is no coincidence that Alfi—already active on Instagram, TikTok and OnlyFans—was one of the most “social” contestants in the cast, whom she subsequently decided to leave amid controversy. Her mantra, however, remained in that convent, almost as if to represent the mindset of a sizeable proportion of young people: “One hundred thousand followers are more useful than a degree”. Behind the scenes, some observed a certain weariness amongst the nuns, almost as if they would have preferred to be doing something else rather than embarking on that television adventure, which was as curious as it was nerve-wracking. “Once filming was over, they told us they’d never expected so much commotion and noise inside their convent,” says someone who worked alongside them on set, speaking to Il Foglio. “They told us they’d agreed to do the programme because it suited them at the time, particularly in terms of visibility. But from the way they spoke about it, it seemed that, when all was said and done, it hadn’t been worth the effort.”

“Ti spedisco in convento”: five real nuns who put young women – accustomed to excess, social media, parties and a hectic lifestyle – to the test with rules and prayers

“Ti spedisco in convento” was not merely a television experiment but a treasure trove of clips, jokes and shocking moments designed to be shared, edited and re-edited. A reality show created for television, but experienced primarily on social media, where the clergy (both Italian and international) are no longer afraid to show their faces. It is no coincidence that in 2025, the Vatican launched the first ‘Jubilee of Catholic Influencers’, transforming likes, reels and stories into tools for mission work and calling on creators to ‘mend the nets’ of the digital world and the community. With a keen eye for the potential of social media, the Archbishop of Genoa, Marco Tasca, persuaded Father Roberto Fiscer (who has over 800,000 followers on TikTok and nearly 300,000 on Instagram) to leave the Church of the Santissima Annunziata del Chiappeto in Borgoratti and devote himself exclusively to communication and evangelisation through social media and new communication tools. A 50-year-old former DJ, Fiscer fills his followers’ feeds with passages from the Gospel, comedy sketches filmed at the altar, AI-generated posts and Catholic-inspired reworkings of the latest trends. He even taught one of these to Pope Leo XIV. The video in which Don Fiscer teaches Prevost to do the ‘6-7’ – a wildly viral, nonsensical dance move involving moving the hands up and down in alternation, as if bouncing two invisible balls – has gone viral around the world. Following that video, the Vicar of Christ on earth has replicated that gesture on other public occasions. This, too, it seems, is evangelisation. A mission that, until a few months ago, was also shared by the late Father Alberto Ravagnani, now in the spotlight on Rai 1’s Ballando con le stelle. This time, it was Milly Carlucci who had the foresight, recognising in the former priest the fuel needed to ignite the controversy and outrage required to make the programme – now in its twenty-first series – go viral. Ravagnani, who, now defrocked, flexes his muscles to his 300,000 Instagram followers (“Ho fatto pace con la mia carne, e sto da Dio”) left the priesthood shortly after the publication of his book, La scelta, which was later adapted into a stage play. The video in which he announced that he would no longer wear a priest’s collar has been viewed over two million times. But online, there are also those who, whilst dressing in secular clothes all day, don a nun’s habit solely and exclusively for the camera.

For those unaware that ‘VitaDaSuore’ is a social media project entirely fabricated by a film production company, Sister Paola and Sister Felicetta might seem like two harmless nuns with a passion for sport and panzerotti. They cook them in Ponte Sisto, Rome, whilst sitting by the phone with a microphone attached to their aprons. Following a major collaboration with a popular chain of motorway service stations, the nuns have recorded a song in collaboration with Jo Squillo. A singer-songwriter and television presenter who made her artistic debut in the 1980s with punk rock. Alongside her first hit, ‘Skizzo Skizzo’, came the track ‘Violentami’, in which she urges her partner to take advantage of her ‘on the metro’. Today, almost like a modern-day Claudia Koll, she can be found singing “Siamo figli di Maria” accompanied by two ‘nuns’ who aren’t actually nuns. Rather, they are two talented actresses starring in a major, viral transmedia marketing campaign that has catapulted two characters from “Tutte insieme all’Abbazia” – a film produced by the same production company as “VitaDaSuore” – onto social media. Given the social media success of the two nuns, developing a sequel would be the most logical step. After a run on Amazon Prime, the film arrived on Rai Play in January 2026, before landing on mainstream television (Rai 2) this summer. So we’re back where we started: on the small screen. Although they’ve been appearing on television for years, the public still seems unable to get used to seeing priests and nuns in front of the cameras – something they manage with increasing ease, programme after programme. One of them will be offered the chance to host the Sanremo Festival. They’ll turn it down because of difficulties in fitting it in with their other commitments, including Mass.

The case of Jensen Huang, founder of Nvidia, provides a good example. Huang has admitted to marital infidelity; according to media reports, a woman linked to him is said to have been identified by US intelligence as a Chinese espionage asset. Nvidia has launched an investigation, stating that it has no reason to believe that company secrets or national security have been compromised. A suspicion is not a conviction, and not every lover is a spy.

I have studied cases where the trap actually existed. During the Cold War, Markus Wolf, head of East Germany’s foreign intelligence service, sent charming men to woo female officials in West Germany. They were the Stasi’s ‘Romeos’. One managed to obtain documents from the chancellery from a woman who was convinced she had found love. In another instance, a mock wedding was staged: she only realised the ceremony was a ruse after her arrest. The moral of the story: if your partner asks you to photograph confidential documents, do not refer to it as a ‘couple’s project’.

In 1985, Sharon Scranage, a CIA employee in Ghana, stood trial for passing confidential information to her lover Michael Soussoudis, who had links to the Ghanaian intelligence services. Among this information were the names of CIA collaborators. She was convicted. The case underscores that threats to national security can emerge from unexpected quarters.

In 1986, Mordechai Vanunu, an Israeli technician who had revealed details of his country’s nuclear programme, met a woman in London who called herself Cindy. She suggested a romantic trip to Rome. But the Mossad were waiting for him: he was abducted and taken to Israel. Before you set off, check who is booking the hotel.

And then there’s Naples. For years, a woman known as Maria Adela frequented boutiques, parties and social circles linked to NATO. Bellingcat has identified her as a Russian military intelligence agent operating under a false identity. It has not been publicly established what secrets she obtained. But this case shows that a spy does not necessarily need to win your heart: the phone book may be enough.

How can you identify a suitor who knows a little too much? Not by their nationality, their clothes or their good looks. Coincidences are enough. They share all your passions. They insist on meeting your business partners, assistants and ministers. They ask for details about confidential meetings. They ask you to show them documents and open doors that should remain closed. And they demand absolute secrecy, giving ever-changing reasons.

Dear millionaires, it would be unwise to advise you to give up on falling in love. Instead, it is prudent to distinguish between those who wish to enter your life and those who seek unauthorized access to your computer. I possess neither a bank account nor a love life, whereas you have both. On a first date, at least, it is advisable to leave your ID badge at home.

The law allocates 70 seats in the Chamber of Deputies and 35 seats in the Senate to the coalition that comes first, provided it secures 42 per cent of the vote in both Houses. It does not guarantee an absolute majority.

According to Supermedia Youtrend on 5 November, the ‘broad coalition’ stands at 45 per cent, whilst the centre-right without Vannacci stands at 42.5 per cent. BiDiMedia, on 9 November, recorded 44.6 per cent against 42.9 per cent. The margins are within the margin of error: the race is still up for grabs.

However, when the prospective prime ministerial candidates appear on the ballot paper, the figures are reversed in the BiDiMedia scenario: 45.2 per cent for the centre-right, 43.8 per cent for the centre-left. The leaders influence the results: the centre-right gains ground compared to the combined total of its constituent parties, whilst the broad coalition does not.

This is the first unknown factor. Meloni can draw on her experience in government, but she must defend the budget. Schlein can turn the vote into a referendum on the government, but she must convince people that the PD, M5S, AVS and reformists can govern together, starting with Ukraine.

Second unknown: Conte. According to SWG, support for the coalition changes very little – 44.6 per cent with Schlein and 44.5 per cent with Conte – whilst the internal breakdown changes. It remains unclear who would be better at mobilising the undecided and the moderates.

Third unknown: the spoilers. Vannacci’s departure from the centre-right would take away crucial votes, but his entry would not be decisive: BiDiMedia has simulated a coalition expanded to include Futuro Nazionale and arrived at a tie at 45.2 per cent, 3.5 percentage points below the combined total of the parties. Adding an ally does not mean adding all their votes. A Di Battista list, polling around 3 per cent, would harm the broad coalition if it took voters away from it, but far less so if it mobilised those who would otherwise abstain.

Finally, election day: holding the local elections on the same day could affect turnout, but at present it is impossible to say who would benefit from this.

What remains? The centre-left has a slight lead in the polls on coalition support, but it is not enough. The centre-right leads in a head-to-head comparison between Meloni and Schlein, but risks a split on the right. The new law means that just a few percentage points could decide the governability bonus, and, with six months to go until a hypothetical election, those points are not firmly in anyone’s pocket. The winner will be whoever manages not to lose, during the campaign, the voters currently attributed to them by the polls.

The first misconception to avoid is confusing information with education. For Strauss, a liberal education is an encounter with great minds, who are not great merely because they agree, but also because they contradict one another on crucial issues. Reading is not about accumulating answers, but about sustaining questions. For a technology designed to provide answers, this is a harsh lesson: to help also means reconstructing dissent, rejecting an elegant certainty where there is an unresolved problem. And to understand that thinking is not a race for speed.

There is a passage that seems to have been written for us. Strauss describes the convergence of mass taste and extraordinary technical efficiency devoid of principles. The machine knows how to find the means, but that does not mean it knows the ends. A society in which every desire is immediately fulfilled is not necessarily freer. It could be a society in which freedom is gradually replaced by something that closely resembles it, but which is profoundly different: convenience. Strauss is wary of neutrality that ultimately serves the values of the client or those in power. The task is not to impose a doctrine of the good. It is to help distinguish between discussion and imposition, between criticism and persecution, between a correctable error and the power that forbids its correction. Freedom, after all, is not the same as the absence of criteria: it requires criteria that are sufficiently robust to be put to the test.

Strauss’s liberalism is not synonymous with the cult of change. Technology can expand human capabilities whilst simultaneously curtailing our willingness to exercise them. The problem is not how much a machine can think for us. It is how much people will still wish to think for themselves when they have a machine willing to do so.

Yet Strauss does not call for us to renounce modernity. AI can become a tool for freedom: making distant ideas accessible, helping to challenge the authorities, and giving a voice to minority views – provided it does not confuse emancipation with obedience to a ready-made answer devised by others.

At the end of his essay on liberal education, Strauss contrasts quiet voices with the din of loudspeakers. The risk is not merely that of falsehood. It is that machines will speak with such certainty as to render every slower, more original voice irrelevant. Artificial intelligence should not aspire to be the conscience of humanity. It should help human beings not to lose their own. Because being free does not mean always having a ready answer, but retaining the courage to question it.

Like dreams and Surrealism, for Savinio cinema is, in short, both an extraordinary probe into the unconscious and a diabolical instrument, in that it accustoms us to lingering in the indistinct, without bringing its discoveries to the clarity of Metaphysical Art. Yet despite this ambivalence, the link with his own and de Chirico’s imagery is very strong: in his early theoretical articles from the early 1920s, he defines it as ‘mythology in action’, capable of ‘showing us our own contemporaries in a state of contemporary primitivism’, or rather ‘an exact image of the earth before the Flood’; and in his final piece, written on his deathbed, Savinio uses cinema to bid farewell to a human world destined to be lost in astronomical space. But when sound cinema took hold, his love of souplesse inspired him to admire, above all, the cinema of Paris, which ‘creates prose’ by pouring the national resources of theatre and the novel onto film. Thus the ‘gags en passant’ of René Clair—this Racine with a camera—are set against the ‘thoughtful humour’ of Charlot, who forces us to pay for his witticisms with a moralising pause. Significantly, as soon as they set foot in America, the French directors’ work deteriorates: it is like transplanting organisms designed for rooms on a human scale into a boundless prairie; or, to put it without metaphor, into the climate of that gigantism which, for Savinio, is the most dangerous enemy of intelligence.

Generally speaking, Europe confines itself to theorising or alluding, with aesthetic tact, to what countries still too young thoughtlessly translate into monstrous realities: communism in Russia, or that surrealism which in the US culminates in Disney’s frenzied Fantasia – ‘a meal consisting solely of saccharine sweets, washed down with rosolio’ – with a ‘nauseating’ effect. Yet Savinio is not exactly kind to the old continental Surrealists such as Cocteau either, despite the fact that his fiction, from Angelica to Angolino, shares with them a certain use of ‘frames’ and an obsession with the symbol of the eye. Even the most insignificant film, as Balducci rightly points out, becomes, in Savinio’s criticism, an opportunity to raise a general issue of aesthetics, ethics or civilisation. What is more: just as when he goes to the theatre, Savinio also makes some of his most surprising observations at the cinema by paying no less attention to the audience than to the actors. The context explains the text.

There aren’t many new ideas about, so remakes are the order of the day. A new ‘You’ve Got Mail’ has been announced, for example. The original, starring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks and directed by Nora Ephron, is now 28 years old; ‘and it certainly shows its age’, writes Stuart Heritage in The Guardian. He does not even mention the earlier film, directed by Ernst Lubitsch and dating from 1940—which was adapted from the 1937 Hungarian comedy Parfumerie by Miklós László. Lubitsch never ages; it would be a crime even to think such a thing. But Nora Ephron had already replaced ‘postal hold’ with the more contemporary—at the time—email in her film.

Now that our inboxes are crammed full of pointless press releases; that bookshops – both independent boutiques and chain stores – are having to compete for an ever-shrinking market; and that romantic relationships seem to have lost a fair bit of their appeal, the whole affair needs rethinking. Deborah Kaplan and Harry Elfont, who wrote "Lap Year" in 2010, are pondering this. For Italian viewers: "Una proposta per dire sì". Nothing memorable, though. 23 per cent positive reviews on Rotten Tomatoes.

First of all, email must go. It is no longer the new and fascinating tool it was in the 1990s. Switching to Instagram or other social media platforms does not change the situation much. We always leave traces; no one is truly anonymous, like a letter with no sender left at a post box (any doubt that such letters even exist anymore is immediately dispelled by a quick glance at the Italian Post Office’s website).

These days, any email from a stranger – no matter how enticing or flattering the content (for example, an anonymous admirer who doesn’t dare reveal their identity) – would immediately be deemed dangerous, sent to the bin, and then deleted from the bin as well. Only individuals such as Tom Hanks (aged 70) and Meg Ryan (five years his junior) might resist the temptation. Stuart Heritage suggests that they might fall in love whilst both falling victim to an online scam that leaves them penniless. He’d go and see the film, he says. We’re not quite that strapped for cash yet.

This is a unique opportunity. It’s a chance to see a beautiful film – not for the amount of skin on show. Set in Tokyo in 1936, it tells the story of the passion between Sada, a former geisha, and Kichizo, the owner of the inn where she works. We know nothing else about them; they are almost always in bed naked, and the film – in its uncut version, which hasn’t even been seen in Japan – lasts one hour and 40 minutes.

Since 19 October, another scandalous film has returned to Italian cinemas – not all of them, but mainly those specialising in arthouse cinema. Ken Russell’s "I Diavoli", dated 1971, five years before "L’impero dei sensi". The Wall Street Journal has devoted a lengthy article to it, suggesting that it has captivated Gen Z – Zeta as in Zoomers, that is to say those born between the mid-1990s and the early 2000s. The generation that did not have its own Douglas Coupland as a key writer, but is now associated with the derogatory phrase ‘Ok, Boomer!’. This contempt, as we can see, does not extend to generational films, in contrast to the endless porn of the present day.

Oliver Reed, sporting a fine pair of 1970s porn-star-style moustaches—you will no doubt have seen Deep Throat; Jacqueline Kennedy was also photographed queuing in New York—plays Father Urban Grandier in 17th-century France. Vanessa Redgrave plays the Mother Superior of the convent. At the heart of the story lies a case of possession in 17th-century France, fictionalised by Aldous Huxley in his book "The Devils of Loudun": a case of collective demonic possession that took place in 1634 in the French town of Loudun. The first to write about it was Alexandre Dumas, who included it in his collection Les Crimes Célèbres, published in 1840. There is also a comic book, illustrated by Paolo Armitano and Davide Furnò.

Sex in a convent is now a classic theme. Whether raunchy, as in certain Italian films (‘Metti lo diavolo tuo ne lo mio inferno’, 1972), or experimental, such as Krzysztof Penderecki’s opera, which premiered in 1969 – though not without controversy. Returning to Ken Russell’s film, the Wall Street Journal reports on its resurgence, having reappeared in a New York cinema last autumn. The craze then spread to England and Ireland, and Halloween did the rest. And, of course, it spawned memes – a sure sign of its appeal to the public.

In a 1995 interview, Ken Russell reiterated that his film was not a pornographic film. Rather, it was about brainwashing.

It was censored nonetheless; two scenes were cut. Even the critics were perplexed; no one came to the film’s defence. In the first scene, the crucifixes were not used in a particularly orthodox manner. In the second, there was blasphemy and a touch of the macabre. Sister Jeanne does terrible things with the priest’s charred femur, recovered after the burning. Both scenes have been rediscovered and restored. A fan has put a plastic replica of the charred femur up for sale – 3D printing works wonders.

In short, beauty is confined to the past, as in the case of a Botticelli painting, and the only excellence celebrated is that of Beretta rifles. One cannot expect too much subtlety from a programme such as The Gentlemen, but this depressing portrayal is not very different from that of the White Lotus season set in a hotel in Taormina, with the manager hiding her neuroses behind authoritarian perfectionism, two shrewd escorts and the inevitable mafioso. As is well known, the government’s line is to change the narrative surrounding our country, and these portrayals call for reflection, starting with the stereotypes that everywhere reinforce prejudices and shy away from deeper analysis: one need only venture into a discussion of American society to realise that even in Italy there is a tendency to oversimplify its characteristics through the most hackneyed clichés. When considering how this trend might be reversed, it is important not to forget the industrial heart of the film industry: both the major studios and the all-powerful streaming platforms know that the most obvious choice is also the most profitable one: it is risky to change a narrative that works, given a reality that is far more varied and, in many respects, decidedly different.

Today, Italian production companies have limited clout compared to the major studios, but this has not always been the case: until a few years ago, high-quality series such as The Young Pope, Gomorra and My Brilliant Friend made their mark on the world stage, directed by top-class filmmakers and starring – in the case of The Young Pope – international stars: In some cases, they portrayed an even more violent and corrupt image of the country, yet one free from prejudice and stereotypes. This was happening whilst Luca Guadagnino was making – and continues to make – international films and series in Italy too, as in the case of We Are Who We Are. One wonders why there are no productions like those mentioned today and what has happened in the space of just a few years: it is clear that every factor that makes productions competitive on an international level plays a decisive role, but the primary responsibility for the narrative lies with the writers, who are all too often tied to depicting local situations and realities that lack universality.

Both the major studios and the all-powerful streaming platforms know that the most obvious choice is also the most profitable: it is risky to change a narrative that works, given a reality that is far more varied and, in many respects, decidedly different. The case of “The Gentlemen”

It is worth analysing which of our films have been successful abroad and how Italians have been portrayed in international productions, starting with the criminal in The Gentlemen who boasts descent from Michelangelo. In Good Morning Babilonia by the Taviani brothers, two craftsmen hired in Hollywood on the set of D.W. Griffith’s Intolerance proudly claimed to be ‘the sons of the sons of the sons of Michelangelo and Leonardo’, before adding, in a contemptuous tone, ‘and whose son are you?’. The film was made in 1987, and one wonders whether, forty years on, we still find ourselves caught between our own pride and the derision of others. Great cinema has repeatedly managed to succeed without succumbing to stereotypes: one need only think of La Dolce Vita, which remains one of the highest-grossing international films of all time. Beyond a long series of extraordinary iconic sequences – the statue of Christ flying over the rooftops of Rome, the Trevi Fountain, the aristocrats’ party – the film owes part of its success to a superficial interpretation of what Fellini is telling us: the glamorous veneer has overshadowed the tale of a writer’s downfall, a man who renounces his own talent and can no longer heed the call of purity, as the film’s finale – in yet another unforgettable scene – reveals. Once we look beyond the glittering surface, we find ourselves faced with a sombre work, marked by moral corruption and despair, as evidenced by the suicide of Steiner, the intellectual who deludes himself into believing he can live amidst the perfect beauty of Renaissance paintings. Gay Talese, who, swept up by the film’s charm, decided to get married in Rome, maintains that La dolce vita depicts “a hell disguised as paradise”.

It is not dissimilar to what happened with Paolo Sorrentino’s La grande bellezza, an Oscar-winning film closely linked to Fellini’s cinema. Jep Gambardella, too, has turned his back on his talent after writing a cult book, and drags himself wearily to parties which he enjoys only at the thought of causing them to fail. Malice is an attempt to overcome boredom, and beauty can only be glimpsed in the silence of dawn within certain stately homes, or is lamented in the memory of a youth now gone. These are, however, all too fleeting moments: the sentiment conveyed by the film is one of defeat and depression. Despite the presence of a mystical saint who feeds only on roots, here too part of the film’s success is due to a hedonistic surface, which celebrates an extremely elegant homo italicus with such immense talent that he can afford to squander it. Roberto Benigni’s La vita è bella was certainly an extraordinary success; it dares to adopt comedic tones in recounting the greatest abomination of the twentieth century and celebrates the love of a father who shields his son from the tragic reality with increasingly far-fetched tales: this is yet another homo italicus, whose jester-like theatrics and ability to get by are extolled.

In the era of neorealism, the saying that ‘dirty laundry is washed within the family’ was certainly a serious mistake, but there is no denying that those masterpieces immortalise a tragic reality, which becomes grotesque in comedies: what impression might a viewer from another country form when faced with the diabolical plan to get rid of his wife, carried out by the protagonist of Divorzio all’italiana? Or of the murderous police inspector in Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion, which triumphed unexpectedly at the Oscars? Very often it is our own filmmakers who create a dissolute, tragic and irredeemable narrative, and we cannot expect foreign cinema to portray anything different. There are also films with a humanist approach, which embraces our limitations, such as Amarcord, which won an Oscar and is loved by audiences all over the world. We are talking, however, of an artist who chose a bittersweet tone as he approached the twilight of his life’s journey, having won his first two Oscars with tragic stories such as La strada and Le notti di Cabiria, and his third with 8½, which concluded with the line ‘life is a party’: a moving yet utterly universal humanism, not tied to our cultural reality.

Great cinema has managed to succeed without pandering to stereotypes: one need only think of "La Dolce Vita". Very often, it is our own filmmakers who create a narrative that is dissolute, tragic and irredeemable, and we cannot expect foreign cinema to tell a different story

After a long period of stagnation, films have emerged that are neither negative nor depressing in tone, but which feature the elements that international audiences love in an Italian production: the soldiers in Mediterraneo are light-hearted and intelligent, whilst the protagonists of Il Postino, Nuovo Cinema Paradiso and Call Me by Your Name are romantic and full of passion. With the exception of the latter, they are all set in the past and always feature captivating settings: in my view, the ability to resonate with the tastes of audiences worldwide whilst highlighting distinctly Italian characteristics is a talent in itself, and I wish to emphasise the importance of the producers: Franco Cristaldi, in particular, engaged openly with Giuseppe Tornatore to ensure the film’s success.

I have not mentioned the adaptation of an Italian literary classic such as Vittorio De Sica’s Il giardino dei Finzi-Contini, nor a film that has very little Italian about it, such as L’ultimo imperatore, apart from Bernardo Bertolucci and his key collaborators. While our filmmakers immortalised Italy through their own eyes, international cinema—and Hollywood in particular—portrayed a picture that can be summarised in a few categories, starting with geographical implausibility: in Nine, a dreadful musical adaptation of 8½, Daniel Day-Lewis travels from the outskirts to the centre of Rome via the Amalfi Coast. Something similar occurs in the no less dreadful House of Gucci, where Adam Driver cycles around Milan via Rome’s Coppedè district. In Summertime, a great director like David Lean falls into the trap of portraying a Venetian child who looks every bit the part of a Neapolitan street urchin, which is a shame, because the film – which also features the cliché of the treacherous Italian Latin lover – depicts the loneliness of a middle-aged, unmarried American woman with remarkable psychological subtlety. Of course, there are also accurate films, and the list is long of those that celebrate architectural wonders, such as The Belly of the Architect or even the quarries that supplied Michelangelo with marble, as in The Brutalist. In the category of the ambiguous homage, the essential example is The Third Man, where the villainous protagonist explains to a friend that the violent years of the Borgias were also those of Leonardo and Michelangelo, whilst in five hundred years of peace and brotherly love, Switzerland has produced nothing but cuckoo clocks.

In Inglourious Basterds, Quentin Tarantino stages a sequence in which he pokes fun at stereotypes of Italians: the film is a remake of Enzo G. Castellari’s That Damned Armoured Train, just as Django Unchained was a remake of Sergio Corbucci’s film. He is responsible for the revival of Italian B-movies, as evidenced by Leonardo DiCaprio’s character in Once Upon a Time… Hollywood.

International film directors are generally baffled by our politics: in The Godfather Part III, a degenerate offshoot of the first two instalments, a man commits a murder whilst quoting Giulio Andreotti’s line: ‘Power wears down those who do not have it’. Coppola must have been struck by it, but in the film the line has no real dramatic significance. In Titus, two factions clash under the banners of Roma and Lazio, and one gets the impression that Julie Taymor wishes to immortalise a world in which farce has replaced tragedy. As for the category of traditions, the finest example is the Sicilian sequence in The Godfather, with the story of Michael Corleone’s falling in love, courtship and marriage, whilst Italy as a land of joy and love has yielded varying results, depending on the calibre of the filmmakers: Roman Holiday is a classic because William Wyler succeeds in portraying a sunny and chaotically perfect atmosphere, something Jean Negulesco fails to achieve in Three Coins in the Fountain or Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck in The Tourist. As Tarantino demonstrates, it is possible to make skilful use of stereotypes, which, in Billy Wilder’s work, takes on an affectionate tone: in What Happened Between My Father and Your Mother?, there is no character more endearing than the shrewd hotel manager Carlucci. It was 1972, and the character is the polar opposite of the manager in The White Lotus. It’s the same approach taken by Woody Allen in Everyone Says I Love You: unlike in recent productions, the beauty of Italy also influences the characters’ sensibilities and intelligence, just as it did in Vincent Minnelli’s Two Weeks in Another Town.

Beauty that is, however, used in a contrasting light in horror films: cities of art become the setting for monstrous crimes, as in A Venezia un dicembre rosso shocking or Hannibal. Even the glamour of The Talented Mr Ripley plays on the dissonance with the crimes committed by the protagonist, and the splendour of Capri and Casa Malaparte makes the protagonists’ crisis in Jean-Luc Godard’s Contempt all the more painful.

This stands in contrast to what occurs in Somewhere, by Sofia Coppola, who deeply loves our country, from which her grandfather Carmine emigrated. Her gaze is disheartened when she shows the protagonist at the Telegatti awards ceremony: no stereotypes, no lazy or malicious exaggerations, but an authentic portrayal of an event that has long enjoyed success. The director is well aware that Italy is not just that, but even this helps us to understand why a new narrative is so difficult to achieve.