Situazionismo

A seasonal illness of democracy, requiring antibodies that cannot be taken for granted. Without them, the path to populism is all too clear.

When engaging in political or even philosophical reflection, there are certain countries in the world that deserve a curious and attentive gaze.

This is not about cultural superiority, and certainly not about genetics. It is simply a matter of evolution and experience. On some parts of the Earth, history has unfolded for longer and in more diverse ways. These are valuable places, crossroads of interests. Countries that have been crossed by many peoples, each of whom has left fragments of their collective experience. By chance, these lands became laboratories of the human condition in its collective form. They have witnessed much and endured much. There has been suffering: wars, invasions, plundering - but even more beauty and knowledge: art, diverse political systems, architecture, joy, commerce, finance. They have something to teach. That is why they must always be observed with care.

Among these places, one stands out. In the heart of the Mediterranean, positioned precisely where three continents meet. Shaped by the influence of Greek philosophy, the birthplace of an empire, and the cradle of a global religion. Home to a thousand city-states with different forms of government, and guardian of roughly one-third of the world’s artistic heritage.

In short, it is clear: Italy is magistra vitae.

And perhaps it is so even in a domain we once considered a uniquely American trait: modern democracy.

Until recently, we believed, and perhaps still believe, though with slightly less certainty, that we were among the few democracies advanced enough to maintain a steady balance between two parties. These parties typically produced policymakers, individuals committed to using political power in pursuit of the collective good, as defined by their ideological orientation.

But democracy is a human phenomenon. And like all human things, it has weaknesses and is vulnerable to illness.

Italian democracy is young in its current form, established as a Republic after the Second World War. And almost from the beginning — at least forty years ago — it encountered a subtle virus. Something resembling a seasonal cold: annoying but seemingly harmless. The virus is called situazionismo.

It is hard to detect in its milder form. The condition appears in two phases. The first is a lingering, almost unavoidable discomfort. Politicians, being human, tend to take advantage of events and try to turn them to their own benefit. This is normal and expected, but it often conflicts with the collective interest. Fortunately, there are antibodies: a sufficiently sophisticated and politically active middle class that can recognize such behavior and punish it at the ballot box.

However, if these antibodies fail to activate, the condition worsens. The virus grows more aggressive and changes nature. What was once opportunism, becomes a political vocation. For these “situationalists”, politics becomes a constant search for topics to exploit for electoral gain. They seek divisive issues to stir up, often by shouting, controversial matters to provoke debate, and incompetent individuals to identify and blame.

Seen in this way, situazionismo becomes the connecting thread to a more dangerous disease of democracy: populism (in its nationalistic or judicial form). It serves as a preparatory stage, a gateway to democratic states that, once they take hold, are difficult to reverse and may lead to outcomes incompatible with democracy itself.

Situazionismo has struck Italian democracy several times.

Berlusconi’s brand of situazionismo, for example, gave rise to the populism of the Five Star Movement and the Salvini’s League. The first line of antibodies clearly failed, allowing the initial cold to evolve into something much more serious. From 2010 onward, Italy has swung between legalistic moralism and populism. This is evidence that the deeper defenses, the more powerful antibodies, are slow to respond. The justified disillusionment and skepticism of moderate voters have eroded their political representation, which has slipped into abstention. The result has been an unstable system, increasingly vulnerable to the moods of the extremes.

The consequences have been serious. Italy faced the threat of default. Public debt costs surged. The institutional framework came under pressure. Now, the country seems to be emerging from this period stronger, at least according to market analysts and political commentators. But the risks it faced were extreme. The storm lasted fifteen years, during which time the constitutional checks and balances had to be activated repeatedly. And they held firm. The President of the Republic, above all, stood at the front line to defend the republic’s foundations.

What happened in Italy should not be seen as a reassuring case study. On the contrary, it should serve as a warning for the evolution of our own democracy. For the reasons mentioned earlier, we cannot compare ourselves to Italy’s moderate class, which eventually recognized the virus and contained it, though only after fifteen years. Nor can we compare our institutional resilience to that of Italy. Having endured fascism, Italy built its postwar infrastructure precisely to minimize the chances of repeating such a descent, accepting the cost of a more rigid system. Ours is more exposed and less prepared.

A people with three thousand years of history and with a deep collective memory shaped by countless, often adverse, experiences, took fifteen years to recover. And they managed it only by brushing up against systemic risk, kept in check by a tightly structured institutional architecture.

Can we really afford the arrogance of thinking we will be just as well equipped, if someday we too fall ill with a severe form of situazionismo?

There are already a few sneezes in the air.