July 14, 2024

The mountain of shit theory

Uriel Fanelli's blog in English


The price of history.

Every time the political story of the areas where I grew up escapes me, I hear myself asking the same thing. “But if the communist party was so disgusting, how come they voted for it in your area”? The problem is that the generation before mine, let's say those born immediately after the war, were shitty people who left a shitty legacy. But the mix of crises (36 sugar industries closed in a few years) allowed the PCI to show its true face.

Obviously, this would have remained a theory of mine, if then (time being a gentleman) it had not brought to light the result of that political system made up of arrogance, arrogance and human misery.

Because in politics the mistakes of the past are paid for. But they are paid for a generation later. I grew up in a particular place, throughout the 80s.


Go, in the image, to 2005. Do you see, next to Ferrara, towards the sea, that little blue triangle overlooking the sea? (Ferrara is at the top right). Well, that little triangle is the place where I grew up. And in 2005 it was blue, even if surrounded by red zones. Today the whole of Ferrara has been lost, since 1918. Why?

I explain you:


As you can see, at this moment in Emilia (as in all of Italy) we are at the "peak" of my generation in voting. It means that we are at the moment in which my generation counts the most electorally, because we are the generation (50-54) with the most voters in percentage terms. Then surrounded by almost peers.

The peak began in 2005. And as you can see, from that moment the area in which I grew up rejected any assault, despite being surrounded by red zones. My generation is pissed off by those slimy bastards, and they're pissed off badly. They tried in vain, but that area voted for LITERALLY EVERYONE, but not those pieces of shit.

When you ask me "how come you voted for PCI in your part if they were so rude", you should try to use a clearer definition of "my part" and "you voted". We haven't "voted" them for years and years, if you really like using the collective "you".

And we don't vote for them because we know them, we know them as people, and we know that those are the most lugubrious, petty, lying and cowardly scum. Since we are all small countries, we know their candidates, their politicians, and they disgust us.

When I tell you about bullying, it means (we were a group of teenagers who felt suffocated) that we were the first generation who had decided to not give a damn about politics.

FGCI was desperately trying to enlist us, and the more they tried the less they succeeded. The first to tell that party to fuck off were the women, and from our point of view, FGCI, it was the girls who told them to fuck off.

  • In the FGCI, as in the real party (IL PCI), there was a rule. “The most beautiful one goes to the boss”. In the PCI it means that if there was an interesting MILF, she had to end up in bed with the section head, to access the coveted positions of "women's affairs officer". Likewise in the FGCI, when girls joined, the most beautiful was from the boss, the second most beautiful was from his deputy, and so on. The fights broke out, but the point was that the girl had to choose. Either he stayed with the boss or he had to go. Only the ugliest ones were left alone. Needless to say, the girls fucked up the whole system.

  • It was the most chauvinist party on the political scene. There was no chance that, even by becoming the lover of the local secretary, a woman could advance her career, or have a say. There was a women's corner, for female politicians, but it was a cage from which one could never escape. Some ended up in "social policies", begging for money from the municipality, or sometimes even in "cultural policies", or in "tourism", of useless villages on the highway that had never seen a tourist. (there was only one hotel in the area, the Cavallino Bianco, which was notoriously the cover for a brothel).

  • It was the most homophobic party on the political scene. Since I and three others had the fame we had, I happened to enter one of their bars (ah, yes, there was no way you could open a bar without being one of them in some way. But that was in theory an arch SPIM club) , and instead of giving me the coffee in the cup they gave, only to me, the coffee in the paper cup, as they did with orders from the hairdressers. One of "us", who still believed those scoundrels, decided to ask the "secretary" to account. It was explained to him that here we were in the countryside, and almost all the comrades were farmers and/or workers/fishermen, and that if we wanted to talk about "certain" rights we had to at least go to Bologna.

How was such a party on the "left" possible? Simple. As the secretary said, that area was made up of farmers, workers and fishermen, therefore, rather than "emancipating" them, the party took them as they were, confirming their way of doing things, and discouraging any change. If anyone tells you that the PCI contributed to divorce and abortion, they are telling a historical falsehood, they were largely socialists and radicals. The PCI did as little as possible.

But in addition to what was happening INSIDE the party, the nausea came from their behavior. I said you couldn't start a bar, for example, that wasn't one of them. First, because licenses existed in those days. And they would NEVER give them to you. It happened that a bar was inherited by the son of the old managers who together with his sister decided to make it a "fancy" bar. Now, the panozzi had many defects (I was a metalhead, as you know, so I didn't approve of them), but they had one advantage: they weren't left-wing. The bar was born, therefore, under the bad omen of not joining the right circle. (Arci, SPIM, and so on). The result was simple: an absolute ban on having tables outside, reinforced by an endless series of checks by the traffic police, and continuous work on the road surface, all strictly in the summer. In front of the bar the asphalt was so perfect that it looked like a Swiss meadow. Of a Michelangelo beauty. Being redone every month, every summer.

The same thing happened, and understood, for a "game room", which not only was hit by the "curse of the asphalt", but suffered from continuous sabotage (in the form of blackouts) and continuous "complaints from neighbors about the noise". , which forced him to close when the chickens went into the henhouse for the evening. Often, at sunset. The drinks vending machine itself was ridiculed, they made it pay more waste taxes because with this vending machine "you then had to take away 33 billion tons of cans per evening", and other pleasantries.

Why this? Because the "comrades" had set up a monopoly on Arci and SPIM clubs and bars, which only worked because they had, in fact, a monopoly. They knew very well that it could only work under a monopoly regime. For example, my middle school held the Christmas party EVERY YEAR in "their" place, so that the municipality's money remained "in the family". Even elementary schools held a children's carnival there every year. For them, everything was about getting money.

Since their clubs sold tickets and played music, some of them were also SIAE controllers. It means that if you tried to do something else, even just a "full" birthday party, they would arrive with SIAE controllers and make you shut it down.

Record stores had a problem: every year they had surpluses. But if they were "in the loop", the municipal library would have purchased them. In exchange, however, they didn't have to keep certain music. So in the shop window there were – for years – Inti Ilimani (*), but you couldn't even find Europe or Van Halen, or AC/DC. because they said so. (No, I don't mean Slayer. I mean Europe.)

For the PCI, Heavy Metal – and it was told to our faces – was music for whites played by whites and listened to by whites. To the point that when they made the first Monsters Of Rock, VideoMusic bent over backwards to move it to the Festa dell'Unità area, and the second time they imposed Faith No More, the Inti Illimani of metal, of irrelevant fame, which however they had a black drummer.

Same thing in the newsstands, where you could NOT find the newspapers they disliked and obviously in the bars the only newspaper available was always just one.

Then you will say “but that's okay, it just seems like a very ideological place. Why hate so much?”

Because they told us so. They said it to our faces. Did the famous panozzi bar open? All we heard was this: “that doesn't last. I tell you". All the young street urchins went there, it had no problem with "going around", also because it was the only bar with decent furnishings, which didn't smell of stale cigarettes, and which had fresh ice creams, not the sarcophagus ice creams frozen after the ' Coronation of Charlemagne, which you found at the SPIM club. But if you spoke to someone "inside" the party, he would tell you "don't get used to it, that bar doesn't last".

Just like when they came to interrupt your birthday parties, they told you to your face that the parties here are done the right way, that is, by renting the room (and the DJ) to SPIM. And put up with the Inti Illimani, who can sink into an inferno bubbling with blood and be impaled on a burning fir tree. Nothing like Inti Illimani makes you keep a photograph of Pinochet in your bedroom.

(Augusto Pinochet, as he appeared to Morrissey in a dream).

Like when they arrived at 8.35pm to close the games room and throw you out into the street, with the excuse of noise, and they told you "if you want to play, you go there", where the nearby SPIM club was. They told you to your face, they wanted you to know who was crushing you.

Even when we went to collect the records we ordered from London at the post office, there were people who came to see what we were collecting, and then the usual “look there, what a job” came out. To buy that junkie music.” And there were those who bothered to enter the garage where we gathered to let us know that “we shouldn't delude ourselves, that the police would have searched them because they were suspicious packages, there could be drugs. We should have dreamed of that mess of music"

When, in high school, they made us read “1984” in English class, there was a moment when the party tormentor said to Winston “the future, Dear Winston, is a boot on your face. Forever – Italian translation “, I understood well who he was referring to.

I was aware of it, more than anyone else. And I still remember it by heart. Because they had put it into practice in that area.

This was the PCI for young people, in that whole area: A boot on the face, forever.

There will be no curiosity, no enjoyment of the process of life. All competing pleasures will be destroyed. But always—do not forget this, Winston—always there will be the intoxication of power, constantly increasing and constantly growing subtler. Always, at every moment, there will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless.
If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever.

This is the description of the PCI of that period.

throughout the 80's, we young people lived with their boot in our face.

Now you will say that I exaggerate. You'll say it's just my opinion. Well.


then explain that little blue triangle to me. I was no longer in Italy in 2005, I was in Dublin before moving to Germany.

But evidently, I wasn't the only one who thought that way.

Who were the others? And why is their monopoly broken right there?

I have shown my theory. Show me yours.

This is why I don't trust Schlein who goes dancing at gay pride, I don't trust the PD who loves young people, I don't trust the PD who wants a modern country.

Because it's the same scum, arrogant and cowardly, that I had to suffer. I recognize them by the smell.


(*) A people who have Inti Illimani in their musical tradition cannot and must not be happy, and Pinochet is their natural destiny, indeed I would say the perfect punishment.

Uriel Fanelli

The blog is visible from Fediverso by following:

@ uriel @keinpfusch.net


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