Sounding the Alarm

They are not allowed to call themselves Fascists, to praise Mussolini in their propaganda, or to sing the old anthem, Giovinezza, at their rallies. But 26 years after Il Duce was killed and strung up by his heels in public disgrace, the neo-Fascist Italian Social Movement (M.S.I.) has built a membership of 400,000 and is becoming a force to be reckoned with. As Italy plunges deeper and deeper into a turmoil of strikes and riots, many inspired by ultra-leftist forces, increasing numbers of people look to the party as a good place to cast their protest votes.

Founded in Rome in 1946, the party was never taken very seriously. Its greatest showing was in the 1953 parliamentary elections, when it won 5.8% of the total vote. Since the current wave of disturbances began in 1968, however, the M.S.I.'s stress on law-and-order has won it new respectability. Reinforcing that image is the party's leader, mild-mannered former journalist Giorgio Almirante, 55. A bona fide Fascist under Mussolini, whose picture hangs in the party's Rome headquarters, Almirante has prudently banned jackboots and black shirts for his followers. More in the mold of the old image of Fascist leaders is Retired General Giovanni de Lorenzo, former Army Chief of Staff. Now one of M.S.I.'s representatives in Parliament, he was accused, but later exonerated, of plotting a coup against the Aldo Moro government in 1964. Loosely associated with the M.S.I, are squads of youthful right-wing neoFascists, many of whom do wear black shirts. The bullyboys have taken on the far-left radicals with bombs, bicycle chains and commando-type tactics.

Signs of Worry. Next week, when 7,000,000 Italians go to the polls in local elections in Rome, Genoa, Sicily and other areas throughout the country, the M.S.I, is expected to be the beneficiary of a backlash vote in response to the rash of recent disorders. Not that the neo-Fascists are about to take over city hall--anywhere. Their hopes lie rather in denying a majority to the Christian Democrats and their coalition partners, forcing the party instead to look to the right to form coalitions. The Christian Democrats insist that they will never team up with the M.S.I. But some members of the party, which has dominated Italian politics since 1945, suggest that M.S.I, gains might be a good thing--if only to shake Emilio Colombo's center-left coalition government out of its lethargy. Says Ugo La Malfa, leader of the small, slightly left Republican Party: "I see it as an alarm bell. Already the Christian Democrats are showing signs of worry and are changing their course toward greater seriousness and discipline in government. But this is happening rather late."

La Malfa was not exaggerating. Conditions in Italy today verge on chaos. In one week last month, Romans could not get married (city employees were on strike), bury their dead (gravediggers were out) or dispose of mountainous piles of garbage (sanitation men were not working). During the spring there were stoppages of mail, transportation, groceries, restaurants, bars, medical and hotel services and airlines. Newsmen, law clerks and thousands of municipal employees were among workers who went out. About 6,000,000 Italians participated in the nationwide general strike called on April 7. As Journalist Arrigo Levi put it: "People say that only priests and prostitutes have not as yet gone on strike."

The state-owned automobile firm of Alfa Romeo is a case in point. Last year it was affected by no fewer than 1,200 strikes. Some were general strikes, demanding better housing, health services and public transportation. There were sympathy strikes called to show solidarity with other striking workers and strikes over plant grievances. There was even a one-man walkout by a welder named Franco Salce, who proclaimed a lonely one-hour solidarity strike in sympathy with the citizens of Reggio Calabria, who were struggling to have their city named regional capital. Last year such strikes cost the country 156,187,000 working hours, and this year is not expected to show much improvement.

All of this has begun to tell on the nation's economy. After a quarter of a century of steady and often spectacular expansion, industrial production dropped by 2.3% during the first quarter of 1971. In his annual report last week, Guido Carli, governor of the Bank of Italy, spoke of "the first signs of recession'' and stated flatly: "The Italian economy is hurting." Labor agitation at airports and hotels is also threatening Italy's biggest earner of foreign exchange--tourism. Hotel owners estimate cancellations of bookings by foreign tourists for the season at about 15%, and they place most of the blame on labor troubles.

Interminable Delays. The complaints of Italian workers, seeking to catch up to the standard of living long enjoyed by other European nations, are genuine enough. In Milan, long Italy's economic showcase, immigrants from impoverished Southern Italy have poured into the industrial mecca only to find themselves forced to live in dismal, crowded suburbs, commuting for four or five hours daily because of poor public transportation.

The ten-month-old coalition Cabinet headed by Premier Emilio Colombo has undertaken an impressive-looking program of reform. But more often than not, bills for better housing, health services and schools have been delayed interminably while parties in the coalition, and factions within each party, squabble in smoke-filled rooms, often watering down the measures. The slowness of reform has opened the door for extremists to stir up trouble. Militant leftists, who are split into about a hundred different groups, vow to destroy "the system," while neo-Fascists vow to destroy the leftists. Meanwhile the Communists, scorned by radical leftists as hopelessly Establishment, are promoting their own campaign for law-and-order.

Whichever way the coming elections go, it may be some time before the ordinary Italian can hope for an end to the country's long spell of disorder. Unreconstructed individualism has long been as fundamental to the Italian way of life as a bowl of pasta and a bottle of wine, but even that may have reached the saturation point. "Maybe I should sell out and move to Australia," mused a Milanese factory owner recently. "We have reached the point where I think the kangaroos would be easier to deal with."

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