A thousand days of Meloni's government: "Will you vote for them again?", "Yes, but no."

My friend Daniela had voted fairly convincingly for the Meloni government. In reality, my friend had voted for Giorgia Meloni; she had only a vague idea of what was meant by "ruling class," and so she certainly hadn't considered whether Meloni, or rather her government, would have a ruling class worthy of the sort that was being claimed during the election campaign. Completely uninterested—indeed, almost a little annoyed—by the controversy over fascism, busts of Mussolini, and "various junk," as she called it, she was instead pleased by the idea that a woman could finally govern. And so, disappointed by the experience of the Five Star Movement, which she had previously looked up to, she had resolved to say yes to "Giorgia," perceiving her as "one of us." What she was interested in, and what she thought "Giorgia" would do, was "restoring some order," which, in my friend's very personal opinion (she owns a respectable shop in Rome's central area), essentially meant not having three Bangladeshi shops under her house that "don't pay anything, don't issue receipts, and don't check," paying fewer taxes, not going crazy with bureaucracy every day, and maybe even going home in the evening feeling safer, even though, when asked directly, she admitted that no, she didn't live in the Wild West and wasn't surrounded by bandits. Better not to take risks, though. She certainly didn't mind imagining that our country "would make a good impression" in international forums, and no, she wasn't just referring to the clothes Meloni wore, even if she admitted "those matter too."

And so the other day, between chats in her desolately empty shop, "Very few people come in anymore, if I didn't sell online I'd be ruined," I asked her if she'd vote for Meloni again. Daniela looked at me, gave a sort of half-smile, snorted a little, and then muttered, "Yes, I'd vote for her again, especially because the alternative seems worse." And Albania, I asked her? It wasn't an innocent question, I admit. My friend hadn't liked the reception center in Albania at all, not because it's illegal to take migrants there in most cases, but because "it costs too much and it doesn't work." In short, it had turned out to be a joke, with all those police officers commuting back and forth on the boat and the others left behind to guard the dump. "Then we might as well have done it here," she concluded. At that point, I remembered that some time earlier she'd told me about her mother, now elderly, feeling somewhat unwell, and I asked her how she was. A long and detailed examination of symptoms followed, attempts to secure appointments for tests and visits that were increasingly difficult to obtain, but the conclusion was that healthcare had worsened after Covid. Well, yes, the government may not have made much of an effort, but "miracles can't be performed." We were about to say goodbye when her phone rang. It was her niece, she had to go to a trade fair, I don't remember exactly where (Florence, maybe), but she was stuck at the station. "Practically all the trains are late, not by 10 minutes, an hour, an hour and a half!" I looked at her, mutely saying, "Oh, when He was here." She hung up, cursed Salvini, and hissed, "Well, actually, I don't know if I'll vote for them again."

Flavia Fratello

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