Voce IV

So, some substantial amount of time has elapsed since my last substantive post, and it's not due to forgetfulness, or being too busy, or any other sorts of common - valid or otherwise - excuses.

I thought about writing.  I thought about it a lot.

I even started a few drafts.  And they continue to sit in the hopper, half-hearted and woefully unrealized.

I could not summon my voice and feel justified in using it - even to describe the banal blue sky under which we all sit, regardless of our literal, global position.

There has been a wall of sound, instead.  A chorus - or a cacophony? - of voices heard from across the Atlantic, so troubled, so serious, so strained and so confused.  So much to absorb.  I listened.  I read. And I'd have fingers poised over the keyboard, and then just let them drop, time and again.

I routinely concluded that anything I might say that was not about current events would be relegated to the status of trivial fluff.  Or worse:  anything I might say would be truly derided as willful ignorance of matters far more weighty than whatever new thing or thought I might encounter on this journey of living in a new place.  I have even felt tonally paralyzed; it would not be acceptable to sound happy or crack a joke.  It would also not be acceptable to complain about minor fodder - daily irritations or strange inconveniences.  I wasn't in a twist about these anticipations.  I presumed that they were natural and justifiable.

Thus, I said nothing because I thought it was the right thing to do.

What it took to get me back on here was prodding from two women who don't know each other (yet share the same name) but essentially know that the world continues to turn, despite pain and grief, despite minor miracles, despite the plodding of every working soul who still has to arise, sip coffee and put one foot in front of the other in order to go and Do Something, every day.

One of them said - to her social media circle, which happens to include me - "...If it isn't personal, it isn't social, and it sure isn't political. I read the newspapers (the real news). Show me your life, not just what you read over coffee."

OK.  Fair enough.  My world still turns.  And maybe you'd like to read about it, because I won't be talking about what I've read over coffee.

I can talk about what I heard while having tea, though. This is my (recent) life.

Valentine's Day is celebrated here also.  St. Valentine's head (well, most of his skull) is located in Santa Maria in Cosmedin, a church I regularly pass by on my bus rides through the city.  Against the backdrop of red paper hearts in shop windows, Roman Catholics (oh, and Lutherans and Anglicans, although not so many in this city, probably) can recite the story of his martyrdom, although there are many versions.  Origin stories for February 14's association with romance vary widely, too.

On my first Valentine's Day in Rome, I sat at my dining room table, drinking hot tea and looking over my online class submissions.  Normale.  And the regular sounds of the city - the cars, buses, motorinos, foot traffic between the Pantheon and Piazza Navona, the chatter of visitors (and their cranky children) walking below my windows - gave way to the growing sounds of a chanting crowd.

This is the view from my window, which overlooks an alley that is usually highly populated with tourists walking either to or from the Pantheon.

What you may not understand until you live in a place like this is that all kinds of protests occur with regularity.  They are planned so well in advance that the police and the city know about and prepare for them beforehand.  I often receive tepid, objective reports from the Embassy - days ahead of the scheduled times - about transportation strikes of one type or another, or demonstrations for various unions and political parties (while many in the U. S. would like to have more than two, it is still dominated by two political parties...here, I don't even know the actual count), announcing the designated location or demarcated path through the city for an organized march, complete with forecasted crowd sizes and the intended hours for the activity.  It is clear that this is a part of life in Rome (or Athens, or name-another-big-Mediterranean-city).  People will take to the streets to make their voices heard.  And other people will make way for them. Voices are allowed. And while they may utter things that get no honor or action, those voices are heard.

Most of the time, you can find out about such events well ahead of time and plan accordingly. Sometimes, you can't. Bus route and general traffic diversions due to these events have put me in a pickle on a couple of occasions; I've twice missed my Italian language class because the bus I always take diverted wildly from its established line and I wound up at the Termini train station instead.  Lesson learned:  it pays to keep your ear to the rail, if there's advance warning to be had.

So generally, that aforementioned city preparation involves the polizia, the carabinieri and other sorts of security forces appearing en masse, brought by handy vans that are longer than usual vans, and they make for convenient barricading devices if there is a need to manage a crowd.

But this past week's Valentine's Day protest clearly came as a distinct surprise - to everyone.  A large number of people marched down my street, blocking traffic.  Their target audience was the Italian Senate, which is on this street.

This raucous noise kept up throughout the afternoon and into the early evening.  

So, what were they protesting? The potential establishment of the Bolkestein Directive, an EU measure that reduces regulations on independent businesses.  So business owners came out in full force, expressing their concerns for protecting the sanctity of their businesses, which were earned and established by abiding by regulations that would no longer have teeth if the path to new business was made easier for other competitors.

The following day, I went to a class in another part of the city.  My bus ride home did not go as planned.  A diversion! I walked to my street, and found it devoid of traffic.  Why?  Ah, another protest!

This one was planned for.  Here is my view:

This protest was staged by taxi drivers who are very upset about the presence of Uber.  Lots of talking through bullhorns.  Some chanting.  But otherwise, a very calm assembly.  It continued into the evening:

This is actually a heavily trafficked (cars, buses and motorinos) piazza on my street - completely blocked by a significant crowd.

See those dapper men in black on the lower left?

They let me walk through their loosely assembled line to take this photo.  And then they would not allow me to return the way I came - so that I could get into my apartment.  I was informed that I would have to take the roundabout way.  This entailed a number of blocks of walking in this circuitous fashion, encountering more security forces who pointed me - again! - away from my destination before I could get to it.  All because it was determined that I shouldn't get closer to my neighborhood, which is comprised of the 'French quarter' of the city (and is always staffed with security) and other government buildings nearby. It took quite a bit of time to get home.

The following day?  More taxi driver protests in the same place.  This time, I was able to charm some security guys into letting me walk down the middle of my oddly empty street and into my apartment building.

The week concluded with a taxi strike; the Uber issue is not going away.  Imagine Rome's two airports - both very busy - with almost no taxis.  And tomorrow, my fruit and vegetable vendor and all of his peers will strike, because the Bolkestein issue is not going away, either.

I visit this stand twice a week, usually.  But not tomorrow.

And on Wednesday, a bus strike.  Awesome.  I don't know why, but it probably involves some trade union issues.  Those happen pretty frequently.

Over dinner, the Spouse and I talk about the complexities of these economic scenarios and others, which are often tied strongly to Italy's membership in the European Union.  The complexities are worrisome and they prevent decisive side-taking - not that I have a side I can legitimately take, as a guest.

This topic seemed like the best one for re-entry into blogging.  Not only is it fresh, it resonates.  Life in a new place can be just as fraught with tensions that arise from similar-but-not differences in ambition. This prompts thoughts about just how fair it is - or isn't - to be prescriptive to or for others.  There are parallel universes where vituperative voices rise in response to real or perceived threats.

It is also clear that whether or not you think a problem is yours, it can become yours.  You are not immune.

And, you are not alone.  The world may not be watching, because it has its own pressing matters, here and there...and there and here.

But it - or at least some part of it - is listening.