The hypocrisies in the primary election dance

Among the most evocative sporting disciplines of this summer, there is one that is particularly interesting and incredibly exciting, linked to a cheerful and carefree activity to which the members of a professional touring troupe – better known as ‘campo largo’ – are devoting themselves with great passion. In this discipline, ‘campo largo’ moves with delicacy: one step forward, one back, one to the side, one to the other side, now a ‘touché’, now a pirouette, now a little hop, and in this exercise it is now unrivalled: the ballet of the primaries. The ‘primary ballet’ is not merely an impromptu performance, but has now become a regular feature, a genuine spectacle, which the dancers will be taking on tour throughout the summer to festivals across Italy. The movements are familiar to us, but behind them lie certain political issues that merit closer examination. This is usually how it works. The dancers all take to the stage together. They look at the audience, smile, but remain motionless. They seek applause without doing anything, hoping that the previous performance was so disastrous as to prompt a standing ovation from the audience even in the absence of any choreography. Sometimes it works. It may be that the audience is so exhausted by the other performances that they find it relaxing simply not to have to sit through yet another unpopular show. Sometimes, however, utter panic sets in: a call goes up from the audience and someone suddenly shouts that one word: primaries. At that point, at the word ‘primaries’, the dance begins.

The dancer Giuseppe Conte says he is ready to perform, and that this will determine the ‘score’ to which the whole theatre group will have to adapt in future: let the audience decide who dances best, and everyone else will then adapt to the strongest dancer. At that point, however, as soon as Giuseppe Conte takes his first step forward, the dancer Elly Schlein freezes and says that nothing has been decided: the matter will be discussed in September, when she, Giuseppe Conte and the other dancers will discuss the ‘score’ – that is, the programme and the upcoming tour. Elly Schlein loves the auditions, without which she would never have managed to take to the stage where she now stands, but she also knows that auditions can hold pitfalls and so, right up to the last moment, it is best to avoid them: heaven forbid that, before the show, before the premiere – scheduled for April or September at the latest – when the right to tread the national stage will be contested with the other theatre company, someone should trip and hurt themselves.

One step forward, one step back, one to the side, one to the other side. At that point, when it comes to the primaries, other scenes unfold. The two rising stars, Nicola Fratoianni and Angelo Bonelli, who live in symbiosis, like the red and green of a watermelon, but who, in order to coexist, must speak as little as possible about what they will do – it’s always better to talk about what others mustn’t do rather than what needs to be done – take a step back, hide, feign fainting, and say they’d prefer to avoid this embarrassing spectacle: it’s better to perform without deciding who’s in charge. “It’s all a bit of a farce,” René Ferretti would have said in Boris. And they say: no, come on, let’s give the primaries a miss, let’s just carry on dancing like this, all nice and cosy, all close together, preferably without saying anything and without giving away what we’re up to, just in case someone decides to go back to the previous show.

On stage, then, there are other figures playing more or less prominent roles, some of whom know they must talk about the primaries even though they would prefer not to. There is Alessandro Onorato, a brilliant dancer, accustomed to major events and therefore to the big stage, who, having little to lose, says he wants the primaries and intends to stand as a candidate (and if it isn’t him, perhaps it will be someone else – an athletic sort; can you guess who?). Onorato knows he can’t win them, but having a stage all to himself – for someone who’s just starting out and has never had one before – is a chance to see what it’s like. Then there’s Matteo Renzi, a real dancer – tap, ballroom, samba, flamenco, the whole repertoire – who knows he neither wants nor is able to dance, who for months has been asking around who might dance in his place, from Silvia Salis (no thanks, for now) to Giuseppe Sala (why not, but later), and who, however, would genuinely like to contest the primaries – not to win, no, but because he’d do anything to ensure his friend Elly Schlein wins, in the hope that this outcome might put an end to the charade of those trying to suggest that the one leading the dance might be someone who’d be adored on the stage of the Bolshoi in Russia, but who’d be unlikely to be appreciated as head of the company by all those who, in times of war, prefer to steer clear of the Bolshoi (translation: Conte, from the M5S, knows that he can only stand a chance of winning the premiership through the primaries, because it’s one thing to challenge Schlein, but quite another to challenge the PD; yet he also knows that a defeat in the primaries would be a disaster for the M5S and so, for the time being, it’s better to stall: everything will be decided in the primaries, provided the primaries actually take place).

In this tip-tap, this rumba, this lambada, this show, the most eagerly awaited dancer, however, is the one who said she didn’t want to dance – and for that reason she has been the most sought-after for days. She isn’t on stage: she’s in the audience. She’s said she wants nothing to do with it, that she doesn’t want to be captured in that photo, with that troupe, but she is a dancer, Ms Salis Silvia, whom everyone is looking for, to whom everyone is writing, even those who, in theory, should be rooting for Schlein Elly. And those who know her well say it’s true: she doesn’t want to dance, she’s promised not to, but if this ballet were actually to be staged – and not just on paper – she might give it some thought, change her mind and take a little spin, to try her hand at leading the troupe, knowing that whilst there’s a place on stage for her today, tomorrow it might be even more crowded than it is now. The ‘primary election’ drama is one of the most interesting and gripping spectacles of this summer.

We do not yet know when this will play out. It will depend on the rules: will there be a new electoral law? It will depend on the details: will the coalition be required to name its candidate for Prime Minister in its manifesto? It will depend on fears: Schlein, who is supposed to stand in the primaries, will only do so if Conte actually asks her to. But if Conte, for fear of losing them, were not to call for them, here’s another twist: the primaries might not even take place. A symbolic figure could be put forward as head of the programme, but just for the sake of it, in the knowledge that the decisive primaries – if the real ones don’t happen – will be held after the elections: it will be the party that wins the most votes that decides who will have the most say. This might well be the best solution for everyone, even if it is the most ridiculous, because the coalition would exist and yet not exist; there would be no need to tell everyone just how close-knit they are and, deep down, everyone wants to join the dance but nobody wants to lose straight away. Each party could thus mislead its voters into believing that no mediation will be necessary, take its own programme to the election, promise no compromises, and then decide only afterwards who will take centre stage and who will not – just in case an unexpected dancer were to arrive from Genoa, capable of stealing the limelight only in the event of proper primaries.