The miseries and nobility of Italian politics

Politics has not always enjoyed a good reputation in Italy. Piero Calamandrei, in an essay entitled "Patologia della corruzione parlamentare" (published in "Il Ponte" in 1947, no. 10, October, p. 859 and republished by Edizioni di storia e letteratura, Rome, 2017), observed that there were many causes for this discredit: the notion that politics is a dirty business, fostered over centuries of servitude; the experience of fascism, which exploited corruption; indifference; the way in which the newspapers reported the debates in the Constituent Assembly, parliamentary scandals, political opportunism, ‘dishonourable profiteering’, electoral psychology (the ‘terror of new elections, the fear of not being elected’), illicit career advantages, paid appointments and patronage. Some of these causes no longer exist, whilst others persist to this day.

Politics, on the other hand, is a noble pursuit. “The distinctive feature of representative government,” stated Duke Victor de Broglie (1785–1870) in 1820 – a liberal close to the ‘doctrinaires’ – is to select, from the bosom of the nation, the elite of its most enlightened men, to gather them at the summit of the social edifice, in a sacred place, inaccessible to the passions of the multitude, and there to have them deliberate aloud on the interests of the State”. And before him, the Englishman Edmund E. Burke (1729–1797), a liberal conservative, wrote in his "Reflections on the Revolution in France" (1790) that “political reason is a principle of calculation: it is a long series of additions, subtractions, multiplications and divisions”.

It cannot be denied, however, that politics is going through a difficult phase at the moment, particularly in Italy. To understand the reasons for this, we must start with the structural facts. The Constitution entrusts political parties with the task of shaping national policy, stipulating that ‘all citizens have the right to associate freely in political parties in order to contribute, through democratic means, to the shaping of national policy’.

But political parties are now very small organisations, with few members, limited social and territorial reach, and weak leadership. They used to have between 4 and 5 million members; now they have only a tenth of their former membership. Their territorial structure and their grassroots support are non-existent or extremely weak. Their internal democratic life is very limited, as conferences, assemblies and congresses are rare (Antonio Polito, in "La Costituzione non è di sinistra", Milan, Silvio Berlusconi Editore, 2026, pp. 166–168, noted that the Democratic Party’s National Assembly – the party’s ‘mini-parliament’ – is supposed to be convened every six months, but in reality has recently been convened only once a year. It comprises 948 members, including elected representatives, invitees and ex officio members, but only 261 of those entitled to attend took part in 2025). The selection of party leaders is sometimes open even to non-members (almost a gesture of distrust towards their own rank and file). In short, the parties used to be an intermediate social body; today they are no longer so.

Furthermore, more than one party secretary has been appointed directly from outside the party – without even having previously been a member of the party – and has subsequently sought to compensate for their own shortcomings, rather than participating in the life of the party organisation, by boasting of their connections with foreign heads of government.

Thus, either the structure of the parties is non-existent or weak, or their leadership consists more of ‘politicians’ than ‘policy-makers’, who consider it their duty to make statements to the media rather than meet with their own party members (in the latest issue of the ‘Quarterly Journal of Public Law’, 2026, no. 1, a collection of essays on the crisis of the political parties). Thus, the parties do not function as “a primary centre for gathering and filtering the confused aspirations of the people, an initial synthesis of conflicting interests, founded on the basis of common political ideals”. These are the words of the great German historian Friedrich Meinecke (1862–1954).

The structural weaknesses of political parties are reflected in their activities. They constantly raise short-term issues linked to the latest events, rather than discussing the underlying problems. The gap between the two poles – the immediate and the long-term, the contingent and the structural – is made even clearer by the epoch-making changes currently underway. The rise of universal and private powers: the digital empires. The weakness of the great public empires that seem destined to lose, such as Russia against Ukraine and the United States of America against Iran. The evident decline of the West in a multipolar world. The limited capacity to look back at history, evident in the celebrations for the 80th anniversary of the Republic, when very little attention was paid to the first historic affirmation of truly universal suffrage, extended to women, to the abandonment of the monarchy, in which power descended from above rather than rising from below, to the constitutional promises that have gone unfulfilled or have even been forgotten, and to the ways in which the Presidents of the Republic have been chosen, almost always preventing the most important and representative leaders of the party with a relative majority from assuming that office.

It follows that politics echoes the most immediate sentiments, pays some attention to interests, and cares very little about opinions. This also leads to a further consequence: to consolidate agreements amongst the excessive number of existing parties, on both the right and the left, procedures or simple agreements are agreed upon rather than programmes.

The parties’ style mirrors the emptiness of their programmes. They interpret the requirement set out in Article 49 of the Constitution – to ‘contribute, through democratic means, to the determination of national policy’ – as a conflict, constantly seeking dissent rather than consensus, transforming Parliament into a public square where people do not speak but wage war, brandishing placards for television and adopting a permanently theatrical posture.

This situation creates a disconnect between politics and society, as already highlighted three years ago by Pierangelo Isernia, Sergio Martini and Luca Verzichelli in "La classe politica italiana. Struttura, atteggiamenti, sfide (Bologna, Il Mulino, 2023), who noted a lack of attention to public opinion, hostility towards citizen involvement in decision-making and mistrust of participation, distrust of the electorate, and low satisfaction with democracy and representation.

A recent OECD survey on trust in public institutions showed that in 2025 only 22 per cent of the Italian population had a high or medium-high level of trust in political parties, whilst the average for OECD countries was 26 per cent and for the five Northern European countries it was 35 per cent.

A further sign of this disconnect is provided by the debate on the proposed electoral law, which has prioritised the aim of ensuring government stability over that of broadening voter participation: politicians are more concerned with their own interests than with getting citizens back to the polls.

All this is also reflected in the dialogue with culture. Salvatore Settis, in his book "Registro delle assenze. Profili e paesaggi" (Milan, Salani Editore, 2024, p. 259), observed that “when reading Bobbio’s writings from 1946 to 1997 in the journal Il Ponte (Fifty Years, and Still Not Enough), collected by the Monte dei Paschi Foundation, in chronological order, one theme stands out above all others: the significance and depth—indeed, the mission—of the intellectual in relation to the political horizons of his time. In discussing this, Bobbio naturally had in mind Benedetto Croce’s profound writings on the ‘politics of the non-politicians’, a phrase so apt that it has often been reused, for example by Vittorio Enzo Alfieri when he spoke of Umberto Zanotti Bianco’s ‘politics of a non-politician’. For Bobbio, an intellectual’s commitment and passion must translate into an ethic of rigour in the analysis of problems, of genuine curiosity about the opinions of others; and, finally, into the constant pursuit of a dialogue founded not on the petty tactics of political factions but on a profound understanding of contexts.”

Ultimately, the political crisis results in a sort of clouding of public opinion. On the one hand, politicians who appear overly concerned with being liked, much like salespeople and touts often do. On the other, forms of communication altered by ‘many-to-many’ dialogue, which favours brevity and aggressiveness. The result is a sense of bewilderment within the community, a worrying sign of which is provided by the recent SWG survey on perceptions of inflation: amongst Fratelli d’Italia voters, only 39.3 per cent describe the perceived rise in prices as ‘very’ or ‘extremely’ high. In the PD, the figure rises to 59.6 per cent, whilst among Five Star Movement voters, over 70 per cent perceive a surge in prices. Political affiliation gives rise to three different perceptions of a reality that is measurable and measured every month by Istat. It is hardly surprising that there is no discussion of the shift of legislative power from Parliament to the government, nor of Parliament’s excessive attempts to govern through legislation.

Perhaps this also explains why the electorate is in a state of flux, no longer guided by ideologies as it once was, nor channelled by political programmes as it ought to be today; and why, consequently, on the one hand, there is the phenomenon of voter apathy, and on the other, the constant emergence of new parties whenever a new political figure gains a following.

The picture described in general terms so far, however, reveals differences between the majority and the opposition, because the ruling majorities introduce measures that may be viewed positively or negatively, but which do not merely reject the other side’s positions; they have a positive aspect, whereas the opposition merely ends up contesting without putting forward any proposals.

The book published in 1956 by John Kennedy whilst he was still a senator is highly instructive on these matters; it was translated into Italian in 1960, with an introductory page by Luigi Einaudi, who had stepped down as President of the Italian Republic, and who wrote: “The book is well worth reading, as it brings together a number of examples of remarkable acts of political courage; which is the rarest form of courage”, consisting of “that disregard for popularity which the book identifies as the greatest virtue of a statesman”. Below are some excerpts from the book’s final chapter.

What prompted the statesmen mentioned in the preceding pages to act as they did? It was not because they ‘loved the public more than themselves’. On the contrary, it was precisely because they loved themselves; because the need to preserve their own self-image, in each of them, was more important than the popularity they enjoyed amongst others; because the desire to earn or maintain a reputation for integrity and courage was stronger than the desire to retain their office; because their conscience, their personal moral judgement, integrity or morality—call it what you will—was stronger than the pressure of public disapproval; because, finally, the conviction that the chosen course was the best, and that this would ultimately be proven, weighed more heavily than the fear of public censure.

Although the public good was the indirect beneficiary of the sacrifice, it was not that vague and general concept, but one of those drives of self-love (or a combination of them) that spurred our characters to perform their courageous deeds. When a politician loves neither the public good nor himself, or when his self-love is limited to and satisfied by the trappings of office, the public interest is poorly served. And it is when his self-esteem is so high as to compel him to follow the path of courage and conscience that everyone benefits. It is then that his faith in the righteousness of his own actions allows him to say, in the words of John C. Calhoun: ‘I never know what South Carolina thinks of any given measure. I never consult it. I act according to my own best judgement and my conscience. If it approves of me, so be it. If it does not approve of me and wishes to replace me with another, I am ready to step down. We are even.’

* * *

Most of them, despite their differences, had much in common: the orator’s stirring talents, the scholar’s brilliance, the mindset of a man who stands above party and region, and, above all, a deep faith in themselves, in their own integrity and in the justice of their cause.

The meaning of courage, like political motivations, is frequently misunderstood. Some people enjoy the thrill of battle, without giving much thought to the consequences. Some admire its virtues in other people and in other times, but struggle to understand contemporary examples. Perhaps, to clarify the meaning of these stories of political courage, it would be helpful to explain what this book is not.

The book does not aim to justify independence for independence’s sake, obstinacy against all compromise, or a proud and stubborn adherence to one’s personal convictions. It does not aim to suggest that, in every matter, there is a right side and a wrong side, and that all senators, save those who are scoundrels or fools, will find the right side and remain faithful to it. On the contrary, I share the sentiments expressed by Prime Minister Melbourne who, irritated by the criticisms of the then young historian T. B. Macaulay, remarked that he would have been glad to be as certain of anything as Macaulay seemed certain of everything. And nine years’ service in Congress have taught me the wisdom of Lincoln’s words: ‘There are few things that are entirely bad or entirely good. Almost everything, especially in government policy, is an inseparable mixture of the two; so that our most measured judgement in determining the preponderance of one over the other is constantly required.”

This book does not seek to suggest that party discipline and party loyalty are necessary evils that should never influence our decisions. Nor does it seek to suggest that the local interests of our state or region have no legitimate right to be considered at any time. On the contrary, every Senator’s loyalty must be divided between their party, their state and their region, their homeland and their conscience. On matters concerning his party, duties to the party are normally decisive. In regional disputes, his regional responsibilities will readily guide his conduct. But on national issues, on matters of conscience that challenge his duties to the party and the region, the test of courage arises.

It may well take courage to stand up to one’s own President, one’s party or the overwhelming sentiments of the nation; but these, it seems to me, cannot be compared to the courage required of a senator who defies the wrath of the very voters who are the masters of his future.