Grillo and Conte clash over the sacred relics of the ‘vaffa’

When the unscrupulous meet the simpleton, the marvel of smooth-talking emerges. And Elly Schlein – who lacks such unscrupulousness – should observe Grillo to understand who Conte really is, just as nineteenth-century philologists used the Rosetta Stone to decipher hieroglyphics. Or like the contrast fluid in MRI scans. For almost two years now, a former comedian and a professor-turned-leader have been fighting over the ‘values’ of the Five Star Movement’s origins with the same fervour that medieval cities reserved for the relics of saints. Yesterday, as anticipated in recent days, the founder returned to reclaim these values on Fedez’s podcast, where he announced that the Movement has fallen into the hands of Reverend Jones, ‘the man who whispered to quibbles’, and that the only thing left of this M5S that is progressive is the paralysis of the mind.

In short, Grillo says he will not form a party, but he reminisces about the good old days – lively and even intelligent – when he and Casaleggio were together. It is therefore worth opening this reliquary of intelligent values, with the reverence it deserves, and seeing what it holds. Inside, just like in the shrine of Sant’Agata, lie the divine ‘vaffanculo’, the tin of tuna with which Parliament was to be opened, and ‘one is worth one’ – that is, the idea of imposing on Italy a regime of chronic illiterates based on the belief that anyone can govern. A political contrivance that, in 2018, brought to Palazzo Chigi an unknown professor whose reputation for greatness rested above all on a circumstance held in high regard in those circles, where, if you ask why someone is universally renowned, you hear a whisper in your ear: ‘He taught law to Fofò Bonafede’, as if they were discreetly warning you: ‘He’s Einstein’. Insult elevated to a political programme because – as Grillo put it – ‘it lubricates reality’; contempt promoted to a theory of institutions because – as Paola Taverna put it – ‘you’re a bunch of shit’; ignorance paraded as a certificate of honesty: ‘Mr President, I shall be brief and to the point’. Conte, it must be said, handles this treasure trove of wonders better than the founder himself. Grillo used to shout “fuck off”; Conte has translated it into a forensic and surly brand of Italian, full of innuendo and meaningful glances, punctuated by the occasional thunderous outburst for the cameras – such as the pages torn from a document this Sunday on stage in Milan – and a bombastic, ungrammatical style (“I beg you, do not indulge’”) of a lawyer who, during the pandemic, trotted out the phrase ‘stable relationships’ – a turn of phrase that can only spring from the mind of someone with firmly unstable principles and who, in fact, has governed with any majority. It is precisely on these lofty values that Grillo and Conte are duelling, and it is to these supreme values that Schlein would like to tie the PD’s fate. In Asiago, Conte calls for negotiations with Putin and for no weapons to be sent to Kyiv, whilst she, in Villalunga, responds with forty-three minutes of talk about ‘the climate’, ‘healthcare’ and ‘students living away from home’. In Milan, Conte tears up the sheet of paper bearing the word ‘Rearmament’, swears that ‘we will not back down’, whilst she finds in his words ‘many things we can agree on and where our views align’ and promises that on Ukraine ‘we will find a compromise’. It is only when the unscrupulous meets the simpleton that the miracle of smooth-talking emerges. Grillo promised to open up democracy like a tin of tuna. Conte, more pragmatic and more modest, heir to traditional values, is splitting the PD in two. And the tin opener, with exquisite courtesy, is handed to him by his secretary.