The photo of the VIP Box at the Lazio-Roma match last Sunday can seem innocent, much ado about nothing, instead it’s the demonstration of the existence of a virus that attacks politicians. A disease that even infects the newly-elected ones and that in fact establishes two social classes in Italy: the VIPs and all the others. For the Derby in the Box of the Olympic Authorities, 242 places managed by the host team and by CONI, the people seated in the light blue extra-large armchairs were the new masters of the ‘Bel Paese’, that for them is the true ‘Paese di Bengodi’ {wonderland}. They are VIPs who have won the ticket of the Italian Lottery, dark blue cars, a pension after two and a half years in the legislature, free absenteeism in the Italian Parliament and in the European one, double and triple jobs, double salary, immunity from the laws, luxury flights. Between a buffet and a soft drink, the VIPs applauded the players on the field and showed their superiority as tribunes of the people, of the common people, like in Caesar’s time. Among the many: Renata Polverini, Paolo Bonaiuti, Clemente Mastella, Maurizio Gasparri, Francesco Rutelli, the directors of the RAI and the RAI Board member Soderini, Fabrizio Cicchitto, Giulio Napolitano, son of the President of the Republic. When they meet up, they recognise each other, they sniff each other like dogs in the park. They do things. They see people. “Friendly and informal environment, colleagues are relaxed” (words of the VIP Gasparri).
Symbols are important. A Box full of public employees who pose as the masters is the proof of our minority-status. The master is the servant and the one who should be serving has become an arrogant “parvenu”. Millions without work. Dozens of suicides of unemployed people in despair and a country in economic and moral ruin don’t disturb the VIPs. They are “relaxed”. They have no clocking-in card that needs pinging , no work obligations, no one checking up on them. They can, with an elegant metaphor, “fare il cazzo che gli pare” {do any fucking thing they like} and receive a fabulous salary. They love posing as statesmen, establishing new alliances, indicating unknown horizons. The only thing they don’t do is work, carrying out the task for which they were elected. An activity that is too plebeian. They don’t mix with the plebs. I think that the time has come for the settling of accounts, with courtesy, without violence of any kind. It’s not possible to continue making believe that nothing has happened. We will start with us. If we meet one of our employees on the street with their body guards, or stopped at the traffic lights with their dark blue car and driver or at the entrance to an important match or at a “first night” at La Scala, or in a TV studio or in any other place other than Parliament where they should be working … in that case, let us very courteously remind them of their duties in relation to the ones that pay them their salary with the deductions for their taxes. Do a video recording of the conversation, that I hope will be cordial, publish it on YouTube with the tag: "Educa il nostro dipendente" {educate our employee} and send a notification to the blog. In the future I will issue democratic fatwas by means of videos to a few employees who are examples of the category. They will never give up (but is it in their interests?). Neither will we.