Story: David Gialanella
If you ask any of the Loyola students studying here in Cagli, Italy about the town's war memorial, you are likely to be met with dumbfounded expressions. Though it has stood here since 1929 (designed by a man named Prosperetti), its small size and remote location off the main drag, shrouded by towering pines, makes it easy to overlook. Inside, however, dozens of names are carved into stone walls, artfully and with pride. With some observation, one realizes that these are not just any names, but the names of those who died in the first two World Wars, wars in which average, everyday Cagliese made the ultimate sacrifice against the Kaiser's aggression and Mussolini's fascism.

War does not come to mind when walking Cagli's cobblestone streets, or sipping coffee or wine in Piazza Matteoti. This mountain town is peaceful and pristine, (barring the occasional soccer match), yet just weeks ago, the caffes, barber shops and grocery stores were alive with chatter about America's newest war, a war popularly opposed by some at home and many overseas. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered what the Cagliese had said about the war in Iraq.

Strolling through any of Cagli's narrow side streets, it doesn't take long to notice the many varicolored flags hanging from windows, reading simply, PACE, or "peace." More exploration reveals more flags; they are everywhere. Traveling outside of Cagli, through the Tuscan countryside to Florence, and through the mountains of central Italy to Rome, I saw more of the same. These flags have caught on everywhere in Italy-- but perhaps to say they "caught on" likens them to Milan's latest fashion or some other fad. But Italians didn't hang them for aesthetics. They had something to say.

When I asked Enzo, a local bartender at Caffe D'Italia, what people were saying about the recent war in Iraq, his first response was "Ai..." which apparently means "ouch," or something like it. He stared at the wall behind us for a few seconds, and scratched his head, his expression showing apprehension. In a community where you see the same faces every day, in a town that you become a part of, crossing the line is a big concern of any reporter.

         

"He needs a minute to think about it," said Gabriella, one of our hardworking translators. On collecting his thoughts, Enzo explained that, at first, opinions seemed divided. Then antiwar voices became more numerous and prominent around the caffe. He explained that Italians in general had become increasingly opposed, and that Cagli was no exception, which makes sense (it is commonly held that Cagli is a traditionally leftist community). As far as Enzo's own view of the Iraqi war, he only said that the United States intended to take military action with or without Italy's support, so it was good that the Italian government had cooperated from the beginning. He was reluctant to say more: ņI am just a bartender. I have to keep in the middle." I refrained from asking him about Cagli's Parco delle Rimembranze, where the war memorial stands; he didn't seem totally comfortable discussing the recent war. Besides, Enzo is a busy man.

Cagli's town hall is the place to go if you want an opinion regarding international issues, or just about anything. The old, stone-faced structure is one of the piazza's main features. A ledge runs the length of the building's facade, where some of the town's older gents sit and socialize every day.

Some of the men didn't seem all that enthusiastic about my questions, perhaps reluctant to speak their minds, as Enzo had been. The brief conversation consisted of long pauses and three-word answers. Then a moped pulled up. A gentleman I'd seen around town, probably sixty, stood up to reveal his stout but solid build. He wore the generic plaid button-down shirt that every man in Cagli seems to own. And whereas the others had seemed tongue-tied, this gentleman had more to say than I could write down.

Sauro was his name. I asked him, "Do you think that people's opinions regarding the war in Iraq were swayed by the media?" I was surprised at the response, "It depends. Every channel is different." Accustomed to American media coverage, often skewed toward the pro-war side, I had trouble grasping the idea of variety in news viewpoints. He seemed to think that the PACE flags were affiliated with leftist political parties, of which there are plenty in Italy. (I walk by the Communist Party office nearly every day. Its crimson hammer and sickle used to invoke inherent fear. Now I hardly notice.) He went on to say that the flags were pointless. For Sauro, the sentiment is futile if it does not produce results. Sauro agreed that the United States would have invaded Iraq with or without popular Italian support-- there was never any doubt about that-- and the Cagliese would have been as surprised as I if news channels had reported, "Military action in Iraq has been postponed due to strong opposition in Italy..."

At the end of the day, I still wonder what the Cagliese are reluctant to say to a stranger, an outsider, an American student, an amateur journalist. For now, whether the citizens of Cagli had verbally "bashed" the United States for a two or three week period prior to our arrival remains a mystery. When both sides strive to be as polite as possible, a sensitive subject is just that. The Cagliese are friendly and surely as reluctant as I am of jeopardizing good rapport.


Memorial to Cagliese Partisans who died in WWII--
also located in Parco dellenze.

Canon Memorial in Parco delle Rimembranze.

Americans found themselves caught up in the issue, while Cagli witnessed the recent war from a different perspective, as did the rest of Europe. Certainly an outside point of view allows one to see the larger picture. Maybe Cagli's relaxed lifestyle leaves more time for reflection. Italy's hundreds upon hundreds of years of being invaded, its constantly changing rule, its relatively recent unification, and its volatile political system... Italians, and more specifically the Cagliese, know the value of peace.

One stifling afternoon, after exploring Cagli's medieval tower with Lucia, a local historian, I asked what she knew about the town's war memorial in the Parco delle Rimembranze. Expecting the usual textbook history of it, I was surprised to hear of Lucia's personal connection. Her father, while able to keep his name off the memorial's list, was persecuted, often beaten and humiliated, for being antifascist. According to her, it was "one of the worst periods in Italian history. No liberty. You weren't a man anymore."

Lucia was surprised to hear me admit that I did not agree with America's conduct in the Middle East, and went on to admit something herself, something emotionally stirring. She told me of her childhood during World War Two, when American G.I.'s camped in her yard and gave her chocolates. She spoke of them with fondness, saying that the people of Italy owed quite a bit to the American soldiers who fought to liberate Italy from fascism. Her appreciation had special meaning for me; my grandfather George, now 88, spent several years in combat during W.W.II. He was badly injured by a grenade, and was eventually awarded the Purple Heart.

Indeed, my conversation with Lucia showed me the connections between past and present wars, Italians and Americans, my life and hers. There was a time when Italians and Americans were fighting alongside one another, but for now, the western world is not unified in a common cause as it was during Hitler's reign in Germany. As I walk the gravel path towards the Parco delle Rimembranze, I think about all of these things-- two world wars, war in Iraq, homeland security, protests, anti-Americanism... Amidst the sound of birds chirping, in this peaceful place, my head spins trying to make sense of it all. And though I've tried to remain objective with my reporting here in Cagli, I have no qualms about concluding that, in a world of uncertainty, one thing is certain: there are too many war memorials in the world with too many names.

Photography:
Maggie Bresonis
Videography:
Mike Memoli
Web Design:
MaryEllen Camp