HISTORY of the Marche center-left from 1995 to today with entrepreneurs looking the other way. The missed opportunities: five years ago with Pietro Marcolini and today with Sauro Longhi. Mayors are not enough in Mangialardi </p><div><p><img class="alignleft wp-image-950662" src="https://cdn.cronachemaceratesi.it/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/Barnum-Fabrizio-Cambriani.png" sizes="(max-width: 200px) 100vw, 200px" srcset="https://cdn.cronachemaceratesi.it/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/Barnum-Fabrizio-Cambriani.png 300w, https://cdn.cronachemaceratesi.it/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/Barnum-Fabrizio-Cambriani-95x79.png 95w" alt="Barnum-Fabrizio-Cambrian" width="200" height="167" />
of Fabrizio Cambriani
The second republic was born in our region and not without suspense, on April 23, 1995. The evening before a very excited Emilio Fede – sure of his polls – square, bloated, the blue flag on the Marche, unaware that in the secret of the urn, Vito D ‘Ambrosio (first directly elected president) already has more than 51% of the votes in his pocket. Stefano Bastianoni, the Berlusconi candidate, will not even reach 39%. It is the triumph of a long left-left alliance. The catharsis that closes forever the accounts with the CAF which saw, right in Forlani, the undisputed protagonist of all the choices of the Marche politics. No statues were knocked down, nor the basilica of Loreto was transformed into the house of the people as some well-informed, God-fearing person, leaked in the election campaign. The first Berlusconi government had already resigned in December, disheartened by the allies: Bossi and Buttiglione. Lamberto Dini, at Palazzo Chigi, went on supported by a composite majority. Narrate as the hidden director of this – let’s say turbid operation – was the perfidious D’Alema. Ivano Fossati and “get up that the popular song is rising …” they pushed, in 1996, the bus of the olive tree. Prodi’s proverbial ass did the rest, managing – singular circumstance – to make him win the elections with fewer votes than his opponents.
In 1997 D’Ambrosio, although he could count on a granitic majority (26 against 14), brought in the Populars, who with 6.4% had elected two councilors. The center-left was born (it is not known whether with the dash or without: the arduous sentence to you, posterity that you are nothing else …) and Gian Mario Spacca sat down to the department for production activities. Gentle capitalism (copyright by Giorgio Fuà) had finally found its interlocutor at Palazzo Raffaello. One who gave Merloni a tu (but it is only a legend: in reality he has always given her to the Engineer) and was the guarantor of a whole Marche region pax with the entire local production world. Put very much in prose, it meant that Merlonia (another indication of the Marche that you will not find in any map or map) absolutely did not need the Lombard demiurge Berlusconi. First personal digression: with Spacca I did several election campaigns. For the Europeans of ’99 we even found ourselves, at night and by chance, posting – with a lot of glue and a scrubbing brush – his posters in the hinterland of Macerata. And later in the years, on the occasion of his electoral dinners, I often found entrepreneurs of sure liberal faith among the diners. That would be a polite way not to say just fascists. When I ironically pointed out to them the support for the much reviled communist opponents, everyone – no one excluded – replied: “Eh, but there is Gian Mario …” Gian Mario was therefore the passport that sent votes from right to left. The magic wand to aggregate consents. The precious business card, which politics could exhibit in the good living room of the small, but widespread regional bourgeoisie. The catalyst that dampened and prevented dangerous leaps into the void, in the Barnum circus perpetually in turmoil of politics. But above all, the traveling salesman who traveled the world, with the bag inside, the catalog of the many internal productions. Finally, the scholar and lover of the industrial districts who, a guy from overseas, took as a model to imitate, even for the United States of America. This guy, I bring him back for the record, was called Bill Clinton.
In 2000 D’Ambrosio reconfirmed himself with an alliance of seven: from the Communist Refoundation to Mastella’s Udeur. Not very well – the national center-left had entered a deep crisis because of the dash – but it marked five points of detachment from the center-right. Password: continuity. Spacca vice president of the junta, but always with the catalog in hand and the plane ticket ready, at a time of new frontiers. The local market identified them and he left. And he came home with nice contracts. The small industrialists were satisfied, voted for him and made him vote. Easy isn’t it? In 2005, still alliance to seven and hasta la victoria. On the national table of DS and Margherita, his candidacy was not even questioned: Spacca, and I said everything. And the whole world of Merloni & C was included in all. In fact, as a candidate for president, he made a bang. Almost 58% who overwhelmed – like a tidal wave – the poor and innocent Francesco Massi.
In 2008 the terrible sovereign debt crisis. The rattling of the presses slowed. The forklifts stopped loading at full speed. Computer beeps faded. Many neon signs also went out along the avenue of this gentle capitalism. The Democratic Party was born which, also here in the Marche, marked the definitive caesura with the left. In 2010 Spacca, always with an alliance a seven, confirmed with 53% to face, not without fatigue, his fifth term in the region. Yes, the left was missing at the appeal, but Italia dei Valori and UDC, proved to be precious allies, along with some other bushes. First hints of an experiment, subsequently and universally called the “Marche model”. With the UDC that divorced Berlusconi – in other lustful busy affairs – and went to the other side of the barricade. A model that only a few months later will be solemnly baptized, by Pierferdinando Casini (always be praised) and Massimo D’Alema (perfidious over the centuries) – in a triumph of canapés and prosecco – inside a well-known pastry shop in Civitanova – that when history books are written in the Marche – so as to extend it throughout the national territory. Gian Mario Spacca had been its first guarantor.
But the regional secretary of the Democratic Party, Palmiro Ucchielli, unlike his predecessors, requested, indeed demanded the right to give his line to the regional government. Imagine if Gian Mario – the economist, pupil of Aldo Moro – could ever think of taking orders and directives from the mayor of Colbordolo. It was five years of clashing clashes that produced little and nothing. But Spacca’s travels continued. From the Far East to the Arab Emirates. Tangerines and sheikhs. However, the divide between the party and the regional junta was growing. The Renzian long wave began – so at least the narrators of the regime told us – and here in the Marche, it would have been necessary to have a secretary of the Democratic Party capable of mending. But, ouch them, Francesco Comi was chosen, who has the same attitude to mediation, as I have to dance tango on tiptoes. Among other things, Comi was elected, practically without any opponent. The challenger Ceriscioli was excluded for a hateful formalism. The primaries were a flop of participation, but also a vulnus which, from Rome, had to be immediately remedied. Spacca – increasingly stubbornly deaf to the wishes of Corso Stamira – had become unpopular with the whole party. Who – faithful to the first command of the Rignano bulletto – was preparing to scrape it. Second personal digression: one day and by pure chance, I found myself on the train, traveling to Milan with Lorenzo Guerini, a very trusted correspondent of Renzi who was returning home from the regional direction of the Democratic Party, which took place the night before. We discussed it for a while, so I reminded him that breaking with Spacca meant breaking with the entire manufacturing world of the Marches. And that this was definitely not advisable, despite the overwhelming strength of the Democratic Party. But I also sensed – not without bitterness – that Renzi did not care so much about the balance of the regional government, and much more, to immediately heal the internal fracture of the party.
They were therefore the primary between Ceriscioli (the failed regional party secretary) and Pietro Marcolini, councilor of Spaccto. At the agreed signal, all the capataz of the Democratic Party sided, like one man, with Ceriscioli: the future and thaumaturgical “mayor of the Marche”. To understand it better: those who today vetoed – definitive and unappealable – in Ceriscioli, five years ago they were all, with the utmost and courteous respect, on his side. And they swore and perjured that with him – and not with Marcolini – history would be rewritten, no less. And what a story! Indeed, the mayor of Ancona, Valeria Mancinelli, with utmost contempt for the ridiculous, came to declare that behind Marcolini was all the old party apparatus. I immediately thought of Suslov, Brezhnev and Malenkov. Then I took care to go and look for the names and realized how his supporters were, in reality, the deputies Manzi and Carrescia. I don’t know Carrescia, but Irene Manzi, I had never seen her, before she became a deputy, in a party venue. Evil spirits, Dante would have called them. But let’s leave it alone and, having skipped the now obsolete exercise of Maoist self-criticism, let’s move on.
The primaries – ca va sans dire – won by Ceriscioli. Which also asserted itself to the regional ones, this time with a very short alliance: Pd, United in the Marche and UDC. But the Democratic Party, compared to the Europeans of the previous year, lost ten points dry. From 45% to 35%. A splash that would shatter your eardrums under water. A terrible alarm bell that should have advised caution and caution. Especially if one knows he is discovered on the business side. The only, slender thread to hold on to, to attempt to weave a canvas, was Marcolini himself in the bargain. But nothing, there was no way. In the orgiastic delusion of scrapping everything had to be thrown away. And above all – according to the Renzian commandment – prisoners were not to be taken. Dialogue with the business world, apart from that of Pesaro, is increasingly interested in the construction of hospitals – but here we would enter into another of the Dante’s boils that for the sake of homeland it is better to keep silent – in five years there has never been. Vice versa, it is as if the regional council had wanted to show all its contempt for the demands of the economic and productive world with ostentation. Never seen anyone among them at the many initiatives of the Merloni Foundation: not even those of Portonovo with Prodi and Letta. They have always attended, very embarrassed – precisely because they are orphans of their councilors – Mastrovincenzo and Giancarli. And yet, the constant presence of Ceriscioli or his collaborators has always been punctually reported, on social networks, at every polenta or curved bean festival. The point is that the regional government, in these five years, has deliberately chosen to break with entrepreneurs. Evidently because convinced of being self-sufficient. The last occasion, in chronological order, was the construction of the Covid center in Civitanova, to which I have already told elsewhere. In this context, the party – which was supposed to make up for the voids created by the junta itself – never had men even remotely capable of creating a connection with local entrepreneurship. Wondering why it would be an interesting dispute, but to be entrusted to more shrewd and subtle kiosks than to my miserable person.
Having taken note of this unfortunate and unprecedented situation – and here we have come to the present day – to the democrats of the Marches, an unprecedented opportunity was offered: the willingness to candidate of the former rector of the Polytechnic, Sauro Longhi. Who better than he could have made up for this serious deficit? Who better than him could have united a wider and more competitive alliance? Also because, in the meantime, one of the allies, the UDC, had returned to the center-right. Basically, they found the winning lottery ticket in hand. Which, if nothing else, would have guaranteed them to continue ruling the region. And, given the time necessary to be able to regenerate, in this perspective, the entire party. Nothing. They have also managed to badly waste this advantage fallen from the sky. Not pious nonsense, but a sesquipedale political mistake. Certainly very serious. And, I fear, irreparable. In truth, the Democratic Party has revealed itself for what it has always been: a big void with the party around.
Today, it is the entrepreneurs – individually or through their associations – who look the other way. To the right. But not to the liberal and liberal right that belonged to Berlusconi (who in the Marche has never managed to touch the ball). Precisely and in particular to the radical and anti-European right of Salvini and Meloni. In the press it is all a mixture of statements of approval for this or that candidate. A chase in hopeless declarations of affection, even cloyingly adolescent, given the figures. A correspondence of loving senses that marries the reasons of the good heart. But leave open – forgive the boldness of suspicion – even that of bad thoughts. Obviously, these are all alternative candidates to Mangialardi. A decisive change of field, indeed not entirely unexpected, at least for those with a bit of political flair. Which signals, probably and forever, the end of the center-left experience. The result of a pernicious lack of sensitivity and attention which, contrary to the current ruling class, even shied away from the obtuse radicality of the Communist Refoundation of the mid-nineties.
But the good Mangialardi, in this desert – which he himself and pro quota has contributed well to achieve – is proud of the hundreds of mayors who supported him in his candidacy. Completely unaware that, at the Europeans of just a year ago, all the municipalities – willing or mourning mayors – were colored with that bright green, typical of the League’s team. And that, the current decrease in Salvinian consensus, is offset by the exponential growth of the Brothers of Italy. They tell me that, to win, Mangialardi hired a Bonaccini communication expert. Third and final personal digression: as a boy – I would have been thirteen, fourteen years old – I practiced cycling and I was a fan of Baronchelli. I bought my own bicycle from my parents, which at the time cost them a wrath of God. I was convinced that with that bicycle there, I would be able to face prohibitive climbs without even placing my hands on the handlebars. Unfortunately, I soon had to resign myself to the very evident circumstance that, to be like Baronchelli, he didn’t want his bike, but it took – alas – his legs. It ended that I devoted myself to other delights.