An alternative cover for “Teoria della classe disagiata” by Raffaele Alberto Ventura (which I guess can be translated as “Theory of the uneasiness of the middle class”, although the original title is a pun). A really thought-provocative essay describing the decline young middle class, especially from southern Europe. The book goes a long way to try to explain the causes why our generation is facing a worse socioeconomic perspective than the one of our parents, even though it does so via a really broad view on capitalism and economy, which is hard to prove or confute. Despite its limits the book really succeeds in describing the “gambling” mechanism by which the middle class acquires “positional goods” in order to have a better chance of climbing the crowded social ladder, despite the economic crisis has effectively transformed this process into something more similar to a lottery. I would love to see it translated in other languages so that this very original point of view finally gets discussed in the perspective of the future of the European union and hoping to inspire new forms of class solidarity.
The original cover
Some snaps from a very quick (less than 48 hours!) visit to sunny and cold New York
Earlier this month we had the chance to pass through Washington D.C. for a couple of days, and we managed to visit the latest addition to the Smithsonian museums: the National Museum of African American History & Culture. Opened in 2016, it has a very central position in the National Mall, being right in front of the Washington monument and at a stone’s throw to the White House. This is already enough to signal the ambition the museum has in terms of symbolism and impact. The actual inside of the museum reinforced this impression.
It turns out that a good half of the museum is below ground, where the visit is supposed to begin. Everyone is forced to take an elevator, which acts as a time machine; when the doors open is the end of the 15th century, and a suffocating dungeon takes the visitors through the horrors of the transatlantic slave trade. The exit of the dungeon offers some relief, but you find yourself still at the bottom of a very large open pit with dark walls. The declaration of independence is presented with big box letters, but its ambiguity (“all men are created equal”) towards the very large part of the US population still considered nothing more than a slave is clearly stated. Jefferson himself is a statue whose expression is masked by shadows.
The visitors can then slowly ascend through a series of ramps, each one presenting a chapter in the struggle towards emancipation and equality. The symbolism of having to walk all the way up from the bottom of a pit is perhaps an obvious symbolism but it really gives an uplifting feeling. The last turn of the ramps, just exiting the dark pit and out of the “time machine” reserves one last uplifting surprise, and a strong message. A writing on the wall, until then invisible, that states: “I, too, am America”.
The rest of the museum is above ground, separated from the pit and its horrors by two floors. The closer to the top, the more the contribution of african-americans to the military, society, sports and culture is celebrated.
This journey to hell and return has been very strong emotionally, even on someone like me who has little to no relationship with colonialism and racial tensions. The little colonialism my country has ever imposed had been related to fascism, and as a country we considered that amended with the civil war that contributed in freeing Italy from the axes. Recent reports of slave practices in Libya, whose government is strongly supported by Italy in the hope of stopping migratory fluxes from reaching Europe, is however casting a shadow on my country as a whole, and on the government and opposition forces alike.
Abyss-X at Opaque poetics, this year’s music festival at the Wysing Arts Centre
A few months ago the IUPAC (International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry) had to take a decision on the only apparently very simple task of giving a name to the latest discovered chemical elements. Even a basic understanding of chemistry and the way the periodic table is made will make apparent how such decision is both of little significance and at the same time irrepetible. Of little significance, for those elements are only artificially made and have a short and turbulent life before becoming a lighter and more stable element; almost irrepetible, because the number of new element “discovered” is probably reaching the limit of what is humanly possible.
Some people argued that one of those elements should have been called Levium, in honour to Primo Levi’s and the short stories of “The periodic table” (“Il sistema periodico” in Italian), unfortunately with little success.
Primo Levi, who is mostly known for his recollection of his deportation to the Auschwitz concentration camp, possesses two only apparent antithetical qualities as a writer: he is both a distant observer and a relentless moral agent. The former quality appears somewhat wrong when used to describe the hopeless struggle that characterized the inmates of the annihilation camps, but such distance acquires sense when used to derive fundamental truths about human nature. This is most evident in the “I sommersi e i salvati” (“The drowned and the saved”) chapter of “Se questo e’ un uomo” (“If this is a man”).
A similar approach is taken in the main theme of “The periodic table”: the somewhat technical recollection of the experiences of the author as a chemist (mostly in the varnish industry) are used to again convey some very sharp truths about human nature, but most of all what science is.
In many occasions throughout the book (each chapter revolving around a particular element), Levi demonstrate to know all too well the high of intellectual discovery, and chooses to stay far away from collective discoveries and scientific enterprises, but to focus on the solitary work of single chemists, which is very similar in spirit to the work of the first alchemists. This is especially true, Levi claims, when considering the daily struggle of a chemist working in an industry, whose day-to-day battle against matter itself eventually only leads to very occasional small victories and surely to burn-out with age; “Chromium”, “Nickel” and “Silver” are very good examples of chapters where this concept is exposed. Other chapters are instead more intimate and moving, were chemistry is put aside to give space to Levi’s moral compass, forged by a life of terrible experiences and constant observation of human nature. Some of those chapters, like “Argon” and “Tin”, are exhilarating accounts of the family and friends of the author. Others instead recall more dramatic moments in the author’s life, and are probably the best parts of the book. In “Iron”, a fellow chemistry student with a passion for climbing is used to show what is like (and what’s the cost) of being free; the opposite concept is presented in “Gold”, when the author has been captured by fascists and fears that he would soon die. In “Cerium” an episode from the Nazi lager is recalled to remind that some basic (and maybe irrational) form of human will can persist even in the face of hopelessness. Finally in “Vanadium”, the incredible and fortuitous exchange between Levi and one of the German civilians with whom he interacted in Auschwitz shows how morality is a complex matter even when reason is indisputably on one side of the argument.
I could not recommend this book enough, especially to anyone accustomed to rational thought. Even though it would be impossible to replicate this formula, I cannot but wonder how a similar book would look like for disciplines like physics (a chapter for each particle?) or even “messier” sciences like biology (a chapter for each species?). It could actually be an interesting exercise for a crowd-sourced book, where stories on a single “unit” of each discipline are contributed by different people. I would surely like to write a chapter about one or two bacterial species.