Italian President Visits San Martino to Honor Italian Unity and Sacrifice

Great anticipation. Roman insiders predict that Minister Martino will say nothing, nor should one expect Ciampi to make any statements regarding Italy’s involvement in the war. Martino, walking along the gravel path from the ossuary to the top of the hill, whispers awkwardly: “No comment. An official communiqué will be issued this afternoon.” In a corner, a quiet group from Brescia’s and Garda’s Social Forums stands in silence, raising sheets of paper inscribed with “No to War” beneath a cypress whose top was cut off on June 24, 1859, by a cannon shot. Around them, banners of ex-combatant associations, parents with children, people still shouting “Viva l’Italia,” dozens of military personnel in high uniform—including Bellini, a pilot from the Gulf War—whose chests are jingling with medals. The action is perfectly coordinated with protocol. No one will speak about nearby wars. No one, during the walk along the avenue, will precede Ciampi. The president has arrived at San Martino to showcase the deepest roots of Italian unity, to emphasize the genetic foundation of a nation that has historically cultivated low self-esteem. He will speak of the Risorgimento as a liberation war characterized by a strong presence of volunteer-intellectuals. He will recall the need to recover the tricolour, removing the embarrassment of feeling united in the infinite shades of a diversity that enriches. He will mention the Europeanist tension that already circulated at that time, fueled by international callings for freedom—from Poland and Hungary to the Italian states, born from the fragmentation of Signories and kept largely separated by foreign dominations. Among many parliamentarians present, the absence of Lega members stands out. No green handkerchief for Ciampi. The President’s Lancia enters the cypress-lined avenue of San Martino at 11:55 a.m. The sun is shining brightly, and the air is filled with the humid, citrine scent of the trees. The crowd remains beyond the fence of the monumental zone, while access to the ossuary area is reserved for numerous civil, military, and religious authorities. The small church emits a warm ochre hue from its marble and plaster. An anti-aircraft artillery squad from the Fourth Missile Regiment of Mantova presents arms to the president; a bugle signals a “Silence,” two cuirassiers carry a wreath of laurel intertwined with silver spheres into the dark center of the ossuary. A plaque reads: “Giovanni Balletti (…) Fell. Oh, long suffering martyrdom at eighteen for the homeland’s freedom.” The president pauses in reflection. He gazes at the piled skulls, tibiae, and humeri beyond the ossuary’s fence—an orderly chaos where history has erased individuality to narrate the collective drama of a generation. Ciampi climbs the path toward the tower. He briefly stops in front of the memorials and monuments commemorating the commitment and sacrifice of various branches of the armed forces. He listens to the Italian anthem performed by the army band, reviews the flag, and the platoon of Sardinian Grenadiers in historical uniform—wearing a monumental dark fur bearskin cap topped with the sabauda cross—shakes hands with Second World War veterans. When he enters the monument area beneath the tower, he departs from the center of the street, walking along the hedge line, beyond which the crowd is arranged. He smiles, continues to shake hands, and presses his blue jacket against the hedge, releasing an intense scent of laurel. He pauses before shy children, caresses their faces, whispering “Hello, young man.” The people say, “Thank you, President, viva l’Italia,” and a nostalgic atmosphere arises, reminiscent of a De Amicis-style breeze of small Lombard lookout posts—shameless even amid the cynical years of antiheroism and revisionist anti-Risorgimento sentiments. An atmosphere that flows between the mustaches of those in their sixties and the smiles of Lycée Bagatta students, amid the sparkling eyes of little girls. This is a different crowd from elsewhere, where, with the same enthusiasm, they welcome the excluded from the “Big Brother” show after leaving the televised set. Ciampi signs a parchment commemorating his visit, as he did with Vittorio Emanuele II, and listens to Fausto Fondrieschi, president of the Fondazione Solferino-San Martino, deliver a speech about pride in being Italian and the founding act of Italy, sealed on this airy hill. The president departs from San Martino just before 1 p.m., embracing Desenzano’s mayor, Felice Anelli. The president’s car is at the end of the avenue when General Alberto Ficucello, Commander of Land Forces, briefly states: “We are soldiers. We are ready to depart.”