Few things about Italy can be easily explained to Americans. In the months I've lived in Milan and traveled the country, I've accepted the fact that there are aspects of the Italian culture that will forever mystify me.
How can shops be closed all the time and stay in business? How can everyone park on the sidewalk without getting ticketed? How do those Smart cars not get blown away by the wind? How is everyone thin and healthy if smoking and eating are the number one pastimes?
Ask an Italian any of these questions and they respond with "boh," the guttural equivalent of a shrug, and then proceed to speak at length, wildly gesturing in some unknown sign language, to give an explanation that amounts to little more than "it's an Italian thing."
But how can a political election in a modern Western nation still be billed as communist versus fascist without too much exaggeration? This question induces a more sober response: First an exasperated moment of hesitation from Italians, who, after nearly 50 different governments since World War II, hope stability is on the horizon, and then the acknowledgement that the "Italian thing" about government is that it is an absolute mess.
A chaotic campaign season and hotly contested election this year dashed all hopes for any stability in the near future for Italian politics. The bitter and hard-fought campaign for prime minister that came to a close in yesterday's general election pitted two veterans of Italian governing against one another.
Economics professor Romano Prodi, with his center-left coalition consisting of a mix of Christian Democrats and Communists, hopes to beat out the extravagant billionaire businessman and current Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi and his center-right coalition (yes, including some known fascists).
This year, however, the election has split the country in half, creating an almost certainly ineffective government. While early exit polls had Prodi's center-left coalition in the lead, the real count has brought the margin in both the upper and lower chambers of parliament to less than a percentage point.
Regardless of the official outcome, the system of representation in Parliament will make it difficult for the victor to govern and may ultimately result in fresh elections. This is a far cry from the stability Italians have sought for years from their government.
Looking back at the months prior to the deadlocked election can only cause outsiders to shake their heads in amazement at the curious nature of it all. Berlusconi, the most unpredictable character of the campaign, is the wealthiest man in Italy, owner of several primary media outlets and, since the mid-90s, one of the most influential politicians in Italy's beleaguered republic.
He began the year committing himself to winning reelection, telling his supporters he would not have sex until the election in April. Rarely mistaken for a shy or particularly modest man, Berlusconi, over the next couple months, compared himself to some of history's greatest leaders, most notably Jesus and Napoleon.
Prodi, on the other hand, is by all accounts a dull, though powerful, man, having served as a very popular president of the European Commission before deciding to run once again for prime minister. In running against Berlusconi, he has rarely strayed from the issues, allowing his opponent's quirks and poor record to speak for themselves.
Nowhere did Berlusconi's oddities go on display more clearly than in the two debates held U.S.-style in late March and early April. Televised debates were tried for the first time this year in Italy after officials observed the 2004 debates in the U.S. that got so much publicity. They were, in keeping with the Italian political tradition, chaotic.
Before the bouts were over, Berlusconi had dismissed women as inferior, made outrageous claims to eliminate property taxes completely and called his opponent an idiot, all while repeatedly going over the time limits on his responses and chastising the moderator.
Prodi got his share of kicks in, including likening Berlusconi to a drunken man leaning on a lamp post and, by most accounts, getting the better of the prime minister.
As if this wasn't enough, in the final week before the election, Berlusconi called all leftist voters "coglioni," Italian slang for "idiots," but directly translated as "dickheads."
And in response to allegations of calling sex hotlines repeatedly during the campaign, Berlusconi claimed he was simply conducting polling and that seven out of nine chatline girls would be voting for him. He did all this while defending his statement that babies used to be boiled in China to fertilize fields. That the election is even close is bewildering in itself.
In the American political scene, Berlusconi would be skewered for his off-the-wall comments, but, as I have to keep telling myself, this is Italy.
Here, there are strikes and protest marches of all kinds on a weekly basis, and students occupy their high schools to extend their holiday breaks. Here, the multi-party parliamentary system encourages all dissenters to form their own party, which results in a colorful ballot with over a dozen parties to choose from. Here, the political scene is so charged that in March, when anarchist protesters began to riot and destroyed an entire city block of a Milan shopping district, opponents of Berlusconi plastered pictures of the destruction all around the town as a far-fetched assumption of his complicity in the violence. It's much different here.
What do I take away from all this madness? Most of all, I'm relieved. While Italy's gorgeous sights and staggering history give me a great place to study for a semester, I'm relieved I'm only an observer of the politics of Italians. That is a spectacle I don't think can be ever explained.