In Rome it happens that a barman, a baristaknows more about the future of the country than politicians, analysts and journalists. At least that’s what Antonio Proietti claims. This is the name of the owner of Mario Draghi and his wife Serenella in the Roman district of Parioli.
The other day Proietti told a radio station that he was back with the Signora gossiped, and she told him that her husband, the incumbent prime minister of the country, wanted to become president of the republic. She is not very happy about it, because as President he has even more mandatory appointments than he already has, and so they would be able to spend even less time in their country house in Umbria. This message straight from the trusted counter, it was a bomb, of course. But was it also true? Draghi was supposed to answer that a few days ago, with a whimsical saying, as it should be. But more on that later.
The election will take place next February, when the mandate of Christian Democrat Sergio Mattarella expires. Then all members of parliament and senators as well as 58 representatives from the regions – a total of more than a thousand so-called “big voters” – come together in a joint session in parliament, the rites and rituals of which are reminiscent of the Vatican conclave: The voting is secret, the request of the voters is seldom very sacred. People are deceived, intrigued, betrayed, traded and played.
The comparison with the election of the Pope is also permissible because the President of the Republic lives for an almost infinitely long seven years in the beautiful palace on the Quirinals Hill, which used to be the residence of kings and popes, high above the city. He is not quite as powerful as a monarch, especially in politically calm times. Then he travels through the country, gives beautiful speeches, inaugurates monuments. It honors athletes, artists and honorable citizens. But when politics gets out of step and cabinets collapse, then everything looks colleSo up to the hill. The president appoints governments and heads of government, and if there is no majority in parliament, then he dissolves the chambers and calls new elections. Power with a yo-yo effect: sometimes it’s small, sometimes very big.
Berlusconi is the opposite of a country father – but he hopes
Three more months. But the election has kept political life and all the media droning around it caught up in excitement for weeks – and that is understandable. This time it’s about a lot, it’s about Mario Draghi. The names of alleged candidates are frivolous in the newspapers, more than a dozen already. Some are supposed to be “burned” from the start, as the Italians say, and an early mention is often enough. Others should have their stomachs painted. For example, Silvio Berlusconi, 85 years old.
He is the alternative to a country father who hovers above everything, morally and in general. For a political career, Berlusconi divided the country with his strange conception of democracy and the rule of law. Now he dreams of the crowning glory of this career, a rehabilitation on the Quirinal. And the right-wing parties say they will vote for him. But they’re probably only pretending to do so to keep the cards covered a little longer.
A three-quarters majority is required for the election in the first three ballots. Berlusconi certainly won’t manage that. From the fourth onwards an absolute majority would be sufficient, but even that seems impossible, although of course a lot of fickle and non-attached people let themselves be lured and ensnared. That too is part of the great novel of a presidential election, at times it has the features of a picaresque novel.
The question of whether it wasn’t finally time to choose a woman is also being negotiated. Italy has never had a head of government or a president. Above all, three women are given opportunities: Justice Minister Marta Cartabia, former chairwoman of the Constitutional Court; Maria Elisabetta Alberti Casellati, Acting President of the Senate; and Emma Bonino, once EU Commissioner and later Italian Foreign Minister.
A political question: How does Draghi drink his Spritz, with Aperol or Campari?
But all of these eventualities depend on the only true and central question that revolves around Draghi: will the former central banker bring Italy more if he continues to manage the business for a year and a half, that is, until the end of the legislative period, and during this time it will continue to do so with a broader scope Giving support in parliament to the country’s CEO, the operational chief reformer and administrator of the reconstruction fund with its more than 200 billion euros from the EU? Or is Italy and its trustworthiness abroad better served if “Super Mario”, the savior of the euro, who speaks with all the powerful on earth, guarantees political stability for seven years in the role of president? Unfortunately, he’s the ideal man for both offices.
Among those who like him on the colle there are quite a few who hope that without Prime Minister Draghi the government will fall apart and there will be early elections. Especially with the post-fascists and the right-wing Lega, they flirt with this scenario, it would be a risky game of chance.
In purely theoretical terms, there would be an alternative to the two options, the possibility of a relay, a time trick: Mattarella, 80, could be re-elected for a transitional phase, until the end of the legislative period in spring 2023, and then clear the way for Draghi’s election do. As his predecessor Giorgio Napolitano did in 2013, he was 88 at the time. Mattarella has already rented an apartment for the time afterwards, he says he looks forward to the little joys of retirement at every opportunity. Napolitano also resisted to the last, verbose and supposedly definitive. When he was urged anyway, for the greater good of the country, he could hardly say no.
But now back to the barista in Parioli. He had also revealed to the media that Draghi likes to have an Aperol Spritz with his aperitif, sometimes two. And so a reporter asked the prime minister a few days ago: “Presidente, your wife is supposed to have told your barman that you will soon be moving to the hill?” Draghi smiled and said, “I just want to say that I’ve never had a Spritz with Aperol, I just don’t like that one. I always take the one with Campari.”
Everything was there: spirit and play in the power struggle for the highest office. Draghi gently questioned the man’s credibility, whereby: Which Italian barman does not know the preferences of his regulars? And in doing so, he avoided the real question that is so burning to everyone: does he want to be president? Or does he not want to? One hears from his entourage that Draghi will not comment on this until Christmas at the earliest. A mess with immediate imponderables, in both cases.