If you’ve been following this blog for a while or if you know me in person, you probably also know that I can’t suffer Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi and everything he stands for.
The revelations of the last few weeks about his private orgies and despicable behaviour, his lies and denials have been covered by the international press and are by now all over the Internet.
As an Italian and as a woman I have always found myself offended by being represented by Berlusconi, but now I feel even more depressed than usual.
Most of us have simply lost count of the women, models, showgirls, underage prostitutes and such likes gravitating around this redundantly useless man.
Engulfed in a major scandal and in his alleged "bunga bunga" nights of wild sex at his residences (masked as innocent dinners and fun events with Berlusconi singing…), rather than resigning and rushing to see the magistrates accusing him, Berlusconi stands in his place with “his flaccid arse” (not my words, but Nicole Minetti’s, one of his procurers, ex-showgirl and regional councillor for the People of Freedom Party) glued to his chair accusing the magistrates of corruption.
Videogame hero Super Mario jumps from one planet to the other in his “Galaxy” saga, collecting stars and travelling on a Mario-shaped spaceship; Viagra Silvio lives on a pig-shaped spaceship, jumps from one villa to the next – Arcore, Porto Rotondo, Palazzo Grazioli (the latter is actually the official residence of the Prime Minister and not his private villa, so technically it shouldn't be turned into a brothel…technically), collecting girls and leaving behind a trail of assorted presents and envelopes bursting with money.
Indeed egomaniac Berlusconi probably fancies himself as a sort of fashion brand or a kitsch department store: the girls who went to his parties or had sex with him received horrendous jewels, AC Milan watches with messages such as “Al Presidente Silvio Berlusconi campione del mondo” (To Chairman Silvio Berlusconi, World Champion), scarves exclusively produced for him and labelled “E. Marinella, Napoli, For Silvio Berlusconi” (Marinella is a Neapolitan tie-maker), money and free rent flats in a smart apartment complex.
In American Psycho, young and successful yuppie Patrick Bateman turned himself into a violent psycho at night, displaying a behaviour partially influenced by an out-of-control consumerism that generated greed, anger and aggression. Berlusconi is instead the product of a deranged power and, rather than turning into a psycho at night, he turns into a pervert.
Cattle owners make sure they mark their cattle to avoid it getting stolen; Berlusconi covers the women in his private harem in horrid souvenirs (mind you, now that I think about it he also gave rather horrid Belstaff jackets signed by himself to his G8 guests - a case of branding dementia?) and money to make sure they keep on having sex with him and keep on defending him.
Today groups of women organised demos under the slogan "Se non ora quando?" (If not now, when?) all over Italy and in some cities in the rest of the world to protest against the Prime Minister and his use of the female body.
My heart has been with them, but I must admit I feel that this man has caused too much damage in Italy already and that women are often expected to prostitute themselves to get a proper job or to get even the same rights as men. Berlusconi has set a dangerous example, he has established an immoral morality that many are ready to embrace.
Despite the pages of wiretaps and depositions against him, many people still defend Berlusconi (among them also a few women in his own party - simply disgusting) saying that he has the right of doing whatever he wants in his own house and with his own money. Well, I don’t think so.
I do think that a public man must still preserve dignity and decorum (assuming he still knows what these words mean...) and I’m also sure that if a 74-year-old woman and Prime Minister had been accused of paying underage men to go to bed with her and had surrounded herself with rent boys who paraded half-naked past her during private dinners, she would have been obliged to resign and she would have been unanimously considered as a pervert by the entire society.
I’m sick of seeing the legend of Casanova being replayed in Italy by a third rate elderly playboy and Prime Minister who thinks a woman is just a second-class human being that can be bought with a bracelet, a necklace, a scarf or piles of money.
Not all Italian women want to be Berlusconi's prostitutes and toys. In fact most of us are too busy leading an ordinary and honest life, fighting for our rights and our jobs. Yes, we may not be as rich and powerful as Berlusconi, but we still have integrity, strong moral values and a brain. Besides, we also have something else that Berlusconi doesn't have (and will never have), we don't need to pay to have sex with somebody.
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