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Abstract
Futurism was launched as a revolutionary, iconoclastic movement encompassing
the arts, politics and society. It rejected all ties with the past and preached with
missionary zeal the advent of a new man and the total reconstruction of society.
Despite its powerful impact on Italian politics, the importance of Futurism has
scarcely been addressed in the social sciences. Yet, it continues to attract the interest
of historians, literary critics and art historians. In fact, the major methodological
hindrance for a more articulated research remains the latter’s unchallenged
hegemony, with their selective propensity to eulogistic accounts. The result is the
neglect of Futurism’s political dimension as a fully fledged nationalist movement.
Aiming to redress this imbalance, the article analyzes Futurist politics through the
movement’s actions, proclaims and manifestos. It distinguishes early Futurism’s
anti-establishment ultra-nationalism (1909–1915) from the more institutionalized
‘muscular’ patriotism adopted after its merger with Fascism (1924–1944). In a
global context of mounting nationalist state-building and spiralling inter-state
rivalries, Italy’s unitary, homogenizing nationalism provided a congenial matrix
for the advent of war-mongering patriotism and irredentism. Here, Futurism
found an ideal structure of political opportunities, in which it could articulate its
unique repertoire of action. The futurists’ peculiar talent in ‘manufacturing
consent’ through the media was put to test in their marketing of war as
adventurous boundary-building enterprise, a vision subsequently appropriated by
Fascism.
drive to destroy political and artistic traditions: an elitist love for violence,
a glorification of warfare as a purifying force, an extreme cult of the
fatherland, a maniac love for speed, technology and progress, a misogynous
disdain for women, a passionate loathing for all things past, the notion of
a new man being created by modern technology, a vehement anti-clericalism,
a drive to unleash man’s instinct and release his creative potential with a
desire to anticipate, and be at the centre of, all ongoing historical
transformations. Most of all, it epitomized an extreme form of nationalism
calling for Italy’s strengthening, rapid modernization, spatial expansion
and the conquest of new lands through war and the eradication of enemies.
As Futurism succeeded in merging nationalism and imperialism, an
impassioned imperial chauvinism grew side by side with its artistic
credibility. Moreover, Futurism was able to express openly two latent but
essential components of post-Risorgimento nationalism: the exaltation of
bellic violence and misogynistic aggression (Banti 2005: 349).
What did the past politically mean to the futurist? A major target was
the idea of Italy as an archeological museum, a vision that they associated
with decrepit ‘liberal’ corruption, pacifism and parliamentary inefficiency.
Such an unmitigated rejection of the past was accompanied by the glorification
of an idealized future of unlimited progress. Thus, only modern inventions
deserved to be treasured as viable and mobilizing symbols of nationhood.
At its centre stood a galvanizing vision of the coming homo technologicus.
Its trademark was the invention of an entirely novel mythology of the
future. The car, the plane, the industrial metropolis became the legendary
icons punctuating the mythical futurist landscape. With militant zeal, the
Futurists preached the technological triumph of man over nature. The
most famous of the eleven points making up the Manifesto of Futurism
are worth quoting here:
We affirm that the world’s magnificence has been enriched by a new beauty:
the beauty of speed. A racing car whose hood is adorned with great pipes, like
serpents of explosive breath – a roaring car that seems to ride on grapeshot
(sulla mitraglia) is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace.
The poet must spend himself with ardor, splendor, and generosity, to swell
the enthusiastic fervor of the primordial elements.
Except in struggle, there is no more beauty. No work without an aggressive
character can be a masterpiece. Poetry must be conceived as a violent attack
on unknown forces, to reduce and prostrate them before man.
We stand on the last promontory of the centuries! ... Why should we look
back, when what we want is to break down the mysterious doors of the
Impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We already live in the absolute,
because we have created eternal, omnipresent speed.
We will glorify war – the world’s only hygiene – militarism, patriotism, the
destructive gesture of freedom-bringers, beautiful ideas worth dying for, and
scorn for woman.
We will destroy the museums, libraries, academies of every kind, will fight
moralism, feminism, every opportunistic or utilitarian cowardice.4
that the artist is not only the creative self-broker and conqueror of
new spaces, but is also at the vanguard of new politics (Salaris 1992).
Thus, he should lead and anticipate, rather than interpret, the masses
(Marinetti 1922).
Taking heed from Antonio Gramsci, Mark Thompson reminds us that
the futurists ‘enjoyed a following among workers before the war. This
esteem was not reciprocated. The futurists proclaimed a contempt for
ordinary people that pro-war politicians expressed by their decisions and
generals by their tactics’ (Thompson 2008: 234). Those ordinary people
who naively responded to the futurist appeal were often the first ones
whose lives were destroyed by the war. Overcoming their individualism,
localism and regionalism, ordinary Italians were turning into a malleable
‘mass’ ready to be moulded and mobilized by conscript armies. After the
materialistic, hedonistic Belle Époque at the twilight of the 19th century,
the new era of mass politics was dominated by the raging, uprooted folla,
the indistinguishable ‘massified’ crowd, ready to be channelled towards the
war front.
Marinetti had studied ‘crowd psychology’ while in Paris. Above all, the
influence of Gustave Le Bon (1841–1931) transpires in Marinetti’s youth
articles published in La Revue blanche (Poggi 2000: 712).7 Le Bon famously
inspired Mussolini and other masters of mass propaganda, including
Adolph Hitler (Aumercier 2007; Welch 2002) and Edward Bernays
(Bendersky 2007; Sproule 1997: 30–31).8 But how did the ‘crowd’ react
to Marinetti’s towering personality, manipulative attempts and provocative
exploits? Popular reactions to Futurism oscillated from adulatory enthusiasm
to the launching of tomatoes and occasional physical attacks. Popularity
was assured through a hammering and continuous use of patriotism in all
public spheres. The more ambiguous, fragmented and potentially divisive
their message was, the more patriotism was exasperated, often trespassing
into irredentism, expansionism, and imperialism.
The goal was not just ‘nation-building’ but ‘nation-inventing’ in a
radical and unprecedented way: if previous avant-garde movements limited
their reach to restricted elites, the goal was now the total aesthetic
transformation of a whole nation. All things past became anachronistic
and renewal had to touch every field. Yet, despite this rupture with the
past, the futurists did attract some popular consensus precisely because of
their populist appeal to an organic, wholesome sense of nationhood. Their
continuous flag-waving and engagement with popular emotions gave
them an edge over potential rivals and sworn enemies. The new tools and
symbols included a language freed from the fetters of grammar and syntax,
with its implicit populist allure among a mostly illiterate population.
Unmediated by intellectualism and specialistic jargon, the new language
aimed to express the experience of progress, mechanization, mobility, speed,
and aggressive technology, just when these were beginning to transform
permanently a still largely peasant society.
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98 Political Futurism in Italy
Although the futurists’ public events often led to revulsion and protest,
the long-term aim remained the emotional molding of public opinion.
All futurist events were attention-grabbing, skillfully designed acts of
exhibitionism. Their theatrical performances were usually packed to capacity.
Even the customary appearance of the police to quell ‘riots’ ensuing futurist
provocations formed part of a pre-ordained script. The sudden waving of
a tricolore, the Italian flag, would be sufficient to calm both the public and
the security forces, especially if interspersed with patriotic fervour and
irredentist declamations. The futurists transformed ‘externalization of
tension’ and diversionary tactics into a true art of public manipulation
(Conversi 2008a). With all its offending obscenities, the attack on the past
could be carried out smoothly thanks to a call to arms and homeland.
Patriotism provided the ultimate shield and bulwark for the attention-
seeker, as well as a trampoline and catalyst for further popularity through
public ‘emotional management’. While Italy was still nominally a democracy,
the pro-war party needed a skillful ‘manufacture of consent’ to overcome
neutralism. Similar forms of manufacturing of consent were carried
out throughout Europe by other means, often through the use of rabid
jingoism.10
Futurism’s business-like orientation was part and parcel of the explanation.
According to some authors, it ‘was perhaps the first movement in the
history of art to be engineered and managed like a business’ (Scudiero
2000). In Italy’s case, such a professional, efficient, methodical command
was certainly unprecedented. Futurism’s entrepreneurial spirit, as well as
its expanding relationship with heavy industry, can once more be traced
back to Marinetti’s imprint. Inheritor of a conspicuous financial fortune,
since the start he remained futurism’s central impresario and mercurial
magnate. As a lawyer and publicist, he was able to assemble a surprising array
of men of genius venturing into wild exercises of radical experimentalism.
His venture united hundreds of international creative talents, testing
techniques that were revolutionary at the time. Marinetti was indeed
crowned by his protégées as the Dux of futurism.
An oft-neglected aspect of futurism was its pan-Italian reach and
articulation. Centered in Milan, Rome, and Florence, it consequently
expanded into every major city, setting up regional schools from Veneto
to Sicily (Bohn 2004). Such a national vocation was indeed consistent
with their goal to vertebrate a coherent and unified Italian identity, while
allowing for a certain degree of variation. A good indicator of the internal
variety ‘permitted’, indeed encouraged, by Marinetti can be found in the
highly creative trend developed in Naples under the leadership of
Francesco Cangiullo (1884–1977). Cangiullo utilized extensively Campania’s
dialect and grassroots musicality in opposition to the melenso (dull)
‘sentimentalism’ of the classical Neapolitan canzone (Cangiullo 1978,
1979). But everywhere, the leadership remained firmly in the hands of
F. T. Marinetti.
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100 Political Futurism in Italy
futurists’, glorifying ‘patriotism, the army and war ... [via] anti-socialist and
anti-clerical propaganda’ (Marinetti 1915, in De Maria 1973: 160).12 Later
on, terms like patriotism, patria, empire, vital space and ‘Italian pride’
were preferred (Marinetti 1924: 16). Why was the term ‘nationalism’ partly
dropped then? Most probably, the Futurists needed to distinguish themselves
from Enrico Corradini’s Italian Nationalist Association (f. 1910), with whom
they were competing. The Nationalists were more politically-oriented and
less concerned with the arts, yet they proved to be another contending
contributor to the rise of Fascism (De Grand 1978; Marsella 2004).13
Benedetto Croce described Corradini as being particularly influenced by
Theodore Roosevelt (Croce 1967: 251, cited by Losurdo 2004: 373).
Both Marinetti and Corradini looked at the United States with a certain
admiration, both later joined the Fascist party, and both envisioned the
post-war Wilsonian order exploiting inter-European rivalries as particularly
favourable to their war-mongering aims (Losurdo 2004). Some admired
Roosevelt for being an imperialist, just as they admired the Japanese
military machine or Austen Chamberlain in Britain. Yet, the two
movements’ differed in several ideological aspects. While the Italian
Nationalist Association was openly monarchist, conservative and authoritarian,
futurism aimed at much grater levels of individual freedom, at least in the
realm of artistic creativity, if not in terms of political obedience (Vigezzi
1966). Yet, its emphasis on militarism and the untold uniformity of
barrack life contradicted in practice its creative élan.
Encouraged by imperial rivalries, aggressive nationalism soon spread
throughout the continent. With essentialist overtones, the ‘Sintesi futurista
della guerra’ (Futurist synthesis of the war; 1914) appealed to the self-justifying
genius of ‘poet peoples’ (popoli poeti) to wage war against their ‘pedant
critics’, most of all the hated Germans and Slavs. The latter were
described with blatantly xenophobic adjectives as morally, culturally and
intellectually inferior. Often, they were caricaturized as exemplars of
idiocy, filthiness, sordidness, ferocity, brutality and clumsiness (goffaggine),
with Turkey excoriated as ‘equal to zero’ (Marinetti, Boccioni, Carrà,
Russolo, and Piatti 1914). To prop up the interventionist campaign, the
Sintesi was printed in over 20,000 copies, a quite large circulation for the
times, and widely distributed amongst potential volunteers.14 In 1915,
Carlo Carrà (1881–1966) designed and published the anti-democratic
pamphlet Guerrapittura (War-Painting). Echoing Carl von Clausewitz, the
manifesto claimed that ‘war meant nothing but art pursued with other
means’ (Carrà 1915) – he could have equally said that ‘art meant nothing
but war pursued with other means’.15
By 1914, jingoism had spread throughout Europe. The prevailing
Zeitgeist welcomed the coming apocalypse as a cleansing force for the
moral good of nations. The most aggressive form of nationalism at the
time was irredentism. The English term irredentism comes from the Italian
irredenta, which referred to those ‘unredeemed’ territories where Italian
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102 Political Futurism in Italy
will be, Italian’ appeared in the front page of the bi-weekly ‘L’Italia
Futurista’. It claimed that the Adriatic Sea is ‘totally Latin, Italian and
Dalmatian’ (Orfano 1917) – simply blinking away the existence of Slavs,
Albanians and Greeks.
However, irredentism became soon insufficient and inadequate an
aspiration. The nationalist Lebensraum could not be restrained by consideration
of vicinity: Empire was the solution. Well before fascism, Risorgimento
nationalism included the embryo of an imperialist dream. This was confirmed
by the African adventure of Francesco Crispi’s (1819–1901) government
(Duggan 2002). The elites’ capacity to raise popular enthusiasm for their
most distasteful politics of centralization largely depended on their ability
to devise ever-renewing diversionist strategies (Conversi 2008a). They also
responded to, and were triggered by, Anglo-French colonial expansion:
the scramble for Africa was a European-wide phenomenon. Henceforth,
nationalism and imperialism became strictly linked. But Italy’s first
colonial enterprise led to one of the most humiliating fiascos in the
country’s history: the Italo-Abyssinian War ended with Emperor Menelik’s
victory at the Battle of Adwa in March 1896 (Goglia 1981). The crushing
defeat suffered by the Italian army forced Crispi to resign – a rout later
exploited by Fascism. Yet, the imperial dream contributed to inspire a
wave of patriotic sentiment in the mainland, so that most Italian
nationalists became irredentists and many irredentists became imperialists
(Duggan 2002).
In fact, only 15 years later (1911–1912), another colonial venture proved
to be extremely popular, establishing one of the founding moments of
Italian mass mobilization: the invasion of Tripolitania and Cyrenaica
(contemporary Libya). An Italian imperial identity was thus being shaped,
ensuing Italy’s initial victories over the Turkish and Arab resistors of the
crumbling Ottoman empire. Like vultures hovering on a decaying prey,
the ‘imperial nationalists’ seized on this unique historical opportunity.
Media manipulation through newspapers, manifestos, adverts and an
emerging Italian cinema contributed to turn a hitherto pacifist public into
war enthusiasts.17
So far, we have dealt with Futurism as an oppositional, anti-establishment
ideology. We have described its enthusiasm for war and imperial conquest.
We noted that other movements opposed to ‘decadent’ parliamentarianism
shared this vision. The role of the Italian intellectuals and intelligentsia
became crucial. Finally, we situated this agitation within a broader European-
wide perspective of patriotic fury and boundary-building contaminating
most Western large and medium-sized powers.
Yet, the popularity of war was a new phenomenon in Italian history.
The Futurists, the Nationalists and other agitprops had been preparing the
terrain for the new ‘civilizing’ quest. The next section will explore their
amalgamation with the forthcoming postwar totalitarian establishment.
In fact, Futurism merged with another opposition movement, Fascism,
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104 Political Futurism in Italy
particularly once the latter seized power. We shall therefore deal with the
partial institutionalization of a previously oppositional movement.
The amalgamation of World War I’s ‘Arditism’ and Futurism was seen as
the fusion of arts and politics, as the melding of the political and literary
avant-gardes.23
More than d’Annunzio, Marinetti extolled the virtues of Mussolini
beyond mere eulogy: the founder of Futurism described the body of
Mussolini as exhibiting and emanating ‘physiological patriotism’ (Marinetti
1995: 46). Most futurist artists became militantly fascists. Giacomo Balla
proclaimed: ‘the Duce has opened the route for the New Arts, which,
inspired by the Fascist Ideal, will be able to glorify the great coming events’
(Balla 1926). For Marinetti (1924), ‘the advent of fascism constitute(s) the
realization of futurism’s “minimal programme”’. This ‘minimal programme’
proposed Italian pride, an unlimited faith in the future, the destruction of
the Austro-Hungarian empire, daily heroism, love of danger, the rehabilitation
of violence, the religion of speed, novelty, optimism and originality, and
the youth’s seizure of power ‘away from the parliamentarian, bureaucratic,
academic and pessimist spirit’ (1924: 11).
The same ideas of tension, conflict and confrontation lie at the core of
the futurist vision. In nationalist terms, the supreme collision, a true ‘clash
of civilizations’, must take place between ‘proletarian nations’ and the
rich, powerful ones, as theorized by both Mussolini and the futurists.
Mimicking Marxism and echoing his syndicalist experience, Mussolini
had described Italy as the first among the underdogs or ‘proletarian
nations’.24 Marinetti spoke of a ‘proletariat of geniuses’ (Berghaus 1996:
131–4, 145 and 218–9). Yet, all social classes must join in Italian patriotism
to win a greater share of global wealth. The engine of history was no
longer class conflict, but a ‘social’ war among the newly emerging, restless
nations and the old decrepit conservative empires.
Reaping the grim harvest sown by the nationalists and the futurists,
Fascism continued later on its imperial venture. Mussolini’s invasion of
Ethiopia in 1935–1936 was heralded as a revenge for the Italian defeat
in Adwa in the previous century. Many futurists, including Marinetti,
volunteered for the invasion.25 Again, war acted as a boundary-maker and
a binding mechanism for political, economic and cultural elites (Conversi
1999, 2001, 2008a, 2008b, Ventrone 2006): during the Ethiopian invasion,
‘the regime and the Italian population came closest to a sense of mystic
communion, which Mussolini would have liked to be a permanent state
of the nation’s collective life’ (Gentile 2003: 118). Women ‘donated gold
to the Fatherland’ by symbolically discarding their wedding rings and
throwing them into a huge bonfire at Roma’s Altare della Patria (Altar of
the Fatherland). The conflict proved to be crucial for the consolidation of
fascism. This was the third mass war in Italian history (after the invasion
of Libya and WW1) and the nearest to the futurist ideals. Through war,
Mussolini wanted to discard the passé myth of Italy as a nation of
‘saints, heroes and navigators’ and transform its image into that of a militarist,
future-looking ‘imperial people’. A new imperium would take the place of
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106 Political Futurism in Italy
the timeworn Italietta (Del Boca 1969; Labanca 2005). No mention to the
human casualties appears in ‘Captain’ Marinetti’s diaries and correspondence,
no concern for the innocent civilians annihilated by the use of mustard gas.
In typical futurist humour, a reference instead appears to a ‘Hospital of
the machines’ near Adigrat, in the Tigray region now bordering Eritrea.26
To sum up, the futurists were involved and partook actively in Fascism’s
most violent exploits. In turn, the regime recognized their input and
involvement. In particular, it did so by vigorously assisting in the
development of a new expressive futurist school: Aeropittura (Aeropainting).
In the 1930s, the futurists received copious grants and facilitations to
engage in their favourite pastime: the re-imagining of the Italian landscape
as surveyed from an aeroplane in flight. With its colourful aerodynamic
panoramas drawn from sky perspectives, Aeropittura became one of the
most celebrated and novel forms of futurism, enjoying immediate resonance.
In this way, the painter-aviator exemplified Fascism’s vitalist temperament
of bravery, future-oriented audacity, boldness, and daringness. Aeropainting
was deliberately inspired by il Duce’s love for aircraft. Again, Marinetti’s
closeness with Mussolini turned aeropainting into a particularly influential
form of national artistic vogue. National landscapes were being reinvented
from a view at 10,000 feet and a wholly new geography of Italy began to
take shape. Marinetti’s enthusiasm for aviatory design and altitude, from
which the towering new man could look down to the meaningless
fragments of humanity, had also war-like implications: German wonder
weapons and Anglo-American strategic bombing exemplified the impact
of the new technologies on the ground. In fact, aereo-painters often
participated in the regime’s bombing ‘missions’. Referring to Tato’s 1937
‘Aerial Mission’, Jonathan Jones (2005) observes that it ‘does not simply
depict a plane. It is a picture of a bomber. You can see the machine-gun
nest in the nose, as it banks up after delivering its payload..... Does the
date ring a bell? It was on April 26, 1937 that the Condor Legion of the
German Luftwaffe, in support of General Franco’s war against the Spanish
Republic, bombed the Basque capital Guernica, on a market day, killing
1,654 people out of a population of 7,000..... For more than half a century
Picasso’s Guernica has preserved the memory of a town torn to pieces by
aerial bombing. Now, at last, [this style of paintings] gives us the other
point of view: that of the murderer in the cockpit’. As is known, selected
Fascist squadroni from the Aviazione Legionaria participated in the aerial
bombing of Barcelona, Mallorca and other ‘red-separatist’ targets. With
reminiscences from Nietzsche’s demigod, the ‘merely human’ could be
sacrificed onto the altar of a superhuman vision of nationhood. The
Futurist Übermensch soared above the very masses they could so effortlessly
manipulate, rejoicing at the game they had unleashed.
The key futurists remained consumedly loyal to Benito Mussolini till
the bitter end. During World War II, Marinetti left for the Russian front
after publishing hymns to the war machines and heroes. He stayed on
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Political Futurism in Italy 107
bill-poster them onto the tails of cats and dogs, the only places where they
will not look ridiculous!’ (Bosso and Scurto 1933: 1).27 As the old tie was
discarded, a new metallic one was to take its place, and it had to represent
the new Italian man. What more suitable than aluminum, the bright metal
of modernity?28
Aluminum was the futurist material par excellence: it was shiny, modern
and entirely produced in Italy. Reflecting the interest of heavy industry,
the fascists strove to turn it into Italy’s ‘national metal’. The ‘aluminum
revolution’ engulfed many areas: Combining two highly futurist symbols,
aluminum and caffeine, Alfonso Bialetti crafted in 1933 the first espresso
coffee maker, the Moka Express (Schnapp 2001). It was marketed so
powerfully with the help of futurist-inspired publicity, that it soon became
a required item in every respectable Italian household. Since then, café
espresso remains associated with Italian vitalism. Coffee epitomized the
drink of energy and velocity, while Marinetti loved to introduce himself
as ‘the caffeine of Europe’.
Aluminum featured in most futurist manifestations during the ventennio:
In 1931, the winner of a poetry contest inaugurated by Marinetti ‘was
crowned with an aluminum coronet while flying over Genoa at an
altitude of a thousand meters’ (Bohn 2006: 207–224). The Manifesto of
Futurist Cuisine, calling for a ban on spaghetti, argued that Italians should
be fit enough to ride in ‘ultralight aluminum trains’ (Marinetti 1930).
Aerofuturists ‘created an aviatory mise-en-scène out of aluminum for their
banquets, served rolls in the form of monoplanes and propellers, and filled
dining rooms with the sound of roaring engines’ (Kirschenblatt-Gimblett
1989: 22). The Holy Palate Restaurant opened on March 8, 1931, in
Turin as the ‘aluminum shrine’ to Futurist cooking: With an airplane
engine sound playing in the background, craving palates could savour
‘steel chickens’ ‘mechanized by aluminium–coloured bonbons’ (Kirschenblatt-
Gimblett 1999). Meanwhile, the corporate state fostered the building of
new aluminum plants at Porto Marghera (Venice), along with the
formation of other colossal industrial complexes. After stainless steel
import fell sharply due to the international embargo (1935), Italy increased
manifold the exploitation of its rich bauxite reservoirs from which
aluminum was extracted for commercial use. Aluminum became thus the
key national metal for achieving self-sufficiency. Anticipating the trend of
a couple of years, the aluminum necktie could be consecrated as the
essence of a new Italianness.
These two eccentric examples highlight the innovative temperament
and iconoclastic message of futurism both before and during fascism.
They also show futurism’s capacity to subvert Italian identity to extreme
levels. Although they spoke in the name of Italianness, few of these radical
experiments penetrated into popular culture. Yet, their highly effective
publicity reach served the interest of both industry and political elites.
At the same time, their experimentalism showed that Italian culture
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110 Political Futurism in Italy
Conclusions
Futurism encapsulated many contradictions intrinsic to Italy’s project of
‘nation-building’, articulating an escape from a reality that did not fit the
homogenizing goals of nationalists and state-makers. Because these were
often based on a monolithic idea of nationhood, aversion to the past
emerged while coping with hardly manageable diversities and potentially
recalcitrant local identities (Conversi 2008a). With its dream of national
renewal, the romantic legacy of the Risorgimento always lingered in the
back (Riall 2008), while the broader Western anticipation of a coming
new age loomed ahead. The futurists both anticipated and inspired the
Fascist stress on national unity and mass violence as a regenerating, unifying
source. For both, the adulation of brutal force was consistent with their
mission to ‘nationalize’ the masses. In this light, the subsequent advent of
Fascism represented a sweeping modernist compromise between competing
forms of nationalism, some of which looked to a new technocratic world
order, while others remained apparently past-oriented (Griffin 2007).
Futurism should be considered as an extreme, possibly the most extreme,
form of ‘modernism’ in both its artistic and political significance. It
preached modernity not as an abstract idea, but as a way of life. Modernity
was meant to permeate the very identity of the new futurist-fascist man,
animating the spirit of the coming age. Fascism itself has been described
a ‘developmental dictatorship’ (Gregor 1979) founded on the cult of
progress, industry and war.
Nevertheless, to gain credibility and be persuasive, such radical innovations
had to be supplemented by a call to arms in ‘defence’ of the Fatherland
and reiterate appeals to popular violence. The masses needed to be
‘shaped’ in order to approach the patriotic ideal. In summary, the futurists’
radical rejection of the past was accompanied by a radical form of
aggressive, expansionist, war-mongering nationalism. Moreover, the very
shock caused by the futurists’ provocative style and ‘scandalous’ performances
was compensated by an emphasis on the patria, intended as a cohesive,
organic, essentialized whole. In short, the rejection of the past lied at the
core of extreme, war-mongering nationalism as this was predicated on an
elitist, top-down project of ‘nationalization of the masses’ often disguised
by populist appeals.
Our excursus into futurist nationalism has also illustrated the malleability
of national boundaries, ‘culture’ and symbols in periods of sweeping social
change. On the one hand, the futurist case seems to question those
approaches seeing continuity with the past as essential to the rise of
modern nationalism (Smith 1998, 2000, 2004). It would appear rather to
support the ‘invention of tradition’ approach advanced by Eric Hobsbawm
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Political Futurism in Italy 111
(1983) and others. On the other hand, the fact that identities can be more
easily shaped or ‘invented’ during periods of war, mass violence, devastation
and even in preparation for such incumbencies indicates that their
malleability is also a response to these historical upheavals. With their
multimedia ‘action repertoire’ (Tilly 1976), the futurists played a seminal
role in the colorful articulation of interventionist propaganda; they
personally fought and actively participated in war, thus becoming living
(often, dead) examples of patriotic heroism to many ordinary Italians.
Human tragedies can be taken advantages not only by speculators, thugs,
profiteers, peddlers, hawks, smugglers, businessmen, industrialists and the
military, but also by intellectuals, poets and artists – especially if the latter
are able to exert some form of social influence through a talented use of
the media. Societies at peace are less likely to see radical changes in their
collective self-perception and identities. In contrast, mass violence and
war-making can provide the needed ‘structure of political opportunities’
for manipulators to change perceptions of social relations and the very
identity of a people (Conversi 2007, 2008b). Like the fascists, the futurists
developed initially as an opposition movement composed of a rich array
of assorted personalities held together by charismatic leadership: Marinetti,
like Mussolini, adopted the title of Dux, or supreme leader, and managed
to maintain his agenda-setting goals under the regime. Both became
then identified with the state in charge of shaping the new man of the
Fascist Era.
The focus has thus been placed on the ‘manufacture of consent’
(Herman and Chomsky 1988) by highly innovative art forms, performances
and media management. Futurism was the first artistic movement to
deliberately and massively use all available techniques and tools of mass
advertisement, publicity and propaganda. These were being developed to
promote and sell the new consumerist products that Italian industries were
pouring into an emerging national market. ‘Nation-building’ was raised
to new heights: all forms of media available were harnessed into a crusade
to destroy the past and search for a ‘new man’. On the other hand, the
futurists tacitly used the raw ‘material’ provided by ethnonational-patriotic
symbols that they ingeniously elaborated, often beyond recognition.
2009 marks the 100th anniversary of Futurism’s official naissance. In
Italy, the centenary takes place under a right-wing coalition government,
which includes an assortment of ‘post-fascists’, neo-liberals, militarists and
xenophobes. Amongst them, we can count a few admirers of Futurism,
whose agenda include a reevaluation of Futurism’s nationalist, sometime
openly bellicose, features. Futurism contributed to promote Italian
pride and unification, but its lasting innovative input transcends national
boundaries and is rooted in 20th century Western culture.29 In fact,
futurism epitomized better than any other movement the broader belligerent
trend toward ‘creative self-destruction’ that dismantled the existing European
order, inaugurating thus the ‘American century’.
© 2009 The Author Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.x
Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd
112 Political Futurism in Italy
Acknowledgements
The author wishes to thanks the British Academy for its generous grant
to the project ‘Art, nationalism and war: The Futurist experience’ (SG-49553),
to which this article is linked.
Short Biography
Daniele Conversi received his PhD at the London School of Economics.
He taught in the Government Departments at Cornell and Syracuse
Universities, as well as at the Central European University, Budapest and
is now Senior Lecturer at the University of Lincoln.
His current research explores the role of culture in the process of
state-building from 1789 to the present day. More specifically, he has
addressed the relationship between nationalism and culture, with particular
attention to the concept of cultural homogenization. Related areas include
the relationship between nationalism and democracy, globalization, genocide,
militarism and war.
His books include ‘The Basques, the Catalans, and Spain’, reviewed in
nearly 40 international journals (http://easyweb.easynet.co.uk/conversi/
book.html), and the edited volume Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary
World (http://easyweb.easynet.co.uk/conversi/ethnonat).
Notes
* Correspondence address: E-mail: conversi@easynet.co.uk
1
Letter no. 73, January 1912 (in Palazzeschi and Marinetti 1978: 73).
2
A separate mention should be made to Russia’s cubo-futurism, with its own ideological trajectory
(Gray 1962). Among Russian futurists, there also was a clear inclination to use art as propaganda
and an awareness of being part of a process of cultural and social engineering that would breath
life into the project of a ‘new man’ in a ‘new society’. Despite patriotic denial, they were clearly
as a slave in Carthage (modern Libya). The film was punctually produced and released after
Italy’s colonialist victory in the Libyan War (1911–1912). In Canzoni delle gesta d’oltremare (Sons
to the overseas deeds, 1913), D’Annunzio chanted and praised the Italian conquest of Libya
(Ben-Ghiat 2005).
18
On Mussolini’s versatility in crafting propaganda through the media, see O’Brien (2004).
19
Carlo Ludovico Bragaglia. ‘E Il Duce disse: “So chi siete, ecco i soldi”’, Il Messaggero, 7 March
1993.
20
Between 1918 and 1919, Mussolini’s fasci and the Futurists began to converge. However, after
Mussolini’s Fasci Italiani di Combattimento (Italian Combat Fascists, or League of Combat) were
humiliated in the 1919 elections, several Futurists moved ahead. Later on, others joined fascism
unconditionally: Thus, Giuseppe Bottai (1895–1959), who briefly adhered to political futurism,
became leader of the Camicie Nere (Blackshirts). Although the Futurists adhered enthusiastically
to fascism, they never achieved the status of the regime’s official art movement. In fact,
Fascist aesthetics privileged other themes like the imperial cult of the Romanita’, which were
incompatible with futurism. In general, the futurists had to compete with other trends consecrated
by the regime, including Novecento patronized by Mussolini’s Jewish mistresses Margherita Sarfatti
(1880 –1961) (Mangoni 1974; Stone 1998).
21
For a rich illustration of Mussolini’s futurist iconography between 1923 and 1945, see Di
Genova, Duranti and Caproni Armani (1997).
22
The name fascism derives from fasci (plural), an array of radical political groups, not necessarily
right-wing, but most often nationalist.
23
During World War I, Italian Army elite assault units and shock troops were named Arditi
(‘the braves’, from the verb ardire, ‘to dare’). After their demobilization in 1920, the name was
picked up by Gabriele D’Annunzio’s ‘black-shirts’ during their occupation of Fiume/Rijeka
(1919 –1920). Finally, Mussolini appropriated both the ‘black-shirts’ and the name Arditi to
designate his more militant followers.
24
In 1911, the poet Giovanni Pascoli (1855–1912) referred to Italy as ‘la grande Proletaria’ in a
speech in honour of Italian soldiers fighting in Libya. More consistently, Corradini picked up
on the ‘proletarian nation’ idea well before Mussolini and Marinetti.
25
The Italo-Ethiopian War led to the unification of Eritrea, Abyssinia, and Somaliland as a
single colony under Italian domination, called Africa Orientale Italiana (Italian East Africa).
26
Filippo Tommaso Marinetti Papers, Yale University Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript
Library General Collection of Rare Books and Manuscripts, GEN MSS 130, Series VIII,
Photograph no. 252, FTM next to a motorcycle, inscribed on verso in FTM’s hand: ‘Adigrat.
Ospedale delle macchine’ (http://webtext.library.yale.edu/xml2html/beinecke.marinet.nav.html).
27
Ogni uomo porta appeso al collo il desiderio nero o colorato di una fine ingloriosa, la allusione in tela
di panno o seta alla propria servilità sociale. Italiani, abolite i nodi, le farfalle, le spille, i fermagli,
cianfrusaglie antiveloci antigieniche antiottimistiche! Regalatele ai vostri bambini perché le attacchino alle
code dei gatti o dei cani, unico posto dove non siano ridicole! (...)
28
Significantly, steel played a similar metaphorical role as the ‘material of high industrialism’ in
Max Weber’s account of modernity (Scott 1997: 562–3).
29
By now, several of futurism’s trends and inventions have been incorporated into the daily life
of millions, such as the cult of speed and the faith in progress, as well as more material
commodities and extreme consumerism. It is therefore imperative to place Futurism in a
broader comparative perspective and reassess its position within the European scene as a whole.
For Marinetti, the artist-manipulator-entrepreneur needs to synchronize the production of ideas
with the time of their realization, as the artwork is not conceived to last more than 10 years
(Riccioni 2003: 180).
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