The world of Italian brotherhoods

The Misericordia procession on the night of Good Friday is mysterious and evocative, and to an American sensibility, alarming. A procession of hooded and robed figures carrying crosses and a symbolic coffin, lit by torchlight, followed by hundreds of villagers is a glimpse into another world. It is one of those moments when I need to put my cultural instincts on hold to understand what is really going on in my little corner of Italy. I was watching the procession when one of the figures, unrecognizable in his hood, paused to say hello and I recognized the voice of a friend. I called him later to invite him to meet for coffee so that I could learn more.

The robed members of the procession were members of the Misericordia, an ancient cofraternity, or brotherhood, present in nearly every town in Italy. Today, the Misericordia provides ambulances and emergency staff, volunteers to drive the elderly to doctors appointments and physical therapy, and during Donella’s year in middle school it was the Misericordia who drove a fellow student, who was quadriplegic, to and from school every day in a special van. But I was unclear on how this civic function related to the procession.

The idea of laymen banding together in such brotherhoods is a very ancient tradition, first happening in Constantinople and Alexandria. The first one in Europe popped up in Paris in 1208. Cofraternities arose during the middle ages when these groups of “brother citizens” filled gaps that existed because there was no functioning government, only a feudal system caught between the power of rich landlords and the church. Somehow people needed to get buried, especially during times of plague, the sick needed to be tended, orphans and illegitimate children needed care (and dowries!), and prisoners needed a companion to take them to execution. Another friend (who is not a member) mentioned that these brotherhoods often aided members in deeper business and social ties with bits of friendly information and advantages, in addition to fulfilling one’s duties as a “good Christian”.

Although there were a range of these organizations, the main one that exists in modern times is the Misericordia. Our village organization dates from 1348, the year the plague hit. (Once was not enough in 25 years as the plague also returned in 1363 and 1374.)  The group had a few struggles in the 1700s when the Grand Duke Leopold thought these brotherhoods had too much power and disbanded them, but they returned as nothing nearly as effective replaced them.

My friend from the procession, who is a member, said that he is the third generation of his family to belong and that supporting the group is an important tradition, especially as membership has declined by about 50% over the last forty or so years. The Misericordia is deeply rooted in the Church, but not run by the Church, and it was impossible for my friend to weigh whether belonging had a more religious or secular/service meaning. “As with much in Italy, it is largely the same.” People in the village are expected to support the group by contributing what they can in time, money, or both. Some of the staff is highly trained and receive salaries to work full-time as EMTs, but there are many ways to be involved, such as volunteering to drive those who can’t to appointments.

I was describing the difference between calling “911” in America, where an ambulance appears that you will have to pay for, staffed by people you’ve never met, with our experience once in calling “118” here where five paramedics appeared with an ambulance which took us to the hospital, all free of charge, and my friend was surprised. I said that we have no equivalent (or tradition) of the Misericordia because we don’t have the same sense that seems to pervade the Italian village that we all need to take care of each other. He looked puzzled as he tried to imagine this lack of ties to the people who live around you.

Finding inner peace at the ATM

My Apple watch frequently reminds me to take a minute and breathe, as did my Calm app on my phone, until it caused me too much stress and I had to delete it.

My recent trip to the Bay Area, complete with super-efficient ATMs, put my usual experience of getting cash in the village square in a new perspective. Just trying to get euros in Italy is a big, brash reminder that there is nothing to do in life but slow down, breathe, and look at the view. A friend once told me that when she gets cash from this ATM she knows she has actually arrived in Italy. And if you don’t get the message at the ATM you certainly will in line at the butcher, getting a coffee, or a ordering slice of pizza. Con calma above all. In these places we are among friends and equals and wouldn’t want them to rush or stress over the size of the line. Anything else would be rude and foolish at once.

I thought you might want to see the slowest ATM in the world in action.

Carnevale, village style

Maybe other celebrations of carnevale are more famous—Venice, New Orleans, London, Rio—but I’d argue all night that none of them have the pure joy, community, and heart that carnevale has in a small Italian village.

Carnevale is a tradition that started in Venice a thousand years ago. It’s the last great hurrah before the beginning of Lent, with its tradition of penitence. Carnevale evolved from ancient pagan Spring traditions of fertility and rebirth that were repurposed into the Christian calendar by the ever-pragmatic Catholic church.

In the village of Anghiari carnevale is one of the biggest events of the year. Tractors, which pull the floats, are washed and polished. Traffic is diverted from the main street. Containers of silly string and bags of confetti are everywhere. Nearly the whole village turns out, most everyone in costume, especially the kids. A lawn mower-sized tractor pulls a train of carts around the piazza for the smallest children. Floats often make political and social statements and can be surprisingly elaborate, but my favorite is often from the hamlet of Motina, which has about 100 inhabitants. One year the whole hamlet dressed up as the 101 Dalmatians.

But what gets me is the sweetness, spirit, and warmth of the thing. I can’t watch this parade, which circles the town multiple times, without getting tears in my eyes. It’s the way people honor and care for each other. It’s the old guy who wanders around the village every day, seemingly lost, always dressed by his family in a vest of safety orange, who was asked to lead the parade. The two buff 20-something male heartthrobs who never miss this opportunity to cross-dress, much to the delight of the crowd. The band, which is never quite in tune, but always enthusiastic. The Italian love of spectacle and show, manifested by the littlest kids dancing completely to their own rhythm on stage, cheered by the crowd. It’s that there are ways for everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, to be celebrated, to be seen, to have fun.

More scenes from carnevale, in case you haven’t seen this video before.