Teatro c’è quando Dioniso danza.
Teatro Valle Occupato
I’m not going to lie. The recent developments in US politics have left quite a mark. Although part of me feared the outcome (I grew up in Berlusconi’s Italy after all and I am well aware that our democracies are not immune from this type of pernicious populism), I wasn’t prepared for the excruciating soul-searching the European and US Left went through in the past couple of weeks. The election of Donald Trump to office compelled us all to stop and think about our actions, allegiances, and beliefs. It was necessary and bloody painful. Many have written about it. Among many others, Rosi Braidotti and Yanis Varoufakis provided some of the most lucid and articulate reflections on the matter. Very different perspectives, yet both contributions are worth reading. I’m concerned, but not in a panic just yet. To paraphrase Giorgio Gaber, I’m not afraid of Donald Trump per se, I’m afraid of the Donald Trump in us. I’m afraid of what Trumpism legitimated in the US and beyond. The unleashing of misogyny and racism, the condoning of bullying and aggressiveness. Similarly to what Berlusconism did in Italy, Trumpism is giving free rein to the worst in our culture (our, yes: the power of American culture over the rest of the world should not be downplayed).
In the meantime, I, like many of you, live in a state of almost perpetual dissociation. I watch heart-shattering footage from Syria and Yemen, I witness the mounting paranoia around the influx of migrants in Europe, I hear racist, misogynist, and homophobic discourse legitimated on mainstream media (‘let him work and judge him by his policies’). Yet, I go on working, teaching, and writing. And research sometimes helps. Political theatre always believes that oppression is not inevitable and that we can inhabit this planet without slaughtering one another. It often offers fleeting glimmers of hope.
In the past couple of days, I have been going through my material on the occupation of Teatro Valle. The occupation ended in 2014 but it can still teach us a thing or two. The occupied Valle was living proof that in dark times only a leap of faith can save us, that debate is productive, that the encounter of living, breathing, thinking bodies cannot be substituted with any surrogate, that live performance still matters. But the thing I found most striking this week is the way the occupiers articulated their protest as a labour of love. Throughout their writings, the Valle activists incorporated love, care, and desire into their political discourse. Occupying a historic venue meant looking after it (occupare, occuparsi). Sharing practice and learning a craft was the equivalent of a sentimental education. Opening the venue meant creating the conditions for the encounter of individuals and communities. An encounter moved by desire even when rife with conflicts and contradictions. An encounter that exposed vulnerabilities and passions. A politics of affect, if you like to borrow Brian Massumi’s definition. In the writings and practice of the occupied Valle, love is a radical political concept. A ray of light in dark times.