Risk in the Communication of History. The Case of an ‘Italian Ideological Chernobyl’

1. Origins and Evolution of the Debate

The academic debate on the memory of authoritarian regimes originated after World War II, initially focusing on the analysis of totalitarianism and its manifestations in the 20th century.

In the 1950s, Hannah Arendt published The Origins of Totalitarianism (1951), a seminal work that examined Nazism and Stalinism as examples of totalitarian regimes. This analysis provided a theoretical basis for understanding the oppressive dynamics of such political systems.

At the same time, Theodor Adorno and other scholars published The Authoritarian Personality (1950), exploring the psychological traits that predispose individuals to accept authority and conformity, helping to explain adherence to authoritarian regimes.

In the 1980s, Germany developed the Historikerstreit (1986-1987), a heated confrontation between historians on the memory of Nazism and the Holocaust. Ernst Nolte suggested a comparison between Nazi and Stalinist crimes, raising concerns about a possible relativisation of the Holocaust. Jürgen Habermas and others criticised this position, emphasising the importance of keeping the memory of Nazi atrocities alive.

In Italy, the debate on the memory of fascism has faced challenges related to trivialisation and collective removal. In the post-war period, there was a tendency to minimise the responsibilities of the fascist regime, often attributing blame exclusively to the German occupation. This influenced the construction of public memory and the perception of Italy's authoritarian past.

At the European level, the Prague Declaration was signed in 2008, which led to the creation of the Platform of European Memory and Conscience in 2011. This platform brings together institutions and NGOs to promote awareness of the crimes committed by totalitarian regimes and to foster education for democracy.

In Germany, the Stiftung Ettersberg, founded in 2002 in Weimar, is dedicated to the comparative study of European dictatorships and the transition to democracy, contributing to the understanding of dictatorial experiences and the promotion of historical memory.

Fascism is a complex political phenomenon that defined an era and left indelible traces in the political and social dynamics of the 20th century. It arose as a response to the political, economic and social crises of the inter-war period, finding its most accomplished expression in the regime of Benito Mussolini in Italy and, later, in other forms in Germany, Spain and some other countries. Founded on principles of totalitarianism, extreme nationalism and autarchy, fascism promoted an idea of a strong and centralised state, in which sovereignty was exercised by a charismatic leader who embodied the will of the nation. Fascist ideology was characterised by a rejection of liberal democracy, seen as an impediment to order and the realisation of national identity, and by its aversion to left-wing ideologies, especially socialism and communism. Fascism was also characterised by its use of political violence and the militarisation of society, elements that made it an extremely coercive phenomenon, aimed at forcing consensus through intimidation, censorship and the repression of opposition.

In opposition to this authoritarian and exclusive vision, the anti-fascist movement developed, which positioned itself as the bulwark of the defence of democracy, human rights and individual freedom. Although antifascism had many declinations and connotations, it was animated by a common will to oppose not only fascism as a political system, but also its methods of domination and political violence. In Italy, antifascism took concrete form mainly in the Resistance: a movement that united different political forces, from the left to liberalism, in a struggle against the German occupation and the fascist regime. Antifascism, therefore, took the form of a transversal movement that, despite the variety of its components, shared a commitment to restoring freedom and opposing all forms of authoritarianism. However, anti-fascism itself was not immune to internal tensions: different social and political groups, although united in the fight against fascism, had different visions on how to build a post-war society, giving rise to discussions on issues such as social justice, the role of the state and how to participate in politics.

Post-fascism, on the other hand, is a phenomenon that emerged in the period following the Second World War, when fascism, as a structured form of government, was defeated and replaced by democratic regimes in many countries. However, the ideological roots of fascism were not completely eradicated and some political movements, while rejecting classical fascism with its more violent and authoritarian manifestations, continued to retain distinctive features of that political vision. Post-fascism was distinguished by a revival of nationalism, the maintenance of a strong national identity and hostility towards left-wing forces, but it tried to adapt to the new political contexts, attempting to legitimise itself within the western democracies. Post-fascist movements, such as those that arose in Italy or France, tried to incorporate elements of modernisation and respect for parliamentary democracy, but continued to pursue objectives of cultural and political exclusivity, often fuelling fear of immigration and promoting authoritarian economic policies. The challenge of post-fascism is precisely to try to maintain a discourse consistent with fascist principles, but without giving in to the temptation to relapse into the more violent and coercive practices of the past.

In response to these movements, a position developed in certain circles that we can define as anti-anti-fascism, a view that criticises anti-fascist rhetoric and considers it a form of ideological repression. Anti-anti-fascism is based on the idea that anti-fascism, in its most radical sense, itself becomes a form of intolerance towards anyone who does not align with the principles of the political left or democratic values. In particular, anti-anti-fascists argue that anti-fascist movements, although born as a response to authoritarian regimes, have themselves become instruments of repression against ideas considered 'non-conformist', often labelling anyone expressing right-wing or conservative positions as fascist. This current of thought is rooted in a vision that places an absolute value on freedom of expression and political pluralism, warning of the danger of ideological homologation that, according to them, would undermine the very foundations of a democratic society. In some cases, anti-anti-fascism results in a kind of critical revival of fascism, without accepting its violent ways, with the conviction that the fight against fascism, if too radicalised, risks turning into a form of cultural dictatorship.

The relationship between fascism, anti-fascism, post-fascism and anti-anti-fascism highlights the complexity of the ideological dynamics that marked the course of the 20th century and still continue to influence contemporary political discussions. While fascism represents a form of authoritarianism that sought to establish a hierarchical and racist order, anti-fascism played the fundamental role of opposing this order, defending the values of freedom and equality. However, the political transformations of the post-war period, with the emergence of movements that sought to maintain traces of that ideology, gave rise to forms of post-fascism, which, while adapting to democratic structures, never completely abandoned their authoritarian and nationalist roots. On the other hand, anti-anti-fascism, through its critiques of contemporary anti-fascism, offers us a cue to reflect on how political ideologies, even those that stand in opposition, can sometimes become instruments of ideological control and political intolerance, undermining pluralism and democratic debate.

Against this backdrop, it becomes evident that fascism and its oppositions are not just stable categories, but constantly evolving realities, changing in relation to social, political and economic changes, always maintaining a strong influence on the construction of models of citizenship and the political practices that define modern societies.

On 20 January 2021, an event was held at the Teatro Lirico in Milan entitled 'The Rise of Fascism: Questions and Answers with Alessandro Barbero'. The event was dedicated to high schools on the occasion of the release of the TV series M - Il Figlio del Secolo. This highly successful event is set in a contemporary historical context that, although far removed in time from the period of fascism, continues to reflect on its repercussions in the collective memory, particularly in relation to the trivialisation of fascist history in post-war Italy. The term 'Italians good people', which emerged in a post-war cultural and political context, summarises a process of reworking of memory that tends to minimise or justify the historical responsibilities of Fascist Italy and its colonial atrocities.

The phrase 'Italians good people', popular in Italian culture since the Second World War, has been used to paint an image of Italy as a nation that, despite having lived through the fascist period, would not be involved in war crimes as serious as those committed by other European colonial powers, such as Germany or Great Britain. This simplification of history had the power to distance the nation from a critical awareness of its own colonial faults, especially in Africa, such as Ethiopia, Libya and Somalia. This process of trivialisation has been a distinctive element of post-war collective memory, through a mechanism of removal or minimisation of Italian responsibility for colonial atrocities.

A significant example of this trivialisation of fascism is represented by Giovannino Guareschi and his literary creation Don Camillo and the publication of the newspaper 'Candido'. Guareschi, known for his conservative outlook and sympathetic stance towards fascism, played a crucial role in the construction of a narrative about the past regime that was more acceptable to later generations, a narrative that tended to present fascist Italy as less frightening and culpable than it really was. His literary work, particularly his satirical work, fits perfectly into a context that exalts the figure of 'good people' Italians, reflecting an essentially benevolent view of the history of Fascist Italy.

Guareschi's 'Candido', inspired by Voltaire's novel of the same name, offers another example of the way in which fascism is reduced to a kind of tragicomic misunderstanding, where the evil of dictatorship is described in a superficial, and often ironic, manner as a misunderstood product of good intentions. Guareschi, through his humorous and disenchanted style, exalts a simplistic vision of fascism, avoiding addressing the political and moral implications of its atrocities, and in doing so contributes to perpetuating a distorted image of Fascist Italy, which does not highlight criminal responsibilities, but rather the apparently human and 'innocent' traits of a dark era.

In parallel to this debate, some right-wing magazines such as 'Il Borghese' moved towards deconstructing the Resistance myth, seeking to rehabilitate fascism and break with the anti-fascist pact that had characterised Italian politics since the post-war period. The journals tended to re-evaluate fascism, even at the cost of blurring into apologia for the regime, with the aim of shifting the orientation of the Christian Democrats (the dominant party present in Italy from 1943 to 1992 and dissolved in 1994) towards more conservative or reactionary positions. This approach, although not shared by all right-wing newspapers, is part of a common rhetoric that, over time, has contributed to changing the perception of fascism in Italian popular and political culture.

This view was soon revived and amplified in post-war Italy, fuelling a romantic and mythological perception of fascism, especially for later generations who had not directly experienced that period. The process of rewriting history through figures like Guareschi had a devastating effect on the collective understanding of Italian colonial atrocities, as it contributed to a collective idea that separated fascist Italy from its violent colonial reality.

The trivialisation of fascism and Italian colonialism, therefore, is an essential component of the distorted memory that permeated post-war Italian society and continues to condition the way Italy relates to its past. This memory, influenced by Guareschi's work and others like it, had the power to form a collective narrative that allowed the nation to avoid a real critical reflection on its own faults, contributing to keeping intact an idealised and often disinterested vision of fascism, sometimes compared, as in the case of the phrase 'Italians good people', to a kind of innocent mistake rather than to a bloody and oppressive regime.

Ultimately, the analysis of the figure of Guareschi and the term 'Italians good people' highlights how trivialisation and removal were fundamental mechanisms in the construction of historical memory after the collapse of the regime. This process not only prevented a true collective awareness, but also led to a policy of disengagement with colonial and fascist memory, preventing a more serious confrontation with the atrocities committed in the name of a totalitarian ideology.

The removal of Italian colonial guilt is seen as a consequence of this process, making fascism less culpable in the eyes of the new generations.

2. The Case of Benito Mussolini's Birth and Burial Village: Predappio

The debate on the idea of a museum of fascism in Predappio is rooted in a complex historical and social context, intertwined with the transformation of Predappio itself during the 20th century. Originally a hillside village, Predappio evolved thanks to the fascist foundation of Predappio Nuova in the 1920s, the area became the heart of a cult of personality, with the construction of symbolic buildings such as the Casa del fascio e dell'ospitalità, designed by Arnaldo Fuzzi and inaugurated in 1937.

After the Second World War, Predappio became a problematic place for Italian public memory. The Casa del Fascio, the symbol of the regime, passed through different fates: unused, it was later used as a social centre, until 1983, on the centenary of Mussolini's birth, the town attracted thousands of visitors. In the following years, under the communist administration, the town saw the opening of shops selling fascist gadgets and in 1999 the restoration of Mussolini's birth house, a first step towards an 'urban museum' project.

In the 2000s, after an intervention to secure the Casa del Fascio, the site became a cultural asset. Meanwhile, Predappio continued to attract interest from historians and filmmakers, with works exploring its fascist memory. The transformation of Dovia into Predappio Nuova and its recognition as the capital in 1927 marked the beginning of a new phase for the town, which became the heart of Fascist pilgrimages and ceremonies. Despite the end of the regime, Predappio remained at the centre of a controversial memory, a symbol of a fascism that has never completely faded from the community.

The debate on Predappio and fascist memory is complicated by the social and political context that characterised the town in the years following the Second World War. The decision to bury Mussolini in the cemetery in San Cassiano in 1957, by the communist mayor Egidio Proli, with the phrase 'he did not frighten us when he was alive, he will not frighten us when he is dead', marked the first public stance on the management of the memory of the fascist regime. However, it was with the arrival of the centenary of Mussolini's birth, in 1983, that the city returned to the spotlight. On that occasion, the prefecture of Forlì revoked the ordinance forbidding the sale of fascist souvenirs, marking a significant turning point in the reception of neo-fascists and fascio-curious, as defined by Wu Ming 1 in his reportage 'Predappio Toxic Waste Blues'.

The following years saw an increase in fascist-related events and ceremonies, as well as the reopening of Mussolini's birth house in 1999 and the transformation of Villa Mussolini into a mausoleum. The city became a focal point for neo-fascist celebrations, but also for a controversial memory process that mixed nostalgia and historical interest.

The proposal to turn the Casa del Fascio e dell'Ospitalità into a museum on the history of fascism fits into this context. Promoted by the then mayor Giorgio Frassinetti, of the (centre-left) Democratic Party, the initiative aimed to treat the fascist memory with modern historical criteria. An advisory committee of historians and intellectuals proposed that the museum should not be a celebration of the regime, but an educational tool for understanding fascism in the light of current knowledge and values.

Frassinetti, motivated by his experience in Braunau am Inn, Hitler's hometown, developed the idea of combating fascist nostalgia through historical valorisation. In 2011, Predappio became part of the Atrium project financed by the Council of Europe, an initiative aimed at building a European path on totalitarian architecture. It was in this context that serious thought began to be given to the recovery of the former Casa del Fascio as part of a broad process of enhancing the memory of the 20th century.

Mayor Giorgio Frassinetti's activism sparked a wide debate and considerable international attention, with the New York Times writing repeatedly about Predappio in 2011, and French journalists Cyril Bérard and Samuel Picas making a web documentary entitled La Duce vita in 2012, exploring the context of that symbolic place of fascism. In 2013, the Unione dei comuni della Romagna forlivese commissioned the Municipality of Predappio with a programme for the reuse and management of the former Casa del Fascio, which was presented in February 2014. The project envisaged the creation of a cultural pole, with a documentation centre and a permanent museum, accompanied by a historical study on the building drawn up by Ulisse Tramonti.

This approach, however, provoked a broad debate among historians and intellectuals. Some, such as Sergio Luzzato, David Bidussa and Alberto De Bernardis, argued that a museum of fascism could remove the place and the figure of Mussolini from myth, detaching them from the neo-fascist movement and historicising them. Others, such as Giovanni De Luna, Carlo Ginzburg, Mario Isnenghi and Simon Levi Sullam, on the other hand, feared that the museum could lead to a normalisation and clearance of the neo-fascist narrative, placing the project in the frame of shared memory. This conflict of opinions is explored by Mirco Carrattieri in his study on the debate concerning the former Casa del Fascio.

Marcello Flores, a renowned historian, played a crucial role in the project. In 2014, the Lewin Foundation expressed its support for the initiative, and Flores defined some of the foundations of the project, emphasising the critical value of history and the need to avoid the risk of memory. In 2015, an interdisciplinary working group coordinated by Flores drew up the guidelines for the project, which included an innovative vision for the museum as an educational and dissemination tool. Members of the group included historians such as Giovanni Gozzini and museologists such as Patrizia Asproni.

In 2015, the proposal was integrated into the Eurom project, the European Memory Observatory, and in June of the same year the City Council approved the Site Enhancement Programme. On 2 March 2016, the former Casa del Fascio building in Predappio was officially transferred to the Municipality, marking an important step towards the creation of the museum.

However, the cultural and political debate fuelled a series of divisions and criticisms. On the one hand, there were historians and intellectuals in favour of the project, such as Sergio Luzzatto and David Bidussa, who saw it as a necessary cultural challenge to neutralise neo-fascist rhetoric. On the other, many feared that such a project could turn into a celebration of fascism, as warned by Carlo Ginzburg, Giovanni De Luna and Enzo Collotti, who criticised the potential commodification of memory and the trivialisation of history.

Newspapers, such as Il Manifesto, gave ample space to the debate, with those in favour like Serge Noiret, who saw the museum as an opportunity for historicisation, and those against like David Conti, who feared a paradoxical effect. David Bidussa, on the other hand, spoke of a 'cultural challenge' that could lead to the reconnection of places of memory through the joint work of professionals.

In 2015, Frassinetti bought the building from the municipality, assuring that the project could count on state, regional and municipal funds, as well as an allocation from the Cassa di Risparmio di Forlì bank. At the same time, Democratic Party deputy Emanuele Fiano proposed a law to ban apologia for fascism and the sale of fascist souvenirs. The museum's supporters saw this law as a measure that would guarantee the effective neutralisation of neo-fascist rhetoric in Predappio, but Mayor Frassinetti firmly opposed this proposal.

The project for the Predappio museum continues to be the subject of intense debate, especially with the delivery, in April 2017, of the scientific and museographic project for the permanent exhibition entitled L'Italia totalitaria. State and society in the fascist era, drawn up by the Istituto Parri ER. The project was approved by the Municipality and submitted to the assessment of institutional representatives such as the Emilia Romagna Region, the Ministry of Cultural Heritage and Activities and Tourism, and the Presidency of the Chamber of Deputies Culture Commission, who shared its essential lines.

However, the Italian press paid little attention to this phase of the project, while some outside commentators, such as Sabina Loriga in The Conversation and Fernando Devoto in Future Pasts, began to think critically about it. Despite this, on 18 August, Mayor Frassineti visited his colleague Mauro Robba of Dongo, already the promoter of the End of War Museum, to discuss similar experiences, and a European competition to design the museum was announced at the end of September, although the project's official website was not updated until later.

A significant criticism emerged from Ruth Ben Ghiat, who raised doubts about setting up a museum in such a symbolic place as Predappio. Her article, published in the New Yorker on 5 October 2017, was picked up by Internazionale and sparked a wide-ranging discussion. Meanwhile, on 23 October 2017, the exhibition project was publicly presented in Rome, to be later also presented in Predappio on 9 December. During this presentation, Flores and De Bernardi reiterated their intention to recount the violent and totalitarian nature of fascism, dismantling commonplaces and addressing the difficulties in the construction of historical memory.

The Wu Ming collective published a critical dossier on the Giap blog, in which it highlighted two main objections: the symbolic power of the Predappio site, which could overwhelm the museum's critical intentions, and the perception that the project risks being reduced to an "automatic generator of clichés" of post-anti-fascist thought, considered dominant by the renzian left. According to Wu Ming, the project has been described as "patched up and confused", with serious shortcomings in both content and exhibition choices, also criticising the choice of installations and the lack of in-depth examination of crucial aspects of fascism, such as the RSI, the reconquest of Libya and the failure to purge. The proposal was compared to Fico, the agrifood park in Bologna, but with fascism instead of food: a spectacularised and trivialised operation.

In response to these criticisms, a press release was issued on 11 November 2017, signed by the Institute of Forlì and other local organisations, including the Lewin Foundation and ANPI Forlì-Cesena, which lamented the absence of local involvement and criticised the dirigiste imprint of the operation. The document also stressed the lack of sensitivity to the historical and social context, and the decision to sacrifice the documentation centre in favour of the permanent exhibition.

These different voices and criticisms outline the complex panorama of the debate on the memory of fascism in Italy and the difficult management of its memory in a symbolic place like Predappio. The museum project, despite its intentions to historicise and criticise the fascist past, finds itself at the centre of interpretative conflicts and political controversies that question Italian society on the possibility of dealing with its past without risking reproducing new myths or trivialising it.

Meanwhile, Frassinetti's ambiguous positions convinced Professor Paolo Pezzino to change his mind on the museum project, moving from support to opposition, expressed in an article in Patria Indipendente in 2018. The 2018 elections brought a halt to both the museum project and the Fiano bill. A year later, Roberto Canali, an exponent of the Northern League, which has now become an extreme right-wing populist party, became mayor of Predappio most likely also because of the political fallout of the controversy. Canali attracted attention when he denied municipal funds for trips to Auschwitz, considering them too sectarian. In January 2020, the new Predappio council announced the abandonment of the fascism museum project, transforming the former Casa del Fascio into an institution dedicated to the study of local history.

The debate on the realisation of the museum dedicated to fascism in Predappio highlights a central question for the historical memory of contemporary Italy: are we really able to confront our fascist past without the risk of falling into trivialisation or celebration of its ideology? This question has arisen forcefully in the context of the museum's failure, which has raised a broader discussion on the memory and representation of fascism in Italy.

The proposal by centre-left MP Emanuele Fiano to ban the display of fascist symbols in Italy further fuelled the debate, with Mayor Frassinetti opposing the law, believing that culture was the best response to fascist nostalgia.

In 2016, despite the support of some foundations and the expected financial support, critics continue to ask the question of how and whether a museum in Predappio can avoid the risk of glorification and really contribute to a process of de-mythologising fascism, without turning into a rewriting of history. In this context, Marcello Flores' position and his defence of the design guidelines clash with the criticism that has seen in this proposal the possibility of an ideological reuse of the fascist past.

The discussion on Predappio, therefore, is just one of the many occasions on which Italian historical memory comes up against the difficulty of coming to terms with its own shadows, without risking having them re-emerge in new forms.

3. The Involvement of Historical Institutes of the Resistance

An Istituto storico della Resistenza (Historical Institute of the Resistance) is a cultural and research organisation that studies, preserves and disseminates the memory of the Italian Resistance to Nazi-Fascism during the Second World War (1943-1945), as well as investigating issues related to contemporary history, particularly the twentieth century. These institutes are widespread in central and northern Italy.

On 6 December 2017, on the occasion of the opening of the exhibition in Predappio, the new president of the ANPI, Carla Nespolo, expressed her firm opposition to the museum project, emphasising the risks of celebration implicit in the initiative and criticising the lack of involvement of reducist associations in its elaboration. This intervention marks one of the crucial moments in the controversy, which sees the ANPI opposing a proposal that it considers inadequate, considering that such a museum could contribute to a reawakening of fascist nostalgia rather than encourage an authentic critical reflection on the past.

On 11 December, the mayor of Predappio, Frassineti, had a direct confrontation with Milo Gori, provincial president of the ANPI, in a debate broadcast live on TV in the Mussolini crypt, an act that aroused the indignation of Mussolini's niece, Alessandra, expressing how much the affair was raising family and historical tensions. On 12 December, MP Lara Ricciatti (Mdp, a left-wing formation) submitted a parliamentary question to the Chamber's Culture Commission, raising further questions about the project and its consistency with the treatment of the fascist past in Italy.

29 December saw another important confrontation, this time between Paolo Pezzino, historian and former signatory of the manifesto against the museum, and Flores. Pezzino admitted that he had changed his mind, criticising the choice of the Predappo location, which he considered insignificant in terms of fascism and potentially problematic in terms of public order. Flores reiterated that the main intention was to explain how Italian society had adapted to fascism and that the museum was intended to be a place of historical confrontation, rather than a commemorative initiative.

The motivations in favour of the project were many and involved various levels of discussion. The mayor of Predappio, insisted on the need to contest public spaces with nostalgic memory and pro-fascist fluff, making 'knowing and telling' his mantra. In this, he tried to broaden the discourse to the need for Italy to elaborate on its past, proposing culture as a tool to face European challenges and the prevalence of nationalism. However, this position has been interpreted by some critics as a tourism marketing move, with the intention of turning Predappio into a commercial destination, rather than a centre for historical reflection.

Some observers, such as Wu Ming, have pointed out that the proposal runs the risk of flanking rather than replacing nostalgia, a criticism rooted in the fear that the museum might reinforce commonplaces linked to fascist memory, rather than dismantle them. Lorenzo Ferrari, in his article for Il Post (2 June 2016), criticised the mayor's approach, observing that 'you don't build a national museum because a mayor doesn't know what to do with a building', questioning the real motivations behind the initiative.

On the other hand, the Emilia Romagna region stated that it wanted to tackle the memory of fascism with a project that was neither celebratory nor exclusively conservative, but with a broad European cultural intent. Giulia Albanese suggested that a better solution would have been the creation of a network of memory places in Emilia Romagna, rather than focusing on a single museum.

Finally, the group of historians supporting the project, including Flores, wished to make the distinction between history and memory, stating that only a quality cultural operation could avoid the risks of removal and nostalgia. Flores insisted on the need to approach fascism with a historical approach free of ideological prejudices and open to the use of new languages.

In 2020, the new municipal administration announced its intention to transform the former Casa del Fascio into a centre dedicated to local history, downsizing the initial idea of a national museum of fascism.

The debate continues to be very heated, raising questions not only about the location of the museum but also about the function it should play in the construction of collective memory and the management of the fascist past in Italy.

Public History and authoritarianism/totalitarianism: the yes and no to the 'Predappio model'

The argument of public history in the context of the Predappio museum is of central importance, since it poses a crucial challenge for contemporary history in Italy. Public history differs from a traditional academic approach precisely because of its public dimension, aimed at a broad, not only specialist audience. This approach was exemplified in the reflections and discussions that accompanied the Predappio museum project, a topic that was addressed in various contexts, such as during the first national public history conference held in Ravenna in June 2017.

There, one of the specific panels was dedicated to the Predappio museum, with Flores and De Bernardi outlining the motivations and intentions behind the creation of a place that intends to deal with fascism in a scientific and not celebratory manner. The discussion was central, not only for the Italian panorama, but also for the international context, with references to the 2nd International Congress of Public History in Bogotà in July 2016, where Serge Noiret had already raised the idea of a museum without physical borders, open to the web, able to communicate with a global audience. This concept of a museum 'without borders' was supported by Marcello Ravveduto and Enrica Salvatori, among the promoters of public history in Italy, who emphasised the importance of a digital museum or, in any case, an online projection to engage a wider public not limited to the physical dimension.

Reflection on public history is also linked to a need to overcome short-circuits between history and memory, as highlighted by historians in favour of the initiative. The historicisation of fascism, according to Flores, must be treated without ideological prejudices, aiming at an approach that respects the complexity of the fascist phenomenon and is open to new languages. The museum, from this point of view, becomes a place of confrontation where history is not only transmitted in a static way, but experienced and questioned by the new generations.

Italian public history is therefore trying to face an important challenge: how to narrate fascism in an accurate, up-to-date and comprehensible way for a general public, without falling into the trap of nostalgia or celebration. In this context, the creation of a museum like the one in Predappio is not only an act of preservation of historical memory, but an attempt to make history usable and comprehensible, using new tools and approaches that go beyond the traditional boundaries of academic research.

The criticisms levelled at the Predappio project, in particular those raised by some historians and the Wu Ming collective, focus on the risk that the museum might turn out to be a generator of clichés, rather than a real place for in-depth historical study. However, the approach adopted by the historians supporting the initiative aims to use public history as a tool to challenge collective memory and revive public debate on the figure of fascism, with the intention of shedding light on aspects that are still too often blurred or minimised.

In this context, the evolution of public history in Italy, with the creation of a specific association such as the AIPH (Italian Public History Association), represents a fundamental step towards the creation of a new historical narrative that, while starting from the foundations of academic research, seeks to open up to a broader and more diverse public, in a continuous dialogue between history, memory and identity.

Criticism of the Predappio museum is multi-layered, and often complexly overlapping, reflecting different ideological orientations and historical goals.

The first plane of objection concerns the very necessity of establishing a museum of fascism. To many critics, it seems premature, if not downright distorting, to focus on a museum dealing exclusively with fascism, in a context where other themes might have a higher priority. Giannuli and Ferrari suggested the idea of a museum of the 20th century or a museum of Italian identity, while Perfetti proposed a museum of the Shoah, the realisation of which is still pending in Italy, despite numerous political declarations on the subject (as noted by Guido Crainz). Furthermore, there was no lack of suggestions for museums focusing on other aspects, such as the crimes of fascism (proposal by Scego), Antifascism (proposal by Vacca) and Neo-fascism (proposal by Baldissara). These alternatives point to the need for a more articulated and multifaceted approach to historical memory, believing that focusing on only one aspect of the fascist period may be reductive and not exhaustive.

Furthermore, some have suggested that the creation of a Resistance museum should be a priority, to fill a historical gap in Italy, where fascism and anti-fascism have never been treated equally at an institutional level, despite the presence of numerous historical institutes on the Resistance.

Another critical issue concerns the timing. Some historians, such as Schwarz, have argued that the museum project was late, failing to respond adequately to the urgency of a critical and historical analysis of fascism. On the other hand, figures such as Canfora and Pennacchi have criticised the idea of a museum of fascism, believing that the timing is still premature, and that it would have been more useful to start a process of collective elaboration of the fascist past, in the wake of the German experience, before opening a public debate with such a defined museum proposal.

Criticism also focused on the method by which the project was conceived, describing the museum's design as a 'top-down operation', which did not provide for a broad territorial or disciplinary comparison. This led some to label it as a 'hasty and improvised' initiative, lacking adequate preparation and dialogue with the different realities involved.

Even on the left, the proposal was accused of being a 'waste of public money', or at least of having a 'dubious' destination. The project would have received substantial funding without it being clear how it would be managed in the long term, especially if a mixed-based ad hoc foundation was being considered. Despite these objections, the museum's supporters tried to defend the operation, pointing out the inappropriateness of prejudiced criticism, and criticising the excessively tribal tone of the controversy.

The issue of the location in Predappio has raised the most heated debate. The choice of location has been criticised on two levels: principled and practical. From a principled point of view, historians such as Isnenghi have pointed out that associating fascism exclusively with Predappio would be a dangerous synecdoche, running the risk of crushing fascism on its duce, without adequately explaining the consensus and success that the regime achieved. Predappio, in fact, represents a 'frame' that could distort the historical message, leading to a reductive view of fascist history.

From a practical point of view, it was noted that Predappio is a peripheral and poorly connected centre, which could hardly attract a wide audience. Moreover, the proximity to symbolic places such as Mussolini's birthplace and tomb could turn the museum into a place that ends up celebrating fascism, rather than critically examining it. This has raised concerns that, despite the initial good intentions, the project could result in the reversal of the desired effects, creating a celebratory boomerang.

Several alternatives to locating a museum in Predappio have been put forward: the first proposal sees the museum in a large city such as Rome, which would be the natural home for a national museum of fascism. The capital was the seat of the fascist government and is rich in architecture and symbols of the period; the second proposal suggested placing it in a place that more directly represents the criminal aspects of the regime, such as Fossoli, one of the places of deportation; the third proposal suggested a more diffuse and territorial approach, enhancing the numerous places of the memory of fascism that already exist, through the creation of a diffuse museum, which would allow a more capillary and integrated understanding of the history of fascism.

Criticism and alternative proposals focus on the idea that a museum project of this magnitude must be treated with great attention to context and that the choice of location has a decisive influence on the perception and effectiveness of the operation itself.

As far as the content of the project is concerned, there was some debate as to what was the best approach. Initially, there was talk of a museum dedicated to fascism or fascist Italy, but more recently the project has taken the form of an exhibition dealing with 'totalitarian Italy', a period that includes not only fascism, but also a broader reflection on totalitarianism and its effects on Italian society.

The debate also raised a comparison with international examples, in particular with the German case. Supporters of the project evoked examples such as Munich as a model of a place of memory, transformed into a centre for study and education. In contrast, critics referred to the Berlin experience, suggesting that museums dedicated to totalitarian regimes should be conceived with a sober, bottom-up approach, avoiding the addition of excessive celebratory or iconographic elements.

The project for a museum of fascism in Predappio continues to provoke heated debate on how and where to deal with the memory of such a controversial period of Italian history. While some proposals point to a sober and critical approach, others fear that the choice of Predappio and the traditional approach of the museum may reproduce a distorted or celebratory version of fascism. The uncertainty over the content and form of the museum suggests that an ongoing dialogue between historians, citizens and institutions is necessary to avoid the project turning into a ritualisation of memory rather than an opportunity for critical reflection.

The representation of Fascism and Italy's colonial past, as highlighted in the current debate, clashes with different narratives and responses, which oscillate between minimisation, justification and denial of historical crimes, and the need for an in-depth critical analysis. The rhetoric proposed by some periodicals, particularly those linked to the right, appears as a trivialising and reductive representation of fascist violence, aimed at shifting the focus from the political to the humanising side of Mussolini. In this context, rhetorical tools such as silence on Italian crimes, marking the suffering suffered by Italians and ad personam attacks on political opponents are used. The result is an image of fascism that ends up diverting attention away from its political and historical dimensions, focusing instead on elements of victimisation and martyrdom.

4. The Image of Colonising Italy

The interview with Michal Balcerzak, a Polish jurist specialising in human rights and international law, conducted by historian Angelo Del Boca highlights another problematic issue: historical ignorance regarding Italian colonialism. Balcerzak's position, which emphasises that ignorance of the colonial past is one of the causes of racism in Italy, finds support in Del Boca, who traces the difficulties of recognising Italian responsibility in the colonial context.

Del Boca's assessment highlights the seriousness of Italian colonial practices, which are often considered less violent than those of other European countries, but which in reality conceal numerous human rights violations, as in the case of Libya. The creation of concentration camps during the war in Libya, where entire populations were forced to live in inhuman conditions, culminating in the death of 40,000 people, is just one example of how Italian violence in the colonial context was not only severe, but unjust and cruel.

The context of the historical narrative

The problem does not only concern the interpretation of history, but also the way in which historical memory is conveyed. The difficulty in recognising and addressing Italian colonial history and its impact on national identity is closely linked to a certain reluctance to acknowledge one's historical faults. Resistance to acknowledge racial violence and discrimination has direct effects on the collective perception of the past and the continuation of racist practices in contemporary society.

The comparison between Italian colonialism and that of other European countries, such as France and Great Britain, has never been fully resolved in terms of historical responsibility. However, it is important to understand how minimising the atrocities committed by fascism and during the colonial period contributes to keeping alive a distorted narrative that can justify or even rehabilitate fascism and its ideologies.

The analysis proposed by Angelo Del Boca invites an accurate historical reflection on Italy's colonial and fascist past. The continuous ignorance and distortion of history not only prevents a critical understanding of the past, but also fuels the racist and discriminatory dynamics that still influence Italian society today. Addressing these issues in a serious and documented manner is crucial for a construction of collective memory that is not based on myths or justifications, but on an authentic and critical understanding of the past.

The debate on the legacy of Italian colonialism is complex and multifaceted, and the self-exculpatory narrative that emerges in some contexts is reflected in positions that emphasise the positive aspects of colonialism, such as the building of infrastructure and the expansion of services. However, as pointed out by Francesco Filippi in his book Noi però gli abbiamo fatto le strade, these justifications often omit the human rights violations and systematic discrimination that characterised Italian colonial rule and contribute to a distorted collective memory. The debate on Italian colonialism is in some ways a slippery slope, especially when the self-exculpatory narrative emerges that minimises the regime's violence and emphasises its more innocuous aspects, such as the building of infrastructure. In particular, the idea that Italians 'built the roads' in Africa is one of the most enduring myths in the collective memory, which seems to offer a positive interpretation of colonisation. Francesco Filippi highlights how partial and misleading this narrative is, pointing out how this view, unfortunately, has contributed to a historical amnesia regarding the real nature of Italian colonialism. Filippi points out that, despite the emergence of a more critical historical reflection, the idea that colonial occupation was essentially beneficial, particularly in terms of infrastructure, persists in the Italian public discourse. This is a view that tends to downplay the violence and inequalities suffered by colonised populations, perpetuating the myth of Italians as 'good people', diverting attention from the crimes and atrocities perpetrated. This myth has been long-lasting, helping to justify colonisation and minimise its serious consequences.

A key aspect of this narrative is education. Unlike the French or British colonies, where efforts were made to form a local ruling class, Italy severely restricted access to schooling in its colonies. According to Filippi, the highest level of education available to the colonised was the fifth grade, designed to ensure a labour force that carried out orders rather than to form a ruling class capable of self-government. This oppressive approach had lasting impacts, creating a deeply unequal colonial society and preventing the growth of autonomous leadership that could challenge colonial rule.

Despite these serious limitations, the construction of infrastructure such as roads is often evoked as one of the most positive aspects of the colonial experience. But even in this case, the construction of roads served colonial interests rather than a real improvement in living conditions for local populations. Although some infrastructure had a tangible impact, it cannot be ignored that this was part of a larger project that aimed at the control and subjugation of local populations, rather than their emancipation or development.

Furthermore, Filippi highlights silence surrounding the systematic violence committed during the colonial period. This is not only a matter of historical omission, but also a rhetoric that wants to erase the violent past. The narrative of 'roads' and 'good works' is a rhetorical strategy that has dominated public discourse for decades, fuelling a perception of colonisation as something inevitably positive or at least not harmful.

In conclusion, Filippi's reflection invites a critical review of how Italy remembers its colonial past. The adoption of a selective memory that exalts the infrastructure left by the colonial regime while remaining silent on the atrocities suffered by the colonised has allowed the perpetuation of myths and justifications that continue to influence the collective perception of the past and the dynamics of contemporary racism in Italy. It is necessary for history to be faced with honesty, without minimising the violence committed, in order to build a collective memory that is finally able to come to terms with reality.

5. Debate on the Topicality of the Fascist Model

In the debate concerning fascism and its memory, one of the most evident aspects is the trivialisation of fascist violence, which permeates the periodicals and magazines of the time, creating a narrative that downplays the intensity and scope of the acts of repression and violence carried out by the regime. In many publications, fascist violence is depicted as low-intensity, almost a normal part of political life, which helps to mask its bloody and totalitarian nature. This process of trivialisation acts on several fronts, reducing the ideological bearing of fascism, describing violence as a goliardic or parodistic gesture, using it instrumentally to delegitimise anti-fascism, and falsifying the facts of reality.

Among the most obvious ways of this representation is the use of euphemisms that reduce fascist violence to a simple matter of the temperament or youth of the squadrists. For example, in the descriptions, the squadrists are described as 'quick-witted boys, cheerful, ignorant as turnips', reducing their violence to a goliardic behaviour and not a structured political practice. Furthermore, fascist violence is often downplayed through the instrumental use of victimisation, in which the fascist regime is described as a necessary reaction against communism, almost as if it were an act of defence of public order and stability, as exemplified in the case of Mussolini, who is portrayed as a 'dangerous and providential man'.

This narrative is often accompanied by historical falsification, as when Indro Montanelli, in the pages of Il Borghese, reduces the fascist repressive system to a sort of 'bathing holiday', with reference to confinement, one of the repressive instruments most used by the regime. This is a strategy of mythologising violence, in which the idea of fascism as a system of totalitarian control is transformed into a distorted interpretation, portraying it as a lesser evil compared to other ideologies.

Fascist history and violence are also reinterpreted in the post-war context, as in the case of Silvio Berlusconi's statements, who in 2003, talking about Mussolini, minimised the extent of the fascist regime, calling it a 'benign dictatorship' and stating that Mussolini 'never killed anyone'. These words caused controversy, but Berlusconi defended himself, attributing the statements to a state of intoxication, creating further confusion and fuelling the rhetoric of a 'normalisation' of fascist violence.

At the same time, some magazines, such as L'Uomo Qualunque, tried to rehabilitate the figure of Mussolini, insinuating that fascism, although having established a repressive regime, had also carried out public works that would have been lacking in republican democracy. This attempt to emulate fascism in post-war politics resulted in an exaltation of the repressive system, presented as a system that, although totalitarian, had nevertheless shown an interest in public works, a component that left-wing parties would later fail to bring forward.

The functioning of the Special Court and other fascist instruments of repression is reduced, on some pages, to an imitation of the Soviet model, seen as a desire to imitate the October Revolution. This kind of reductive narrative makes violence pass as a 'secondary' aspect of fascist politics, reducing fascism to a contingent reaction to an idea of revolution that Mussolini would have tried to emulate without actually achieving it.

Finally, the memory of the victims and crimes committed by fascism is shifted and altered in an instrumental way. For example, in the case of the Matteotti murder, the memory of fascist brutality is blurred, while some attempt to reverse the roles of victim and perpetrator, suggesting that fascist violence was part of a 'necessary order'. Moreover, in the discussion of the post-war period, anti-communist discourse re-proposes the representation of fascist violence as justified or inevitable, in order to maintain a continuity between fascism and post-war democracy.

In short, these strategies of trivialisation and historical falsification have had the effect of attenuating the seriousness of fascism and its violence, creating a distorted collective memory that has minimised its more criminal aspects, reducing them to occasional episodes or lacking political significance. The result of such narratives is that fascism, despite being a regime of terror, has been described by some as a force that brought order and stability, but also as a mitigated force, able to operate more 'effectively' than democratic systems.

Much, however, had weighed in the post-war German affair a general self-absolving attitude of the population, the opposition to the allied policy of a population completely siding with the Nazis with 'the solidarity of the occupied against the occupiers' . If 'the keeping of Nazi personnel in place had a considerable scope', it is equally true that this delivery of silence gradually marginalised and then crumbled. Crucial steps in this process were certainly the late 1960s, with the maturing of a youth no longer willing to take on the guilt of their fathers, and then the collapse of the Berlin Wall, the unification process, and the search for an identity design. History, however, remains ever present: the Germans 'cannot get rid of a sense of guilt, if not of shame', in which, however, the temptation remains to seek in the new, but not too much, concern for the fate of refugees and expelled Germans, for the victims of the bombing a sort of relativisation of the weight of the holocaust

"The 'false analogy' is one of the 'instruments' by means of which 'a political use of the past' is carried out, to be understood as 'the use of facts that really happened through an arbitrary and yet persuasive manipulation for a public more sensitive to slogans than to overall reflection on the past'. The rhetorical figure is among the most practised in the journals examined and, on these, it is indicative of extreme conceptual and lexical poverty: argumentation is replaced by invective, the evidence of proof is undermined by the opacity of resemblance, continuity and not caesura is the foundation of the writing. It is more than just a rhetorical strategy. It is a discourse that becomes propaganda the moment it is uttered. Magazines establish similarities, sometimes resolved into equivalences, between different and often irreducible realities. The false analogy is the argumentative structure that makes it possible to propose, but not explain, a precise interpretation of fascism and is applied to recall any phase or event of fascism, but not to focus attention on this, as much as on the object that is a priori considered akin.

6. The 'Selective Memory' of Fascism

The phenomenon of metapolitics and the penetration of fascism into punk and metal is a significant aspect of the evolution of the radical right in the 1970s. In this period,

Groups like the National Front began to use the musical environment as a tool to promote fascist ideology, exploiting the rebellion and anti-establishment aspect typical of these genres to attract young people. This approach, inspired by the European New Right, aimed to root fascist ideas in alternative cultural movements, creating fertile ground for the expansion of the alt-right.

The case of Atreju, a youth political event of the Italian right, is emblematic of how, over the decades, neo-fascist groups have tried to build a connection with youth culture through events such as this, using mythological references (such as Atreju from La Storia Infinita) to promote a rhetoric of struggle against 'Nothingness' and the decadence of contemporary society.

At the same time, the adoption of symbols such as the Celtic cross by young Missinis in the 1970s underlines how fascism sought to fit into a broader cultural context, using mythological and spiritual motifs to attract a new generation, exploiting the appeal of esoteric symbols.

Recent studies on the Italian far right highlight its growing influence both at an institutional level and in extra-parliamentary movements, with significant implications for the country's society and politics: Institutional rise and normalisation.

Parties such as Fratelli d'Italia, led by Giorgia Meloni, have gained electoral support, bringing the far right to government. Despite attempts at moderation, ideological links with neo-fascism persist, as evidenced by controversial episodes and symbolism linked to the fascist past

Extra-parliamentary movements and radicalisation: Groups such as CasaPound and Forza Nuova continue to operate, promoting neo-fascist ideologies and engaging in violent activities. For example, in 2021, Forza Nuova was involved in the assault on the CGIL (sindacato di sinistra) headquarters in Rome, while in 2024 a neo-Nazi cell planning attacks against institutional figures was dismantled

Socio-political factors of the rise: The rise of the far right is attributed to factors such as the crisis of political representation, the erosion of the welfare state and fear of immigration. These elements have fuelled support for parties that propose a return to traditional values such as ‘God, country, family’

Scholars emphasise the need to analyse the far right not only as an ideological phenomenon, but also as a set of political practices that adapt to social and cultural changes. The importance of a renewed theoretical approach to understanding current dynamics is highlighted

In summary, the Italian far right is going through a phase of consolidation and transformation, profoundly influencing the country's political and social landscape.

7. Conclusions

The communication of fascism, particularly when intertwined with youth subcultures such as punk, metal or modern neo-fascist movements, poses a serious risk to contemporary society. Fascism's ability to adapt and 'masquerade' under seemingly innocuous forms or even rebellion against the establishment can easily mislead younger generations, who see these symbols and ideologies as a form of resistance or alternative identity.

The greatest risk lies in the trivialisation and historical distortion of fascist violence, which is often minimised, justified or reinterpreted as an act of defence or 'order', reducing awareness of its devastating impact. This process of normalisation can contribute to a dangerous collective amnesia, encouraging the spread of ideologies that deny the atrocities committed and promote discrimination, intolerance and violence.

Moreover, the use of historical symbols, such as the Celtic cross, and the appeal to esoteric myths and ideologies, can make fascism appear as a legitimate cause or a redemption movement, masking its totalitarian and oppressive nature. The dissemination of these messages through cultural and musical channels, which have traditionally had a strong impact on young people, makes its penetration even more insidious.

Finally, the adoption of a metapolitical language, which seeks to infiltrate alternative social and cultural environments to shape public opinion, demonstrates fascism's obstinacy in attempting to legitimise itself as an answer to social and political crises, without ever coming to terms with its authoritarian and destructive roots. The risk, therefore, is not only of a nostalgic rediscovery of fascism, but also of a dangerous reworking of its ideology, which can easily influence new generations and help reinforce social and political divisions.