Speech in Trieste, September 20, 1920

By Benito Mussolini

I do not consider you, O men of Trieste, as Italians to whom the whole truth cannot yet be spoken, because I think of you as among the best Italians in the country, and your enthusiasm today has confirmed me in my opinion. The event, which had its counterpart in Rome on the 20th September 1870, was a magnificent picture in a mediocre frame, but upon this I am not going to dwell.

After a lapse of fifty years since the breach of Porta Pia, we must undertake the examination of our consciences. A nation like ours, which had been divided for so many centuries, which had barely achieved unity, had not then muscles strong enough to bear the weight of a world policy. A great Italian thinker, Francesco Crispi, broke this tradition.

In fifty years Italy has made marvelous progress. In the first place she has a sure foundation, and that is the vitality of our race. There are nations which every year scan the birth-rates with a certain preoccupation, because, gentlemen, it is just the want of balance in this sphere which produces the great crises—you know to what I allude. But Italy is not thus preoccupied. Italy had twenty-seven million inhabitants in 1870, she has now fifty million; forty million of whom live in the Peninsula, and represent the most homogeneous block in Europe, because, compared with Bohemia, for instance, where five million Czechs govern seven million men of other races, Italy has only 180,000 German subjects in Alto Adige and 360,000 Slavic immigrants, all the rest forming one compact whole. And besides these forty million in Italy, there are ten million Italians who have emigrated to all the continents and beyond all the oceans; there are 700,000 Italians in New York alone, another 400,000 in the state of San Paulo, 900,000 in the Argentine Republic and 120,000 in Tunisia. Tunisia was given up in a moment of colossal stupidity. We have regained Tunisia through the marvelous work of the Sicilian colonists. Today they are working for the French regency, but tomorrow they will most likely be under Italian regency.

It is a pity that foreigners know us so little, but it is still more pitiful that Italians know Italy so little. If they knew Italy a little better, they would realize that there are peoples beyond our borders who are further behind than we are; they would learn, for instance, that Italy possesses the most powerful hydro-electric plant in the world. And do not speak to me of reactionary forces in Italy. Those who talk to me of a reactionary Government make me laugh, especially if they are immigrants or renegades from Trieste. Because if there is a country in the world where liberty is in danger of degenerating into license, and where it is the inviolable patrimony of every citizen, it is Italy.

There has not yet been seen in our country that which has been seen in France, where, as the result of a political strike, the Republic dissolved the General Confederation of Labour, locked up the leaders and keeps them still in prison. Nor have we seen that which has been witnessed in England, where so-called undesirable elements are sent over to the other side of the Channel; or in the ultra-democratic republic of the United States, where, in one single night, five hundred rebels were seized and sent over the Atlantic. If there is something to say, it is this: it is time to impose an iron discipline upon the individual and upon the masses, because social renovation is one thing—and this we are not against—but the destruction of the country is quite another. As long as transformation is spoken of we are all agreed, but when instead it is a question of a leap in the dark, then we put our veto upon it. You will pass, we say, but it will be over our bodies; you will have to overcome our resistance first.

Now, after this half a century of Italian life, which I have schematically summarized, Trieste is Italian and the tricolour waves over the Brenner. If it were possible to pause one moment to measure the greatness of the event, you would find that the fact of the tricolour on the Brenner is of capital importance, in the history not only of Italy, but also of Europe. The tricolour on the Brenner means that the Germans will no longer descend with impunity upon our lands. Glaciers have now been placed between us and them, and on these glaciers are the magnificent Alpini who went to the assault of Monte Nero, who were sacrificed at Ortigara, and who have on their flag the motto "From here none shall pass." (Thunderous applause).

Now it is a most important fact that Trieste has come to Italy after a great victory.

If we were not so occupied with the daily material necessities of life and the solution of commonplace and banal problems, we should know how to appreciate all that which took place on the banks of the Piave in June and at Vittorio Veneto in October. An Empire was destroyed in an hour, an Empire which had outlasted a century, an Empire in which necessity had developed a superfine art of government which consisted in the eternal "Divide et impera", wisely, according to the wisdom of Budapest and Vienna. This Empire had an army, a traditional policy, a bureaucracy, and had bound all its citizens together in universal suffrage. This Empire, which seemed so powerful and invincible, fell before the bayonets of the Italian people.

The Italian Risorgimento is not only a struggle between a people and a State, between the Italian people on one side and the Habsburg State on the other, between the live forces of the future and the dead past. It was inevitable that, having passed the Mincio in 1859, and the Adige in 1866, we had, in 1915, to pass the Isonzo and go beyond; it was inevitable, so inevitable that the neutralist Giolitti, in an interview with an American, had to acknowledge that Italy could not, under pain of suicide, under pain of death, and what is worse, dishonour, have remained neutral. For him it was a question of time and fashion. But for us it is essential that this man said Italy had intervene sooner or later, and it was logical and inevitable that our intervention would take place alongside the Entente.

This vindication of our intervention is the fact which gives us the greatest satisfaction. And what does it matter if I read in a gloomy and pessimistic book that the acquisition of Trento, Trieste and Fiume still represents a deficit in the balance of the war? This way of arguing is ridiculous. In the first place, historical events cannot be regulated like a page of book-keeping with receipts and payments, debit and credit. It is impossible to make out an estimate of historical facts and expect it to agree with the final balance. All this is the result of a melancholy philosophy which was widespread over Italy after the war.

But let us hope it will soon pass to leave room for a little optimism and pride. This post-war period is certainly critical; I fully recognize the fact. But who can expect that a gigantic crisis like that of five years of a world war will be settled at once, that the world will return to its previous tranquil state in less than two years? The crisis is not limited to Trieste, Milan or Italy, it is world-wide and is not yet over.

Struggle is at the bottom of all things, because life is full of contrasts. There is love and hate, black and white, night and day, good and evil, and until these contrasts are balanced, struggle will always be at the root of human nature, as the supreme fatality. And it is a good thing that it is so. Today there may be war, economic rivalry and conflicting ideas, but the day in which all struggle will cease will be a day of melancholy, will mean the end of all things, will mean ruin. Now this day will not come, because history presents itself as a changing panorama. An attempt to return to peace and tranquility would mean fighting against the existing dynamic period. It is necessary to prepare ourselves for other surprises and struggles. There will be no period of peace unless all people surrender themselves to a Christian dream of universal brotherhood and stretch out their hands beyond the mountains and the oceans. I, for my part, do not put too much faith in these ideals, but I do not exclude them, because I exclude nothing; everything is possible, even the impossible and the absurd. But today, being today, it would be fallacious, criminal and dangerous to build our houses on the fragile quicksands of the Christian-Socialist-Communist International. These ideas are very respectable, but are still a long way from reality. (Applause).

What is the position of Fascism in this difficult post-war period? The first fundamental pillar of Fascism is Italianity; that is to say, we are proud of being Italian. Even going to Siberia to shout out loud: We are Italian! Now it is precisely this which separates us from a great many other people, who are so grotesque and small and hide their patriotism because eighty percent of the Italian population was once illiterate. This does not mean anything, for even narrow, mediocre, elementary education may be worse than pure and simple illiteracy. It is an outdated idea that one who knows how to write must be more intelligent than one who does not know how to.

These people are ashamed, for example, if Italian emigrants distribute a few generous stabs: but all this is a very brilliant way of demonstrating that Italians are neither cowards nor weaklings, but have the courage of defending Italianity when the consuls do not know how to defend it. Now we vindicate the honour of being Italian, because in our wonderful and adorable Peninsula—adorable, although there are inhabitants who are not always adorable—the most prodigious and marvelous history of mankind has taken place. Do you think that a man who lives in far Japan or in America or in any other far-off spot can be counted educated if he does not know the history of Rome? It is not possible.

Rome is the name which fills all history for twenty centuries. Rome gave the lead to universal civilization; Rome traced the roads and assigned the boundaries; Rome gave the world the eternal laws of its immutable rights. But if this was the universal task of Rome in ancient times, we have now another universal task. Our destiny cannot become universal unless it is transplanted into the soil of Rome. By means of Christianity Rome found her form and found the means of upholding herself in the world. Behold Rome, which returns to the centre of the universal empire that speaks its language. Note that the task of Rome is not yet finished. No! Because the Italian history of the Middle Ages—the most brilliant story of Venice, which lasted for ten centuries, with her ships in all seas, with her ambassadors and her governments, the like of which is no longer to be found today—is not closed. The story of the Italian comunes is full of wonders, grandeur and nobility. Go to Venice, Pisa, Amalfi, Genoa and Florence, and you will find in the palaces and in the streets the signs and footprints of this our marvelous and not yet decayed civilization.

Now, my friends, after this period, in the beginning of 1800, when Italy was divided into seven little States, there arose a generation of poets. Poetry also has its task to perform in history, in arousing enthusiasm and in kindling faith, and not for nothing the greatest modern Italian poet—whether second-rate writers, who do not know how to express the smallest idea, recognize it or not—Gabriele d'Annunzio, represents in a magnificent union of thought and sentiment, the power of action which is characteristic of the Italian people. (The audience leaps to its feet, shouting "Long live D'Annunzio, Long live Fiume!").

We are proud of being Italians, and not only for reasons of petty exclusivism. The modern spirit reaches out towards beauty and truth. One cannot think of a modern man who has not read Cervantes, Shakespeare, Goethe and Tolstoy. But all this must not make us forget that we hold the primacy, we were great when the others were not yet born, that while the German Klopstock was writing his verbose Der Messiade, Dante Alighieri had already been a giant for centuries. And we have also the sculpture of Michelangelo, the painting of Raffaello, the astronomy of Galileo, and the medicine of Morgagni, and with these the mysterious Leonardo da Vinci who excelled in all fields. And then, if you want to pass to politics and war, there is Napoleon and, above all, Garibaldi, the most Latin-minded Italian of all.

These are the Dolomites of Italian thought and spirit, but in addition to these almost inaccessible Dolomites there is a panorama of pinnacles and other lower summits, demonstrating that it is quite impossible to think of human civilisation without the gigantic contribution made by Italian thought. And this must be repeated here, at our borders, where there are tribes chattering incomprehensible languages who would pretend, simply on account of their numbers, to supplant our marvelous civilization which has endured two millenniums and is preparing to endure a third.

The second pillar of Fascism is represented by anti-demagogism and pragmatism. We have no preconceptions, no fixed ideals and, above all, no foolish pride. Those who say, "You are unhappy, here is the receipt for happiness," make me think of the advertisement "Do you want health?" We do not promise men happiness either here or in the next world; differing thus from the Socialists, who pretend that they can conceal the face of the Mediterranean with the Russian mask.

Once there were courtiers who burned incense before the kings and the popes; and now there is a new breed which burns incense, without sincerity, before the proletariat. "Only those who hold Italy in their hands have the right to govern her," they say, while they do not know even how to govern their own families. We are different. We use another language, more serious, unprejudiced and worthy of free men. We do not exclude the possibility that the proletariat may be capable of substituting other values, but we say that before it tries to govern the nation it must govern itself: it must make itself worthy, technically, and above all morally, because governing is a tremendously complex, difficult and complicated task. The nation is composed of millions and millions of individuals whose interests clash, and there are no superior beings who can reconcile all these differences and make a union of life and progress.

But we are not, on the other hand, pastists, bound hand and foot to the stones and the rubble. Everything must be transformed in the modern city. The ancient streets will no longer stand the wear and tear of the trams, automobiles and engines, because through them passed the whole flood of civilization. It is possible to destroy in order to create anew in a form more beautiful and grand, but destruction must never be carried out in the method of a savage, who breaks open a machine in order to see what is inside. We do not refuse to make changes in our spiritual life just because the spirit is a delicate matter. Any social transformation which is necessary is not repugnant to me. Thus I even accept the famous control of the factories and also the social cooperative of the factories; I only ask that you have a clear moral conscience and the technical capability to advance the companies, and that there shall be increased production. If this is guaranteed by the workmen's unions, instead of by the employers, I have no hesitation in saying that the former have the right to substitute the latter.

That which we Fascists are opposing is the Bolshevist element in Italian Socialism. It is strange that a race which has produced Pisacane and Mazzini should go in search of gospels first to Germany and then to Russia. Pisacane and Mazzini ought to be studied a bit, and then it would be seen that some of the truths which it is pretended have been revealed in Russia, are only truths already consecrated in the books of our great Italian thinkers. Finally, how can Communism be thought possible in Italy, the most individualistic country in the world? It is only possible where every man is a number, not in Italy where every man is an individual, and more, has individuality. But after all, my dear friends, does Bolshevism still exist in Russia? It does not any longer. There are no longer councils of the factories, but dictators of the factories; no longer eight hours of work, but twelve; no longer equal salaries, but thirty-five different categories of salaries, not according to need, but according to merit. There is not in Russia even that liberty which there is in Italy. Is there a dictatorship of the proletariat? No! Is there a dictatorship of the Socialists? No! There is a dictatorship of a few intelligent men, not workmen, who belong to a fraction of the Socialist Party, and their dictatorship is opposed by all the other fractions.

This dictatorship of a few men is what is called Bolshevism. Now we do not want this in Italy. Even the Socialists themselves, realizing what they have seen in Russia, recognize, when you question them, that that which has gone badly in Russia cannot be transplanted into Italy. Not only are they wrong in not saying so openly; they are wrong in playing with equivocations and deceiving the masses. We repeat, we are not against the working classes, because they are necessary to the nation, sacredly necessary. The twenty million Italians who work with their hands have the right to defend their interests. What we are fighting is the mystification of the politicians to the detriment of the working classes; we fight these new priests who promise, in bad faith, a paradise they do not even believe in themselves. Those who are the most ardent advocates of Bolshevism here in Trieste take up this attitude in order to make themselves popular with the Slav masses who live nearby. (Thunderous applause).

And if I have a profound contempt for the Bolshevist leaders in Italy, and despise many of them, it is because I know them all well, because I have known them all, and have been in contact with them. I know perfectly well that when they play the lion they are rabbits, and that they are like certain monks in Heinrich Heine who openly preach the drinking of water but drink wine themselves in secret. We wish to see this shameful speculation finish, because it is against the interests of the nation.

Can you tell me by what curious chance the Italian Socialists are always against Italy in all questions? Can you tell me why they always side with those who are against Italy? With the Albanians, the Croats, the Germans and all the other people? Can you tell me why they shout "Long live Albania!" when one is fighting for Valona, which is Albanian, but do not shout "Long live Italy!" when one is fighting for Trento and Trieste, which are Italian? By what criterion are they always against Italy, shouting, "Down!"?

Four Arabs revolt in Libya and they shout, "Down with Libya!" Six thousand Albanians attack Valona and it is, "Down with Valona!" And if tomorrow the Croats of Dalmatia attack us it will be, "Down with Dalmatia!" And if, upon the burning mountain of the Carso, an insurrectionist movement develops against Trieste, I am afraid the Italian Socialists would cry, "Down with Trieste!" But there are Italians here and elsewhere who would strangle the fratricidal cry in their throats.

It was the same with their opposition to the war. War is a horrible thing in itself. Those who have been through it know. But it is necessary to explain. If they say, "War in itself and for itself, for whatever reason, in whatever latitude, under whatsoever pretext, must not be made," then I respect these humanitarians and Tolstoyans. If they say, "I abhor that blood shall be spilled under any pretext," then I respect them and admire them, although I find this impracticable. But when the Socialists cry, "Down with the war!" when Italy makes it, and "Long live the war!" when Russia makes it, it is a different matter. They had a paper which was very happy when the so-called Bolshevists were marching towards Warsaw, and employed the military style: "While we are writing the cannons..." etc.; we know it all by heart. Is not this war then the same thing? Does not the Russian war make widows and orphans? Is it not made with guns, aeroplanes and all the innumerable instruments which tear and kill human bodies? Either they must be contrary to all wars, in which case we can discuss together, or if they make distinctions between war and war, between the war which can be made and the war which cannot—well, we can tell them that their humanitarianism is simply horrible. And if they have reason to make war, we had reason to make it for the destinies of the country in 1915. (Applause).

What, then, is to be the task of the Fascists? It is this: to bridle demagogism with courage, energy and impetuosity. Fascism is called the Fasci of Combat, and the word "combat" does not leave any doubts about its aims, which are, to fight with peaceful arms, but also with the arms of warriors. And this is normal in Italy, because all the world is arming itself, and so it is absolutely necessary that we Italians arm ourselves in our turn. But the task of the Fascists here is more delicate, more difficult, and more necessary. Fascism here has a reason for existence, and finds a natural field for development. On this historic day as the Italian crisis seems to worsen, I am not worried, because it will be resolved. I have unlimited faith in the future of the Italian nation. Crises will succeed crises, there will be pauses and parentheses, but we shall arrive at a settlement, and the history of tomorrow cannot be thought of without the participation of Italy. It is true that in 1919 Italy had a Nitti, and a Giolitti in 1920, but if this is the black face of the situation, on the other hand the shining face of this situation is Gabriele D'Annunzio, who has made the only revolt against the plutocracy of Versailles.

There have been many agendas, many articles in the papers, much more or less senseless chatter, but the only man who has achieved a real revolutionary stroke, the only man who for twelve or thirteen months has held in check all the forces ranged against him is Gabriele D'Annunzio along with his legionaries. Against this man, of pure Italian race, are leagued all the cowards, and it is for this reason that we are extremely proud to be with him, even if this tribe of fools turns against us too. This man also represents the possibility of victory and resurrection. And this possibility exists because we have made war and won. It is ridiculous that those who most profited by it in wages, votes and honours are those who, today, turn round and revile it. In any case I think, as indeed this meeting of yours bears witness, that the hour of the vindication of our national efficiency has struck. While on the one hand there is a vast world of wretched, poor creatures, there is also a world which does not forget and does not ignore our victory. (Vivid applause).

Just as I was leaving Milan, I received from the mayor of Cupra Marittima, a small town in central Italy, an invitation to be present at their commemoration of the fallen. I did not accept, because I do not like making speeches. But this episode, like the pilgrimage of the Ortigara, the pilgrimage to the Grappa, the pilgrimage of the 24th October to the rocky Carso, tells you that all ideals are not lost, but are, on the contrary, being resurrected. We wish to assist this revival of spiritual and moral values in every way possible.

Yesterday, I experienced a moment of great emotion when passing over the Isonzo. Every time that I have passed that river with my pack on my back, I have knelt to drink of its crystal waters. If we had not reached the other side of that river, the tricolour would not today be flying from San Giusto.

This is the real and true meaning of the war. If the tricolour flies from San Giusto, it is because twenty years ago a man of Trieste was the forerunner; it is there because in 1915 Italian soldiers threw themselves upon the Austrian defenses, and all Italy took part in that act, from the Alpine detachments of the mountains of Piedmont, Lombardy and Friuli to the magnificent infantry of Abruzzo, Puglia and Sicily, and the soldiers of the generous and ironclad island of Sardinia, too often forgotten by the Government! And these generous sons have not yet risen up to take reprisals against the demagogues of Italy, because they are always ready to fulfill their duty.

Men of Trieste! The tricolour of San Giusto is sacred, the tricolour on the Nevoso is sacred, and still more so is that on the Dinaric Alps. The tricolour will be protected by our dead heroes, but let us swear together that it will be defended also by the living! (Warm standing ovation).