In an exercise of moral nit-picking, Lazio’s Paolo Di Canio defended his stiff-armed salute with: “I am a fascist, not a racist.”

One would think that playing semantics with the media is not Di Canio’s forte. However, since he has returned to Italy from the Premiership, the 37-year-old has passionately identified with all things Lazio. He has supported the club since childhood and he chose to remember a part of its history- unpleasantly but not entirely inaccurately.

Many believe that Lazio was Italian dictator Benito Mussolini’s club and therefore Fascist. But as renowned Italian football journalist Paddy Agnew tells us this belief is partially incorrect: “Legend says Lazio were a ‘Fascist’ club, closely linked to the Mussolini regime. This is partly true and partly misleading. Lazio were indeed run by Fascist soldier, General Giorgio Vaccaro. But he was more sportsman than soldier and for most part of the 1930s was in charge of both the Italian Football Federation and CONI, the Sports Ministry.” (World Soccer, November 2003)

Surprisingly, Mussolini was more closely linked to Roma and in 1927 was involved in both the club’s creation and vision of taking over Lazio. But as Agnew explains, Vaccaro’s protest ruled out the acquisition: “Vaccaro defended Lazio’s autonomy, angrily insisting that if any new club were to be formed in the city, then it should be called Lazio. Such was the general’s prestige and his good relations with Il Duce, that he won his case.” (World Soccer, November 2003)

Lazio, then, thrived on a defiance to Il Duce and while the club rose to prominence during the Fascist era, its first Scudetto came as late as 1974.

Yet the club’s ultras strongly believe in their perceived political colour and wield it with little subtlety or sensitivity. Swastikas and monkey chants at black players are a feature at many Lazio games. While Di Canio makes distinctions between race and regime, the Lazio ultras regularly blur those boundaries.

The player could not have picked a better venue for his salute either. Livorno are a left-wing club and their crowd rituals involve Che Guevara posters and Communist symbols. While Lazio at Livorno was supposed to be a clash between non-Scudetto chasing teams, it also turned into a clash of ideologies.

Admittedly, the problem of political expression in the football stadium is a complex one. If Di Canio is being criticized for his right-wing values should not the Livorno fans also be condemned for their radical left-wing ones? And is it now possible, as politics pervades Italian football, for many Serie A clubs to become apolitical?

It is too reductive and, indeed, incorrect to say that sectarianism solely shapes football rivalry in Scotland or the tension between regionalism and nationalism exclusively defines club rivalry in Spain.

Similarly, Italian football’s identity politics seems to be a mixture of many factors.

While a strong political disposition is the flourish of Lazio, clubs such as Palermo, Messina and Napoli rejoice in their Southern regionalism. In no instance was this clearer than when Napoli hero Diego Maradona urged Neapolitans to support Argentina against Italy during the 1990 World Cup semi-final. Many sections of the crowd gladly obliged and jeered the Italian team, who they viewed as representatives of the conceited ‘North’, while Maradona, despite being Argentinean, was seen as one of them.
Class distinctions have also played a part. Milan have traditionally been the working class’ club and Juventus a popular choice amongst poor southern workers, who took a liking to the ‘Old Lady’ when they went to work in industrial Turin. It is indeed difficult to reconcile that blue-collar support with the opulence of the two clubs today.

But representations of region and class can rarely be as emphatic – and offensive – as political insignia. I have yet to see a symbol or gesture of regionalism that has caused as much outrage as Di Canio’s salute.

It is also a matter of how clubs decide to represent their political leanings for it is not wrong in and of itself to do so. Livorno fans rarely cause trouble of the Lazio fans’ variety. How many times do we hear of Livorno fans inciting racial hatred in stadiums, something that is becoming a hallmark of Lazio fans?

The question then is what are the Italian authorities going to do about Di Canio’s salute- beyond the cosmetic 10,000 euros fine and a one-match ban that is? Maybe the more crucial point is whether the Italian authorities can do anything about how Lazio fans and players choose to remember their history. Considering how much power ultras representatives exert on Lazio – they are regular ticket holders and the interface between the club and the radical support – it is worth to point out that the club will be hesitant to mete out meaningful punishment.

One does get the feeling that placing Di Canio in the limelight has distracted from the wider issue of the thuggery that is present in the radical elements of Lazio support. Di Canio did, after all, salute Lazio’s radical fans, who in turn greeted the gesture with alacrity. True, that a player should uphold the highest standards of good behaviour but surely the issue is also how to stop the large swathes of hardcore Lazio fans who give decent supporters a terrible name.
Given the general leniency and helplessness of the Italian authorities when dealing with these matters, the future looks bleak.

Hasan Saiyid
TotalSoccer.ca writer/editor