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The Massacre at the Fosse Ardeatine. History, Myth, Ritual, and ...

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It never happened.<br />

<strong>The</strong>y didn’t warn us. <strong>The</strong>y didn’t post any bills. <strong>The</strong>y put<br />

<strong>the</strong>m up afterwards, after <strong>the</strong>y’d already killed <strong>the</strong>m”.<br />

This wrong memory, which is how <strong>the</strong> city chose to make sense of wh<strong>at</strong> happened, is also a<br />

way of exorcising her, of refusing to share her pain.<br />

<strong>The</strong> visibility of <strong>the</strong> widows brought o<strong>the</strong>r troubles too. In 1944, women weren’t supposed to<br />

go out to work; <strong>the</strong>se women going out into public space, were assumed to be defenceless.<br />

Having no man, <strong>the</strong>y were fair game. Many were subjected to sexual harassment, something<br />

for which <strong>the</strong>y didn’t even have a name <strong>at</strong> <strong>the</strong> time, on top of wh<strong>at</strong> <strong>the</strong>y had suffered. Several<br />

of <strong>the</strong>se women have this kind of stories, <strong>and</strong> it tells you a gre<strong>at</strong> deal about wh<strong>at</strong> male culture<br />

was <strong>at</strong> <strong>the</strong> time. <strong>The</strong>re are also stories of mutual aid. For instance, a woman who had lost her<br />

bro<strong>the</strong>r tells how she would go to her sister-in-law’s house, <strong>and</strong> secretly put a soothing pill in<br />

her sister-in-law’s soup; l<strong>at</strong>er she realised th<strong>at</strong> her sister-in-law was putting a pill in hers. And<br />

<strong>the</strong>n <strong>the</strong>re are <strong>the</strong> stories of children growing up in orphan homes, or growing up surrounded<br />

by <strong>the</strong> pain of <strong>the</strong>ir parents.<br />

“It was a strange grief”, a woman who lost her f<strong>at</strong>her says, over<br />

<strong>and</strong> over. “It was a strange grief”.<br />

She describes calling her mo<strong>the</strong>r, in <strong>the</strong> mid-sixties, <strong>and</strong><br />

asking, “Mum, wh<strong>at</strong> are you doing?” Her mo<strong>the</strong>r replied, “I’m weeping”. “Wh<strong>at</strong> are you<br />

weeping for?” “I’m weeping for your f<strong>at</strong>her”. And <strong>the</strong> daughter said, “Now?”<br />

Her<br />

mo<strong>the</strong>r answered, “I didn’t have time before, because I had to work. I had to keep three jobs,<br />

keep house, raise four daughters, now I’m retired, I can weep”.<br />

Some children grew up in<br />

orphanages; those who could stay <strong>at</strong> home were surrounded by this trauma, which has passed<br />

on through gener<strong>at</strong>ions.<br />

Finally, <strong>the</strong>re is <strong>the</strong> question of symbols. One of <strong>the</strong> things I did was to interview young<br />

people.<br />

When you say you interview young people, older people’s first response is always,<br />

“Oh, <strong>the</strong>y don’t know anything.<br />

<strong>The</strong>y don’t have any historical memory”. In some cases this<br />

17

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