Marsala, the massacre of the monument to the Thousand abandoned and reduced to a ruin

Marsala is a jewel of the deep South of Italy, Sicily’s extreme point towards the west, in the Trapani area. It owes its fame to the archaeological museum of Lilibeo which houses the remains of a ship from the First Punic War and those of another Roman vessel, to the beauty of the mother church, to the nature reserve around the island of Mozia, to the incomparable liqueur wine of the same name and naturally to the Expedition of the Thousand.

It was not far from here, at Capo Boeo, that on 11 May 1860, after a handful of days on the high seas, a thousand volunteers, mostly from Bergamo, set sail from Quarto, on the edge of Genoa, on the ships Piemonte and Lombardo , docked determined to politically unify Italy under the orders of Giuseppe Garibaldi. Having formed the southern army, victory after victory he wrested Sicily from the Bourbons, took Italy back into arms, favored the annexation plebiscites and saw the enterprise come to fruition when, on 17 March 1861, the Kingdom of Italy submitted to the Savoys.

DANGLING FLAG

It’s obvious that Marsala is proud of the company. Much less so than the already architecturally unexcelled monument which commemorates such an expedition, which is now in total abandonment and the most shameful degradation. Anyone who comes to Marsala knows that they cannot miss the appointment with Garibaldi’s memorabilia. With Google Maps in hand, or a more traditional map, from the center you quickly descend along Corso Garibaldi (it goes without saying) to the seafront. The Monument to the Thousand stands there. Svetta so to speak. In fact, very little is noticeable. The Italian flag hangs there limply. No signs, no indications. Only the entrance gate confirms that it is the right place complete with visiting rules divided into winter and summer times, large lunch breaks and rest days included. Except that the sign speaks to no one: the Monument is in fact closed. For years.

AT THE BOW OF THE SHIP

The first thing that strikes you is the empty beer bottle next to the entrance that some scoundrel and some rascal as well have left. The second is the rotten smell. It’s the fault of algae and other marine residues accumulated in those hills that disfigure the sea view between the shoreline and the Monument. But it’s not just the low pressure these days. If there is sun, they dry up and stink; if it rains, they get wet and smell the same. Is it possible that they should stay there? After making a little effort, even the superficial visitor understands that the Monument is shaped like the bow of a ship. Miserella, more than essential. Then he also notices that the sides of this skimpy ship are metal plates engraved with names. If the Sun is dazzling, they are barely visible; if it rains with gray skies, too. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that they are the lists of the Thousand, but nothing, I mean nothing, explains, tells, remembers him.

On the other hand, on the external walls there is a mess of paints, writings, Caio loves Tizia, some Arabic names, other indecipherable graphemes, insults, a disproportionate number of male phalluses of every size and colour, various signs. On the ground there is rubbish everywhere, above the seagulls screech at those who, passing by in search of the history of Italy, disturb the fights sparked to grab the rancid remains of some snacks that no one has removed. In the center of the structure, transparent walls suggest a teaching room, an antiquarium, a ticket office. No, for a while the hall housed the Tourist Information Office, now there is only abandoned rubbish and filth on display before the eyes of the world.

THE FUNERAL OF THE HOMELAND

The Monument was inaugurated on 11 May 2016, 156 years after the landing of the One Thousand and Thirty after the then Prime Minister, Bettino Craxi, laid the first stone in June 1986. It has been vandalized twice by unknown persons. The best known instead fondled it for a few hours before making that Monument to the Expedition that transformed the national Risorgimento into myth a Tricolor of degradation, a cenotaph of abandonment, the menopause of memory, the funeral of the impotent homeland. Unless it is a neo-Bourbon stance, a dismayed person wonders how it is possible that, while statues for the Hero of the Two Worlds are wasted throughout Italy, in Marsala, which is overflowing with plaques and steles ( one remembers the mare renamed by the General with the name of the city), there is not even a hair of his beard and the homage to his brave men is just a dunghill. After which he respectfully asks the mayor of Marsala, the president of the Region, the Minister of Culture.