day in western Lombardia, in the south visiting Vigevano andrnthe great Cistercian abbey of Morimondo, and driving north,rnanother day, I go through Gallarate and must have passed by,rnwithout knowing it, the little village of Cassano Magnago, thernhometown qf Umberto Bossi. The land here was once allrnfarms, and all over this part of Lombardia, there are still signs ofrnthe agricultural diligence that gave the Lombards their wealth:rnterraced hills, drainage and irrigation ditches, even navigationalrncanals that connected the local towns with far-off Milan.rnBossi begins his memoir Vento dal Nord with a depressing visitrnback to Cassano Magnago: the highway cuts right throughrnwhat had been parkland, cement houses have sprouted up likerntumors, and everywhere is the sound of traffic, the smell of asphalt.rnOver and over, in the course of his book, Bossi will sayrnthat it was his first 14 years in the country that formed his character,rnthat taught him the old ethic of “work and save,” a mottornthat has been replaced by “consume.”rnThe paradise lost of childhood is the source of much rebellionrnin the modern worid, and although Umberto Bossi wouldrngo on to be a roughneck, a salesman, and a medical student inrna modern Lombardia far removed from his early years, his abilityrnto tap into the aspirations of North Italians has never beenrnlimited to the usual appeals to greed, self-interest, and parochialrnresentments that fuel most populist movements. All the time,rnif only at the back of his mind, has been the desire to recoverrnthe world “the way it was” and, perhaps, to get even with thernpeople who destroyed it: greedy politicians, Sicilian mahosi,rnand corrupt businessmen who cement over villages, countingrntheir own profits but never the costs that others have to pay.rnSeptember 15th, the day of liberty for Independent Padania,rndawns fair and warm. I hurry into the center of Olginate—rna small village, now suburbanized like so much of Lombardia—rnwhere I board a bus with the local leghisti. My host is Giulio dernCapitani, a local counselor and the nephew of my old friends,rnGiuditta Podesta and her brother Giuseppe.rnThere are two or three “Pulman” buses just from Olginate,rnand wc rendezvous with the other delegations from Lecco atrnthe Abbey of Pontida, the site of the famous Lombard “giuramento”rn(oath). Waiting for the stragglers, some of the youngrnbucks leave the bus to spray-paint Lega slogans on a cementrnwall. They have obviously done this before. While one standsrnwith the paint can hidden in the grass, the two others split up,rntaking positions where they can watch for policemen, and inrnthe 15-20 minutes it takes to complete their art work (they gornover and over, always darkening and thickening the letters), thernalert is given several times.rnIt is an impressive motorcade: dozens of buses and whornknows how many automobiles, all from the province of Lecco.rnWhen we hit the autostrada, we catch sight of other motorcadesrnheaded toward their designated sites on “dio Po” outsidernof Cremona, a city made famous by its violin-makers. Today,rnanother chapter in Italian history is being written, as thousandsrngather from all over this part of Lombardia, to celebrate thernbirth of Padania. The newspapers and radio are already reportingrnthat the Festa is a failure: only 10,000 are said to have turnedrnout all over the North. “Look,” an angry woman tells me,rn”you’re a journalist. Do you see no one here? Why do you allrnlie?” I don’t know about other places, but here, in the milelongrnspace between two bridges, the fields and paths along thernshore are crowded with members of the Lega Nord from onernsmall area, the pro’iiice of Lecco.rnIt would be easy to get lost in the crowd, but de Capitani—arnsuccessful architect and admired local figure—takes charge andrnin the course of the day I shake hands with dozens of officials:rnmayors, councillors, and even a member or two of the Italianrnparliament. The mayor of Colico, a town at the Northeast cornerrnof Lago di Como, tells me that, in mystical ceremonies likerntoday’s, Padania is returning to its Celtic and pre-Christianrnroots. The mayor looks 100 percent German and speaks Italianrnwith the emphatic precision of the Italian Swiss. After discoursingrnon the mysteries of trees and rivers, he adds that he,rnlike most of his friends in the Lega, is a good Catholic.rnWe sneak off for lunch at a nearby restaurant with AlbertornMaria Bosisio, member of parliament and one of the brightestrnand most polished leaders of the Lega I have run into. He andrnthe other well-to-do leghisti who have filled up the restaurantrnare living contradiction of the story I have heard repeatedly,rnthat the middle-classes who joined the Lega in the early 90’srndeparted after Bossi’s ribaltone that overturned the Berlusconirngovernment. In a heated but friendly conversation with otherrnleghisti, Bosisio draws a precise line between defense of thernNorth against the invasion of Southern mafiosi, government officials,rnand welfare dependents, on the one hand, and a generalrnhatred of Southern Italians, on the other.rnIn the media there have been predictions of violence, but thernnearest approach to trouble comes in the restaurant, as a grouprnof leghisti complain about the service to the obviously Sicilianrnproprietor, who treats them to a tongue-lashing of an eloquencernundreamed of by Lombards. Our waiter, just as obviouslyrnof Southern background, though he speaks without thernaccent, tells us he is sympathetic to the Lega’s demand forrnhome rule. From all that I can tell, Sicilian businessmen havernnothing to fear from the Lega, and some of them would welcomernany effort to drive the Mafia back to Sicily.rnFor the “Senatur,” today has been a long time in coming. Forrnthe past two years—indeed, throughout its existence—thernLega has been demanding political reform and a deconsolidationrnof power. Exasperated by the slow pace—actually, nornpace—of reform, and despairing of any progress toward a federalrnconstitution, Bossi began hinting last fall that it was time tornsecede. In the spring, he made his threats explicit, and today—rnat the end of three days of symbolic demonstrations, includingrna mystical ceremony of carrying a vial of water from the sourcernof the Po all the way to the mouth—the Lega is ready.rnAfter a series of speakers from other independence movementsrn—Basques and Catalonians from Spain, a Fleming fromrnBelgium—Bossi begins to speak in an uncharacteristicallyrnsolemn voice and announces the independence of Padania andrnthe federalist principles on which his new nation will be based.rnOn the way home, after all the flags have flown, the sausagesrneaten, and the Grand March from Aida (the national anthem)rnplayed a dozen times, I feel a little like the hapless couple at thernend of The Graduate: after independence, what? Who willrnbreak the eggs to make this omelette? The press has madernmuch of Bossi’s defense force, the “camicce verdi” (greenrnshirts), but these are men of all ages, unarmed and not particuladyrndangerous looking. The only violence comes when, a fewrndays later, the number two man in the party, Roberto Maroni,rnis beaten up by the police in his office. Maroni is a particularlyrnstrange object for police brutality: he is not only well-liked byrnhis political enemies, but for a brief time he even served asrnMinister of the Interior, a post which gave him control over thernnational police.rnJANUARY 1997/9rnrnrn