A need for joy as the world falls to pieces.

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As a 19-year-old student of Italian, I was obsessed with Neorealist cinema.

That’s a shot from the closing scene of “Rome Open City,” Roberto Rossellini’s iconic 1945 film, one of the most famous works made during the war era.

Watching those movies — “Paison,” “Bitter Rice,” “Bicycle Thieves”… — as a young adult was a life-changing experience for me. Their characters were superhumans in my mind, capable of facing the worst that life could deal them: war, persecution, hunger, loss of liberty, death. It helped me to understand the hardship endured by my paternal great-grandparents, who were born into deep poverty in Russia (they fled the Cossacks in the first decade of the last century).

Yet those characters, often real people who had been recruited from the street, were also all too human. Italian filmmakers’ brilliant work brought their suffering to the screen in a (neo) real way that the world had never seen before.

I dreamed that I could be as strong when confronted by the life-and-death decisions that people in war are forced to make. I hoped that I could be as graceful were I ever to find myself in the bellic worst-case-scenario like those victims of imperialist war.

Today, Tracie, the girls, and I watch scenes on TV that seem plucked from a Neorealist film: the raids targeting brown people in our country, protesters being shot by federal agents, the concentration camps where brown people are treated like animals (see Pontecorvo’s “Kapò”), the imperial wars in Iran and Ukraine, the plight of Palestinian children…

Sometimes I wonder if we are just another bourgeois family in 1933 quietly pretending that the world isn’t falling apart. Actually, it’s more like 1939 at this point.

At our dinner table, we talk every night about the tragedies unfolding across our planet.

But like those Neorealist characters, we also try to find beauty and joy in the world around us, in the mundane as it were, in each other. If we didn’t, all would be lost. Maybe it was those characters’ fleeting joy, however ephemeral, that gave them the courage to withstand the unthinkable. I hope so.

Stop using the word “ghetto” unless you really know what it means!

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Something that blew my mind: when my post about my support for Jasmine Crockett blew up (300+ comments and counting), people assailing me from both hard right and hard left used the word “ghetto” in their attacks.

Do they even know what the term means?

Many will be surprised to learn that the word ghetto is Italian in origin. And to be more exact, Venetian in origin.

The first ghetto in history was founded in Venice in the early 16th century, in the neighborhood where the city’s foundries were located. The word “gheto” in Venetian dialect denotes “foundry” (its Latin origins bring it back to iectare, “to throw,” gettare in Italian).

That was the first ghetto in history, created by the Venetians to concentrate the Jews.

The term spread through Europe as other cities mirrored the Venetians’ racist policy.

By the mid-19th century, ghetto came to denote a place where a racial or ethnic group was segregated from the greater community.

The Oxford English Dictionary gives this definition from 1855 forward: “Any area occupied predominantly by a particular social or ethnic group, esp. a densely populated urban area which is subject to social and economic pressures, tending to restrict its demographic profile; an enclave. Also in extended (and sometimes ironic) use.”

An example from Melville: “The belittered Ghetto, forward of the main-mast, wholly occupied by the blacks.”

By the late 19th century, a new meaning emerged: “Originally and chiefly in the United States: a socially and economically disadvantaged inner-city area predominantly populated by African American people” (Oxford English Dictionary).

We don’t use or teach our children to use the word in our house. It’s a historic term in our view, a word that has been used to disparage Black people in our country since before I was born.

If you didn’t vote for Jasmine Crockett because she’s Black and you think that other white people wouldn’t vote for her, well, I’ve got news for you. Your doubly racist. (I’m echoing the words of one of my favorite Houston-based political bloggers, Erika Harrison, @blackgirlswhobrunch; thank you Erika for your awesome writing on the campaign!)

And oh yeah, stop using the word ghetto unless you are going to use it correctly and respectfully!

Photo credit: “Venezia – Cartello di ingresso al Ghetto” by Luca Paolini, CC BY-ND 2.0.

American trolls: 200+ comments, many racist and nasty, from people I don’t know.

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Since when is temperate civil discourse about politics considered intolerable in this country?

Oh yeah, I forgot, it became officially intolerable when in 2016 when Trump disparaged Ted Cruz’s wife and Rubio’s hands.

In case you had any doubts, in May 2024, Taylor Green insulted Jasmine Crockett about her eyelashes and we barely batted one. Crockett responded by commenting on Taylor Green’s “bleach-blonde, bad-built, butch body.”

When I posted my preference for Crockett in yesterday’s Texas primary race, I was expecting to get maybe 30-40 interactions.

Instead I got three times that much and more than 200 comments, many of the overtly racist and nasty, from people I don’t know.

The trolls on Facebook have been out to get me for a while (since I started posting about FIEL). But the oversized response to my simple expression of political joy and hope shows that people like me are targets.

I’ve lived in Texas now for nearly 20 years. Over those decades, I’ve observed the trollification of our state government and the Texasification of the federal government.

One of the best overviews of the Texan political panorama I’ve read is “Paxton Is a Texas-Size Troll. Is That What G.O.P. Voters Want?” by conservative political commentator Kevin Williamson, published today by the Times.

“Texas is more closely divided than you might think,” writes Williamson. “That is in part because Texas is no longer entirely the land of ‘wide open spaces’ but an increasingly urban state, home to six of the 25 largest cities in the country and two of the five largest metropolitan areas. Republicans do not typically fare well in urban areas — they haven’t won a mayoral election in Houston in more than 40 years.”

Williamson calls out Paxton for his corruption and trolling (see the title): “Paxton might be described, without exaggeration, as the most scandal-plagued politician in the country.”

He also calls out Jasmine Crockett for her own brand of trolling: “Ms. Crockett rode that pony a long way.”

I’m disappointed by Crockett’s loss but am giving my 1,000 percent support to Talarico. Let’s hope it’s Paxton v. Talarico, that’s a fight I’d like to see.

Vote Jasmine Crockett! Texas isn’t just a bunch of John Waynes (despite what the white people think)!

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One of my favorite California-Texas put-downs was voiced by sister-in-law, my little brother’s wife.

“How can you live in Texas with all those awful people?” she chided me not long after I moved here to be with Tracie.

People outside our state love to put us down.

Back when she said that to me, I wanted to (but didn’t) tell her: what about all the Brown and Black people who live in my state? Are they awful, too? Or is it only the white people who look like you?

Guess what! There is more to Texas than John Wayne and the movies!

Anyone who’s ever spent time here knows the answer to that, unless they’ve only hung out in the Woodlands and at the Yacht Club.

According to the pundits, Texas has the largest number of eligible Black voters in the U.S.

And a lot of folks here are getting excited about Jasmine Crockett’s campaign for senate.

I like both James Talarico and Jasmine Crockett. But I am convinced that she is the stronger candidate for the moment.

I believe that she can mount a more compelling campaign against Cornyn or Paxton.

Can you imagine a race between Paxton, one of the most corrupt politicians in Texas history (and that’s saying a lot!), and Crockett? Even if she didn’t prevail, her ability to reveal GOP hypocrisy would further our cause.

G-d bless both Dems. But my vote is with Jasmine!

If you haven’t already, please vote, my fellow Texans! Either way, we need to show up on voting day if we want to change our country’s racist and imperial policies.

We’ll send all the awful people to San Diego to be with my brother and his wife. They deserve each other.

Italia mia, it’s not addio but arrivederci.

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Over the last few weeks, a number of Italian wine folks have written asking me if I’m attending this or that tasting, if I’m available to meet with a visiting winemaker, when I’m coming back to Italy, if I’ll be at Slow Wine…

It’s incredible to think that I haven’t been back to Italy in nearly 12 months. There was a time when I traveled to my spiritual homeland six to nine times a year.

It’s next to unbelievable to think that I haven’t even left Texas since I attended my mother’s funeral in San Diego in November. I used to be on the road two weeks every month, leading seminars and events across the U.S.

I’m both happy and sorry to report that my work in Italian wine is coming to an end.

The number one reason for that is that Tracie’s career is going so well (poo, poo, poo!) that she needs me here to take care of the girls, the dogs, and the house, etc. I made a more than decent living in the wine business for 20+ years. Tracie was a stay-at-home mom for the first decade of the girls’ lives. But now she’s the bread winner and I’ve shifted to supporting her success.

I was fortunate to have such a rewarding arc in Italian wine: when I started out in 1999, the category was just taking off; by the time I left NYC in 2007, fine Italian wine had become a contender.

But wine and food were a detour for me: by working in Italian enogastronomy, I was able to support myself and then later my family. My greatest interest was in Italian culture and history. Wine and food were a means to keep me connected to the land of Petrarch, Pasolini, and Pontormo while bringing home the pancetta, as it were.

I won’t be returning to Europe until this summer when we visit as a family. But we will be tourists — no longer “authorized personnel.” Instead of dragging our daughters to wine country, I’ll be taking them to see the Vatican and the Uffizi (places of my youth!).

I’m not going to stop writing about Italy. But I’m also going to expand my focus to reflect my other interests, like Italian literature and our growing activism here in Texas.

Italia mia, thank you for all you’ve given me. This is no addio. It’s just an arrivederci.

ICE protests in Italy? “Round ups” resonate among Italians familiar with history.

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The Italian word for “round up” (as in the raids conducted by ICE in the U.S.) is rastrellamento, literally, a raking up.

For Italians old enough to remember World War II, the term evokes memories of the “Black Shirts,” Mussolini’s paramilitary thugs who seized undesirables, enemies of the state, intellectuals, foreigners, homosexuals, Jews, etc.

For those familiar with history, the scenes broadcast from Minneapolis around the world reverberate with Italians who have studied what happened in their own country in the 1920s and 30s.

It’s no wonder that the Milanese took to the streets to protest the presence of ICE agents at this year’s Winter Olympics. (Yes, the U.S. sent ICE agents to the games; Google it.)

To illustrate what I’m talking about, please have a look at this iconic sequence from the neorealist classic film Rome: Open City.

The movie was made in 1945 using the war-torn streets of Rome as the backdrop and citizen actors as the “face” of the tragedy.

Look closely at the characters in the YouTube clip below and you’ll see the same terror and sorrow that I’ve seen as families are being torn apart by federal officers in our country.

Please join me — and the Italians — in standing up and speaking out against our government’s inhumane, racist policies.

How you can help the immigrant community under siege: stand up, speak out, volunteer, donate.

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Many thought Trump couldn’t be elected in the first place.

Many trusted that he couldn’t even stand as a candidate after the January 6 siege of the Capitol.

But all those things came to pass.

Many thought his administration couldn’t organize extra-judicial ICE goon squads that would profile brown people. Many people believed that even if he did, ICE would be subject to accountability — not to mention common sense and decency.

It’s happening, people, even though we wished it wouldn’t.

It’s time to act. It’s time to act NOW.

A lot of folks have read about my pro bono work as a media consultant with FIEL, the largest immigrant advocacy group in Texas, based here in Houston. And many have reached out asking how they can help.

Despite lies about FIEL recounted by Houston Mayor Whitmire and Texas attorney general Paxton, FIEL helps the vulnerable in the immigrant community every day through education, hands-on advocacy, and emergency interventions for those facing wrongful deportation.

FIEL needs volunteers and donations.

FIEL is an education resource, especially for DACA recipients.

It also mounts stations outside of supermarkets and similar community hubs where they distribute literature on immigrants’ rights (“what to do if ICE knocks at your door,” etc.).

FIEL organizes ICE awareness groups (few in our neighborhood realize that ICE did a massive raid at an apartment complex a mile from our home).

FIEL organizes rallies and protests that force politicians to face their hypocrisy.

FIEL sends out court observers to monitor immigration cases (this is one of the hardest tasks but also one of the most important).

I could go on and on about what FIEL does not just for the immigrant community but for our ENTIRE COMMUNITY.

Please start the process of becoming a volunteer by filling out a FIEL volunteer intake form. And please, please, please, if your finances permit it, please give to FIEL.

Thank you for your solidarity with the vulnerable in our community.

Image via the us_icegov Flickr (public domain).

ICE agents “dressed like clowns, with the rough fabric with rancid stench.”

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The American government’s terror campaign against brown people and the murder of white American protesters in Minneapolis are as terrifying as they are wholly wrong and morally indefensible.

No matter your political stripe, there’s no longer any way to deny that cruelty, the expression of raw power as violence, and dehumanization have been revealed as key elements of the MAGA platform and ethos.

And watching the horrific, tragic events unfold in Minneapolis, there’s no doubt that the seeds of a (soon to be hot) civil war are taking root.

I’m reminded of Pasolini’s letter to student protesters after the 1968 Battle of Valle Giulia (wiki it) where Italy’s paramilitary police (the Carabinieri) and protesters clashed violently.

And then, look at them, Pasolini wrote, referring to the Carabinieri with their black and red uniforms:

And then, look at them: dressed like clowns,
with the rough fabric with rancid stench
Worst of all, naturally, the psychological state
to which they are reduced
for about forty liras a month:
without a smile,
with no more friendship with the world,
separated, excluded (in an exclusion that has no equal)
humiliated by the loss of human qualities
in exchange for those of a policeman
(being hated makes you hate).
They are twenty, dear young men and women, your age.

(Translation from primolevicenter.org.)

Reading the letter (a poem published at the time as opinion piece), it occurred to me how ICE agents are also victims of our government’s awful policy — not unlike the way U.S. soldiers were victims of U.S. policy in Vietnam (or Afghanistan or Iraq).

But then you look at the agents’ abject violence against U.S. citizens and rightful residents: it’s hard not to see MAGA’s hateful, emotionally-driven cruelty in the heart of their actions.

I pray for them just as I pray for the victims of MAGA’s sadism. I pray for us all.

Image via the us_icegov Flickr (public domain).

My mom’s panzanella recipe summons some great memories.

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As I’ve been sorting through my mom’s papers and photographs, a number of gems have already emerged: postcards from her trip to the U.S.S.R.; her diary from her sojourn in Africa (both trips were key elements in her narrative); my grandmother’s wedding announcement; my maternal grandparents’ immigration papers…

But nothing brought a bigger smile to my face than the discovery of Judy’s handwritten panzanella recipe.

Judy first tasted panzanella — the classic Tuscan summer bread salad — when I took her to Bagno Vignoni, a small village in Montalcino wine country where a thermal pool occupies the space of the town square. The year was 1989 and I was in my second academic year at the University of Padua.

My friend Riccardo’s mother spoke no English at all. But she took my mom by the hand and led her to her kitchen where they prepared her first panzanella together. What a magical moment that was.

Judy was fiercely proud of her panzanella recipe and she loved to tell the story of how she learned it — a great tale to share at her epic dinner parties.

I’m so geeked to post it here.

Now that I’m no longer traveling in the food and wine world two weeks every month, I’ve been thinking about what I should write about here.

Judy’s recipe was just the food for thought I needed.

Panzanella

1/2 lb. stale or toasted Italian bread
2 large ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and diced
2 small red onions, minced
1/3 cup black olives, pitted
1 bunch of basil leaves, stemmed and cut into thin strips
3 cans tuna packed in oil
4 garlic cloves, chopped
2 tbsp. red wine vinegar
salt and pepper
1/2 cup olive oil

Soak bread in water to cover. Squeeze to remove water. Crumble into mixing bowl. Add tomatoes, onions, olives, basil, tuna, and garlic. Toss together.

In small bowl, whisk the vinegar with pinch of salt and pepper until dissolved. Whisk in olive oil. Pour over salad and toss before serving.

Serves 4.

MLK Day is behind us, Black History Month is around the corner. Do something “on purpose” this year to observe and celebrate.

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Today’s post is dedicated to my good friend MaQuettia Ledet (above). She and I first met in 2018 when the local chapter of the NAACP had just begun to revive the historic Orange, Texas MLK Day March.

Today, she is the chapter’s vice president and she has grown the event with fantastic results. By my count, there were 200 people at yesterday’s presentation (a far cry from the handful of people who came out in 2018); the speakers were all compelling and engaging and the music was fantastic.

In just seven years, she took a moribund but cherished tradition and has transformed it into a living, breathing agent of community support. She was the mistress of ceremonies at yesterday’s event and man, it was just super.

I was asked to give a short talk about “protecting freedom.” I told the story of Fannie Lou Hamer and how her power as an orator was a key step in bringing about the Voting Rights Act.

That campaign included the now famous quote: “Is this America, the land of the free and the home of the brave, where our lives be threatened daily, because we want to live as decent human beings?”

In 1971, she called out the newly founded National Women’s Political Caucus for not including issues faced by Black women in their platform.

That’s the speech that gave the historic civil rights movement one of its most iconic battle cries: “Now, we’ve got to have some changes in this country. And not only changes for the black man, and only changes for the black woman, but the changes we have to have in this country are going to be for liberation of all people — because nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”

I closed my talk by noting that as long as people are dying in ICE custody (the third person to die in custody this year, detained in Minneapolis, had passed the night before) no one in this country is truly free.

It’s what MLK called the “inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”

Thank you for reading and thank you for observing and celebrating MLK Day. What are we doing for Black History Month “on purpose,” as my friend Annette likes to say?