Without looking at my watch, I can tell you what time it is at the Bologna train station. It is twenty five minutes past ten in the morning, August 2, 1980, to be precise. Two things will strike your eye when you either approach the Bologna train station from the main entrance, or if you arrive there and are standing out in front and something just doesn’t seem right. Look for a moment, and it will start to stand out. Where there is now a MacDonald’s adjacent to the main entry hall, the architecture seems to be out of synch, from a different time, than it. Then, you may want to check you watch and to see what time it is so as to catch your train, (though ultimately, that may in itself prove to be an act of futility), but the clock reads 10:25, even though it is well into the afternoon.
Twenty-one years ago, on August 2, 1980, members of the Nuclei Armati Rivoluzionari executed one of the most infamous civilian attacks in recent European history, known as the Strage di Bologna. They bombed the Bologna train station, killing 85 people, and literally stopping Time. The shock of the blast blew out the clock, and the city of Bologna has since decided to keep it there as a reminder, per non dimenticare, of what happened that day.
Bologna holds an interesting place in Italy, politically and socially. Theoretically, it is Communist by political stripes, though I often joked at the visible wealth there that it was “rich enough to be Communist.” Socially, it houses an extremely highly educated population and boosts the alma mater studiorium, which is more or less the mother of all universities, as L’Università di Bologna, where I was fortunate enough to be a visiting lecturer, is recognized as the oldest established western university, officially designated as such in 1988, celebrating its 900th anniversary, at which time the controversial Bologna Accord was signed, re-defining collegiate education in Europe on a grand scale.
Something else that makes Bologna special is its sense of city awareness and pride. People are really proud to be from Bologna, and they should be, it is an incredible city, very likely my favorite mid-sized city to date. It has an incredible infrastructure for civic events, and there always seemed to be something going on in Bologna that was celebrating being “bolognese.” In addition, it is a city that is highly geared to the personal and family level, and nearly every week in the summer months one can find some sort of program on the piazza maggiore, with kids running around, laughing and chasing pigeons, under the shade of the half-finished façade of the San Petronio Basilica.
The church itself has been a source of anxiety as well. Inside, on one of the tableaux paintings, there is a depiction of sinners being tormented in Hell, amongst them is no less than the prophet Mohammed. While living in Bologna, there was a controversial case in which seven Muslims were apprehended based on the suspicion that they were going to bomb the cathedral as retribution for the painting.
Any act of violence upon civilians is an act of social horror. The bombing of Bologna’s train station struck a deep, deep chord with all Italians, and was even more insidious because it was home-grown. The NAR was Italian. Similar to the Timothy McVeigh-masterminded event in Oklahoma City and the more recent tragedy in Norway at the hands of Anders Breivik, these were acts of terror from home.
Today, commemorating September 11, 2001, and the events that transpired that day, such acts are on my mind. They are still all unfathomable to me. Yet, the Bologna train station does stick out in my mind. Mainly because it was place that I have been to the most often where such an event took place. I had visited the Twin Towers years before when they were still standing, and was in complete awe of their monumental stature, but I have not been to other such sites, except for the Taj Mahal Palace hotel in Mumbai, where Pakistani terrorists attacked and lay siege to Mumbai, the result of 164 dead and over 300 wounded. Currently, the hotel has a police barricade around it as does the plaza in front of the Gateway to India to prevent any further attacks. Reminiscent of the November 2008 bombings, more deaths were recorded in Delhi this week at the hands of Pakistani attackers.
But, to return to Bologna, what made it different for me was that it was because I went to that station nearly every day to take a train to the Forlì campus, where my department was located. And, every time, upon approaching the station, I would see that clock stopped, and it would indeed give me pause as to how it had happened. I do remember feeling uncomfortable at times there, imaging what the scene must have been like at this station, which for me was usually a place to enjoy knowing that I was in Bologna. There would be moments, though, when I would seem to have flashes of the chaos and pandemonium, and above all the fear that must have been there on that day. It is as if sometimes I could still feel it, the horror, suspended in Time.
No comments:
Post a Comment