Wrong draw
Hans Mulder is communication-student in Arnhem. Many have read his adventures in Washington in Sensor. Now Hans is writing for snsr.nl.
The sun warms the silent streets of Predappio, hills flank the light houses along the main road. The place of birth of Benito Mussolini, for ever fogged in the nostalgia of the fascist Italy.
The weather is sticky, in the beginning of August. Predappio is suffused with calmness. When Benito Mussolini came into power in 1922, he wanted to turn this place into the ideal city, buildings for the growing of model-fascists and stately pillars firmly in position.
I am in a place of pilgrimage for neo-fascists from all whereabouts. Along the road I see show-windows where souvenirs are sold. Everything is suffused with anti-Semitism. I am confronted with deification of everything you thought to be forbidden. On T-shirts, flags and caps the face of the Italian dictator is displayed.
A little uncomfortable I pick up some pins from a board. Swastikas, logos of the Waffen-SS and the angry eagles are all present. The salesman is watching me. A lanky man with straight hair and hollow cheeks. I feel a sinister atmosphere, as if he knows it is not allowed.
Benito Mussolini is situated in a spacious crypt near the church. Candles stand at his feet and there are always visitors. The house of his birth stands on a hill. The square with arrogant pillars beneath the hill functioned as a platform from where he spoke to the people. A little path which winds through a playground with a slide and swing, is going down.
