The inauguration speech of Alessandro Giuli, freshly appointed and evidently eager to catch up with his colleagues, is making all of Italy laugh. In just a few hours it has become a gigantic meme that is dominating the internet and newspapers: the pompous sentences full of little-known terms, which produce the obvious super-cazzola effect of Count Mascetti, would seem to have been written specifically to unleash the imagination of commentators.

Speeches full of fluff are the norm (even at Strega)

From a certain point of view it is comforting that almost no one fell for the apparently refined eloquence of the new minister: it would have been even more depressing if everyone had acclaimed him as a great orator. Of course, this is a bit curious, if we think that people who speak in exactly the same way are invited to all the major literary festivals in Italy and even candidates for the Strega; in short, it is not particularly unusual to hear fluffy and needlessly abstruse speeches, which if paraphrased and summarized are reduced to two sentences (or directly to nothing).

At the same time, as always, there would be absolutely nothing to laugh about: a minister of the Republic who makes himself ridiculous in front of the whole of Italy by flaunting erudition at random is not a great sight. It is difficult to understand where this very unfortunate communication choice comes from, which will probably have also been subjected to the scrutiny of some expert: who knows, maybe he got exactly what he wanted.

We are no longer used to institutional language

It is also true that we have long been accustomed to hearing everything from politicians: we have had those who say bad words, those who speak like at the fish market, those who tell jokes, those who really don’t know Italian… From this perspective, Giuli it’s just one of many, and certainly not the most embarrassing. In short, the institutional language is now almost unknown to us, and for the most part the indignation that arises in front of these cases is fake: it does not derive from a real concern for the miserable state in which the institutions find themselves, but rather from the wave of the moment , and the precious opportunity to argue about something or laugh with friends.

The institutional language is so unknown that we even have those who defend Giuli’s speech! But how? You planted the trail because Sangiuliano was ignorant, and now that an educated one arrives (sic) do you still have to complain? But nothing ever goes well for you! Indeed, hoping that the Council of Ministers will have people capable of speaking in correct, clear and understandable Italian is really daring too much. Moreover, it is well known that there is no middle ground between blatant ignorance and inconsistent verbiage. And it is equally well known that a person’s culture is directly proportional to the incomprehensibility of what he says, right?

The institutional language should certainly be elevated, that is, in keeping with the extremely formal context and the seriousness that should distinguish those who represent the State (I know, it’s very funny). But high language does not mean unnecessarily abstruse: of course, it may be difficult to understand for many (and if anything we should aim to educate the population rather than lower the level of official communication), but it will not require a syntactic and lexical analysis of every one of its part, to be understood. And it’s not even about that: the operation of stretching the soup by throwing in big words that aren’t suited to the context is extremely dishonest, especially if carried out by a representative of the institutions. In short: as long as Valerio does it we can only cry for the future of Italian culture, but if a minister does it we feel a little taken for a ride.

Public space is not a stage to attempt performances

Of course, the minister’s speech did not end with that introduction, and what followed was at least more concrete and understandable; but can anyone explain the reason for that introduction? Because, I repeat, here we are not talking about the writer in love with himself who infects the public by building verbal labyrinths, but about a minister: someone who must (or should) respond to the citizens, and not use the institutional space to show off some term recently learned technician.

Consequently, those who defend him (often – and it makes me very fond of – mostly to boast of knowing all the terms he used) have really lost sight of the point: speaking in this way means overreaching, because the message is deliberately rendered confused by a form that to define as harlequin-like is a compliment – also because the problem is not so much the individual words, but rather the fact that a coherent argumentative structure is missing, and the sentences are often placed one after the other without any logical connection. Mistaking this type of communication for a manifestation of culture is much more worrying than the very speech we are commenting on.