It started again the witch hunt: the bosses, the government, the press and television; in every discontent you see a dirty Chinese; "let's all unite to defend the institutions! But today I saw in the protest many smiling faces, the Comrades, fifteen years old, workers with students: "Power to the workers! No to the master's school! Always united we will win, long live the Revolution!". When then the armored cars they made the carousels the comrades grabbed the sticks of the signs and I saw the armored cars tipped over and then burned, many and many black berets with smashed heads. Violence, violence, violence, revolt; who hesitated this time will fight with us tomorrow! One, two, ten, twenty years of democracy; stones are not arguments, a bourgeois tells us; we agree with you, my dear sirs, but the arguments they do not have the strength of stones. "Power to the workers! No to the master's school! Always united we will win, long live the Revolution!". When then the armored cars they made the carousels the comrades grabbed the sticks of the signs and I saw the armored cars tipped over and then burned, many and many black berets with smashed heads. Violence, violence, violence, revolt; who hesitated this time will fight with us tomorrow!
Ballata dell'anarchico Pinelli (Ballad of Pinelli the Anarchist) Pinelli was an anarchist railwayman, ex WWII Partisan, falsely accused of carrying out a tremendous bomb attack in Piazza Fontana, Milan (17 dead, 88 wounded) ; actually the bomb attacks he was accused of were the work of a fascist terrorist group, Ordine Nuovo, working hand in hand with Italian secret services in what has been called State Terrorism - giving far right terrorists freedom of action to then put the blame on Communists and Anarchists , in fact all the mass bombing happened in Italy were the work of neofascist terror groups. The real authors were Franco Freda and Giovanni Ventura who of course were protected by the Italian government and acquitted. Pinelli was murdered in cold blood in a police station by police chief Luigi Calabresi, who afterwards tossed his dead body out of the window, after attempting in vain to force him to confess for bombings he wasn't involved at all, and this is a fact. His death was ruled a "suicide". Luigi Calabresi then met his pig's fate in the hands of Red Brigades, who sentenced him to death and executed him with several pistol shots in his back one morning while he was going to his lurid work of butcher. Suits him well. That evening in Milan it was so hot how hot, how hot it was "Brigadier, open the window a little!" And suddenly Pinelli fell. "Commissioner I have already told you I repeat that I am innocent Anarchy does not mean bombs But equality in freedom. " "Cut the crap, suspected Pinelli ! Your friend Valpreda has spoken He is the perpetrator of this attack And we know that his partner is you" "Impossible" - shouts Pinelli - "A Comrade cannot have done it Among the fatcats we must seek Who set the bombs off. More bombs will be dropped To stop the class struggle The bosses and the bureaucrats know That we are no longer willing to deal !!" "Now enough, suspect Pinelli" - Calabresi nervous shouted - "Tu Lo Grano, open the window a little Four floors are hard to do. " In December it was hot in Milan But how hot it was It was enough to open the window A push and Pinelli fell. After days we were three thousand Three thousand at your funeral And no one can forget The one who swore by the coffin. They killed you by breaking your neck You fell and were already dead Calabresi returns to the office But now he is no longer calm. They killed you to shut you up Because you understood the deception Now sleep, you can't talk anymore, But the Comrades will avenge you. "Progressives" and recuperators We spit on your speeches For Valpreda Pinelli and all of us There is only one thing to do. The workers in the factories and outside They're signing your conviction Power begins to tremble Justice will be judged. Calabresi with the Fascist Guida Remember that the years are long Sooner or later something happens That Pinelli will make remember. That evening in Milan it was hot But how hot, how hot it was Brigadier, open the window a little And suddenly Pinelli fell.
Title: State and Masters (Hymn of Potere Operaio) Music author: Polish folk music (Warszawianka 1905 roku) Text author: Potere Operaio Performer: N / A Year: 1971 The working class, Comrades, is on the offensive, State and bosses cannot stop it, no workers bent over to work anymore but all united we are ready to fight. No to waged work, unity of all workers Communism is our program, with the Party we conquer power. State and masters, beware, the Insurrection Party is born, Power to the workers and revolution, Red flags and communism will be. None or all, or all or nothing, and only together that we must fight, or guns or chains, this is the choice we have to make. Comrades, come on, for the Party, against the state there will be an armed struggle; with the conquest of all power the workers' dictatorship will come. State and masters, beware, the Insurrection Party is born, Power to thge workers and revolution, red flags and Communism will be. The Proletarians are ready to fight, hunger or work they no longer want, there is nothing to lose but the chains and there is a whole world to be gained. Off the lines, let's pick up the rifle, come on Comrades, to the civil war! Agnelli, Pirelli, Restivo, Colombo, no more talking, but showers of lead! State and masters, beware, the Insurrection Party is born, Power worker and revolution, red flags and Communism will be. State and masters, beware, the Insurrection Party is born, long live the party, revolution, red flags and communism will be!
Reggio Emilia, july , 7 1960 : a Workers Union Parade is attacked by the bourgeois police guardpigs, five comrades are gunned down and killed, at least other 16 severely wounded. Many more didn't seek medical care to avoid capture. The "democratic" police spent 182 machine gun rounds, 14 rifle rounds and 39 pistol rounds. A policeman claimed he had "lost" 7 pistol rounds. The protesters were unarmed. The five Communist Martyrs were: Lauro Farioli (1938), worker, 22 years old, orphaned, married and father of one child. Ovidio Franchi (1941), worker, 19, the younger among the victims Marino Serri (1919), sheperd, 41, Partisan of the 76th "Garibaldi" Communist Brigade,older one out of six brothers Afro Tondelli (1924), worker, 36, Partisan of the 76th, SAP (partisan special forces), fifth of eight brother Emilio Reverberi (1921), worker, 39 anni, Partisan from 144th "Garibaldi" Communist Brigade, political Commissary in the detachment "G. Amendola". All the murderers were fully acquitted with no consequences. Comrade citizen brother partisan let's hold hands in these sad days Back to Reggio Emilia again there in Sicily comrades died at the hands of the fascists Again as in the past over the whole of Italy The wind whistles the storm rages Ovidio Franchi died at the age of nineteen for those who are tired or are still uncertain Lauro Farioli died to right the wrong of those who have already forgotten about Duccio Galimberti They died in their twenties for our tomorrow They died like old Partisans Marino Serri is dead and Afro Tondelli is dead but the eyes of the brothers kept dry Comrades it is clear that this bitter blood spilled in Reggio Emilia is the blood of all of us Blood of our blood nerves of our nerves As was that of the Cervi Brothers The only true friend we have by our side now it is always the same one who was with us in the mountains And the present enemy is still the same to what we fought on our mountains and in Spain Same song we have to sing Broken shoes and yet you have to go Comrade Ovidio Franchi, comrade Afro Tondelli and you Marino Serri, Reverberi and Farioli We will all have to have from now on you others by our side so as not to feel alone Dead of Reggio Emilia out of the pit out singing the Red Flag with us!
The seven Cervi Brothers were seven partisan savagely murdered by fascists during the war. Earth and Water and Wind There was no time for fear Born under the star, the most beautiful one on the plain They had a scythe and large peasant hands. And before going to sleep, a Lord's Prayer like when small children Seven children seven, of bread and honey, to whom shall I give them ? Seven as the notes I will sing a song for them. And Rain and Snow and Frost and fairy tale and fire with wine And thoughts go away along with the smoke up the chimney They had a barn and the rhythm pace of those who know how to dance Of those who take their love for life and know how to carry it Seven brothers seven of bread and honey to whom I shall I give them ? I will not give them to the war to the black man I will not give them Cloud Lightning and Thunder there is no forgiveness for that night That the "squadristi" came and took them away with kicks and blows They had a greeting and hugs the strongest one They had the look of one who goes to meet fate Seven children seven seven brothers to whom shall I I give them ? The Plain told us these children of mine I will never forget them Seven men seven wounds and seven furrows The plain told us Alcide's children never died In that plain from Valle Re to Campi Rossi We spent a day there and in the middle of the fog We found ourselves moved
Garibaldi's Battle Anthem (1858) The graves are uncovered, the dead are raised; Our martyrs are all risen: Swords in hand, laurels in hair, The flame and the name - of italy in our hearts ! We come! We come! Come on, Oh young crowds, Up in the wind our flags everywhere , On all with iron, on all with fire, On all with fire - of Italy in the heart. Go out of Italy, go out , it ìs just time, Go out of Italy, go out, or foreigner! The land of flowers, music and poems, Returns, as once, the land of arms; Her hand tied in a hundred chains, But still from Legnano - She can brandish the sword ! German stick Italy does not tame, The bloodlines of Rome do not grow under the yoke; Italy does not want foreigners and tyrants any more: The years are already too many - that the slavery lasted. Go out of Italy, go out, it's about time, Go out of Italy, go out, or foreigner! The houses of Italy are made for us, The houses of your fathers are there on the Danube; You our fields spoil; you steal our bread; Our children - we want them for us. The borders are the Alps and the two seas of Italy; With the chariot of fire we break the Apennines, Destroyed every sign of the old frontier, Our flag - for all let us raise. Go out of Italy, go out of time, Go out of Italy, go out, or foreigner! Tongues be muted, arms be ready; Only to the enemy do we turn our faces, And soon the foreigner will go over the mountains If all Italy will be united in spirit. The triumph of barbaric spoils is not enough; The frontiers of Italy be closed for the thieves; The people of Italy are all one, They are all one - the hundred cities. Go out of Italy, go out, it's time, Go out of Italy, go out, or foreigner! If he still tempts the swords of the Alps, Garibaldi will give out The cry for arms: And he arms himself on the ring, which comes from Caprera, The host of a thousand - that Etna attacked. And behind the red vanguard of the brave Tents and ships move from Italy: Quick in the footsteps of the faithful warrior The ardent steed - Vittorio spurred on. Go out of Italy, go out of time, Go out of Italy, go out, or foreigner! The pride of the wicked has fallen forever; The King goes to the Capitol to say "Long Live italy!" The Seine and the Thames greet and honour The ancient Lady - who returns to reign. Happy with the kingdom between the islands and the mountains, Only of tyrants She threatens the faces: Everywhere a tyrant strikes the people Italy's children will come to rescue - by land and by sea. Go out of Italy, go out, it's time, Go out of Italy, go out, or foreigner!
Fortini's Internationale Franco Fortini was an Italian poet, essay author and translator. This is a poetic version of the Internationale This one is specially for You, dear Comrade Vlad. We are the humblest in the world. But this world will not conquer us. We will destroy it thoroughly. We will crush society. Capital in factories used us like machines. In schools they taught us the morals of those who rule. This rising fist this song that flies high it is the Internationale another humanity. This fight that equal will make man to man, it is the Internationale. It was defeated and will triumph. We are the last of a time which in its evil will disappear. Here the future is already present whoever has Comrades will never die. To profit and his will the whole man betrayed himself, but the Commune will have the power. Where there was "no" we will say "yes". This rising fist ... And between us we will divide work, love, freedom. And together we will wrestle back right of speech and Truth. Look them in the face, remember those who killed us, who lied to us. Comrade, bring your own story to the certainty that united us. This rising fist ... We don't want to hope for anything. our dream is reality. From continent to continent this land will be enough for us. Classes and centuries have torn us apart between those who exploited and those who served: Comrade, step out of the past towards the Comrade who came out. This rising fist ...
First word war hilarious and ferocious anti-war poem by Roman popular poet Trilussa (1871-1950) Originally written in Roman dialect. It is a father talking to his infant song about the horrors of war WAR LULLABY (1914) Lullaby, lullaby the toddler wants the tit, sleep tight my dear or I'm calling Farfarello* Farfarello and big Wilhelm that stands on all fours Kaisers Wilhelm and Franz Joseph that stands with crutches. With the crutches of an empire half yellow and half black ; lullaby, fall asleep, if you sleep you won't see so many crimes and misdeeds happening around the world among the swords and guns of the "civilized" peoples. Lullabìy lullaby, you can't hear the sighs and moans of peoples cutting each others' throats in the name of a crazy ruler that are killing and slitting each others' throats in the name of the Race, or in behalf of a Faith in one God that can't be seen anywhere but that works as a shield for the butcher King, because that den of murderers that bloodies our land, knows well that war is just a big business that prepares the money for the thieves in the stock exchanges. Lullaby lullaby my dear son, as long as this slaughter goes on, sleep tight because tomorrow we will see the kings together again greeting each other, good friends like before; they're cousins and relatives they feel comfortable together ! They will return friendlier than before, in their mutual relationships, and finally reunited without the slightest remorse, they will give us a beautiful speech about peace and work for that dumbass people spared by the cannon ! * a devil in popular culture
