The Unseen

Praise for The Unseen

‘What [Balestrini] narrates is not a fairy tale, but a terrifying experience. Not just his own, but also that of a lost generation who thought possible another world beside the world, who dreamt of workers’ power, of autonomy, who revolted against everything, school, family, clergy, political parties, historical compromise, State, police, boredom . . . The Unseen is, perhaps, the first true novel of the European Left.’ Libération

‘Balestrini offers a very lucid document, which is both the memory and the assessment of a disoriented generation. The Left now has its novel.’ L’Événement du jeudi

‘The Unseen isn’t documentary writing, but it tells us far more than any documentary about a troubled phase in our history; how it was experienced, and most of all how it was lived in the imagination.’ Corriere della Sera

‘We should be grateful to Nanni Balestrini for having engaged his writing with this cruel sentimental education of a young man living in the seventies.’ Rossana Rossanda, il manifesto

‘The political passion of the rebel Balestrini is equalled by his literary vocation . . . the finale is not unworthy of Bontempelli or Calvino.’ Il Giornale

‘A work of high literary quality. Among many novels and elegantly crafted pieces of fiction . . . The Unseen has the courage to face an incandescent matter of reality, rich in implications that involve not only the literati but also a wider public.’ L’Unità

‘Not just a beautiful novel . . . it is the story of part of a generation in our country, who dreamed a different future and believed in it, believed in the possibility of making it real.’ Linus

NANNI BALESTRINI was born in Milan in 1935 and was a member of the influential avant-garde Gruppo 63, along with Umberto Eco and Eduardo Sanguineti. He is the author of numerous volumes of poetry, including Blackout and Ipocalisse, and novels such as Tristano, Vogliamo Tutto, and La Violenza Illustrata.

During the notorious mass arrests of writers and activists associated with Autonomy, which began in 1979, Balestrini was charged with membership of an armed organization and with subversive association. He went underground to avoid arrest and fled to France. As in so many other cases, no evidence was provided and he was acquitted of all the charges.

He currently lives in Rome, where he runs the monthly magazine of cultural intervention Alfabeta2 with Umberto Eco and others.

The Unseen

Nanni Balestrini

TRANSLATED BY LIZ HERON

WITH A FOREWORD BY ANTONIO NEGRI

First published in English by Verso 1989

This updated paperback edition published by Verso 2011

This updated edition © Nanni Balestrini and Derive Approdi, Rome 2005

Translation © Liz Heron 1989, 2011

Foreword © Antonio Negri 2011

First published as Gli Invisibili

© Bompiani, Milan 1987

All rights reserved

The moral rights of the authors have been asserted

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Verso

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US: 20 Jay Street, Suite 1010, Brooklyn, NY 11201

www.versobooks.com

Verso is the imprint of New Left Books

Epub ISBN-13: 978-1-84467-837-2

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress

Typeset in Janson MT by Hewer UK Ltd, Edinburgh

Printed in the US by Maple Vail

for Sergio

Contents

Begin reading.

Foreword

Nanni Balestrini’s book, now republished here, tells of unseen actors in the class struggle between the 1970s and ’80s, particularly in northern Italy, and inside the jails of the Realm. These subjects are invisible because they are elusive, mutating beings in the act of metamorphosis. But what can we say about them today (and also about this novel) if not that rather than being an old, outdated story this is now very much of the present moment, one caught sight of at that time and followed in the course of its unfolding? The republication of The Unseen therefore has the advantage today of telling us about proletarian subjects whose class nature has finally been revealed: the unseen individual of yesterday is the proletarian of today, the immaterial worker, the cognitive precariat, the new figure of the worker as social labour power in the movements of the multitude. Those poor wretches did it, they managed to get through a revolution in the composition of labour and a ferocious political repression and to struggle on from the factories to society and (still productive) from society to the jail (still fighting back). And now where will they go? The elite of the working-class movement who betrayed and dragged the unseen into prison now look around, fearful and unable to build a politics, afraid of losing out if they do not resume contact with that age-old movement of transformation; but that elite will never win! Indeed, regardless of this betrayal by the working-class movement (which has been so serious, especially in Italy), the unseen have gone forward. In the ’80s, they were organizing prison revolts and the first autonomous social centres in the cities; in the ’90s they organized the Panther movement; in the late ’90s they turned into Zapatistas and tute bianche, the anti-globalization movement and everything else that has happened and will happen.

It is interesting to note that each one of these movements always sought to give itself ambiguous, hard-to-pin-down names that could have been white but also dark in the shadow that the white produced, that could have been soft like the tread of a feline, that could moreover position itself as tireless resistance precisely in the name of the singular ambiguity of its disobedient behaviour. Since the ’70s, these movements have all understood that starting all over again doesn’t mean turning back but rather expanding, reaching into new spaces and new times, being coordinated and coordinating, seeking confrontation in the measure of consensus and consensus in the measure of confrontation. The fact is that, in contrast to the parties and the survivors from the ancien régime, the unseen place themselves in the here and now. Balestrini’s unseen, right from the early ’80s, were beginning to give shape to a multitudinous, singular, transversal subject that wanted never to be reduced to a mass but wanted in every case to be a whole. And even when ideological reminiscences drew them inside names and terminologies that sounded out of date, at that same moment this subject was able to invent itself anew. Think of the scene where the prisoners in the Trani revolt are locked up in their cells after the bloodbath and shed with their flaming torches a light that illuminates the night of every proletarian prison of the decade. This is the language of the multitude. But if it were no more than this, this reality in its biting descriptions, Balestrini’s book might only be a piece of historical or sociological documentation. What is great about this novel is that the unseen individual becomes a literary subject. Larvatus prodeo – the proletarian advances masked by his invisibility. And with this transformation in those years of the ’70s – which the bosses and their servants within the working-class movement failed sufficiently to curse – he represents the invisible yet powerful transformation from material work to immaterial work, from revolt against the boss to revolt against the patriarchy, along with the metamorphosis of bodies brought about within this movement, and the imagination that this new historical condition (social and political to be precise) brings to speech.

Balestrini’s book is a great new experiment (the first was Vogliamo tutto [We Want Everything]) that shows us the body of the exploited as an actor in the revolutionary process. And we can add: in the passage from modern to post-modern, from the era when socialism dreamed of itself to the era when communism is beginning to be lived. Without a doubt this is a didactic novel; but who learns from whom? The novel of the Real or – this seems the mark of revolutionary literature – the reality of the novel? It pleases me to bet on the second hypothesis and ask the anatomist/physiologist of the language in question (Balestrini) to agree with me: in its ambiguity, in the difficulty it registers, this book has nonetheless anticipated reality and transformed the Real. In this case the ambiguity is between the real actor and the author of the narrative, a key connected to a mechanism of political and constituent potency, one poor in its genesis and yet of great richness in the series of effects it produces.

An act of love? This book is dual in character; it is a biopolitical tissue of postmodernity, another of the great concepts of contemporary revolutionary thought that Balestrini intuits and invents, along with the idea of the multitude. One could discuss this at even greater length and most of all one could insist on the question of the function, the vocation, the joy of the writer! How frequently lumpen proletarians reproach writers or intellectuals for describing phenomena they have not endured. This time there is great satisfaction in being able to acknowledge that Balestrini too has been invisible, that he has suffered the transformation to trace long years of poverty and love.

Antonio Negri, 2011

Translator’s Note

The Unseen is anchored in the social movements of Italy in the second half of the 1970s and, especially, in the rise of Autonomy, a widespread network of extra-parliamentary alliances involving school and university students, the young unemployed and various groupings of the socially marginalized and economically disenfranchized (the emarginati).

Autonomy’s political origins can be traced back to the factory strikes and occupations of 1969’s ‘Hot Autumn’, but a number of immediate issues spurred its growth: price rises and cuts in public spending, a series of neo-fascist shootings and bomb attacks, rising unemployment, dissatisfaction with the education system. This was also the time of the Communist Party’s attempted ‘historic compromise’, the move towards a hoped-for partnership with the ruling Christian Democracts. The party’s tacit support for the government’s economic policies and refusal to oppose legislation drastically extending police powers were the object of fierce criticism from the left.

Protests reached their height in 1977, when street demonstrations and violent, often armed, clashes with the police occurred almost daily in some Italian cities. It was also a year of explosive cultural opposition – through alternative radio stations and magazines, and through the theatrically staged actions of the ‘Metropolitan Indians’. An outbreak of posters and slogans re-invoked the surreal challenges of 1968.

As divisions and tensions multiplied within Autonomy, especially over the question of organized violence, terrorism escalated. The wave of repression which followed made few distinctions. Mass arrests, guilt-by-association and the imprisonment, frequently without trial, of hundreds of people, had profound consequences for an entire generation.

Of the many prison revolts during this period, the one whose events are most closely paralleled in the novel took place at Trani, near Bari, in December 1980.

Translation of the protagonists’ names in the text would have resulted in excessive artificiality. So that their literal meanings are not altogether lost, I offer the following glossary:

Part One

1

The cellars are a maze of passageways lit every twenty or thirty yards by dusty fluorescent strip-lights swinging from long ragged electric wires that hang from the ceiling its rough cement fissured by long deep cracks it seems to go on for ever and here and there bulges downwards as if pushed by some enormous weight up there crushing buckling breaking through and every four or five yards props made from great beams hold it up the wood rotten mouldy the ground covered in a film of putrid water the cloying sickening stench of putrefaction mingling with the stench of mould every so often at a turn-off or the junction of two passageways are little piles of sand of cement sodden collapsed trampled shovels and other rusty tools left lying there the air is damp and from our mouths come little puffs of vapour as we breathe that nauseating air

the irregular shuffling of the small silent procession merges with the continuous jangling of the chains the sound echoes whenever the gangways of rotting wood are crossed the shadows lengthen behind each step whenever it gets close to the sections lit by strip-lights they disappear and all of a sudden reappear ahead and the steps lengthen they move forward slowly paying attention to where they tread and to the chains so that they don’t drag too much in front or behind trying always to leave the same distance between the one in front and the one behind taking care not to brush the right shoulder against the slimy wet wall and on the left keeping clear of the sub-machine-gun barrels levelled straight as the small procession turns repeatedly to the right and the left to the left and the right until all sense of direction is lost

then we climb a narrow stairway semi-darkness suffocating with long flights high steps aching tugs at the chains hurting the wrists and at the end of the last flight the light of a small door and we come out high up at the top of a stairway tiers spreading into an enormous room brightly lit full of people moving down there beneath us all of a sudden against my leg I feel an animal muzzle that growls threateningly the black pupils dilated the large eyes protruding two long very white teeth bared by the tight red mouth a huge massive dog the smooth black fur on end on its back arching its ears pointing up quivering all the time the carabiniere holding its leash is impassive in his bullet-proof overalls the latest in anti-terrorist style

from where we are the tiers fall away steeply to the floor of the room and from there rising all around up to the ceiling thick cylindrical iron bars varnished in gun-metal grey the enormous cage is full of officers in bullet-proof overalls in gun-metal grey everywhere we turn with more big black dogs growling and nervous one after the other the carabinieri remove our chains take the handcuffs off the sore red wrists the photographers’ blinding flashlights flare on our faces they too are dogs no jackals and they writhe they bend they stretch up on tiptoe an anxious ballet arms raised straining higher and higher with the sleeves of their jackets slipping back to the elbows higher and higher

we rub our red wrists we light cigarettes we walk up and down the steps a bit we wave to relatives we sit down together in twos and threes talking quietly the photographers below us get on their knees they jerk their torsos to right and left like contortionists in the circus they lean towards the animals inside the cage they try to get their heads sideways through the bars sliding their long lenses between the legs the arms of the carabinieri who form a motionless barrier their fingers twitch in a frenzy they jiggle the cameras up and down they shoot pictures and let off dazzling flashlights at the faces inside the cage then in a faraway corner an even more dazzling light goes on and the whirr of the television cameras starts up

I sit down on the highest step of all and far beneath me I can see the lawyers with their black gowns thrown carelessly back on their shoulders chatting calmly among themselves in small groups behind the tables of peeling wood on the right parallel to the cage the court is assembled with the investigating judge dour lost in thought sitting in the middle on a high-backed chair so high it rises well above his head then the assisting judge perched sideways on another great high chair and to the right and left the jurors men and women nearly all with their faces hidden behind wide dark glasses the broad tricolour sashes across the pale pullovers the puffed blouses with their starched collars the double breasted jackets in various shades of grey the ties greenish blueish yellowish and at the far end on the right there’s the public prosecutor’s solitary little stand

above the heads of the court millions of small fragments make up a vast mosaic dusty and faded reaching the ceiling and depicting a scene of confusion a furious battle on the left are the forces of evil represented by strange beings contorted monstrous entangled in dominant colours of green and mauve and on the right the forces of good angelic transparent harmonious blue and feather-light clashing in the centre in a furious battle but the forces of evil are already clearly defeated they are beating a retreat pursued by the implacable forces of good below in a gilded oval stands the imposing figure of justice blindfold holding in one hand the sword in the other the scales a little lower the legend in relief says the law is equal for all

on the left behind the barricade of carabinieri are the wooden screens behind the screens is the public gallery it’s almost totally empty but for some relatives mother father sister brother cousin uncle sister-in-law no friend no comrade because they’re all afraid because seen from outside the law-court looks like a stage-set for war metal screens and barbed wire cordons of police and carabinieri a succession of barriers and armoured cars in strategic spots while other armoured vehicles circle the building continually then dogs and metal detectors at the door and searches questioning files threats warnings hints and all the rest

the small door behind us opens once again and in the midst of another swarm of carabinieri emerging at the top of the steps are the women they too in chains and all of them handcuffed we all get up and go towards them the cage is filled with shouts with greetings with smiles with different perfumes all of them have dressed in the brightest of colours long skirts bright shirts bright scarves rings on their fingers necklaces chains brooches bracelets pendants on their wrists big fantastic earrings clasps in their hair in the chaos the carabinieri get edgy they shout orders the dogs growl menacingly the photographers’ flash guns burst into light again the journalists make frenzied notes in their notebooks the handful of relatives wave and shout hello behind the screens and other shouts and greetings answer them

one after another the carabinieri slip off the chains and remove the handcuffs the girls run to us we run to them on the steps we mingle we entwine we entangle in a mosaic of embraces of hugs of kisses of voices all that interests us now is to talk talk about so many things talk about everything at last to talk to talk as long as we can to touch and hear one another as men and women together everything vanishes around us the courtroom the carabinieri the photographers the dogs the judges everything that’s on the other side of the bars is alien to us it doesn’t exist presents get passed across good luck tokens small objects everything that could be brought there right into the cage we exchange clothes too shirts sweaters kerchiefs scarves

a bell rings out from the court bench and the investigating judge dourly begins reading the long list of individual charges this one that one charged with etcetera etcetera with having etcetera etcetera this one that one charged with etcetera etcetera with having etcetera etcetera in accordance with the law in an unvarying monotone hurried offhand this one that one charged with etcetera etcetera with having and so on and so on he rushes through it he slurs his words in his haste this that armed band association and so on and so on you can follow none of it he hurries to the end and then come the preliminaries and the lawyers with no conviction and as pure formality bring the usual futile objections therefore recess and the court’s withdrawal to decide on the defence’s objections and a few minutes and they’re back already and the bell’s rung again to say that of course all the defence’s objections are overruled and the bell’s rung again and the court declared in session and the investigating judge declares debate open

2

The agreed day arrives and early in the morning before they open the gates we’d put up a big poster to announce the mass meeting and inviting everybody to come along we are taking the meeting not asking for it it says in big letters and underneath Gelso had added as well as everything else we need the headmaster Mastino gets in first as usual and he starts reading the poster then his face turns ugly and he scowls at us stares at each of us as if to say I’m marking you down and I’ll see to you later then the teachers get there and they read it without saying a word just look at us as though we’re crazy a few minutes later out come a bunch of janitors that Mastino has told to pull down the posters

the bravest janitor who was also the stupidest one reaches up to remove the poster but Cocco gets in front of him in a rage with his arms raised with his long black overcoat with the scarlet lining and he lets out a scream at him the janitor stops in his tracks taken aback and then the rest of us get in front of the janitors they don’t know what to do they look up at Mastino who looks down at them from the window of the headmaster’s room but in the end they decide to go back inside because they realize if they push it it’ll come to blows the first students to arrive have seen what happened they start talking it over with us and they don’t go in and gradually the group gets bigger then Mastino decides to make a move himself and he comes out under the arcade so we can see he’s there and he starts pacing up and down

I feel as if I’m watching the boss pacing in front of the factory in those stories I’ve read about the first workers’ struggles the first strikes the same kind of intimidation and in fact the students get scared somebody starts saying he wants to go inside they come up with no end of excuses even though we keep explaining that if we all stay outside Mastino can do nothing he can’t suspend us all but there’s too much wavering and too much fear and a first little group heads shamefacedly inside it’s like a general signal and the others all rush in too within a few minutes nearly everyone’s gone in only twenty or so are left outside along with the six of us and Mastino goes back in too with a smug grin on his face

we’re left in the lurch Malva’s upset but Cocco’s determined we’ll go in and do it just the same those of us there are he says we have to do it just the same anyway we’ve got nothing to lose now he shouts and that way we’ll persuade the others to hold the meeting just the same we all go in together and we install ourselves in an empty classroom on the ground floor and we’ve only been there a minute and we haven’t even started speaking when Mastino arrives yelling what are you doing here you you and you you’re all suspended come to my room one at a time and he walks out leaving the door open Scilla kicks the door and then he barricades it we shove two benches in front of it we’re silent for a moment we must do something we eye one another but we don’t know what to do we feel trapped

then in a flash I can see as if it was in front of me the page of a pamphlet I’ve read this summer about forms of struggle in the factories and all that stuff I can see that page in front of me with the heading in bold print indoor demo and I say indoor demo we must have an indoor demo what say the others yes an indoor demo we’ll go into all the classrooms and we’ll get all the others to come out at least we can try we’ll start with the top class and we’ll go through them all everyone agrees we go out and form a small procession in the corridor and we reach the first classroom the lesson has already started we burst in we all go into the classroom together in silence the teacher notorious as Mastino’s toady takes fright and doesn’t say a word all the students are facing the door

Valeriana is firm when she talks she is nervous of course but clear her voice carries well and her words are distinct the headmaster says he has suspended us all because we wanted to hold a mass meeting without his consent everyone knew it you all knew it too that this meeting was planned we’ve been talking about it for a fortnight now today you came inside out of fear but if you’re scared today you’ll be scared tomorrow as well and always and we’ll never be able to settle our problems ourselves so you’ve got to make a start now right away we must all hold the meeting right away to show that in this school we aren’t slaves we have to do it so we can do what