Thanks to the authorization of the Class editori group, we publish the article by Goffredo Pistelli which appeared in Italia Oggi, the daily newspaper directed by Pierluigi Magnaschi.
When the DC enters politics it is gone. Matteo Renzi, born in 1975, born in Florence but raised in Rignano, the south bank of the Arno upstream from the capital, looks out to the Popolari, those born from the disintegration of the White Whale through the courts. Of the party in which father Tiziano, municipal councilor of the base left, had played, the Popolari no longer even have the Crusader Shield, which took over the CDU of Rocco Buttiglione after the split of the Martinazzolian PPI, killed by the majority. In place of him there is a banner, vague Catholic slogans and single-digit percentages of voters. The very young Renzi, 24 years old, picks it up anyway, launched to be the city secretary by young men of good hopes who have about ten years older, Lapo Pistelli and Giacomo Billi, already expert municipal councilors, the first in parliament in 2006 with the Ulivo. And 1999 and where to play, politically, the boy or a little more. Renzi, scout, easy talking, dynamism, and only the third of that brood, all brooded by Beppe Matulli, the historical Demitian of Florence.
With Pistelli in Rome and Billi being the strong man in the Municipality and then in the municipal companies, Renzi is in the party, which in the meantime has become Margherita, of which he becomes citizen secretary in 2003. The following year, in homage to the post-ulivist logic, the DS conceded to the weak allies of Margherita the most useless of the entities in Florence: the Province. They, very powerful, would all be Palazzo Vecchio, to their cousins ​​they would have confirmed the Palazzo Medici-Riccardi, where the Donmilaniano Michele Gesualdi, former CISL secretary, had ruled for two, not without controversy. That chubby kid, graduated in law with a thesis on Giorgio La Pira, is fine with the post-communist party: the provincial car, run in by half a century of red domination, would have normalized him too, just as he had not allowed Gesualdi to touch the ball.
With the good luck, who also knows how to negotiate, and with the bad ones, which if he gets angry he knows how to be unpleasant, the youngest provincial president of Italy gets approved a good plan to promote the territory on a cultural and tourist level, group of young scouts to work on it, and the Florentine genius churns out for you, a program of events that never fails. A ribbon cut away the other, a varnish after the other, intervenes, speaks, does. Day after day he builds an image that comes out of the four walls of Florentine self-referentiality, moves like a whisk in the sleepy politics of the provincial capital, which in Rome is accustomed to counting little and that little always obediently in the chain of command of the former PCI . Renzi’s protagonism is noticeable and annoying:
Someone calls him sarcastically with the very name of the exhibition he created: the Florentine Genius. He approaches Francesco Rutelli, attends his Roman tour when he is Minister of Culture, he goes to prepare official visits to America. And he never stops making relationships. On that occasion, we are in 2006, he becomes a friend of the Kennedys and with them of the Marcucci, of the publisher Marialina, formerly Videomusic and then regional vice president with the DS, but above all of Andrea, formerly a liberal and then popular deputy. He writes a booklet, From De Gasperi to U2, in which he begins to clarify his thoughts about him: a mix of solidarity Catholicism with a strong innovative charge but above all a strong generational claim. One day he breaks the national news by saying that certain unavoidable leaders of his party must be “scrapped”, earning the public indignation of Anna Finocchiaro. When in 2008 he manifested his intention to compete in the primary city, a Diessina municipal councilor tells him clearly that he must get in line, that he must wait for his turn.
Do, like a good man, his second shift in the province. Renzi shrugs, in the manner of him. Someone has guessed: from Rome the rules in the race change, then they think again. When they do, the solons of the Democratic Party make the mistake of splitting up and he eats them in one bite, winning in the first round. The Diessino establishment understood but belatedly. From Palazzo Vecchio, where he was elected in 2009, you can see Rome. From the old railway station of Grand Duke Leopoldo where, as provincial president, he gathered students for the then minister Beppe Fioroni, then his archenemy, he calibrates his generational challenge to the union pact that governs the Democratic Party. It is November 2010. The descent to Rome has begun. The rest, made up of victories even when they took the sign of defeat, and recent history: primary, Pier Luigi Bersani, congress, Enrico Letta, scrapped and scrapped. Renzi runs fast.

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