How I found out that I’m not a real Italian at all
And how national identity is just a conventional construct
As I mentioned in my introductory article, I was born 28 years ago in a small town in Northern Italy, which is about 96.64 km from Milan (60.05 miles). Both my parents and my grandparents, on both sides, were born in the same place. As a result, I learned not only Italian but also the local dialect, and I have always identified myself as a Northern Italian. However, the mysterious origin of my mother has always intrigued me. Although she and her parents were born in the same town, her surname has a particular history. From what I have learned over the years by questioning her relatives, it seems that her surname is the Italianized version of a German name that was assimilated in the fourteenth century. Her ancestors essentially became Italians (gradually forgetting German to replace it entirely with the Italian language) after arriving from Germany in Central Italy, and then moved up the peninsula and settled in the territory where I was born.
Last year, I was particularly intrigued by the matter, so I decided to take a DNA test to discover my ethnic origins and verify the story I had been told about my mother’s background. My fair complexion and blonde hair had always made me curious about the story’s validity. My enthusiasm must have rubbed off on my parents because they also decided to take the same test to learn about their ancestors’ origins.
After three weeks of waiting, I finally received the results and couldn’t believe what I saw. I discovered that I have origins in Southern Italy (which has very different ethnic origins from Northern Italy), Portugal, and the Balkans. Of course, there is also German ancestry, but in a smaller percentage than I expected. During a conversation with my mother’s aunt, I learned that her maternal grandparents originally came from Brazil and then emigrated to Italy in the early 1900s. This conversation also shed light on a family situation that brings to mind the dark past of my country. I discovered that my great-great-grandmother’s surname is a Venetian term that has been used for centuries to identify the inhabitants of Zara in present-day Croatia. This territory was once part of the ancient Most Serene Republic of Venice, which ruled the area for more than 500 years, enslaving and assimilating its inhabitants. This explains the reason for that surname in my great-great-grandmother and also the reason for my Balkan origins revealed in my DNA test.
One evening, while watching the news, I reflected on what I discovered about my origins and those of my family. Once again, the news gave space to political figures proposing a defense of Italian identity against prevailing globalization and the consequent immigration into our country of people of different origins. But what would this identity be? I, just like everyone around me, am the result of multiple people coming into contact with each other, voluntarily and involuntarily, in past times when globalization was not talked about, but it already existed, because it has always existed.
Shouldn’t we then focus on evaluating individuals based on their actions and qualities rather than placing so much emphasis on their background, which they have no control over? Political rhetoric from both the right and the left often categorizes people based on their skin color, geographic location, and ethnic origin. “Divide et impera” (Divide and conquer), the Romans said. However, if we consider our family histories, we can see that we are all a mix of what are now considered majorities and minorities, determined solely for political convenience.
It is time to stop discussing national identity in scientific terms and use these concepts to coerce the younger generation into agreeing. Instead, society should understand that our origins do not define us. It is up to each individual to shape their destiny, for better or for worse, in an increasingly borderless world full of unprecedented opportunities for connection and personal growth.
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