Migrant Hearts and the Atlantic Return

Transnationalism and the Roman Catholic Church

Valentina Napolitano

• Publisher: Fordham University Press
• Year: 2015
• Print ISBN: 9780823267491, 9780823267484
• eBook ISBN: 9780823267507
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Christian Denominations

Migrant Hearts and the Atlantic Return examines contemporary migration in the context of a Roman Catholic Church eager to both comprehend and act upon the movements of peoples. Combining extensive fieldwork with lay and religious Latin American migrants in Rome and analysis of the Catholic Church's historical desires and anxieties around conversion since the period of colonization, Napolitano sketches the dynamics of a return to a faith's putative center. Against a Eurocentric notion of Catholic identity, Napolitano shows how the Americas reorient Europe.Napolitano examines both popular and institutional Catholicism in the celebrations of the Virgin of Guadalupe and El Senor de los Milagros, papal encyclicals, the Latin American Catholic Mission, and the order of the Legionaries of Christ. Tracing the affective contours of documented and undocumented immigrants' experiences and the Church's multiple postures toward transnational migration, she shows how different ways of being Catholic inform constructions of gender, labor, and sexuality whose fault lines intersect across contemporary Europe.

1. Migrant Terrains in Italy and Rome

Here is the entity [Rome], which has suffered so many drastic changes in the course of two thousand years, yet is still the same soil, the same hill, often even the same column or the same wall, and in its people one finds traces of their ancient character. Contemplating this, the observer becomes, as it were, a contemporary of the great decrees of destiny.

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Italian Journey, 1815/17

Goethe was as fond of Rome as he was anticlerical. The history of Rome’s “ancient character” and its pontifical powers is a complex one. In this light, I situate broad changes in Italian legislation on migration that will set the context for the next chapter, in which I discuss the positions on migration of the Holy See and of particular religious orders within the Catholic Church. Understanding the practices of religious orders in relation to migrants is fundamental to grasping the church’s dual positions on immigration. I argue that an understanding of the contemporary church requires a multilayered, differentiated, and multipolar study of competing positions, faces, and “souls.”

Italian migrant legislation has become increasingly restrictive and based on jus sanguinis (right of blood, or birth descent) rather than jus soli (right of the soil, or place of birth). I read here changes in the Italian legislative system in relation to local municipal policies on migration of the two mayors of Rome in the period of study of this book, Walter Veltroni and Gianni Alemanno.¹ I discuss how these two mayors have held, broadly speaking, two different political stances toward Roman heritage as it relates to the Catholic Church and to migration. I then illustrate, through a particular ethnographic encounter on Piazza Mancini, how the presence of migrants in Roman public spaces ignites tensions and fears, along with nostalgia for a clear demarcation of a center and the periphery of “civilization.” Finally, I dwell on current revisions to Vatican II and begin to map the different souls of the church toward migration that have been marked by these current revisions.

The politics of immigration in Italy has been murky since the early 1990s; since the early 2000s, this political landscape has become more regimented over the course of two distinct periods of municipal governance: first, the municipal government of Mayor Walter Veltroni (2001–8), a left-leaning liberal associated with the Democratic Party, and, second, that of Mayor Gianni Alemanno (2008–13), a member of Alleanza Nazionale, a right-wing party that has deep, populist roots in the Roman social landscape.

During the portion of the Veltroni period that coincided with the second national mandate for Berlusconi as prime minister of Italy (2001–5), there was a schism between the national outlook on migration and the more liberal outlook of the municipality of Rome. Veltroni’s vision was more in tune with the government of Romano Prodi, head of the left-center coalition of L’Ulivo (now the PD, Democratic Party), which ruled the country in 2006–7. Berlusconi’s fourth mandate (2008–11) coincided with Alemanno’s term, and these two governments have shared a similar outlook on migration, with no major open clashes between them.²

Before 2011 there were four major phases of national immigration policy in Italy: the Martelli Law (1990–98), the Turco-Napolitano Law (1998–2002), the Bossi-Fini Law (2002–8), and the Decreto Sicurezza (Security Decree, from 2009). These phases have marked important shifts in the ways in which migrant subjectivity is legally constructed in Italy, signaling a trend toward an increasingly restrictive immigration policy. The Martelli Law first marked clearer boundaries between asylum seekers, legal migrants, and undocumented migrants, and introduced a language of expulsion from the country, if undocumented migration was at stake. The Turco-Napolitano Law instituted the figure of the (legal) migrant as the bearer of rights to family reconciliation, health, and education; yet it was also the first law that introduced the Centri di Permanenza Temporanea (Centers of Temporary Permanence, CTP) more recently called Centri di Identificazione ed Espulsione. These are state-regulated and enclosed structures dedicated to the identification of migrants for purposes of either possible expulsion from the country or their right to appeal for asylum.

The Turco-Napolitano legislation framed the expulsion of undocumented migrants within a civil code rather than the penal code. But with the Bossi-Fini legislation the figure of the (undocumented) migrant became increasingly criminalized, and expulsion became a matter of the penal code rather than a civic code. In the process, the rules for asylum seekers were made more difficult, and what was essentially a two-tiered system was put into place that favored migrants arriving under the umbrella of binational agreements and penalized as “illegal” those who did not have already in place a permesso di soggiorno (permit of staying). This permit is granted or renewed only if the bearer holds a work contract, as a guarantee of their capacity to provide for their basic livelihood.

The twist of this law, however, was and remains that a work contract is required to obtain a residence permit, which makes it difficult for migrants to invite other migrants into the country. Those same conditions apply for the renewal of the permit of residency within the country—even if the migrant has been living in Italy—with a grace period of only six months. In constructing this framework, the Bossi-Fini legislation enabled the creation of paternalist and exploitative relations between employers and migrant employees. The murkiness and exploitative potential of this law is especially evident in the labor relations structuring live-in care, a niche heavily filled by migrants attending the Latin American Mission (MLA).

But it is with the Decreto Sicurezza (security decree), promoted in 2008 and ratified in 2009, that the criminalization of migration comes into full public force, moved by internal politics within Berlusconi’s government that led it to concede the Northern League’s anti-immigration sentiments in exchange for their support in passing the ad personam laws that allowed Berlusconi to avoid prosecution on different fraud and corruption charges while serving in government.³

The main restrictive points introduced by the Decreto Sicurezza left migrants in a more precarious condition than ever.⁴ For instance, the law introduced a formal obligation for public employees to denounce anyone suspected of not possessing a legal residence permit. This civil policing initially targeted health care providers in public institutions, but as withdrawn before the law was officially passed because of the outcry from the medical community. This legislation also establishes hefty penalties—including fines and seizure of property—for landlords who rent out to migrants not in possession of legal documents. Undocumented migration itself becomes a criminal act, punishable with a large fine, expulsion, or detention in CTP. Moreover, this law legalized the formation of civil night watches (particularly active prior to the fall of the last Berlusconi government) to patrol urban areas against organized crime, a development bearing, especially in the northeast of Italy, a disturbingly anti-migrant tone. For many Italians not inclined to Northern League thinking, this is reminiscent of the not-too-distant past of Italian fascist rule.

This legislative move to an increased criminalization of undocumented immigration has prompted a degree of resistance and criticism from Catholic associations in Italy. Many Catholics have contested the detrimental effect that these laws have had on the sacredness of the family, by de facto precluding even civil marriage to undocumented migrants. Catholic media have defended individual migrant rights and the rights of children born even in civil unions, and they have criticized the idea that there is a connection between an increase in immigration and an increase in crime. The CEMi (Commissione Episcopale per le Migrazioni) has voiced that in Rome and in the Lazio region the functional connection between increased immigration and increased petty criminality is statistically inaccurate.⁵ In 2012, in order to comply with EU mandates, Italy created two separate tiers of migrant labor. A new “Blue Card” was approved, enacting a 2009 EU law that gives priority to “highly qualified” immigrant populations coming to Italy from non-EU countries. The recognition of a special identity card for highly qualified workers creates a new differentiation of migrant identities in Italian labor legislation.

Capi Mundi, Kaputt Mundi

In November 2005, I accepted the invitation of a Peruvian friend to attend a public meeting about the troubles that are taking place at Piazza Mancini.⁶ This piazza has been a place of contention since a highly publicized “peaceful” meeting of Filipino migrants. Since the early and mid-2000s, noisier and “undisciplined” Latin American migrants have made it their place to meet, particularly on Thursday afternoons and evenings, and all day Sundays.

We arrive with a friend, Toño, originally from Cuzco, on a rainy late afternoon in the oratory of a Catholic education college just off the piazza. Within the oratory, I turn to see whether there are any familiar faces. Father Manuel, the Scalabrinian priest in charge at the time of the Mexican and Brazilian communities in the MLA, is on the right up near the front, and in the middle rows on the right a group of Latin Americans is sitting quietly in somewhat hunched positions.⁷ On the left side, opposite the long table where representatives of institutions, a group of vociferous Italians, mostly middle-aged or pensioners, are itching to take up the microphone. The right of first word is with a representative of the carabinieri⁸ of the Questura of Rome, lodged in the barrack of Maurizio Giglio (around the corner), who is sitting next to Madisson Godoy Sánchez, then president of a Latin American Ecuadorian organization called Simon Bolivar.⁹ The representative of the carabinieri makes a small introduction and then leaves the floor to the public. Father Manuel nervously touches his umbrella while the crowd of Italians begins to pour out stories in heavy Romanesque accents about the troubles that the Latin American migrants have brought to the piazza.

Earlier, Filipinos were using it, and that was good. They were proper and did not make much noise. But now, one old man in a jittery, pitched voice states, the piazza has turned into a bivouac, a degradation of the urban space. Not only male, but even female migrants are urinating publicly at a place where Italian mothers take their children to play. An Ecuadorian woman will complain later that the 50 cents paid for access to a public toilet is wasted, as those are kept in horrible conditions. The man carries on, spelling out that Rome used to be capi mundi, the center or leader of the world, but is now kaputt mundi, the broken down of the world:

These gardens have been transformed into a bivouac; those people [pointing to the brown-skinned Latin American migrants sitting in a corner] don’t know that we cannot piss here in public; they shit, urinate, I would call them anthropomorphic. . . . Man has dignity; those [the migrants] do not have it; on top of this they are our guests, and they should adapt to our own manner. . . . Roma is capi mundi, it was the center of an empire, and there were people here from all over the place, but now it is kaputt mundi. . . . If nothing is done, the last resort [ultima spiaggia] is to call Toto Rina [a key Sicilian mafia leader now in prison, but still rather powerful]. (My emphasis)

An Italian woman in her late forties grabs the microphone and states:

The gardens are made for us, and we cannot use them. If you visit Germany and Austria, the police there are much stricter, and you can use the parks and the squares, not like here. There is no control over territory [controllo sul territorio]. . . . We are not racist, but one thing is certain, they have to go. . . . If D’Alema and Veltroni [a former prime minister of Italy and a former mayor of Rome, respectively, both of the Democratic Party in Rome] lived here, something would be done. We are class-B citizens.

The public conversation gets even more animated, and the Italian neighbors begin to direct their complaints to the Forze dell’ordine, which are on the other side of the table, and who keep on insisting that they have a limited mandate and cannot really fine people to prevent them from using the public space in a particular way, until they really breach a law. Then a neighbor proposes that all the migrants should be permitted to hang around only under the bridge, on the one side of the piazza, but a carabineer replies that this is not possible as there are no barriers on the bank, and people, even migrant children, could fall in the river Tiber. The voices are getting louder and louder; one older neighbor fidgets with the tape that holds together the stems of his broken glasses. Retired Italian people are seeing their purchasing power shrinking because of the economic recession.

The African representative of the municipality of Rome, himself a Nigerian migrant, keeps on trying to get the microphone. In the end he is given a chance to speak, and he calmly and repeatedly pictures migration as “an opening of the heart,” an opening to the novelty that migration represents. His pitch feels out of place in the very tense room. It reminds me of the charitable empathy of the civilizing new Italian nation of the book Cuore—still utopic in twenty-first-century Italy.¹⁰

Finally, Madisson Godoy intervenes and proposes that a newly founded migrant association be tasked with forming a migrant patrol (wearing the recognizable association T-shirt) that could ensure that noise and littering are kept at bay, especially on Thursdays and Sunday nights. So, in the end, although this is not the first choice for the neighbors, the meeting is adjourned with this decision taken. I head back to the bus terminal with Toño, an old-time Peruvian friend, and he shakes his head as he does not think this is going to work. These newly created migrant associations, he argues, are often tied to the interests of a few. More than a few have street businesses in the piazza selling homemade food and beer. If they tackle that, they would go to the heart of the problem, he adds. But “Italian people do not know that.” Parallel economies are at the heart of this contested public space.

This ethnographic encounter illustrates some aspects of multicultural Rome and the production of contested publics. One element of this is a nostalgia for a strong, fascist, strong-state model, the countermodel to the municipal policies of the then-mayor Veltroni. Veltroni, who had center-left impulses geared toward an “Italian” multicultural agenda, was strongly criticized by rivals for not foregrounding public security, and his party lost the 2008 mayoral election in part over this issue. Another element in this encounter is the unacknowledged proliferation of small migrant businesses that create particular strongholds on specific public spaces, just as they also renew forms of ghettoization. The neighbors’ reaction to the conflict over Piazza Mancini signals what has been called a “fortress effect,” shelled on the skin and in the heart of social interaction.

The emergence of an affective politics of alterity in migrant terrains, as Sara Ahmed suggests, sticks to people’s skin and bodies.¹¹ The fortress effect revives a mythological, historical, and politically loaded nationalist identity, in this case transposing it onto an ideology of Italianness as a shared civic value and common culture.¹² So transnational migration, while provoking some neighbors to fidget and declaim vociferously against it, undermines from the interstices this colonial idea of the unity of the nation, and makes of Italy and the Roman landscape a case of postcoloniality occurring without the loss of territories.¹³

Antonio Gramsci warned that the Catholic Church, since medieval times but also explicitly in the worlds of post-Concordato, sees civil society as belonging to the secular state and its politics in counterposition to a society based on the family and the church.¹⁴ For those who may not be aware of it, the Concordato, or Patti Lateranensi, is a legal accord signed between the Holy See and the Italian government (of Mussolini) in 1929. That accord formally regulated the relations between the two states in matter of freedom of cult on the Italian soil, but also established financial exemptions for the Catholic Church from Italian taxes. In 1984, there was a revision to this Concordato, which de-linked Catholicism from being the state religion of Italy.

This operational disjuncture between the Catholic Church and Italian civil society that Gramsci highlighted is still at the heart of the multilayered pedagogies that the current Roman Catholic Church implements in the field of transnational migration. These pedagogies operate with an implicit dimension of “saving” civil society from its own demise, rather than allowing for the Catholic Church itself to be changed through its dialectic interaction with it. To paraphrase Divini Illius Magistri, Pius XI’s 1939 encyclical, a natural perfection of civil society helps the development of family, but it is subordinated to the spiritual order of the Catholic Church.¹⁵

Multicultural Rome

Rome is an interesting migrant landscape because, as with a few other cities in Italy,...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction: Catholic Humanitas
• 1. Migrant Terrains in Italy and Rome
• 2. The “Culture of Life” and Migrant Pedagogies
• 3. The Legionaries of Christ and the Passionate Machine
• 4. Migrant Hearts
• 5. The Virgin of Guadalupe: A Nexus of Affects
• 6. Enwalled: Translocality, Intimacies, and Gendered Subjectivity
• Epilogue
• Notes
• References
• Index