NO MORE “EVIVA”
The day would begin with morning exercises, consisting of endless repetitions of “lie down—get up.” This routine lasted a long time, and often, some of us would lie down and simply not get up, exhausted, staying on the ground as a silent protest against this form of torment. Some would defiantly lift themselves up on their hands only to collapse again. Eventually, these exercises were stopped, only to be replaced by a new form of torture—this time psychological. Instead of morning exercises, they started daily lectures on the “achievements of the great Empire,” on the conquest of Russia, and similar topics. The head of the prison usually read these lectures, sometimes assisted by his deputy. The more successes the occupiers claimed on the front, the greater their fury towards us, especially towards the communists. They would even directly call for the communists among us to step forward and explain their goals, claiming that their arguments for the superiority of fascism would be stronger. Naturally, no one fell for these provocations. The lectures dragged on, and sometimes individuals, weakened by hunger, would faint before they ended.
At lunch, lined up with our plates in hand, we had to raise our right hands and repeat several times the words of the on-duty Carabinieri: “Eviva Duce,” “Eviva Re.” During this ritual, Carabinieri surrounded us, watching closely for anyone who didn’t say “eviva” or didn’t say it loudly enough. Often, this ceremony ended with some of us collapsing onto the cobblestone along with our plates, whether from genuine exhaustion or deliberate action.
I clearly remember one day in July when a senior officer was due to visit. Preparations in the camp had been underway for days. Around 10 a.m., a large man appeared, dressed in a black uniform with numerous decorations on his chest. We peeked through the bars, watching. It wasn’t until noon that they opened our cell doors and called us out to line up. He stood above us on a raised platform. The guards quietly, through a translator, warned us of the guest’s arrival and told us to shout as loudly as possible when saluting the king and Duce, supposedly because he was very interested in that. This only strengthened our resolve to do the opposite, quietly signalling each other to collapse to the ground, feigning weakness.
There were 250 detainees in the line-up. After the command of “Attenzione” (in Italian), came the customary “Eviva.”
The collective voice of 250 detainees barely matched that of a dozen men, and the lifting and lowering of our hands reflected our physical exhaustion. Despite the commands to repeat the salute several times, more and more of us fell onto the cobblestone.
The high-ranking guest paced impatiently along the narrow path, finally issuing an order to the camp commander, stating that from then on, we were no longer required to salute the king and Duce. Supposedly, we were “not worthy” to mention their names since we had fought against them.
This was our great victory. With faces brightened and eyes glinting, as much as they could under such circumstances, we received our lunch and whispered to one another: “No more ‘Eviva’.”
