A Word on Italians

In truth, this clip is not really representative of the Italian people; I didn't really come across any situation this dire during my total of eleven days in Rome, Sicily, Venice, and the Sardinian airport from hell. But it does do a good (or maybe just amusing) job of reflecting upon the cultural divide between Americans and Europeans, especially that between Americans and Italians.

Now, let it be known that although I am of thoroughly mixed ethnicities, I identify with my Italian-American heritage as much as anything else. I have an Italian last name (Grillerio was actually abbreviated to Griller at Ellis Island), grew up on Italian food and traditions, and am Roman Catholic. My great-grandfather, who immigrated alone at age 13, is a legendary figure in my family and he lived to be so old that I got to know him as a child. So I truly expected to love Italy and Italians.

In some ways, they didn't disappoint. They all spelled and pronounced my last name correctly (in fact, better than I do/can) and cooked delicious food. From what I could tell, their lives revolve around their families, their faith, and their food, an admirable lifestyle and one that seemed to encapsulate the older generations of my own family as well.

But I knew from the day I got there that there was something offsetting about Italian culture. It took me a while to admit it, but being stuck in airports for fourteen hours forced me to acknowledge the truth: many Italians are simply lazy, rude, or both.

Now, I'm sure I'm going to catch a lot of flak for this, and this is not to suggest that I didn't meet many Italians who were extremely nice and/or extremely hardworking, or that I myself (and many other Americans) am known to be anything other than lazy and rude. But in the Italy that I saw (with the exception of Venice, which revolves around tourism), values like hard work and common courtesy simply weren't prized.

It was in Olbia Airport that I came up with my Theory of the Italian Peoples. It's quite simple, really. Around 100 years ago, Italy - especially Southern Italy - really sucked. Most hardworking, decent Italians who had the means left for America. All the lazy, rude, and/or privileged ones stayed behind. Nowadays, their descendants reflect that divide, only magnified by 100 years of separation from each other.

You want proof? Look at the style of play of American teams coached by Joe Paterno, Joe Girardi, and Tom Izzo (to name just a few successful Italian-American coaches) vs. the Italian national soccer team. The Americans' teams reflect hard work, respect, and honor, values instilled in Italian-American culture (and American culture at large) by the immigrant experience. American athletes as a whole play through injuries, hesitate to make excuses, and value sportsmanship. When they don’t, the public vilifies them (see: Rodriguez, Alex, or James, LeBron). Cal Ripken, who never won a title after his rookie season, is nationally beloved for his grittiness and his sportsmanship, not because his teams won (they didn’t). The Italian national team flops and dives, fakes injuries and yells racial slurs at opponents, in order to win the referees' favor. They don't care how they win or who they dishonor along the way; all they care about is themselves. What's worse, Italians love them for it.

I had a great time in Italy and would go back again despite the way I was often – and I mean often – treated in my role as tourist or customer. But there is no doubt in my mind that our Italian cousins are just that: cousins. They definitely aren’t siblings; they grew up in a home with different values and different rules. We may have more in common than we have apart, and there are certainly aspects of their culture (especially their appreciation for relaxation and their care for the poor) that I and many others find preferable. Having been there, though, I for one am glad to have grown up in this country instead.