With Donald Trump, America discovers the gaffe that made Berlusconi’s Italy famous worldwide. Everybody in Europe is asking if there is any trace of Italian identity in the hemoglobin of the New York millionaire, one of those questions that precedes reassuring answers.
Locating and circumscribing squalor geographically is the old trick of the paranoid and frightened, whereas the former are the same as the latter, except that in them, fear has occupied all the available space.
After the era — famously depicted in the American cinema — of the Sicilian underworld gangster, now it is the turn of the vulgar, rich and womanizing man. And so all of us can see how many times, mathematically, Silvio Berlusconi fits inside Donald Trump.
The two are unpresentable billionaires, all money and sex scandals, circus freaks, with the transplanted hair, or worse, the hairpiece.