Goffredo

From Rivista Malamente
July 12, 2025

The infosphere of what remains of the left in Italy is exploding with obituaries, crocodiles, and memories.

We too are doing our part, but please don't lump us into the rubble of the "left that once was," a stale position that doesn't belong to us. We salute Maestro Fofi as the editorial team of a small, provincial, anti-capitalist and anarchist social critique project, which Goffredo held in high esteem.

We imagine that if he could see this proliferation of words about himself, Goffredo would be sarcastic as was his way, or even tell someone to go fuck themselves as he used to do with a smile on his face and brandish that rickety stick that lately seemed more ready to throw at people's heads than to use to support himself.

We got to know him better when he began supporting our project in 2018, and we also had the pleasure of hosting him in Senigallia for a meeting titled "Despite School." We call him maestro because he always, right up until the end, supported and encouraged the younger generations and the collective creation of cultural and artistic instruments. This is his great merit and his remarkable method, which we are happy to have had the opportunity to learn about.

We, however, do not regret the role of intellectuals in the good old days, nor do we feel nostalgia for the left's now-lost hegemony in culture and the arts. Intellectuals and artists are not heroes or geniuses, but sons and daughters of their time and of the struggles that each generation is capable of expressing.

When this ugly and aged Italy begins to burn with anger and dignity again, even words and gestures will begin to be beautiful and full of meaning.

Now we can only salute the glorious past of a culture that no longer exists, as it recedes like an iceberg from the ice floe in this scorching summer.

Ciao Goffredo, you're right, we don't understand a thing.

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We publish here the article on Goffredo written by Massimo Raffaeli (recently published by “il manifesto”), also in memory of that evening a few years ago, spent together at the tables of the Bice restaurant, in Senigallia, after the meeting “Despite the School”.

“That vain yet tireless search for the truth of things”

by Massimo Raffaeli – the manifesto

Thinking about what the figure of Goffredo Fofi represented for at least two generations is like suddenly finding yourself face to face with him, smiling, affectionately pungent in his Socratic way of walking and speaking, always participating, enthusiastic even in dissent, elegant with his own special, necessarily shabby elegance. In short, Goffredo was Goffredo without any other possible adjectives, while his image could immediately recall an ancient Umbrian friar (perhaps Friar Leone, "God's little sheep") of the kind found in Rossellini's beloved "Fioretti" and then in "Francesco giullare di Dio" (Francesco, Jester of God). But it also recalled a grassroots militant whose voice has grown hoarse from hours of assemblies, meetings, and discussions, where Fofi, moreover, lavished the treasure of an immense memory (a registry with the names of all literature, cinema, and politics), which resurfaced at intervals in anecdotes suddenly transformed into moral and political apologues and parables.

Because Fofi wrote so much, yet as a naturally Christian intellectual (one of his constant companions was Aldo Capitini), he always believed that the truth of literature, like that of cinema or any other artistic expression, ultimately lay outside of literature—that is, that if taken in itself, or even reduced to itself, literature was nothing more than a foolish or ambiguous decoration. Conversely, to use the words of Franco Fortini (another crucial and controversial influence), he wanted it to become "food for the many," that is, to translate or at least allude to an ethos, a coherence between saying and doing, an allegory aimed, in the knowledge that it would always fail, at the search for its own truth.

First and foremost, rather than a critic (who, as a young man, leafing through issues of Quaderni Piacentini or Ombre Rosse, could seem uncompromising and even cruel), Fofi had become a sparring partner for writers, a true traveling companion. And here it is enough to browse through one of the many books whose title is perhaps the most revealing in its insolence, “The Wedding with Dried Figs. Stories of another Italy” (L'ancora del mediterraneo 1999), to find the constellation where alongside the secular masters of a libertarian and proudly anti-Stalinist left (Silone, Camus, Victor Serge, Nicola Chiaromonte) appear the physiognomies of the great outsiders with whom Fofi came into contact and sometimes in intersection, from Raniero Panzieri, the founder of Quaderni Rossi, to the economist Manlio Rossi-Doria, to the writer and southern scholar Danilo Dolci and Danilo Montaldi, the author of the stupendous “Autobiographies of the Light”, a pioneer of field research and oral history that greatly influenced him in the drafting of his first book, a pioneering work that it would be reductive to define as mere sociology, “Southern Immigration in Turin”, published by Feltrinelli in 1999. 1964 (it has been in Aragno's catalogue since 2009) after Einaudi had rejected it, so as not to have problems with Fiat and La Stampa, summarily firing the editors Panzieri and Renato Solmi who had supported it.

But there is another book that represents, so to speak, the Fofi canon: "Writers for a Century. Italian Storytellers, Poets, and Essayists of the 20th Century" (Linea d'ombra, 1993), constructed around the photographic images of Giovanni Giovannetti. The pulsating center, in an anti-hermetic and more generally anti-academic function, is Saba's poetry, so vibrant and fraternal to the reader, while the offshoots lead to a literature of lateral and supposedly minor figures who in reality reveal themselves to be major figures, from Emilio Lussu (the author of "A Year on the Plateau") to the always little-remembered Piero Jahier, from Alberto Savinio to Fausta Cialente, from a brilliant polymath like Luigi Bartolini, to Noventa, Carlo Levi, Brancati, Bilenchi, Volponi, Flaiano.

Only the new avant-gardes and Gruppo 63 are missing, because Fofi generally distrusted intellectualist constructions, and particularly the works of Gruppo 63, which he deemed so trendy that they quickly became academic exercises. The epicenter of the second half of the century for him, however, was Elsa Morante, about whom he never stopped writing and questioning, turning his most beloved book, "The World Saved by Kids" (key release date: 1968), into a personal bible of free, grassroots creativity that challenges the power (political, economic, military, academic) always exercised from above.

And it's no coincidence that Fofi, an elementary school teacher from Umbria who felt at heart a Neapolitan and a citizen of the universal South, has always been interested in anti-authoritarian pedagogy and figures like Don Milani and Paulo Freire. Nor should we ever forget his commitment as a passionate and generous talent scout, albeit gently nagging as only mendicant friars can be: in Italy, such an example of organizational fervor hasn't been seen since the days of Elio Vittorini, the legendary promoter of magazines and editorial series. In this regard, it is sufficient to browse the summary of the periodicals that Fofi founded (from Ombre Rosse and Linea d'ombra to the more recent Lo Straniero and Gli asini) to note the infinite number of authors hosted and, at times, directly promoted by him: to focus only on narrators, among others appear Gianni Celati, Giorgio Pressburger, Pier Vittorio Tondelli, Claudio Piersanti, Luca Doninelli, Giorgio van Straten, Stefano Benni, Alessandro Baricco, Maurizio Maggiani, Roberto Saviano and Lorenzo Pavolini.

Among the titles in his bibliographical diorama, a book-length interview stands out, a fine testament to the talent he lavished on an eternal search for himself and his fellow travellers: “La vocazione minoritaria” (edited by Oreste Pivetta, Laterza, 2009), in which Goffredo Fofi, inadvertently, writes not only his testament but also his own ethical-political self-portrait.

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anon (not verified) Mon, 08/18/2025 - 19:28

Another obituary with a little more about his relationship to anarchism (and Colin Ward)

From Nico's Cloud

Publishing is a way of doing politics, for someone who does not know how to do it. In memory of Goffredo Fofi

Yesterday, aged 88, Goffredo Fofi passed away. He was one of the most influential and prolific Italian intellectuals and critics of the post-war era, writing constantly movie, theater and book reviews, founding a publishing house, as well as a string of magazines throughout his life such as “Quaderni piacentini”, “La Terra vista dalla Luna” (The Earth Seen from the Moon), “Ombre Rosse” (Red Shadows), “Linea d’Ombra” (Shadow Line), “Lo Straniero” (The Stranger) and “Gli Asini” (The Donkeys).

He made the fight against cultural homogenisation the common thread of his critical thinking throughout his long career. For Goffredo Fofi publishing ‘was a way of doing politics, for someone who does not know how to do it.‘

I initially came to know him during my university years. A caricature version of his face would appear every week inside Internazionale (an Italian magazine composed of a selection of international press articles) and where he used to write a column reviewing movies.

At the time I did not know about the influence he held beyond these columns, but his name and work kept emerging during my studies, while my admiration for the broadness of his interests, for his intellectual rigor and for his political views kept growing.

Goffredo Fofi holds therefore a particular place in my heart as well as in my path. Not only for his life and work, and the resulting inspiration he projected on people like me, but also for the peculiar sensibility and empathy he manifested towards minorities, and particularly towards the South Tyorlean population.

He was a close friend of Alexander Langer, who has been an important reference of mine since my high school years. He dedicated his whole life to fostering peaceful coexistence between cultures and to safeguarding the environment we inhabit. His message has inspired much of my work related to communities and minorities.

Fofi wrote a beautiful forward to the most comprehenvie collection of Alexander Langer’s writings, titled ‘Il viaggiatore leggero (The Lightweight Traveller)’, helping disseminate his message and ethics. The last work Fofi published a month ago before passing away was again a book on Langer, Ciò che era giusto. Eredità e memoria di Alexander Langer.

Another reason why Fofi holds a special place in my heart, is because of the gratitude I feel towards him and his support for my work. Soon after my book ‘Hidden Islam’ got published, Goffredo Fofi wrote a review about it. It appeared on a Sunday in the mid of Summer 2014. I was unaware of it and discovered it at the news-stand. The book had already received considerable attention from the foreign press, but curiously enough, none in the very same country, the book was talking about. Fofi was the first one to spot and review it in the national press. This testifies much for his broad interest in cultural matters, as well as for the fresh look he had on things and his ability to cross-cross the art world without a hierarchical view, and with little esteem for cultural elites. The review helped the book gain traction in Italy, and further cemented the debate around the theme.

After the review Goffredo Fofi invited me and my brother one evening for dinner. He lived in Rome in a small flat, covered in books and DVD’s. We ate his exquisite vegetarian dishes in the living room, while I was grilling him with questions.

I remember vividly how he pressured on ‘fare rete’, networking, in a sense of forming a sincere bond in order to bolster change. At the end of the evening he gave me a small book, Anarchism: A very short introduction, by Colin Ward, for which he wrote a forward ending with the following quote:

‘Anyone who truly thinks and cares about the common good can no longer avoid, today, in some way, considering themselves an anarchist.’

Goffredo Fofi
(April 15th, 1937 – July, 11th 2025)

Here I translate his review of Hidden Islam into English. The original version was published on the Italian newspaper Il Sole 24 ORE on August 17th 2014 and can be retrieved here: https://st.ilsole24ore.com/art/cultura/2014-08-17/l-islam-visto-degiorg…

Islam as seen by Degiorgis
by Goffredo Fofi

This year’s Arles Festival—the leading photography event in Europe—has crowned 29-year-old Nicolò Degiorgis from Bolzano, a graduate in Chinese from Ca’ Foscari and a scholar of immigration issues at the University of Trieste, as the author and publisher of this year’s “best author’s book.”

It’s an important award, this time given to a self-produced book, and a well-deserved one—for the precision and beauty of the edition (the book can be requested via www.rorhof.com; Rorhof is the name of the photography publishing house, which Degiorgis hopes to expand into other areas as well, together with Eleonora Matteazzi in his hometown), as well as for the originality and strength of the idea behind it, the subject matter, and the way it is explored.

The title of the book is Hidden Islam, and the subtitle is Islamic makeshift places of worship in North East Italy, 2009–2013. It is essentially a survey, an investigation into the improvised, temporary, and sometimes semi-permanent prayer spaces that Muslim immigrants in Northeast Italy have created—often in semi-clandestine conditions due to hostility from the surrounding environment.

The Venetian paradox lies in the massive presence of immigrants (mostly Muslims), whose labor the local economy depends on, and the often racist way that society has chosen to receive them.

As Martin Parr—one of the most original and formidable photographers of our time—recalls in the preface he wrote for the book, Italy is home to nearly one and a half million Arabs and has allowed the construction of only eight mosques throughout the entire peninsula. “Even though in Italy the right to freedom of religion, without discrimination, is protected by the Constitution,” and even though “Islam is the second most widespread religion,” it is not officially recognized by the state.

Parr continues: “One fascinating aspect of photography is that it can speak of places and ideas we would otherwise have no knowledge of.” Yes, there remains a cognitive aspect of photography (and of journalism and documentary cinema, when they avoid the obvious) that should never be taken for granted. Even though in recent years the explosion and invasion of communication—the manipulated and manipulative kind, the fake communication—has made its role uncertain and often relegated it to simply confirming what is already known or to the misadventures of art, that doesn’t mean it cannot still be used—like investigative journalism or documentary and semi-documentary cinema—to explore the unknown, the dark corners of society, and all those things we refuse to see, even though we ought to.

This is an active book, then—one after which we can no longer claim ignorance, and which invites us to take the matter into our own hands, according to our conscience.

Degiorgis explored his Northeast, from Trento to Trieste—the westernmost and easternmost cities—and from Badia Polesine to Merano—the southernmost and northernmost. He divided his photos into exteriors (black and white, a frame on a white page) and interiors (in color and spread across two pages, enclosed within folded pages that show the exteriors), according to the kinds of places that the faithful have repurposed into places of worship.

These include warehouses, storage rooms, shops, supermarket corners, apartments, stadiums, gyms, garages, and nightclubs… Sometimes the interiors are really outdoor spaces inside other interiors, so to speak—small, secluded areas between buildings, passageways, courtyards, and grassy patches between a wall, a fence, and a hedge, brought to life by multicolored rugs. They show a few or many individuals—mostly men—bowing in prayer toward Mecca, barefoot, seen from behind, from above, with their faces hidden; men who are once again feeling and becoming part of a community, of a collective.

The dominant aridity of the exteriors—mostly soulless buildings, though occasionally spaces belonging to sympathetic associations or non-profits, in supportive communities that are not shown here—is starkly contrasted with the color and warmth of the interiors, always presented without emotional manipulation, with maximum objectivity and respectful distance. Degiorgis’s book is not one of denunciation, but one of acknowledgment: of discrimination, of injustice; something more than just a “problem,” as our politicians would prefer to label it.

This beautiful and important book is not the only one, from within the Northeast, that brings to light the ambiguities of a region blessed with wealth and now forced to reckon with painful truths. Many writers and directors are working there with clarity and determination—I think, among the more recent examples, of Alessandro Rossetto’s film Piccola patria and Francesco Maino’s novel Cartongesso, though many more names and titles could be listed.

Nicolò Degiorgis’s photos tackle the Northeast from the side of the “new Venetians,” necessary and undeniably different, who must be afforded the same responsibilities but also the same rights as everyone else, without distinction of faith. Long live Rorhof Editions.

Goffredo Fofi, Il Sole 24 ORE, 17.08.2014

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