The Democracy of Indifference

The problem is not that we have somehow become a nation of losers. That would be an easy, superficial explanation that shifts all the blame onto individuals. The real issue is far more profound: society itself has changed, and not for the better. What truly defines our age is not the existence of power, inequality, or injustice—those have always been part of human history—but the gradual disappearance of collective outrage.

We live in a time when almost nothing is capable of shocking us anymore. Every event is consumed within hours before being replaced by the next headline. Outrage has become a short-lived emotion, rarely evolving into civic engagement or meaningful political action.

Meanwhile, politics increasingly resembles a mathematical exercise. Polls, algorithms, electoral marketing, statistical models, and voter segmentation have largely replaced long-term vision and political ideals. Managing public opinion has become more important than pursuing the common good. Decisions often appear to emerge from tightly connected networks of political, economic, and bureaucratic interests, while most citizens remain passive spectators.

More than a century ago, Alexis de Tocqueville warned about this danger. In his study of modern democracy, he argued that the greatest threat was not necessarily authoritarian government but excessive individualism. When citizens retreat into their private lives and abandon public affairs, political power naturally becomes concentrated in the hands of a few. Freedom is not always taken away; sometimes it simply ceases to be exercised.

A similar concern can be found in the work of José Ortega y Gasset. In The Revolt of the Masses, he described the emergence of the "mass man"—an individual who demands rights while avoiding responsibilities, who follows prevailing trends instead of developing independent judgment. Such a society becomes increasingly vulnerable to manipulation because critical thinking gradually gives way to conformity.

The reflections of Hannah Arendt are perhaps even more relevant today. Arendt argued that genuine politics exists only when citizens actively participate in the public sphere. Freedom is not merely the absence of oppression or the ability to cast a vote every few years; it is the capacity to act together, deliberate, and assume responsibility for the community. When isolation and passivity prevail, democracy may retain its institutions while steadily losing its democratic spirit.

From a psychological perspective, Gustave Le Bon demonstrated how crowds can be shaped by emotion and suggestion. Yet today's phenomenon is somewhat different. Rather than emotionally driven crowds gathering in public squares, we increasingly encounter isolated individuals connected through digital platforms—people who react instantly, express fleeting outrage online, and then quickly move on without creating lasting forms of civic participation.

These ideas are complemented by the elite theory developed by Gaetano Mosca. Mosca argued that every society, regardless of its political system, is governed by an organized minority. The difference between a healthy democracy and a declining one is not the absence of elites, but whether those elites remain accountable to vigilant citizens and robust institutions. When the majority becomes indifferent, organized minorities inevitably accumulate greater influence.

Likewise, Antonio Gramsci emphasized that power depends not only on coercion but also on cultural hegemony. Those who shape what society considers normal, acceptable, or even worthy of attention exercise a subtle yet extraordinarily effective form of power. Indifference rarely emerges on its own; it is often cultivated within a cultural environment where everything appears inevitable and nothing seems worth challenging.

The work of Zygmunt Bauman offers another important perspective. In what he called "liquid modernity," relationships become fragile, commitments temporary, and identities increasingly unstable. Political participation follows the same pattern: people mobilize for a few days, sign an online petition, share a post, and then move on. Commitment dissolves as quickly as it appears.

Finally, Erich Fromm argued that modern individuals often seek refuge in conformity to escape the burden of freedom. Genuine freedom requires responsibility, courage, and the willingness to take a stand. Many people find it easier to blend into the crowd and allow others to make decisions on their behalf.

Perhaps this is the defining feature of our era. We are not necessarily living under a more oppressive political system than previous generations. Rather, we are living in a society where an increasing number of citizens have voluntarily withdrawn from public life. They observe, consume information, comment, and complain—but rarely organize, participate, or assume responsibility for the common good.

History reminds us that democracies do not collapse only through coups or revolutions. They can also erode gradually through everyday indifference. When citizens stop viewing public life as a shared responsibility, power encounters fewer obstacles, less scrutiny, and weaker accountability.

The central question, then, is not whether we have become weaker as individuals. The real question is whether we are forgetting that democracy survives only as long as citizens are willing to participate, dissent, hold power accountable, and protect the common good. Once that civic spirit disappears, what remains is no longer a true political community, but a passive multitude grazing quietly while others decide its future.

Italy Does Not Need a Coach

Let us be clear: Italy does not need a coach. Not because the country is perfect as it is — far from it — but because, within the geopolitical framework of the Western world, Italy has such limited influence that its political class can afford to survive without being truly held accountable for results.

The perception is that, especially since the end of the Second World War, Italy's room for strategic autonomy has often been constrained by international, economic, and geopolitical factors. From this perspective, it becomes easier to understand why politics can turn into a self-referential system, capable of reproducing itself regardless of its actual effectiveness. When the most important decisions appear to be heavily influenced by external forces, political competition risks becoming a matter of managing the status quo rather than shaping the future.

At this point, it is impossible not to refer to Gaetano Mosca, the Sicilian political theorist who was one of the founders of modern political science. More than a century ago, Mosca developed the theory of the political class, arguing that every society — regardless of whether it calls itself a monarchy, a republic, or a democracy — is ultimately governed by an organized minority over a largely unorganized majority.

According to Mosca, the essential difference between political systems is not simply found in their formal institutions, but in the ability of ruling minorities to organize themselves, occupy positions of power, and preserve their influence over time. Political elites are inevitable; the real question is their quality, their openness to renewal, and their ability to serve society rather than themselves.

Mosca also introduced the concept of the "political formula": the set of ideas, values, and principles through which a ruling class justifies its authority and presents its power as legitimate. Ideologies may change, political language may evolve, and slogans may be replaced, but the underlying mechanism often remains the same: a governing elite creates a narrative capable of maintaining consensus.

Seen through Mosca's perspective, contemporary Italy offers a striking example. The Right speaks of national sovereignty and tradition. The Left speaks of progress, equality, and rights. The Centre presents itself as the voice of moderation and responsibility. Each side has its own political formula, yet they often appear unable to challenge the deeper structures that allow the system to reproduce itself.

Meanwhile, citizens continue to finance an increasingly expensive political machine. After the abolition of direct public funding for political parties, the relationship between politics and interest groups has remained at the centre of public debate. Parliament is often perceived as a place where party discipline prevails over individual responsibility, with representatives following the instructions of party leadership rather than engaging in genuine independent evaluation of every legislative proposal.

Years ago, Sergio Rizzo and Gian Antonio Stella exposed the phenomenon known as the "casta", highlighting the privileges and self-referential nature of political elites. Later, the events surrounding Luca Palamara contributed to a broader debate about the internal dynamics of the judiciary and the influence of professional networks within it. For many citizens, politics and the judiciary have come to symbolize two powerful institutions that, despite their different roles, may share a tendency toward self-preservation.

From this point of view, Italy's problem is not the absence of a ruling class. Mosca would argue that every society inevitably produces one. The real problem is the quality of its renewal. When an organized minority stops allowing new talent, competence, and fresh ideas to enter, it risks becoming a closed oligarchy, more interested in managing its own survival than in leading the country.

This is perhaps the deepest crisis of Italian politics: not simply a crisis of ideology, but a crisis of circulation among elites.

Neither of the major political camps seems capable of offering a genuine path of renewal. A part of the Right continues to speak as if Italy were still a major international power, while the country's actual weight in the global system is much more limited. On the other side, a part of the Left remains attached to cultural categories inherited from the Cold War, even though many of its economic policies have gradually aligned with the dominant neoliberal framework. It is a significant contradiction: a twentieth-century vocabulary combined with twenty-first-century economic practices.

Then there is the Centre, the transformed heir of the old Christian Democratic tradition, which struggles to define a clear identity and is often perceived more as a permanent mechanism of mediation than as a force capable of proposing a long-term vision.

In such a scenario, talking about a "coach" who can awaken Italy risks becoming an illusion. A coach can help someone who is willing to question themselves. But Italian politics often appears trapped inside a vast echo chamber, where every faction believes its own narrative is sufficient to explain reality.

This is where Gaetano Mosca becomes surprisingly relevant again. If his theory is correct, no coach can truly transform a country as long as its political class remains an organized minority speaking mainly to itself, while the majority of citizens remains fragmented, passive, and unable to exert continuous pressure for genuine change.

The problem, therefore, is not finding a coach for Italy.

The real question is whether Italian society still possesses enough awareness, organization, and determination to force its ruling class to renew itself.

Because history shows that nations do not decline only when they lack leaders. They decline when their elites stop being challenged.