So, you're still convinced the average Italian family sits down to a 20-seater dinner table every night with "big fat mama" ladling out huge bowls of spaghetti all'amatriciana to at least three generations of her family? You still believe, as reported in a survey of March, 2000, that 43 per cent of adult Italians still live within a kilometre of their parents? You could be right and you could be wrong. When the initial results of the "14th Census of the Population and Buildings of Italy", currently taking place, are made available next March, it is almost certain that long-running clichΘs about Italians (big families) will bite the dust while others (the importance of the family unit in Italian society) will be reinforced.
Even as more than 100,000 volunteer workers, or rilevatori, fan out across Italy this week to personally hand over census forms, their very modus operandi underlines one major change in Italian society. All the census officials are obliged to wear an official I.D., complete with photograph, to convince people to open their doors to them. For, as survey after survey claims to show, a significant percentage of modern Italians put concern about petty crime and personal safety at the top of their list of priorities.
The census business is, of course, nothing new in these parts. The ancient Romans were fond of keeping a tight rein on the empire by summoning people for a count. Remember the birth of Jesus Christ?: "And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. And all went to be taxed, everyone into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee." (Luke 2: 1-3)
While the ancient Romans' interest in counting heads probably did not extend beyond fiscal and military considerations, the current census is expected to provide a plethora of socio-economic and sociological information. This is thanks largely to the nature of the 40-page questionnaire being visited on 22 million households and their 57 million citizens. (Citizens may be subject to fines if they fail to return their questionnaires by November 11th).
This census will not only count the number of people living permanently in Italy but will ask them a series of questions on issues ranging from the workplace to the home. In relation to the workplace, the questionnaire asks about the nature of one's employment (or studies, or lack thereof), the number of hours worked per week, distance travelled to work, educational qualifications and much besides. In relation to the household, the questionnaire wants to know about (among other things) home improvements, the number of bathrooms in the house, the number and size of the rooms, as well as the availability (or not) of running water and car-parking facilities.
Notwithstanding the November 11th deadline, however, not everyone will return their forms. Age-old Italian suspicion of central authority prompts some not to collaborate, according to the Turin daily, La Stampa. "Italians, in general, don't like a census. Rather than a civic duty, as it is in theory, they see it as a tax, a waste of time and also as an intrusive, back-handed effort by the state to find out what they in fact try to keep hidden."
Many of the things that will emerge from the census, however, are unlikely to prove "hidden" at all. For example, we have known for a long time that "big fat mama" is not fat (on average, she diets obsessively) nor does she have nine or more children (the average birth rate is likely to prove one child per woman, underlining that Italian birth rates are just slightly above zero).
Likewise, the close-knit nature of the Italian family network is likely to emerge from the census which may well show that a significant percentage of adult Italians still live, if not in the same condominium as their parents, then close by. In this latter regard, analysts will be closely monitoring the estimated 2.5 million Italians (according to the daily Corriere Della Sera) who work in one place during the week but return to their families at the weekend. If this census, though, is to break new ground, that will almost certainly come from the response of "foreigners". Given that the "immigrant question" is widely believed to represent the single most profound change in Italian society in the period since the last national census (1991), much studious attention will doubtless be focused on the response of "foreigners".
To this end, the questionnaire has been issued in 12 languages other than Italian - English, French, Spanish, German, Albanian, Serb, Croat, Chinese, Singhalese, Polish, Portugese and Arabic. In other words, it has also been addressed to the non-EU migrant community, including immigrants from the ex-communist Eastern Bloc, from Latin America, Asia and the Indian sub-continent.
The answers provided by foreigners resident in Italy are likely to provide information not only on the lifestyle of the 1.3 million legal immigrants but, arguably more importantly, on the unknown but large number of illegal ones. Foreigners' answers about their living space and their work could provide a lot of indicators to their long-term intentions as well as confirm the widespread belief that non-EU migrant workers have become an indispensable cog in the Italian economy.
In the context of an Italy where anti-immigrant sentiment is regularly voiced by political forces such as the Northern League, currently a partner in the centre-right coalition government led by media tycoon Silvio Berlusconi, the census could yet provide much invaluable textual evidence for those who believe Italy's future lies down the road of an ever more multi-ethnic society.
While much of the census may reveal little that is not already well documented, the information provided by foreigners (of whom an estimated 800,000 are Islamic) could prove crucial in helping central and regional government prepare for a more multi-ethnic future.