First certainty: Alessandro Di Battista, by next summer, I will found a party, or a movement (you know Luigi Di Maio, always everything perfect, positive, smiling? The other day he had a mask of annoyance and apprehension, and he told a friend of his that he is not so much a friend, because then he drifts everything: Guagli, this risks taking away at least 5%).
Second certainty: in the meantime Dibba began his personal electoral campaign, which was already very hard and pure, very social, as to die for as Piacione.
Good heavens, Dibba: give that tuft respite.
To tell us live that it is not me who no longer thinks like the M5S, but the M5S who does not think like me – note the modesty – is the bearded man, wrinkled, with the denim shirt and the sleeves rolled up: and for 42 minutes he torments himself his hair, alternating grimaces, very good at playing with the tones of his voice, severe / ironic / contemptuous, never speaking in general but always addressed to his 271,000 followers, 87,111,000 of whom are connected, and in adoration (consider that his Facebook page has 1.5 million likes: numbers from Totti, Ligabue, Pope Francis).
Dibba must be acknowledged that he has always remained in the role he took from the beginning of the grill season: the small group capable of addressing the most movementist belly of the movement. Cheeky (C ‘Gianni Letta behind the Draghi conspiracy), sometimes reckless (The paper He called him a 5-star mythomaniac, the New York Times he put it on the list of ballist politicians), obsessively sure of himself: he thought he had made a mandrakata a do not apply in 2018, the idea was to stay still for a while and then come back and take everything; he did not imagine that his people would stick with Vinavil to their seats (and salaries), remaining in government first with the League, then with the Democratic Party, and now here they are also in this executive of national salvation.
Dibba took a while to understand.
The psychodrama of voting on the Rousseau platform somehow helped him.
At 3.29 pm a launch from the Ansa agency arrives: ++ M5S: Di Battista renounces registration in the Movement.
Convinced of doing reportage
out, free. So he goes to be photographed at the Stadio dei Marmi, with his backpack and books, because if they call you the Che Guevara of North Rome, the books must be there: then posing on the steps with his two children and his wife Sahra Lahouasnia, a woman of exceptional patience – in the last three years, she has supported and followed him everywhere.
When Dibba decides to put his nose into the a shabby little family business specialized in the health sector (accounts in the red, too risky, and in addition Vittorio, the father, a little bulky: I would prefer to be called the comrade Vittorio).
When he is convinced that he is one reportage writer: from Piazza dei Giuochi Delfici in Rome it goes down to Guatemala, passing through Chiapas, Mexico, eventually making some Italian researchers who work there nervous; so one day a hashtag – DiBattistaFueraYa – began to circulate on Twitter and on the web with which fellow researchers warn the Zapatista communities that the guy committed to being a Third Worldist is in fact one of the leaders of a party that, in Italy, goes to arm in arm with the fascists (the story of his trip to Central America for Sky Atlantic will then be judged by Aldo Grasso as the worst program of 2019).
Dibba also tries to be a carpenter (but nothing: too tiring). Then, a wonder, last summer: in Ortona, the private beach of the Katia hotel, umbrellas lined up for nine and hot sand, with him suddenly appearing all dressed as a barman, complete with bandana, and seriously doing the bartender, Dibba bartender, and he was there at the kiosk preparing Negroni – 1/3 of gin, 1/3 of red vermouth, 1/3 of Campari – and he regularly escaped two leaves of mint. But no, Ale! How many times do I have to tell you that you have to put mint only in the mojito? .
Sympathetic, visionary, always in possession of a carefree certainty about everything: Who does not dance cuckold !, screams in the tourist villages, where as a boy he works as an entertainer, known by a brutal nickname: Heart of cream; as a deputy he promises the Apulians to close the Tap in two weeks (then, with his head down: Sorry, I didn’t realize); suggests dealing with ISIS; announces that many desperate citizens in Greece are injecting themselves with the AIDS virus. But his masterpiece perhaps remains the trip with Di Maio to France, at the end of which he convinces Luigino to embrace the yellow vests that have just set fire to Paris (imagine Macron when he learned that the one with the tie had become our foreign minister).
Dibba is only 42 years old.
And, objectively, it can still give a lot.
February 23, 2021 (change February 23, 2021 | 08:03)
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