THE SHAMEFUL TREATMENT OF GUIDO ROSSI

 The descent of the world into a conflagration the likes of which humanity had borne witness to once before, was admittedly a fraught period of the early twentieth century. Mussolini had in 1922 ushered in Fascist rule in Italy and a decade later the Nazi Hun grabbed the reins of power in Germany. Spain had its own Fascist demagogue in office since the Spanish Civil War of the mid-1930s in the person of Francisco Franco. Democracy was on the wane globally, as the Imperial Japanese Army grasped political power and Hideki Tojo became an ever more influential force in that island nation, finally as dictatorial Prime Minister (until his removal from office in 1944). The Soviet Union was under the tight and heinous grip of Joseph Stalin. Few nations doffed their hats to any semblance of democracy.

The British Empire had hegemony over an expanse of colonial possessions upon which the sun never set by the 1920s. That mighty super-power and master of the seas had, sadly, not universally covered itself in glory with respect to the human rights of subject peoples. It was a master of bureaucracy and a proven ability to rule, but where it had been challenged, as in the Anglo-Boer War and also in the jewel of the Crown, India, it used brute force to suppress dissent and maintain its hold on territory with abundant economic value. To the extent that it felt the threat to its control dissipating, it tweaked the means by which it wielded its might and granted Dominion Status in those regions that amelioration of brute force could work in its favour and it determined that co-operation was to be preferred to the flexing of military might.

South Africa was one of the Dominions that had attained self government and in which “soft power” had achieved an acceptable outcome. Nevertheless, large numbers of those who had suffered under the abuses of Kitchener’s wartime scorched earth policies, the destruction of huge swathes of farmland, the roll-out of concentration camps to ostensibly take care of the displaced women and children and farm workers in devastated regions – all of this resulted in human rights abuse of the highest order and left a legacy of animosity amongst a sizeable section of the populace. Although self-governing, the march of Nationalism (Both Afrikaner and Black African) found fertile ground.

It was in this local and international context that the September 1939 Nazi invasion of Poland precipitated a British and French declaration of war to stunt that naked aggression. Appeasement had failed miserably and few options were left to nations that represented democracy or an adequate semblance thereof, other than to back words with fire-power. In South Africa a heated debate in the precincts of Parliament toppled the Hertzog government and installed a new Smuts administration, opting for a 6th September decision to dispense with neutrality and join the British Commonwealth in the campaign to drive Hitler’s armies back and halt the relentless march of jackboot diplomacy. Seven Members of Parliament, had they voted with Hertzog, would have swung the decision towards neutrality and produced an untenable political dilemma for a British Dominion. Nevertheless, the decision to declare war on Germany was not universally supported by many for whom the memory of the Anglo-Boer War was still a festering sore.

The relentless march of Hitler’s infantry, panzers and Luftwaffe through Europe had just begun, aided and abetted by a duplicitous Soviet Union that scrambled to claim its spoils of Polish territory in an infamous pact with the petulant Jackboot Guttersnipe in the Chancellery in Berlin. Hitler’s armies swung westwards and marched on France which felt itself impervious because of the Maginot Line. Skirting this line of fortifications through the Ardennes Forest, Hitler’s Panzers bludgeoned a path through neutral countries (he had no truck with such niceties as neutrality), and by June 1940 bore down on the French heartland. The French military industry had hardly had the wherewithal to come on line before it had to turn its attention to producing an abundance of white flags.

Mussolini, asleep at the wheel, and having spent an inordinate amount of time and effort bullying the African state of Abyssinia into submission since the Walwal Incident of 1935, was awakened with a start. On the 10th of June he declared war in the vain hope of securing spoils of his own in an about to be defeated France. He was no doubt startled when little was gained for Italy out of his hare-brained scheme. France, after its defeat on 25th June, was split into a German occupied zone, and Vichy state under Marshall Petain, the erstwhile Hero of Verdun, turned collaborator with the Nazis and ruler of a vassal state of shame. France had unceremoniously rolled over and was effectively knocked out of the Allied war effort, except for partisans, General Giraud and the Free French Army of Charles de Gaulle. 

These are the major events in Europe and in the Commonwealth countries – the “Big History”. Most care not to remember the “Little History” – the lives of ordinary people that play out in circumstances overshadowed by the major developments that provide the context.

Guido Rossi was one such fellow whose life came to be overshadowed by events out of his control. He was a diminutive man, about 5 foot 5 inches, and of slender build. He was of Italian descent, but a third generation South African. He owned a General Dealership in the Southern Suburbs of Cape Town and lived in an annexe behind his business with his wife and three young children. The family was well liked and fully integrated in the community. As irony would have it, he had much sympathy for the Commonwealth cause and supported the decision of South Africa to participate in the war against Germany. Guido was seldom seen without his formal attire – a three piece suit, pocket watch elegantly attached to a chain, Stetson hat or classic cap, and exquisitely shone shoes – the epitome of sartorial elegance. A true gentleman whose demeanour and eloquent turn of phrase, despite Italian still mostly being spoken at home made him well liked. This was a fellow who commanded respect and admiration. His wife, Erina, was also of Italian stock, and equally elegant. Their three boys were of splendid character and most likeable. They had both Afrikaans and English friends and were well mannered and polite to peers and adults alike. Their teachers at a local Boys’ High School thought highly of them – prefect material of the future. 

The family ne’er set a foot wrong and never dabbled in the murky terrain of political discourse. Although pro-war, it was not easy to discern whether or not the family had even a remote interest in politics other than the extent to which it affected their livelihood and the economy.

The seminal event in this story was the hasty and ill-conceived entry into the war against France by Il Duce Mussolini. Immediately Italy was pitted against the entire Commonwealth, too. The Rossis found out to their dismay that their heritage would descend upon them like a ton of bricks, and multiple generations’ contribution to South Africa, integration with the broader society and their kindness and compassion over many years counted for naught.

On the 11th June 1940 a Black Mariah (Police Paddy Wagon of the era) pulled up outside their store. Two burly policemen got out and manhandled Mr Rossi, fine gentleman that he was, out of his General Dealership. By his collar and the seat of his pants he was pitched into the back of the Black Mariah, knocking his head and sustaining a bloody gash against the door. Without so much as an acknowledgement of the stunned horror of his family and the shocked neighbours he was hauled off to an internment camp where, by all accounts, his dignity was further stripped from him. 

The round-up of Italians had begun, much like the round-up of Japanese in the USA, when that slumbering giant was suddenly and unceremoniously dragged into what had become a World War a year and a half later. 

Released without apology many months later, a taumatised Mr Rossi picked up the threads of his teetering business. Ostensibly some bureaucrat had finally come to the conclusion that he was no threat to the war effort and authorised his release. 

Happily, Mr Rossi, the gracious gentleman that he was held no grudge. He and his family continued to make a huge contribution to his community. His sons became civil engineers whose outstanding work in bridge and tunnel construction are a visible reminder that individuals deserve to be treated with dignity and that despite the effrontery of officialdom, grace and forgiveness can still rise above the basest instincts that would have sought revenge and lingering generational animosity.

Hats off to the Rossis who rose above the shameful treatment meted out to them when they overnight, unwittingly and without good reason, became pariahs in their own country.

• The names Guido and Erina Rossi have been changed for good reason, as their relatives continue             to reside in Cape Town.

©Paul M Haupt