Witness to Toxic Populism: One Woman’s Life Journey From Surviving Fascism and Bombs in World War II to Enduring a Pandemic in the Time of Trump

I was 5 years old and living in Bogliasco, a small village near Genova in Italy, and I vividly remember the relentless nightly bombardments. One night, as I woke to the hiss and then thud of the bombs destroying nearby towns, I saw my sister, with whom I shared a room, throw up on my bed. I was furious, but before I could react, my father mother, and governess burst into the room, grabbed us both, and dashed down into the bomb shelter below our house where we spent parts of most nights. The planes that were dropping the bombs belonged to the allies — the Americans and the British — and their target was the nearby coastal railroad. Their goal was to keep the Germans from transporting their troops and supplies to the south of Italy. The railroad tunnel was situated under our villa, placing us in terrible danger.

The bomb shelter was a place of refuge where the whole family, including our servants and animals, would crowd together most every night for a year. I don’t remember feeling frightened: To me as a child, it was strangely exciting to be there together. The experience made us all equal and I felt safe there, though I later learned that the adults were petrified at the sound of the bombs falling so close. We had a pet parrot who, after the war, would excitedly bob her head up and down and scream, “Corri, corri corri, tutto rotto, tutto rotto!” meaning “Run, run, run, everything is broken, everything is broken.”

As I look back at my experiences with World War II and think about my present experience living through the COVID-19 pandemic, I feel that COVID-19 is much more frightening in some ways than was the war for me then. Of course, at 5 years old I did not have the knowledge, experience, and compassion that is acquired with experience and age, nor the range of emotions and consciousness of death and inevitability that develop as one gets older. I had a childlike view of what was happening around me. It was scary, but it was also exciting.

Back then, we saw the ascendancy and popularity of Mussolini. Now we have Trump, also a thug and an opportunist. Both men fit into the “strongman leader” category: men whose main objective is to bend people and nations to their will. We have evidence that women leaders, on the other hand, have done much better for their countries. Look at New Zealand, Germany, Norway, the Netherlands, and others who contained the virus early because of their decisive actions.

After the fall of Mussolini in July 1943, my father saw that it was becoming too dangerous for his children and his American-looking wife to remain in Italy any longer. So in a two-car caravan we escaped to Switzerland, taking back roads to avoid any confrontation with the Germans. Even though my father had a Swiss passport and was a delegate of the Red Cross, travel was dangerous. There were German soldiers posted everywhere, and partisans in the mountains who would engage in skirmishes with the Germans. One of my uncles was accidentally killed by the partisans as he was attempting to return home on a deserted road late at night.

On our way to Genova I remember seeing camouflage nets spread all over the buildings, seemingly encircling the city. The idea, I later learned, was to make them look like mountains and trees so that they would not be targets for bombing. The next thing I recall is arriving at a wide river and having to cross it by raft since the bridge had been blown up. We put one car at a time on the raft and realized we were being watched by a squad of German soldiers on the far riverbank. Everyone worried that they would come closer and question or harm us despite my father’s official connections. Even as a 5-year-old, I felt an incredible tension as we nervously monitored the actions of the German soldiers. Finally we reached the safety of Switzerland, and the grown-ups wept with joy and relief. It was difficult to say goodbye to my father, but it was necessary for him to go back to Genova to take care of his business. We did not see him for nearly a year, until a few months after the war had ended.

At 82, I, like other people my age, have a highly expanded realization of death. For me, living through the COVID-19 pandemic is worse than living through World War II because the enemy is invisible. During the war you could hear the bombs descending — the enemy was powerful but visible, audible, smellable, touchable. Now the enemy could be anywhere — with your children, your beloved, in your dog’s fur, on any surface you touch, in the air you breathe. That is existentially terrifying.

There is also the terrifying thought that the present “strongman” incarnation — Trump — will succeed in continuing to disseminate chaos, resulting in the complete breakdown of our treasured democracy.

Of course, we don’t know when the pandemic will end. During World War II we did not know when the war would end until it ended. At the beginning of 1943 we did not know when Mussolini would be demoted and then shot until it actually happened. Now we don’t know whether we will have another four years of Trump.

There is also something similar about the two experiences in the sense of time, the feeling of restrictions, and an underlying sense of terror — the idea that the possibility of death is ever present. Because of restrictions (put on your mask and gloves, disinfect the door handles and any surfaces, wash your hands constantly, keep social distancing), time feels elongated during this pandemic and there is a sense of continuous repetition. During the war we had curfews; when sirens went off we had to descend to the bomb shelter; we were afraid that the bombs would hit our house and kill us; there was the constant fear of death and destruction. Now we fear our neighbors, our loved ones, everything we come into contact with. Am I infected? Will I be one of the ones who gets the more serious symptoms of the virus and end up in the hospital on a ventilator without being able to see my loved ones ever again? What if my child or my sister gets it and she ends up in the hospital and I never see her again? These fears are real and terrifying.