Video offers a rare glimpse of honesty in a profession often fraught with lies

I was traveling through northern Italy a little more than a year ago when my wife and I decided to spend the night in Brunate, a minuscule town situated on a hill above Lake Como.

It was the heart of the off-season and the normally bustling area was quiet, subdued and amazingly peaceful for a popular tourist area in Italy. Our hotel was about a third of the price of what it would be in the summer, and as we waited at the front desk for an employee to check us in it struck us that we were probably the only guests. This was confirmed by the kind Sri Lankan gentleman who ran our credit card and showed us to our room. Moments later, he appeared at our door with glasses of prosecco and a pile of prosciutto large enough to satiate even the most aggressive of pork lovers.

“Compliments of the house” he noted in broken English. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

Always one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I asked him what was on the menu, hoping it would be something palatable, especially as the only other place open in town appeared to be a florist. He assured us that the owner of the hotel was a celebrated cook and that he would take good care of us.

The views of the lake below were stunning, and as we sipped prosecco and worked our way through the prosciutto, it struck us how amazingly lucky we were. The sun went down and the lake erupted in a fire of orange light that lit our room with a vibrant color that attested to the poor air quality of northern Italy. We made our way downstairs to the dark and empty dining room.

The owner of the hotel was, in fact, a fantastic chef. For the price of a pizza he made us a four-course meal, the pinnacle being a gnocchi dish that made me want to organize a new religion centered upon its celebration. He sat down and joined us to eat and we began to talk, which was a feat as his English consisted only of curse words and my Italian was nothing more than the names of food. We settled on Spanish, as that seemed to be a language of our mutual incompetence.

I asked him about politics. At the time, Silvio Berlusconi, the former prime minister, had recently been edged out of power largely due to his many scandals. I assumed that our fine chef would deliver a beautiful soliloquy detailing what a rat he was and teach me a few apropos Italian swear words along the way. Instead, he provided an insight that would change my understanding of politics forever.

“It was a sad day for Italy,” he began in Spanish, “when Berlusconi left power.”

What? This was the man who had numerous allegations of tax evasion, mafia collusion, false accounting and soliciting minors for sex. I couldn’t imagine that anyone would defend him, especially this culinary genius that I was hoping I could convince to be our unpaid live-in cook.

“Berlusconi was never serious. He always told the truth, because no one could touch him. He wasn’t afraid of anyone, and he would say whatever was on his mind,” he said, his gesticulations by this time reaching a fever pitch. “This new guy, he is too serious, so scared that you don’t know if he is lying or not. And that is something that the people should fear. I don’t want a politician who will say one thing and do another. That is why I support Berlusconi. He is a joke, but we know where he stands.”

Personally, I am not well enough versed in Italian politics to know if the chef was correct or not, but I think there is a thread of truth in his observation — although I may be unduly influenced by memories of that gnocchi.

This past week I was treated to a video of our elected representatives laughing at a question from a reporter about civil unions for same sex couples. If you haven’t seen it already, I recommend you go have a look at it for yourself — the keywords “Alaska House majority same-sex partnerships” will do the trick.

The House majority leadership busted up in uncontrolled laughter at what I thought was a sincere question regarding the possibility of civil unions in Alaska — an arrangement only opposed by 30 percent of the residents of our great state. The representatives later, of course, apologized and claimed that their laughter was misconstrued, but that doesn’t remove the image of them grouped together like bullies in a middle school hallway driving up the already high suicide rate of gay teenagers.

Say what you will about the fact that they are laughing about civil rights for our fellow citizens, giggling away at the thought of their caucus showing leadership on this issue, we know where they stand. They, for whatever reason, are not afraid to be honest with us on this issue. Their laughter tells us that there will be no legislative progress on this issue on their watch. Period. Truly a rare glimpse of honesty in a profession often fraught with lies. I am thankful for this. Like Berlusconi, they believe that they are untouchable, that their unfettered honesty will have no negative consequences. As a result we are allowed to clearly see what they were thinking. I only wish that we could expect such honesty from our leaders on every issue.

Since he was driven from office, Berlusconi has recorded an album of questionable love songs titled “True Love.” From what I have read, it is hilarious in ways he never intended. Let’s hope the Valley representatives can treat us to such a good time once they are out of office.

Pete LaFrance grew up in Palmer and has moved back to the area after a number of years living abroad.