All language subtitles for asf

TO ARMS, WE ARE FASCISTS!

<i>This movie doesn't want to
persuade anyone.</i>

<i>This film wants to tell</i>

<i>that we are not only
the children of the events</i>

<i>summarized on this screen,</i>

<i>but we are also responsible
for the present.</i>

<i>At any time, in every choice,</i>

<i>in every silence as in every word,</i>

<i>each of us decides the
meaning of their own life</i>

<i>and that of others.</i>

These trumpet blasts
are from 50 years ago.

The Kingdom of Italy celebrates
half a century of life.

Turin rejoices as today.

The King arrived in a carriage,

together with a beautiful,
feathered and benevolent Queen.

To applaud them, there were dignitaries,
personages in top hats,

and bosses of industry.

And among the anonymous crowd
there was also our father.

He believed in the future.

But it was believed in above all
by the half million Italians

who looked for work
every year in the Americas.

In Giovanni Giolitti's liberal Italy,

socialism had arrived
at universal suffrage.

The conservatives were worried
and said it openly.

It takes a small colonial war
to distract the country.

Tripoli... beautiful soil of love.

In <i>Corriere Della Sera</i>, roaring verses
for the glorious war overseas.

D'Annunzio sang about the
round mouth of the cannon.

Other kings, other queens.

Nicholas II,
the Tsar of all the Russias.

He had his deportees, he had his
peasants, tied to the plow.

The King of England, on the other hand,
loved actresses and battleships.

Other kings...

but they are operetta kings.

Who can distinguish them
from the real ones anymore?

Carnival queens threw kisses
to the past century.

But a century of iron
had already been born.

Sharp blades and dry powders

are announced by
the Kaiser of Germany.

And immediately the parade pace
of the armies of Europe becomes faster.

"God save the Austrian Kingdom.

Save our Emperor,"

people still sang in Vienna,
Prague, Trieste, Budapest.

For now the Kaiser is aiming only
at wild boars.

This is the sport of sovereigns.

But it will also be this.

The Marne...

Verdun...

the Masurian Lakes.

Then Sabotino...

the Isonzo River...
the Karst.

We learn to pull howitzers
heavier than patience.

We learn about the trench...

cruelty...

fear.

Behind the front lines, the ladies
who have a well-made heart

think about charity

for our dear toy soldiers.

Under the helmets,
the heads wonder:

why?

Faced with the massacre that lasts
for years, the men wonder:

for whom?

Flags are given to orphans...

and other fathers
are sent to die.

But what is the homeland
that only remembers you

when it needs your
fatigue and life?

Each army has its own Caporetto.

The military train convoy from Turin...

to Milan never stops.

But it goes straight to the Piave...

the cemetery of youth.

1917.

In the east,
in the great Russian plain...

the dead are naked in the cold.

The more we are reduced to
the condition of objects,

the closer is the possibility to act...

and to change the world.

You have nothing to lose
but your chains!

Lenin shouts it to everyone.

To everyone, everyone.

All power to the Soviets of Workers,
Peasants and Soldiers.

The victory of October's Revolution
is as great as Russia.

It is stronger than all wars.

It is true peace, this rush of
one towards the other.

Men united by the
same class embrace.

The German worker and the
Russian peasant laugh together.

They want to live together.

But there are those who believe
in the other peace.

In the victory of the major states.

600 thousand dead.

One and a half million injured.

A whole nation of twisted
and offended lives...

accompany the King in Trieste.

In Versailles, the peace of
diplomacy and governments.

Borders to move,
colonies to exploit.

Wilson, Orlando, Clemenceau,
Lloyd George...

The Italian government that waged war
for Trento and Trieste,

now demands lands
from other peoples,

Dalmatia and Albania.

Yesterday's allies reject them.

It is enough to decry a
"blighted" victory.

Gabriele D'Annunzio shouts
more than anyone.

A specialist in incitement, dancers,
duchesses and greyhounds,

D'Annunzio despised the common
people who paid his debts.

A poet despite his bad taste,

the semi-cultivated superman made
himself an ideologue of beautiful death.

The grand master of ceremonies
of what Lenin called

the imperialism of beggars.

Fiume (Rijeka), 1919.

Heaven is in the shadow of swords.

Forward, Arditi!
(assault units)

In Fiume, the records of the
classical high school,

intoxicated by the first "eia alalà"
war-cry of former lieutenants.

Days of glory and cocaine.

Just a few telegrams from Giolitti,

head of the government,
and some cannon shots,

and D'Annunzio chooses surrender.

Horses, daggers and women
leave Fiume.

Always ready for orders
from major industry,

the nationalists wave elegant
walking sticks.

And the dealers of the orders
know who to hit.

The socialists...

Claudio Treves...

Giacinto Menotti Serrati...

Filippo Turati...

In 6 months, the cost of living
increased 5 times.

For millions of peasants and workers,
there is only overflow and unemployment.

Strikes and rallies shake
the country's inertia.

The great fear of the
right-thinking begins.

Charges and armored cars.

When? In 1920? Today?

In the ports, in the workshops,
the work stops.

The industrialists oppose the lockout.

If the railway workers strike,

the government has soldiers
and scabs drive the trains.

Among the socialists, new currents
demand other methods

to fight the opponent.

Here is Bordiga...

Here is Terracini...

But the occupation of the factories
is a battle to be waged together.

At the initiative of the group
of the new order,

works councils are created.

The workers demand power
in the centers of power.

Alfa Romeo, Breda,
Marelli, Fiat...

These factories must
become everyone's.

The demonstrators
shout at the Royal troops:

"Don't shoot!"

"We are your brothers."

Mussolini...

The agrarians of the Po Valley
and the industrialists

helped him,
paid him, armed him.

<i>And from the squalor,
from the physical distress,</i>

<i>from the darkness
of this environment,</i>

<i>a heroic will took immortal flight.</i>

The children of the bourgeoisie,

often protected by
the forces of the state.

Often armed with the
connivance of the police,

they attack, set fire to, shoot...

They kill.

Hundreds of league bosses fall,

union leaders.

The labor chambers, the people's houses,
the cultural circles are burning,

the editorial offices
of workers' newspapers.

50 years of hopes
and struggles burn.

October 22, 1922.

The Blackshirts gather in Naples.

The nationalists and the veterans
of the Fiume endeavor are with them.

And also the deluded, who defend their
own dignity and the theft of others.

Eve of the coup d'état.

Mussolini declares:

"Either they'll give us the government,
or we'll seize it by marching on Rome."

The old parliamentary foxes think
they are using Fascism in the meantime.

Generals, senior officials,
prefects, great magistrates...

Even if they don't like
the Blackshirts,

they think Mussolini is always
preferable to the socialists.

15 years later,
half of Europe will say:

better Hitler than the Reds.

30 years later they will say:
better Franco, better Chiang Kai-Shek,

better Sigmari, better Battista,
Trujillo... Salazar... than the Reds.

Better the massacres of Algeria,
the prisons of Greece...

the massacres of South Africa...

than socialism.

Death from the
atom bomb is better...

the death of others,
of course...

than socialism.

That is why the King did not
sign the state of siege.

Green light to the
Fascists' trucks.

Mussolini is in Milan
waiting for the events.

If they go wrong, he is ready
to flee to Switzerland.

They go well... for him.

He takes the sleeping car.

And Mussolini speaks to the King.

"A faithful servant
of your Majesty,

I ask forgiveness if I show
up in a black shirt.

I bring Vittorio Veneto's Italy
to your Majesty,

rededicated of our victory."

When he leaves the Quirinale, he has the
Prime Minister's mandate in his pocket.

Catholics and liberals smile
at him and collaborate.

How many other unknown
soldiers will it take,

before the twenty-year period
that now begins is over?

Behind these men in black shirts
are the industrialists

still in white shirts.

The first Fascist government
does not forget its protectors.

Nomination of securities is abolished,
less taxes for the rich.

Inheritance taxes for the children
of the rich are abolished.

To achieve absolute dictatorship, new
elections are imposed on the country.

With a scam law...

which was not the last
of its kind.

Matteotti, a socialist deputy,
denounces the electoral oppression.

Mussolini had him murdered.

The widow asks for justice.

The King promises,
but doesn't act.

Pius XI does not receive
Matteotti's mother.

Cardinal Gasparri makes
her a gold rosary.

Why do you pray...

Against comrades who mourn for him on
the Tiber, carabinieri on horseback.

The law is not the same
for everyone.

I alone assume the political,
moral, historical responsibility

for what has happened.

Amendola, liberal deputy,
dies of Fascist batons.

It is necessary to make life
impossible for intellectuals.

Piero Gobetti dies
of beatings in exile.

Only God can bend
the Fascist will.

Don Minzoni's Fascist killers
go unpunished.

For 20 years, this brain must be
prevented from functioning.

Gramsci, leader of the
Communists, dies in jail.

January 3, 1925.

The State identifies itself
with the Party.

Whoever touches the militia
will get lead.

Strikes prohibited.

Freedom of the press abolished.

Opposition bodies dissolved.

Workers forced to join
Fascist unions.

For those who do not bow,
there will be a special court.

Tens of thousands of
years in prison.

Tens of thousands of Italians on the
islands, in confinement, in exile.

Little by little, we decide
to mind our own business.

Why bother with politics...
when it's he who thinks about it.

Look at these kids.

They are us.

Under the gaze of the Duce.

He will make us
persecutors or victims.

And this is Farinacci,
the hardliner of the regime.

He does not like the kids
of the people, he is nervous.

The Duce is also on vacation.

As an arduous duty, he pays
homage to literature.

And he goes to listen to old D'Annunzio
who talks, talks, talks...

He has to pay him for the latest fads,
because they are good

in his junk museum.

And now the trip to Libya.

An old English lady
shot Mussolini.

A patch on the nose.

15 years later, his compatriots
will have learned to shoot better,

but we will be the targets.

Italians must be given the illusion
that they are in charge

so that they accept to serve.

The colonial troops
are very decorative.

Francisco Franco
will also like them.

Graziani set fire to and
hanged Libya,

to pacify it... Who cares.

To each country its Fascism,
to each its Algeria.

Vittorio Emanuele of Savoy says:

"Mussolini is a hard worker."

"All dedicated to the good
of the country."

Pius XI says:

"If Mussolini is in danger,
the country is in danger too."

And he also says...

"The Catholic Church is
against the anarchy

to which liberalism
and socialism,

condemned by it,

inextricably lead
and overwhelm."

So let's shake hands.

February 11, 1929.

It is conciliation.
(Lateran Treaty)

The discussions on the principles
were not very long,

and Mussolini signs.

And Cardinal Gasparri
also signs,

representing the Holy See.

Mussolini will see Benedetti
and his banners.

The Holy See looks far ahead

beyond the life of Fascism...

up to us.

Masters and professors...

will make the Italians forget

that the end of the temporal
power of the Popes

had been the dream of the
greatest Italian Catholics

from Dante to Manzoni
and Cavour.

A month after the conciliation,
the plebiscite.

The people, says Mussolini,

will vote perfectly free.

Yes, the freedom of
night meetings

where the holy truncheon
lights up,

always ready, as Fascist Party
Secretary Augusto Turati affirms,

for the backs of opponents.

The Confederations of agrarians
and industrialists

were the first to propose
the number one candidate

who is now He with a capital H.

On the city squares, in the
streets of the old towns...

here are the important ones,
the dignitaries, the trustees...

the powerful, the excellences,
the eminents...

the experts, the honorables,
the notables...

the authorities, the curates,
the mayors,

men of authorization,
intimidation, anointing...

and recommendation.

Here are the ones who make
the price of wheat and opinions.

Who have the labor market and
the conscience market in their grip.

And there are those
who open the doors.

They kiss the hand in conscience

and always give thanks because
they never know their rights.

Here they are saying yes,
yes because everyone does it.

Yes, because Monsignor Vescovo
says so, the learned dignitary.

Yes because I have four children,
yes because you have to make a career,

yes because we don't want
to be starved anymore,

yes because I have a credit,
yes because I have a debt,

yes because I believe it,
yes because I don't believe it,

because nothing matters so much,

because I don't count for anything.

Yes, because I no longer
have companions.

Crisis... Unemployment...

The Grand Council of Fascism
approves new wage reductions

from 10 to 20%.

The workers' movement
struggles underground.

The proletariat, Mussolini acknowledges,
is largely far from the regime.

And he goes to talk at Fiat...

under the gaze of the masters
of that time, and those of today.

<i>Here at Lingotto beats the heart
of working-class Turin.</i>

<i>From our heart rises
with enthusiasm</i>

<i>cheers to the renewed Italy
and its Duce.</i>

<i>Long live Benito Mussolini!</i>

<i>What Senator Agnelli told you
a little while ago...</i>

<i>is sacrosanctly true.</i>

<i>I worry every day,</i>

<i>from morning to evening,</i>

<i>working without counting
the hours of work.</i>

<i>I am concerned...</i>

<i>to give the maximum
possible work</i>

<i>to all Italian workers.</i>

<i>And I'm happy!</i>

<i>When I know...</i>

<i>that a factory...</i>

<i>an industry, a workforce</i>

<i>has guaranteed the work
for a long period of time.</i>

<i>No one can deny me</i>

<i>because this is the word
of the truth.</i>

He thought about it.

And how he thought about it!

Typical Italic genius knew
how to do everything.

Villager... Stable boy...

At the right moment,
he even kissed the horses.

Because as everyone knows,
he was also a great enthusiast.

And Curzio Malaparte praises.

"The sun rises, the rooster sings,
Mussolini rides on horseback."

Parties and parades.

Kisses and medals.

The great report to the nation's
General Staff.

The twentieth century will be
the century of Fascism.

There are other Fascisms
in Europe.

Fascisms that do not have the
industries of Milan, Genoa, Turin,

but the gigantic Ruhr complexes.

The power of German metallurgy
and chemistry.

A staff caste.

A clever vocation to the sublime.

<i>Since the party had 7 members,</i>

<i>we had had two directives:</i>

<i>to conquer absolute power,</i>

<i>and become a party feared
throughout the world.</i>

<i> It is not the state
that created us,</i>

<i>but it is we who will
create our state.</i>

<i>The political elections</i>

<i>will be a useful tool for the conquest
of absolute power in Germany.</i>

1933... Hitler wins the plebiscite.

Nazism in power overwhelms
the last workers' resistance.

The leaders of the workers' movement
are killed one by one.

The widows receive the ashes
at home in a zinc box.

Where capitalism has reached
its supreme stage,

which is called imperialism,

the myths cannot be those of
getting trains to arrive on time.

It is not enough to declaim about
the ancient Romans.

Myths of blood and race are needed,

of death and purity,

of the Middle Ages
and of technology.

Today Germany listens to us,
tomorrow the whole world,

sing the Hitler Youth.

Germany's greatest minds...

from Albert Einstein to Thomas Mann
and Bertolt Brecht

are forced to flee abroad.

The books are burned in the squares,
as if truth could be burned.

Then the men will be burned.

As if justice could be burned.

Who is the teacher?

Who is the disciple?

The true masters leave no traces,
they don't perform on balconies.

And for this reason, even today, their
names cannot be mentioned without risk.

The masters of
Mussolini and Hitler,

the Farinaccis, the Eichmanns,

are in the study offices
of the banks,

in the chairs of the
boards of directors.

They are on university chairs,

in the Berlin Academy of Sciences,

or in the academy of Italy.

They swore allegiance to German
science and Fascist Romanism.

And almost everyone has sworn.

Men... who had to teach
us the truth.

<i>Old comrades...</i>

<i>and Garibaldi Legion veterans...
(French Foreign Legion unit)</i>

<i>The victories</i>

<i>of the Italian youth</i>

<i>have begun to temper
better and better</i>

<i>our spirit,</i>

<i>and our muscles.</i>

<i>To put an end to
the communist revolution,</i>

<i>more than ever,
the watchword is this.</i>

Behind him, Professor Giovanni Gentile
approves and salutes.

Because in schools
they study liars' books

and practice with
useless muskets.

<i>The antitheses... Moscow...</i>

<i>and New York...</i>

<i>can only be overcome
in one way:</i>

<i>with the doctrine
and practice of Rome.</i>

<i>To see after 10 years</i>

<i>all the people
under the regime</i>

<i>and above all to see</i>

<i>a new fact in the history
of humanity.</i>

<i>The Italian people who are
the protagonists of its history.</i>

<i>But tomorrow's years </i>

<i>will be more beautiful.</i>

<i>We come to meet you</i>

<i>with a restrained
but upright decision</i>

<i>vibrant with secret instances.</i>

<i>Italians...</i>

<i>Today we have heard</i>

<i>that destiny is in our hands</i>

<i>and that it will be the masterpiece
of our invincible will!</i>

But yes...

Let's laugh...

when there is reason to laugh.

Mussolini boasts
of proletarian origins.

He can play bricklayer.

Down with the old
houses of Rome.

The South will continue
to run out of houses,

but Rome will have more space
for monuments and parades.

Then the real masons will open
a packet of bread and salami.

At home,
the real masons will say:

"I have seen the Duce."

"We hope there is always work."

Let's go to Piazza Venezia.

Let's all go there

with the heroes
of the Giro d'Italia.

There are railway discounts
for everyone.

Bishops, parish priests and chaplains,
received by Achille Starace,

visit the tomb of unknown soldier and
the shrine of the Fascist Revolution.

But whoever brings a red flower
to Matteotti's grave...

is registered at the police station.

<i>In the economic apparatus
of the contemporary world</i>

<i>there is something that has become
stuck and perhaps broken.</i>

<i>There remain only
precise guidelines</i>

<i>by which true peace is served.</i>

<i>Which cannot be
dissociated from justice.</i>

<i>Otherwise it is a protocol</i>

<i>dictated by revenge,
resentment or fear.</i>

<i>Neapolitan people!</i>

<i>Blackshirts of Naples
and Campania!</i>

<i>To whom... the highest duties</i>

<i>in Italy...</i>

And it is always us...

the poor...

to parade with our
clumsy dresses...

even on the wedding day.

Send the telegram to the Duce.

In nine months, we will give a child
to the beloved Fascist Fatherland.

Perhaps I'll have the contract,
perhaps I'll have the raise...

or perhaps I'll just
feel shame.

Or your children...
will feel it for you.

Marriages and children.

Sons and soldiers.

Soldiers and bayonets.

The Chief therefore loves children.

At the age of 5, the daughters
and sons of the she-wolf

swore to serve the cause of the Fascist
revolution with their blood.

And now... those of us, those of you,
who under the moved eyes of mom and dad,

without knowing what they did,

received weapons
in those ceremonies.

What do they teach today...

to their children?

The whole of Italy
was shouting at us.

Alright then. You have reclaimed
the Pontine marshes.

That is, you ordered that a fraction of
the taxes paid by Italian citizens

be used in these relevant
public works

that other Italian citizens
carried out,

30 km from Rome,

with an excellent
advertising reward.

A little further south, there was
much more to reclaim.

And it's still there.

But the Duce wanted the Equator.

And there was the King
who wanted to rise in title.

And there was a medieval
Empire in Ethiopia

who had not asked for the
civilization of our flamethrowers,

who wanted to live in peace
and had to die in war.

In a desperate and unequal war.

At the League of Nations, the economic
sanctions against Italy were a hoax.

Trade is trade.

England, France, Russia continued
to supply us with raw materials.

But what a great opportunity
to take advantage of national pride.

The unfair sanctions played
into the regime's game.

Iron to the Fatherland...

To the Fatherland,
or to arms manufacturers?

Iron to the Fatherland...

To the Fatherland,
or to truck manufacturers?

They will make tin tanks
with these children's toys.

The few-ton Fiat tanks that a
machine gun managed to pierce.

Gold to the Fatherland.

Queen Elena of Savoy
gives the example.

Gold to the Fatherland.

To the Fatherland...
or to the cement makers?

To whom we will pay for
the useless roads of Ethiopia.

Gold to the Fatherland...
to whose Fatherland?

To the Fatherland of the hierarchs...
or to that of the illiterate?

Of the peasants hunching over
without tractors,

of the workers aging
without retirement?

Gold to the Fatherland.

Not to defend it...

Not to make everyone's civil right...

but to once again give a uniform
to the unemployed.

To send them to Africa
to found colonies...

in the century that sees
the end of all colonies.

But how much land
before the eyes.

The infantry of our
laborers think perhaps

that it will be enough
to sow that land

to give bread for all.

Once again we are
under the illusion

that the end of misery
is in this endless country.

What the Italian soldier
was looking for in Africa

was what Fascism had taken
from him in his home.

The possibility of a land
without masters,

a job without shame,

a future without fear.

The signs of Fascism.

As in Algeria, in Kenya,
in South Africa,

in Angola, in Congo...

Africa has a good memory.

What could our country
have been,

if the fatigue and sacrifice of wars
had been directed towards the goal

which today is that
of the most conscious

and free part of
the modern world?

<i>Italy</i>

<i>finally has her Empire.</i>

<i>The Fascist Empire</i>

<i>that bears...</i>

<i>indestructible signs</i>

<i>of the will</i>

<i>and power</i>

<i>of the Roman lictor.</i>

The signs of Fascism.

Montecitorio in black shirts applauds
the tombstone of the Empire.

The signs of Fascism.

Another plaque on the
Via dell'Impero.

Mussolini learns geography.

He will need it in a few years

to find the Empire erased
from the maps.

First year of the Empire,
second one of the autarchy.

<i>The Italian People</i>

<i>will therefore have</i>

<i>the bread</i>

<i>necessary for its life!</i>

<i>But even if
the people lacked it</i>

<i>they would never</i>

<i>say never!</i>

<i>It would never stoop</i>

<i>to accept</i>

<i>any help</i>

<i>from the so-called great</i>

<i>demoplutocracies!</i>

<i>Comrade machinist,
start the engine!</i>

From a newsreel on the wheat battle.

<i>A peasant woman's spontaneous profession
of faith ended in a cheering crowd.</i>

<i>After God comes Him.</i>

<i>God gives us bread, He works
for us and defends us,</i>

<i>summing up with rare
instinctive eloquence</i>

<i>the feeling of a whole people.</i>

<i>And while the thresher intones
its vigorous chorale,</i>

<i>bare-chested, the Duce,
an expert thresher,</i>

<i>methodical, willing
and tenacious,</i>

<i>begins his work
on farm number 2585.</i>

<i>In 4 hours, the Duce
threshed about</i>

<i>35 quintals of wheat.</i>

The all-caps Man has
his own private life.

Indeed he has more than one.

Poor woman,

furs bought with our money,
and ended up so bad.

She had a family too,

maybe not numerous,
but demanding.

They got their family allowances.

Second youth, or
afternoon of a faun?

Maybe he just wants
to lose weight,

but declares that you must be
imperial and multifaceted.

Hit!

This is what happened at the end
to that reckless fencing master.

Even the hierarchs were busy.

They did not ride this horse.

Also because it's not known if a horse
able to carry them could be found.

And Starace...
had begun his career

by memorizing the phrase,
salute to the Duce.

Starace is responsible for the new
etiquette of the hierarchs,

made of boots and virility,

as befits the masters
of an Empire.

However, there is a difficulty.

We are allies with another people

who want to be
the race of masters.

A people who love animals
very much.

Whoever wants to command...
needs servants.

The servants will have a sign...
the star of David.

Class hatred masquerades
as racial hatred.

German steel!

German gold!

Forward to the war!

Before they killed millions,

our wives were widows,

our children were orphans.

Before falling into
the immense battles,

we already had no more friends.

Before ending up in the lime pits,

our faces were no longer
human faces.

No to Fascism!

In Paris,
the people are moving.

Even in France, there were
and still are Fascists.

They attempted a coup d'état
in February 1935.

Then in '58 and in '61.

So... Paris answered.

The socialist Léon Blum
speaks on behalf of all.

Citizens!

We have called you today
to demonstrate

your strength in the streets,
in the squares.

Your calm and
disciplined resolution.

Paris and all of France
have risen up.

They joined in this
manifestation

to say to the men
of Fascism

that they will not pass.

The Popular Front is about
to rule the government.

Factories are occupied
in Lyon, New Port...

in Gironde, in the
southeast of Paris.

It looks like a party.

And it should be.

The Fascists respond by making
an attempt on Blum's life in his car.

The old member of parliament
barely saves himself.

We swear to stick together...

to fight and disarm
the Fascist leagues,

to defend democratic freedoms,

to ensure peace for man.

The anti-Fascist Italians
are with them.

Modigliani, Nenni, Buozzi,
who will be killed by the Germans.

Lussu, Di Vittorio, and Pertini
and Longo, and thousands of others.

There are Carlo and Nello Rosselli,
who the French Fascists,

paid by Mussolini,

will kill like Matteotti.

But the forces of war are advancing.

The two dictators have decided.

They will defeat European
anti-Fascism in Spain.

Against weapons, fraternal parades
are not enough.

It takes a policy,
a choice of alliance.

The Popular Front must choose,

take up the challenge,

fight for the freedom of Spain
and for its own.

The French people demand
that Blum's government

abandon every sterile
idealistic pacifism.

Can peace have borders?

In Spain, it is
decided for everyone.

The Spanish War.

Francisco Franco,

the man who killed the Republic,

and who tomorrow will
sweep away from history.

So his propaganda films
featured the red beasts.

Drunk with violence, profaners of
women, arsonists, bloodthirsty.

The red beasts...

Free men come from all over
the world to fight for Spain.

They are the
International Brigades.

French, American,
Polish workers,

workers and men of poetry and science
who share their little bread with Spain

and their few weapons.

One hundred thousand Italians
for Franco, against Spain.

This is the crime that Fascism
can never atone for.

Mussolini's weapons are put
in the hands of peasants

and shepherds from
Calabria, Puglia, Sicily,

to kill poor people like them

and the mercenary wages
are sent to the families.

The Republic has no weapons to defend
itself against these aggressors.

While the Italian Navy supplies
Franco with a new cruiser,

and the airplanes of the racist Reich
bomb the open cities,

the governments of Western Europe
deny any help to Spain.

Even the French Popular Front
government.

It is the tragedy
of non-intervention.

This is the people's army ...

that for 32 months defended
its right to govern itself.

They are the miners of Asturias,

the peasants of Castile,
the workers of Catalonia,

crushed by centuries of
feudalism and clericalism.

And thousands of
other Italians came,

men from all parties
of anti-Fascist emigration.

Carlo Rosselli
spoke for everyone.

Today in Spain...
tomorrow in Italy.

To avenge 1922.

The free Italians defeat the
Fascist mercenaries in Guadalajara.

These are Mussolini's soldiers,
taken prisoner by the Italians.

Why are you here?

They don't know how to answer.

But the Fascist wing
will lead to victory.

Good hunting, comrades.

On Guernica and Madrid...

on Barcelona and Malaga...

Fascist and Nazi planes
drop mass murder.

The Spanish workers face the
fire that one country after another...

will ignite all over the world.

The world wanted to forget what
Franco and his accomplices did,

so that not only in Rome,

in Palazzo Venezia,

the massacre of the poor
was blessed.

Today the tourists who pass
through Spanish cities

have forgotten that in that war

and then for 10 years,
for 20 years,

the best suffered
in Franco's prisons.

For the right to eat, to think,
for the right to read, to speak.

For the right to pray to God,
or not to pray to him.

These images appear for the
first time on an Italian screen.

One barricade after another.

One house after another.

Better to die standing...

than to live on your knees.

<i>The magnificent infantry</i>

<i>of national Spain</i>

<i>will fire</i>

<i>the last shot.</i>

<i>In that Madrid</i>

<i>where</i>

<i>the leftists ascended,</i>

<i>the tomb of Fascism</i>

<i>will instead be the tomb
of communism!</i>

With what joy
<i>Corriere Della Sera</i>

described the Reds' flight
towards the French border.

The Chief of Staff of the
Blackshirts announced:

"One more laurel on the
Augusta front of Fascist Italy."

Faces from life that had seen
only evil and offenses.

But men and women who helped
themselves in the dignity of misery.

Soldiers who after
32 months of struggle

cross the border
with their weapons.

The concentration camp awaited
them in the land of France.

Thus ended the great popular song
of the Spanish Republic.

But Spain was also
partisan Italy.

And Warsaw, and Athens.

And it's the same today.

It was Spain in China, Israel,

Indochina, Guatemala,
Hungary and Kenya.

It is today in Algeria,
in the Congo, and in Cuba.

After the victory, the
dictatorships fraternize.

In those years,

every handshake
is a jumping border.

A premeditated or
committed aggression.

Hitler invades Austria.

Mussolini authorizes it.

The Nazis are at the Brenner.

It is 1938,

and Hitler comes to Rome,

welcomed as a victor.

Eight million bayonets...

as if modern warfare was
done with a bayonet.

And the tanks
are only for parade.

When Mussolini
tries the adventure,

there will be none.

Quite different, the steel
of the German guns,

manufactured by Krupp.

Under the threat
of these weapons,

the crisis for
Czechoslovakia.

In Munich,
the French Daladier...

and the English Chamberlain...

ceded part of Czechoslovakia
to Hitler.

Mussolini presents himself
as the mediator and savior of peace.

But a year later,
he invades Albania.

Hitler, violating the same
Munich Agreement,

occupies Prague.

The only great power

capable of crushing Fascism

is the Soviet Union.

The cult of personality and bloody
ideological degeneration

did not prevent the Soviets
from defending Spain

and intervening in favor
of Czechoslovakia.

But the Western democracies want
to isolate the Soviet Union.

Perhaps they hope that Hitler
will attack in the east.

And Stalin,
10 days before the war...

signs the non-aggression
pact with Hitler.

For the Labor movement,
it is a tragic blow...

which divides it once again.

Hitler speaks.

He wants the death of Poland.

It is war,

for which everyone is responsible,
and which will overwhelm everyone.

Warsaw is destroyed.

For his part,
Mussolini hesitates.

He knows that the people
don't want war.

Albeit with caution,

even the Church took a stand
against racism.

Hitler meditates...

and the cities are inflamed.

Hitler orders...

and the targets of the Stukas
are women and children.

Hitler prays...

and the extermination
of the Poles begins.

Hitler indicates...

and in the early 1940s,

his paratroopers occupy
Denmark and Norway.

How easy the blitzkrieg looks.

In Dunkirk, the British change a defeat
to the sign of a future victory.

But Hitler is now in Paris.

France is crumbling.

<i>Fighters...</i>

<i>on the ground...</i>

<i>at sea, in the air...</i>

<i>Blackshirts of the Revolution
and the Legions...</i>

<i>men and women of Italy...</i>

<i>of the Empire (Ethiopia)...</i>

<i>and the Kingdom of Albania...</i>

<i>Listen! </i>

<i>Italy, proletarian
and Fascist...</i>

<i>is standing for the third time...</i>

<i>strong, fair and compact!</i>

<i>The watchword...</i>

<i>is only one!</i>

<i>Categorical...</i>

<i>and demanding for everyone...</i>

<i>it...</i>

<i>is already flying...</i>

<i>and ignites hearts...</i>

<i>from the Alps... </i>

<i>to the Indian Ocean.</i>

<i>Win!</i>

<i>And we will win!</i>

<i>Italian people!</i>

<i>Run to arms!</i>

<i>And prove...</i>

<i>your tenacity!</i>

<i>Your courage!</i>

<i>Your value!</i>

There are not guns
for every soldier.

The army has ammunition
for a month.

It has no heavy tanks.

The Air Force only has
a thousand aircraft.

In the mud of Greece...

in the sand of Libya...

with cartridges counted,
gasoline rationed...

with generals who lack the courage
to tell the truth or to resign...

our captive soldiers
compare words

and reality.

The great Fascist war promises
to be the end of Fascism.

<i>If I can send the flower
of the German people</i>

<i>into the hell of war without
the slightest pity for the shedding</i>

<i>of precious Germanic blood,</i>

<i> means that I have the right to suppress
millions of beings of an inferior race</i>

<i>which proliferates
like a race of worms.</i>

June 1941.

It's the invasion
of the Soviet Union.

"We are a race of gentlemen
who must always remember

that the humblest German citizen

has socially and biologically

a value 1000 times greater than
the population of these countries."

But the real men and women,

like Russian mothers,

with the great conspiracy woven by
their humble gestures of pity,

will tie the hands of
the war's gentlemen.

"Blackshirts!
Conquer Ukraine!"

Listen to Himmler's words.

"I don't care at all what happens
to a Russian or a Czechoslovakian.

Let the nations live in prosperity
or die of hunger,

I'm only interested in how much
we need them as slaves

of our civilization."

Their civilization...

Pure air of the Alps, nature...

clear waters... for Eva.

The angel of Adolf's hearth.

They were afraid of being
like everyone else,

the Nazis and the Fascists.

They were like no one had been.

Atrocious and mean
at the same time.

The partisan guerrilla rises
against the Nazi delusions

when the ruling classes
have capitulated or collaborate.

Among the first, the Yugoslav patriots
overthrow the German tanks.

From Slovenia to Croatia,

from Normandy to the Niemen,

it is the battle of the tracks.

From Leningrad to Stalingrad,

the Soviets counterattack
on an endless front.

They won't stop before Berlin.

The millennial Reich will be
buried on Russian soil.

From airplanes, invitations to surrender
pass into the hands of German soldiers.

And those hands go up high.

Broken men,
broken bodies and minds.

Men in rags.

If some have not lost the
arrogance and look of dominion,

from their tanks come the now
grotesque winter boots,

and the young Russian soldiers play
with them and laugh at them.

More than 200,000 badly armed
and badly equipped Italians

were on the river Don.

Half will not return.

The march on Moscow,
said Mussolini,

continued that on Rome.

None of the survivors could tell
all the atrocious truth of the retreat.

There are sufferings
that have no stories.

It was in January 1943

that in agony, thousands of
young people of every class...

cursed Fascism in their heart.

In Tunisia, with the columns
of our prisoners,

the African myth disappeared,

which in three wars had
destroyed so much

of our national wealth.

And the iron of war approached
the heart of our homes.

It's the landing in Sicily.

On the Italian coast, on the
so-called Mussolini's shore,

the first Englishmen fall.

The first Americans,
sons of those Italians

that poverty caused
to emigrate overseas.

On July 10, the Allies
are in Syracuse.

On the 21st, in Enna.

On the 23rd, in Palermo.

Flying fortresses every hour

spill thousands of tons
of explosives

on our cities.

On July 25,

the "Fascio" also falls.

ARMISTICE

It falls among the ruins.

The Italy of September 8 was a
long train of escapes, of returns...

of deportations...

of desolation.

When there were no more orders
on that September evening,

each had to choose for himself.

Risk their error...

decide their duty.

The twenty years
left our country like this.

In the last 20 months
of the conflict,

on the front lines
and in the civil battle,

the Italian people will lose half
of the over 400,000 dead

offered to Fascist idols.

And the number of
civilian casualties

will be higher than
that of the soldiers.

<i>MANY ENEMIES
MUCH HONOR</i>

<i>BELIEVE OBEY FIGHT</i>

Centuries-old neighborhoods
fell apart in seconds.

100 years of work and
savings were burned.

And priceless and timeless works.

Our youth too...

disappeared among those ruins.

From those ruins...

a ghost came out.

Against the old
and the new Fascism

the partisans wield old weapons
and new duties.

Fires, massacres, requisitions.

Here are Germans and
Fascists in action.

Those for the major massacres.

These for the low works.

<i>ATTENTION! THE BRIGADE SEES YOU,
HEARS YOU AND PUNISHES YOU</i>

Boves, Marzabotto,

Sant'Anna, San Polo,

Ardeatine.

In the torture cells,

in the squares of the shootings,

Fascist anger raged
on those who resisted.

They made massacres,
pressed by fear.

Each village had its hanged man.

But each wood
had its own partisan.

Alongside the partisans,
the workers answered

with strikes, attacks on the ridiculous
sociability of the Republic of Salò.

In the bruised faces of the
Republican Ministers,

there was now only the
vocation to nothing.

Murder as a form of suicide.

These were the last
Fascist ceremonies,

the last "alalà"...

protected by German weapons.

Then... the escape.

Greet the Duce!

In April 1945,

the insurrection liberated
the major cities of the North.

It saved plants, ports, factories

before the allies arrived.

The last Republicans.

From the valleys of the Alps
and the Apennines

where they had suffered
for two winters,

the partisan brigades
descended to the cities.

The heads of the liberation committees
were at their head.

Never in all its history had Italy
known a voluntary service

so vast and deep.

Over 250 thousand partisans,

with more than
70 thousand fallen.

And the enemy was
not only Nazi-Fascism,

but the enslavement, exploitation
and injustice that preceded

and determined it.

Tens of thousands of
Fascists and Germans

capitulated and surrendered.

In Dongo and in Piazzale Loreto,

not only the crimes
were condemned

of which the Fascists were
authors and accomplices.

Also and above all, a social
system was condemned

that transforms men,
for the defense of privilege,

into corrupters or the corrupt,

into oppressors
or the oppressed.

Why so much joy from the crowd?

Why so much happiness?

It wasn't just the end
of the war and fear.

It was the hope of a new society.

A true justice.

They left our eyes to cry.

In a huge void, tens of millions
of beings had disappeared.

These women don't just
mourn for the dead.

They cry for us... the living.

Forced to fight to be able
to explain what happened.

To dominate the
forces of destruction.

16 Aprils have passed.

The Republic lives in the so-called
economic miracle...

in the age of the small car
and television.

But is there still Fascism?

There is.

It rediscovered its face
from 50 years ago,

before the Blackshirts.

The face of conservation,

that on the political market

still offers provocative
groups at a good price,

because the small
visible Fascism

better masks the large,
invisible Fascism.

<i>GENERAL ANTI-FASCIST STRIKE</i>

Here, June 1960,

in Genova.

The anti-Fascist protest of the city
that suffered massacres and deportations

reminded everyone that beyond the vain
appearances of formal freedom

there is a duty to rise up against
the heirs of the Fascist crime.

Rome, July 1960.

Opposition parliamentarians
are trampled at Porta San Paolo.

Senators elected by the people.

Representatives of the nation,
bringing flowers to fallen soldiers

who defended Rome
from the Germans.

Here, in Reggio Emilia, in Palermo,
blood, the death of citizens.

What does your conscience
have to say?

You must choose...

You must decide...

Your destiny is only yours.

Respond.

THE END

English subtitles by djvaso@KG
Proofread by vertovfan@KG