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The Lost Years. The worst blot on De Gasperi's record is his failure to fulfill his promises of sweeping land reforms. Except for one important measure which he pushed through (boosting sharecroppers' shares), Italy's landowners, who form an important bloc in the Christian Democratic Party, have helped to prevent the reforms De Gasperi fervently wants. One night recently he attended a Christian Democrat reception in Caserta, a drab, conservative town 20 miles from Naples. De Gasperi faced priests, doctors, businessmen, lawyers and plump simpering matrons. Said he: "We don't like to speak of this in public squares—but now that we are among friends . . . remember that we must bring about large measures of social reform if we are to be at rest with our conscience. We must make up for lost years."
When De Gasperi does say these things in the marketplace, they often sound hollow for want of a specific program. He spends more time talking about what he is against than what he is for. Other party leaders follow suit. "We don't ask you to vote for us," cried Scelba last week. "We ask you to vote against the Communists." In the long run, De Gasperi would have to do more than just hang on to a cliff until help comes.
The Positive Approach. As the campaign drew to a close this week, it became more & more apparent that the force which might well decide De Gasperi's fate was not his own party, nor even his own stubborn courage. That force was Catholic Action. It had the zeal, the positive approach and the missionary skill which the Christian Democrats lacked. Its 3,000,000 lay members, probing into every village and every house, urged the people first of all to vote (a big turnout would be bad for the Reds), and secondly to vote for the Christian Democrats or other anti-Communist parties (but Catholic Action does not support Italy's budding neo-Fascists).
Catholic Action (originally launched for religious and social ends) had been turned into a brilliantly simple political weapon, largely under the guidance of its present head, a professor of medicine named Luigi Gedda. He was stunned by the notable Communist victory last February in once "safe" Pescara (TIME, March 1), then & there decided to do something about it.
Gedda's fervor is duplicated millions of times all the way down to the village level. A good example is the diocese of Poggio Mirteto, in the olive-clad Sabine Hills near Rome. There the chief organizer, Giuseppe Rossetti, a lawyer, tirelessly goes from village to village, calls on the parish priest, asks: "Who are the most zealous and trustworthy Catholics here?" Sometimes the stubbly chinned village priest resents intrusion; Rossetti persuades him by flourishing letters of endorsement from the bishop. The meeting with the leading Catholics may take place in the sacristy or in the stable. Rossetti says: "You know the importance of these elections. Go out and tell the people how the bureaucrats will come in from the town to order them what to plant, what animals to kill. Tell them that the bureaucrats will regiment their children."