This article is an opinion piece whose contents represent the standpoint of its author and not UPF Lund or The Perspective’s editorial board.
If there is one thing Italy has never lacked, it is a strong sense of self. From cuisine to fashion, from ancient ruins to regional folklore, Italians often move through the world with a confident cultural identity. But beneath the warmth, hospitality and national pride lies another story — one about boundaries, exclusion and the complicated question at the heart of modern Italy: Who gets to be Italian?
The media landscape plays a decisive role in shaping this question, but the foundations run deeper — in history, regionalism and the long-standing idea that Italy is culturally homogeneous. The truth is that Italians often see themselves through a lens of tradition and continuity, and those who do not fit the imagined mould of “Italianità” frequently find themselves positioned as outsiders.
Ask an Italian what defines Italy, and the answers tend to orbit around emotion and belonging. Family, food, art, beauty, chaos, generosity — a mosaic of traits that form a shared cultural myth. The Italian self-image is warm, sometimes romantic, sometimes exaggerated, but always tied to a sense of continuity: the belief that Italy is what it has always been.
This self-portrait is reinforced not only by history and education but also by decades of television, newspapers and cinema that celebrate the same recurring symbols — the family table, the village square, the regional dialect, the unchanging traditions passed down like heirlooms. It is a story that comforts and unites, but it also sets an implicit standard for belonging.
And in this standard, whiteness — though rarely said aloud — has long been assumed.
Modern Italy is dramatically more diverse than the version that appears in most media images. Yet public discourse often paints anyone who is not white, Christian, or born to both Italian parents as fundamentally foreign, no matter how long they have lived in the country, whether or not they were born in Italy.
Children of immigrants, Afro-Italians, Asian-Italians and Roma communities are praised in headlines when successful, but still labeled stranieri in everyday language. It is common to hear “second-generation immigrant” used for someone who has never set foot outside Italy. The message is subtle but persistent: ancestry, not citizenship, defines Italianness.
Media representations amplify this narrative. News stories disproportionately depict migrants — especially Black and Middle Eastern migrants — as problems, crises, or security risks. Popular films continue to stereotype non-white characters as comedic sidekicks, domestic workers or criminals. Even advertising in Italy overwhelmingly presents whiteness as the default face of the nation.
This divide is not only ethnic or cultural; it becomes racial. The idea that “if you’re not white, you’re not Italian” is not written into law, but it is deeply embedded in attitudes, jokes, and bureaucratic obstacles. It shapes who gets trusted, who gets hired, who gets questioned, and who gets treated like they belong.
To understand Italy’s rigid boundaries of identity, one must understand campanilismo — the hyper-local pride rooted in the shadow of the town’s bell tower (campanile). It is the belief that your village, your dialect, your region is the real Italy, and everything beyond it is slightly suspect.
Campanilismo is charming when it fuels regional cuisine, rivalries in football, or affectionate teasing between north and south. But it can also fragment the very idea of nationhood. Italians often identify first with their region, then with their city, and only lastly with the country as a whole. This creates a paradox: Italians idealize the nation as a unified cultural community, yet daily life is shaped by division, rivalry and suspicion across internal borders.
If Italians struggle to see people from another region as fully “one of us,” it becomes even harder to extend belonging to those whose families come from Africa, Asia or South America.
When a nation imagines itself through strong traditions, tight communities and regional pride, it inevitably creates an inside and an outside. Italians often see themselves as warm and welcoming — and on a personal level, this is frequently true. But at the systemic level, borders remain rigid.
A child born in Milan to Tunisian parents can speak perfect Italian, attend Italian schools, cheer for Italian teams and still be treated as a guest. A Black woman from Naples can identify deeply with the city and still be seen as an anomaly. The boundaries of Italianness stretch and contract depending on who is looking — but rarely do they stretch far enough to recognize the country’s full diversity.
Italy is changing, and so is its population. The next generation of Italians is multicultural, multilingual and globally connected. Yet media and political narratives remain stuck in a nostalgic image of a country that no longer exists.
If Italy wants to elevate itself as a society, it must renegotiate its idea of belonging — not by abandoning tradition, but by opening the door wider. That means seeing Italianness as something lived, not inherited; something shaped by participation, not bloodline.
It also means resisting propaganda that plays on fear, nostalgia or invented threats. In a media environment full of stereotypes, sensationalism and political manipulation, the most powerful act is simply refusing to let someone else tell you who belongs and who doesn’t.
The Italy of today is bigger, richer and more complex than the one imagined on screen. Recognizing that diversity — and embracing it — may be the most Italian thing of all.
By Sofia Mina Pessina
November 13, 2025
