Burlusconi and his ilk are in for it. At this writing, an indictment has been handed down after a long investigation into sexual improprieties.
I fondly recall the Italian women in my family: my grandmother, her sisters and those of my grandfather, and all of their aunts and female cousins, providing the heart and good nature from the kitchen, while the men schemed and cajoled in the back yard.
On those rare occasions when one of the uncles made a stupid remark, or was revealed to have caused a family outrage, the collective anger of these women was frightening. As a small boy I would giggle at the raised voices in clipped Italian, the almost slapstick cacophony of voices and fluttering of hands.
Now, of course, I understand this intricate system of checks and balances, one that has just played out on a grand scale on the streets of Rome and the squares of Italy and Europe.
In these women's voices, I hear the voices of the relatives I loved: of Lucy and Johanna, Mary and Josephine, Carmella and Connie, Bertha and Louise, Angie and Muffy. If they were here, they would wave their ladles and rolling pins and wooden spoons proudly, circling the wagons to preserve their dignity along with the brave women of modern Italy.