«Khamenei is a good man. He is our leader.” This was said by a group of young Pakistanis met in Carpi, in the province of Modena. Here, in a few hundred meters, seven mosques are concentrated, almost all linked to their community. Afzaal and his friends walk in traditional clothes along the square. For many inhabitants it is now a familiar image. You may like it or not. “Your clothes are uncomfortable,” they say, smiling. To speak we use a translator on the phone: they don’t know Italian. «Do you study it?». They laugh. “Yes, yes, we study it,” they reply in Urdu before the artificial voice translates. We communicate like this, under the porticoes of the historic center, while a light rain begins to fall beyond the arch. They arrived here from Pakistan about four years ago, but they are not Sunni, like the majority of Muslims in the world. They belong to the component Shiaa distinct tradition with its own religious authorities. It is no coincidence that they are in Carpi: over the years the town has become one of the main Italian centers of this Islamic current. For many of them, Iran represents a point of reference given that it is the main country with a Shiite majority.
This is how, even in an Emilian square, the name of Tehran enters the conversation. «What do you think of the ongoing demonstrations? They are shooting young people who protest in the streets.” They shrug. “It is not true. Most Iranians appreciate the Supreme Leader,” they reply. «But the images of the killings? Anyone who protests gets killed.” «We don’t care. Khamenei is a good person. He is our leader. We are on his side».
Words that are pronounced with extreme serenity as we walk towards a bar a little further on. They speak in Urdu, but the tone is clear. We sit down for a coffee. It is there that another phrase arrives, said naturally: “You must understand that one day Islam will prevail over the whole world.” They look at me, pleased. «Here we are in Italy», I try to say. “It would be nice to see you welcome at least a minimum of our traditions and culture.” Afzaal gestures “no” with his fingers as he reads the translation on his phone. I’ll try again: «What will you do with your daughters who will be born here? Will you force them to use the veil?”. «The veil is obligatory in Islam. We’ll teach them from an early age.”
Point. Dead end. «Look around you. Here girls grow up free, even in the way they dress. Let’s wear miniskirts.” They make a gesture of disapproval. «Our women can’t wear them. It is the Koran that says that they must cover themselves.” I leave them at the bar table, enjoying this splendid Renaissance square, a symbol of openness and freedom.
The “Biscione”: seven mosques in a few meters
But to really understand what that phrase means about Islam prevailing, we need to move elsewhere. A few kilometers away, in Via UnioneSoviet, a true Islamic hub has been created over the years. This is the “Biscione”, as the people of Carpi call it, or a degraded complex which has, within a few metres, seven mosques. “Maybe there are more, it’s not clear,” says a local resident.
To enter there are multiple entrances. The doors are broken, you can see mattresses on the floor, glass, rubbish and excrement covering the stairs. Between one apartment and another there are several prayer rooms, all those in this sector of the building belong to the Pakistani community. Many are behind anonymous doors, without signs. In one, however, we read a name: Alì Center. The motto, as can be seen from the social media page, reads like this: “Live like Ali, die like al-Husayn”. Inside there are the alam, the banners of the martyrs, surmounted by the panja, the metal hand that symbolizes the Prophet’s family and the sacrifice of Karbala.
Imam Mahdi and his spokesperson, Ali Razha, tell me to take off my shoes and sit with them. “I would like a comment on what is happening in Iran and on Khamenei.” “We don’t know anything.” Pressure: the videos of the killings, the young people killed for taking to the streets to demonstrate against the Supreme Leader. «We don’t know what you’re talking about. You can search for any information on Google if you are interested in learning more.” The answers remain stuck on a repeated “we don’t know”.
The imam gets up and leaves, while his spokesperson insists that he doesn’t have time to read the news because “you know, I always work late.” They don’t see, they don’t know. And therefore they do not condemn.
Girls born in Italy without freedom of choice
When I go out I meet two girls who are there for the Koranic courses. They were eavesdropping. “We shouldn’t say this, but they don’t tell you the truth. They know what happens in Tehran and other cities. We are linked to Iran for religious reasons”, they say in a whisper, with a slight embarrassment. “They can’t not know.” They are 15 years old. They explain to me that they are with their little brothers, aged four and three.
In the labyrinth of mosques, in this dilapidated palace, what appears to be one takes shape parallel societymade up of strict religious rules to follow. “We have to come here every day, in the afternoon, to study the Koran, for three or four hours.” They explain to me that they cannot live like their Italian companions because Islam does not allow it. “We can only associate with females, we are not allowed to leave the house with males.”
They were born in our free country. Yet, free, they cannot be. «Will you be able to choose who to marry tomorrow?». They look down. “No. We can’t, our family decides our future husband.” “What if you don’t like it?” They raise their hands. They can’t do anything about it.
A little further on, in the same corridor, there is a half-open door. Here too there is no sign. It looks like an apartment, but instead it is another mosque. Little girls’ voices are heard. I’m behind a curtain, in the corner. There are those who are five years old and those who are six. They are alone, they are waiting for the imam. Their afternoon is this: they spend hours behind this large cloth studying the Koran by heart. “Everyday?”. «Yes, the teacher is there» – they point to a chair – «and the males are on the other side». The curtain is not just a room divider. It’s a line that gets drawn very early on. There are dozens and dozens of children, even under five years old, who attend the madrasas hidden in this degraded building.
I continue walking along a tangle of landings and narrow passages. I follow a song coming from another door. A sign reads: Madni Masjid Carpi. Inside, the room is crowded with children sitting on the floor. I approach one. “How old are you?”. Show three fingers. The imam and his assistant interrupt the lesson and meet me at the entrance. «I would like some information on the courses you hold here». «We can’t help her. The imam must continue the lesson.” I ask how the activities work, how old the little ones are, how many hours they stay. The imam replies that lessons are held every day, from 3pm to 8pm. But then his assistant interrupts him: “We can’t give you any more information.” The door closes.
A city within the city
Outside, in the courtyard, some women come out with their faces covered by hijabs and a mask that leaves only their eyes visible. I’ll try to ask a question. One of them starts to stop, but her husband honks from the car parked nearby. The woman looks down and goes up.
A little further on I meet a resident, her dog on a leash. He tells me that during Ashura, the Shiite commemoration of the martyrdom of Husayn – the grandson of the prophet Muhammad killed in the 7th century in Karbala – the faithful of these mosques beat their chests forcefully as a sign of mourning. The celebrations can last several days. “You can hear the blows up here from a lot of banging,” he says. “It makes an impression.”
The police ensure that the area is monitored. Meanwhile, the flow of arrivals from Pakistan does not stop. The presence is consolidated. It gets organized. In Carpi it takes shape a city within the citywith its own rhythms, rules and silences. It is an invisible border that seems to widen every day.
