History is a saga that depicts the age-old stratification of prolific and, at times, confrontational intercultural hybridization.

Trajectories converge, lines cross, and tracks don’t run in parallel because sooner or later, they come to a switch. This is human history, consisting of diasporas and comebacks, migrations, encounters, and clashes, but primarily characterized by mestizaje. Some argue that diversity is an evolutionary necessity, that closed communities are doomed to biological and social implosion, and that mixed blood is the secret to enduring vitality. Others claim the opposite. The former view generally springs from the observation of vibrant, turbulent but enduring communities; the latter, though coherent, has led to concentration camps on a large scale and poor genetic diversity dementia on a smaller scale. Is this taking sides? Perhaps. Yet, one of the pivotal moments in our recent history, the Resistance to Nazi Fascism, had a mestizo heart and soul. Among the partisan ranks, assorted by political views and social classes, were women and men worldwide. Allies who escaped prison camps, Yugoslav partisans, Russian, Polish, Indian (with turbans), and African fighters landed in Italy against incredible odds.

Simultaneously, the African resistance to both liberal and fascist colonialism was also mestizo, involving Italian fighters, dissidents, deserters, Swedish doctors, and British journalists who supported Ethiopian partisans.

Neocolonialism is the contemporary mutation of 19th and 20th-century expansionist policies. Its economic epicenter is more geopolitical than sociopolitical, and its consequences are closely related to broader phenomena such as climate disaster, mass migrations, underdevelopment, fragile democracies, and increasing foreign policy interference in Africa and South America. All this occurs without losing sight of the traditional practices of deportation, mass murder, corruption, and profit at any cost, under a toxic narrative that oscillates between collective repression and the myth of Italians as good people.

Words are spells. Simply naming something can make it appear in the listener’s mind. Naming a place produces even more profound results for those who live there or pass through it. Living on Rose Road is different from living on Victim of the Extermination Camps Avenue. The genius loci, or spirit of place, varies greatly. Wandering down Swiss Street or Libya Boulevard means passing through distinct narratives and histories. The first celebrates a European country, while the second commemorates an Italian colonial crime scene, although many might not realize it.

Odonymy (from the Greek hodós – street, road – and onomastikòs, the act of naming) is the study and set of names of public spaces and roads from a historical and linguistic perspective.

In 1949, in a swift session, the city council of Bologna, chaired by communist Mayor Giuseppe Dozza, changed all the street names in the “Cirenaica” neighborhood that celebrated the fascist colonial enterprise but did not replace the Giolittian period name, Libya Road. The other streets were renamed after partisans (all men) who fought to liberate the city between 1944 and 1945, including Paolo Fabbri, made famous by a renowned songwriter. Unbeknownst to them, the participants in that meeting performed a white magic ritual that summoned benevolent spirits and tutelary deities. Since then, the street names in the “Cirenaica” neighborhood have told stories of partisan resistance.

The effects of that ritual resurfaced in the mid-2000s when local residents won a battle to save a green area from gentrification and named it after Lorenzo Giusti, an anarchic railwayman and full member of the Liberation fighters who watched over the neighborhood. To celebrate that small but epic triumph, a changing and diverse group of people came together: activists, writers, musicians, urban planners, actors, and ordinary citizens. They aimed to explore and tell the story of Bologna’s Cirenaica and its resistance to Nazi fascism, as well as the story of African Cyrenaica and its resistance to Italian colonialism, through its odonyms. It was time to cast some magic again and give rise to the cultural factory “Resistenze in Cirenaica” (RIC). There was only one venue for the project: the street.

As mentioned, words are spells, but to cast their magic, they need to be recited aloud or conveyed. Every magician has a wand, and every spell has its rite. Telling a story through an odonym is just the first step. Mixing different stories is the second. Doing it with words, music, and art while walking is the third of many steps. But, first things first: the activities of RIC officially opened on September 15, 2015, with a walking ritual—an urban trek through the neighborhood that ended with a musical reading at the Giusti Garden. The route wound through the ‘rebel district’ and stopped under street signs with double names: Paolo Fabbri Road, formerly Tripoli Road; Giovanni Palmieri, formerly Homs; Massenzio Masia, formerly Zuara, etc. During the stops, the stories of the partisans after whom the streets were named were told, as well as the reasons why they previously celebrated the colonial enterprise. For the occasion, with the first act of odonymy guerrilla, the sign for Libya Road was replaced with an official road sign replica by Vinka Kitarovic, a Croatian partisan who lived in the Cirenaica neighborhood and took part in the Italian resistance and the Liberation of Modena. The number of people who joined the trek exceeded a thousand. Vinka’s story was told with a megaphone, and a children’s choir sang Italian and Croatian partisan songs. The local police stood apart, unsure of what to do, but ultimately enjoyed the show.

After that first walking ritual through the rebel district, the experimentation with languages and reflections on memory practices evolved. The provocative and performative renaming of Libya Road into Vinka Kitarovic Road remained a unique precedent. From then on, odonymy guerrilla actions focused more on historical recontextualization. The change of a road sign was replaced by adding a caption under the name: Libya Road—Italian colonialism crime scene.

In recent years, odonymy guerrilla has become a practice used by various movements and individuals throughout Italy. On March 8, 2021, RIC distributed a “guerrilla kit” with a vade-mecum for performing exorcisms and evocations through historical recontextualization: exorcisms to disempower the evil spirits haunting many of our streets (from Italo Balbo to Giorgio Almirante to Indro Montanelli), and evocations to give space back to the benevolent guardian deities, as in the city council meeting chaired by Dozza in 1949. Meanwhile, treks have found new paths, reaching the mountains in the footsteps of the 36th Bianconcini Garibaldi partisan brigade.

More targeted and surgical odonymy guerrilla actions, urban and mountain treks, theatrical performances, live readings, art installations, exhibitions, meetings, records, and books—RIC never stopped. Along the way, it met other people and entities that emerged in various cities: Milan, Reggio Emilia, Carpi, Padua, Rome, Palermo, Genoa, Lodi, and Salò (!). In 2021, the Federation of Resistances was born as a coalescence of knowledge, experience, and practices.

Time passes, but we are still only at the beginning.

Streets, squares, bridges, gardens, alleys—every place in our cities releases a magic made of names, deities, and demons for those who pass by. It’s enough to listen for the effects to manifest. It’s time to get back on the road.