I met him for the first time in the spring of 1978 in his office in Corso Marconi. I was then the “factory manager” of the Turin PCI and taking care of Fiat was my daily bread. Annibaldi had announced the desire of the “doctor” to meet me.
“The lawyer Agnelli – he addressed me directly – told me that to understand what the Fiat communists want I have to talk to you”. A long conversation followed, dedicated above all to how to counter the terrorist offensive which in those years had chosen the Fiat plants as the epicenter of its murderous action.
From that conversation an interlocution began which periodically saw us confronting each other, moved by human empathy and mutual curiosity: he was interested in understanding how the communists thought of the Fiat and its future; I am equally interested in understanding the point of view of those who, leading the company-symbol of Italian industry, thought about the development of the country. And above all, albeit on opposite fronts, both interested in Fiat continuing to be a leader in production and work.
I remember, among others, a dramatic interview, in October 1979, after the assassination of engineer Ghiglieno by the Red Brigades, when he informed me that Fiat – shaken by years of mournful attacks – would soon hours fired 61 employees considered extremists and potentially corrupt with the terrorist action. An extreme decision, however not supported by evidence that proved that accusation (which in fact was later recognized as non-existent in court). But a choice dictated by the exasperation aroused by years in which not a day went by without terrorism manifesting itself with threats, attacks, injuries and killings of foremen and middle managers of the company, causing a climate of fear and permanent tension in the plants. So much so that the protest strike proclaimed by the unions had little support, making clear the bewilderment of many workers.
That radical choice was a demonstration of Cesare Romiti’s temperament: resolute, determined, adamant – even ruthless – when he thought it was the right choice for the company he headed.
It was this resoluteness of his that convinced Avvocato Agnelli, at the strong request of Cuccia, to confer full powers on Romiti in July 1980 at a time of profound crisis for Fiat. And Romiti did not disappoint the expectations of its shareholder. Having failed to reach an agreement with the union to manage a large restructuring of the company and the resulting redundancies, on 5 September Fiat announced 14,000 layoffs. A disruptive choice to which the union reacted with a mobilization that blocked all the factories in a few days. In that first phase of the clash, the consensus of the Turin company manifested itself as an unacceptable disfigurement, such a large number of layoffs in a city that symbolized work and for decades the destination of hundreds of thousands of workers who came from the south in the certainty of finding a safe job at Fiat.
Romiti himself, retracing that struggle in subsequent years, admitted that in those days he experienced a feeling of isolation and uncertainty. It was probably this – together with pressure from the government and all parties and unions at the national level – that led Fiat to withdraw the layoffs, replacing them with the layoffs of 23,000 employees at zero hours.
The redundancy fund for zero hours is not the same thing as a dismissal and that passage should have induced the union to change the forms of struggle, interrupting the total blockade of the factories. And instead, despite the requests of Lama, Benvenuto, Carniti, Trentin and Garavini, the Turin union and the Metalworking Federation decided to continue the blockade of the factories indefinitely until the company agreed to transform the layoff from zero hours to rotation. A radical choice that was not understood in the city and in the country, resulting in a progressive reduction of consensus and solidarity with the workers in struggle. Romiti and the managers closest to him grasped the change in climate and supported the emergence of a movement of company cadres – but also of simple workers – who, contesting the trade union struggle, promoted a large assembly within a few weeks which, given the huge participation, gave rise to an unexpected march through the streets of Turin. It is the “march of the 40,000” that will mark a turning point in the dispute, inducing the national unions to take the reins of the fight and quickly conclude an agreement which, albeit with some guarantee of return in the medium term, accepted the zero-hour layoff for 23,000 workers and for this reason it was experienced as a defeat of the union and a victory for Romiti and Fiat.
In those weeks my contacts with Romiti and his collaborators were frequent in an attempt to identify acceptable solutions for the company and for the workers, but the bitterness of the confrontation and the intransigence of the parties thwarted any reasonable attempt.
Over the years we talked about that fight, its many passages and its epilogue, with Romiti on more than one occasion, both drawing opportunities for reflection. Just as our discussion on the destiny of Fiat and the future of the country continued and always in each of our conversations I was struck by his determination and his rough sincerity, characters with which he has experienced a century of Italian economic and political life as a protagonist, with the firm belief in the central and irreplaceable role of the company.
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