The New York Times in the face of fascism

The discovery of fascism

Mussolini's name first appeared in the New York Times on June 6, 1915, in an article describing the position of the various European Socialist Parties in the face of the war. The article highlights Mussolini's break with the Italian Socialist Party and the founding of a new independent newspaper, in which he expressed his support for Italy's entry into the war against Germany and Austria (New York Times, 1915).

After the First World War, Mussolini returned to appear in the pages of the New York Times in April 1921 during the clashes between Croats and fascists near the city of Pula (New York Times, 1921a). But it was with the general elections, also in 1921, that the fascist leader began to find a permanent place in the section reserved for foreign policy news. In the aftermath of the 1921 election, Mussolini gave his first interview to the New York Times, in which he expressed satisfaction with the result obtained by the fascists. He anticipated their opposition to the Giolitti government, hoping that Antonio Salandra, an ardent supporter of Italy's entry into the war, would be elected prime minister (New York Times, 1921b).

The elections of May 1921 allowed Mussolini, in alliance with the liberal ruling class, to elect 35 fascists, including himself, to Parliament. Through this strange agreement, Giolitti attempted to respond to the offensive of the left, using the fascist movement, and then to absorb it, to the point of marginalizing it, in the Italian institutional system. As we now know, the political maneuver did not have the desired effect.

The newspaper, aware of the novelty constituted by fascism, immediately began to manifest a certain curiosity for the choices made by Mussolini's party and its representatives in Parliament. First of all, it is instructive to see the paper's attitude on the occasion of the speech of the Crown, which, as usual, opened the parliamentary session. What attracted the attention of the newspaper was the sudden difference of opinion between Mussolini, who asked to abstain from participating in the inaugural session of the Chamber, and most of the Fascist deputies, who, conversely, seemed willing to take part in the meeting (New York Times, 1921c). In the end, not only did Mussolini attend the opening session of the 26th legislature, but he also had the opportunity to deliver a speech. Listening to him, among the journalists in the press boxes, was Anne O’Hare McCormick, a young freelancer, who on July 24, 1921, on behalf of the New York Times, described that important political day (see Pinelli and Mariano, 2000). She acknowledged, without hesitation, her admiration of the fascists. She even went so far as to call the presentation of the leader of fascism “one of the best political speeches I ever heard.” The tone was a bit bold, but “caustic, powerful and telling” (O’Hare McCormick, 1921).

The words used by O’Hare McCormick were not, however, a surprise to readers. Only a few weeks earlier, the American journalist had published an article in which she had characterized Mussolini and fascism as particularly praiseworthy. She considered fascism a revolt of the young, who were tired “of the wisdom of the old, of the tinkering of parliaments, of the prudent formulas of the raison d’état.”

O’Hare McCormick's reflection was part of a more general topic, towards which the New York Times was always quite sensitive: namely, the relationship between the Italian State and the Catholic Church. Or rather, the position of fascism on the matter. Already an article of June 23 had underlined Mussolini's wish for the government to reach a state of reconciliation with the Vatican, as “the development of Catholicism throughout the world was leading hundreds of millions of men to look upon Rome as the center of the universe.” Noteworthy was the title used by the Times to describe the leader of the fascist movement: “Professor Mussolini” (New York Times, 1921d).

O’Hare McCormick had the opportunity to investigate the question in greater detail in her article of July 1921. She considered Mussolini's intervention in the Chamber the frankest of all those carried out by the other political leaders and highlighted its conciliatory nature towards the Holy See, so much so as to advise the Italian government to follow the Pope's lead on the question of the English mandate in Palestine (O’Hare McCormick, 1921).

The New York Times's initial opinion of the fascist movement, then, was largely positive. For the American newspaper, it was easy to identify with Mussolini because of his patriotism; he was “a miracle of a weary world.” The newspaper did not deny the fascist violence, but it contextualized violent incidents in the climate of political tension in Italy in the early 1920s, characterized by clashes with the social-communist left. The New York Times depicted fascism as a useful tool to stem the “red” danger. Moreover, when the violence became more brutal, it tended to distinguish Mussolini's position from that of the young and local fascists, which was even more troublesome.

All these features are evident, for example, in the article by TR Ybarra published on January 29, 1922, in which the journalist analyzes both the fascist movement and Mussolini. The title of the contribution is quite significant—“Italy's Frankenstein and his monster”—the opening line of which is: “Italy has a Frankenstein. His name is Benito Mussolini.” The latter is described as the leader and founder of a movement, whose violence he was increasingly struggling to control. The fascists committed crimes that Mussolini, according to the newspaper, disapproved of and from which he sought, embarrassed, to distance himself. Mussolini, in fact, had been elected to Parliament and this new role led him to advise, especially to the young people of the party, greater moderation in behavior and verbal utterances: “In his newspaper, Il Popolo d’Italia, he frowns editorially upon the excesses of the fascisti and exhorts them to be less prone to blaze away at their foes” (Ybarra, 1922). The author of the article therefore makes a distinction between Mussolini and the fascists. He argues that fascism had a first phase that had been useful to restore order in Italy, threatened by the revolutionary danger of the left, and a second phase characterized by the loss of the initial patriotic spirit, to the point of pushing it to conduct actions of a terrorist nature:

The Fascismo movement began to lose something of its spirit of patriotic crusade and get rather muddled and besmirched to the original elements composing it a goodly percentage of mere riffraff had been added. Too many acts by Fascisti began to savor more of terrorism than patriotism. (Ybarra, 1922)

According to the New York Times, had it continued on this path, fascism could have done more harm than good to Italy. Not only did the “Italian Frankenstein” run the risk of transforming a possible brilliant career into an irreparable disaster, which—as we know—turned out to be woefully wrong.

The political events of Italy at that time, beginning with the instability of the government and the increasingly frequent clashes between the fascists and the social-communist forces, further contributed to making Mussolini and his movement increasingly familiar to the American public. They were followed very carefully by the newspaper. ¹ Faced with the weakness of the liberal ruling class, the newspaper understood how much the Fascist Party was becoming central in the events of Italian politics. In describing the frequent crises of government, in fact, Mussolini's position found ever more space, as did his public statements, which oscillated between the reassurance of maintaining political clashes within the constitutional legality and the threat of the use of violence “against any attempt to oppress us” (New York Times, 1922j). There was even information relating to Mussolini's fencing duels, carried out to resolve personal or political issues (among these, we remember those with the socialist Claudio Treves, with the journalist Mario Missiroli, and with the communist publisher Ettore Ciccotti) (see Festorazzi, 2014).

The government crisis of the summer of 1922 seemed to offer no way out. The New York Times, in analyzing the situation, considered it almost impossible for any party member to obtain a sufficient majority in Parliament, and therefore the necessary authority, to restore order in the country. The best solution would be that of a neutral government, “trusting in pacification without actually putting down either the fascisti or the communists,” but the conditions did not seem to exist for such an outcome. The Times, on the other hand, considered highly probable the recourse to general elections, invoked vociferously by Mussolini, as the current Chamber of Deputies, was no longer representative of the will of the Italians. This was certainly not a comforting prospect, because this would have led Italy, already plagued by numerous problems, “into wild agitation for several months” (New York Times, 1922i).

The fascist demand for political elections, to be held by the end of 1922, was accompanied by the request, which appeared for the first time in the Times at the beginning of October, to assign three-fifths of the parliamentary seats to the winning party. Convinced he would obtain the majority of votes in the subsequent popular consultation, Mussolini pushed for a radical modification of the electoral law, which would allow the Fascist Party to reach the 321 seats needed to govern autonomously in the Chamber (New York Times, 1922e, 1922f).

The march on Rome and the conquest of power

These words on page 4 of the New York Times of October 7, 1922 opened a month destined to become crucial for the fate of Italy. The article focused on Mussolini's party, aware of the importance, if not the fundamental role, which he had now assumed in the political arena, reporting the appointments that awaited him in the following weeks, starting with the congress of Naples. Already in that edition there was talk of a possible gathering of tens of thousands of fascists in Rome, with the aim of forcing an immediate dissolution of the Chamber of Deputies.

Despite the tension of the moment and the rumors of all kinds circulating, the newspaper believed that a peaceful solution to the intricate political affair was quite probable. Its reconstruction of the facts emphasizes the violent spirit of fascism, its military organization, but at the same time does not portray it as a danger to Italian liberal institutions. Indeed, fascism was depicted as the product of the general dissatisfaction with democracy that was then characterizing several world countries. The fascist movement is described as “an artistic impulse,” composed of members with “a creative urge,” which translated not into “pictures or symphonies,” but into political action: the fascist theory seemed to be one for which “noble men with noble ideals are under obligation to work them out in action, no matter who or how many be against them. In effect, the movement is a throw-back to the Renaissance” (New York Times, 1922l).

Even the population, according to the newspaper, looked on a possible advent of the power of the fascists without fear for specific reasons. First of all, this was because many Italians believed that the fascist doctrine was a salvation for Italy. Moreover, it was because many, considering such a development of events as inevitable, preferred to arrive there without plunging the country into a dangerous civil war. Finally, there were those who believed that any difficulties were to be attributed to the mistakes made by previous governments, and were eager to vote for those who had promised to address the demanding situation in which Italy had fallen in a completely different way than in the past. Of the liberal class, the only exponent to whom the New York Times recognized the authority and sufficient ideas to try to lead the country out of this delicate situation was Giolitti: “He bought in the Fascisti to undo the Socialists two years ago; [it is not an] impossibility he may be able to raise other force [sic] to undo the Fascisti” (New York Times, 1922l).

In October 1922, the newspaper dedicated 15 articles to the troublesome events that had led to Mussolini becoming prime minister. The fascists, whose military strength grew day by day, ² continued to be seen as “the real rulers of the country,” who, despite their excesses, aroused the sympathy of large sections of the Italian population “which attributes to their sacrifices and daring the fact that Italy has not fallen a prey to Bolshevism.” Not only that but, according to the reconstructions of the New York Times, fascists also enjoyed the tacit support of the army and the police. Mussolini was presented as “a dictator and leader of the Fascisti,” the referee of the “game”, capable of influencing the most relevant decisions of national political life (New York Times, 1922h).

For several days, the newspaper struggled to provide a forecast of the evolution of the complicated Italian political situation: “it's difficult to say what may happen.” The base of the fascists was increasingly restless, but Mussolini and the general secretary of the party Michele Bianchi moved with great caution, waiting to take advantage of the opportune moment (New York Times, 1922c). It was not easy to discern whether the fascists would come to power legally or through violence. One thing, however, was becoming increasingly certain: the fascist leader, in one way or another, would achieve his goal.

The last 10 to 12 days of October were hectic. The contact between Mussolini, Orlando, and Giolitti was continuous as they attempted to form a strong and authoritative ruling coalition (New York Times, 1922a). However, there were numerous differences between the various political formations that made it difficult to find a solution. The fascists, at least officially, remained anchored to the demand for an immediate dissolution of the Chamber. And even if they had decided to support a government, it would have to have a limited horizon in time and to be for two specific purposes: the modification of the electoral law and the calling of new elections.

These objectives were declared achieved by Mussolini at the meeting in Naples on October 25, where the movement triumphantly showed the country, once again, all its military strength and its ability to aggregate. The fascist leader, addressing a cheering and enthusiastic crowd, also indicated which ministries he would want for the fascists in the event of their participation in the government (New York Times, 1922d).

But Mussolini, in reality, wanted more than the simple direction of some ministries: he wanted to be Prime Minister. This goal was achieved at the end of October with the march on Rome, and when King Vittorio Emanuele III entrusted Mussolini with the task of forming a new executive. What was the position of the New York Times in the face of the march on Rome? In the previous hours, the newspaper reported, strictly on the front page, the rumors, the agency reports, and the positions of foreign observers on Italian political vicissitudes, in an attempt to clarify a complex situation. If the end of the Facta government was a given (and in this the fascist meeting in Naples had contributed in a decisive way), subsequent developments were much less so as in Mussolini's party, who, for the occasion, was again referred to as “Professor Mussolini,” there was no complete unanimity of views. For the New York Times, a peaceful solution remained the most probable (New York Times, 1922a, 1922g)—and that was how the march on Rome was read (see Albanese, 2020; Di Pierro, 2018; Fracassi, 2021; Gentile, 2014; Lussu, 2014).

The rise to power of the fascists is told as if it were simply an ordinary and legal change of government with Mussolini at the helm of the country. According to the New York Times, with the birth of the Mussolini Ministry, the so-called fascist revolution could be said to be concluded: “Nothing remains to be done but have a triumphal march of the Fascisti militia to give the population a chance to vent its pent-up enthusiasm, then have them demobilize and return to normalcy.” Simply a quiet return to normality was how the situation was portrayed in the paper's edition of October 31, 1922 (New York Times, 1922k). No criticism was leveled against Vittorio Emanuele III for not having signed the state of siege requested by the Prime Minister Facta. Indeed, the sovereign's choice not to intervene had avoided a bloody armed conflict between the Italian army and the fascist militias. What the New York Times, on the other hand, struggled to understand was the sudden change in attitude of fascist leaders, who initially had seemed interested only in gaining control of the most significant ministries, but then had claimed the direction of the entire government (James, 1922).

Although the concerns of some European countries were evident, especially over an aggressive conception of foreign policy, the prevailing sentiment in the newspaper remained one of acceptance in the face of fascism and its leader. This attitude became open support and admiration a few days later, on November 5, 1922, in the words of Alice Rothe, who published in the New York Times an interview with Mussolini. It is important to note the laudatory description in the article's title: “Hope of Youth, Italy's ‘man of tomorrow’.” Analogous to what Anne O’Hare McCormick had argued the previous year, Rothe presented the fascist movement as a youth revolt against old Italy and heaped praise on Mussolini for his dynamism and culture. He was heralded as the man for the future of Italy, the one who had defeated Bolshevism (Rothe, 1922).

A more reflective and far from enthusiastic judgment of Mussolini was published, also on November 5, by the authoritative journalist Walter Littlefield. He accounted for the fascist success in terms of the mobilization of the middle classes, who, faced with the paralysis of democracy and the government's inability, had simply chosen to support Mussolini (on the contrary, his examination of the Matteotti murder will be different) (Littlefield, 2022).

The position of the New York Times by now was clearly influenced by correspondence coming from Rome. A decisive role in providing a benevolent, if not supportive, reading of fascism was played by the Cortesi family, who exercised strong control over certain sectors of the American press. Arnaldo Cortesi was, and would be for many years, until 1939, the newspaper's correspondent from Rome. He explicitly supported fascism, with which he had close relationships (Canali, 2017: 101). Although the New York Times also offered some contributions that were critical of the Mussolini government, Cortesi's narrative was far more influential and contributed decisively to informing, or it would be better to say misinforming, American public opinion on the evolution of Italian political events, which the paper followed daily and in detail. Articles often appeared praising Mussolini's vigor and the courage of the executive in demanding sacrifices from the population, government activity, “in keeping with the character of the man and of the revolution which he created, inspired and made successful,” towards which, as the newspaper expressed, “people show unbounded confidence.”

The Matteotti crime

In this first phase, the moment where perhaps the reconstruction of the facts of the New York Times is most focused on the propaganda of the fascist government is the so-called “Matteotti case” in the summer of 1924. The socialist deputy was kidnapped on the afternoon of June 10, 1924 by members of the fascist secret police and his lifeless body was found in a grave two months later, on August 16, just outside Rome. Matteotti's “crime” was that of having delivered in the Chamber, on May 30, a vehement speech against the fraud and violence conducted by the fascists during the political elections held the previous April. It was to be the most serious political crisis that fascism would face in the 20 years it held power in Italy. It was so serious as to suggest that Mussolini’s, and with him fascism’s, days were numbered (see Borgognone, 2013; Canali, 2015; Caretti, 2004; Fracassi, 2004; Romanato, 2011; Zaghi, 2001).

In the following weeks, Mussolini tried to remove suspicions from himself, declaring that he was ignorant of everything and placing responsibility on his closest collaborators. The New York Times was on the same wavelength. Arnaldo Cortesi, who had become an instrument in the hands of the regime and controller of the newspaper's Roman office, provided a version of the facts that absolved Mussolini. Like other American newspapers, the New York Times supported the line that fascism and its leader had been betrayed by a small group of violent people on the fringes of the movement:

This gang, which existed and worked in secret within the Fascista organization, was inspired by a spirit of sectarian fanaticism and committed acts of criminal terrorism with the evident intention of frustrating Mussolini's efforts at pacification and conciliation … The great number of criminal acts which are ascribed to their secret organization is held to show that among the half million Fascisti the number who indulged in acts of violence was really very small. (New York Times, 1924e)

Some government ministers were certainly involved in the kidnapping, and then the killing, of the Socialist deputy, but not Mussolini. Conversely, he was portrayed as a man who was throwing all his personal interest in solving the case and was in constant contact with the Director General of the State Police (New York Times, 1924b). The commitment to “purify” the Fascist Party and to reorganize its militia, so that it would not violate the Constitution of the Kingdom, was maximum (New York Times, 1924c, 1924d).

As portrayed by the American newspaper, always ready to publish comments of support for the government and King Vittorio Emanuele III, most Italians continued to have confidence in fascism and did not in any way question Mussolini's moral stature. The very choice of the latter not to resign as Prime Minister was welcomed, in the belief that the government's policy would be conciliatory and lead to pacification, as well as to a return to a rigorous legality toward opposition parties (New York Times, 1924c, 1924f).

The target of the newspaper became Cesare Rossi, former head of Mussolini's press office and head of the Fascist Cheka. The attacks against him were very harsh. He participated in the crime, accusing Mussolini, with a memorial published in December 1924 by Il Mondo, of heavy and direct responsibility. ³

Of course, the articles, never signed by Cortesi, but easily attributable to him, could not deny the protests of the opposition and, in general, the difficulty of the moment for fascism, which was in serious danger of seeing its image damaged and deprive the regime “at a stroke [of] its moral content” (New York Times, 1924g). Sometimes the expression “dictator-premier” appeared with reference to Mussolini, of whom, however, an image of innocence continued to be widely circulated (New York Times, 1924a).

And even when the articles were not written by Arnaldo Cortesi, the judgment on the “Matteotti case” was not different. For Walter Littlefield, for example, the kidnapping and murder were viewed as the work of the most violent wing of fascism, which Mussolini had tried in vain to tame. In particular, Littlefield, who wrote an article on the subject on July 6, 1924, considered the fascist movement to consist of three components: whites, blacks, and grays. The most dangerous, in his opinion, were the grays, “rough, untameable, unredeemed ex-soldiers and criminals,” who used fascism simply as a tool to obtain personal gains and/or revenge. They made up the majority of the young people of the fascist militia. Investigations by the judiciary had revealed that gray fascism was organized to perpetuate the reign of terror and corruption and their organization was suspiciously like that of the Soviet internal administration in Moscow. The aim of this wing of the movement was to ruin and discredit Mussolini, thus preventing him from putting into practice the will of the white fascists, who represented the more moderate current.

The most uncompromising faction, always according to Littlefield's thinking, risked wiping out:

the magnificent work of reconstruction performed by Benito Mussolini and his “Black Shirt Knights” … giving place to a chaos still more confounded than that which prevailed when Red flags were flown from city halls, veterans of the war were insulted and assaulted in the streets, and a Soviet regime was proclaimed throughout the great metallurgic region of the north, in the Autumn of 1920. (Littlefield, 1924)

The article, although it listed the mistakes made by the government in the handling of the Matteotti affair, concludes with the idea that Mussolini could overcome the difficult moment by replacing these young men with others with the necessary experience.

Arthur Livingston, in the June 29 edition, also distinguishes Mussolini from the fascist squadrismo. If, on the one hand, “he has accomplished wonders as a political organizer [and] has worked miracles as general manager and repairer of a collapsing state,” on the other hand he had failed to pacify the country and to control the violent faction of the movement, which had allowed him to come to power. Livingston's article, perhaps the one that best describes the institutional structure built by fascism, with an almost perfect parallelism, both at the central and peripheral levels, between state and party organs, supported the need for Mussolini to free himself from the most violent fascists, on which he now depended, inaugurating a new phase of the revolution, in order to fully legitimize the regime (Livingston, 1924).

That this was the line of the New York Times is further confirmed by the decision to publish, on July 13, 1924, a letter from an unknown Italian citizen, Olindo Leoni, under a very eloquent title: “Mussolini or nothing.” The writer of the letter defined himself as an impartial and objective observer of national events and did not believe there was, at that time, a credible political alternative to Mussolini, if not a dictatorship on the Soviet model, which however would have precipitated the country “into a most horrible state of chaos.” The devastating economic and financial consequences of the First World War demanded hard sacrifices of the population that only “an iron hand” could impose. And that hand, of course, could only be Mussolini's. In regard to the Matteotti crime, it was said that “The Matteotti incident is a deplorable excess, which will increase Mussolini's prestige and power, giving him a right to trample, pitilessly, upon the criminals who had comfortably nestled in the folds of his power” (Leoni, 1924).

In continuity with a similar reconstruction of the facts is the famous intervention in the Chamber of January 3, 1925, with which Mussolini definitively closed the Matteotti case, at the same time opening the long phase of the dictatorship for Italy. For the New York Times, with the speech made in the Montecitorio chamber, Mussolini was back to what he once was. He had given up “the calm and the collected manner” of recent times and had spoken with passion and vehemence, with determination in every gesture and word, while the whole Chamber, including occupants of the visitors’ gallery, the royal box, and the press gallery, “stood and shouted applause at every sentence amid scenes of enthusiasm such as the Italian Chamber has never seen.” For the US newspaper, it was the “greatest triumph of Mussolini's whole political career” (New York Times, 1925). Not only that, with reference to the anti-opposition measures threatened by Mussolini, but the newspaper also provided ample reassurances that they would be “perfectly legal and in accordance with existing Italian laws” (New York Times, 1925).

The New York Times and Cortesi, supported in their efforts by Salvatore Cortesi, Arnaldo's father and representative in Rome of the Associated Press, the oldest information agency overseas, became, therefore, protagonists in the serious work of misdirection, misinforming American readers about the Matteotti crime and closely related subsequent events.

In general, the New York Times held significant authority over the American public, so much so that it often dictated the story line to several compatriot newspapers. In those years, it provided a distorted image of the regime by publishing flattering articles, and, when needed, it even lent helpful support. This influence lasted at least until the end of the 1930s, when the decree of December 1939, which prohibited Italian journalists from collaborating with foreign agencies and newspapers, forced Arnaldo Cortesi to resign and the New York Times replaced him with Herbert L Matthews.