Opinion: New York mayor's snub shows anti-Italian sentiment never died

"Atsa matta, atsa matta, hey, atsa matta for you?

You eat-a my ravioli and my pasta fazoola too.

I'm-a give a-you cacciatore and a pizza that's good to chew.

Atsa matta, you no like me, hey! Atsa matta for you?"

Written by Michael Maltese

Sung by Bugs Bunny (Mel Blanc)

That's been the problem for Italian immigrants in this country for more than a century. Mainstream America almost immediately adopted the culture - the food, the music, the art, the fashion; they loved everything Italian but they just didn't like Italians. Moving back to Upstate New York after four decades in Waterbury I had forgotten what life was like up here. I grew up in Kingston, N.Y., and if I'd gotten outraged every time somebody - another kid, a teacher, somebody in a store - called me one of the many clever slurs people have for Italians, I would have grown up going from one fight to another. Fortunately, my father was a peaceful man and he taught me when confronted with any bully the worst thing you can do is let them know they got to you. Water off the proverbial duck's back. So, years later, when a co-worker asked me one day, "You're Italian! What's the best time to plant tomatoes?" Rather than get upset, I sarcastically told him, "Midnight, under a full moon." He thanked me and walked away. For all I know his tomatoes that year were spectacular.

Back in Upstate New York (and even farther north into cow country) I found a pizza place that makes a decent pie, and one day my wife and I went in and ordered one and decided to wait and take it home. Where we stood, we could see them making the pizzas, and to make light conversation with the young lady behind the counter I asked, "How can you guys make such good pizza and I don't see a paisan anywhere?" She asked, "You don't see any what?" and I figured she hadn't heard, so I repeated "paisan" and I think I made that Italian hand gesture where you pinch all your fingertips together and shake the hand. She apparently had never heard the word, so my wife, always the diplomat, told her it meant an Italian person. The girl's reaction was horror. "Oh, no," she said. "We don't have any of those around here!"

It must be the state. New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani apparently doesn't believe that Italians are a recognizable ethnic group. With all the World Cup visitors coming to his city, his office put out a map showing where all the ethnic neighborhoods are, including some third-world representations that may or may not actually exist, but he left out Little Italy. Chinatown is there, but not Little Italy.

That's where my grandparents lived, where my father grew up, and where we visited as often as possible after moving upstate when I was about two years old. Amazing place. Haven't been back in years, but, as far as I know, it still exists. Not officially according to the NYC government. Maybe Mamdani is too young to realize that the NYC skyline, recognizable across the globe, exists because of the hard work and skillful craftsmanship of Italians. Like my grandfather, the carpenter. It wasn't Haitian, Mexican or Congolese people. Italians helped build that city.

Purposefully ignoring any other group would have raised a political uproar the likes of which you have never seen before. But Italians? We're the only ethnic group that TV and film can still make fun of and stereotype into mafioso or happy singing cooks with impunity.  Why? Because while America absorbed our culture, they'd still just as soon not have to deal with the people behind the culture. And that's a shame. Now, Mamdani wants to make us politically invisible?

That's okay. Life under the radar can have its benefits. For one, you'll never see us coming. 

Vincent Vurchio of Cherry Valley, N.Y., is a writer and former Waterbury resident.

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