Graduation Day in Venice...

Summer has arrived early here and cafè life is active, with tourists as always, with Venetians, too, and with students. It's a time to appreciate the beautiful architecture here, all poised on canals which reflect the lovely gothic arches and coloured marble. Warm weather is here, linen jackets, short skirts, tourists, outdoor dining, evening walks, all among the beauties of Venice.

It's also the time to marvel at the graduation rituals here.

I have lived in New York, Cambridge, and Dublin and I can say that in those cities I witnessed no  university graduation party other than perhaps a celebratory dinner at a home or a restaurant. I don't recall any special or unusual rites of passage which would solidly embed graduation in a graduate's memory. Not so here.

Here the word is ... humiliation. Let me explain. We live near the university in Venice, and also near Campo S. Margherita which is famous in Venice as a venue for college age youth to meet and, naturally, to drink, either caffè or harder stuff. It is also the favourite venue for, what I would call, the graduation humiliation.

It works like this: here, students do not graduate en masse, it is rather done individually, i.e., the moment with some bureaucrat or other has issued a paper certifiyng that Giovanni Capone, e.g., has indeed completed his baccalaureat in accounting. By then a friend has organised a party, usually at lunch time, at a local bar which has outdoor seating. To it are invited parents, relatives, sometimes grandparents, and, of course, fellow students. So far so good.  After some kind of official presentation of the sheepskin, the group of students, parents and friends parade through the streets and campi of Venice to the venue of the party. Along the way, the students sing at 2 minute intervals the traditional graduation ditty (in Venetian dialect): "Dottore! Dottore! Dottore del buso dei cul, vaffancul! vaffancul!" which roughly translated means, "Doctor! Doctor! Doctor of the asshole, go stick it up your ass! Go stick it up your ass!"  Lovely. This ditty is sung repeatedly all afternoon. It must thrill the parents and grandparents. Then the group stops in the middle of a square and the fun begins.  Some creative spirit has created on a large poster a drawn caricature - usually obscene - of the grad, along with a long screed about the student, written with sophmoric humour about the student's life, sex life, personality, etc. The grad must read this aloud before all the party guests. It is embarassingly juvenile and excruciating for an outsider like me, so it should be unbearable for the parents and for any student with a semblance of taste.

But the coup de grace is the rite of humiliation which occurs while the victim is reading the poster aloud. His friends then subject the grad to a type of gauntlet, a purification by fire. For example, he may be forced to dress in a bra and panties and is subsequently doused with ketchup, mustard, and whipped cream or paint. Or he may be naked except for an athletic supporter and wearing a woman's wig and makeup. Get it? What fun! These are university graduates. I saw a woman grad (PhD) 2 years ago who was dressed in a loin cloth and was lashed to a makeshift cross for a mock crucifixion in the square. When all great joy and entertainment has been wrung from this, members of the troupe repair to the bar for refreshments. Meanwhile, the "Dottore" business is repeatedly sung.

I guess the above surpasses the simple pleasures of going to a decent restaurant, hearing a toast or two, and enjoying the agape of good friends and relatives. Just call me old fashioned.