Finding Omertà during a year abroad in Italy

This summer I discovered an unexpected passion for the macho, criminal bloodfest otherwise known as the "Godfather" series. Normally I avoid violence in all its fictional forms, but completely enthralled, I couldn't wait for the next volley of gunshots.

The appeal to me was a glimpse of the Mafia's strict ethical code, omertà (derived from the Italian "umiltà," humility), and the fact that I can understand every word.

I came to Princeton after deferring a year to live in the tiny town of Cormons, Italy. Along with the food and wine, I imbibed stories of local and national corruption, from the pizzeria down the street serving as a front for prostitution to the controversy surrounding certain of the Sicilian president's business connections. Italy among European nations is famous for high speech and low action, for messy politics and seemingly senseless vendettas. The media and textbooks are state-controlled; every public statement is made to some end, usually self-serving. Straightforwardness is so rare that an honest person is often viewed as self-righteous, gullible, or even stupid.

This attitude is blatantly apparent in the classroom. Italians trumpet their academic standards and yet every examination stresses memorization and repetition. Political 30's — that being the highest score one can receive on a college exam — are more prevalent even than grade inflation at Harvard. I frequently had to justify my lack of interest in Italian universities by observing that many Italians choose to pursue studies in America. What I really would have missed, though, is presence of the Honor Code.

In American terms, Italian students cheat. They open books during interrogations, check notes during quizzes, and pass problems and essays for consultation during tests; even the best student who doesn't copy is happy to help out a less-fortunate classmate in the interest of "team spirit." For a last-hour exam my classmates began moving desks upon arrival, jostling for the position farthest from the professor's eye. They relegated me to front and center, since, as they said, "You've already graduated," "Your grades don't matter," or "You've learned this already." They never called it cheating. The Italian word, in this context, doesn't exist.

I don't think my classmates realized how much what they viewed as normal, even acceptable, bothered me. I was asked a few times, especially for English, to check tests, and offered lame excuses. I tried to explain that for involvement in even a fraction of their activity I would be forced to leave my university permanently. They didn't want to listen. I probably seemed overly moralistic.

The teachers' responses as well were shockingly ambivalent. When the English teacher caught a girl with notes under her desk, she took away her test and berated the class for their infantile behavior. "What will you do when you go to university?" she asked. "You can't continue to do these things." She chose not to see the notes hidden under other test papers nearby, and my classmate was allowed to finish her test the next day. Some teachers admitted to cheating during high school themselves, but not in university, though one professor added, "Or only just once." A teacher even bragged of cheating on the matura, the high school exit exam. Remembering their own high school years, the professors accept, almost condone, their students' cheating.

So academic dishonesty pervades the school system, and some young Italians carry such profitable habits with them into their roles in adult society. This widespread disrespect of the supposed rules contributes, on some level, to the Italian plagues of corrupt bureaucracy, political scandal, and organized crime.

But Italians can act when provoked. The bloody 1992 murders of anti-Mafia crusaders Giovanni Falcone and Paolo Borsellino outraged the nation and led to stricter measures against organized crime, including the construction of a huge high-security anti-Mafia facility in the center of Rome. Political opponents have attempted to prosecute the serving Prime Minister Berlusconi, the wealthiest man in Italy and owner of most of the media, for a questionable business deal struck while holding national office. And this year the high schools banned cell phones and other high-tech devices from testing sites in an attempt to curb cheating on the matura.

Honor is moving to displace omertà in Italian life. But until the Italians invite Triangle Club to the old country to tour their traditional frosh week ditty, I'll stick with my Mafia movies.

Emily Stolzenberg, a freshman, is a new columnist from Morgantown, W. Va.