As I ramp up on Italian history in preparation for a trip, I stumbled upon the bizarre, fateful story of two men who made the unified Italian state a reality in the 19th century: Garibaldi and Cavour.
Garibaldi was a hero of guerrilla warfare. He staked his entire life on the dream of a unified Italy. Raising a volunteer army, he set out to “liberate” regions across the peninsula. His military successes were staggering, sending his popularity soaring off the charts.
Cavour, on the other hand, was a shrewd politician leading the Kingdom of Sardinia in northern Italy. His vision was a strong, free, and progressive society anchored by this constitutional monarchy: a nation capable of standing on its own in the dog-eat-dog world of 19th-century Europe.
As a brilliant military commander radiating with idealism, Garibaldi wanted to charge ahead, wage war everywhere, “liberate” territory, and weld all of Italy under a single government as fast as possible.
Cavour was a statesman who understood the international chessboard. He knew timing was everything, and that picking a fight with the wrong enemy at the wrong moment could wipe the kingdom off the map.
Put differently, Unified Italy vs Independent Italy. Both were driven by fierce ideals, but their ideals were fundamentally different. Garibaldi possessed a purity of purpose; Cavour possessed a cold, calculating realism. Naturally, their conflict escalated. Garibaldi demanded the King dismiss Cavour—and failed. Cavour, in turn, stripped Garibaldi of his volunteer army. Between these two men, there was no love lost. They had no trust, no affection, and no shared warmth to fall back on when things got hard.
Case in point: Cavour ceded Garibaldi’s birthplace, Nice, to France. Geopolitically, the Kingdom could not afford to make an enemy of France. But just imagine the fury and grief of Garibaldi—an Italian whose sole lifelong dream was a united Italy—when he learned that his own birthplace was no longer part of Italy!
The only thing keeping these two from tearing each other apart was King Victor Emmanuel II. He was Cavour’s monarch, and to Garibaldi, he was the figurehead around whom a unified nation could be forged. The King was the boxing ring rope, keeping both fighters locked inside. And of course, he had his own agenda and ambitions.
Back to Garibaldi and Cavour.
Just imagine. You despise him. You know he can destroy you and your dream. Yet you cannot bypass him. Calling them “rivals” sounds too positive and romantic; they were more like sworn arch-nemeses. You have no doubt he is supremely capable; that is precisely what makes him so terrifying to you!
Yet, as these two arch-rivals maneuvered against, sabotaged, and attacked each other, their chaotic push-and-pull ultimately produced a unified Italy—flawed, messy, and by the thinnest of margins. Without either one of them, modern Italy simply would not exist.
Crucially, this isn’t a heartwarming story of two men harmoniously complementing each other’s strengths. They weren’t even respectful rivals pushing each other to excel. Rather, in trying to crush each other, they unintentionally ended up correcting each other’s blind spots and flaws.
I have never encountered a story quite like this. It just sends my mind off in all sorts of directions. They weren’t enemies per se, but they were definitely not allies. You’d think achieving something big like this requires a team of people who share the same mission, and yet here stands a staggering counterexample. “Diversity” isn’t some “everyone happily coexists” feel-good ideal. Embracing deadly conflict can build extraordinary resilience into a system. How fitting for the land of Machiavelli! Who was it that called Italy a nation of cheerful, easygoing people?
If there is an afterlife, I wish someone could interview them about the achievement they ended up co-creating. Would they say, “I used that bastard to the bone to achieve my own goals”? Is there a subtle undercurrent of mutual respect? How do they feel knowing that without their worst enemy, their own lifelong dream would have been impossible? What does it feel like when the person who understands your limits best is the person you hate most? Could they ever admit that to each other?
And how do educated Italians digest this story when they study it in school? Now I have one more burning question to ask the people I will meet in Italy.