As Benito Mussolini’s gangs conquered Italy in the early 1920s, Livorno proved a particular obstacle. Fascists complained of their difficulties infiltrating the Tuscan port city’s “popular neighborhoods, inhabited by extremists and their sympathizers.” In March 1922, local hierarchs cited a deeper reason, as they blamed “the Livorno population’s origins, largely made up of the many mongrel, escapee, refugee, Levantine, Jewish elements. Education and religion have never made inroads among this people . . . fertile terrain, then, for subversive ideas.”

For the police inspectorate, this posed the need for an offensive: to “mount continual raids . . . across whole neighborhoods at once, on workplaces, association buildings, and political and supposedly apolitical circles.” In June 1923, when the Fascists did pull off simultaneous invasions of two hundred forty apartments in Livorno’s city center, now–Prime Minister Mussolini celebrated their achievement in the Senate.

Apart from the Fascists’ own overbearing arrogance — and violence — what immediately shines through from official reports is the tumultuous nature of this city and the vibrancy of its “enduring popular roots.” Livorno’s distinctly plural, rebellious character had a long history: already from the late sixteenth century it had granted exemptions, immunity, and privileges to draw in traders, sailors, and artisans of all creeds and backgrounds. It was open to refugees: to Jews, Muslims, Greeks, Catholics, and French Huguenots — and even to slaves and outlaws, with specific pledges that there would be no inquiring into their past.