We have found the culprit before even opening our umbrellas.
Very convenient: while everyone else is looking for shelter, we have already concluded the investigation.
“Piove, governo ladro” — literally, “It’s raining, thieving government!” — is one of the most efficient formulas in Italian public life.
Four words in Italian, no hearing, and a verdict enforceable on the spot.
It works with any party in power and needs no updating after an election.
Yet, according to one traditional explanation, there may have been some very practical reasoning behind this apparent nonsense.
The story goes that salt merchants paid a duty calculated by the weight of their loads. When rain soaked the sacks, the weight increased, and so did the tax. In the more mischievous version, the tax collectors would even wait for bad weather before weighing the goods.
An arrangement between heaven and the Treasury that taxpayers might understandably have found less than uplifting.
The merchant, then, would not have been accusing the government of making it rain. He would have been accusing it of making money even from the water falling on his head.
It is an appealing story, also recounted in a contribution by Adriano Mazzarella on the Federico II University website. It does not, however, establish the origin of the saying with any certainty: that account supplies neither precise details of the duty nor documentary evidence of the episode.
It would be unfortunate to begin an article about jumping to conclusions by jumping to a conclusion.
Then there is the version given by Treccani: a demonstration by supporters of Giuseppe Mazzini in Turin, cancelled because of rain in 1861, is said to have inspired a cartoon by Casimiro Teja in “Pasquino”, along with the famous exclamation.
This attribution has also been challenged: the bibliographer Giuseppe Fumagalli reported that he had been unable to find the cartoon in the year’s issues in question.
Let us therefore leave the file on its origins open.
The meaning we give the phrase today still deserves some attention.
Blaming the government because it rains is ridiculous.
But using that joke to dismiss every question about what happens when it rains would be equally glib.
Are we blaming someone for the storm, or for the state of affairs the storm exposes?
The distinction matters.
Rainfall can be exceptional and overwhelm even well-designed, properly maintained systems.
No administration can promise to abolish risk.
Exceptional conditions must nevertheless be measured: “exceptional” cannot become a handy adjective to be wheeled out whenever a street floods.
We need to know how much rain fell, over what period and across which area; what infrastructure was in place, in what condition, and with what known limitations.
We need to distinguish what could reasonably have been foreseen from what could not.
This takes longer than swearing and is less spectacular than a press conference.
It does, however, have the advantage of possibly achieving something.
Unfortunately, maintenance has a political drawback: when it works, it often goes unnoticed. Infrastructure that prevents damage offers few photo opportunities.
An emergency, by contrast, provides a much richer repertoire: site visits, wellies, statements and the inevitable promise that this must never happen again.
Until next time.
Here, though, the satire must ease off.
Water deserves more serious consideration than it receives in our political squabbles.
We pray for it when it is scarce and try to get rid of it when it arrives all at once.
Between those two responses lies an entire understanding we need to develop: where water collects, how it moves, what it carries, how much we can use, and how much we must return to the environment in a suitable condition.
Heavy rain does not automatically mean water available for use.
Water rushing over impermeable surfaces can contribute to flooding without solving shortages in the months ahead.
Infiltration, storage and quality depend on local conditions and how we manage them.
That is why drought and flooding need to be addressed through a shared understanding of the water cycle.
Rainwater still has a long journey ahead before it becomes usable water.
Depending on the circumstances, it requires collection, protection of sources, treatment and distribution.
After use, it requires sewerage and wastewater treatment: the sea cannot be where we stop asking questions.
We would do well to remember this whenever we invoke nature’s generosity.
Rain does not send an invoice; the infrastructure and work needed to make water available do come at a cost.
That is precisely why we are entitled to ask how resources are being used, what results they deliver and which problems remain unresolved.
The aim is to bring together technical expertise, schools and citizens, starting locally and considering inland and marine waters together.
To gather information, make it understandable, and recognise what we know and what we still need to verify.
To create opportunities for those who govern, manage and use water to discuss specific questions.
We can all contribute to this work of building knowledge and bringing people together.
Infrastructure design and the relevant decisions remain the responsibility of the competent bodies.
Part of our civic contribution is to make it harder to dismiss a complex issue with a slogan, whichever side happens to be using it.
Involving young people has particular value here.
It means encouraging them to follow water’s journey beyond the tap and beyond the drain; to ask where it comes from and where it ends up.
These questions seem simple only until we try to answer them properly.
We citizens also have our part to play: using water carefully, respecting the spaces through which it needs to flow, reporting problems and following up on the responses.
Responsibilities differ according to powers, resources and expertise.
Identifying them requires more precision than the vague assertion that “everyone is to blame” — a formula that frequently performs the miracle of leaving nobody accountable.
We can carry on saying, “It’s raining. Bloody government!”
It would be a shame to abandon such a well-tested line.
Once we have closed our umbrellas, however, we would do well to open the files: data, maintenance records, priorities, plans, timescales and results.
We cannot decide when the next storm will arrive.
We can work to ensure we are better prepared when it does.