Pasolini: A Voice Murdered, A Mirror to Civilization

Photo from “La ricotta” a film directed by Pasolini starring Orson Wells

In memory of Pasolini’s death in Nov 2nd 1975.

Pier Paolo Pasolini was killed by an Italian in 1975. He was stabbed, beaten, silenced — but his voice still speaks. He was not just a poet; he was one of the most daring filmmakers of the 20th century. His vision was radical, tender, and brutal all at once. He made The Gospel According to St. Matthew, a film about Jesus that unexpectedly became a favorite of the Vatican. And yet, the same Vatican banned his short film La Ricotta, in which Orson Welles appeared. This contradiction alone shows how disruptive he was: he could touch the sacred while exposing the hypocrisies of power.

Pasolini once said that the three most important figures in his life were Jesus, Freud, and Antonio Gramsci. His destiny, in many ways, was like Jesus: a life of confrontation, sacrifice, and speaking truth. He resigned from the Italian Communist Party, disillusioned by compromise, and remained politically independent. His final film, Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom, denounced totalitarianism from right and left. It showed how extremes, whether political or cultural, can dehumanize and enslave people. Civilization and cruelty merge in Salò, creating a vision of horror that feels prophetic even today.

From my encounters with about twenty Italians living in New York, I noticed that when I told them I admired Pasolini, they called him a pervert. Most had never seen his films. Leftist, controversial, misunderstood — they found excuses to hate him. Pasolini’s murder was not simply a crime of passion. The official story points to a young man, Giuseppe “Pino” Pelosi, but suspicions of higher-level involvement remain. His death was symbolic: a blow to democracy and freedom of speech in Italy. His critique that Italy is “Third World” culturally and morally remains as true today as it was then.

People who believe artists should be killed because of their political opinions are no different from the Islamic terrorist regime in Iran. They repeat a single, absurd word — “leftist” — as if that alone justifies murder. I am not a communist, and I have never accepted communism, yet I see clearly that such radical thinking only promotes totalitarianism. It is the same logic as McCarthyism, which ironically helped the Soviet system. What kind of barbarism is this — killing a filmmaker because of his films? Because of his ideas? Because he dared to speak the truth? This is not political debate; it is criminality masquerading as ideology. Pasolini’s murder shows what happens when society allows fear, labels, and ignorance to override conscience. It is a warning that violence in the name of politics or culture is always destructive — and always stupid.

I remember when I was in New York City and spoke to an average Italian woman working in an art gallery. She said Pasolini “deserved to die.” She had married for a green card. Other Italians I spoke to expressed hatred for him as well, and when I asked why, they simply said, “We don’t like to watch.” They had never seen his films. Some labeled him leftist — and in their minds, that was reason enough to justify his death. I said to them, “So, Mussolini’s children?”

This reminded me of the Iranian regime, where writers and artists were secretly executed, their only crime being leftist ideas. I remember back in 2000, in Iran, my great friend Mr. Behzad Shekarchi — mime actor and student of the amazing Iranian artist Mr. Sirous Shamlou— gave us a VHS cassette of a Pasolini movie. Shamloo was the son of one of the most important contemporary Iranian poets.

We were careful not to be arrested by the Iran Revolutionary Guard. Watching any VHS without government permission was forbidden. Pasolini was banned under the Islamic regime. At the same time, his last movie, Salò, was banned worldwide. Watching it could carry punishment; if caught, they would lash you according to Islamic law. One friend, Mr. Behzad Shekarchi, was arrested and beaten with 80 lashes. Later, Behzad was killed — officially called an accident.

Salò remains the most realistic depiction of the terror and moral corruption that any regime — Italian, Iranian, or otherwise — can produce. Yet authorities labeled his work “pornography.” They allowed only certain parts of his films about Jesus, as Vatican-approved, to be shown — but banned the rest, even films featuring Orson Welles. Italians called him perverse, while Hollywood collaborated with him.

Pasolini also understood that Italy, culturally, was not above the Middle East. This insight feels truer the more I travel. I have lived among Iranians, Israelis, Arabs, and Turks, and I have seen violence — but in New York City, I have seen people even worse. People who know nothing about culture, who never learned how to drink coffee, shave properly, or wear perfume — yet they live under the brand of “NYC” and believe they are sophisticated. People who cannot control their greed, their anger, even their basic decency.

The Revolutionary Guard in Iran and the hostility of Italians in New York are two sides of the same coin. Both react with fear and aggression when confronted with ideas, art, or truth. Fascism and radicalism share the same root: intolerance of thought, fear of ideas, and the desire to control narratives. Whether enforced through chains, lashing, social condemnation, or murder, the mechanisms are similar. Pasolini’s life and death reveal that wherever ideology replaces conscience, power silences courage — and humanity suffers.

We live in a world of murderers, where excuses for killing can be nonsense, absurd, or ideological. But these excuses are empty. Torture and violence cannot be justified. Pasolini understood this and showed it with unflinching clarity in Salò, where civilization and cannibalism merge into one horrifying truth. Watching the world today, I often feel I am living inside Salò.

I have said this to the Iranian regime. I have said it to Turkey, Israel, Muslims, and Russians. But here in New York City, I see the same sickness: people who think that simply belonging to a group makes them right. Police who torture with impunity. And who stops them?

A woman, 65, French, once called me “ridiculous” because of my book. I watch European citizens in America, greedy and self-important, and I ask myself: what gives them superiority? I have met people from poorer, harsher places who are far more human.

The real problem is when cannibalism becomes part of civilization. That is what Pasolini tried to warn us about. Behind the polished faces of power — political, religious, or cultural — there is violence, greed, and hypocrisy. And he was murdered for daring to reveal it.

Yes, Pasolini was a communist, but more than ideology, he was a visionary. He is like a Hermann Rorschach test on fascism: his work reveals the hidden violence and contradictions of society, forcing us to confront what we refuse to see. His death was a blow to democracy and freedom of speech in Italy, and a warning to the world.

I write this in his memory. Pasolini is important — not just for Italy, but for the world. He forces us to look at ourselves without illusions.

Photo: Pasolini’s body discovered at Ostia

Photo: Pasolini’s Funeral in Rome