Near Padua, in the village of Tencarola, there is a community and cooperative of handicapped and non-handicapped people that deserves to be known. I went, I saw, and I came to know the Girasole cooperative—and what I found struck me as genuinely remarkable. The trajectory of its growth, the results it has achieved, the quality of its human and institutional relationships, and its staying power (it was six years old when I visited) all point to something worth studying. I want to describe its history and structure in detail, because it contains many elements that make it a model and inspiration for similar initiatives elsewhere.
Giancarlo and Sandro, from Tencarola, were conscientious objectors doing volunteer service at small "Focolare" houses affiliated with the local psychiatric hospital. These houses sheltered people of various ages—some with mental illness, others young people struggling to find their place in society. In the face of such diverse needs, there was no way to provide the structured education and support those young handicapped people needed to grow and integrate into the wider world. Giancarlo and Sandro proposed to the local authorities that a dedicated residential and work community be established in an empty Focolare house. Red tape killed the idea. Shortly after, the local pastor—who believed in the project—offered the initiative use of four fields and an old house, property of the parish. And so the Girasole residential community and agricultural cooperative was born, with nine founding members and all the proper legal and administrative structures for such an undertaking. It was, in a sense, a leap into the unknown. A small initial capital came from the parish and from families who had been won over to the vision.
Two problems emerged at once. Some of the young people had disabilities too severe for field work. And in winter there was no agricultural work to do at all. So they started an assembly workshop in rooms of the old house. Friends who worked in suitable businesses made the first contacts for contract work. The workshop took the form of a proper registered business. The first orders arrived: assembly of sink drains with plugs, metal fasteners with plastic closures, toy packaging, light fixtures, and more.
A "Special" Municipality
After two years, as Emanuela, a community worker, explained, people felt the need for less repetitive work—work with more therapeutic value. Rita and Maria had spent a year working unpaid at a textile company to learn the craft. We set up a bookbinding workshop and a weaving workshop, which they run. We work for private clients and businesses. We make curtains, bedspreads, carpets, leather woven goods.
Soon it made sense to close that separate business and fold the work back into the cooperative, which we converted from purely agricultural to mixed.
The community is made up of handicapped young people and staff workers (all cooperative members), conscientious objectors in service, and friends.
The staff are paid according to the metalworkers' union contract. The young people also receive a wage—a reduced one—so they develop a real sense of the value of work and money. Everyone working in the cooperative has a proper social security record, though that costs dearly. When a major expense comes up, the members meet and decide to give up part of their wages for as long as needed.
Here's an example. In the fields, Emanuela explained, we were growing corn. In 1982 we decided to put up greenhouses to produce higher-value crops. We got a chance to buy some used hothouses. We dismantled them and rebuilt them in our fields. That year we decided to give up half our wages—except for some of the young people whose families were already struggling. Recently we've started growing vegetables. They require more labor, but they sell better. We have four market stalls, in Sarmeola, Tencarola, Bresseo, and Montegrotto. We also sell directly from our greenhouses.
To give each person the chance to develop the gifts they have, to grow, to have dignity—even through work
To give each person the chance to develop the gifts they have, to grow, to have dignity—even through work.This year we managed to buy a tractor.
I would see it later, during a walk through the fields, the greenhouses, the old house, the workshops, and the new residence. The new house, in the neighboring municipality of Selvazzano, hosts the young people and conscientious objectors who live in community—beautiful, spacious, well-designed. Next to it, the ground has been broken for another building that will eventually house the workshops, which for now are still in the original house and another building some distance away.
That new house left me stunned. I have seen enough strained and difficult relationships between disability initiatives and public authorities to know how rare this is. The Selvazzano Dentro municipality had the house built specifically to mark 1981, the International Year of the Disabled. The house cost 252 million lire. A second phase of construction—for craft workshops, a medical clinic, administrative offices, changing rooms, and facilities—will add another 358 million lire. The entire expense came from the municipal budget. As for the legal arrangement: the municipality rents the house to the local health authority (more or less symbolically), which then assigned it to Girasole in trust.
The relationship with institutions—of which this house is the most visible sign—was good from the start. The municipality initially paid per diem fees for the young people living in the community and contributed to workshop costs. In 1984 a formal agreement was drawn up with the health authority. For the record, the municipality is governed by the Christian Democrats. Of course, the relationship between community and municipality is not always perfect. There have been objections, for instance, to the staff size and to the fact that handicapped young people receive a "wage" (this year about 100,000 lire a month, plus contributions for future pensions).
How Girasole Works
Today, as Manuela explained, Girasole has 45 members. Twenty are young people with psychological disabilities and some physical components—all self-sufficient. Nine are staff workers. Four are conscientious objectors directed here by the Venice Caritas. The rest are friends who donate their professional skills or give us work.
Five of the young people with the most difficult family situations (some, for example, had been kept isolated) live in the house. Of these, three work in our workshops, one attends school to become a tourism operator, one works for a construction cooperative. The other young people go home in the evening. One lives here several days a month when he needs therapy that puts him under severe stress. Another young man will join us in a few days, and we have other applications under review. In summer we all go camping together.
I asked if there are problems in choosing conscientious objectors.
Before we accept them, came the answer, we ask them to live in community for about ten days—or at minimum to spend time with us in community life. Usually that's enough for us to know, and especially for them to know, whether it's the right choice.
How do you get along with people in the village? With some, well; with other neighbors there is suspicion, sometimes tension. We always try to help the young people integrate into the wider community, but we find it difficult.
What unites you staff and friends? What drew you to this choice? Do you share common religious and ideological reasons?
It's something we've never discussed in depth. We've preferred to keep it in each person's private sphere. Certainly, what we share is respect for the person, whoever they are, and the conviction that everyone should be given the chance to develop the gifts they have, to grow, to have dignity—even through work. Some of us have a strong religious motivation and have dedicated ourselves in that light. Others appear non-religious, though I believe that at bottom, even if unexpressed, they hold a Christian understanding of life and humanity.
So the initiative has no explicit religious content. How does the parish take that?
They have always given us full support. There was no Mass at the inauguration of the new house. But many of us take part in the Eucharist. The priests and pastor visit us, stay to eat with us. The handicapped young people enjoy being with them because they feel accepted as they are.
How did you divide up the work and responsibilities? People come here, find their place, and take on tasks according to their capacities and aspirations. That way, the division of labor emerged almost naturally, shaped by what needed doing.
How do you relate to families? There is continuous contact—to inform them and discuss practical problems with them, and to work through the behavioral changes we see the young people need to make.
How does the community make important decisions about pedagogy? How do you make choices that touch on the philosophy of growth for handicapped people, given that you don't share a common religious, cultural, or political outlook?
The leaders (staff and conscientious objectors) meet and discuss the issue. So far, each time we have reached decisions that everyone agrees on.
Why Aren't There More Places Like This?
Manuela told me all of this—the history, the details, the ideas, the problems, the plans—as we walked through the Girasole grounds. The old parish house with wooden floors, creaking stairs, song lyrics on the walls—where the community first lived, now housing the assembly workshops. The other house with the weaving workshop, where Rita stayed late to finish an urgent job, and the bookbinding studio. The greenhouses where some young people and volunteers were selling seedlings to customers. The new house, welcoming, rational, well-made.
As I left, I found myself wondering: if this was possible in one small village, why is it so hard in so many other places and in institutions far larger and more important?
— Sergio Sciascia, 1985