I chose Bologna for two reasons. The first was personal: I sought to connect more deeply with a major part of my family heritage and the culture of my upbringing. The second was experiential: I knew that direct matriculation at the University of Bologna would reframe my worldview, expose me to a different educational tradition, and challenge me to grasp Italian society as more of a local. Plus, Bologna is unlike elsewhere in Italy: fewer tourists, more young people. Medieval charm with modern flair. By studying in Italy, I didn’t seek to become a native Italian, nor could I. Yet in a program that focused more on carving out a space for us within Italian life, rather than simply hosting us as visiting American students, my connection to the city of Bologna—and the country as a whole—was far from superficial. As a result, my confrontation with my own cultural identity was far more intense than I had expected.
Piazza Maggiore, with the Basilica di San Petronio on the right.
I’d say that I have a big Italian-American family. We’re mostly spread across New York and New Jersey. A lot of us get together a few times a year, mostly for big holidays or celebrations. Christmas, baptisms, weddings, Easter, that kind of thing. I wasn’t raised Catholic, but religious or holiday celebrations are usually occasions to see my extended family. And every time, stories, laughs, and love abound. While my own great-grandparents came through Ellis Island in the early twentieth century, several cousins of ours followed in the mid-century. As a result, the majority of my still-living relatives were born and grew up in the United States, but my upbringing and family dynamics have also been shaped by an older generation of Sicilian-born relatives—speaking in dialect with one another, making traditional foods, and telling plenty of stories. We still use a plethora of phrases in our family’s dialect in my household today, phrases that my grandma and other relatives would use with my mom when she was growing up.
In short, I’ve always felt close to my Italian (particularly Sicilian) roots, and my family has kept several of our ancestors’ traditions and cultural practices alive. Plus, I grew up speaking a bit of standard Italian and later decided to formally study the language as a keyhole into the country of my roots, as a vital tool to further investigate my identity.
In Bologna, confrontations with my heritage started from our first day. When I introduced myself to my program’s administrators, they complimented my Italian and asked me if I grew up speaking or learning the language. I don’t have an Italian first or last name, so often when I introduce myself to people in Italy they are surprised or curious about my heritage. On my first day, I was already sharing and thinking about my upbringing.
Fireworks over Palazzo D’Accursio in October, with the silhouetted Fontana di Nettuno below.
Halfway through the term I visited a friend of mine and her family in Puglia. I’d never met her before in person and I’d never been to southern Italy. She and I had originally met virtually through a language exchange program I had participated in at Georgetown just over a year ago. At the end of this exchange, she told me that she and her family would always welcome me, and I told her that my family and I would always do the same. So, I went.
Eating dinner at home together the first night of my visit, she and her family were surprised that my Italian was strong and that I was so familiar with Italian culture, especially the regional idiosyncrasies of cuisine, history, language, and worldview. It was exhilarating to discover more and more similarities as I shared the Italian traditions of my upbringing and they clearly saw the throughlines. Several interactions over the course of the semester followed a similar trajectory, examining the differing cultural traditions between the Italian-American community of my upbringing and the diverse Italian communities I encountered.
The Ionian Sea from a rocky shore in the south of Puglia.
Before arriving in Bologna and during my semester, I was also aware of a somewhat alienating fact in my quest to explore my personal heritage. My ancestors never had the privilege to travel within Italy. In fact, the first time many of them left their village in Sicily for an extended period of time was to come to the United States. My great-grandmother, for example, left our family’s village and never returned. She never saw her parents again. Never saw her relatives, until her younger sister came with her family in the 1960s. The realities of Italy I was experiencing were far removed from the realities of Italy my ancestors experienced.
In this way, I’ve considered myself as participating in a trans-generational and century-long boomerang. My ancestors left Italy around a century ago, and this year, I returned to a different part of the country as an American, carrying our family’s culture with me. My mom had made the same journey when she was my age, exploring Italy and all that it gave us to understand how our family’s past has shaped us. My grandma didn’t have this privilege. She carried her Italian heritage proudly, but xenophobia, hate, and pressure to assimilate stifled her own exploration. Ultimately, this tradition of exploration and simply knowing our roots, knowing our family history, is something I will pass on to my children.
Into the future, I have my sights set on Sicily and my family’s ancestral home. Seeing the town, breathing the air, hearing the language. Walking the streets. Thinking, reflecting. Understanding. Bologna shared infinite wisdom with me. Yet visiting Sicily is what I know I must do to truly complete this boomerang.
A saying I learned this semester is chi non risica non rosica. Who doesn’t risk doesn’t gain. My ancestors sacrificed to give me a profound, indescribable gift and privilege. They gave me a life and opportunity they never had and knew their descendants would never have if they had stayed in Italy. I’ll carry the magical, exciting memories of Bologna with me forever. I’ll carry the learning. Yet what I will cherish most intensely is the recognition that I will never take my family’s sacrifices for granted. I will honor their stories and lives. And I will celebrate the cultural wonders, pure humanity, and love they have all gifted me.
The main clock tower and courtyard of the Archiginnasio, part of the University of Bologna from 1563 to 1803.
Above all else, I will continue to explore. Bologna was a beginning. Grasping the complexities of my heritage is a project I know I will never complete in my lifetime. Yet it is through my journey towards understanding that I know I will uncover the greatest wisdom.
Logan Richman (SFS’25) is an undergraduate student in the School of Foreign Service at Georgetown University, concentrating in international politics with a focus on human rights and governance. Originally from New Jersey, Logan is studying at the University of Bologna in Bologna, Italy for the fall 2023 semester. At Georgetown, he has helped manage the Free Speech Project and has worked with humanitarian nonprofits through Georgetown Global Consulting. Off campus, he has worked for the National Endowment for Democracy. In his free time, Logan enjoys making music, writing, and traveling. He looks forward to participating in this year’s cohort and learning from his peers’ international experiences!
