Climbing Referendum: Chronicle of Vertical Rights | Alessandro Palma

“Attention, attention!”
The climbing referendum is approaching. The finest exponents of the parties of the Land of Rock are on the campaign trail: slogans, proclamations, and promises of free chalk for everyone. The goal: to win the votes of even the most isolated climbers.

The situation, however, is catastrophic. After the dark era when only those who opened impossible lines were considered worthy of speaking for the vertical people, a new generation began to make its voice heard. The old wooden wedges gave way to bolts, chipped holds, and the fiery debates of the ’80s: young rebels who wanted to free climbing from alpinism and turn it into a sport. A generation of idealists who now watch, dismayed, at the feuds of their descendants.

The new wave

In today’s glorious (or disastrous, depending on who you ask) present, the New School is scrapping the old. Their leader fires up the crowds shouting: “First reaction: kneebar!”

For him, every opportunity is good for jamming in a knee and letting go of the hands—even with two kneepads per leg, if anatomy only allowed it. Nothing can stop the portable fans sprouting beneath the crags like mushrooms, surrounded by cables, powerbanks, and Bluetooth speakers. Climbing now aspires to become a beach party with holds and footholds.

The International Climber Party preaches a world without borders: united crags, kneepads for everyone, and a future where the only limit is the size of your crash pad.

The guardians of the rock

Standing against them are the conservatives of the Timeless Rocks. They want a return to pure climbing: no technological gadgets, no roaring fans, no “kneebar parties.” For them, climbing only begins at 7a: everything else is luxury hiking, or at best, a stylish via ferrata.

Their slogan is clear: “Jam at home!”

The public showdown

The stage is set.

The spokesman of the new generation: “The old administrations destroyed legendary routes by chiseling everywhere. And they accuse us of being unethical! A working father who spends ten hours a day on the job—shouldn’t he have the right to a little fresh breeze while trying his project? What harm is there in a fan? It doesn’t carve anything, at most it ruffles your hair!” The crowd cheers, he switches on the fan, the stage looks like the air-conditioning aisle of a department store. “And rubber on the thigh? Do we really want to say no to progress? Then let’s go back to hemp ropes and heavy boots! Let’s burn crash pads in the square, like in the times of the Climbing Inquisition! No, we are the future: Liberté, égalité, ginocchié!”

The conservative leader won’t stand for it: “If you exist today, it’s only thanks to the Father Climbers, who opened mythical routes when you were still in diapers! Kneebars? Forget it—elegant lolottes, nothing else. With those hideous pads dangling from your thighs you look like you’re off to carnival! And you accuse us? We created icons, jobs, legends. Sure, a few chipped holds, but all statute-barred!”
The stadium erupts in applause and chants of “Make Falesia Great Again!”

Toward chaos

The debate turns into a stadium brawl. Some climb “old-school,” pulling hard, while others dance dynamically with kneebars every two meters. The heroes of the past remain sacred icons, though even they sometimes give in to the pleasures of a no-hand rest. Meanwhile, young moderns start to take a stand against the wild use of gadgets. Nobody looks for compromise anymore: only insults, shouting, and mockery.

And so, while the fan bases tear each other apart, two new extreme factions gain strength:

• the Party of Pure Resin (but only if eco-friendly, certified, and recyclable),
• and the Anarcho-Barefoot, who reject everything: climbing shoes, chalk, even ropes (“if you fall, you fall”).

Who will win the next round? Impossible to say.

And yet, one certainty remains: how wonderful it is to be under the rock, surrounded by such diverse sensitivities and ways of climbing. Of course, one rule should be carved (not literally) in stone: “my freedom under the rock ends where someone else’s begins.”