It Takes a Village

Throughout Italian history, wine (for the most part) wasn’t a luxury, a collectible, or a conversation starter; rather, it was food put daily on the table as part of every meal.

A single family in rural Italy would likely be farming and producing a number of different products, such as bread, olive oil, vegetables, and often wine, making the most of the land available. Vines grew next to wheat and fruit trees, and winemaking happened in cellars attached to homes. Consequently, wine was consumed daily, sold within the village, or exchanged directly for labour, to the point that in many areas it even functioned as an informal currency.

Quality mattered, but not in the modern sense: wine needed to be stable, nourishing, and drinkable. It was part of everyday life, something to be shared during regular family dinners, after a long day of work. Understanding this mindset is essential to understanding why cooperatives exist and why they remain one of the most misunderstood pillars of Italian wine today.

Small Plots, Hard Lives

Unlike France, where large estates and consolidated land ownership were common, Italy developed as a patchwork of tiny parcels. Inheritance laws divided the land even further, generation after generation, leaving families with vineyards measured in rows rather than hectares; as a result, many growers farmed multiple crops just to survive.

Winemaking knowledge in the late 1700s and early 1800s was still developing. Hygiene was inconsistent, fermentation unpredictable, and storage limited. Most growers lacked the capital or equipment to bottle wine themselves, and as a result, much of Italy’s production was sold in bulk, often through intermediaries.
As you can imagine, margins were thin, since winegrowers essentially had no bargaining power; and yet, this system endured, largely because there was a place to send the wine rather than throwing it away.

The Perfect Storm

Part 1: A Complicated Relationship

For much of the 18th and 19th centuries, Italian winegrowers lived in the shadow of France for several reasons, among which were some economic and cultural factors.
In fact, though wine production had very deep historical roots in Italy, at that time France was the benchmark for winemaking. Its regions benefited from larger estates, inherited and expanded over many generations, earlier access to capital, evolving winemaking techniques, and established export networks. This was not accidental: land and wealth were consolidated through vassalage and nobility, political power was centralised, and trade was outward-looking. These conditions allowed French wine regions to professionalise generations before Italy could, a country that remained fragmented, rural, and focused on local consumption. This imbalance created a relationship that became essential for the history of winemaking and yet was deeply asymmetrical.

Large volumes of Italian wine (especially from the south and from high-yield areas in the northeast) were sold in bulk to France. These wines were rarely bottled or identified as Italian and were instead blended into French production to add alcohol, colour, or volume, particularly in weaker vintages. For Italian growers, the margins were modest, but the income was vital for their survival; at that time (and remember the humble origins) cash flow mattered way more than recognition.

Italy became the quiet and unsung backbone of French wine production: always present, useful, but largely invisible. At first, the system seemed sustainable, even beneficial; but it left Italian growers dangerously exposed.

When phylloxera devastated most of the French vineyards, the demand for Italian bulk wine initially surged. But this was obviously not sustainable, and it did not last; France slowly recovered, and the political climate shifted quickly. Protecting domestic agriculture became a priority for their government, and Italy went from necessary supplier to unwelcome competitor (thank you very much, France!).

The breaking point came with a tariff war, during which France imposed heavy duties on imported Italian wine, effectively cutting off a market that many Italian growers relied on. For farmers already operating on thin margins, the impact was brutal, and wine that once had an outlet suddenly had none. Prices collapsed, debt mounted, and rural poverty deepened.

This wasn’t just a commercial dispute: it was a structural shock that exposed how fragile the Italian system was when growers operated alone.

Part 2: The Bloody Bug Reaches Italy

And then, when phylloxera landed in Italy, the disaster expanded to the vineyards themselves, and the fragile system was thrown into a full-blown crisis. Entire vineyards were wiped out, and most small producers simply did not have the technical expertise and capital required to graft vines. And since exports were blocked, the domestic markets were flooded, while vineyards were dying.
As you can imagine, many rural communities faced ruin, which gave way to a surge in emigration, increased social tensions, and shifted the focus towards survival.

This convergence of factors – phylloxera, tariff barriers, land fragmentation, and chronic poverty – created the conditions for something new to emerge.

Faith, Socialism, and Collective Survival

Thanks to all these factors, by the turn of the 20th century, cooperation had already taken root among Italian winegrowers, though it took different shapes. Italy was politically fragmented, had a rainbow of ideologies, and social tensions were mounting. Yet, across regions and belief systems, one reality remained constant: individual farmers were struggling to survive.

It is at this point that two major, albeit unrelated, forces helped legitimise collective action.

On one side, socialist movements promoted cooperation to protect workers and small producers from exploitation, encouraging shared ownership, pooled resources, and collective bargaining. This influence was particularly strong in parts of central and northern Italy (Tuscany, Emilia Romagna, Liguria, and more).

On the other, the Catholic Church played a crucial role in normalising cooperation in deeply rural and conservative areas, when Pope Leo XIII’s 1891 encyclical Rerum Novarum formally recognised the dignity of labour and the right of workers and farmers to organise in associations for mutual protection. This endorsement mattered enormously in the countryside, where the Church was often the most trusted and stable institution (maybe even the only one).

Interestingly, these two forces did not always work together (perhaps they didn’t need to), as cooperatives were often born out of necessity and not ideology.
This was especially true in places like Veneto: in many parts of northern Italy (historically close to the King) the loyalty to fascism was generally strong during the interwar years and there was not much space for socialism, so the push toward uniting winegrowers was purely practical.

Small landholdings, volatile prices, limited access to credit, and dependence on intermediaries left growers exposed regardless of political alignment. Cooperatives offered something concrete: a shared infrastructure, guaranteed grape intake, and a degree of economic stability. There was no reason to say no!

Then came World War II, with its devastating impact on Italian (and European) agriculture. So many lives were lost, materials were scarce, food shortages widespread, and vineyards were neglected or destroyed. The wine production dropped sharply, and what little was produced was often consumed locally or requisitioned. And yet, lo and behold, the cooperative model proved resilient.

After the war, Italy – like many countries around Europe – faced the task of rebuilding itself from the ground up, and cooperatives (not only those focusing on wine) became essential to this recovery. They allowed farmers and growers to restart production collectively, access reconstruction funds, invest in shared equipment, and of course to modernise winemaking practices at a scale no individual farmer could afford. In addition, in many areas cooperatives were not just economic engines, but social anchors providing stability to rural communities at a moment when emigration once again was spiking.

It is incredible how something that began as a way to survive could evolve into a structured, innovative, and professional system capable of producing not just volume, but quality.

From Cantine Sociali to Modern Wineries

By the early 20th century, cooperatives had become a defining feature of Italian wine, with many evolving from simple production facilities into highly structured organisations with professional management, technical teams, and long-term investment strategies.
Some of today’s most respected cantine sociali trace their roots to this period, and here are two examples that we have the pleasure to work with:

In Apulia, Crifo represents thousands of small growers who collectively transformed a once-exploited region into one of Italy’s most dynamic wine areas. 
In Veneto, Cantine di Monteforte demonstrates how cooperatives can champion terroir-driven wines while ensuring economic stability for their members.

These are not exceptions: they are mature expressions of a system that learned, adapted, and improved. I’ll write about them soon enough. ;)
Different Landscapes, Same Logic
Cooperatives thrive across Italy, though their roles vary by region.

In the north, they often focus on managing fragmented or mountainous vineyards, investing in tech and infrastructure with a shared cost, and applying strict quality protocols tied to appellations that need to be protected.

While in the south, cooperatives historically played a crucial role in protecting growers from exploitation and giving them more control and bargaining power, stabilising income in high-yield regions, and transitioning from bulk wine to bottled, origin-focused production (again, Crifo is a great example).

Today, most cooperatives operate with clear quality tiers, from everyday wines to single-vineyard and premium bottlings, which means that the same “producer” can have many different labels, with different price points and quality level, and even production facilities.

I’m Not a Cheap-o!!

And this is one of the most persistent myths around cooperatives that I want to dispel: they DO NOT produce only cheap, anonymous wine. In fact, quite the opposite!

While cooperatives account for a significant share of Italy’s total wine production, many of them receive consistent international recognition, and their portfolios often span multiple styles, terroir, and price levels.

If you really wanted to compare the winemaking approach between a cooperative and a family-owned company, the defining trait would be that of shared ownership and a long-term view that prioritises sustainability over individual gain.
When choosing who to work with, we made a conscious decision.

Our Choice

Today, there seems to be an overwhelming obsession with personal branding, with being seen and feeling (allegedly) unique, that spans all aspects of our lives. Personally, I do not like it. When it comes to winemaking, I have immense respect for the risk taken by individual producers who turned a dream into a beautiful reality (Cantine Dei and Poderesette are fantastic examples), but it feels strangely refreshing to know that cooperatives exist and remain quietly radical, contributing to keep people on the land, preserve agricultural landscapes, and turn vulnerability into strength.
There is incredible pride in this, and honour too.

I’m happy I wrote about cantine sociali; understanding this reality gives you an insight on how wine is not necessarily a luxury product (maybe it shouldn’t be one at all), but it is part of a social and agricultural system built by people coming together.

After all, great wine has never been a solo act.