Roberto Saviano: Italy’s African Heroes
WHEN I was a teenager here, kids used to shoot dogs in the head. It was a way of gaining confidence with a gun, of venting your rage on another living creature. Now it seems human beings are used for target practice.
This month, rioting by African immigrants broke out in Rosarno, in southern Italy, after at least one immigrant was shot with an air rifle. The riots were widely portrayed as clashes between immigrants and native Italians, but they were really a revolt against the ’Ndrangheta, the powerful Calabrian mafia. Anyone who seeks to negate or to minimize this motive is not familiar with these places where everything — jobs, wages, housing — is controlled by criminal organizations.
The episode in Rosarno was the second such uprising against organized crime in Italy in the last few years. The first took place in 2008 in Castel Volturno, a town near Naples, where hit men from the local mob, the Camorra, killed six Africans. The massacre was intended to intimidate, but it set off the immigrants’ anger instead.
Ah! How did I miss this.
Florence, no sleep, arriving only to discover that Spring had gotten here first. Italian hayfever meds leave a lot to be desired, but they also leave you with a light chemical buzz all day, which if mixed with enough tobacco and caffeine can get borderline interesting.
Well not really.
Florence, like Venice, is tourist hell. But, it just makes dinner and lunch (and brunch) all the more interesting, walking in zig zags across the city with no set destination, trying to find the legit spots, and after a few hours being rewarded with some truly mindblowing food.
Partner (1968/Bertolucci)
