NAPLES — The lookouts spot us in seconds. "Maria! Maria!" they shout, raising the alarm with their code word for "police." Trying to stay calm, we go in the building anyway, and find that every window has been shattered. The concrete and marble have been ripped apart as if by a giant claw. The elevators are gone. Broken pipes spew water everywhere and the floors are covered with garbage. The air smells of smoke from a fire outside.
The carcass of a car, its roof ripped off, lies in the basement. "Behold the new Fiat Cabriolet," says one of our escorts.
Incredibly, the place is still occupied even though it looks like a bomb site and has been condemned as unsafe. A mother and her daughter scurry by, giving us a curious look before they disappear. A simple wooden chair occupies a long open corridor on one of the upper levels. It's where the drug dealer sits while plying his trade.
We're in Scampia, the district at the north end of Naples that represents the dark side of Italy, the one that tourists aren't told about and the nation's politicians, facing an election in April, would rather forget. Never in 25 years as a working journalist in four countries have I seen such shocking urban decay and desolation. It's clear why Antonino Puglisi, the city's police chief, insists that the only way to come here is with an armed guard.
Picture taken Nov. 2, 2006 of the near the Italian southern city of Naples and the Vesuvio volcan. The then Italian prime minister Romano Prodi pledged a 'national effort' to fight organized crime in Naples. (Mario Laporta/AFP/Getty Images)
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We talk to Mr. Puglisi in his wood-panelled office in downtown Naples, a comfortable distance from the horror of Scampia. At first, he is in very good spirits. His detectives have just nailed Vincenzo (Fatso) Licciardi, one of the top bosses in the homegrown Mafia, known as the Camorra. The canyons of rotting refuse — the overflow from overfed dumps that had to stop taking garbage just before Christmas — are slowly being cleared with the help of the Italian army.
Naples, he explains, is just another big city with big-city problems; some get fixed, some don't.
"Other than the garbage, nothing in particular stands out" as a problem, he says. "The United States has gangs, we have the Camorra. We have four million inhabitants and there are a hundred murders a year."
His underlying message: The persistent portrayal of his "beautiful city" as an ungovernable, violent mess is either untrue or exaggerated.
Then, we announce that we plan to visit Scampia and Mr. Puglisi's mood suddenly changes. A few minutes later, two officers of the Squadra Volante, the emergency squad, appear and instruct us to follow their blue and white Alfa Romeo patrol car.
CHAPTER 1:
BEAUTY AND BEAST
The police chief is right, of course. His city is incredibly beautiful. Founded by the Greeks more than 2,500 years ago as Neapolis (New City) on a sweeping bay in the Tyrrhenian Sea, framed by Mount Vesuvius to the east and the island of Capri to the west, it and the surrounding region of Campania have a reputation as paradise on Earth.
The emperor Tiberius was so enthralled that he essentially ran the Roman empire from a hilltop villa on Capri for much of his reign. And for decades the Amalfi Coast south of Naples has been a magnet for movie stars, writers such as Gore Vidal and Virginia Woolf, dynasties such as the Kennedys and the ultrawealthy. The yachts of billionaires plug the marinas, and many Romans consider Naples more beautiful and lively than the Eternal City, with better food and weather — and a population famous for its charm, generosity and friendliness.
Even so, Naples may be the worst-governed city in Europe's worst-governed country.
Overflowing garbage has been a problem for almost two decades. Local cancer rates are well above the national average, probably because leaky dumps brimming with illegal toxic waste — courtesy of the Mob — are contaminating the ground water. As well as being routine, the Camorra's internecine wars can be extremely violent and sometimes kill or harm innocent bystanders; two years ago, a stray bullet hit a Canadian tourist in the leg. The army has to be called in every few years to shore up the police or clean the streets. The port of Naples is known to be a major contraband and narcotics transfer point. Corruption, poverty and general lawlessness are rife. Ditto for much of the surrounding region. Even sales of its famous cheese — mozzarella di bufala — have tumbled.
In fact, cursed Campania arguably contributed to the downfall last month of the centre-left government of prime minister Romano Prodi.
The chain of events started in January, when Clemente Mastella, Mr. Prodi's justice minister and a Campania resident, and his wife were made the subject of a criminal investigation. The allegation, which both deny, is that they manipulated appointments at the local hospital for political reasons. Mr. Mastella resigned, then yanked the support of his tiny, three-senator party from the ruling coalition.
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