DOCUMENTARY

Rosarno
Struggling against xenophobia and exploitation, African migrants try to survive in Italy.
Text and photos by Martin Edström

While migrants were living in Rosarno, the houses and walls were kept as clean as possible. After the January incident, however, migrants carved their messages in stone.

One Italian boy came to get five of us – five
of us, to come and work. When we got to the
house, his father came out and asked, “Where
are the people I asked you to go and get?” The
boy answered, “Here they are.” The father
said, “What do you mean, where?” “They are
standing right here,” the boy said. Then the
father said, “No, I do not want those. Take
them back, and get whites.” Why? Because we
are black.
country, Ghana, he fled through Libya and
got to Italy by boat. Not a regular ferry
though. He went over the Mediterranean
on a small rubber dingy, with twenty-
something people on board, set to sea
by Libyan smugglers who charge steep
prices for nothing but a chance. Few
make the journey. Yusif did, and came to
Italy in hope of a better life. By definition,
he is a migrant. Though, his tale is that of
a refugee – escaping home for an endless
Rosarno. Like most he found it peaceful;
like a few, he found a job. Migrants are
often employed at the large fruit farms
in southern Italy, picking citrus for half
the wage of an Italian worker. Living
with some eight hundred refugees and
migrants in a derelict warehouse, Yusif
got to work on the fields for a couple
of days. Then unfolded the events that
would bring media attention from all
over the world.

T his story is told by Gibirine Yusif

Mohammed. He is twenty-seven,
and black. Escaping his home
road, sojourned in a country without
signposts.
This New Year, Yusif found himself in
On January 7, a migrant was shot
outside the factory, supposedly by an
Italian. Caught off guard and without

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Emma is growing up in Castel Volturno, born here two years ago. Her mother, seen in the background, lives in fear of the Carabinieri - hiding Emma each time they pay a
visit.
any explanation, almost all migrants in
Rosarno raged against this hate-crime
– staging a demonstration at the town
square, they demanded attention from
officials.
But, this turned into a violent clash,
as a mob of Italian youngsters (men only)
came to confront the migrant gathering.
Four more migrants were shot, and twenty
were seriously injured. The following
night, the Carabinieri (Italian military
police) brought in buses to evacuate all
the North African migrants, for fear for
their lives.
“When we moved about town, and
the people saw we were immigrants, they
started beating us. They wanted to come
and fight us. Police tried to stop them,
but, said to us that if we did not leave
the place... if we did not take these buses
or leave on our own... then, whatever
happened, whatever happened the next
day, would be our own fault,” Yusif
recalls.
Right after the incident, when migrants
had fled, the media arrived. Journalists
from all over the world reported about
the conflict in Rosarno – exposing the
racism and xenophobia Italian media had
failed to report on. There are few among
the Italian population who take sides
with the migrants, and very few who do
in public.
Having helped migrants organise
themselves in unions for years, Pepe
Pugliesi is one of them. He has been
forced to a life in secrecy, out of public
sight. He is under constant threat of
attack from the Ndrangheta – the Mafia
ruling Calabria and the southern parts
of Italy – for helping the migrants who
could otherwise be exploited without
resistance.
Pugliesi talks about the bubble that
burst. When attention came to Rosarno,
it was long overdue, “Journalists were
shocked, when they came to Rosarno.
Nothing prepared them for what they
saw. Not only were they shocked by the
incident itself, but, by the living conditions
of the migrants. Human beings not living
in human conditions. It was horrible, and
still is.”
Bringing light onto Rosarno meant
questioning the Italian government
policies on migration, and media stirred
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what had been stale for a while. Silvio
Berlusconi’s government declared a zero-
tolerance policy on the misuse and abuse of
migrants.
But, after the incident in January,
media attention came to a halt.
What happened to Yusif, and the eight
hundred people who fled with him?
T he tracks lead north, to the small
village, Castel Volturno, close to
Naples. Here, Yusif and his friends
have found refuge. Castel Volturno is a
sanctuary of sorts – providing temporary
home to over seven thousand migrants
without documents or permit to stay.
Though safe and lodged for the time
being, Castel Volturno has become a
slum out of the wreckage that is Italian
integration.
Migrants are left alone, seldom in
touch with the Italy outside. Instead, they
have got problems with the authorities
and police. At a ramshackle bar in Castel
Voltorno, sits thirty-seven-year-old
Fredric from Ghana, who talks about
the constant abuse from the people in
command.
March/April 2010 27
Yusif, 27, Ghana. Escaping home meant risking his life; returning means the same, as his family is in danger because of their political views.

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Housing for migrants in southern Italy is always on the outskirts of towns, in the fields and in derelict buildings. Some find cottages or small apartments, but most end up
in places like this.

Toilets are the biggest problem for migrants and refugees, as living in an abandoned factory limits access to any kind of sanitary environment. Trash is ever present, as is
its smell.

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The opening of one of the silos that have sheltered migrants in Rosarno. Originally, the silos were meant to store oil, gas and water.

The stench of rotten food is heavy in the air. Tents, clothes and personal items are littered inside the factory, and by now looted by the locals.

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Men lived their lives inside a single factory, in silos and in tents. Initially built for heavy industry processing, it instead became home to over eight-hundred migrants.

Migrants spend many days applying for documents, getting a permit-to-stay is what stands between having a job or not. In the trash left behind, remain passports, photos
and notes, telling everything about the hurry in which they left.

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Southern Italy houses the poorest area of the country - in contrast to Berlusconi’s Milan, these villages are slums. Italian locals live in what is considered bad conditions,
and migrants even worse.
“ I was asleep in my house, about one
in the morning. I do not know how they
got inside and could open the door. I was
asleep. When I opened my eyes, I saw
three Carabinieri. Three soldiers, looking
for drugs. They asked where my drugs
were, but I told them that I do no do drugs.
I have not even seen drugs with my eyes
before. And, when Carabinieri come, they
control you. They lock you somewhere,
search your room, take everything you
have. Even mobile phones, they take.
Money. Everything. But the next day,
you can not report them – they are the
police,” Fredric describes.
The migrants in Castel Volturno are
caught between authorities – not getting
residence permits (a prerequisite for jobs),
given the complexity of governmental
procedures. At Confederazione Generale
Italiana del Lavoro, Italy’s largest labour
organisation, migrants are becoming
an increasingly big section of the
membership. While the government
falters in supporting the migrants and
protecting their rights, the labour
organisation battles the obstacles of
bureaucracy on a daily basis – an uphill
32 March/April 2010
battle at every turn.
“There is one big problem. The Italian
government does not want immigrants
to come here. They just want them out
of Italy,” says Claudio Del’Aquila of the
confederazione.
When most fled to Castel Volturno,
only a few migrants stayed in Rosarno.
The derelict warehouse, which earlier
housed hundreds, stands as a haunted
monument to the power of racial hatred.
Soon, there would not be any trace,
whatsoever, of the migrants that once
lived their lives here.
Among the few who stayed back in
Rosarno, none live in the open. In one of
the orange plantations out of town, on
the mud among the citrus trees, a small
plywood cabin houses some of them.
Afraid to be discovered by the police,
they do not use a generator because of
the sound. They do not have running
water. On the mud floor, a single candle
is their only light.
The guys living here, all North African,
share a bottle of champagne and smoke
cigarettes.
“I have got no nothing. No money, no
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documents. I hope to get a job in Rosarno
after all this is over. I had some money,
but I sent it home to my family. So what
can we do? If I do not smoke or drink, I
can not sleep,” says Siriman.
Siriman is eighteen. He came here
from Mali.
Two hundred miles north, in Castel
Volturno, sits Yusif, who did not dare to
stay. Both regret ever coming to Italy.
As always – from fear and from want
to just blend in – they stay hidden. As cars
drive past the orange fields of Rosarno,
the only evidence of migrants living
here are the flickering lights from some
candles on the mud. And, at a glance, they
can not be seen at all. �
Martin Edström is an award-winning
Swedish photographer and writer.
Portfolio, weblog and contact details,
online: martinedstrom.se
Siriman, 18, Mali. With exceptions once in a while, he has lost contact with his family and friends back home.

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