Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Challenging the Mafia

Mystique
Cosa Nostra from Legitimisation to
Denunciation

Rino Coluccello
Coventry University, UK
© Salvatore Coluccello 2016
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2016 978-1-137-28049-7
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this
publication may be made without written permission.
No portion of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted
save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence
permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency,
Saffron House, 6–10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS.
Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published 2016 by
PALGRAVE MACMILLAN
Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited,
registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke,
Hampshire RG21 6XS.
Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC,
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies
and has companies and representatives throughout the world.
Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States,
the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries.
ISBN 978-1-349-55552-9 ISBN 978-1-137-28050-3 (eBook)
DOI 10.1057/9781137280503
This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully
managed and sustained forest sources. Logging, pulping and manufacturing
processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the
country of origin.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
To Fany
Contents

Preface viii

Acknowledgements x

Introduction 1

1 The Origins of the Mafia as a Criminal Phenomenon and

as a Spirit 6

2 The Abolition of Feudalism, Mafia in the Unified Kingdom

and I Mafiusi di la Vicaria 17

3 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal

Consortium ... but the Mafia Doesn’t Exist 36
4 Mafia and Politics in Sicilian Society at the End of the
19th Century: The Notarbartolo Affair, the Formation of
‘Sicilianism’ and Consolidation of the Mafia Mystique 59
5 The Literature of Defence and the ‘Heresy’ of Don Sturzo 70

6 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia: The Beati Paoli

and the Mafioso as an Avenger 89

7 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia, the Allied

Invasion and the Return of the Villains 118

8 The Breaking Point: Danilo Dolci and a New Image of

the Mafia 145
9 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public Conscience 178

Conclusion 216

Notes 225

Bibliography 239
Index 251

vii
Preface

With a turnover estimated at over 180 billion euros (Unimpresa 2014),

which allegedly accounts for about 10% of Italy’s GDP (in 2013), the
Italian mafias are certainly as wealthy as ever. Although there are many
other organised criminal groups operating and emerging in many coun-
tries, none of them have so far shown the sophistication and the insight-
fulness necessary to fill the Italian mafias’ shoes.
The Sicilian mafia (also known as Cosa Nostra) is perhaps the most
intriguing criminal phenomenon in the world, an unparalleled organ-
ised criminal grouping that, over almost two centuries, has been able
not only to permeate successfully the licit and illicit economy, politics
and civil society but also to influence and exercise authoritative power
over both the underworld and the upper-world.
This criminal phenomenon has been a captivating conundrum for
scholars of different disciplines who have tried to explain with various
paradigms the reasons behind the emergence and consolidation of the
Sicilian mafia.
This book is an analysis of the social and cultural representations of
the Sicilian mafia which have been popularised for many decades in the
Italian public and cultural debate, representations ranging from legiti-
misation to denunciation.
It seeks to highlight how the mafia as a criminal and cultural phenom-
enon was already present in the emergent, post-Risorgimento, Liberal
state, but it remained largely unrecognised until the second half of the
20th century – and it was even defended by a wide range of intellectuals
as an element of the Sicilian character and culture. From these apolo-
getic defences emerged the Sicilian ‘pathology’, later known as sicilian-
ismo, and the mystique of the mafia.
In spite of important investigations at the end of the 19th century,
together with the acute analysis by Franchetti and Sonnino, Alongi and
Colajanni, and the Notarbartolo affaire, which provided proof of the
connivance between mafia and politics, for many decades the public
and scientific debate was dominated by the paradigm of the mafia as
individual attitude and behaviour. Alongside the latter challenge posed
by the Sicilianist movement1 in the first decades of the 20th century,
an old conceptualisation of the mafia as secret society found promi-
nence with the publication of the novel I Beati Paoli by Luigi Natoli.

viii
 Preface ix

The plot concerned a secret sect, the Beati Paoli, which administered
justice in situations where weakness and corruption of public authori-
ties occurred, opposing short-sighted legalistic approaches and avenging
the sufferings of oppressed people. The novel consolidated the myth
of the mafioso as a social avenger and the mafia itself as a chivalrous
organisation founded on a code of honour.2
In the first half of the 20th century only one Sicilian intellectual, Don
Luigi Sturzo, a Catholic priest and founder of the Popular Party in Italy,
recognised the mafia for what it was: a violent, criminal phenomenon.
Fascism marked a decisive turn in the fight against the mafia due to the
actions of the prefect Cesare Mori, but his campaign did not substan-
tially alter the image and legitimacy of the organised criminal group.
Only in the post-World War II period did the mafia come to be viewed,
above all, as organised crime and corruption and, consequently, as an
organisation to be denounced. This transformation was primarily due to
the engagement of sociologist Danilo Dolci and Sicilian writer Leonardo
Sciascia, both of whom alerted public opinion to the fact that behind
the mafia lay a web of political and economic interests.
The mafia, no longer colourful and eulogistic, is apparent in both
the documentary-investigatory writing of Danilo Dolci and the fiction
of Leonardo Sciascia. They have revealed the inner, non-romanticised
nature of Cosa Nostra. Their writing is no longer contemplative, folk-
loristic, and commendatory, but has become a matter of conscience
and condemnation. This new literary production made slow progress to
begin with, but after the publication of Spreco (Waste) in 1960 by Danilo
Dolci and Il giorno della civetta (The Day of the Owl) in 1961 by Leonardo
Sciascia, the theme of the mafia becomes central.

Notes
1. A cultural and political movement that was promoted by Sicily’s ruling strata
and developed in order to oppose what was perceived as an indiscriminate
criminalisation of all Sicilians by the Italian law enforcement apparatus and
Italian public opinion as a whole.
2. The novel was inspired by a book titled I Beati Paoli by Sicilian writer Vincenzo
Linares, published on 20 and 30 December 1836 for the magazine Il vapore.
Acknowledgements

Each work – and, even more, a book – is nurtured by ideas, suggestions,

stimuli, considerations and various supports. This book would not have
been possible without the help of individuals and institutions.
I owe a special debt to Professor Joseph Farrell. With competence and
attention he monitored the development of this study. I am also grateful
to Professor Antonio Motta and the Study Centre on Leonardo Sciascia.
Special thanks go to my friend, Professor Glynis Cousin, who patiently
followed the progress of this work and who has always encouraged me to
go ahead despite the tough times. And also, my friend Barbara Pederzini
with her nitpicking read of the first draft of the work.
I was very fortunate to spend some time in Sicily between the
mid-1990s and early 2000s while also pursuing the research for this
book. I am especially indebted to Danilo Dolci’s family, collaborators
and friends in Partinico and Trappeto. A special thanks to his son Amico,
who allowed me to research at Centro Studi e Iniziative in Partinico and
at the Borgo di Dio, and to Benedetto Zenone in Trappeto and Vito La
Fata at Cesie who keep alive Dolci’s name and his initiatives.
I am also grateful to Professor Giuseppe Casarrubea in Partinico and
Umberto Santino and Anna Puglisi for their valuable advice.
During my frequent visits to Sicily with my students, I also greatly
benefited from the help of Addiopizzo Travel. In particular, Edo Zaffuto
gave me valuable suggestions on the legacy of Danilo Dolci on the anti-
racket organisation.
Several people read the manuscript of Challenging the Mafia Mystique.
I am especially indebted to my colleagues in the Department of
International Studies and Social Science at Coventry University. The
book has benefited greatly from discussion with Simon May, who also
patiently re-read the final manuscript before submission, Professor
Bruce Baker, Alex Thompson, Simon Massey, Cheryl Hudson and Tom
Thurnell-Reid, who each provided constructive criticism and valuable
advice. Equally, I extend my appreciation for generous and astute feed-
back on earlier drafts of the book. I owe a special debt of gratitude to
my colleagues Monica Massari at University Federico II in Naples and
Vittorio Coco at the University of Palermo. Thanks also to colleagues
in my previous Department of Italian Studies: Dr. Marina Orsini-Jones,
David Jones and my former head of department Janet Lewis.

x
 Acknowledgements xi

In Sicily I have discussed the content of this book with my colleagues

and friends Giuseppe Giura, Salvo Cincimino and the anti-mafia pros-
ecutor Gery Ferrara, who were kind enough to comment on sections of
the manuscript. I remain amazed and humbled by their generosity.
All my graduate and post-graduate students also deserve my sincere
thanks for the exciting exchanges in several seminars and during the
numerous study trips to Sicily.
Throughout its preparation, I have received clear-sighted guidance
and continuous support from my very patient editor Julia Willan, at
Palgrave Macmillan, and her assistant Dominic Walker.
I am also grateful to the University of Strathclyde for the granting of
a scholarship that allowed me to undertake this study and pursue my
research in Sicily. I am also indebted to Coventry University for granting
me a sabbatical to complete the book.
I would like to offer my sincere thanks to Susy Kimbell and Claire
Edgley who helped me with the translation of earlier drafts of the
manuscript.
A special mention to my friend Vaggelis, unbeatable barista at Ottobar
in Athens, who made the corrections of the last drafts more bearable
with his delicious coffees.
I would also like to thank the numerous people whom I might have
forgotten to mention here but were supportive and helpful with this
project.
Any mistakes and misinterpretations in Challenging the Mafia Mystique
are, obviously, my own responsibility.
I am very grateful to my parents and my sister’s family; they always
supported and encouraged me at difficult times and have been a source
of inspiration.
I dedicate this book to my wife, Fany, and our children Giovanni and
Teresa Sofia. A small thank you for the daily support and encourage-
ment, for the love and affection received, and for enduring my difficult
company while this work was in progress.
Introduction

The theme of this book is the formation, consolidation and challenges

of the mystique of the Sicilian mafia. Arguments for and against the
mafia have been examined by following the evolution of the Sicilian
culture (or those who are exposed to it) and the development of the
mafia itself. The work examines the social and cultural representations
of the mafia circulated in the public and cultural debate since the emer-
gence of the criminal consortium in Sicily. These features are essential,
in my opinion, for a comprehensive understanding of the nature and
distinctions of the mafia.
This book attempts an interdisciplinary analysis of the image of the
mafia, and a chronological approach seemed to be the most suitable. For
this reason, sources have been chosen which give the best explanation
for each of the periods analysed. None of the individual authors or texts
can be understood apart from the effort to interpret them within their
historical, political, economic, social and intellectual contexts. For all of
these sources, the same question has been asked: how does this docu-
ment present the mafia?
Various literary forms have been used (the letter-diary by Brydone, the
drama by Sturzo, the reports by Mori, the sociological enquiries by Dolci,
the detective stories by Sciascia) because literature cannot be consid-
ered a rigid term, an autonomous entity which can be separated from
other forms of writing. The boundaries of literary texts are dissolving,
and literature is certainly a complex field of study and research closely
linked to the dynamic and contradictory aspects of reality. Moreover,
each chapter is divided into the public and cultural representation of the
criminal phenomenon.
The analysis has not adopted the same approach as Massimo Onofri,
author one of the most recent book on literature and mafia, Tutti a casa

1
2 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

di Don Mariano (We’ll Meet at Don Mariano’s), because while his analysis
is acute and detailed, it also partially neglects some important authors.
The figure of Brydone and the importance of his letter-diary in which
the enlightened Scotsman noted with acumen the surprising alliance
between nobles and ‘proto-mafiosi’ are ignored by Onofri. A mere
passing mention is given to the diffusion of mafioso ideology in the
Natoli’s novel, I Beati Paoli. The only work which is non-justificatory,
the play La Mafia by Don Luigi Sturzo, is not even mentioned in Tutti a
casa di Don Mariano.
The most serious omission in Onofri’s book is, however, the scarce
attention paid to Danilo Dolci, who is a revolutionary figure in anti-
mafia thought. These omissions give this work new force and originality.
Brydone, Sturzo, Natoli, but above all Dolci, are figures who are funda-
mental for understanding how the image of the mafia has changed;
from defence to denunciation.
This work, however, does not consider the wealth of writings by Dolci
and Sciascia on other themes which post-date the period concentrated
on that, no doubt, deserve more specific attention. Regarding Sciascia,
this work analyses only Il giorno della civetta (The Day of the Owl) of his
mafia trilogy, because it is the most complete and forward-looking, and
it opens up a window on the world of the mafia. Il giorno is a truly
anti-mafia novel, a socio-political enquiry filled with many metaphors
and images of Sicily. It contains some prophetic elements (which can
be found again in Il contesto [The Context] published in 1971) and inter-
weaves several thematic threads, such as the Sicilian cultural substrate
and mafioso behaviour, the intimate link between the interdependence
of the mafia and the family (followed up in his novel A ciascuno il suo
[To Each His Own]).
The great quantity of available texts has made a careful, sometimes
drastic selection necessary. The writings have been selected on the basis
that they best represent the most important phases in the development
of the image of the mafia, with special attention paid to works published
in those years, omitting texts where the references to the mafia seemed
episodic or insignificant.

Defining a name, the etymology of the word

The word ‘mafia’ has unclear and probably very ancient origins. In the
Florentine dialect, as Novacco suggests, the term mafia indicated ‘poverty
or misery’, and the Piedmontese term mafiun had a very similar meaning:
uomo piccino, a small-minded or petty person (Novacco 1964, p.207).
 Introduction 3

In Sicily, however, the meaning is quite different. The Sicilian writer

Leonardo Sciascia claims to have found the word mafia used as the
nickname for a witch, ‘Caterina la Licatisa’, in an official document
containing a list of heretics formed during an Act of Faith celebrated in
Palermo in 1658. The document notes that Caterina was ‘nomata ancora
Maffia’, which indicated ‘boldness, desire for power and arrogance’
(Sciascia 1970, p.74).
The genesis of the meaning found in Palermo today is of uncertain
origin. Various authors believe the term derives from Arabic. The histo-
rian Vittorio Frosini, for example, supports a connection with the name
of the Saracen tribe that ruled the city of Palermo ‘during the period of
Muslim domination in Sicily’ called Ma Afir (Frosini 1970, p.19).
Others believe it derives from mahias, meaning ‘bold or braggart’ (Hess
1993, p.4). Another theory, which supports the Arabic origin, relates the
word mafia to the noun màha, quarries or caves in the Marsala region,
used as places of refuge by the persecuted Saracens, and subsequently as
hideouts for other fugitives (Lestingi 1993, p.5). On the same basis, Lo
Schiavo suggests a variant, not supported by any evidence however, that
these caves were places where meetings were held or probably where the
supporters of Italian unity and organisers-in-hiding of the rural squads
encouraged by Garibaldi sought refuge. These places gave their name
to the mafia, ‘in other words, people from the mafie’ (Lo Schiavo 1962,
p.29). Lo Schiavo subsequently states that the term would have been
used as an adjective in the sense of ‘superior, masculine, handsome’ and
handed down through popular language (Lo Schiavo 1962, p.171).
The Arabic origin of the word appears, in any case, quite plausible
even if, with the passing of time, and with the diffusion of the term, the
most extravagant conjectures are given credence. One such example is
that the word mafia is ‘the deformation of the word mu afah’. Mu in fact
translates as inviolability, strength, vigour, and afah means to secure,
protect. Thus mafia means ‘an association that provided security for its
members’ (Candida 1956, p.56).
The first literary work that, in philological terms, used the word
mafioso or mafiusi dates back to 1862 and is a play by Mosca and Rizzotto
entitled I Mafiusi della Vicaria (The Mafiosi of the Vicaria). The inspiration
for the play seems to have come from a meeting between Rizzotto and
the former offender Gioacchino d’Angelo, who provided Rizzotto with a
lot of interesting suggestions, including a term that, thanks to this play,
‘Chi vurissi fai u mafiusu cu mia?’ (‘Are you trying to play boss with
me?’) became very famous (Novacco 1964, p.208). The play’s scenes take
place inside the prison of Palermo (la Vicaria), where the characters take
4 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

advantage of the particular respect shown to them as members of an

association with special hierarchies and initiation rites. It is important
to point out that, for the first time, the term mafia (although used exclu-
sively in the title of the piece) is linked to a system of hidden power
exerted exclusively by a criminal organisation. In any case, the play only
mentions mafiosi, not mafia. The organisation in the text is indicated,
though only vaguely, by the name Camorra. Since the play, the word
has been used for members of sects, sometimes imaginary, or for ‘the
followers of a secret association of criminals, powerful and “respected”
men, which does not mean respectable, but capable of commanding
respect’ (Novacco 1964, p.192).
The word mafia being used to mean an organised criminal organisa-
tion first occurred in an official document dated April 1865, a letter
written by the prefect Filippo Gualtiero, during a period in which there
was bitter controversy over the conditions of law and order in Sicily
and governmental responsibilities. In his report to the Minister of the
Interior, the prefect noted a ‘serious and prolonged misunderstanding
between the country and the authorities, which helps to ensure that the
so-called Maffia, or criminal association, grows with impertinence’.1
The first etymological reconstruction of the term in Sicily was
attempted by Traina in his Nuovo vocabolario Siciliano-italiano of 1868
where he defines the mafia as a

neologism indicating actions, words or more of those who want to

boast: boldness. // Self-assurance, apparent impudence: Self-confidence.
// Action or words of someone who wants to pretend to be more than
he is: POTTATA. // Insolence, arrogance: haughtiness. Pride, pomp:
self-conceit. // Collective noun of all the ‘mafiusi’. (hired assassins
are called Smaferi in Tuscany); and maffia expresses poverty, and real
poverty is to consider oneself a great man for one’s brute force alone;
he who displays rather great brutality, namely being a great beast.
(Traina 1868)

Mortillaro, in the third edition of his Nuovo dizionario siciliano-italiano

(1881), and in full accordance with the Sicilian sentiment, defines the
word mafia as a ‘Piedmontese term’ introduced in the rest of Italy to
indicate ‘camorra’. According to Giuseppe Pitrè,2 the famous ethnolo-
gist born in Palermo, the word was already in use around the mid-19th
century in the popular Borgo neighbourhood of Palermo, where it
expressed ‘beauty’ or ‘excellence’; a pretty girl, for example, ‘ha della
mafia’, is ‘mafiusa’, or ‘mafiusedda’. In addition, a neat house can be
 Introduction 5

‘una casa mafiusa’ or ‘ammafiata’. Even fruit and domestic objects sold
by street vendors were ‘mafiusi’, and brooms were sold with the cry
of ‘haju scupi d’a mafia! Haju chiddi mafiusi veru’. Referring back to
its primitive significance, and providing an influential foundation for
many others after him, Pitrè defines the noun of mafioso, when refer-
ring to a man, as a synonym of ‘superiority, self-assurance, manliness’,
an exaggerated consideration of individual strength and intolerance of
other people’s arrogance, ‘a brave and violent man who won’t stand any
nonsense from anyone; in this case being a mafioso is necessary, better
still, indispensable’ (Pitrè Vol. II 1889, pp.289–90). From 1865 onwards,
the word mafia (maffia for a short period) is used and abused to indicate
both organised criminal associations committing abuse and violence,
and groups of courageous men protecting the defenceless.
The term Cosa Nostra (our thing, or our concern) indicates the organ-
ised crime of mafioso character which took root in the United States
towards the end of the 19th century (initially it was referred to in the
media as the Black Hand or the Sicilian Mafia, but it united groups of
criminals from all over Italy, not only Sicily). From the 1930s onwards,
and under the guidance of Charles ‘Lucky’ Luciano, the criminal organi-
sation formed an interstate syndicate strongly linked to political power.
From then on, the organisation operated in drug trafficking, gambling,
‘protection’ rackets and other criminal activities, becoming one of the
most powerful mafia groupings around the world. From the end of the
1960s, the word Cosa Nostra was imported back to Italy where it is
used, together with the old term mafia, to indicate the Sicilian criminal
organisation.
Even the more recent term Cosa Nostra has a parallel history with the
word mafia: it derives, in fact, from the interaction between external
interpretation and internal repossession. Used for the first time in the
United States in the late 1950s by a mafioso informant Joseph Valachi
‘during the hearing of the McClellan Commission, it was widely under-
stood as a proper name: Cosa Nostra. Fostered by a conspirational FBI
and disseminated by the media, this designation gained wide popu-
larity and eventually replaced the term Mafia’ (Lewis 1964, p.15). In
his famous autobiography, Bonanno writes, ‘I often used to hear this
expression from Vincent Mangano. He used it idiomatically, as I use the
phrase in my world’. Bonanno then adds that what he calls ‘my tradition’
was referred to in several ways: ‘some prefer the word Mafia, others liked
Cosa Nostra. These are all metaphors’ (Bonanno 1993, p.18).
1
The Origins of the Mafia as a
Criminal Phenomenon and as a
Spirit

Hypothesising an origin

The precise origins of the mafia are still unknown; criminal associations
vaguely similar to those of today existed during the period preceding
unification, even if during that period the word mafia was not used.
Some signs of proto-mafioso practices can already be found in the 16th
and 17th century, yet these signs are not clear enough to be defined as
part of the process that with time would be recognised and defined by
the word mafia.
A series of hypotheses date the origin of the mafia to the mid-19th
century, after the landing of Garibaldi in Sicily, but the historian Santi
Correnti from Catania states, somewhat questionably, that ‘the origins
of the mafia are lost in the mists of time’ (Correnti 1972, p.226). The
Sicilian writer Leonardo Sciascia has also given his interpretation of the
mafia as a phenomenon already in existence for some time: ‘In 1838
the mafia already existed: but with a different name (or nameless)’
(Sciascia 1970, p.75). In fact, the writer of Racalmuto refers to the pres-
ence of associations with corporate structures as the maestranze1 (early
forms of trade unions) before 1800 to which the viceroy reformer
Domenico Caracciolo feels he must pay particular attention, ‘displayed
with some sensational arrests’ which revealed ‘certain connections
between nobility and criminality’ (ibid.). Expert on the history of the
mafia, Orazio Cancilia is bewildered by the claims to a 19th-century
origin of the phenomenon, maintaining that ‘I do not know nor have
I been able to ascertain when it revealed itself for the first time on the
island, but I note its presence already in the third decade of the 16th
century’ (Cancilia 1987, p.16), several centuries before the word mafia
spread, following the theatrical play I mafiusi della vicaria in 1862. After

6
 The Origins of the Mafia as a Criminal 7

the 16th century, Cancilia adds, ‘it has always characterised the history
of the island: in the cities as a connivance between criminality and
institutions, in rural towns as an exercise of feudal power with systems
and methods that did not exclude the recourse to abuse and exploita-
tion’ (Cancilia 1987, p.16). Francesco Renda, scholar of the history of
the mafia, has also supported the theory ‘that the mafia as an “affair”,
that is, as a spirit, as behaviour of the individual and also as a crim-
inal association sworn to practice organised violence, was not created
in the context of the inclusion of the island as part of the national
State’, but existed before the process of unification, and had assumed
‘distinct and precise manifestations’ (Renda 1984, p.197). Renda refers
to the Beati Paoli,2 a secret 18th-century sect, ‘whose oral and written
traditions prefigured the mafia archetype as an “honoured society”, one
that practices violence, including murder, with good intentions, to do
justice and defend the weak against the strong’ (Renda 1984, p.197). In
more certain historical terms, and recording evident signs of mafioso
behaviour, the testimonies of foreign travellers visiting Sicily around
the end of the 18th century should also be remembered, as we will see
later with the Scottish writer Patrick Brydone. They describe typical
proto-mafia situations, such as the practice common among noblemen
of employing bandits and criminals, or alternatively, ‘the institutional
precedent of the compagnie d’armi, where the State, in the interests of
public safety, collaborated with bandits and criminals, on the principle
that the thieves or criminals are paid so that they don’t steal or will keep
the other villains under control’ (Renda 1984, p.197). Another historian,
Paolo Pezzino, notes that the first organisational forms of mafia date
back at least ‘to the revolutionary Sicilian tradition around 1800 and
directly implicate elements of the working classes who use the bourgeois
society of previous decades as a model’ (Pezzino 1990, p.17). During
the period in which ‘the mafia was not called mafia’, a few proto-mafia
social figures emerged, who paradoxically are cut down to size just as
the term mafia with its derivatives becomes a word used and abused
by the press of that time. This is the period during which the creation
of the centralised State occurs and alliances form between the criminal
phenomenon and the world of politics and institutions.

Feudal Sicily
During the course of the various foreign dominations of Sicily that
followed one after another, the island’s inhabitants were never quite
strong enough to be independent, nor so weak as to be completely
dominated or absorbed by the power of the continent. This allowed
8 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

the island’s inhabitants to conserve some of their privileges and keep

their freedom intact. Power in 17th-century Sicilian society was divided
between the Spanish Crown and the nobility, and every attempt by the
central government to claim greater power was hindered. The bureauc-
racy was inefficient and disorganised, and the lack of effective commu-
nication links made movement across the island nearly impossible.
With the diffusion of the large estates, the more rural areas of the island,
far from both Palermo and the Crown, became ideal areas for groups of
bandits to control.
In the 17th century, Sicilian economic policy was entirely based on
the exploitation of the feudal system. This was not just a ‘political struc-
ture through which the sovereign or “il signore” granted a vassal some
of his territory to use and administrate’ (Tessitore 1997, p.34), but above
all represented the large latifondi (vast agricultural estates) that were
often badly managed. The old clientele system of the Roman Empire was
replaced by feudalism – the new political order originally established in
France in the 7th century, which then spread over the rest of Europe.
The revolutions, the demographic and economic changes, and the
various dominations left the feudal structure unaltered throughout. The
central powers were naturally in favour of such a system in their terri-
tories and often consolidated the privileges or power of the barons in
exchange for donations or duties. After 1621, the acquisition (obviously
upon financial payment) of the mero e misto impero3 allowed free exer-
cise of jurisdictional power within defined territorial districts. The land-
owners were almost completely exempt from the traditions of vassalage
that had existed until then, and this laid the foundation for the forma-
tion of lots of small independent states. The political situation of the
17th century was such that ‘we cannot speak of misgovernment in
Sicily, but of non-government, which is something much worse than the
former eventuality, which, when it occurs, at least guarantees a tangible
presence of the state, (even if negative)’ ( Castiglione 1987, p.11). The
absenteeism and indifference of the central institutions created a power
vacuum, which was even more evident in the more remote and more
inaccessible areas of the island and became a formidable element in the
growth and development of the proto-mafioso phenomenon.

The emergence of the gabelloti

The absenteeism of the traditional ruling figures in the rural areas, for
whom the feudal estate had represented an instrument of domination
for centuries, generated a power vacuum that was promptly filled by a
 The Origins of the Mafia as a Criminal 9

new and unscrupulous emerging class. The barons had in fact leased
many of their large estates to gabelloti (administrators), who very quickly
saw their economic and political powers increase.
The rural landowners had managed, over time, to create a certain
independence and to increase their wealth, thanks to an equidistant
association with the central power (the Crown) and those who lived
on the large estate. The figure of the baron, therefore, had become
an indispensable point of reference for all the social structure. When
the absentee barons employed the gabelloti to run their estates, these
emerging entrepreneurial land managers immediately filled the power
vacuum created in that equidistant relationship.
On the large estates, there had once been a notable industry of
produce linked to animal rearing. Over the course of centuries, the
demand for grain production fell, which led to a rise in unemployment
among herdsmen, who often went to swell the ranks of the brigands:
the classic bandits of the Sicilian countryside were in fact herdsmen.
In addition, the decrease in pastures, occurring simultaneously to a
growth in the population, had increased the value of animals. Theft of
cattle was a very common activity because of the low risks and assured
income involved, yet it called for cooperation between the perpetra-
tors, swiftness in the transferral of the stolen animals, and control of
the markets in the various towns. The thefts were committed by ‘small,
very fluid organisations, men who united to carry out a task and could
then disband’ (Crisantino 1994, p.22). The weakness of the central state
certainly represented a favourable circumstance in creating united,
highly motivated gangs; the king and his laws were distant institutions,
and the barons, moreover, often had agreements of mutual protection
with the members of these gangs.4
Even if at this early stage brigandage cannot be compared precisely
to the mafioso phenomenon as it developed from the start of the 19th
century, by the end of the 1500s and early 1600s it was already a factor
that contributed decisively to the affirmation of the proto-mafia. It was
during this period that several noblemen made offers of protection to
some criminal gangs in exchange for their own personal safety. Sicily
during this period was a society in which power was divided between the
Crown and the barons, and every attempt by the State to claim greater
power was thwarted. The central government, however, refused to take
responsibility for the problem of security. The noble landowners in the
16th and 17th centuries ran into the same problems faced by the medi-
eval lords and thus frequently decided to adopt a policy of compromise
with the criminal organisations.
10 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

As a result of the new status quo, the viceroy was compelled to reas-
sess the feudal lords as an instrument of power and, above all, adopt a
much more permissive and lenient policy than in the past, establishing
connections of a nature that today could be defined as political-mafioso,
involving concessions such as impunity to well-known accomplices and
assassins, who then used their impunity to continue to exert violence.
The intention was ‘on the one hand to repay those who had remained
loyal to the institutions, and on the other hand to recover the loyalty of
those barons who had at times rebelled against the Spanish monarchy,
with a conciliatory policy backed by Madrid’ (Cancilla 1984, p.18).
Another decisive factor in the origin of the mafia was the protection
granted to the feudality when crimes were committed.
In the 17th century, the situation worsened. Numerous ‘proclama-
tions’, grida and prammatiche, were issued to discourage brigandage and
those who supported it.5 The situation regarding public order also dete-
riorated – above all in the rural areas – so in order to avoid the contin-
uous incursions of the bandits, many representatives of the local powers
came to agreements by providing them with secure lodging on their
own farms. The government attempted to fight this phenomenon by
creating the so-called Compagnie d’armi.
The recruitment for the Compagnie d’armi often drew from bandits
and rebels, and the ability to use weapons and to accept a customary life
of violence were fundamental requirements. In the more remote and
inaccessible areas where the state institutions were completely absent
or had difficulty making their presence felt, the landowners employed
the so-called campieri (field guards), who took care of the safety of the
employer and his estate. Here, too, rebels or criminals who, paid by
noblemen, should have fought the organised gangs were instead often
in agreement with these very groups of bandits. Both the Compagnie
d’armi and the campieri undertook the service of public security in
exchange for a ‘fixed price’ from landowners and ‘they were respon-
sible ... for any losses caused by extortion or thefts of the bandits’
(Tessitore 1997, p.50).
The church also had a particular position. The Sicilian clergy, thanks
to the Apostolica Legazia,6 did not depend on the discipline and juris-
diction of the Roman Curia, but rather on the Spanish King. As Novacco
finely notes: ‘by entering into the network of privileges, the church
recreated the social and cultural profile of the environment’ (Novacco
1963, p.62).
A paradoxical situation is consequently created in the corrupt Sicily
of the 17th century. The monopoly of violence, usually a privilege of
 The Origins of the Mafia as a Criminal 11

the State authorities, was legally entrusted to groups of criminals, the

Compagnie d’armi, and the campieri, who in the social pyramid of the
time represented a structure that, with good reason, can be defined as
proto-mafia.

Literary representations of the mafia ante litteram: Scottish

traveller Brydone and the ‘Sicilian bandits’

It is possible to surmise, therefore, that the criminal phenomenon

defined as a proto-mafia had roots that went back much further than
the post-unification period and, most importantly, was not born and
nurtured amid those centres that are generally identified as marginal,
but rather among the well-to-do pillars of society. The Sicilian aristoc-
racy, with their protective, tolerant culture, did not shy from alliances
with groups of villains in order to further reinforce their own hegemony
and undermine the power of the Crown.
Despite the commitment of the various viceroys to reforms, banditry
continued to remain an impenetrable force. The complicity and protec-
tion of the barons certainly played an important role in the develop-
ment of a ‘mafioso mafia mentality/spirit’: this particular situation was
created in the 18th century, where the certainty of being exempt from
state justice encouraged the nobility and the rest of the well-to-do classes
to assume attitudes that were often illegal, themselves becoming highly
criminal factors.
This was the situation described in 1770 by the Scottish traveller
Patrick Brydone, who was quite rightly considered ‘the first to have
discovered that unexplored land called Sicily’ (Tuzet 1955, p.34) in
the literary sense, thanks to the publication of his successful book A
Tour through Sicily and Malta: In a Series of Letters to William Beckford
(Brydone 1790).7
The traditional itinerary of the ‘grand tour’ of Europe consisted of
visits to the principle artistic centres of Italy, with Naples at the extreme
southern border. Brydone, however, on the advice of Sir William
Hamilton, ‘inviato straordinario e ministro plenipotenziario di Sua
Maestà britannica alla Corte di Napoli’ (Brydone 1968, p.17), ventured
as far as Sicily.
European knowledge of Sicily, until that period, was extremely limited.
One should bear in mind that the Encyclopédie, a monumental piece
of work that listed all the treasures of 18th-century Europe, described
Palermo in 1766 as ‘the city with an archbishopric and a small, almost
forgotten port because it was destroyed by an earthquake’, which rings
12 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

more of myth than a description of an actual place. With regards to Sicily,

the text ended: ‘To be brief, Sicily has nothing considerable today except
for its mountains and the Inquisitional tribunal’ (Frosini, 1970, p.14).
Brydone received a university education, served in the army and soon
became a ‘travelling preceptor’ (Tuzet 1955, p.36), or a tutor who trav-
elled with some Scottish noblemen.
The journey that Brydone undertook in the island in 1770 became an
opportunity for a correspondence in diary form with his friend William
Beckford. The Scottish writer is a ‘philosopher ... of the Enlightenment’
(Tuzet 1955, p.38) with the best qualities of Scottish travellers. He has
no illusions; ‘his eyes often twinkle with 18th century irony, as he
observes people and things’ (Renda 1968, p.18). It is also possible to
see in his work indications of a new sensitivity, influenced by Scottish
Enlightenment ideas. Brydone observes and imagines with brilliant
humour; he is curious to experience and penetrate the Sicilian usages
and customs. During his journey around Sicily, Brydone encounters,
with great amazement, a mafia ante litteram. He is the first intellectual of
a certain prestige to produce a very articulate description of the criminal
phenomenon that, with great irony, he defines as an ‘honourable order’
(Brydone 1790, Vol.I, p.75), an honourable brotherhood containing all
of the elements of an organisation that a century later will be defined as
mafia. The Scottish traveller is provided with letters of recommendation
that open the doors to the powerful Sicilian palaces. He observes with
great astonishment that the most powerful and important noblemen,
such as the Prince of Villafranca, governor of Messina, uses as guards
‘the most daring, and most hardened villains, perhaps, that are to be met
with upon earth’; people who, in other countries, Brydone notes with
wonder, ‘would have been broken upon the wheel or hung in chains,
but are here publicly protected, and universally feared and respected’
(Brydone 1790, Vol.I, p.74). These are villains who, as the same prince
had told him, usually lived in Val Demoni (as that part of eastern Sicily
was named), in a mountain with an infinite number of caves and under-
ground tunnels, where nobody had ever managed to drive them out.
Accordingly, the nobleman, aware that ‘they [the villains] are known
to be perfectly determined and resolute, never failing to take a dreadful
revenge on all who have offended them’, decided ‘not only as the safest,
but likewise as the wisest and the most polite scheme, to become their
declared patron and protector’ (Brydone 1790, Vol.I, p.75). Those who
had deemed it convenient to leave the mountain and its forests, even if
only temporarily, ‘were sure to meet with good encouragement and secu-
rity in his service; they enjoyed the most unbounded confidence, which
 The Origins of the Mafia as a Criminal 13

in no instance they have ever yet been found to make an improper or

dishonest use of’ (Ibid.).
The Prince of Villafranca had considered it prudent to recruit them
under his flag and provided them with his family livery, thus making
them feared and respected: ‘They are clothed in the prince’s livery, yellow
and green, with silver lace’. The nobleman, governor of Messina, states:

that, however criminal they may be with regard to society in general,

yet, with respect to one another, and to every person to whom they
have once professed it, they have ever maintained the most unshaken
fidelity and wear likewise a badge of their honourable order, which
entitles them to universal fear and respect from the people. (Brydone
1790, Vol.I, p.76)

This is, of course, how mafiosi love to consider themselves. The guards
of the escort are people worthy of the utmost loyalty and resoluteness,
who can be completely trusted:

He says he has likewise ordered two of the most desperate fellows in

the whole island to accompany us; adding in a sort of whisper, that
we need be under no apprehension, for if any person should presume
to impose upon us to the value of a single baiocc, they would certainly
put them to death. (Brydone 1790, Vol.I, p.77)

This is a colourful yet precise representation of the characteristic of an

‘honourable brotherhood’ that will, in time, be named the ‘mafia spirit’.
Even though the Scottish traveller presents the savage guards with a
strong sense of caricature, it is hard to agree with the French critic Helen
Tuzet when she states that he ‘thus begins the legend of the Sicilian
brigand’ (Tuzet 1955, p.47), nor when she claims that Brydone allows
himself to be seduced

by the picturesque aspect of the situation, and shows an almost

Byronesque taste for these ‘desperate fellows’; he notes that mix of
chivalry and ferocity (their most romantic ideal, he says, is their sense
of honour), and he describes for us the figure of the ‘haughty robber’,
prestigious but surely idealised; this is the brigand a la Alexandre
Dumas. (Tuzet 1955, p.47)

Despite his humour and irony, Brydone represents the bandits of the
convoy as a group of criminals that through the use of violence applies
14 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

its own laws, its own special tribunal, without turning to state law. He
introduces a group of villains which, as previously mentioned, princi-
pally serves the nobleman. These are not people forced into banditry by
poverty and injustice, but rather people who use violence and threats as
a profession. During his journey, Brydone notes that even though ‘the
magistrates have often been obliged to protect them, and even pay court’,
the conduct of the guards of the Prince of Villa Franca has always been
irreproachable and full of reverence towards the travellers who prefer to
hire a couple of these individuals, from city to city, to be assured of their
own safety. It is, in any case, money well spent because:

they will protect him from impositions of every kind, and scorn to go
halves with the landlord, like most other conductors and travelling
servants; and will defend them with their lives, if there is occasion,
that those of their number, who have thus enlisted themselves in the
service of society, are known and respected by the other banditti all
over the island; and the persons of those they accompany are ever
held sacred. (Brydone 1790, Vol.I, p.78)

Brydone notes that the two uomini d’onore (men of honour) who head
the prince’s militia told him some of their incredible adventures, and
they quite openly admitted to having kidnapped and killed several
people; ‘Mas tutti, tutti honorabilmente’ – that is, ‘they did not do it
in a dastardly manner, nor without just provocation’ (Brydone 1790,
Vol.II, p.51), as common brigands would usually do. With irony and
sarcasm, Brydone observes that they represent ‘the most respectable
people of the island, and have by much the highest and most romantic
notions of what they call their point of honour’ (Brydone 1790, Vol.II,
p.52). In the entertaining pages of his letter-diary, Brydone illustrates
with spirit and acumen some of the tales told by their escort, where
hilarity and ferocity are strangely merged. This is the case, for example,
of the brother of one of these eroici banditi (heroic bandits) who, needing
money and not knowing how to earn any, decided to exploit the name
and authority of his feared and respected brother, quite sure that the
trick would not be easily discovered. The designated victim was a poor
country priest whom the scoundrel brother asked for money. When the
uomo di rispetto (respected man) discovered the trick, he did not hesi-
tate to kill his brother to clear his own good name; and thus the recur-
ring theme of honour, found in all the pages of literature about the
mafia also appears in the diary of the traveller (Brydone 1790, Vol.II,
p.52). There are also other anecdotes which clarify the relationship of
 The Origins of the Mafia as a Criminal 15

mutual protection between the noble class and the representatives of

the honoured confraternity:

a number of people were found digging in a place where some treasure

was supposed to have been hid during the plague: as this had been
forbidden under most severe penalties, they were immediately carried
to prison and expected merciless treatment; but luckily for the others,
one of these heroes happened to be of the number. He wrote to the
Prince of VillaFranca, and made use of such powerful arguments in
their favour, that they were all immediately set at liberty. (Brydone
1790, Vol.I, p.79)

The success of Brydone’s book is only in part due to the animated,

amusing lightness of his style. In the second volume of his letter-diary,
there are in fact pages of keen analysis of the reasons for the underdevel-
opment of the island and its consequences. The enlightened Scotsman
indicates that the feudal estate in Sicily is the economic and social cause
for the lack of development (one whole century before the denuncia-
tion made by Franchetti and Sonnino).8 In this second volume, Brydone
and company move towards Palermo, and it is these pages which best
reveal the sensibility of the Scottish traveller in denouncing the inequal-
ities and tyranny which oppress Sicily and its inhabitants. Particularly
important are his thoughts about the general structure of society, the
church, the absolute monarchy and the aristocracy, where he favours
those forces – not necessarily the bourgeoisie (a middle class does not
really exist in Sicily at this time) – which are to some extent more liberal
and ‘progressive’.
Brydone, despite his links to the island nobility and the viceroy,
suggests a new, broader, more dynamic vision of man and the devel-
opment of society. In an age where it was common to talk only about
brigands, he is one of the first to denounce in his writings the distor-
tions of the old feudal system (commenting ironically about the Sicilian
noblemen who defend its purity).
Brydone’s description of island society in the 18th century is funda-
mental for anyone looking for the deepest roots of the Sicilian mafia.
The class of the facinorosi, who provide the escort for Brydone and
his companions for all of the journey around Sicily, grew out of the
class of servants, field guards and gabelloti who rented the estates. In
fact, from the end of the 18th century, as the Scottish writer notes, a
close network of relationships developed between bands of criminals
(the company that escorts the Scottish traveller, or poor farmers obliged
16 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

to give refuge to bandits) and the noble landowners (who guarantee the
organisation and the protection of the ‘honourable order’). The noble
class had various reasons for dealing with criminal groups. These did
not just include the justifiable reason of defence of their property and
lives, but rather, above all, the capacity to demonstrate that their own
auctoritas (authority) comes before the law of the Crown. In Sicily, crimi-
nality and power have common links and interests; here they do not
compete with each other, and one does not weaken the other, as in all
other European societies. Here the connivance and collusion represent a
constant element of island life.
Brydone’s analysis of Sicily during this period – of its domination
by Spain’s distant and foreign government, of its legislation based on
privilege, and of its social relationships and economic life – helps to
explain why small bands, thanks to potent influences, managed to
transform the functions of intermediaries or guardians of public order
into a system for private profit. The members of these confraterni-
ties, working on the sidelines of public life, created solid positions of
privilege. Shielded by an effective impunity, these groups blackmailed,
exerted pressure, threatened and often acted violently, almost always
to sort out private conflicts of interest. This reveals a cultura criminale
(criminal culture), providing evidence for mafiosi groups ante litteram.
To conclude, it seems that, just as Franchetti will do a century later (of
course, with differences due to the period and culture), Brydone identi-
fies this ‘honourable order’ as the profound and natural expression of
certain class relationships. This contrasts with the conclusions reached
by those who, a few decades later, claim that the presence of the mafia
is a sporadic phenomenon.
2
The Abolition of Feudalism, Mafia
in the Unified Kingdom and I
Mafiusi di la Vicaria

The emergence of the mafioso phenomenon during

the pre-Risorgimento period in Sicily

Opposition to the Bourbon dynasty was not always liberal, and the oppo-
sition following the reforms that were introduced after the abolition
of feudalism in 1812, during the restoration of the Bourbons, certainly
was not. The process of reform began under the viceroy, Domenico
Caracciolo (1781–86), a Neapolitan marquis who had been ambassador
in France for a while, where he was imbued with philosophical ideas.
The reforms carried out by Caracciolo were numerous and aimed to
limit the increasingly arrogant ‘proto-mafioso’ class that was forming.
The most important reforms include the abolition of the Sant’Uffizio
(religious tribunal) and the limitations placed on excessive feudal
power. The Inquisition that represented the political-religious power
of the Spanish Catholics in Sicily was nothing more than a coagulation
of the interests of political clientele that had corrupted the institutions of
the viceroyalty. The reformatory efforts of the new viceroy were directed
against the barons and their feudal privileges. Many of the abuses that
had previously affected the workers were also abolished. This encour-
aged the magistracy to aim for independence from the barons and to
carry out their own roles with impartiality. The reforms restricted the
jurisdictional authority of the landowners within the remit of public
safety, attempted to free Sicily from old prejudices, and, for the first time,
actively sought to assert the presence of the state in a situation that by
this time only recognised authoritarian bodies and had been produced
by a real anti-state. The viceroy was the forerunner of the reformatory
process that shortly after formally abolished the feudal system, with the
promulgation of the constitution in 1812.

17
18 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

In 1811 Lord William Bentinck was nominated minister plenipoten-

tiary and commander in chief of the English troops in Sicily. Despite
the opposition of the Bourbon King Ferdinando IV, the island’s greatest
political authority immediately set out, with success, to convince the
Sicilian parliament to approve a constitution modelled on the English
one. First of all, baronial jurisdiction was abolished, together with
duties and feudal privileges: regarding ownership and feudal goods,
‘Article 6 transformed them into freeholders (with private deeds) from
the former landowner, article 7 conserved the title belonging to the
estate and rendered land and title marketable’(Di Bella 1991, p.2). The
formal abrogation of feudalism in 1812 allowed those noblemen with
strongly mortgaged estates to sell, and the gabelloti and campieri to gain
access to ownership. Whilst this act should have been a great conquest
for the Sicilian peasants (they no longer had landlords, and they were
free), in reality it worsened their conditions. The sale of state land and
ecclesiastical properties, and the subversion of civic customs resulting
from the abolition of the feudal regime, met with many obstacles and
opposition because the new regime of free, absolute and private ‘owner-
ship’ also eliminated great privileges, ancient customs and rights that
were essential to the survival of the population. This reform helped
to reinforce the traditional monopoly of the landowning aristocracy
and a new class of landowners (ex-gabelloti and ex-campieri) called
civili (civilians), and the estates which were formerly public passed into
private hands.1 The wealth of old and new landowners was not always
accepted as legitimate by various elements of the population and led to
social conflict.
After the Bourbon restoration, the reigning house sought to get round
the constitution by issuing further reforms, even more radical, to try
and break up the large estates; but the agricultural reform proposed
by the central government was obstructed by the aristocracy and the
emerging class of civilians. The peasants excluded from the posses-
sion of land and later evicted from communal land and deprived of
the traditional rights of civic practices were forced to move contin-
uously in search of work; brigandage became, for many of them, a
means of survival, and many organised gangs operated in every corner
of central-western Sicily.2 In the wake of several important transforma-
tions of the economy and of society, and with the growth of interde-
pendency between city and countryside, the landowners and farmers
made way for groups of determined men willing to act illegally wher-
ever they found excellent opportunities to assert their own power.
These were real violent contractors, the only people able to guarantee
 The Abolition of Feudalism 19

control over the tensions that emerged in that period. In this new
situation, the primary necessity of the landowners was to protect the
land they possessed. Before the abolition of feudalism in 1812, the
only government of the island was the one established by noble land-
owners of grand estates, who were also (as we have seen) responsible
for the internal order; the security of the large estates was assured by
armed squads, on anti-peasant duty, at the service of the barons (well
represented by Brydone). After the abolition of feudalism, securing law
and order became the state’s duty, so the civilians, who had become
powerful thanks to the distant legislation, were forced to become a part
of the fragile structure of the state, though they considered the pres-
ence of the territorial institutions weak. They began, then, to employ
elite gangs of violent men (by now liberated from the traditional ties
of respect for noblemen and great landowners) who operated autono-
mously. There were actual agreements between the groups of violent
men and landowners. These agreements were not always respected but
provided advantages for landowners with large estates, not least by
directing the ‘attention’ of the violent men towards rivals. Considering
the effectiveness of the system, the armed elites who the landowners
(noblemen and ex-gabelloti) and tenant farmers surrounded them-
selves with were, in turn, determined to open the road towards owner-
ship of the land by means of violence (though also by other means, as
will be covered later).
The state, meanwhile, remained weak and saw itself forced, once
again, to turn to the Compagnie d’armi for the management of public
security, which historian Paolo Pezzino describes as ‘a web of public
purpose and private administration of police duty’(Pezzino 1990, p.89).
The Compagnie d’armi were privately hired gangs who were regulated by
decree in 1813 to confront the problem of brigandage both in the rural
and the urban areas.
During the course of the profound transformation from the ancient
regime to a modern political and economical structure, the first mafia-
style aggregates appeared, and though they did not display all the char-
acteristics of the phenomenon, they can be recognised as forefathers
of the subsequent cosche. These were the ‘brotherhoods’ (fratellanze), as
described in the famous report of 3 August 1838 by Attorney General
Pietro Calà Ulloa, at the Grand Criminal Court of Trapani, to Minister of
Justice Parisio. The report of the Bourbon official refers to the presence of
sects in the towns, representing ‘little governments within the govern-
ment’. These sects, organised in accordance with models of Masonic
origin, revolved around men of importance, ‘here a landowner, there an
20 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

archpriest’. They took advantage of the corruption and inefficiency of

the Bourbon State:

The venality and subjugation of the powerful figures has tarnished

the robes of the men placed in the highest offices of the magistra-
ture ... There is not an employee who is not overwhelmed at the sign
and caprice of a bully, and who has not thought at the same time to
gain profit from his office ... This widespread corruption forces the
nation to resort to extremely strange and dangerous remedies. ... The
lack of public forces has multiplied the number of crimes! The people
have come to a silent agreement with the offenders. As a theft occurs
the mediators emerge offering transactions to retrieve the stolen
goods. The number of such agreements is infinite. Many land-
owners, therefore, have seen fit to become oppressors rather than the
oppressed, and enrol in political parties. Many other officials guard
themselves with an impenetrable shield. (Ulloa 1965, pp.225–27)

Specifically, these powerful and domineering ‘fratellanze’, who prac-

ticed various forms of activities bordering on control of the land and
criminality, were often protected by state officials. ‘A Cassa Comune
[communal fund] takes care of their needs now, sometimes to exonerate
an official, to defend him, to protect a defendant, to accuse an innocent’
(ibid., p. 228).
These groups dedicated themselves to robberies and trades from one
province to another, taking advantage of the corruption and inefficiency
of the Bourbon regime. Within these associations, in opposition to the
Bourbon dynasty, one can find the socio-political origins that made
the affirmation of the criminal phenomenon possible in the first half of
the 19th century. The revolutions of 1848, as in 1820, and later in 1860,
saw the alliance of liberal aristocrats, or other anti-Bourbons, elements of
the bourgeoisie and the working classes. The differences and ambiguity
that characterised this collaboration have had various interpretations.
It is certain, however, that the violent gangs who offered ‘their serv-
ices to the highest bidders (generally insurgents)’ (Pezzino 1999, p.12),
assembling around determined and audacious popular leaders, found
ample space for action, thanks in part to the difficulties the new state
faced in imposing respect for the law and forming a regular army. These
squads, even if rigidly disciplined by revolutionary leaders, proved to
be quite uncontrollable and fundamentally independent. Enlisted ever
since 1820, when Palermo and western Sicily rebelled for the first time
against the Bourbons, the leaders of these groups of criminals had made
 The Abolition of Feudalism 21

a comeback and acquired considerable power after the revolutions of

1848(Mangiameli 1990, p.7). These squads expressed new social aspira-
tions, but represented, at the same time, the irruption of criminal elements
into the ‘great political’ areas, led by audacious popular leaders with few
scruples, looking for a private road to social mobility in order to utilise
their most important resource: the ability to turn to violence. Obviously
these groups were also mobilised for the exploits of Garibaldi in 1860
(they were the famous picciotti, greatly praised by Garibaldi’s troops). On
that occasion, the movement found itself alongside the Risorgimento
ideals as a part of the island’s elite and the anti-Bourbon intolerance of
Sicilian aristocrats. Immediately after the conquest of Palermo, Sicilian
Francesco Crispi, the political mind behind the expedition of Garibaldi,
worked to dissolve the squads in light of previous experiences. The land-
owning classes believed that the new order of things satisfied their polit-
ical aspirations, and the help of criminals was no longer necessary. It
was then that some of these audacious and violent men began to move
down the road of organised crime, gaining autonomy from the various
lobbies of power, along with those who continued to negotiate over the
exchange of services. It was, in so many words, one of the origins of the
mafia in Palermo after Unification. The links between the ruling classes
of economic and social power and the mafia were based, however, on
completely individual relationships.

Mafia brigandage and protest

The differences and ambiguity that characterised the collaboration were

interpreted in various ways. Some historians, such as Pezzino, identi-
fied a particularly complex network that concealed the phenomenon of
Sicilian brigandage, where violence played the leading role:

the political valence of violence, the violent dimension of politics,

the conflict between the state monopoly of violence and its wide-
spread extra-institutional use; violence of the signori, violence of the
civilians, violence of the working classes. (Pezzino 1987, p.912)

The historian Rosario Mangiameli has since studied the differences

between Neapolitan brigandage and that of the island, stating of the
latter ‘it doesn’t hold by itself’ (Mangiameli 1990, p.83). Sicilian brig-
andage, unlike that on the continent, had no political intent: the influ-
ence of the Bourbon representatives had practically no effect, and the
bandits usually made no claims of a socio-economic type. The Sicilian
22 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

brigands lived within a network of links between fugitives and a popu-

lation that the authorities defined as criminal; a web that implicated,
as Brydone had also highlighted, the poorest peasants who guaranteed
logistical support to the gangs, the prominent personages of local impor-
tance, and the landowners of the large estates. The large landowners
protected brigands and criminals not only for a quiet life but to be able
to use them as hired assassins in their vendettas or to damage their rivals
economically.
During the course of the last few decades, the problem of brigandage
provoked several debates between historians of mafia issues. The new
interpretations of the criminal phenomenon (from historians such as
Lupo, Pezzino and Mangiameli) refuse to support the old historiography,
which referred in particular to socio-anthropological studies and to anti-
mafia connections, which described the Southern Italy of the 19th and
part of the 20th centuries as a semi-feudal society, with all farmland and
latifondisti (large landowners) economically and socially immobile. A
society, Lupo states ‘marked by only one, single force for renewal: the
peasant movement, that was opposed by the ruling class and their mili-
tary corps, the mafia’ (Lupo 1993, p.15). The theory proposed by Lupo
certainly finds foundation in the more recent historiography. By contrast
the English Marxist historian Hobsbawm has identified a clear difference
between the mafioso phenomenon and brigandage. The bandit repre-
sents, to Hobsbawm, a primitive form of social protest, the expression
of the crises of the peasant community after modernisation. The bandit
embodies, thus, an elementary sense of justice, defence and protec-
tion of traditional society. This is an act of individual rebellion of the
poorest classes against the mostly peripheral representatives of the state
and, although illegal, expresses a basic sense of justice accepted by the
community, where support is indispensable for their survival. Brigandage
differed from mafia delinquency, which in the face of the development of
capitalism and the rise of more modern forms of political organisations,
became a real organisation at the service of the landowners (defending
the land) against the peasants. Despite originally having represented all
the rural classes that took part in the insurrections of 1820, 1848, and
1860, it subsequently lost its popular character.
Sciascia also agreed to the notion that the presence of a mafioso
bourgeois class in Sicily supported the theories of Hobsbawm, and the
criminal phenomenon was a primitive form of social revolt, the only
‘bourgeois revolution possible in Sicily’(Sciascia 1987, Vol.I, p.1033).
In fact, in an essay of 1968 entitled ‘Neapolitan brigandage and
Sicilian Mafia’, Sciascia revealed how Sicilian brigandage, unlike the
 The Abolition of Feudalism 23

Neapolitan and other Southern versions in general, never had any political
motivation, despite the bitter disappointment which followed the great
expectations inspired by Garibaldi. The most important motive, in his
opinion, was determined by ‘that complex mix of sentiments and resent-
ments, of traditions and institutions, that for centuries had more or less
effectively blocked every attempt to limit the privileges of the Sicilian
Kingdom, and in the last period, the Bourbon unitary policy (uniting the
Kingdom of Naples)’ (ibid.). The strong and influential presence of an aris-
tocracy and a bureaucracy in Naples, bound like glue to the Bourbons and
their court, and a clergy directly bound to the Pope, had in reality limited the
formation of a pseudo-bourgeois class (what did exist was neither conspic-
uous nor scrupulous). In Sicily, however, a new social class prospered and
spread, ‘that is to say bourgeois, or more precisely bourgeois-mafioso, the
best example of which is the character of Calogero Sedara of the novel The
Leopard (Il Gattopardo), who saw in parliamentarianism, or at least in the
electoral system, those possibilities of promise that the Bourbon State did
not offer’ (ibid.). According to Sciascia, the mafioso bourgeoisie emerged as
the only winner of the Sicilian Risorgimento and linked its fortunes to the
ambiguous and conflicting idea of Sicilianismo, that:

rather confused and contradictory corpus of national privileges and

class, ‘of traditions, customs, and practices held faultless and supe-
rior’; it is not entirely reckless to state that the mafia is a consequent
result of the time of the Italian Unification (and later) and that it
completely reflects echoes of a bourgeois revolution restricted to
landed property. (ibid., p.1034)

The idea of social banditry seems, therefore, quite improbable. Sicilian

brigandage is nothing like the romantic depiction of the rebel against
the social order but is one of the emerging classes fighting for hegemony
and not, as a certain historiography has put forward, a community in
crisis. On the same subject, Pezzino notes that

the noble codes are not respected, in fact there is not a trace of this to
be found in the brutality of the episodes documented in the archive
sources; the population does not seem to play an active role or protect
the bandits, but is rather alienated by the exploitation of these instru-
ments of violence that are not within everyone’s reach, and its role,
therefore, is that of passive spectator or victim when involved in the
disputes and it suffers thefts and damages that certainly do not spare
the poorest. (Pezzino 1987, p.914)
24 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Pezzino deduces, though, that the theory of Hobsbawm (and Sciascia)

has had success in the historiography of Sicily because the history

of the island, so rich in portraits of idealised bandits, handed down
through the popular tradition of street singers, cantastorie, studied by
folklore scholars, then reused in literature, lends itself easily to the
distinction between mafia as a structure of power and brigandage as
a form of social deviance, which among other things has given credit
to a large and influential historiography of left-wing writers. (Pezzino
1990, p.88)

The theory of Pezzino doesn’t always appear to be valid, especially if

what will happen after World War II with regards to Giuliano is consid-
ered.3 The historian Francesco Renda explains the mafia phenomenon
in terms of the interest of the large estate owners to exploit their lands
as much as possible. This is the beginning of the process which gener-
ated the ‘alta (high) mafia’ and the ‘bassa (low) mafia’, the town and
the country mafia. Renda identifies the figure of the rural bourgeois, the
gabelloto, as the key to the violent process of unlawful accumulation.
This figure is the rival of the landowner because he tends to eat away at
the large feudal estates, but he is also the link between the landowner
and the peasants.4
Renda identifies the mafia as a reactionary and conservative force.
For the single mafioso or group, ‘the use of violence was not a form of
protest or revolt, as it was for the brigand in hiding’.5 On the contrary,
this was ‘an instrument more efficient than any other’ for gaining posi-
tions of prestige or power and rising rapidly within society while being
accepted for what one was. This process, however, saw the mafioso
establishing solid and complex links with public power ‘that were not
only those evident, criticised links with the politician on the look-out
for votes, but also more subtle and insidious links with the police and
the public administration’(Renda 1984–87, Vol.III, p.116).
The distinguishing trait of mafioso violence from the beginning was
the capacity to operate within the system and serve the dominating
interests, receiving in exchange both protection and services because
‘without this link with public power the violence was not mafioso, it
was only common criminality’ (ibid., p.117).
Renda thus identifies the class of middle-class farmers and old aris-
tocracy as those who used these criminal associations as a means for
social, economic and political growth, but he puts the labourers and
peasants in second place. A report by the Prefecture of Palermo from
 The Abolition of Feudalism 25

1874 supports his theory, listing the benefits that the various classes
enjoyed from the mafia:

The rich man uses it to protect himself and his property from the incur-
able plague of brigandage or uses it to maintain his power, influence
or predominance that is diminishing as liberal institutions take root.
The middle class lends its arm and uses it either out of fear of vendetta
or because it considers it a potent means to acquire misunderstood
popularity or to gain wealth or to succeed in satisfying its desires and
ambitions. Lastly, the working class easily becomes mafioso because
of the natural hate felt towards those who possess things and are in a
higher position, because it is used to working against public authority
and its acts, and because it usually abhors work and occupation. The
mafia of the proletariat or the common people usually does not have
aims other than imposing respect on one’s neighbours or robbing or
extorting money from the rich through fear or threats often cruelly
carried out either to damage property or people. (ibid., p.114)

The complex relationship between authorities, bandits and landowners,

after a fairly long incubation period, developed into the mafia phenom-
enon after the process of unification. Who were the real winners of the
struggle for the Unification of Italy? It is obvious that the government
of a united Italy would not have found life easy in the island after the
disembarkation at Marsala without the help of the network of ruffians,
barons and authorities. The reply of Duke Gabriele Colonna di Cesarò
to the Bonfadini Enquiry reveals, in fact, how ‘patriotic’ the intentions
of this lobby of supporters were:

All the barons, all the property owners of the towns and the countryside have
always had a force around them which they used to carry out their own justice
without referring to the state and which they used every time there were signs of
revolution ... It was therefore natural that when one had to carry out the
revolution, one didn’t look too closely at those one was employing ... ;
for whatever reason in other occasions one should have turned to the
authorities, one looked to these people, and in my opinion this is where
the mafia originates. (Marino 1998, p.36, my italics)

After the Unification of Italy, the island phenomenon known as mafia

now appeared more complex than the more generalised phenomenon of
banditry to the observers of society and the men of the newly born state
institutions. However, it was these new social figures that shattered the
26 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

old social order with their excessive power, violence and forms of proto-
clientelism breaking the immobility of a society which had remained,
despite the abolition of feudalism several decades earlier, principally
feudal. The champion of this class partly on the make and partly parasitic
was the gabelloto,6 the representative of the rural middle class. There was
no sympathy for the middle classes, who were conquering Europe and
slowly replacing the old ruling classes. This new Sicilian middle class was
not inspired by new ideologies, progressive movements or breaks with
the past, as in France or England. In Sicily, even the most enlightened
and active among the bourgeoisie aimed merely to imitate the island
nobility or even substitute them. The Sicilian mafioso middle class feared
that with the triumph of bourgeois ideologies, their long-cherished hopes
of merging with the aristocracy would come to nothing. The project of
national unity created an unrepeatable occasion for gaining access to the
coveted world of the nobility. This historic period in Sicily has therefore
always inspired particular interest in many Sicilian writers.

The name finds a cause: I mafiusi della Vicaria

The literary production of the island is punctuated with historical

novels which capture the period from the fall of the Bourbon dynasty
to the beginning of the new century. The clearest novel of the period
in question is without doubt I Vicerè (The Viceroys) in 1894 by Federico
De Roberto, a grandiose portrait of Sicilian aristocratic life and a cutting
interpretation of the failure of the Risorgimento. The novel tells the
story of the noble Uzeda family from Catania, from 1855 to 1892. De
Roberto’s novel is a harsh representation of the cynical and immoral
transformation of the upper class which in less than 40 years passes
from the Bourbon dynasty to the birth of the unified state and the crea-
tion of parliamentary government. The uprising of Garibaldi in 1860,
which should have prepared the way for a new era, brought with it to
Sicily all the unresolved contradictions of the Risorgimento. This meant
that the long-awaited agricultural reform affected only church property,
and very occasionally the large properties of the latifondi. This is prin-
cipally what De Roberto’s novel is about, and it becomes a merciless
accusation against the predatory and self-interested mentality that was
expressed by the Uzeda. Bellicose and aggressive, often fighting amongst
themselves, immoral and rapacious in their actions, the Uzeda family
remains united in order to favour the incredible rise of the family. The
reply to this novel arrives several decades later from a writer who had
been part of the world portrayed in I Vicerè. Prince Giuseppe Tomasi
 The Abolition of Feudalism 27

di Lampedusa replied with another historical novel, Il Gattopardo (The

Leopard), published posthumously in 1958, in an aristocratic vein, almost
offended by and disillusioned with De Roberto’s theory on the greed of
the upper classes. Lampedusa’s novel also puts the Risorgimento on trial,
but in contrast to De Roberto, he identifies the reasons for its failure in
the rise of the mafioso middle classes which replace the old nobility.
The most important text for the mystique of the mafia during the
formation of the new unified state is, without doubt, I mafiusi della
Vicaria (The Mafiosi of the Vicaria) from 1861, a play in three acts, which
creates and presents the figure of the mafioso for the first time. The word
mafia begins to be widely used after the success of this play which is, in
philological terms, the first literary text to contain the word mafiusu.
The authorship of this famous play is still unclear. One version claims
that the author of the original text was Gaspare Mosca, while another
identifies Giuseppe Rizzotto, an actor and playwright from Palermo as
the author. The inspiration for the play is in any case closely linked
to the encounter Rizzotto had with the previous offender Gioacchino
D’Angelo, who provided plenty of interesting ideas. The cosca of
D’Angelo controlled a tavern outside Porta Nuova at Palermo, on the
road to Monreale, where Rizzotto’s theatre company, at the time in dire
economic straits, was warmly welcomed. Iachino D’Angelo, known as
‘Funciazza’ (pouting mouth) probably because of the shape of his lips,
took the company under his wing and became the main figure, a cobbler,
in the play. D’Angelo-Funciazza had just returned from prison after being
condemned for his activity in the onorata società and was delighted to
bring Rizzotto up to date about the habits and customs of the prisoners
of the Vicaria7; he may also have provided some characteristic thumbnail
sketches of the occupants. If this is the case, D’Angelo probably provided
the inspiration, Mosca wrote the text and Rizzotto produced the play and
took the role of Iachinu Funciazza. D’Angelo may have told Rizzotto or
Mosca some of the secrets about the prison in Palermo and the organisa-
tion of the relationships between prisoners there.
The historical importance of the play by Mosca and Rizzotto is funda-
mental not only for the social picture which emerges, but also because
the word mafia is used for the first time in association with a system
of hidden power, although this power is used only within a criminal
group. The play by Rizzotto is therefore particularly important because,
as Loschiavo has noted, it offers:

an intimate vision of the organisation of a typical aspect of ethnic

low-life and, to be precise, the real origin of the most serious form
28 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

of criminal activity which has ever existed and still exists in Sicily,
which then gives its name to all the other forms of national and
international criminality. (Loschiavo 1962, p.52)

I mafiusi della Vicaria is also an important example of Sicilian verismo8

because it expresses the historical situation of the mafia during the
process of unification: the secret understanding between mafia and
common criminality, mafia and politics, and the antagonism between
the central state and the island. The importance of Rizzotto’s play is
not simply literary but also political and historical; it contains the basic
principles of the mafioso groups of the period, and it is the first literary
example of what Sciascia defines, in his writings about brigands, as sicili-
anismo. The main mafioso figures are portrayed as figures of a certain
moral character, very similar to the stereotypes that Pitrè would later
describe in his writings on the mafia and omertà.
In I Mafiusi the relationships between the prisoners of the Vicaria are
drawn in a fairly folkloristic yet lively manner. The first two acts are a
folkloristic representation of the prison of Palermo, illustrating two days
in the life of the prison. It is the year 1854, and the play describes the
lives of the prisoners Iachinu Funciazza, Minico Chiantedda, and others
on the eve of the liberation of Sicily by Garibaldi. The prisoners, all
condemned for common crimes, are bound together by ties of solidarity,
by norms typical of prison society, consisting of a group of customs –
laws even – which are never written down but which continue to be
respected even outside the prison walls, and by obedience to a recog-
nised leader (Iachinu). Another form of criminal organisation already
exists at Palermo (it is known as camorra), which has an initiation rite
after a period of apprenticeship during which the new member is intro-
duced to the hierarchies of the group. The affiliates must have:

the indispensable technical skills needed for using a knife (or a razor),
the instrument used for slitting the faces of those who must be
punished by the society, killing the ‘infami’, duelling to show off one’s
ability and courage in order to make progress through the ranks of the
criminals and maintain the status of leader. (Di Bella 1991, p.20)

It must be noted that while Rizzotto mentions mafiosi in the title of his
play, he doesn’t use the word mafia or mafioso in any of the three acts.
Nor does he mention the hierarchy of the mafioso grouping at Palermo.
The structure found in the play among the prisoners of the Vicaria is in
actual fact borrowed from Naples. We hear about camorristi (leaders of
 The Abolition of Feudalism 29

the society), simple camorristi, picciotto di sgarro (petty criminals), and

garzone di malavita (low-life characters); in other words, all the hierarchy
of the camorra found within the prisons (in fact, the prisons of Naples
were called Vicaria as at Palermo) and outside. This leads us to believe
that the ‘naming of the hierarchy of the Neapolitan low-life in 1861–62
was considered to be typical also of the organised crime in the prisons of
Palermo, even though the prisoners were members of the Sicilian mafia
not the camorra’ (Loschiavo 1962, p.96).
The play was an immediate success, also, because Rizzotto knew the
rules and values of the common people well, whereas much other literary
output was little interested in this sort of audience. The playwright from
Palermo was also able to define the complex interweaving which bound
the worlds of the lower classes and the prisons together.
The group of prisoners portrayed in the play are fairly mixed. There is,
of course, the head-camorrista, a figure of authority who is inteso; that
is, respected and feared. This is Iachinu Funciazza, representative of an
urban criminal group, who is the most authoritative figure among the
members, and who is a charismatic example of the secret class of homines
novi (new men), open to the political programme of rebellion against
the Bourbon government and in agreement with the Piedmontese
proposal to create a united Italy under the control of the constitutional
monarchy of the House of Savoy. His antagonist is the treacherous and
boastful Don Nunzio, a Bourbon spy, and therefore representative of the
old regime which stands impotent before the changes taking place, who
is shown as the only one who tries to undermine Iachinu’s authority by
inciting the camorristi to rebellion. Nunzio is the spy with no compan-
ions and no peace, who, contrary to the faithful members, finds neither
friends nor a trusted leader. He is the infame who doesn’t respect the
rigid rules of omertà, but rather talks, betrays and puts his companions
at risk. Rizzotto treats him differently, as a consequence of his attitude
to the law and the sbirri (police). In any case, he is the only character
to be physically eliminated from the play. His bloody end is symbolic
because Nunzio has disobeyed the laws of omertà, and he represents the
old order in ruins which is replaced by the newly formed order.
Revolving around these two figures are labourers such as Ricu Balata,
Turiddu Masticusu, and Totò Spannucchiatu, members of the group who
serve the head-camorrista Iachinu Funciazza.
The central character who helps to reveal the secret world of the
Vicaria is certainly Don Leonardo, who represents the bourgeois intel-
ligentsia and is possibly ‘a self portrait of Rizzotto himself’ (ibid., p.47).
Don Leonardo is wrongly imprisoned and, because he is completely
30 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

different to the others, becomes the tool with which to decipher the
jargon of omertà ‘thanks to the continual, almost linguistic explana-
tions that Zu Iachino is forced to give him’.9
The play describes all the rites and customs of the criminal band, from
the camorrista di giornata, who acts like the chief and deals with collecting
the percentage of the gaming takings, to the pizzu, to the psychological
outline of the inmates of the Vicaria. The old prison of Palermo is a
world which is completely isolated, with rules and rigid orders. The
head-camorrista Iachinu represents the wise, just man, whose use of
violence is determined by his sense of justice; he fights the abuse of
power and defends the oppressed. He is not a common criminal but
becomes almost a romantic bandit idealised in popular fantasy, always
ready to take revenge for bullying and defend the weak. Iachinu is not
only the feared and respected chief but also he is the classic mafioso with
an exaggerated sense of his own personality and dignity, and he is the
bandit avenger who puts things right. The unfortunate Don Leonardo –
the helpless intellectual and victim of abuse and tricks – is one of his
protégés, whereas the treacherous spy Don Nunzio, representative of the
old Bourbon regime, is shown as the most negative character of all.
The code of omertà, which regulates the relationships within the
prison, takes on a decisive role when the Incognito, the unknown, a
mysterious character, appears on the scene; he is the only one among
the many delinquents imprisoned for common crimes to be condemned
for political crimes. The Incognito, an important political prisoner, has a
vital role in the play by Rizzotto and Mosca, and very probably refers to a
prestigious protagonist of Sicilian politics in those years. Various theories
have attempted to identify this character. In the original text, it seems
that there was a dedication to Antonio Starabba, Marquis of Rudinì,10 an
influential Sicilian politician who went on to occupy important govern-
mental positions (he was prime minister several times and was Crispi’s
sworn enemy). Another more plausible theory is that the Incognito
represents Francesco Crispi himself. The Incognito would appear to be
the key to understanding the play. The island statesman could repre-
sent the ‘symbol of the political forces that contributed to the success
of the Risorgimento in Sicily and which after the Unification of Italy
became the new ruling class of the country’.11 Crispi was regarded ‘with
sympathy’, argues Loschiavo, ‘by men like Jachinu Funciazza’ (ibid.,
p.49). The link between these Sicilian political groups and representa-
tives of the local delinquency is a fact that has been historically proven,
just as it is known that mafiosi – followers of Iachinu Funciazza – were
associated with the left-wing groups around Crispi.12
 The Abolition of Feudalism 31

The political prisoner appears in the twelfth scene of the first act, and
it is immediately clear that he has a network of acquaintances in the
prison, especially the prison warden himself:

Warden: Please follow me, my lord.

Incognito: My friend, I would ask a favour of you, if you would be so
kind as to take a note to my family, to let them know that I have
been transferred from the Police Office to this prison, and at the
same time ask them to send a mattress (Rizzotto 1994, p.540).

The head-camorrista Iachinu, not realising the importance of the man,

tries to subdue him by asking for the customary tribute. The dialogue is
important because it reveals historical and social implications:

Incognito: Speak as I am listening.

Iachinu: My lord should know that I treat all my affairs calmly
and without getting heated, because overheating is bad for one’s
innards; in here there is a usage, a custom, and customs create
laws, for those who are lucky enough to enter here.
Leon: What luck!
Iach: You must pay a small sum for the French.
Incog: Who are these Frenchmen?
Iach: We call them Frenchmen: they are the needy; give us a token,
then they’ll be happy, you’ll be happy and we’ll all be happy.
(Rizzotto 1994, p.62)

The Incognito is by no means worried by the ambiguous language and

whispers ‘Now listen here’. The words cannot be heard, but everyone
understands that the Incognito is quite familiar with the group. On his
arrival in Palermo, he had been sent by his camorristi friends to Iachinu
Funciazza, who, surprised and humbled, was forced to admit his posi-
tion of subordination. As Loschiavo notes, Iachinu:

is scheming against the Bourbon government, he knows that the

emissaries of the Kingdom of Piedmont are out and about in Sicily,
he knows that the ‘Carboneria’ (Crispi was a Carbonaro) is working
for liberty and social justice, he knows that the mafia is in favour of
conspiracy and he had received orders from the head mafia council,
and so, to the surprise of the inmates of the Vicaria, he bows down to
the unknown man. (Loschiavo 1962, p.84)
32 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

The chief of the group at the Vicaria is flattered and honoured to act as
host when the Incognito asks him for assistance:

Iach: My lord must forgive me, I didn’t know. If I had known I would
have done my duty. Mannaia lu Cavaleri has put me in this embar-
rassing situation; from today you will be respected by Iachinu
Funciazza – my life for yours.
Incog: The cobbler?
Iach: At your service! My lord knows of me? How do you know?
Incog: I was on my way to see you on the day that you were arrested.
Enough, you would do me a great service if you could find me a
mattress for tonight.
Iach: Mattress! Too luxurious, but it is nothing! I have two straw
pallets, one for my lord and one for me, two cloaks, one for my
lord and one for me, two pillows, one for me and one for my lord;
they aren’t great but they are clean.
Incog: Thank you very much. (Rizzotto 1994, p.63)

This part of the play illustrates clearly how close the links between the
‘Mafiosi’ of the Vicaria and politicians of the Sicilian Risorgimento, such
as Crispi or possibly Rudinì, are. It provides a probable indication (we
must remember that these are all suppositions as we are dealing with a
play, not a historic document) that the men responsible for Unification
are also men of honour, or that they have somehow been respected and
praised by these Sicilian supporters.
Another fundamental element is the confirmation of the code of
omertà which binds the Incognito to Iachinu; this code is so rigid that
not even the spectators are allowed to know what the two say to each
other. The secrecy and the importance of the dialogue between the two
is made more explicit when Iachinu answers Don Leonardo’s enquiry as
to what they had said to each other.

Iach: I can’t say anything to you, ‘misseri’ and curious as you are! But
he is one of them, one of those who are working for our good, and
they deserve our respect wherever they are. (Rizzotto 1994, p.84)

The success of the play (thanks also to the storyline, the lively humour
and the contrast of the diverse, colourful characters) was not just a
chance happening, and the first performances were met with great
public acclaim and economic success. However, problems followed.
The play’s success angered the more orthodox members of society who
 The Abolition of Feudalism 33

were perplexed by the characterisation of the personages. Criminals

were described as having a certain dignity, respectful of a code of
honour which was valid also outside the prison walls. Some criticised
the description of the prison environment, to all intents and purposes
governed by the prisoners and not by rules and laws. The author was
accused of sympathising with these characters that were forced to
live at the edges of society. I mafiusi was interpreted by some as a real
defence of the mafia (which was in the meantime beginning to emerge
as an association with more or less criminal aims). Under the pres-
sure of ‘some important people of Palermo’,13 probably the Marquis of
Rudinì himself,14 or perhaps as Loschiavo argues, ‘to give a little extra
to the Mafiosi (whether they appreciated it or not) who hadn’t liked
the fact that the customs and usages of the association used in prison
life at the time had been bandied about’ (Loschiavo 1962, p.94), the
author added the third act to complete the original play where Iachinu
is ‘redeemed’.
The links between members of the criminal associations and the
Risorgimento are even more obvious in this added act. Unification
has taken place, it is 1861, and the political situation has completely
changed. The story moves out of the prison and Iachinu Funciazza
becomes part of the legal world once more, where he plies his
former but honest trade as a cobbler.15 The head-camorrista rebelled
against the law only to respect the code of honour, but he is amply
rewarded for his patriotic actions. The main character of the play has
an important part to play in the political developments of the time
and the correct definition is ex camorrista now integrated into the
legal world. Iachinu has fought for the new order, he has crossed the
threshold of illegality and he has entered the new world of galantuo-
mini (gentlemen); he even gives up his title of zu (uncle), the title
with which he was known and respected by the group of followers
who were with him in the Vicaria. In this new post-Unification situ-
ation, he wants to be called mastro (master), ‘in recognition of his
honourable trade as a cobbler’ (ibid.). So we find him in the last act
of I mafiusi in the role of an honest cobbler, whose good fortune is
due to the Incognito, who hasn’t forgotten his help in the Vicaria,
and who, encouraged by Don Leonardo, gets him involved with the
new groups aligned with the new political order. The Incognito turns
out to be one of the heads of the camorra organisation, and he will be
the one to reintegrate the former head-camorrista into a society freed
from the Bourbons. In fact, when he intervenes to break up a fight
between the former head-camorrista and his old companions from
34 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

prison,16 he announces that Iachinu has been admitted to a society

of mutual assistance17:

Gioacchino, you wanted to be admitted into the society of mutual

assistance. We had our doubts, but now, fully convinced of your
change in lifestyle and improvement as a dutiful citizen and head of
a family, we have unanimously accepted you. Here is your diploma.
(Rizzotto 1994, p.142)

Freed from the Bourbons, society no longer needs the mediation of

the criminal association because of the new, true system of justice, but
Iachinu’s friends, despite his disapproval, want to keep it alive under the
Savoy dynasty. The Incognito, a noble representative of the new order,
clarifies the new situation for the former inmates of the Vicaria. ‘As for
you, if you continue with this bad behaviour, we will act as the law
requires’ (ibid.). However, the redeemed Iachinu supplies an edifying
finale, inviting his old companions to save themselves:

Come sirs, forgive them: forgiveness is the most noble virtue: Let’s
hope that my example will encourage them to take up a steady job,
because work is the only thing which can make the individual and
the family happy, and which makes the entire nation great. (ibid.)

Encouraged by the success of the first play and accompanied by popular

furore which even took him to America, Rizzotto wrote I mafiusi
all’osteria (The Mafiusi at the Inn) and I mafiusi in progresso (The Mafiusi in
Progress), without ‘equalling the realistically lively tones of the first play
and without considering the problem of the mafia in such historical
terms’.18
The Sicilians and the Italians19 of the late 19th century thus learnt
from Rizzotto’s play that a criminal group, the mafia, existed, and this
group tended towards relative autonomy from the traditional camorra,
even though it still respected its rules. They learnt that there had been
complicity between the revolution headed by Garibaldi and this crim-
inal group and that an alternative power to the state existed, and this
group ran the prisons with its own rules (and was able to impose them
using force, excessive power, spies, confidantes, punishment, and even
death). They also learnt that the heads of this group, now perfectly inte-
grated into the new political order, had become the ruling class.
I mafiusi della Vicaria is also important for the way in which it repre-
sents the mafia. It is no doubt a play which defends the mafia, named
 The Abolition of Feudalism 35

and represented here for the first time. Rizzotto presents a benevolent,
folkloristic, positive image of the mafioso. The play has the same mysti-
fying quality as the Beati Paoli, where the characters have a moral code
and are not criticised in any way by the author. These are simple, real
people, with no psychological complications. Iachinu, the main char-
acter, is based on the real camorrista Gioacchino d’Angelo; he is the
head, controlling the other prisoners and camorristi in the Vicaria. As
soon as he appears on the stage, he makes his weight felt and imposes
his rules: the payment of the pizzu and the lampa.20 Despite this, he is
a positive character: he defends the oppressed and those who ask for
his help, he respects the dead (even if he has had to kill them), and he
initiates newcomers to the rules of the association, defined according to
the code of omertà. The idea of omertà which runs through all the play,
defines those rules which discipline the relationships between mafiosi
in prison. The absolute refusal to turn to state justice, or to collabo-
rate with the institutions, and the need to resort to personal vendettas
for righting wrongs are fundamental elements of the code of behaviour
which legitimised the mafia phenomenon. During this period, and in
successive mystifications, society develops an irrational attitude which
portrays mafiosi as defenders of the oppressed, avengers of wrongs, just
substitutes for an absent and distant state, and implacable enemies of
negative figures such as confidantes, vile thieves or traitors.
From a literary point of view, the play is important for its influ-
ence on successive literature about the mafia. The word mafia enters
dictionaries and literature, it fascinates and worries the public
fantasy, it is used and abused in the reports of the state employees
and it begins to prick the conscience of honest Sicilians. The crim-
inal phenomenon existed and the name existed, but as the historian
Di Bella noted, ‘the wedding between the two was celebrated by Giuseppe
Rizzotto on the stage of the S. Anna Theatre in Palermo in 1863’.21
Leopoldo Franchetti was probably the first to understand the creative
function of the word mafia, used in the play:

The noun mafia has found a group of lawless people who were just
waiting for a word to define them; a group which, thanks to its special
character and importance in Sicilian society, is entitled to a name that
differs from that given to vulgar delinquents in other countries.22
3
Public and Private Enquiries on
the Criminal Consortium ... but
the Mafia Doesn’t Exist

The first denouncement of the mafia

In October 1860, a plebiscite was held to decide on the annexation to

the Kingdom of Sardinia, and the Sicilians voted en masse for unifica-
tion under the Piedmontese rulers. This was caused, however, by a great
misunderstanding, which led rapidly to a still greater disillusionment. The
needs of the various social groups were many but diverse; for example,
the island farmers wanted land distribution whilst the nobles wanted the
reinstatement of the 1812 Constitution. The new rulers, who knew Sicily
only through the accounts of travellers, believed the island to be rich. The
legislation of the Kingdom of Savoy was extended to Sicily and many of
these new laws were seen as grave injustices, especially obligatory military
service, the reinstatement of the tax on the grinding of corn, and the land
tax. Tobacco could no longer be cultivated; the protectionist tariffs on
cotton and linen and textiles were annulled, causing the textile trade to
be severely weakened by foreign competition. The new Savoy government
began to be regarded as an enemy. The bad feeling generated by unifica-
tion was, in any case, reciprocal. During the outbreak of cholera, which
claimed some 53,000 victims in Sicily between October 1866 and August
1867, rumours abounded that the plague spreaders were government
agents working to increase the income of the government through the
inheritance tax. When Palermo revolted in 1866, ships of the Italian Navy
bombarded the city from the sea, causing some 500 deaths. A year after
Unification, official figures listed almost 5000 draft dodgers and about
3000 deserters, who were proclaimed outlaws. The government reacted
with a series of punitive measures. On 26 June 1863, General Covoni
disembarked at the head of 20 battalions with full powers (from military
tribunal to immediate execution). In an attempt to convince the locals to

36
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 37

hand over the draft dodgers, wartime methods were adopted (Mack Smith
1970, pp.600–22). In the reports of the Savoy officials, Sicily was often
portrayed as a rebellious, discontented island, inhabited by bandits and
outlaws. Soon the search for the typical characteristics of Sicilian crimi-
nality began, which developed into the search for the roots of the mafia.
Filippo Gualtiero, prefect of Palermo, was probably the first to use the
word mafia in an official document. He used this term to lump together
various elements (from social malaise to banditry, from political opposi-
tion to a criminal emergency) which made up a situation that would
be difficult to understand for those who came to govern. The political
situation became increasingly complex, and the threat of an emergency
caused by the mafia was used by the government to justify the heavy-
handed treatment and indiscriminate demonisation of the opposition,
whether it was Bourbon or pro-Garibaldi. In any case, it became clear
that the Sicilian politicians ‘would have fought any attempt to purge
the local ringleaders and the mafia tooth and nail, assisted as they were
by public opinion which out of self-defence and to protect the many
islands of local power, denied its existence’ (Mack Smith 1970, p.627).
In 1870, the right-wing government attempted to solve the problem
by proposing special laws for Sicily. Parliament approved the creation of
a commission to hold an enquiry into the social and economic condi-
tions of the island, following intense debate about the problems of law
and order and banditry. The left-wing members of parliament were
opposed to the creation of special laws, claiming that the right-wing
repression was offensive to Sicilian traditions and customs.
However, the Left underlined ‘how the roots of the mafia were to be
found in the governmental offices, and that the system of using well-
known criminals and delinquents within the state organs for public
safety to control delinquency had opened the doors to the abuse and
corruption of public safety’.1 The first strong denouncement of the
mafia occurred in parliament in June 1875, when the government was
still right wing; Diego Tajani, member of the left-wing opposition and
former royal procurator at Palermo between 1868 and 1872, accused
the highest authorities of the state of being allied with and dominated
by the mafia in Sicily. He also admitted that (especially in Palermo but
also in Agrigento and Trapani) to deny the existence of the mafia was
to ‘negare il sole’ (deny the sun); the mafia had the consistency of some-
thing ‘che si vede, che si sente, che si tocca’ (you can see, hear and touch):

There, crime is but a continual bargaining, you draw up a ticket for

blackmail and say: I could burn your crops, your vines, I won’t burn
38 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

them but give me something which corresponds to your means. You

kidnap someone and do the same; I won’t kill you but give me some-
thing and you will be unharmed. You can see the leaders of the mafia
who stand at the centre of a certain property and say: I can guarantee
that there will be no thefts here, but you must give me a percentage
of your harvest.2

Illegal relationships existed not only between landowners and mafiosi,

but also between these mafiosi, outlaws, and the authorities – who
often used groups of ruffians, supplying them with passes – to eliminate
groups of brigands using all available means:

One day, the priests, reactionaries, autonomists conspire and are ready
to strike; a week later no one has heard any more talk about conspira-
tors, priests, reactionaries; one day, the countryside is teeming with
brigands who are almost threatening the gates of the city, the next
day, no one even mentions brigands. To continue, abuse of admon-
ishments to intimidate the opposition, protection of delinquents and
their removal from the custody of the judicial authorities, or arbitrary
arrests and detention, even after an acquittal in court. Only those
‘who knew nothing about all that’ could have voted in favour of the
governmental project. (Tajani in Lupo, 1993, p. 28)

Tajani’s denouncement echoed all through Italy, and the appearance of

this criminal phenomenon in Sicily stirred up the indignation of public
opinion across the entire nation. His accusation was certainly important
for its negative portrait of the mafia, because it was the first time that
national public opinion was informed about the problem of criminality
in Sicily. The political class was shaken by the grave reproof and set about
studying the anomalous condition of the Sicilian provinces, with the
creation of a parliamentary commission, presided over by MP Borsani,
and with MP Bonfadini as spokesman. The commission began its work
under a right-wing government in 1875 but concluded under a left-wing
one, after the political alternation on 18 March 1876. The enquiry of
the parliamentary commission (known as the Bonfadini Enquiry) was
not the only one. In the same year, Pasquale Villari3 produced a vibrant
analysis in his Le lettere meridionali,4 and above all, in 1877, Leopoldo
Franchetti published his work, Le condizioni politiche e amministrative
della Sicilia.
The Bonfadini Enquiry consisted largely of a collection of state-
ments from notabili5: the most well-known members of the nobility,
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 39

the bureaucrats, and middle-class representatives of the Sicilian world

of trade and commerce. The historian Marino claims all these people
‘believed in the idea that the island’s affairs were to be considered
“domestic” problems, to be discussed without unwanted external inter-
ference; and therefore they were more interested in confusing rather
than clarifying the relative problems’.6
The mafia, delinquency and the police structure were placed at
the centre of attention of the Bonfadini Enquiry. However, these
elements were not taken up again in the final report in which the
problem of the mafia was minimised to the extent that any social
origin was denied, and it was considered purely a moral problem or
one of public law and order. In the enquiry, the theory emerged that
the mafia was predominantly a cultural phenomenon which origi-
nated from the Sicilian people, incapable of freeing themselves from
old traditions which had taken root under the Bourbons and making
good use of the healthy institutions introduced by the liberal regime.
The Bonfadini Enquiry, in fact, after warning that ‘it is easier to say
what the mafia is not, than to determine with logic what exactly it
is’, went on to say:

It is not an organisation with stable structures and special organs; nor

is it a group of criminals with a transitory or finalised aim; it has no
statutes, nor share in profits, there are neither meetings nor recog-
nised leaders except for those who are the strongest and most able.
It is rather the development and perfecting of arrogance for all evil
aims.7

Bonfadini’s theory underlined the non-existence of hierarchies and

permanent structures, thus initiating a debate which went on until the
1980s. Despite recognising its existence, Bonfadini avoided the problem
of the origin of the mafia and its importance in local economic life.
He concluded that the criminality present in Sicily could be explained
as simple delinquency, comparable to common criminality found else-
where. He therefore presented the mafia as an island variation of the
Neapolitan camorra, the squadracce of Ravenna or Bologna, or the sicari
of Rome:

This criminal form is not specific to Sicily ... It is present also in the
other parts of the Kingdom, under other forms, with other names
and with varying or intermittent intensity, and it reveals now and
again, the terrible mysteries of the social underground: the camorre
40 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

of Naples, the squadracce of Ravenna and Bologna, the pugnalatori of

Parma, the Cocca of Turin, the sicari of Rome.8

The report of the parliamentary commission also stated that ‘apart from
the name, which emerged from the prisons of Palermo and was thrown
to the public by a young Sicilian playwright, Giuseppe Rizzotto’, the
mafia found in Sicily, due to the traditional violence of Sicilian history,
‘the widest base and deepest roots; besides, the tendency to excess of
the Sicilian people in all things, the weaker spirit of resistance of civil
solidarity in opposing it, renders the effects of this phenomenon much
more serious and much bloodier that elsewhere’.9
The high rate of violent crimes and the reduced security of property
were marginal factors, according to the report. The failure of 15 years
of right-wing government on the island were not to be blamed on the
central powers, but rather on civic immaturity and the moral backward-
ness of the people; thus the national ruling class was provided with a
justification.
The report only asked the central government for a more generous
policy of public works, and above all, the construction of roads. It
excluded any link between the persistent lack of law and order and the
relationship between the social classes – above all, in the countryside:

Let this condition of savagery increase in a country where discontent

and lack of faith in the ruling authorities reigns and soon you will see
the isolation and impotence of the government; ruffians with their
interests will appear, and accomplices out of fear, unwilling sworn
witnesses will be threatened or corrupted; all those phenomena will
appear which afflict certain provinces of the island and make the
question of law and order arduous.10

All things considered, the parliamentary enquiry of 1875 was guilty not
only of a superficial and inadequate evaluation of the mafia, but also
of the mystification of a benign mafia. This took the form of codes of
honour, and an intolerance of oppression, and this definition would
from then on represent the stereotype of the phenomenon, useful above
all for denying the presence of a local criminality with special character-
istics; consequently, any attempt to repress the mafia could be accused
of being a hostile act towards Sicilian culture, customs and traditions.
All of these elements will appear again, first in the theories of Pitrè, then
in the defensive work of Capuana, and lastly, in the Notarbartolo affair,
as warning signs of a boorish Sicilianism.
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 41

The private enquiry: Franchetti and the mafia as an

‘industry of violence’

The reply to the Bonfadini Enquiry followed rapidly – this time it was
not an official enquiry, but rather a private one carried out by two Tuscan
intellectuals, Leopoldo Franchetti and Sidney Sonnino.11
The situation in Sicily was at the centre of the political struggle: it was
an electoral stronghold for the left, a scene for both great social tensions
and an acute outbreak of crime. This was the context that Franchetti
and Sonnino found when they went to Sicily to carry out their private
enquiry, unfettered by the needs and relationships which could have
conditioned the official enquiry. They visited the island in the first
half of 1876, and then wrote the two volumes of the enquiry sepa-
rately (Franchetti wrote about the political and administrative condi-
tions, Sonnino about the peasants). In particular, Franchetti’s volume
gave rise to two crucial questions which marked (and, in part, still do)
civil debates in contemporary Italy: the Southern question and the issue
of the mafia. Their enquiry was certainly more complete and objective
than the Bonfadini Enquiry; they worked in the field and based their
study on ‘private, intimate conversations to acquire information, opin-
ions, evaluations which could reveal the psychology of the people and
the background of civil life, and the economic and social interdepend-
ency of the various classes’.12
In contrast to Bonfadini’s report, which had interpreted the criminal
phenomenon as occasional and extrinsic, which could be easily elimi-
nated by an increase in the morality of the island, Franchetti and Sonnino
believed it to have deep roots in the very fabric of Sicilian society and
economy, where it had formed in the past. It was therefore impossible
to eliminate the phenomenon without first radically changing the struc-
ture of the fundamental social and economic relationships. Franchetti,
in fact, defined a mafioso as ‘someone who, out of a medieval senti-
ment, believes he can provide security and safety for himself and his
property, thanks to his valour and personal influence, independently of
the actions of the authorities and the law’.
In other words, for the two Tuscans, the mafia was a Sicilian socio-
historical condition, directly linked to the survival of feudalism and
latifondism, to a function of self-protection for people and property,
and therefore to the absence of the state. Franchetti emphasised the
specific characteristics of the mafia, hinting at the existence of an
organisational basis but without fixed schemes and with local varia-
tions. He described in detail the methods used by the associations of
42 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

mafiosi ‘which wormed their way into all private and public affairs
and then imposed their will’, and he focused on the possible contrasts
between the various groups and their capacity to infiltrate the structure
of society:

No one dares to offer a price for an estate which one of them wants to
buy. In the councils and good works, they decide most of the admin-
istrators’ choices; they dispose of the patrimony and the income as
they please. In short, they are the absolute and uncontrolled rulers of
whatever field they have chosen, until they meet some other group
just as strong, bold and arrogant, which disputes their dominion.
Then rivalry explodes, hate between people or families; insults and
vendetta follow, tricks and intimidation to ensure victory in this or
that election ... . They take over the names of political parties, admin-
istrators, even religious people; it doesn’t matter because they are
only names. Each of the contenders tries to strengthen his position
by extending his alliances to the endless reserve of arrogant people,
outlaws, delinquents and assassins; and in order to ensure the loyalty
of old supporters and attract new ones, he tries to increase his power
and influence, showing that his clients, in all their affairs or needs, are
assured of help or protection which is never refused and always effec-
tive. And so the head of each party adds the arrogance of his clients
to his own arrogance ... . The field of exploitation and grudges widens
endlessly ... the fight becomes more vicious, it spreads and involves
the whole community and sometimes neighbouring ones ... with
feuds and extortion.13

While the Bonfadini Enquiry omitted banditry, as if it were merely a part

of the mafia, and thus supporting a fairly common mistake, Franchetti
and Sonnino made a clear distinction between the two. They stressed
how in the distant countryside of Western Sicily, the real rulers were the
malfattori (delinquents):

The lives and property of travellers belong to them. Mounted on

horses which do not belong to them, armed with revolvers and guns
which they haven’t bought, they ride around the hills and valleys like
lords. If they stop at a masseria or estate, all doors are open to them;
the land-owner, the tenant, the employees are all ready to do their
bidding. There where they pass habitually, they know everyone and
everyone knows them; no owner who cares for his lands refuses to do
business with them. (Franchetti 1993, p.34)
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 43

Thanks also to the chain of ‘intimate relationships’ that they had with
Palermo:

They find friends, allies, receivers of stolen goods and spies wherever
they want. No one desires the dangerous glory of refusing their prof-
itable alliance ... . The owners know that the best way to guarantee
their property as far as possible from brigands is to entrust them to
the care of campieri, field-guards, who have been brigands too ... and
who are part of that league which unites all ruffians of all sorts. The
kingdom of the criminals is not limited to the countryside. Without
mentioning the continuous and intimate relationships many villains
of the provinces have with Palermo, many of them live in the towns,
and do their work within the towns and without. (Ibid.)

The operational area of the brigands, concluded Franchetti, coincided

with the area of the estates:

The brigands are so sure of their prestige and authority over all classes
of the population that often they feel no need to be brutal, and so
even their most violent acts apparently retain a great courtesy. A great
landowner comes to spend a few days in his villa. During the night he
hears knocking on the door. The brigands have come protesting that
they don’t want to hurt him but ask only to pay him homage and kiss
his hand. The owner makes excuses to avoid receiving them and the
next day he leaves, never to return to his lands again. (Ibid.)

Franchetti illustrated the mafia with a vast quantity of directly gathered

information, especially concerning its presence and participation in the
management of local affairs and its role as mediator with banditry.14
Why did the owners not rebel, Franchetti observed with amazement,
‘when three days of coordinated action would have been enough to
make banditry disappear?’(ibid., p.6). This was certainly an old ques-
tion. The interwoven links between legal and illegal power, between the
mafia and bandits, between rich landowners, emerging farmer-managers
(the gabelloti) and the delinquents had been present for more than a
century, as Brydone had reported during his voyage to Sicily. No one had
ever even made a minimal attempt to try and eliminate the problem.
This was therefore the fundamental theme of both the parliamentary
debate in 1875 and the enquiry of Franchetti and Sonnino. Lupo notes
with acumen that ‘the right to use force, originally in the hands of the
aristocracy, was transferred legally into the hands of the state; however,
44 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

practically it remained in the hands of private citizens, involving new

social groups during the developments of the 19th century in a process
of “democratisation of violence” ’ (Lupo 1993, p.35), which went beyond
all the rigid hierarchies of order or class.
Franchetti, Lupo continues:

effectively seems to be well aware of the fact that the key to the ques-
tion no longer lies totally in the hands of the traditional ruling class.
One cannot refer solely to the class of great land-owners whether
of long-standing or recent formation in the capital of the Ancien
Regime, Palermo, forgetting the growing role that the provinces play
in post-feudal, post-unification Sicily and the local ruling elite that
builds its fortune on the new capacity to control local, economic
(state lands and former private estates) and political (the national
and local electoral system) resources. (Ibid., p.36)

Franchetti’s enquiry revealed the most obvious deficiencies of the new

unified state on the island, and one of his most important results was
the identification of the oldest problem of the island: the state’s difficulty
in exercising its monopoly of violence to guarantee personal safety. The
Tuscan intellectual reported that ‘violence is exercised openly and regu-
larly, with tranquillity; it is the normal course of things’, adding that ‘if
you go to look for the basis on which the influence of someone with
real power is constructed, this inevitably lies in the fact or the reputation
that that person has the possibility to use violence directly or indirectly’
(Franchetti 1993, pp.7,11). Franchetti also noted the complete indiffer-
ence on the part of public authorities to the emergence and affirmation of
parallel authorities which were much more efficient than the state ones:

The governmental administration seems to be sitting in the middle

of a society which bases all its fundamental orders on the presump-
tion that public authority does not exist. The interests of any sort
which aim towards domination find the means to defend themselves
outside this authority, and when faced by them, the common inter-
ests represented by them are defeated before even fighting and the
law is in fact excluded. The power and the influence, that the law is
precisely designed to combat, are more effective than the organisa-
tion which should control them. (Ibid., p.14)

Thanks to Franchetti’s private enquiry, it became possible to draw up

a complete picture of the mafia and its links with politics, society and
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 45

the Sicilian culture. The most important points of this analysis dealt
with the abolition of feudalism in Sicily, which had not permitted the
transferral of violence to state control; ‘the first reason for the state of
violence which reigns in part of the island is the condition found in all
of the island, in which, thanks to a tradition that was uninterrupted
from the middle ages to our times, personal power conserved effi-
cient and recognised authority’ (ibid., p.11). Franchetti found a society
where rights were based on the material force of individuals or social
groups and ‘private violence found no rivals other than more private
violence, and society had no public force with which to fight it. The
only force it might have had to face would have been the government,
had it really been a force’ (ibid.). In this situation, a real ‘industry of
violence’ (ibid., p.94) was born, run by a new class of facinorosi (mafiosi
and delinquents), whose importance gave them not only ‘effective’ but
also ‘ethical’ authority:

Consequently on the island, the class of lawless people finds itself in

a special situation which is nothing like the situation of criminals in
other countries, however numerous, intelligent and well-organised
they may be; here one can almost say that it is a social institution.
This being so, as well as serving social forces which have existed
ab antiquo, it has become a class with its own work and interests, a
social force in its own right, because of the special conditions created
by the new order of things. (Ibid., p.93)

This is a fundamental aspect because Franchetti identifies with

perspicuity not only the material but also the moral authority; he
notes, in fact, that these criminals ‘are not isolated within society’
but on the contrary have found a favourable situation in Sicily, ‘itself
founded on private power’ (ibid., pp.95–96) and reinforced by the
norms of omertà. These are the starting points for understanding
the mafia, and as Franchetti added, ‘it is generally believed that the
phenomena which are included in this common meaning make up
in themselves the complete social fact, when in fact they are only
partial signs’. For Franchetti, ethics and rights could only be based
on force because of the conditions in Sicily. The behaviour of the
mafioso represents a ‘maniera di essere’ (way of being) for this ‘society
and the individuals which are part of it, and consequently, in order
to express oneself efficiently and so render the idea clearly, it helps to
use an adjective rather than a noun’. The adjective mafioso according
to ‘Sicilian customs, the most competent authorities in this subject’,
46 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

didn’t necessarily refer to ‘a man dedicated to crime’ but to any indi-

vidual who

knows how to make everyone respect his rights, whatever means he

uses to achieve this aim. And since ... violence is often the best means
that one has to make oneself respected, it was natural that the word
used in the derivative sense came to mean a man dedicated to blood-
shed. (Ibid., p.97)

Franchetti took it for granted that there was a latent mafioso mentality
which was widespread among the people. His analysis was handed
down to the second half of the 20th century, buried in a wealth of socio-
anthropological literature which has interpreted the mafia as a cohesive
socio-cultural system, where omertà represents the proof of an unbridge-
able divide between social and state ethics, and the impossibility of
coexistence between collective norms on the one hand (which demand
vendetta and feuds) and state order on the other (with written codes and
courts). Almost 100 years later, the German sociologist Hess, develops a
theory which reflects many of Franchetti’s observations. The mafia does
not exist, argues Hess, while mafioso behaviour does exist, and reflects
the cultural codes of traditional Sicilian society; the mafioso does not
even know he is one, seeing as he only behaves as the dominant culture
requires him to. The word mafia therefore, as Lupo remarks, ‘does not
represent the “complete social fact”, but only the “impartial manifesta-
tion” of the cultural phenomenon’ (Lupo 1993, p.38). Franchetti adds,
‘the noun mafia has found a class of violent, lawless men, who were
just waiting for a word with which to define themselves; their special
character and importance in Sicilian society entitled them to a name
which differed from that given to vulgar delinquents in other countries’
(Franchetti 1993, p.97).
Franchetti clearly distinguishes between a mafia which is ‘the way of
being of a certain society’ and one which answers to an organised group
of lawless men. The latter, using a violent hegemonic power over the
land, have built up a ‘social system outside the law’, closely linked to
other economic and political powers. If the Bonfadini Enquiry had in
fact absolved the local ruling class from any responsibility, concluding
that it was ‘neither a political nor a social question’ (‘Inchiesta parlam-
entare’ in Tessitore 1997, p.114), the report by Franchetti had, on the
contrary, notable importance, because Franchetti noted that the most
important goal to the Italian state in Sicily should have been ‘to substi-
tute private force with the force of law’ (Franchetti 1993, p.99), and he
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 47

identified, in the island’s cultural hinterland, the fertile terrain in which

the mafia had sprouted and grown; but above all, because he showed no
indulgence towards the culture of the mafia, whether benign or malig-
nant, as would become the case shortly thereafter.

The mafia doesn’t exist

Franchetti’s precise intuition about the cultural hinterland of the mafia

phenomenon created a great opportunity for the defenders of the mafia
and a certain Sicilianist culture. In fact, they completely overturned
Franchetti’s methodological analysis, giving a positive reading of all
those elements which had been identified as negative in the enquiry.
The research of the two Tuscans created a sensation and provoked great
interest all over the country in the living conditions and law and order
in Sicily, but outraged the island’s intellectuals. A polemical comment
about the publication of the enquiry of the Tuscan intellectuals can be
found in Risposta all’orrendo libello di Leopoldo Franchetti intitolato ‘La
Sicilia nel 1876: condizioni politiche e amministrative’. The resentful text
accused the authors of being subversive and intending to stir up ‘civil
war and social war’, and planning ‘a frightening attack on Italian unity
and independence’.15
If, on the one hand, the mafia had by now sunk its roots deep into
island society, then on the other, the Sicilian ruling classes had created
a false, mystifying paradigm which tended to cover up the criminal
nature of the phenomenon with an innocuous, reassuring facade, where
behaviour was based on a code of honour.
The island’s elite was effectively involved in the mafia system, thanks
to their presence on the new Italian political scene right across the board,
from right to left. Using this position they spread a new idea of ‘benign
mafia’, minimising the criminal aspect, as if mafioso behaviour was
merely the expression of Sicilian boldness or arrogance and not a savage
criminal phenomenon. A significant testimony to what was going on
can be found in various statements by Antonio Starabba, Marquis of
Rudinì, an important member of the right-wing party. In 1867, when he
was prefect of Palermo, he declared:

the Mafia is powerful, perhaps more than we think; and in many

cases it is impossible to catch and punish it, as proof of facts and
guilt is missing ... . One would need to know the rules of the Mafia
thoroughly in order to appreciate its strength and influence. Only
those who are under its protection could travel freely round the
48 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

countryside; from this fact alone, make your judgement. One can
proceed with arrests but not with proof ... . It is difficult to say where
the main centre is. It would be useful to get to know the mysterious
organisation better ... . But other facts which would council us to have
a different opinion are not known. In the countryside, brigandage is
widespread and there are many leaders who often work together and
have their reference point in the Vicaria. The aim of the ruffians is
to get rich during the disorders and remove their enemies; in other
words, robbery and vendetta. When they have become rich, they
become conservative.16

At that time, Rudinì had a clear vision of the organised structure of the
mafia and the complicity which supported it.
In the hearing of 1876, the ‘conservatives’ finally make the transition;
the very same Rudinì completely changes his mind about the mafia. The
criminal phenomenon is at this time an element of power and as such
is identified as a ‘positive’ requisite, a way of being ‘simpatico’ (nice).
Rudinì states ‘I believe that what happens in Sicily happens in all those
countries where there is a lot of crime’, and the delinquent ‘becomes
popular, and by being popular becomes simpatico. Don’t think that this
happens only in Sicily, for it happens all over the world’. Rudinì then
expands on this subject, asking himself:

But what is this maffia? – I divide the maffia into three categories;
I say that above all it is a benign maffia. The benign maffia is that
spirit of boldness, that je ne sais pas that won’t be overcome, behaving
like a ‘farceur’ as the French say. So I too could be a maffioso benigno
as it were; I am not, but anyone who respects himself, has a certain
exaggerated pride, and the disposition, as I have just said, not to be
overcome but rather to overcome, the desire to show off his courage,
be willing to fight etc. could very well be. (Pezzino 1995, p.123)

So a form of mafia maligna (bad mafia) does exist, which the Sicilian
divides into ‘two other branches’. The first is:

the mafia of the prison (and it is out of the prison that the word mafia
spread, extending beyond the mafia of the prison),17 ... which is in
all its forms a real association of delinquents, created with the aim
not of committing this or that particular act but committing crime
in general and continuously, defending and supporting each other.
(Ibid., p.124)
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 49

The second is the ‘l’alta mafia’ (high mafia), which is defined as ‘soli-
darity of crime’ and binds the criminals in relationships of friendship
and interests (ibid., pp.124–25).
Rudinì only accuses the Sicilian landowners of excessive pride, often
a symptom of mafia benigna (good mafia). While he does admit the
need for legislation, he limits it to greater control over ‘field guards
and “soprastanti” ... the dead watchmen of criminals and the mafia’
(ibid., p.125).
Almost all of Sicily that counts or is important takes the same view
as Rudinì, a view which will then develops into a real ideology of
Sicilianism.18 This view, which had already been digested by the Sicilian
ruling classes and public opinion, and which Pitrè, the scholar of folk
traditions, referred to in 1889 when, confronting the ignorance of
‘certain politicians and statesmen of today’, he gave his famous defini-
tion of the mafia.
Following the theories of Rudinì, Giuseppe Pitrè dissected the mafia
from a purely etymological point of view, completely ignoring the anal-
ysis and denouncements of the preceding enquiries. Unlike Rudinì, Pitrè
was never involved in Sicilian politics, but nonetheless he subscribed to
and promoted a mystifying paradigm that proved highly influential on
successive analyses of the mafia. The criminal phenomenon was being
discussed all over Italy, so Pitrè decided to dedicate a chapter to it in the
second volume of his book Usi e costumi, credenze e pregiudizi del popolo
siciliano called ‘La mafia e l’omertà’. This chapter came to be considered
a milestone for successive literature on the mafia.
Pitrè was convinced that the presence and the meaning of the word at
Palermo were very different to what was found in dictionaries and what
had been written in the previous 20 years:

The word mafia (with one, not two f’s, as found outside Sicily) is by
no means a new or recent one: and if no dictionary before Traina’s –
the first and perhaps the only one to contain it – includes it, this
does not authorise us to consider it post-1860, as many have done.
Our dictionaries, based largely on Sicilian poets, only give us the
smallest part of the language of the people; it suffices to say that
several thousand words, synonyms, phrases and proverbs found in
this work are not recorded by anyone else. Whether mafia derives
from or is related to the Tuscan mafia meaning misery or the French
maufle or meffler, is not my concern here. I am inclined to affirm
that this word existed in the first sixty years of this century in a
quarter of Palermo, the Borgo, which up until twenty years ago was
50 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

a place unto itself, and was considered separate from the city, as it
was typographically.19

The Sicilian scholar was born in the quarter of Palermo called the Borgo
where he was a doctor and was well known and appreciated for his
generosity and availability towards those less fortunate:

at the Borgo, the word mafia and its derivatives meant, and still
mean, beauty, grace, perfection, excellence. A pretty girl, who indeed
seems to us to be such, who is well turned out (zizza), and who has
something superior and elevated about her, has a mafia quality and
is mafiusa, mafiusedda. A common house that is cared for, clean, tidy
and pleasing is one that is mafiusedda, ammafiata, or sometimes ‘ntic-
chiata. A domestic object of such good quality that one notices it,
is mafiusu: and how many times have we heard in the streets the
shouts of fruit, plates or even brushes described as mafiusi: Haju scupi
d’a mafia. Haju chiddi mafiusi veru! I have fine brooms, truly mafiosi
ones ... . The word mafia adds to the idea of beauty the idea of superi-
ority and capability in the best sense of the word, and when talking
about men adds self-assurance, or when excessive, boldness, but never
effrontery in a bad sense, never arrogance, or haughtiness. A man of
the mafia or mafioso defined in this natural, proper way should not
frighten anyone, because few people are as polite and respectful as he
is. (Pitrè 1889, Vol.II, pp.289–90)

Pitrè’s etymological reconstruction is of extraordinary importance

because he both overturns and betrays the various denunciations made
in the 1870s, which had revealed the danger and violence of the mafia,
changing it instead to a misplaced sense of Sicilian pride. Was it possible
that Pitrè did not know or want to see what was so evident to many
others, especially when we consider that his profession brought him
into contact with the different classes of Palermo every day? The Sicilian
scholar, with his profound regional convictions, defender of Palermo and
Sicily to the last, was one of the most prompt and committed fomenters
of a tough Sicilianist and conservative reaction, above all, as we will see,
during the Notarbartolo affair, in his role in the Pro-Sicilia committee.
Pitrè looked for and found a difference between ‘a man of the mafia
or mafioso defined in this natural, proper way’, which in his opinion
‘should not frighten anyone, because few are as polite and respectful as
he’, and the meaning acquired after the Unification of Italy, when things
changed and the word mafiusu no longer had its original meaning.
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 51

Pitrè’s careful examination, which began with a learned and probably

plausible explanation of the etymological aspects, went on to casually
blame Rizzotto for the negative significance which the word had:

But unfortunately everything has changed since 1860, and mafiusu

no longer has the original, primitive meaning for many. In 1863, a
dramatist from Palermo, Giuseppe Rizzotto, together with a signor
Mosca, wrote and presented scenes from the life in the great prisons
of Palermo, which he called I Mafiusi di la Vicaria. These scenes vividly
portrayed the character, habits, traditions and manner of speaking of
the camorristi of Palermo. (Ibid., p.290)

Pitrè manipulated the word ‘unfortunately’ almost as if, observes Onofri,

‘everything that happened after regarding the meaning of the word,
was due to some sort of inevitable fatality’.20 The success of the play
in Sicilian dialect was tremendous, and between 1863 and 1886 there
were more than 2000 performances in the provinces of Mezzogiorno
and 34 performances in Rome in 1884. To Pitrè this explained why ‘the
names and actions of these new mafiusi became so popular ... . Having
become part of the spoken language, the mafia now means a state of
affairs which had another name’. With regret, Pitrè remarked that the
word which had thus casually entered the spoken language was now a
‘synonym for brigandage, camorra, banditry, without being any of these
three things’. The scholar admitted that he could not say what the mafia
was, because ‘it is almost impossible to define it with the meaning that it
has now acquired in the official language of Italy’. Unable to define it, he
tried to describe what he believed it really was: ‘a certain self-assurance,
boldness, arrogance, capability, high-handedness, that gives you the air
of being mafioso, without actually making you one’ (ibid., p.291).
Pitrè refused the idea that the mafia was an organised criminal
phenomenon, formed by a group of acolytes who made violence and
bullying their only aim in life, and he adulterated the reality. This is why
his paradigm, and his good faith, become increasingly unconvincing. In
fact, with his authority as a scholar, he helped to reinforce and codify
this theory, adding that:

the mafia is neither a sect nor an association, nor does it have rules or stat-
utes. The mafioso is neither a thief nor a ruffian; the uninformed public
has not had time to think about the meaning of the word, nor has
it bothered to find out that in the mind of the thief or the brigand,
a mafioso is simply a courageous and worthy man, who won’t stand an
52 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

affront, and in this sense it is necessary, even indispensable to be mafioso.

(Ibid., pp.289–92, my italics)

At the end of the chapter which portrays the mafia as a phenomenon of

customs, when talking about mafia behaviour and the ideology which
determines it, Pitrè declares that ‘the mafia is an awareness of one’s self and
the exaggerated concept of individual force as the one and only arbiter in every
contest, of every conflict of interests and ideas; from this stems the intol-
erance of the superiority, or worse still, the high-handedness of others’,
(Ibid., p.293, my italics) and he sketches the mafioso as a dignified, proud
citizen, intolerant of arrogance and haughtiness, who will never turn to
the law and state justice in order to avoid being labelled vile, ‘nfami.21
The mafia is not an association, says Pitrè, but ‘the awareness of one’s
self’, possibly excessive and even exaggerated, but always within the
limits of a sense of honour which is certainly not negative. According
to him, the mafia is therefore a custom, a behaviour, a tradition and
not an organisation. With the blessing of the great Sicilian ethnologist,
declares Lupo, the mafia ‘was studied through a cultural smokescreen’
(Lupo 1993, p.13). Pitrè’s statement is fundamental because, from that
moment on, Dutch, German, American and Italian jurists, sociologists
and anthropologists22 come to consider the mafia above all as a behav-
iour, a way of being and acting towards others. Yet there had been, at
the end of the 19th century, two police-criminologists23 who had coun-
tered Pitrè’s analysis (the mafia of behaviour, honour, omertà) with their
analysis of a structured criminal organisation that was both strong and
potent, as had already been revealed during the trials of the 1870s and
1880s.
Pitrè’s writing is, in any case, defensive, and according to Onofri,
‘prepares the way for an interpretation of the mafia which means
rethinking, perhaps even completely denying the monopoly of power
which should be used by the state to defend the safety of all citizens’
(Onofri 1996, p.42). In this analysis Pitrè, for the first and last time,
agrees with what Franchetti had written several times in his enquiry:
‘if you go to look for the first foundation on which the influence of
a powerful person is based, you will inevitably find that that person
has the possibility, in fact or by reputation, directly or indirectly to use
violence’ (Franchetti 1993, p.11). The examination of the ethnologist
Pitrè lacks coherence, and his judgement of certain attitudes, which
would be unsuitable within a normal legal system, contradicts what he
said previously about the associative nature of the mafia. In a series of
observations about the mafioso, he added:
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 53

He can always put himself in the right, and when he can’t (nun si
fida), he does so with the help of others who think like he does and
feel the same way. Even without knowing the person that he uses and
to whom he entrusts himself, the mere movement of his eyes and lips,
or half a spoken word is enough to understand one another, and he
can be sure that the offence will be amended or at least revenged. He
who does not have the force or capacity to avenge himself and turns
to one or more who are recognised for their strength and courage,
(cci abbasta l’arma), one says fàrisi la cosca, is a coward, un carugnuni;
for what is a man without strength and courage? (Pitrè 1889, Vol.II,
pp.292–93)

These statements by Pitrè are taken up by Sciascia who demonstrates

the obvious contrast between ‘denying any form of association and
admitting that the mere movement of the eyes and lips, or half a
word are enough to order revenge or vendetta from a person or people
who may be unknown but who have the same thoughts, feel the same
way’.24
The epilogue of Pitrè’s work is thus dedicated to the mafia:

It is clear after all this that the word mafia has been condemned to
a sorry state; until yesterday it expressed something good and inno-
cent, now it represents evil things. The word has gone the same way
as the Italian words baratteria, tresca, assassino, malandrino, brigante,
(deal, intrigue, assassin, scoundrel, brigand) which originally meant
good things, but ended up meaning things which damage society.
(Ibid., p.293)

One can rightly define a ‘Sicilianist’ attitude here, which Sciascia inter-
preted as a ‘rather confused and contradictory body ... , of traditions,
customs, habits believed to be perfect and superior’ (Sciascia 1987,
p.1034).
The intentions of Pitrè may at first sight have seemed worthy. In his
way he tried to give a touch of nobility to a word and adjective which
had thrown a dark shadow across Sicily in the eyes of the Italians, and
which had often been an excuse for racist attacks which went beyond the
purely criminal aspect.25 But his affirmation, that the true meaning of
the word mafia ‘until yesterday ... expressed something good and inno-
cent’, is a strange way to conclude his theories about the mafia. It is,
in fact, rather paradoxical that an examination of the semantics of the
word is the foundation for a positive judgement of the phenomenon of
54 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

the mafia. The criminal aspect is maliciously forgotten about in a period

when the danger the mafia posed to society was quite clear, especially
because of its links with politics. The limits of Pitrè’s analysis become
even clearer in the continual contradictions between the denial of the
mafia as organised criminal organisation with rites, codes and hierar-
chies, and where he demonstrates the opposite. If, on the one hand, he
says that the mafia in the true sense is innocent, then on the other hand,
and perhaps without realising the contradiction, he says that one of the
values on which it is based is omertà, which he judges as negative. Pitrè’s
interpretation consolidates what is almost a politico-cultural operation
and reconsiders ‘the other element which had attracted the attention
and denunciations of observers; the infamy, infamia, that anyone who
collaborated was accused of, being considered a traitor, and the conse-
quent difficulty of finding witnesses to testify against the accused who
were often released for insufficient proof’ (Pezzino 1987, pp.926–27).
A word for this behaviour already existed. Omertà was necessary self-
defence for the organisations of criminals under threat from the authori-
ties. This was why, Pezzino adds,

punishment was severe for those who betrayed their companions

of a criminal enterprise; within the camorre of the prisons where
the guards controlled continuously, it was necessary to maintain
a compact front against these opponents, even when there were
conflicts and contrasts between inmates; these were resolved within
the organisation, without turning to the prison-guard. (Ibid., p.927)

Many popular songs about prison testify to this situation,26 above all the
offences towards the cascittuni (the traitor), and Franchetti also agrees
that this was the origin of the phenomenon:

But in order to prevent crime, to punish, maintain law and order

of all kinds, the police, magistrates, the public authorities need law
suits, denunciations, witnesses, the jury’s verdict, at almost every
step the cooperation of the citizens is necessary ... . The fear of sanc-
tions against someone who denounces, bears witness or presents a
libel suit against some high-handed person is much more effective
than the threat of penal sanctions against someone who refuses
to collaborate with justice in the case of a crime, or the material
damage to which someone who has been treated unjustly without
defending himself with the methods of the law, may be subjected ... .
Because public opinion knows about this extra-legal social system,
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 55

the majority of the population admits, recognises and justifies the

existence of these forces which would be considered illegal else-
where, and the means which they use to make themselves felt; so,
for those who would want to turn to the law, public disapproval
and disonore, dishonour, is added to the fear of vendetta. (Franchetti
1993, pp.13–14)

Earlier on, even Pitrè, when commenting on prisoners’ songs before

writing his theories about the mafia in the second volume of Usi e
costumi, credenze e pregiudizi del popolo siciliano, had had a different atti-
tude towards omertà, more in keeping with the first denunciations in
the newspapers, which testified how the word omertà originally derived
from umiltà (humility), a quality typically associated with prisoners and
camorristi.27 In his comments on the prison songs, Pitrè had mentioned
certain aspects of prison life. A prisoner, he said, could not be ‘unworthy
of his comrades’, and had to adapt to:

their tastes and their agitation and swearing, cursing and keeping
silent. There the criminals remind their consorts that there is one
way of acting at home, and another way when you are living with
men who know ‘how the shoe squeezes’; one way to act at court
which is different to how one acts with a traitor of the giovani onorati,
honoured young men; real men cannot be found everywhere; those
real men who in the bathrooms and in private lark around and laugh
like little boys.

L’omu chè omu nun pari ‘n campagna

Pari ‘ntra li dammusi sutta terra.
Lu judici mi dissi: – Figghiu parra, chista un è toppa chi si grapi e ferma.
– Cu la Gran Corti comu si cci parra?
– Pocu paroli e cu l’ucchiuzzi ‘n terra,
L’omu chi parra assai sempri la sgarra,
Cu la sò stissa vucca si disterra.

The man who never seemed a man in the country

Seems one in the underground cellar.
The judge said to me – Son, speak, this he who opens and stops ...
– How does one speak to the Great Court?
– With few words and one’s eyes on the ground,
The man who talks too much always makes mistakes
And with his own mouth knocks himself down
56 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

And with this wickedly cunning language, omertà is taught, the prin-
ciple of criminal education for the mafia. So at this school of roguery,
the inexpert young man is trained becoming first recluto then lamp-
iere, climbing step by step up the ranks of the camorristi.28

The identity of the camorra is clearly outlined in its essential elements;

it is the ‘old plague of the Neapolitan area’ which is more often than not
‘housed in the prisons’, says Pitrè, in his concise description:

there where, by force of crimes, anyone can make himself chief. He

pulls the strings of brigandage inside and outside; he dictates law,
organises the thefts and assassinations to be carried out, the means
by which to get away with it. He decides on the questions of honour,
oversees the safety of his supporters wherever they may be and what-
ever crime they may intend to carry out. True power, against which
human strength and government intelligence are not enough! And
trouble befalls whomsoever sees fit to rebel against his authority and
appeal against his irrevocable sentence. (Pitrè 1891, p.70)

It is interesting that he only remembers the mafia as a name, and

instead uses the word camorra to describe the delinquency that
corrupts the new associates of the prisons, making quite clear that it
is an ‘old plague of the Neapolitan area’, as if to induce the reader to
believe that the rampant delinquency has always had its deepest roots
outside Sicily.
In the second volume of Usi e costumi, credenze e pregiudizi del popolo
siciliano, Pitrè discusses the omertà of the mafia more fully. Here he does
not take up the explanation of omertà which prevailed at that time, but
develops a tradition which links omertà directly to the mafia, as the
‘awareness of one’s self’. He denies that the word means umiltà and takes
up some considerations that Sicilian magistrate Giuseppe Di Menza29
had made in a ‘Memoria’ that he had pronounced on 7 November 1875
to the Royal Academy of Science, Literature and Art of Palermo, which
declared:

Omertà is to the idea of honour what the duel is to the spirit of chiv-
alry. In the upper classes almost all problems would be resolved with
the sword or the spirit of chivalry would not otherwise feel completely
satisfied. The question of honour in omertà has the same aim; one
never feels satisfied until one has used methods which differ from
those of social justice.30
 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal 57

Pitrè identifies a concept of ‘omineità, the quality of being a man, serious,

strong sound’, which refers back to the Latin virtus and the spirit of
chivalry. Omertà represents the first sign of that particular ‘awareness of
one’s self’, fundamentally mafioso, ‘foreseeing the necessity to demon-
strate that one is a “man of honour” in every situation that requires it’
(Pezzino 1987, p.928).
Paradoxically, the same analysis had been carried out by Franchetti, but
his conclusions were completely the opposite. Pitrè’s words on omertà
must surely be considered a blatant example of philological manipula-
tion for ignoble aims, almost a justification of the mafia:

The foundation and support of omertà is silence; without this, the

omu, man, could never be an omu, nor maintain his undisputed supe-
riority; he would be unprotected in the eyes of the law, and would feel
its strength. Omertà supports him, because he is sure of his impunity,
and thus he is unpunished and goes freely because no one denounces
him, and if he is denounced, no one testifies against him ... . Because
of omertà, the accused, innocent of the crime, does not talk and if the
circumstances will, accepts the condemnation as author or accom-
plice in silence, sits quietly through the sentence, while the real
criminal strolls around, free and happy ... . Il picciottu d’onori, young
man of honour or onoratu, synonym of picciotto di sgarru, and also
cristianeddu, of cristianu di Diu, of uniceddu di Diu, is the man who
knows how to keep secrets, follows the rules, respects even the most
insignificant duties of omertà: this is the first step to passare, pass on,
and be considered a man, omu, and even professuri.31

The Sicilian scholar goes beyond this adding that ‘the testimony which
aggravates the conditions of the omu in front of the law is bloody viola-
tion which is bloodily avenged’ (Pitrè 1889, p.303).
Who is this omu that Pitrè describes in the pages dedicated to the mafia
and omertà? He is a noble character, who fights arrogance, respects the
code of omertà and all the attitudes and sentiments which are expressed
in the proverbs, wise words and songs in ‘conflict with official society’.
Pitrè recalls some examples to illustrate more clearly this sentiment
which brings people together; people with ‘the same way of thinking, the
same way of feeling’:

‘Bell’arte parrari picca’ (Speaking little is a fine art);

‘La vucca è traditura di lu cori’ (Your mouth betrays your heart);
58 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

‘L’omu chi parra assai, non dici nienti, l’omu chi parra picca è sapi-
enti’ (The man who talks a lot says nothing, the man who talks little
is wise);
‘Parrari picca e vistiri di pannu, mai nun ha fattu dannu’ (To speak
little and wear woolcloth has never damaged anyone). (Pitrè 1889,
p.295)

To conclude, Pitrè’s theories became common usage and had an enor-

mous influence on the Sicilian intelligentsia. He certainly defended,
praised and protected the mafia; if everything that is Sicilian is posi-
tive, then even the criminal phenomenon that is called mafia must be
positive. His research is limited to the strictly cultural aspects; for him
the mafia is neither sect nor association, but rather a combination of
values, behaviour and traditions that must not be subjected to any form
of criticism.
His interpretation will be referred to every time someone wants to deny
the specific criminal nature of the mafia and reduce the phenomenon to
an aspect of the Sicilian ethos. This denial, argues Paolo Pezzino,

could be used every time that the political struggle left a breathing
space for the loud claims of Sicilianism and the exaltation of the
original character of the Sicilians; it served as the cement for inter-
class blocks fighting a presumed external enemy; this is how the
minimising paradigm of the mafia is defined, and this coincides
often with the outright denial of the existence of the phenomenon.
(Pezzino 1987, p.928)

Pitrè’s theories were embraced by both the economic and political elite
of Sicily. His assumptions were, of course, in line with the post-Unifica-
tion political situation in the 1870s. This new situation, together with
the systematic use of clientelism and the Notarbartolo affair, revealed
even more clearly the connivance between the Sicilian mafioso middle
class and political power.
4
Mafia and Politics in Sicilian Society
at the End of the 19th Century: The
Notarbartolo Affair, the Formation
of ‘Sicilianism’ and Consolidation
of the Mafia Mystique

The influence of the mafia in economic life, in the financial institu-

tions and the banks, emerged clearly during the Notarbartolo affair and
shocked the entire nation. This affair of 1893 contained in concentrated
form all those situations which could be considered the leitmotifs of the
relationship between the mafia, the economy, finance and politics. A
precise image of what the Sicilian mafia represented emerged even at
national level.
The two main characters involved in the affair were completely different
sorts of people. The first was the Marquis Emanuele Notarbartolo, heir
of one of the most important aristocratic families of the cities, admired
and highly regarded by all for the moral rectitude and administrative
capacity demonstrated while he had been mayor of Palermo (1873–76)
and as director general of the Banco di Sicilia (1876–90). Notarbartolo
was part of the right-wing contingent and, as was typical of this group,
supported elitist policies but remained faithful to certain moral princi-
ples which opposed political interference in administration, and which
had in fact stood against the rise of the mafioso-clientele class emerging
at the time.
Raffaele Palizzolo, on the contrary, was a member of parliament
elected in 1882, with considerable power of patronage. Despite being
suspected of being the head mafioso of Caccamo, and protector of
certain bandits in that area, he had been elected governor of the Banco

59
60 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

di Sicilia. He was part of the new class of homines novi (new men) who,
unlike Notarbartolo, used politics as a source not only of prestige but
also of wealth. He was well known for his unscrupulous use of characters
on the fringes of legality, or henchmen who were an integral part of the
local criminality. The famous jurist Gaetano Mosca’s description1 during
the trial for the murder of Notarbartolo illustrates his qualities:

a man who, without education or special merits, without any ability

in producing wealth or in the liberal professions, without possessing
a great fortune, without being enrolled in a political party, took his
chances in public life and thanks to his activity, audacity, and, it must
be said, his effrontery, made his fortune. (Mosca 1980, p.52)

Mosca emphasised Palizzolo’s capacity to attract the goodwill of the

electorate. He had been elected in both the town and provincial coun-
cils of Palermo to protect a vast network of clients of the lower classes
and small dealers:

He did a great number of favours of all sorts, great and small, legal
and illegal. In a single day, he would obtain a gun licence for a
ruffian, an illicit gratification for a council employee, find a chari-
table institution for an orphan, and push through an affair that the
usual bureaucratic delays would have taken six months to complete.
He was incredibly popular, if popularity can be described as being
easily available for people of all classes, all groups and morality.
His house was open indiscriminately to gentlemen and knaves. He
welcomed everyone, promised everything, shook everyone’s hand,
chattered tirelessly with everyone, made everyone understand ... with
subtle allusions, how many powerful connections he had, what his
relationships with ministers and presidents of the council were, and
he even hinted at the particular goodwill which his majesty the King
bore towards him. (Ibid.)

Palizzolo had managed to gain various, diverse positions for himself; a

member of parliament from 1882 to 1898, a member of the town and
provincial council of Palermo, present in the administrative councils
of various organisations such as charitable congregations and groups
for good work. He represented, with various titles, about 50 economic
and politico-cultural associations. He had managed to enter the admin-
istrative council of the Banco di Sicilia, opposed by Notarbartolo,
who suspected Palizzolo of organising his kidnapping that had taken
 Mafia and Politics in Sicilian Society 61

place in 1882. The perpetrators of the crime, reveals Barone, who were
‘discovered by the police on an estate next to property that belonged
to Palizzolo, ... turned out to be mafiosi from Caccamo and Villabate,
clients of the MP from Palermo’ (Barone 1987, p.310).
Up until then, the mafia had limited its influence to the council and
judicial offices, but now it tried to get its hands on the banks. One of the
most important was the Banco di Sicilia which, with its agrarian credit,
had long attracted the attention of the mafiosi. From 1889, mafioso
penetration of the bank was openly talked about; particularly influen-
tial and aggressive politicians were denounced as puppets of the mafia;
even the prime minister, Francesco Crispi, was accused of involvement
in the affair.
Notarbartolo had been director of the Banco di Sicilia for 14 years.
He had attempted to sort out the irregular administration of the bank,
but, under pressure from important members of Sicilian politics, he had
been removed from this post. Too many people enjoyed benefits and
privileges under the traditional administration, in the form of personal
storni2 (transfers) and, above all, preferential financial help.
Of these names, Francesco Crispi’s stood out. When the illicit rela-
tionship between Crispi and some banks in Rome came to light, it was
common belief in Palermo that Rudinì would have succeeded in having
Notarbartolo re-elected as director of the bank, and consequently, other
serious irregularities would have been denounced. Giolitti, then Prime
Minister, had also just announced a clean-up operation for the Banco di
Sicilia because the ex-director, Duke della Verdura, had speculated on the
stock market with the bank’s money. Here, too, Notarbartolo, suspected
of passing information to the government, was the man to eliminate. On
the evening of 1 February 1893 in a first-class railway carriage between
Termini Imerese and Palermo, Notarbartolo was assassinated.
The judicial investigation which followed this assassination lasted
more than ten years, from 1893 to 1904. Despite numerous clues, the
judicial enquiry for the crime remained fairly low-key and aimed to let
the presumed instigator of the murder off the hook, limiting its atten-
tion to the presumed executors of the crime. The accused were freed
after the investigation because of lack of evidence and objective confir-
mation. Palizzolo, in fact, could count on protection from certain areas
of the police headquarters and the magistrature, holding numerous
friendships and considerable political influence. The case, thus, seemed
closed, but thanks to an old friendship with Rudinì,3 Notarbartolo’s
family managed to have the case reopened in 1896. In this second phase
(1898–99), Notarbartolo’s son Leopoldo raised the problem of presumed
62 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

partiality. The trial was therefore taken from the magistrates of Palermo
and moved to the Court of Assizes in Milan.
The initial attempt to shelve the trial failed, and the examination
of two unknown railwaymen turned into a real accusation, not only
against the ‘honourable’ Palizzolo but more generally against the mafia.
For the first time in a public debate, Notarbartolo’s son could denounce
Palizzolo as the instigator of the crime and two members of the cosca of
Villabate, Matteo Filippello and Giuseppe Fontana, as the executors. In
the first phase (1893–98), the testimonies collected by the magistrates at
Palermo had accused Fontana4 and the railwaymen Carollo and Garulfi
as the executors of the crime.
The trial at Milan became a denunciation of the criminal grouping, but
above all an indictment of the methods used in politics by the Sicilian
ruling class. The witnesses for the prosecution revealed the corrupt polit-
ical environment of the city. Desperate attempts were made to annul the
results of the Milanese trial: the procurator general of the Court of Appeal
at Cosenza tried to have the formal investigation of Palizzolo assigned
to him, but the state bodies and national public opinion opposed this
attempt. For the first time, the national press from the Corriere della sera
to the important daily newspapers paid large amounts of attention to
the problem of the mafia. There was great interest in the case, and the
question of the mafia began to fascinate all the Italians. In an attempt
to explain the origins and reasons for the survival of the phenomenon,
scholars of all political colours and experts in the problems of the South
began to debate the question. The trial unleashed a series of polemical
arguments which were prevalently political. The basic theories which
emerged were of two sorts. The first sort, proposed mainly by observers
and writers from the South, not necessarily in odore di mafia (reeking of
mafia themselves but sometimes in bad faith), was defensive and deci-
sively excluded the analogy of mafia crime, considering it a chauvinistic
invention of the North to discredit Sicily. This was a statement taken up
by Pitrè: mafia and being mafioso were two words which belonged to
the Sicilian soul and were therefore misunderstood outside Sicily. One of
the foremost upholders of this theory was Vincenzo Morello, a journalist
with Calabrese origins who signed editorials and articles in the Tribuna
di Roma with the nom de plume ‘Rastignac’. In his opinion, the mafia
was above all ‘a state of mind, ... a sort of second-rate knightly order, and
knights were a sort of first-rate mafia’ (Magrì 1992, p.53). The second
sort was supported by the socialist thinkers and held that the mafia had
originally been a good institution, but over time had festered to become
a real social cancer. The main supporter of this theory was Napoleone
 Mafia and Politics in Sicilian Society 63

Colajanni, but other authoritative people from the worlds of culture and
politics echoed his thoughts.
Some articles and reports about life on the island were shocking in
their crudity. Others, such as an article about the collusion between mafia
and politics in the island’s capital, which appeared in Il giorno of Milan,
described Sicily offensively as being ‘a paradise inhabited by demons,
which turns out to be a cancer in the foot of Italy, a province where
neither civil traditions nor laws are possible’.5 Napoleone Colajanni,
who can certainly not be accused of being a Sicilian sympathiser, reacted
by returning the insult: ‘those known as Balabbio, Codronchi, Ventura
and Venturini ... born and raised on the far side of the Tronto, have been
splashing around happily in the sewers and they have brought lurid and
pestilential material here’ (Renda 1998, p.156).
Italy at the end of the century was shaken by police repression, and
the Notarbartolo affair came to symbolise those democratic forces who
fought the connivance between the political class, state machinery
and the mafia. Barone observes that ‘the trial at Milan was considered
the first against the national connections of the mafia, a back-to-front
“Dreyfus affair” where hidden forces had impeded the prosecution of
the guilty for seven years’ (Barone 1987, p.313).
On the first of December of 1900, in a speech to the Chamber of the
Deputies about the affair, Giuffridda De Felice declared to the country
that ‘the organisation is divided into three levels: the first formed by true
criminals: the second includes middle class elements and some from
the police: and the third contains the high-handed bourgeoisie and the
lords of the mafia with their yellow gloves’ (Magrì 1992, p.64).
In the end, the case had dramatic effects on the Sicilian government
which was forced to ask for authorisation to proceed with the trial of
Palizzolo (it had been denied several times previously), and he was
arrested after the trial at Milan. The trial in the Lombard capital did not,
in fact, charge Palizzolo for instigation, nor did it state that Notarbartolo
had really been killed by the mafia, but it had revealed the nature of
the environment around Palizzolo, the secrets he conspired with, and
the violence which characterised his public and administrative life. The
debate which had brought Palizzolo to trial had taken place in a fraught
atmosphere where the old conflicts (never resolved) between North and
South had emerged. When the trial at Milan was suspended and a new
examination began at Palermo, Palizzolo and his accomplices took the
opportunity to pull strings and attempt to deviate the course of justice.
In order to do this Palizzolo’s men decided to play on Sicilian sensibility,
so they bribed the journalists of the Fracassa6 ‘to bring all the Sicilian
64 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

stereotypes out of the attic, and to polish up the image of the island
which had been dishonoured by the racist preconceptions of the judges
at Milan’ (Barone 1987, p.314).
The reactions of the people of Palermo were, however, contradictory. So
as not to leave the game in the hands of Socialists and Radicals, the Prince
of Camporeale organised a public meeting where 30,000 people attended
the unveiling of the bust of Notarbartolo. On 10 January 1900, the trial
was interrupted and another was held at Bologna for presumed partiality.
This was the third phase (1900–03). After some 200 sessions at the Bologna
trial (from 9 September to 31 July 1902), Palizzolo and Fontana were
condemned to 30 years of prison. The most important figures in Sicilian
and national public life were called to the bench to bear witness:

Among these, ministers, generals, questors, police officials, politicians,

people from the world of economy and finance, including Ignazio
Florio;7 the web of connivance and omertà from which Palizzolo had
benefited emerged clearly, as did the problem of the mafia which was
printed all over the front pages of the national press. (Renda 1985,
Vol.II, p.245)

As in Milan, once again the trial’s central theme was the mafia. All the
witnesses called to give evidence before or against the accused were
asked, ‘What is the mafia?’ As it was common belief that the mafia
existed only in Sicily, the debate concentrated on Sicily, and in reality
the trial of Bologna became a trial against Sicilians. Mosca’s judgement
on the debate at Bologna is partly a synthesis of the sentiment shared
by many Sicilians of the period, but it also helps us to understand the
events better. Mosca was not a subversive Sicilianist, yet he wrote:

Little or nothing could be proved against the man accused of the

murders of Notarbartolo and Miceli, but he appeared in the worst
possible light; if not a delinquent himself then at least he was the
protector of delinquents, suspected even of relations with brigands
[while] all of Sicily was put in the stocks, all its defects, problems
and weaknesses in public and private life were pitilessly displayed,
analysed, sometimes passionately exaggerated, other times unwisely
denied; and during those long years of passion, Palizzolo always
appeared as the man who embodied and personified what was least
good of the region which had spawned him; in part justly, in part
unjustly, his name became the symbol of all those moral problems
which troubled the noble island. (Mosca 1980, p.58)
 Mafia and Politics in Sicilian Society 65

For the friends who defended him, Palizzolo was the innocent victim
of an abuse of power towards Sicily, and so his defence almost became
a Sicilianist insurrection. Even Pitrè was called to the court in Bologna
to give evidence on behalf of Palizzolo. The ethnologist affirmed that
Palizzolo was an ‘upright and honest person, ... the victim of a series of
unfortunate errors made by others’ (Bonomo 1989, p.343). Palizzolo was
portrayed as a hero, a symbol of Sicilian protest; and the mafia, instead
of being condemned as a criminal phenomenon, was justified and theo-
rised as a bearer of values that were sometimes exaggerated but were
always worthy of respect:

Defence: ‘Would you like to tell us something about the mafia?’

Pitrè: ‘If we want to talk about the classic meaning of the word mafia,
I can say that mafia is that superior, excellent, not ordinary quality
of things, applied to people and things. The official meaning given
to the word these days is the awareness, sometimes exaggerated, of
one’s own personality, superiority, dignity or someone who won’t
accept oppression; in people inclined to bad deeds, and in general in
the slums, these qualities can lead to delinquency. Thus a word which
for centuries used for fine things and people ended up meaning a
bad thing, because of the evolution of the language.’ (Ibid., p.343)

Pitrè then went on to say that only from 1863 did ‘the word mafia begin
to mean something bad’ and concluded that I mafiusi della Vicaria by
Rizzotto planted ‘the new meaning in the conscience of the public’
(ibid., p.343).
At the same time, another trial of the mafia held at Palermo came
to its conclusion, but all the accused were absolved. The sentence at
Bologna which condemned Palizzolo and Fontana therefore seemed to
go against the expectations. The protest supporting Palizzolo exploded
and became a real political problem. Palizzolo’s supporters were neither
mafiosi nor violent ruffians; the protest was guided mainly by members
of the ruling classes who weren’t at all concerned about appearing to
defend the mafia. On 3 August 1902, about 30 people, including Pitrè,
met and decided to promote a Pro-Sicilia committee,8 a political move-
ment, as the historian Giuseppe Barone rightly observes, ‘which apart
from defending Palizzolo as the victim of a judicial error, played on sepa-
ratist regionalism, in order to force the state to concede public works
and special laws’ (Barone 1987, p.318).
Despite being defined by Colajanni as ‘the revenge of the mafia’, the
Pro-Sicilia committee cannot really be given this title, because among
66 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

its supporters there were also adversaries of Palizzolo (the movement

ran transversely across the socialist party) and important members of
the island’s ruling class, ‘six deputies, ... jurists, ... members of the land-
owning nobility, ... industrialists and prelates’ (ibid., p.318). The daily
paper L’Ora, owned by the Florio family, become the reference point for
Pro-Sicilia.
The manifesto of the Pro-Sicilia committee was drawn up by Pitrè,
who carried out his job thoroughly. On 7 August 1902 in the Giornale di
Sicilia, he complained that:

For a while the Italian press has been talking about the island, some-
times to note its physical attractions, sometimes to emphasise its
moral defects. ... Now one cannot talk about Sicily without talking
about the mafia, and mafia and Sicily have become one and the same
thing. The mafia is an indigenous plant of Sicily and its deadly flower
decorates the breast of every Sicilian. The recent trial at Bologna has
crowned the ill-omened process, begun unconsciously, continued
thoughtlessly and concluded unhappily. In Sicily, all moral sense has
got lost; delinquency in its worst form, in its most criminal mani-
festations reigns in Sicily with its citadel at Palermo. Here the most
atrocious wicked deeds are organised by a shadowy sect which has its
leaders in the highest spheres and its roots in the lowest slums ... . All
this is terrible and the soul of every good Sicilian bursts with indigna-
tion! (Bonomo 1989, p.346)

Pitrè, one of the most committed fomenters of a tough Sicilianist reac-

tion, defended with indignation Sicily’s honour, around which ‘the
sinister and malevolent legend’ of the mafia had been created:

And now to the damage caused by the bad reputation, the load of
auguries for the future is added, and they say we should expect a
healthy regenerative purification, now that the country is saved
from the mafia (with the condemnation of Palizzolo) and talk about
the new horizons to which we will have the right to aspire. (Ibid.,
p.346)

The Sicilian question then became the Southern question in some

articles:

Sicily has until now been forgotten by all except for the taxman;
it has no roads, no railways, no redevelopment, while many of the
 Mafia and Politics in Sicilian Society 67

improvements found in other regions are paid with Sicilian money.

Sicily doesn’t want reimbursements; it only wants to retain its honour.
This is right and I always support those in the right. (Dalla Chiesa
1976, p.175)

With the Palizzolo case, the paradigm of the mafia was crystallised
as a cultural phenomenon, and other authoritative representatives
of the island’s intelligentsia, such as Gaetano Mosca, who had main-
tained prudent tones at the beginning of the trial, then took up Pitrè’s
theories:

The spirit of the mafia can be seen as a way of feeling which means
not turning to official justice and avenging one’s self (not specifically
Sicilian although it is more developed there) or as the antisocial senti-
ment of small organised minorities, ... exclusive to the rising classes,
the gabelloti. (Mosca 1980, p.175)

Sicilianism, which became an ideological-cultural movement during

the Notarbartolo trial, was not in itself a mafioso ideology, but it soon
came to be used in this way. The links between mafioso ideology and
Sicilianism formed where the traditional values of the Sicilian people
were indiscriminately defended (one of the slogans of Sicilianism had
been, in fact, the affirmation that the mafia did not exist, at least not
as a specific criminal reality). This was the aspect of Sicilianism that
the mafia exploited to gain followers from the Sicilian cultural milieu;
and thanks to the historical context and the generally low levels of
education, this was the aspect that consented the mystification of the
problem, something that certainly could not have occurred at a different
period. This was the episode that enabled the mafioso culture to spread
its tentacles among the people. As Dalla Chiesa rightly observes:

Nor could the successive inclusion of elements of popular or demo-

cratic origins in the cultural-intellectual elite bring the necessary
de-mystification, as the propaganda of mafioso origin had sunk too
deep for too long. This original error dangerously discredited Sicilian
culture and politics up until our times, and polluted (in a different
way) even the conscience of the most progressive forces consequently.
(Dalla Chiesa 1976, p.179)

Sicilianism had assisted the mafia much more than systematic violence
had done.
68 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

The political function of Sicilianism has often been fulfilled in other

ways, manipulating and channelling certain ‘sentimental’ attitudes in
a certain way. Before being a political ideology based on the autonomy
and independence of the island, Sicilianism is primarily a confused
sense of solidarity between Sicilians against governments, occupations
and interventions from outside, a vague and complex feeling which
ends up containing even some elements of the mafia spirit. As historian
Giuseppe Carlo Marino clearly demonstrates, Sicilianism is a complex
mechanism of varying states of mind, such as campanilismo (an exagger-
ated local pride), which swings from ‘a frustrated superiority complex to
an unacknowledged inferiority complex’ that reacts to certain stimuli
from the outside (such as the often unfair accusation that Sicily equals
mafia). This often both united the Sicilians and is something that the
ruling classes have often cleverly manipulated to refute the accusations
of corruption and bad government ‘helping to consolidate the senti-
ment of a special Sicilian condition which is almost an essential saving
or damning quality’ (Marino 1996, p.12).
The mobilisation of the Pro-Sicilia committee was so effective that the
Supreme Court of Appeal overturned the sentence because of a proce-
dural flaw, and the trial was repeated in Florence. By now, many years
had passed since the crime and the scandal had shocked Milan; the
great public interest that had marked the first two trials had waned. The
evidence ‘collapsed piece by piece like stones in a disassembled mosaic,
and the tragic atmosphere which had animated the trial at Bologna was
missing’ (Notarbartolo 1949, p.394). The only witness to break the law
of omertà was found hanging in a room in Florence a few days before
the trial, having apparently committed suicide.
The fourth phase (1903–05) concluded with a general acquittal for
lack of evidence, typical for mafia trials, and the Notarbartolo case was
closed (23 July 1904). After the acquittal, Palizzolo returned to Palermo
by boat where he received a hero’s welcome.
In 1900 the police delegate Antonino Cutrera published a book in
Palermo which became a classic for research on the mafia called La mafia
e i mafiosi. Cutrera knew the compromises of the government with the
Sicilian notabili well, having had first-hand experience during his years
of service; he knew that the key to the question was the continual agree-
ments made in exchange for governmental majorities during the elec-
tion process. Referring to the great impression that the Notarbartolo
murder had made and the emotion that the trial had provoked in the
public, Cutrera wrote that an external observer would have thought that
the mafia was a recent phenomenon. In other words, how could one
 Mafia and Politics in Sicilian Society 69

reconcile the heartfelt indignation of the people with the persistence of

the phenomenon? The reply identified precisely the cause of the errors
and failures which inevitably occurred when the fight against the mafia
dealt only with the emotional aspect.
In fact, the acquittal of Palizzolo marked the end of a decade which
had seen the mafia at the centre of political struggle and cultural debate.
The interest in Sicily and the rest of the country was much more wide-
spread and deeply felt than before, and the most important national
newspapers, and, just as importantly, many scholars were drawn into the
debate. Obviously the image of the mafia was altered by these events.
The phenomenon had been seen as a national problem, principally, as
Renda explains, ‘to be exploited as a reason for considering Sicilians
unsuitable for a role in the national government of the country equal
to that of the regions of the Centre and North’ (Renda 1998, p.164).
With the failure of the governments of Crispi and Rudinì and the end-
of-century crisis, the problem of the mafia no longer had national
importance and became a local fact, cultivated by Sicilian scholars such
as Alongi, Cutrera, Mosca, Colajanni and Pitrè. On the scene of mafia
culture though, only Pitrè had the same sort of weight as the enquiries
of Franchetti and Bonfadini had had. Pitrè was not a ‘mafiologist’, but
he was the real victor of the political and cultural debates from the years
1899–1902. It was not the appearance of the volumes Usi e Costumi dei
Siciliani, published a decade earlier, in which only a few pages were dedi-
cated to the mafia, that gave Pitrè the title of ideological defender of
the mafia, but rather his evidence during the trial of Bologna in defence
of Palizzolo, and his article published in the Giornale di Sicilia in 1902
in which the mafia was justified as bearer of Sicilian values, sometimes
exaggerated but worthy of respect, instead of being condemned as a
criminal phenomenon. To conclude, if the enquiry by Franchetti and
Sonnino was attacked for being anti-Sicilian, then Pitrè has character-
ised and defined the cultural aspect of the debate about the mafia in the
Sicilianist sense.
5
The Literature of Defence and
the ‘Heresy’ of Don Sturzo

Capuana and the mafia: la Sicilia e il brigantaggio

The Sicilianist reaction of Pitrè to Franchetti’s enquiry was not unique; it

was violent and long-lived, lasting up to and after the Second World War.
However, it is important not to think that the Sicilian intelligentsia was
completely deaf to the theories of Franchetti and Sonnino: among those
who adopted these theories, at least in part, were Napoleone Colajanni
and Gaetano Mosca. The Sicilianists, offended out of love of their land,
could count on the support of one of the most famous intellectuals of
the island, Luigi Capuana; he gave the most articulated, subtly reserved
and defensive reply to Franchetti and Sonnino’s enquiry in his work of
1892, La Sicilia e il brigantaggio (Sicily and Brigandage).
Sicilian intellectuals of the late 19th century did not use the mafia as
the theme of their literary works, as Rizzotto and Mosca had done in
their play, representing the linguistic codes and behaviour of a specific
organised criminal group; they preferred a defensive attitude, as we will
see in Capuana. Debate about the mafia was always heated and was
often linked to the unresolved Southern question, and this is why Luigi
Capuana decided to include Pitrè’s famous chapter on the mafia and
omertà as an appendix to his writings on La Sicilia e il brigantaggio.
In La Sicilia e il brigantaggio, there is a subtle intention to defend and
cover up the problem, very similar to the attitude found in Pitrè. In the
work, the mafioso is described as a person who reveals the nature of
the Sicilian soul: bold, human, enterprising. This attitude, on the one
hand, freed the imagination, rendering reality spectacular and larger
than life, whilst it created a distorted vision, on the other hand; thus the
reality that was narrated and documented with great detail and which
should have been a reference point for Italian verismo, became a weak

70
 The Literature of Defence 71

point. The mafia also entered the literature of the Sicilian authors of the
verismo school, but was never a central theme of their inspiration, nor
did it ever penetrate their works ‘as a series of historically true events,
involving precise figures of Mafiosi who had really existed’ (Mazzamuto
1970, p.24). Eastern Sicily, where verismo emerged, remained partially
untouched by the criminal happenings related to the mafia which
affected Palermo and its surroundings, and so the phenomenon of the
mafia was seen as a superficial social problem there, often associated
with certain forms of instinctive, irrational and passionate behaviour,
above all linked to questions of honour and vendetta. Capuana was
also the theoretical inspiration for the manifesto of Sicilian verismo,
which championed ‘positive realism’, refusing every commitment and
every political ideal founded on an ideology of conservatism. Capuana’s
enquiry into the mafia certainly appears to not want to upset the status
quo. The critic and the artist have the task simply of reproducing and
describing reality, not exploring the possibilities of action or change:
‘the pure art of a static reality corresponds to pure science’ (Madrignani
1970, p.124). Capuana is firmly bound to conservative middle-class
positivism, and he is so in harmony with his social hinterland that he
derives ideological and political inspiration from it. His political atti-
tude is similar to that of the Sicilian ‘gentlemen’, as Verga describes him
ironically, ‘like a landowner so well off that he can permit himself the
luxury of not doing anything, or doing art, which is the same thing’.1 In
Capuana’s realism, polemics and social criticism are avoided, elements
which were fundamental to the representation of society in the French
realism of Zola. Zola’s analysis of the appalling conditions of the lowest
classes was punctuated by the denouncement of the corruption of the
dominating class, made up of the newly wealthy bourgeoisie, the polit-
ical class and the aristocracy: ‘adopting an impersonal tone of narra-
tion and analysis, he revealed how certain fortunes had been made; he
shed light from within on the mechanism and responsibilities that had
led the country to ruin’ (Carnazzi 1991, p.10). Zola’s analysis of cruel
actions, undoubtedly ‘supported by a rabid desire for a new society’
(Spinazzola 1977, p.16), are completely ignored by Capuana. His crit-
ical, lucid and pitiless writings which gave new life to the studies on
society done by the French naturalist writer are neglected by Capuana,
who even expresses horror for any sort of ‘theoretical novel’ (Capuana
1994, p.50). Capuana’s overall representation of society does not spring
from a desire for denouncement or polemics, but ‘within the space of a
project where the dominating interest of the narrator is how to repre-
sent reality in various ways, which are articulated and in proportion
72 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

with the artistic and formal needs of the different forms’(Carnazzi

1991, p.11).
The ideological differences between the European naturalist move-
ment2 and the Italian one3 are evident even when social problems are
being denounced; these problems are not the mafia but other important
tragic events such as the sad epilogue to the Sicilian Fasci at the begin-
ning of 1894. In an article by the Neapolitan theatrical critic Eduardo
Boutet called Sicilia verista e Sicilia vera (Verist Sicily and real Sicily),4 the
Sicilian writers of verism are accused of representing a mannered Sicily,
not the authentic one revealed tragically by the movement of the Fasci.
The ideological and political position of Capuana is well known; he is,
in 1892, a fervent supporter of Crispi’s policies, and Crispi is portrayed
as ‘one of the most authentic Sicilians, an example of the fight against
banditry and statesman capable of attracting the consensus of all
Sicilians’ (Capuana 1994, p.94). The year in which the book L’isola del
sole was published (it contains La Sicilia e il brigantaggio) coincided with
a bitter political struggle, which led to the dissolution of the Chamber
of the Deputies and new elections. One of the themes of the political
debate and conflict was the problem of the decisions taken regarding
the Mezzogiorno and Sicily in particular. In a climate of renewed anti-Si-
cilianism, the economic and political line of Giolitti foresaw a freeze on
public expenditure, the rejection of colonial policies and a development
model which privileged the more advanced regions of Italy. This was a
political manifesto which was clearly the opposite of the meridionalist
policies proposed by Crispi.5
Capuana continued to support the policies of Crispi, and in his short
book L’isola del sole, his defence against anti-Sicilianism and against
Giolitti’s policies became one and the same. According to the literary
critic Mineo, Capuana’s strategy consisted of ‘countering one image with
another, representing Sicily as a land without anomalous pathologies, just
like the rest of Italy, yet with its own peculiarities’ (Mineo 1994, p.19).
The text, which ‘sprang from the heart in a moment of indignation
and sadness’, was the polemical reply to the results of Franchetti and
Sonnino’s enquiry of 1876; with a clever move, almost an ideological-
political exhortation, the two Tuscans were accused of having a ‘fervid
scientific-socialist imagination’ (Capuana 1994, p.83). From the very first
pages, the book adopted a defensive tone towards the mafia. It started
with a confession of remorse for not having defended Sicily:

For not having felt Sicilian enough up until that day, for having
emphasised the defects of the Sicilian character too much and for
 The Literature of Defence 73

having failed to appreciated the virtues enough, every time that I

was asked to; ... I felt remorse for failing to defend Sicily stoutly
and without any silly puffed-up provincial love, when I had heard
it judged negatively or slandered, something that unfortunately
happened frequently. (Ibid., pp.6–7)

In the successive pages, the defensive intent becomes still more evident;
he fears that the expressive representation of the island’s reality, as
portrayed by Verga and himself, has been misunderstood, and he almost
pretends to be sorry for the negative image of Sicily and the Sicilian soul
that his works transmit:

You too have felt on this occasion, O Giovanni Verga, the same sharp
prick of remorse, thinking back to your Vita dei campi, to your Novelle
Rusticane, where the humblest part of the Sicilian people lives happily
and for eternity, with its suffering, oriental resignation, strong
passions, impetuous rebellions and rapid excesses. (Ibid., p.8)

Despite the efforts of Verga and Capuana, who, with their Rosso Malpelo
e Pane nero, I Malavoglia and Mastro Don Gesualdo, ‘tell tales, half sad and
half happy, about Don Peppantonio, Quacquarà, Canonico Salmanca
and many others’ (ibid., p.9), without introducing ‘a knife-stab, not
even a pin-prick’, the public, or part of the public ‘has only seized on
the image of the rustic duel between Alfio and Turiddu Macca’ and
‘stubbornly believes that the famous cry “Hanno ammazzato compare
Turiddu! They have killed Compare Turiddu!”, is the typical revelation
of Sicilian customs, and has not wanted to hear of anything else’ (ibid.,
p.10). The inconsolable Capuana observes that the Italians do not know
any other Sicily. He continues ‘Why have these benevolent readers not
remembered that we, for artistic reasons, have had to limit our attention
to what is most singular, most effectively characteristic about our prov-
inces?’ Why could they not see that it was for art’s sake that the writer’s
job was to

Pick up on the most obvious differences in sentiment, usages,

customs, beliefs, passions, morals, traditions, for good or evil, and
ignore everything that they had in common with other provinces
and which is more than one believes? (Ibid., p.10)

The representation of this Sicily beyond modern civilisation, a corner of

the world where a social system is in extinction, is partly responsible for
74 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

the reputation of the island. Perhaps, adds Capuana, it would have been
simpler to portray only the middle- and upper-class aspects of Sicilian
life, and not just fragments, as happens in some scenes of Verga’s Mastro
Don Gesualdo or in Capuana’s Profumo, to emphasise the ‘similarities
with the life of the other upper classes on the peninsula’, with ‘any other
Italian province’ (ibid., pp.11–12).
The unusual discussion of Capuana, however, contradicts the preroga-
tive of Sicilian verismo, which championed poetics that were very atten-
tive towards regionalist motives and greatly interested in the economic
and social life of the lowest classes. How is it possible that a phenom-
enon so noticeable and deeply rooted in island society, as the mafia of
the day was, went unnoticed by someone whose artistic credo was the
scientific study of the island reality? This must have been due to a form
of omertà, or a mystifying attitude, on the part of intellectuals who had
founded a type of literature committed to not betraying the truth. As
Sciascia notes, this literature aimed ‘to give information about reality,
but in front of the mafia it observed a form of omertà, or preferred to
represent only the most abstract etymological and philological mean-
ings, as in the case of Pitrè, rather than the effective reality of things’
(Sciascia 1989, Vol.II, pp.1106–08).
So Capuana belongs to that group of middle-class gentlemen, partially
in collusion with the mafia through politics, which was responsible for
the difficult social situation in Sicily, and which took great care not to
upset the already precarious social equilibrium, as many of the ruling
class did at that time. His narratives, and those of some of the other
island veristi, lack that scientific approach and critical analysis of Sicilian
society which was certainly not missing in other European writers. His
stature as a middle-class classist meant that his belief in the naturalism
ideology was only from an artistic perspective, so there was no obstacle
to him becoming a faithful follower of the Sicilianist tradition, vigor-
ously renewed by the theories of Pitrè. The Sicilianist ideology, that
confused and contradictory mishmash of class privileges supported by
the Sicilian ruling classes, was present in Capuana’s essay, clearly evident
in his thoughts on the differences between the Sicilian lower classes and
those on the Continent:

This has forced me to think about whether the very differences are
really so great as to make the Sicilian lower class of we writers and
novelists seem so different to the lower classes on the Continent, to
produce the incredible mirage of a strange, fantastic Sicily, of a reality
about which many argue and discuss these days, but which many
 The Literature of Defence 75

judge, criticise and often curse with the perfect good faith born of
ignorance and with the misplaced indignation of those who do not
want to participate in the responsibility for facts which disgust one’s
self esteem and national dignity. (Capuana 1994, p.12)

After various reflections, he asks indignantly ‘by what inexplicable

fatality every common, insignificant fact, which is repeated elsewhere,
in Italy and beyond ... takes on a special importance, or gigantic propor-
tions if it occurs in Sicily’, thus ‘leading us to believe that down there, in
that mythological island, terrible hidden forces are at work, frightening
germs are in ferment, furious storms are brooding’ (ibid., p.12).
These are mystifying theories, states Capuana, adding that, on the
contrary the ‘island of the sun deserves this title simply for its beautiful
skies, for its countryside full of [produce] and gardens, for its almost
African dryness in the summer, for the splendid eyes of the women,
for the bright intelligence of its inhabitants and not for anything else’
(ibid., p.15).
This is the real Sicily, the ‘island of the Sun’ immortalised by the writ-
ings of great and famous writers, portrayed by Guy de Maupassant,
another stout defender of an island diverse from that ‘wild land, difficult
and dangerous to visit’, as it was considered in France. The French writer
adds that true Sicily is ‘the land of oranges ... , blossoming earth, its
spring air filled with perfume’, but the fact that makes it truly extraordi-
nary is that ‘it is from one end to another a strange and divine museum
of architecture’ (ibid., pp.16–17).
All the rest is the ‘old prejudice’ of those who do not know the
island or its people, characters like those ‘two educated and disin-
terested young men’, Franchetti and Sonnino, who ‘set off one day
on a task quite new to us’ and who, perhaps mistrusting the govern-
ment enquiry, ‘wish at least to double-check it and decide to carry out
their own enquiry’ (ibid., p.17). They ‘travel around, observe, study,
interrogate, enquire, and thanks to their immense efforts, publish
two volumes of almost five hundred closely printed pages each’, but,
adds Capuana, their enquiry has one ‘basic defect’ (ibid., p.18) which
is their prejudice towards the island and its inhabitants; ‘they went
down there like doctors to a sickbed, with the preconceived idea that
the illness of that poor fellow was something quite out of the ordinary’
(ibid., pp.18–19).
The analysis in Franchetti’s enquiry in no way convinces the Sicilian
writer, and he accuses the authors not only of prejudice but also of
manifest naivety; they must come from a ‘happy colony, the republic of
76 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Utopia, or the city of the sun, if they are so readily scandalised by things
and facts which happen everywhere, every day’ (ibid., p.21).
The reply to the enquiry by the two Tuscan politicians, continues
Capuana, is not the reply of a small-minded, unrefined Sicilian, but on
the contrary is one from someone who ‘is not affected by blind provin-
cial pride, ... who lived out of Sicily for a long time, ... poor islander, and
is almost sophisticated’ (ibid., pp.21–24). Capuana’s articulated exami-
nation of the problems in Sicily ends by looking at the old problem of
the mafia. For his explanation, he uses the same approach as Pitrè had
used before him, concluding his analysis, as we have seen, with the affir-
mation that the mafia did not exist. Capuana states that ‘three-quarters
of the islanders know the mafia only by name’ (these are probably the
inhabitants of the eastern part of Sicily), and for those that do know this
name:

Up until a few years ago, the words mafia and mafioso meant: the
one, the abstraction of the thing; the other, young men, arrogant
men, blood-thirsty when necessary, with particular ideas of chiv-
alry in their heads, incapable of striking an adversary traitorously,
and even more incapable of taking a penny from his pocket after
wounding or killing him. (ibid., pp.53–54)

Capuana practically supports the idea of bravery and valour suggested

by Pitrè. He adds that the word mafia has become famous and wide-
spread thanks to the continuous distortions of the unwitting public,
and that today it means ‘something similar to the Neapolitan camorra,
the Milanese teppa, or Roman bagherinaggi; or something that perhaps
elsewhere does not have a proper name’(ibid., p.23–24).. Brigandage and
delinquency exist everywhere, in other Italian regions and abroad, but
only in Sicily are they considered signs of a generalised corruption that
is unmatched anywhere else. Capuana asks that the same behaviour is
accepted everywhere in the same way. The blindness of this situation
is not to be found in the exceptional circumstances of law and order
in Sicily, claims the verist writer, but in a singular prejudice towards
Sicily, which also influenced Franchetti and Sonnino. To oppose the
mystifying information of Franchetti and Sonnino’s analysis, Capuana
declares that he will not use his refined rhetoric, but rather the precise
science of statistics to check and control that everything written about
Sicily is quite in line with the data for the rest of Italy: ‘It has been said
that statistics demonstrate, just as four and four make eight, the condi-
tions of civilisation of a people’ (ibid., p.24).
 The Literature of Defence 77

The verification of the numbers heartens the writer: ‘Can it be

possible that in 1871, calculating the crimes in proportion to the
population, Sicily occupies the seventh position in decreasing order?’
(ibid., p.60). The Sicilian brigands are not really different from those
who terrorise and blackmail the people in other parts of Italy, like
Calabria or Lazio, Capuana believes. Furthermore, ‘the peasants and
Sicilian landowners do no more or no less that the peasants and
landowners do in the same conditions, for example around Viterbo’
(ibid., p.60). The reason for all this scheming and plotting against
the island of the sun can therefore be labelled by what Capuana calls
‘inexplicable fatality’.6 Sicily and its inhabitants are the victims of a
system, continues Capuana, for which the Piedmontese government
is partially responsible because it has done nothing to counter this
development:

From June to October 1875, the sole juries of Palermo, the city and
province reputed to be most infected by the mafia and omertà, the
province most famed for its vast association of contraveners of all laws
both human and divine; the sole juries of Palermo sent more than one
hundred bullies, robbers and assassins to prison. (ibid., p.52)

Noting that the statistics are in line with the average statistics of all the
regions, Capuana comes to the conclusion that there is no danger from
criminality in Sicily and that the accusations of unwillingness to testify
and omertà are in fact contradicted by the results of the trials. Now the
word mafia means ‘an association of delinquents’, ‘thanks to the twisted
meaning deriving from its recent world-wide popularity’ (ibid., p.53). It
is quite clear, however, that it is not the organisation they would have us
believe it is but ‘the perplexed and disoriented Sicilian imagination, the
alter ego of the writer of this work’ (Mineo 1994, p.20) cannot identify
what it is.
Capuana’s basic objection to the two Tuscans is linked to an evident
fact, one that any man of sense and without prejudices can see:

that he was unable to find any trace of that social octopus, that
monster of encircling, suffocating, viscous tentacles which squeeze
the island from one end to another; of the legendary mafia with its
solemn statutes, formidable organisation, warped Masonic ceremo-
nies, Briareo of the one hundred arms, Argo of the one hundred eyes,
infiltrated everywhere, lording it like a tyrant everywhere, always
intent on tricking the police and justice. (Capuana 1994, p.54)
78 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Once again a member of the Sicilian intelligentsia denied the existence of

an organised criminal phenomenon, expressing his Sicilianist ideology
by declaring that the mafia was a cliché produced and diffused off the
island; the ‘octopus’ mafia is not real but the product of a moral ‘colour-
blindness which covers up the colours of reality with its false colours’
and which is basically just a ‘calumnious, melodramatic fantasy’ which
‘has invented a mafia and mannered brigandage’ (ibid., p.57).
Capuana believed that the mafia was a criminal phenomenon like
any other, without specific differences, as demonstrated by the statistics;
all the rest was an artificial invention designed to spread the idea of a
savage Sicily, almost like black Africa which was conquered and domi-
nated by the new Piedmontese tyrants. Just like Pitrè and Bonfadini,
Capuana mystified reality, describing only a positive and comforting
Sicily. The presence of a criminal organisation could not be recognised
because this would mean admitting the responsibility of much of the
island’s ruling classes. He was unable to accept Franchetti’s conclusions,
that Sicily was deeply rooted in feudalism, and that the ruling classes
were often accomplices of a system based on violence and exploitation,
which was imposed on island society as if it were a legal system.
Capuana’s attitude is almost bizarre; his Sicilianist spirit leads him
to embark on a brave defence of the island, although he lives on the
mainland, and he analyses a phenomenon which is deeply rooted in the
western part of Sicily, largely unknown to him. The title of his work, La
Sicilia e il brigantaggio, and his analysis follows closely in Pitrè’s footsteps
to reach the same conclusions – the mafia does not exist. Their thoughts
are so closely linked that Capuana reprints Pitrè’s chapter, ‘La mafia e
l’omertà’, as an appendix to his writings two years after its first appear-
ance in print. During a conference, La Sicilia nei canti popolari e nella
novellistica contemporanea (Something on the lines of Sicily in the folk
songs and in contemporary novels), Capuana regrets that ‘the changes
imposed by modern times ... have also altered the meaning of a nice
word, reducing it to mean a terrible thing and imposing this misinter-
pretation on the Sicilians’. This is the word mafia which ‘formerly did
not mean a sort of delinquents’ association; and a mafioso was neither a
thief nor a brigand’ (Capuana 1972, p.145). Capuana follows Pitrè every
step of the way, adding that:

The mafioso was usually a young man with plenty of ideas in his head,
vain of his manly beauty, his muscular strength; he wouldn’t let a fly
rest on his nose and would sort out his own problems in his own way
or impose reconciliations; almost as if to demonstrate his character,
 The Literature of Defence 79

he would wear wide trousers, fluttering scarves, and swagger a little

with his eyes partly shut and his hat cocked, playing with a knotted
club; often a truly innocuous character except for his vanity. Today
mafia and mafioso have none of this. How did this happen? I don’t
want to know how now, but I can’t hide that I deplore that it did
happen. (Ibid., pp.145–46)

In 1893 the Notarbartolo affair burst into public consciousness with its
clamorous revelations about the links between the mafia and the poli-
tics in Palermo. This did not worry Capuana, who, in 1898, reprinted his
book without changing a thing, as if nothing had happened. This was
the usual technique adopted by the Sicilian ruling classes every time the
problem of the mafia roused the interest of the public, and this is why it
is easy to agree with Sciascia when he writes:

As soon as the state, conditioned by the opinion of the North,

considers the problem of the mafia (or in its own words, law and
order in Sicily) as a purely Sicilian problem, typical of Sicilians
because of their psychology and history, and thereby relieving
itself of any direct responsibility or insufficiency, then the Sicilian
educated classes react by hiding the criminal events in statistics and
descriptive comparisons of the single criminal facts. (Sciascia 1989,
pp.1106–08)

Father Sturzo challenges the mystique of the mafia

Following in the footsteps of Pitrè and Capuana, members of the

Sicilian cultural and ruling classes have often become unwitting accom-
plices of the mafia itself and its mystique. Even upright members of the
Sicilian left wing, openly anti-mafia and hostile to Palizzolo during the
Notarbartolo affair, blamed the mafia and the mafioso spirit exclusively
on the bad government and exploitation – first of the Bourbon dynasty
and then of the Piedmontese. One such example was Napoleone
Colajanni, whose book Nel regno della mafia: Dai Borboni ai Sabaudi was
published in 1900. He wrote:

The new state which was to have been essentially of reparation,

becoming an instrument and organ for justice, failed totally in its
mission and could not in any way earn the trust of the people, or
destroy or purify the environment which had created and maintained
the mafia spirit. (Colajanni 1971, p.50)
80 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Colajanni denied the presence of organised criminal associations in

Sicily: ‘Whoever thinks the mafia is a simple criminal grouping with
well-defined rules and clearly written articles, as some have suggested, is
wrong’ (ibid., p.25). The mafia ‘is not in itself a true association of delin-
quents, but the spirit with which it is imbued can easily generate the
cosche, the brotherhoods that have been real criminal societies’ (ibid.,
p.26). Moreover, in his opinion, it was an exaggeration or even false to
declare that the mafia’s aim was always evil.

The mafia’s goals are not always evil; sometimes, or quite often, it
works for good, for justice but uses means that are immoral or crim-
inal ... . It is false that mafiosi refuse work and prefer violence, trickery
and intimidation. Often the mafioso passes from comfort to poverty
to conserve and maintain this state: often the true mafioso is a hard-
working person who is proud of earning his keep through his work. It
is not rare that a mafioso who has committed a crime is put on trial to
cover up the crimes of others and he ruins himself to help his friends.
(ibid., pp.26–28)

Another Sicilian writer, Gaetano Mosca, also a supporter of the anti-

mafia cause, wrote another work on the mafia, where he claims that
the word had two meanings: ‘two facts, two social phenomena that,
however closely they may be linked, can also be analysed separately’.
From one viewpoint, it was simply ‘mafioso spirit’, a ‘way of feeling,
which, like haughtiness, pride or arrogance, made a certain sort of behav-
iour in a certain social order necessary’. From the other viewpoint, it was
a combination of many small organisations, not bound together in a
single association, whose aims were only occasionally truly criminal,
and whose members ignored the penal code. It followed that where the
term mafia was used to mean ‘the mafia spirit, feeling mafioso, mafia
culture, without turning to crime’, most Sicilians could be considered
mafiosi. Where mafia was taken to mean someone who committed
crime or was capable of doing so, ‘then Sicilians who could be taken as
being members of the mafia were a small minority’ (Mosca 1980, p.6).
However, despite some extravagant interpretations of the ‘mafia spirit’,
Colajanni and Mosca stood against the political-economic-mafia lobby
which dominated Sicily at the time, along with another Sicilian intel-
lectual, Luigi Sturzo, who went on to found the Partito Popolare Italiano
(Italian Popular Party). In the same year as Colajanni published his
work, Sturzo published a play called La mafia. Sturzo’s text considered
the problem differently from previous writers’ interpretations. While for
 The Literature of Defence 81

Bonfadini, Franchetti, Pitrè, and even Mosca and Colajanni the mafia
was not an organised criminal association, for Sturzo, not only was it
a criminal organisation – one capable of the most terrible misdeeds –
but it also had the power to ensnare justice, the police, administra-
tion and politics in its tentacles. The play was written by Sturzo in a
very brief period ‘under the influence of the trial of the Honourable
Palizzolo, recognised head of the mafia around Palermo, believed guilty
of the murder of Notarbartolo’ (La Rosa 1986, p.IX), and it was staged
in Caltagirone on the 25 February 1900. Strangely enough, the text was
only published for the first time in 1974, in the first volume of Scritti
inediti, but it was incomplete.7 The final version, complete with the
missing last act, was only published in 1986.
Don Luigi Sturzo’s decision to write a play about the mafia can be
easily explained by the struggle that the founder of the Partito Popolare
had with the mafia from Catania (the same part of Sicily where Capuana,
Verga and Martoglio lived, without ever coming across the phenom-
enon), and by the difficult relations he had with the gabelloti and ‘the
threats to which he was subjected on more than one occasion’ (Sturzo in
De Rosa 1986, p.X). Sturzo did not consider the mafia a purely literary or
folkloristic subject but a political and social reality. Don Sturzo recollects
this in an article about the Notarbartolo trial in his own newspaper, La
Croce di Costantino, founded in 1897, signed with one of the pseudo-
nyms used by him, ‘il zuavo’.

Those who have followed the trial carefully will have seen how this
too is an effect of the mafia, which ensnares justice, the police, adminis-
tration and politics in its tentacles; the mafia that serves today in order to
be served tomorrow, protects in order to be protected, has its feet in Sicily
but reaches towards Rome, penetrating the ministerial cabinets, the corri-
dors of Montecitorio, violating secrets, making documents disappear,
forcing men believed honourable to dishonourable and violent acts.
Now, doubt, diffidence, sadness, abandonment, fill the souls of the
good who end up despairing. As long as there was a magistracy upon
whom one could count, incorruptible, conscious of its duty, over and
above any political influence, there was hope; not much perhaps but
enough. Now no hope illuminates the hearts of the Italians. (Ibid.,
p.XI, my italics)

This was a pitiless analysis of a phenomenon that touched not only

the local institutions but reached as far as Rome, and it was the antith-
esis of Pitrè’s theories. Sturzo decided to use the theatre for a public
82 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

denouncement of the ‘moral pollution of Italy’, to offer some hope to

those who were shocked by the mortifying news of crime and omertà,
and by the power and arrogance of the mafia.
Sturzo’s main objective was both political and social; he wanted to
use the stage8 to show the image of a mafia that found protection and
collusion in a network of politics, affairs and clientelism which had
reached all the way to Montecitorio, as revealed by the Notarbartolo
case. This was a completely different image to the one supported by the
writers representing Sicilian verismo. It was no longer a vision of a posi-
tive ‘mafioso feeling’ or a simple denouncement of ‘criminal low-life’
similar to many other Italian regions. Here was a real representation of
a dangerous organised criminal consortium that suffocated the entire
state apparatus and politics in its tentacles.
Don Sturzo’s theatre was therefore pedagogical; ‘a scene without
transformations which spoke the language of journalism, recognisable
by its close adherence to facts which were visible to all’ (ibid., p.XII).
This was theatre which broke the tradition of parochial theatre inspired
by the ‘Rules of Don Bosco’; it was revolutionary theatre (something,
however, which had a strong Sicilian tradition). The founder of the
Partito Popolare was well aware of the importance of his theatre, as is
made clear in a speech given at Caltagirone in January 1902:

Yesterday, some clerics from the Seminary of Girgenti wrote to me

asking for a play for next carnival which dealt with the present,
educating to the noble ideals of life and reflecting the tendencies of
the Christian democratic programme. Unfortunately, I don’t know of
any such play and it is sad that in most seminaries one is forced to
act out those Medieval dramas with knights, plots, brigands, assas-
sins, wars, mysterious towers, dark cellars, spectres and devils, which
make up that anti-artistic and anti-educational repertoire so abun-
dant in our collections, with few rare exceptions ... . How can one not
desire for education and for art, that the theatres of the seminaries
become a modern means of education, a representation of real life,
the moral elevation of real, true, public and private virtues. (Sturzo
1974, pp.232–33)

Although he had been attracted by Sicilian verismo in his youth, Sturzo

came to consider the literary movement and Capuana’s theories uncon-
vincing, because he was unable to find in it real inspiration for a true
‘theatre for the people’. His speech referred to the theatrical tradition of
Medieval plays where the behaviour of the criminal associations could
 The Literature of Defence 83

be confused with the chivalrous attitudes of the knights, or the legen-

dary tales about the Beati Paoli; Don Sturzo also did not believe that
respect for omertà ‘was education for the noble ideals of life’. A denunci-
ation of the criminal phenomenon could certainly be expressed through
the theatre, an accessible and immediate means of communication with
the Sicilians, but the play also had to be used to free civil liberty and the
desire to rebel against the exploitation, violence and arrogance of the
mafia. When Sturzo wrote La mafia, probably in the same year as it was
staged, he was already involved in political and social battles in Sicily.
He had paid particular attention to the powerful groups linked to organ-
ised criminal groups, who exploited and oppressed ‘the people’, about
whom he wrote in May 1899 in La Croce di Costantino:

The ‘people’ are the majority in society, but the part that is least
considered and which suffers most. The strident modern inequalities,
the oppressive capitalism of work, the ruinous economic conditions,
together with the ignorance of its political and administrative rights, an
ignorance which is ably exploited by a few who buy and threaten, make
the ‘clown king’, re burla, monarch of our people. (Sturzo 1958, p.36)

This was Sturzo’s appeal to the people: to consider the mafia, its violence
and its power, and how it was protected by part of the political world.
La mafia therefore became the denunciation of certain political groups
linked to the world of organised crime, and this was where the novelty
lay. Sturzo presented the mafia as an organised, structured association
with close links to the local politics and beyond.
La mafia is set in a large city in the middle of Sicily. The main char-
acters are important members of the ruling government. The Right
Honourable di San Baronio, an ambiguous character, a mediator, is the
reference point for the various strands within the party and from Rome
pulls the strings in Sicily and the local mafia intrigues. His right-hand
man is Commendatore Roberto Palica, would-be mayor, the politician
closest to mafia power and the negative hero of the play. Commendatore
Palica attempts to reduce the intransigent Cavalier Enrico Ambrosetti to
impotence so he cannot damage the party.
Lawyer Fedeli, a key character in the play, is one of his allies, like
Cavalier Andrea Tarbi, bound to Palica by interests that are not very
clear. In fact he declares that ‘in my burning desire to get rich I counted
on him (Palica) ... I supported his wishes and went along with his
wicked plans’ (Sturzo 1986, p.105). There is also a certain Cav. Andrea
Serimondi, more independent than Tarbi but also linked to his clientele
84 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

and political interests. The ‘dissident’ is Cavalier Ambrosetti, an inflex-

ible man who will not bow down to Palica and wants to denounce the
administrative cheating that he has discovered. He notes that Palica

has not proven himself a just administrator; he is overcome by those

who are out to make a deal, and gives way to personal influences and
friendships; he aims to favour those who court him not worrying about
the morality of these people and he permits bloodsuckers and the
damned souls of the party to speculate in public affairs. (Ibid., p.13)

Ambrosetti goes ahead and denounces the network, breaking the

omertà which existed between members of the same party, but he is
killed. Around him gather others, such as Cavalier Giulio Racconigi and
Barone d’Acquasanta, upstanding characters who do not, however, have
the same moral strength and courage that drives their friend. In the
background lurk characters of doubtful honesty. There are also impor-
tant representatives of the mafia organisation, those who collaborate
with the political powers, who bring votes to the ‘honourable politician’
or the would-be mayor, who can sort out any situation. Roberto Palica,
in fact, also uses the ‘bassa mafia’ (ibid., p.125), the ‘labourers’, to reach
his goals.
The whole story develops rapidly, from the first act, where the author
introduces the facts and the characters which animate his play. Lawyer
Fedeli is an unscrupulous character who, thanks to the policies and his
friendship with the Honourable di San Baronio, has reached an impor-
tant economic and social position:

Since I have stopped dealing with laws and codes and have found
myself a place in public life, everything is going swimmingly ... God
bless the parties, the elections, the politicians, the ministers! I was
almost able to give my son a job, as an accountant at the Sicula
company, thanks to the influence of the Honourable di San Baronio;
as for me, I have managed to set aside a tidy sum ... which is surely due
to my wiliness ... without which I would never have become the secret
advisor of the Honourable MP enjoying his complete trust; while at
the same time I am a trusted friend of Ambrosetti ... But I believe you
can eat better with the Honourable MP than with Ambrosetti ... then
again, if I can manage to get them to approach each other ... if this
evening Comm. Palica and Ambrosetti shake hands, then it will be
thanks to Lawyer Fedeli ... Imagine saving the party from certain ruin.
(Ibid., p.7)
 The Literature of Defence 85

The tone of Fedeli’s monologue is ironic, satirical, very similar to the riso
amaro (bitter laughter) used by Dario Fo in many of his theatrical works.
In the first act, Sturzo also refers briefly to the development of the
Notarbartolo trial:

Fil: – ‘What news do we have of the Notarbartolo trial?’

Fedeli: – ‘What should I know? It doesn’t interest me.’
Fil: – ‘What? Such an important trial?’
Fed: – ‘That’s as may be but in the end it’s better to think of the living
than the dead. I’m old, I’ve seen a world of these trials, and then
everything ends up in smoke ...’
Alfonso Carmignani (secretary of the Honourable MP): – ‘Hurry and
finish the letter. Filippo.’
Fil. (to himself): – ‘This discussion is not appreciated.’ (Ibid., p.9)

There can be no doubt that the main characters of Sturzo’s play reflect
certain aspects of the protagonists of the Notarbartolo affair. There are
many affinities. The intransigent Cav. Ambrosetti is brutally eliminated
to clear the way for Palica, who certainly reminds us of the unscrupulous
Palizzolo. Sturzo also describes all the movements created by the polit-
ical elections, revealing the characteristics of the link between mafia and
politics. The candidate for mayor asks for help from the cosche of the
mafia during the electoral competition:

To conclude, we could also play on money and the mafia for the
political elections; and ... Andrea!!! The adversary party also plays on
money and the mafia ... . We have the favourable government on our
side; all the council employees are ours, more or less, per fas o per
nefas. (Ibid., p.20)

The Honourable MP also looks to protect the affiliates of the cosche

with cynicism and corruptness, as is revealed in a dialogue with Lawyer
Fedeli, in the opening pages of the first act:

Hon: – ‘By the way, I don’t know why they are taking their time in
conceding provisional liberty to Giacomo Liodoro, an unequalled
voter. With your skill, find out the reasons and the intentions of
the Prefect. He is new to his job.’
Fed: – ‘Fine! Will he have scruples? I don’t think so, but in any case,
either he loses them ... or he goes.’
Hon: – ‘Deal with the thing craftily.’ (Ibid., p.11)
86 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

The links between political interests and mafia power are made quite
clear in the dialogue between Palica and Accardo, the head mafioso
follower of Liodoro, who deals with gathering enough votes to have the
Honourable MP elected in the rooms of the electoral committee of San
Baronio:

Pal: – ‘Do not doubt that the mafia will make you win. All the heads
with whom I have dealt are at the inn. If you want, they are
ours.’
Acc: – ‘We are alone, Commendatore; this evening, we have to get
rid of someone as a demonstration; you understand, mafia duty.’
(Ibid., p.45)

The mafia takes on the role of mediator and therefore has almost total
control of the situation. The adhesive between the parts is the omertà
which binds, invisibly, the various levels of institutional, political and
economic power, as noted by Accardo:

Alright, what a novelty. The friendship of Comm. Palica is enough

for me, it is good for me and helps me. He is a great protector of the
mafia and that’s all; our society enters all the council affairs, the
work put out to tender, and makes its profits. And then, country
thefts or vendettas, and he has opened his country house at
Sant’Eufemia for us; the police don’t bother us, we also have spies
in the prefecture; and Honourable di San Baronio has done us great
services. (Ibid., p.68)

The omertà of the mafia is such as to leave little space for the moral
recovery of any of the characters. In fact, when Serimondi, the only open-
minded character in the play, refuses to be involved in actions which
mean harming people, Palica immediately reminds him of his past sins
and connivance, inducing him to refrain from any sort of action. The
only person in the play who stands up to the mafia is Ambrosetti, with
his rather rhetorical but admirable language of the chivalrous paladin;
he remains firm in his conviction to pursue his heroic aim, whatever the
cost, even death:

‘Look, here are the authentic documents of the political and admin-
istrative cheating; here is the text of the threatening letter I have
received. I will go myself to denounce everything to the police. Yes, I
choose the bold and frank path of duty. And if I fall under the blows
 The Literature of Defence 87

of an enemy dagger or the shots of an enemy pistol ...’ (he makes a

gesture of unvanquished desperation). (Ibid., p.132)

The fifth act, found and published only in the 1980s, is short, consisting
of only two scenes. Ambrosetti obeys his sense of duty towards truth
and must die. Palica knows he must now kill. The good hero and the
evil genius face one another. Ambrosetti dies poisoned by a cigar given
to him by Lawyer Fedeli, Palica’s trusted executor, and the play thus
closes with the triumph of the mafia. The finale is in line with many of
Sciascia’s novels where injustice always triumphs on the island.
Ambrosetti, despite his sacrifice, will probably not manage to make
his denunciation. La mafia, with all its question marks, its pessimistic
and desperate ending, is without doubt a ‘modern’ vision of the mafia,
and is certainly – together with denunciations of certain methods of the
island’s politics and its bad habits – a vivid image of the moral defor-
mation of the mafia phenomenon. Unfortunately, the play could not
contribute to contemporary debate because it was staged only a few
times in Caltagirone and was never published. Sturzo, despite this text,
did not write a great deal about the mafia. The critic Gabriella Fanello
Marcucci claims that ‘it is false to state (as some have done) that in his
many writings, he never mentioned the word mafia again, after the play
in 1900. In fact we find references to the mafia both in his writings of the
London period, and in the battle at New York’ (Fanello Marcucci 1986,
pp.XXVI–XXVII). However, in an article of September 1949, during the
Giuliano crisis in Sicily, Sturzo wrote:

When you say that western and eastern Sicily have different physion-
omies and customs, so that there are two Sicilies in the one, they look
at you as if they cannot manage to understand your meaning. The
discussion becomes meaningful if you talk about mafia. But that the
phenomenon is limited to certain parts of Sicily is believed only to a
certain degree by the average Italian. For many, Sicily equals mafia,
as if Milan would mean the delinquency in a certain quarter of the
centre. Of course they ask about Giuliano (who isn’t Sicily); but the
distinction between brigands and mafia doesn’t emerge clearly and
many suspect you of trying to fiddle the cards ... .
The Communist papers, imitated by the independent ones, write that
it’s fashionable to say that the mafia is a phenomenon caused by
poverty and backward economic conditions. In fact the mafia flour-
ishes in the Conca d’Oro, between Palermo – Villagrazia – Monreale
88 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

and spreads into prosperous areas like Carini and Partinico. In fact
what would the mafia do if it could not extend its power and intrigues
over the distribution of water for irrigation, the sale of gardens, the
trading of animals and flocks, the meat markets, the commerce in the
harbours, the public and private works put out to tender, the ante-
chambers of the police headquarters and town-councils. Perhaps they
have never seen Sicilian mafiosi at Rome, coming and going from the
ministries? (Sturzo 1986, pp.XXVII–XXVIII)

Sturzo’s battle is not limited to the problem of the Sicilian mafia, like
his play in 1900, but goes on to courageously denounce the political,
economic and institutional power in Italy, in the vision of a surprising
modernity.
6
The Popular Legitimisation of
the Mafia: The Beati Paoli and
the Mafioso as an Avenger

Very soon after the short period in which the attention of the institu-
tions and national public opinion had been captured by the trials of the
Notarbartolo case, the mafia became part of the normality of the Sicilian
situation once more, and any investigative activity was very low-key.
The reasons for this ‘normalisation’ can be attributed principally to the
deep roots that the Sicilian cosche had grown within the political struc-
tures of the island, and thanks also to the increased suffrage that the
left-wing parties had erroneously considered the best antidote to the
mafia (Pezzino 1995, p.161). Links between the mafia and members of
the island’s politics were not isolated, especially since the cosche even
infiltrated those movements which fought for a fair distribution of
public land, such as the Sicilian Fasci. An eloquent example is the case
of Vito Cascio Ferro, an important mafioso of the day, who was director
of the Fascio in Bisacquino, while other gabelloti, directly involved with
the mafia, promoted the movement at Contessa Entellina (Block 1986,
pp.121–26). A clear attempt to anaesthetise the problem of the mafia
and its dangers emerges from the island’s police reports. In fact, the
institutions, almost forgetful of the results obtained by previous inves-
tigations, reconfirmed the old refrain, that the mafia was not a criminal
organisation.
In the meantime, relations were strengthened between Sicilian mafiosi
and criminals who had emigrated to the United States some decades
before. The Italo-American policeman, Joe Petrosino, paid the price of
this collaboration in 1909. He arrived in Palermo to check the criminal
records of American criminals associated with ‘la mano nera’ (‘the Black
Hand’) and the Sicilian brotherhood, but was assassinated, now alleged
on the orders of the future head mafioso, Don Vito Cascio Ferro. The
repeated failures on the judicial front not only marked this period, but

89
90 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

also, the so-called Giolittian era (a period which began in 1900 with the
hopes and expectations of the Notarbartolo trial and ended in 1915 with
the Verro trial).1 The use of the cosche as electoral machinery increased
and consequently led to a rise in the political protection afforded to the
mafiosi, as is revealed in a report by the inspector general on the state of
law and order in Sicily in 1906:

As much as I have tried, I have not been able to discover any acts
which can make us suppose that it is organised by sector, with strict
rules in order to become an associate. I believe that to earn the title
of mafioso it is enough to have demonstrated, when necessary, ones’
readiness to help in any way towards the committing of crime ... . As
is foreseeable, this leads to reciprocal assistance so a vast network of
these individuals is created, which spreads across the whole island ... .
However, in order to increase the prestige of this association and to
add moral weight to the material set-up, the masses are led to believe
that civil people, occupying state positions contribute to these crim-
inal goings-on.
However, the state of the local parties and the use they make of noto-
rious mafiosi during the administrative and political elections, create
friendships and debts of gratitude which force respectable people,
against their will, to give favourable testimonies in front of the judi-
cial authorities or to recommend certain people to politicians, who
do not really deserve any consideration. If we add to this the fear of
possible harm, it is clear that the behaviour of these people is not
really caused by the mafia, but by not knowing how to get out of the
situation. (Report of the inspector general of law and order on the
conditions of public safety in Sicily 1995, p.163)

The Verro case ended social policies that had been adopted in Sicily
during the Giolittian era leading them to a bitter, tragic defeat. The
Sonnino law approved in 1906 had permitted the strengthening of the
movement for collective rents and the movement for the management
of rented or acquired land by agricultural cooperatives, promoted by
the Socialists and the Catholic Democrats. The mafia, with its precise
political collocation, conceived and carried out the Verro assassina-
tion. During the Giolittian era, it had already carried out other ‘excel-
lent crimes, perhaps less clamorous, in 1905, 1906 and 1911 against
the Socialists Luciano Nicoletti and Andrea Orlando of Corleone, and
others from Santo Stefano Quisquina’ (Renda 1997, p.187). Giolitti
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 91

was certainly a reference point for the general political world, not far
removed from the development of affairs in Sicily, and the period of his
government began with an encouraging debate and a strong sense of
awareness of the mafia problem, but this faded into a suspicious silence
that became deafening.
Another contribution to the change in climate was the publication
of the novel I Beati Paoli by Sicilian writer Luigi Natoli, using the pseu-
donym William Galt, for the national newspaper Giornale di Sicilia in
239 parts. This popular novel gave the mafia ‘the halo of popular legiti-
misation’ (ibid., p.188).
Prior to Natoli’s novel, the Beati Paoli in 18th-century literature,
historical tradition and legend, had never been considered ‘mafiosi’.
The historical foundation for the legend is shaky, and many, despite the
copious literature,2 have debated as to where the border between legend
and reality is to be found. Though nothing has been proven, it would
seem that a sect or secret association with the characteristics of the Beati
Paoli really did exist at Palermo in the 18th century. The Beati Paoli
remained on the fringes of the history of Palermo and the island until
1841, when, with the growth of patriotic secret societies, they emerged
from the shadows into legend. But it is thanks to Natoli that the Beati
Paoli become the ‘proto-founders’ of a criminal organisation in Sicily, a
real ‘proto-mafioso’ association. The novel fed the myth of a secret sect
created to vindicate the weak and bring justice where it was lacking. This
idea was very different to the one found in the pages of 19th century
Sicilian writers such as the Marquis of Villabianca, Vincenzo Linares
and Salvatore Salómone Marino, and in the great European literature of
Goethe and Heine.
The name indicated an organisation ‘spoken of with terror and respect,
and whose decrees were carried out with infallible sureness by hands
that no-one ever saw’ (Natoli 1993, Vol.I, p.100), and its methods and
aims were very similar to those of the mafia.
With Natoli’s book, the sect conquered the imagination of the
Sicilians. In a land like Sicily where the abuses and torments by nobles
and state employees were everyday occurrences, the idea of an associa-
tion of hooded men who joined together to defend the common people,
meeting at the dead of night to organise vendettas and punishments of
the oppressors, must have appealed profoundly to popular fantasy. This
representation matched the idea of a ‘romantic’ mafia, especially at a
time when the mafia phenomenon was treated lightly within Sicilian
society, and the texts published, such as Pitrè’s theories, pointed to the
psychological characteristics of the Sicilian soul. Pitrè had not only given
92 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

a valuable interpretation of the linguistic origins, but he had also fore-

seen the myth of social vendetta, found successively in Natoli’s book.
However, this theory did not add anything to the popular, romantic
vision of the ‘heroic’ brigand, widespread in the 19th century, and dear
to anarchist ideology. Brigandage was the violent protest of an individual
who carried out justice himself, was intolerant of the authority of the law
and took revenge on the nobles and the powerful for their exploitation
of the weak. All romantic literature had, in fact, glorified the individual
protest of the bandit to create a myth whose origins preceded romanti-
cism. This figure of the good brigand was already present in Sicilian oral
traditions, as Franchetti had observed in his enquiry, in legends handed
down from generation to generation: ‘there is no group-leader of worth
who will not find some occasion to give a poor girl a dowry, pay the debt
of a poor peasant, or publicly reprove someone for stealing from a poor
mule-trader, forcing him to give back the stolen goods’ (Franchetti 1993,
p.146). Tales of heroic bandits were spread by romantic literature beyond
Sicily, as in Die Räuber by Schiller, or Ivanhoe by Walter Scott, where the
brigand Locksley fights for the king, or Hernani by Victor Hugo, where
the main character becomes a bandit for love. But it was mainly the
French authors of lowbrow, romantic popular novels who spread the
idea of the heroic bandit in the 19th century, and who often looked to
Sicilian happenings for inspiration. One such example was Testalonga,
the main character of a little-known story by Antonio Linares, about a
bandit who terrorised the island at the beginning of the 19th century.
French popular novels began to deal with Sicilian brigands and avengers,
and one of the most successful was Pasquale Bruno by Alexandre Dumas.
Dumas’s novel described a Sicilian bandit on the run from the institu-
tions, who attempted by all means to protect the poor and weak and
all those who were oppressed by the rich and arrogant. His courage
and generosity meant that it was impossible to catch him thanks to the
complicity of the poor and the peasants who warned him about every
move of his enemies. In fact, Pasquale Bruno had decided to become the
‘avenger of justice’ and because his punishments hit the strong, ‘he had
all the weak on his side’ (Dumas 1988, pp.12–16). The fascinating and
reckless Pasquale Bruno aroused great interest in the urban lower classes,
while another example, George Sand’s novel Le Piccinino (1857), where
a Sicilian brigand took the part of a worker who turned out to be the
natural son of a princess, provided an element of social conscience.
Stendhal, too, was very familiar with the popular Italian soul as he
wrote Les chroniques italiennes, noted in his longest story ‘L’Abesse de
Castro’ that ‘these brigands really represented the opposition to the
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 93

appalling governments that had followed one another from the medi-
eval period on’ (Romano 1966, p.38). He then went on to produce a
charming portrait of the popular sentiments felt for the bandit:

this fine people (the Italians), so mocking, that makes fun of all the
works published under the censorship of their lords, habitually reads
short poems which tell the tales of the lives of the most famous brig-
ands. The heroic element in these stories pulls at the artistic heart-
strings which always vibrate in the masses. (Ibid., p.42)

French popular literature had therefore created a veritable myth not

only about Italy, but above all about Sicily, the island that, as Dumas
noted, was ‘the land where brigands flourished’ or which, as George
Sand observed, had become ‘necessary to the existence of the contem-
porary Roman’ (ibid., pp.59–60).
The development of cheap printing in the first half of the 19th century
had led to the creation of a new type of book, the feuilleton (serial) or
novel in episodes, which certainly made many popular novels with
the theme of brigandage, very popular. It is often difficult to tell the
difference between a historical novel, very popular thanks to Sir Walter
Scott’s books published between 1815 and 1830, and the so-called
popular novels. The success of historical books, such as Ivanhoe or Ettore
Fieramosca by Massimo D’Azeglio, was so great that it is still hard to
differentiate between works like The Three Musketeers or The Count of
Monte Cristo, which were both considered ‘popular’ while retaining an
important historical element.
The development of these novels, born in France but soon popular
in many other countries, had been parallel to the development of the
popular novel in episodes, published in newspapers as chapters to pull
out and keep. In France, it was Émile de Girardin who encouraged this
popular literature with the creation of French literary magazine Musée
des familles in 1833, aimed at the lower classes of society. In fact, when
the chapters of I Misteri di Parigi by Eugène Sue were published, it is said
that those who were unable to read would meet so the episodes of the
novel could be read to them.
The popularity of this type of literature was also due to the appearance
of a new type of reader from the lower-middle class, often craftsmen
or workers, and principally female. These novels were considered to
be entertainment, or a form of escapism. However, they also took
into account the fascinating changes which occurred in politics and
society. The authors were often involved in the democratic struggles,
94 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

which eventually led to the explosion in 1848 of the fights at the barri-
cades in Paris and the birth of socialist movements. Eco comments that
‘in the first phase, the popular novel is more democratic than in the
second phase, introduced by Ponson du Terrail, who uses low-life and
the masses as the backdrop to the actions of his dubious characters but
without considering any social analysis’ (Eco 1993, p.XII). Unlike the
historical novel which has clear aesthetic and civilising intentions, the
popular novel was a work where ‘positive models, various virtues are
proposed’ (ibid., p.IX), but in the end it becomes entertainment for
the masses.
The idea that someone could make good the iniquities and the injus-
tice of a corrupt and inefficient state obviously had great appeal for
a society like the Sicilian one. When writing about the Beati Paoli,
Pitrè had already hinted at some of the elements which would lead to
the creation of real mafia mystique. He wrote down the oral tradition
regarding ‘a secret society of craftsmen and the lower classes which
defended the rights of worthy people and took revenge on the arro-
gant, rich and noble who had power and tormented the people’ (Pitrè
1875, p.57). The sect probably derived its name from the habit of the
monks of San Francesco di Paola, worn by members of the group in
order to move around unnoticed and collect information about wrongs
to be righted. It saw itself as the vindicator of the people and, Pitrè
continued,

if there was a rich man who bothered a serious girl of the lower class,
the Beati Paoli would find out, and quietly make him understand that
he had to stop, otherwise he would come to a sticky end; and if he
pretended not to hear, then he would snuff it and no-one would say
a word. If there was an arrogant viceroy, who was unjust, or impris-
oned people for no reason, the Beati Paoli would find out, mete out
justice and get rid of the viceroy with two dagger-blows. (Ibid., p.59)

While Pitrè had simply written down the oral tradition of the Beati Paoli,
involuntarily contributing to the consolidation of the mafia legend/
mystique, Natoli’s novel became almost a documentary, demonstrating
in various ways the presence of a mafia ideology.
In a particularly confused period, when at the end of the 17th century
Sicily was part of the Spanish Empire and then passed to the Austrian
Crown, the sect of the Beati Paoli emerged as a reaction against the
great power and exploitation of the nobles who administered penal
justice directly in their estates and often used bravacci (thugs) to solve
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 95

problems they didn’t want discussed officially by the courts, quickly and
discreetly.

The lords of the state were the nobles and the clergy because they
possessed the wealth; all official positions were theirs, the most deli-
cate offices could only be conceded to the nobles who, out of class
solidarity, helped, supported and protected each other. Whatever
violence they committed, they were certain of their impunity; the
heaviest penalties were limited to exile in some fine royal palace
where they were housed and served with comfort and enjoyed the
greatest freedom. But the lower and middle classes had only misery
and servitude, and the law struck with the most ferocious punish-
ments that the insane rigour of those times could supply, not only to
punish real crimes but also to carry out violence and injustice. (Natoli
1993, Vol.I, p.125)

The sect therefore claimed the right to exercise justice in the name of the
people. The people, victims of the system, could not defend themselves
because they were too weak, so they handed over the administration of
justice to a group which operated in total secrecy. The Beati Paoli there-
fore came to fill the vacuum created by the lack of state justice:

they appeared and indeed were a reactionary, moderate force: they

rose up to defend and protect the weak, stop injustice and violence:
they were a state within the state, formidable because hidden, fearful
because they judged without possibility of appeal, punished without
mercy, struck without failing. And no-one knew the judges and execu-
tioners. They seemed to belong more to myth than reality. They were
everywhere, heard and knew everything, and no-one knew where
they were or where they met. (Ibid., Vol.I, p.126, my italics)

Natoli’s book is a popular-historical novel where characteristics of both

genres meet. If on the one hand it seems like a typical historical novel
because it deals with a period of history, on the other it has the excess
and stereotypes of the novel in episodes.
The narrative structure plays on the interweaving of two recurrent
themes: the theme of brothers as enemies (Blasco against Emanuele, the
Duke of Motta against Raimondo of Albamonte), and the theme of the
wicked father whose good son will make amends for his crimes or vice
versa (Raimondo-Violante). Like many other popular novels, Natoli’s
book moves at two levels: one with the main characters (Raimondo of
96 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Albamonte, Blasco of Castiglione, Coriolano della Floresta) and their

adventures; the other with the minor characters, often from the lower
classes, who are treated with greater freedom by the author. These minor
characters are indispensable to the novel because they give the book an
apparent sense of reality which the readers can recognise, but they do
not affect the structure of the novel directly ‘but only when called or
indicated by one of the main characters ... and their intervention must
be transitory and limited’ (Veronese 1977, p.20). The action in the Beati
Paoli is created by the conflict between good and bad characters, clearly
distinguished and without any trace of that ethical complexity that we
find in the works of the Italian writer Alessandro Manzoni, for example.
The story is about an injustice committed by the ‘villain’, Raimondo of
Albamonte, who, by using violence and bullying, takes over the power
and possessions of his brother, the Duke of Motta, and his son. In the
novel the imbalance of justice created by his abuse will be righted by the
sect of the Beati Paoli, whose apparent aim is to eliminate the wicked
and re-establish law and order.
The actions of the hero of the sect are not determined by the idea of
justice as a law of society. Here we have a Manichaean struggle between
good and evil, with both sides using the same, usually anti-social means,
in order to win. Coriolano doesn’t use revolutionary methods, but rather
he uses secret methods; the people for whom he fights are never called
to share responsibility. The secret society is ‘both the hero’s mask and
the lay arm’ (Eco 1993, p.XVII).
The protagonists of the sect are fairly heterogeneous. The recog-
nised head, Coriolano della Floresta, is ambiguous and cruel but has
the charisma of the avenger. He represents the superman, but not in
the sense that Nietzsche intended. He has no doubts, he knows what
he has to do for the people, and thanks to him the outcome of the
story is what the reader expects. Even his occasional violence towards
the lower classes is accepted as necessary. Coriolano becomes the piti-
less but indispensable saviour. On the contrary, Raimondo represents
the villain, recognisable to the reader from his physical description,
‘pale, cool, with a look that cut like a knife, narrow-mouthed and with
a grim light in his black, gloomy eyes’ (Natoli 1993, Vol.I, p.164). The
novel is completed with Blasco of Castiglione, a symbol of adven-
ture, of solitary and instinctive courage, a character who reminds us
of d’Artagnan in The Three Musketeers. He never forgets his ‘state, an
abandoned child, lost in the world, who faced life with a sword at
his side ... and the splendour of bold youth in his eyes’ (ibid., Vol.
II, p.774). He represents the typical good hero of popular literature,
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 97

ignorant of his origins but living humbly and acting with courage and
independence.

He lived in the mountains, on the sea; he was shepherd, sailor, pirate,

captain, vagabond, knight, courtier, lover; poor or wealthy, opposing
all the adversities of life, he was born noble, grew up with monks,
lived amongst the people, and returned to the nobility, but he had
none of the prejudices of aristocratic society nor of the lower classes;
his spirit was tempered, he had a free and frank conscience which
allowed him to live independently and judge serenely, according to his
personal criteria. (Ibid., Vol.I, p.321, my italics)

At the end of the story, Blasco discovers his aristocratic origins and that,
once again, the ruling class – the nobility – will establish its hegemony
over the people. Blasco, the adventurous hero, is really the hero-in-
love, because the role of hero-avenger is filled by his friend-creator,
Coriolano.
The members of the sect therefore act as both avengers and vindica-
tors. Of course, this cannot be a democratic novel because otherwise the
narrative would fall apart. The finale of a popular novel must be consol-
atory, and there is no room for revolution. Eco notes that ‘the popular
novel is forced to show that there are forces which can overcome the
existing social contradictions’. These forces cannot be popular ‘because
the people have no power, and if they acquire it, this leads to revolution
and consequently a crisis’ (Eco 1993, p.XIII). The healers, as in the case
of the Beati Paoli, must therefore belong to the dominating class. They
do not recognise the justice of society and meet in secret to punish the
persecutors of the weak and oppressed in the name of what is certainly
a subversive form of justice.
The theme of justice also comes from romantic literature. The romantic
hero found in popular literature is a damned hero with a secret in his
past. He is always a rebel who acts outside the limits of legality, behaving
according to his own personal sense of justice, with no respect for the
constituted legal order. With his aura of mystery and unconventional
behaviour, the hero appears very similar in kind to the romantic brigand,
who tries to right wrongs and avenge injustice. We should consider how
the heroes of popular literature, as in the case of I Beati Paoli, capture the
hearts of the readers, and how they:

become detached from their literary origin to acquire the status of

historical figures, so that the readers no longer distinguish between
98 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

the real world of past history and an imaginative world, and they
talk about the characters of the novels as they would do about people
who existed. (La Duca 1993, p.XXVII)

This also helps to explain the success that Natoli’s book had in the lower
classes of Sicily.
The legend of the Beati Paoli as narrated by Natoli contains, perhaps
unintentionally, an ideology which justifies the actions of the secret
society. The sect is governed by Coriolano della Floresta, the hero-su-
perman and founder of an autonomous law (which he superimposes on
the law of society), who, as Gramsci notes, seems to be ‘the bearer of an
authoritarian solution, paternalistic, self-guaranteeing and self-founded
over the heads of the passive members’ (Gramsci 1974, p.86). The repres-
sive violence of Coriolano the avenger is dressed up as Salvation, and the
people remain passive. This is just another form of dominion; this is the
real reason for the creation of the sect, rather than moral or historical
ones. Born to fight power or the state, ‘it acts like a state within the state
and becomes a hidden state’ (Eco 1993, p.XV). The sect of avengers,
created to protect the weak, takes on the very appearance of the group
of oppressors it combats. This struggle between an apparent good and an
apparent evil by a group of individuals, who in the end turn out to be
very similar, ‘concerns the very nature of the feuilleton’ (ibid.).
In the following years, I Beati Paoli became the mirror for an ideology
with which mafiosi presented as a sort of mythical statute. Unlike Pitrè,
Natoli’s tale certainly defends the myth of a form of justice developed
for self-defence, subsequently adopted by the mafia, as illustrated by one
of the most important collaborators to emerge from the Italian mafia,
Tommaso Buscetta:

Cosa Nostra ... also developed as a force which wanted to defend ... and
protect Sicily. Because we Sicilians felt neglected, abandoned by
foreign governments and also the one in Rome. This is why Cosa
Nostra made the laws on the island instead of the State. It did this in
various periods of history, even when it wasn’t called Cosa Nostra. I
know it was once called the Carbonari, then the Beati Paoli and only
then did it become Cosa Nostra. (Arlacchi 1996, pp.15–16)

Buscetta’s explanation not only shows an ignorance of history – the

Carbonari had nothing to do with the Beati Paoli – but also shows how
legend and myth have provided a completely invented justification for
the ‘self-defence’ theory. The expressions and symbols associated with
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 99

the mafia ‘emerge from an almost surreal cocktail of false and authentic
sources, of mythical and everyday characters, of invention and reality’
as sociologist Diego Gambetta (1992, p.185) notes. Even Buscetta’s wife
refers to the myths to help her mafioso turned collaborator husband
out; when Italian journalist Enzo Biagi asks whether being born in Sicily
had been important for the man, she replies, ‘I think so: all his educa-
tion, mentality, those story-like episodes, like the Beati Paoli, a book
which influenced him a lot’ (Biagi 1986, p.72). She continues:

He believed in the knights of the Middle Ages, in the Crusades

because he is romantic, an idealist ... . He doesn’t use hard or frivolous
manners: when he is convinced that something is not going the way
he thinks it should, he defends the people or the ideas and sees them
through to the very end. (Ibid., p.73)

Buscetta, too, had expressed his rather confused interpretation: ‘The

mafia wasn’t born today: it comes from the past. Before, there were the
Beati Paoli who fought with the poor against the rich, then there were
the Carbonari: we have the same oath, the same duties’ (ibid., p.200).
Another important collaborator, Antonino Calderone, when talking
with sociologist Arlacchi about his roots in Cosa Nostra, makes this
point more clearly when he remembers the words of the mafioso who
initiated him:

This is Cosa Nostra. Cosa Nostra! Do you understand? And Cosa

Nostra is not mafia. The police, the journalists call it mafia ... . And
now I’ll tell you how Cosa Nostra was born. It was born during the
Sicilian Vespers. When the people rebelled, and the Beati Paoli were
born too. They all derive from what happened at Palermo.

Calderone also stresses how he belonged to a higher socio-cultural class

(middle class):

I knew these things. But the others, I think, didn’t know anything.
They had absolutely no idea of who these Beati Paoli were. I don’t
want to give myself airs, but I had read these books. Also the ones
about ‘Coriolano della Floresta’, ‘Talvano the bastard’ and such like. I
had done my research. (Arlacchi 1992, p.56)

This is the myth, with its shared, symbolic language, its group spirit
and sense of belonging, which the mafia will use every time it wants
100 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

to justify its criminal actions. It used the myth when a clan was losing,
evoking the legend of an ancient, knightly mafia, bound to a strict code
of honour, which fights a new, ferocious and pitiless mafia, with no
moral background. These are the myths that Buscetta refers to frequently
when interrogated. Here, the actual truth is not required. The ideology,
the mindset of the mafioso does not need a solid historical base; a myth-
ical foundation will do. And the myth of the Beati Paoli provides that
very foundation.

The mafia is God’s law against the unjust laws of man:

Cesareo and his mafioso-avenger Rasconà

While Natoli’s novel can be considered evidence for the existence of an

ideology of the mafia and, at the same time, a reminder of those justi-
ficatory theories of self-defence proposed first by Pitrè and then enthu-
siastically renewed by Capuana, and while it is improtant to remember
that political circles were ever more closely linked to the criminal under-
world and that the problem was underestimated by the authorities
responsible for law and order, it must also be noted how members of the
island’s cultural and ruling elites also became the unwitting accomplices
of the mafia.
An eloquent example of the complicity between Sicilian cultural
circles and the mafia is without doubt a work called Mafia by Salvatore
Morasca and a famous lawyer and magistrate from Palermo, Gian Battista
Avellone. Morasca and Avellone’s book described a positive vision of the
benign mafia spirit:

Dear Morasca, listen to this confession: after reading your passion-

ately researched studies, and after a lifetime of practical experience
and struggles within my homeland and beyond, my conviction that
the mafia is not one of the plagues of Italian delinquency has become
a profound belief, because it does not have its origins in crime but in
a sentiment of rebellion against all injustice and arrogance; this belief
has been fortified by all the evidence collected by you. (Morasca &
Avellone 1911, p.42)

Avellone, despite coming from Palermo where ‘he exercised the profes-
sion of lawyer in an active manner’, added:

I had learnt that the mafia existed in Sicily as a historical phenomenon

that was essentially political, but I didn’t know that the mafia could
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 101

be and often was considered a true criminal association against people

and property. So when I was in Milan to follow the clamorous trial of
those common thieves, Marino, Perez and company, I heard wise jour-
nalists, important magistrates and celebrated lawyers call the accused,
that shameless hotchpotch of vulgar delinquents, ‘mafiusi’ and ‘mafia
from Palermo’. I swear I felt saddened, humiliated and shaken, and
from that moment on, as an Italian from Sicily, I felt the need to fight
this colossal, insulting error, and enlighten our brothers from the
North as to this monstrous misunderstanding. (Ibid., pp.42–43)

This defence not only completely denied the criminal aspect of the
phenomenon but added something to the old Sicilianist ideas. Avellone
the magistrate, who should have been considered a bulwark of state
legality, became the defender of a blatantly Sicilianist ‘natural-justice’:

With lively words, in the important penal debates that I had the
fortune to deal with in Lombardy, and in private meetings or impro-
vised conferences, I worked hard to make it clear, make it under-
stood that the Sicilian mafia has never been and is not an expression
of criminality, and that if one has ever found or finds a mafioso
amongst vulgar delinquents and criminal associates, that person from
the moment in which he has become delinquent, has ceased to be
mafioso, because a mafioso, dear Morasca, as you have proved histor-
ically in your fascinating study, is not a delinquent. (Ibid., p.43)

The Sicilian lawyer was not alone in this battle against the calumny of the
mafia and the whole of Sicily; in fact, he was in excellent company, with

two illustrations from literature and art, two fellow-citizens who

brought glory to Italy, Giovanni Verga and Luigi Capuana who,
having understood the indisputable historical truth that the Sicilian
mafia originated from sentiments of necessity and secrecy, from coali-
tions of honest and brave people against the arrogance of tyranny
which was the enemy of every law and every principle of justice,
assisted me, if not with the written word, certainly with the spoken
one, lending credit to my affirmations. (Ibid., pp.43–44)

Avellone’s analysis of the mafia followed in the footsteps of Pitrè. The

word mafia had become synonymous with its negative meaning thanks
to Rizzotto’s play. ‘May God forgive Rizzotto, who disappeared from the
scene many years ago, for the enormous damage he did to our Sicily’
102 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

(ibid., pp.46). Avellone’s experience as a lawyer and a judge had taken

him around the peninsula, in direct contact with all sorts of criminality,
from the Barabbaria, a form of delinquency typical in Piedmont, to the
Teppa in Rome. These criminal groups had created a common form of
delinquent, perfidious and vile criminals; how was it possible to compare
such a criminal to ‘the mafioso who hates arrogance, exaggerated power
and cowardice?’ (Ibid., pp.46–47). Where Capuana had minimised the
problem of the mafia, associating it with other criminal forms and noting
that Sicily was below the national average in the tables of statistics for
criminality, Avellone vigorously denied the association between mafiosi
and criminals like teppisti and barabbe. The concept of ‘mafiusu’ is anything
but negative; Avellone himself feels honoured to have earned this title,
and is associated with people like Rosalino Pilo, Giovanni Corrao, Nicolò
Porta and Francesco Crispi, who are identified as ‘mafiusi’:

Because they are the declared enemies of every form of arrogance,

chivalrous and generous at all times, intolerant of every exploitation,
always ready to sacrifice themselves on any occasion, for themselves
or for others ... . And they were not offended because they knew that
the mafia, the legitimate offspring of the centuries-old, constant
struggle against the tyrannical Bourbon justice that ruled with rigid
judgements, with the gibbet and firing squads, was not an expression
of delinquency but of resistance. (Ibid., pp.47–48)

Avellone’s conclusions, therefore, confirmed the shameless and brazen

ideological paradigm that the mafia was not only not the monster it was
feared to be, but it was in fact the perfect incarnation of the ‘Sicilian’
sentiment of rebellion against the abuse of power. Avellone finished by
thanking those who had given him ‘the flattering title of mafiusu’ (ibid.,
p.51). Avellone’s study was, of course, clearly articulated and analysed
by Morasca, who also quoted long passages about the mafia and omertà
taken from Pitrè, adding, ‘I think that the best thing one could do for the
mafia would be to publish numerous copies of the parts taken from Pitrè,
and use them like propaganda, to remove any possibility for misunder-
standing about the word’ (ibid., p.52). This proposal was supported by
Morasca’s own words when he said that ‘the mafioso has a good heart’.
He went on to describe the contractual nature of the protection offered
by the mafioso within a criminal and organisational context:

Nor can one believe the number of those who have turned to him
for protection and help, from the wretch who goes begging, to the
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 103

lord who asks for assistance. And there is nothing that flatters the
mafioso more than the reputation for being a just, charitable person,
always ready to help everyone: known and unknown friends.
Mafiosi of this sort may be considered dangerous for their fits of
temper, their excessive zeal or the raging of their passions beyond
the limits consented to individual activity in a group, according to
the axiomatic principles of Kant, but they will never be criminals.
I would almost dare to say that if all the mafiosi belonged to the
same social class as Avellone, if they were all as educated and supe-
rior as he, despite being private citizens and despite their possible
excesses, one could consider them an auxiliary force of the state.
(Ibid., pp.56–57)

Rasconà the mafioso avenger

If these were the thoughts of magistrates, politicians and intellectuals

about the Sicilian mafia, it becomes quite clear what the background to
the various literary works produced in Sicily at the beginning of the 20th
century about the phenomenon was.
A good example of this ‘sentiment’ was a play by Giovanni Alfredo
Cesareo called La mafia (Cesareo 1921). The play, written in 1920, took
up the tradition of Capuana and Martoglio of theatre in dialect and was
first staged in the Eliseo Theatre in Rome in 1921. La mafia, however,
was set in the years preceding the First World War, around 1910. This
is important because it seems likely that Cesareo sensed a change in
the world of the mafia caused by the conflict. During the First World
War, old problems such as banditry and struggles between brigands
had resurfaced, often described in the media as fights between the old
and the new mafia. After the war, the mafiosi had infiltrated the move-
ment for the concession of land to farm cooperatives in various ways,
from the armed defence of the large estates (when the land was rented
to one of their affiliates or protégés) to the exploitation of the peasant
cooperatives (when a reluctant owner had to be persuaded to rent out
land that a cosca had its eye on). Calogero Vizzini of Villalba, in the
province of Caltanissetta, was certainly a fine example of this form of
mafia because he mediated between the pressure of the peasants and the
interests of the owners, obtaining personal advantages and a reputation
for being a man of honour until his death in the 1950s. The problems
caused by the war certainly encouraged the development of criminal
activity, all controlled by the mafia, which ‘spread its field of action to
inter-provincial dimensions’ (Lupo 1987, p.395). With such an evident
104 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

transformation, it could be that Cesareo decided to set his play in a

period that was not so compromising, so it was not so much ‘an oblique
complicity with the cosche, as a political protest founded on the values
and assumptions of the past’ (Monastra 1998, p.63).
Cesareo’s work is important for the image of the mafia because it
explicitly refers to the problem and because it portrays the organisation
as a tool for vengeance against all the ‘bad things’ imposed by the insti-
tutions, with the mafioso forced into illegality because there is no other
way of bringing equilibrium to the existing order.
In the play La mafia, Edmea, daughter of Prefect Fumi, is in love with
Lucio, heir of the Baron of Montedomini. The girl reveals that her relation-
ship with young Lucio has already been consumated, but their marriage
is vehemently opposed by the arrogant Baron who uses all methods and
means to seperate the lovers. Edmea asks for help from her godfather,
Marquis Sciamacca, who in turn appeals to the powerful lawyer Rasconà,
the recognised head-mafioso of the area, who is protected by his rela-
tionship with the politician Terrasini. Rasconà (who remembers that he
has an old score to settle with Montedomini) kidnaps Lucio to force
the Baron to consent to the marriage wih Edmea. However, Rasconà
discovers a plot against him devised by Baron Montedomini, Questor
Zuccarello and Edmea’s father, but he manages, thanks to his links to
Terrasini, to guarantee his immunity for the future, and also to mock
both Zuccarello and Fumi.
The play is set in a large city in Sicily in the early 20th century, and
opens in a middle-class sitting room in the Italian prefect’s house, where
his daughter Edmea is providing musical entertainment. Three pistol
shots heard in the street break the silence. The characters in the sitting
room represent the different facets of Sicilian society and are often arti-
ficially contrasted with the behaviour of the ‘continentals’, represented
by the family of Prefect Fumi. The shock of the shots breaks up the
cheerful atmosphere and Baron Montedomini remarks sarcastically,
‘the usual mafia’, and mocks the mafiosi and their behaviour while the
prefect exclaims indignantly:

The mafia! Always the mafia! The terrible, inpenetrable shadow which
hangs over this dreamlike land. I’ve come to break it; for the last eight
months I’ve heard it around me, felt it within reach, breathed it in
the air; but with all my ability I have not been able to grasp it! They
steal, kill, start fires, blackmail: one can never find the culprit. Why?
This is the mafia. But what is this mafia? A sect, an association, a
party, a class? Who knows? (Cesareo 1921, p.10)
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 105

The man wounded by the shots turns out to be Crisafi, a former employee
of Baron Montedomini’s, who was sacked because of ‘his violent nature’.
He is portrayed as someone who embodies all the characteristics of the
man of honour, and in fact, he does not speak in the presence of the
authorities. This attitude of omertà is the cause of much discussion in
the middle-class sitting rooms, and is generally approved of, with the
exception of Prefect Fumi who complains about this way of behaving.
His outburst gradually becomes an indiscriminate accusation against all
the citizens of the city: ‘this is the town which hides criminals. I have
been to difficult places before ... and I can say I have a firm hand. But
here ...’ (Ibid., p.12). Baron Montedomini replies to the prefect’s accu-
sations by blaming democracy and the increasing numbers of voters,
along with political-mafioso collusion:

The fine effects of your democracy! A licensed, stamped villain has to

be apologised to before you can lay hands on him! There are certain
people – and everyone knows who they are, even you, dear sir – who
hold the local mafia in their grip; they guide it, secretly lead it and
use it for their criminal tricks. But everyone pretends not to see: they
are lawyers, ‘cavalieri’, provincial councillors. I have enough spirit to
denounce them; but do you promise to arrest them ? Oh no! ... you
cannot or do not want to. That’s understandable. (Ibid., p.13)

The denunciation of the protection the mafia enjoys from the ‘honest’
and respectable part of society comes from the baron, a character who
is aware of the problem and denounces mafia infiltration at all levels of
society. Montedomini is portrayed as a nonreprehensible punisher of an
ever-increasing corruption, a ‘positive’ character in the eyes of the reader,
who reproves the vainglorious prefect for certain acquaintances: ‘Excuse
me, but I would like to advise you to break off certain relationships ... I
won’t use the word friendships, which ... which ... might perhaps hinder
you’ (ibid., p.14). The baron’s ironic reproof is really aimed at the main
character of the play, Cavaliere Enrico Rasconà, one of the guests in the
prefect’s sitting room, an ambiguous character with considerable political
weight thanks to his large clientele and the support of the government
deputy Terrasini, as already mentioned. Cesareo describes him as ‘dressed
with studied elegance’ (ibid., p. 14), as someone who uses dialect and
who is therefore in line with other characters of the literary Sicilianism of
Capuana and Martoglio. Cesareo gives dialect an important role; of the
upper-middle class characters, and with good reason, only the mafioso
Rasconà and his friend Sciamacca speak in dialect. In Rasconà’s case,
106 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

there is a clear polemical intention, because the use of dialect takes up an

old idea dear to Sicilianist ideology. In fact, when the prefect’s wife can’t
undertand what is being said to her, the Cavaliere justifies his ingained
habit ‘of always speaking in dialect ... What do you want? I believe it is
the most harmonious language on earth. I agree with the Abbot Meli,
may he rest in peace!’ (ibid., p.15). Rasconà is just like the others in his
attitude of omertà towards the gunshots, and in respect of the rigorous
laws of silence, he declares:

Bad folks! People without conscience, my lady! I stroll along here

and all of a sudden, bang, bang, bang! Fireworks! Shadows flit away,
guards arrive, people run ... . What can I say? I’m a quiet man, a man
of letters, a poor legal man; to risk one’s life for a BADDA ORVA is no
pleasure at all. (Ibid.)

Rasconà’s attitude is demonstrated first with his negation of the exist-

ence of the mafia – ‘it doesn’t exist ... it’s a myth, a chimera, a supersti-
tion!’ – then, using the same ideological paradigm as Capuana does in
his essay La Sicilia e il brigantaggio, he adds:

Do you hear? Do you hear? And they’re all like that, you know! Taking
pleasure in denigrating this damned country. A fight, a robbery, a
kidnap, or a fire at Milan, Cuneo and Ontelagoscuro is attributed to
thieves, assasins, vagabonds, ordinary petty criminals. What happens
here? Here it’s all different ... . A terrible, strange, mysterious, super-
natural thing ... the mafia! And everyone stares and runs to hide, like
children when you talk about monsters. What imagination! (Ibid.,
pp.16–17)

The ready reply of the Italian prefect, ‘with arguments which seem to
be drawn directly from Franchetti’s enquiry’ (Onofri 1996, p.110), is
an accusation against a Sicily that derides the law much more than in
other parts of Italy, and which accuses the Sicilians of having a person-
alised idea of justice where ‘everyone wants to see to the protection of
his own person or goods himself, wants to claim his rights himself and
with his own means, disdaining and almost being ashamed of turning
to us ... to the authority of the law’ (Cesareo 1921, p.17). Rasconà’s reply
obviously takes up all the preceding Sicilianist themes and the usual
complaints against the Italian ruling class, in name of all those who
have been offended, and he stresses the conditions of the lower classes
in Sicily, such as the peasants. ‘Do you know what the condition of the
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 107

workers in Sicily is like? They are like beasts, things, inanimate objects
in the hands of their lords – along with their women and their poor
pieces of land. The lord can use and abuse all’(Ibid., p.17). If the peasant
decides to turn to the magistrates, notes Rasconà, the lord – thanks to
his money, friendships and influence – will always get the better of the
poor, so ‘how can you wish for the worker to have faith in the govern-
ment?’ (Ibid., pp.17–18). Rasconà’s provocation arouses the incredulity
of the prefect, ‘so you approve of the mafia?’ But the Cavaliere, after his
passionate outburst about the inequalities of justice for the lower classes
and the failings of the legal state, becomes a respectable bourgeois once
again, supporter of government candidates and respectful observer of
authority:

I? You are off the mark. I am a man of order, devoted to the institu-
tions, respectful of the laws ... what has that got to do with it? ... . The
good faith of the voters has taken me to the Provincial council, ... . I
have always supported your proposals, have I not? In the elections I
have always voted and will always vote for the government’s candi-
date; is this not true, Terrasini? (Ibid., p.18)

Rasconà’s instigation really acts as an introduction to the comments of

Baron Montedomini, the representative of the very class of nobles under
accusation, and he does not hesitate to condemn the lethal connection
between mafia and politics, which has led to the untouchability and
power of the mafia. In reply to Prefect Fumi, he declares

Ah, have you understood now? That is the way it is, dear sir! The
mafia has always been a tool in the hands of your so wise govern-
ment: that is why it is invincible. It is quite comprehensible; the
citizen who knows that the mafia is protected, caressed and is above
the law, will stand up for the mafia and scoff at all forms of authority.
(Ibid., p.19)

Although the thinly veiled denouncement of the mafioso being

protected by the institutions comes from the ‘wicked’ baron, himself
suspected guilty of abuse of power and theft, it does in fact reflect reality,
a truth which is confirmed by Rasconà’s words, when he boasts of his
deep loyalty to the government representative Terrasini.
If during this exchange Rasconà appears to be the villain of the piece,
in the following scene the situation is reversed; the upright, incorrupt-
ible baron who fights the evil of the mafia becomes cold, insensitive
108 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

and unfair. The prefect’s daughter, Edmea, in love with Lucio, the son
of the baron, faces the downright refusal of the baron to consent to the
marriage, which would save her ‘lost’ honour. With his sharp rebuke,
‘here, young lady, children obey their fathers’ (Ibid., p.22), Montedomini
stresses the fact that the girl is not Sicilian and that there are anthro-
pological differences between the two lovers. The Italian girl, seduced
and abandoned by her Sicilian fiancé, is the daughter of a prefect who
worries about his position although he is not Sicilian, ‘so this is what has
happened, you wretch? Handfuls of mud thrown at my spotless name!
Shame and scorn on the high office I represent! Scandal ... scandal ... in a
few days’ (ibid., pp.29–30). The scandal that worries the prefect so much
must be avoided and therefore the girl’s godfather, Marquis Sciamacca
offers to mediate. The problem is serious, ordinary justice cannot inter-
vene, the marquis remarks, but there is only one man in Sicily who
can sort out the problem. To the desperate prefect’s question, ‘Who is
that?’, Sciamacca plays his trump card, ‘Rasconà’, in reply (ibid., p.31).
He might as well have said the mafia, that body of natural law that
avenges injustice and fights the abuse of power. State justice is impotent
to defend the honour of a respectable girl, so the only solution left is
the man of honour, in this case Rasconà, who embodies the prototype
of the avenger of injustice,3 following an ideal very popular with those
who defend the mafia. To Fumi’s protests about his position and the
legality of the operation, Marquis Sciamacca, supported by the prefect’s
wife, continues:

Imprudence? You know you seem really old-fashioned to me? Why?

We’re dealing with her honour, the happiness of your daughter, the
peace of all and you worry about the imprudence? So I say, sort it out
yourself ... . (Ibid., p.31)

Honour must be saved, especially when the affront is of a sexual nature,

and only Rasconà can do this because ‘he is a man that, when he
undertakes a task, will never leave it short-changed’. When the prefect
protests, referring to the connection between Rasconà and the mafia,
the marquis replies ‘what an obsession! ... What mafia? Who mafia?
Don’t steam your brain! You must behave like a cat which shuts its eyes
so as not to see the mouse. Why otherwise would you be the prefect?’
(ibid., p.33). The marquis, perhaps unwittingly, lifts the veil on the
obvious contradications of Sicily at that time, when the institutions
were often accomplices of or made use of the services of the mafia,
instead of fighting it. The play’s aims in defending the mafia is evident,
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 109

because the decision to turn to the mafia is presented as being just and
necessary.
In the first act, the idea of mafia is fairly vague, with people talking
nonsense or denying its existence, while in the second act, the mafia
is embodied by Giorgi Mauro ‘dressed with vulgar elegance, and ... his
face marked by a deep scar’ (ibid., p.38), and he is the only one to be
described as a mafioso in the opening notes. Lawyer Rasconà’s studio
represents the middle-class mafia of the day, with a large number of
clients from different social classes who show great deference towards
the powerful lawyer, recently nominated president of the sulphur
consortium in place of Baron Montedomini by Minister Giulietti. The
lawyer is usually polite and respectful when his clients are middle
class, but he changes abruptly when faced with characters like Piddu
Spataru, field guard of Baron Montedomini. Piddu Spataru is also
portrayed as a mafioso ‘dressed in brown hunting gear, with a wide
red-silk belt. His hat is cocked at an angle’ (ibid., p.41). The field guard
rushes into the studio because cows have been stolen from him and
his master; Rasconà is the instigator of the theft but faces Piddu like a
true charismatic head mafioso, mediating and ordering that some of
the stolen beasts be returned to the field guard. ‘Tomorrow the cows
must be returned to the fields of this poor guard. Otherwise his master
will suck our blood ...’ he dares Piddu, ‘don’t have scruples ... you can
always shoot me, ... but in the back ... and at night!’ (ibid., pp.45–46).
His studio is also the place for the legitimisation of mafioso methods
used by the institutions; in fact, here the public authority represented
by the prefect meets the private force of Rasconà ‘uomo di panza’ (ibid.,
p.47), as Marquis Sciamacca presents him. The lawyer asks for carte
blanche when the prefect asks him for help, and to the uncertainty of
the prefect, Rasconà replies arrogantly:

So! Now you want to know what my plan is, what my methods are,
whether my help will serve you. You are too demanding, my friend.
I am Rasconà, a faithful friend and enemy. What do I do? I do what I
like. What methods do I use? Methods which make your carabinieri
guards, secret funds look like straws. And the proof is that you, Sir
prefect, come here the first time that something serious crops up, a
muddle in which your honour, your feelings as a father, your posi-
tion. (ibid., p.50)

Of particular importance for the legitimisation of the Sicilian-mafioso

paradigm is the conversation between the two. The despairing prefect
110 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

asks ‘so is there no justice in the world, do you think?’ and Rasconà
launches on an unconditional defence of mafia justice:

You make me laugh, you know! Justice exists ... You, for example, are
on the side of justice, yes or no? Your daughter out of enthusiasm,
blind faith in the man she had chosen, gave herself to him entirely.
The young man can’t wait to make her happy by marrying her. But
the despotic baron, out of vain spite, opposes the match. Justice here
would mean stopping that fine man from imposing himself. But who
can do that? You? The law? No. I can do that. Because I am not the law
which is justice for a few; but I am strength which is the law for all. When
the weak, the betrayed, and the oppressed noticed that justice was
trickery and violence, they said – let’s exchange parts, so let trickery
and violence be our justice. This is what you call mafia; basically it is
social revolt! (Ibid., pp.51–52, my italics)

The figure of the marquis, Sciascia suggests,4 is ‘a character put there in

order to act as mediator and provoker’ (Sciascia 1989, Vol.III, p.1111). ‘Is
there any doubt? They steal, fight, burn, steal and oppress ... But all for
justice! ... Of course!’ (Cesareo 1921, p.53).
The reasoning of the two is clear; the law is justice only for a few chosen
people like the baron, but the rest of the population has no choice when
looking for justice but to turn to the law of strength, the mafia, which
only works towards a ‘social revolt’. Once again, the criminal organi-
sation is presented as a necessity which reduces the social imbalance
which reigns in Sicily, perpetuated by the tyrannical and absent state.
Rasconà adds:

I neither defend nor accuse the mafia and its abuses: there are plenty
of cut-throats and there always have been in the mafia as everywhere
else. Man always exposes his instincts and he is half pig and half wolf.
I know a good few who deserve the gallows, who exploit the fear they
inspire for their courage, commit all sorts of abuses against the poor;
I know people who become the tools of the bullying of their lords just
for a piece of bread. Villains, of course! But whose fault is it? What has
the state done for us? It has exploited us, demoralised and calumnied
us. (Ibid., p.52)

Rasconà claims not to defend the mafia but to justify its existence. What
hope does a poor man have against the torments he suffers daily at
the hands of the ruling class? If the state is absent or distant, if justice
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 111

arrives late or not at all, or even strikes the people it should defend,
a vacuum is created between the weaker, defenceless citizens and the
law. That vacuum is therefore filled by the mafia, which intervenes
immediately to sort out the injustice. The state, because of the political
support it recieves in exchange, pretends not to notice, for the general
good. Doing one’s duty as prefect, according to Rasconà, means being
‘blind, deaf and dumb’ (ibid., p.53). The head mafioso forces the law of
silence on Fumi, and the representative of the state, being unable to act
as a tool for justice, has to let the others act. The foolish prefect accepts
the conditions imposed by Rasconà; 25,000 lire ‘for expenses’, which
he ingenuously pays with a cheque which will be used against him by
Rasconà at the end of the play. The Cavaliere decides to act against Baron
Montedomini, his enemy, using his two thugs Piddu and Giorgio, in a
plan which involves kidnapping the Baron’s son to force him to accept
the marriage with the prefect’s daughter. The conversation between
Rasconà and his ruffians also sets out the author’s ideological paradigm,
to demonstrate the incompetence of the governing authorities on the
island. ‘And if the Carabinieri come?’ asks Piddu. ‘Offer them a drink’,
replies Rasconà (ibid., p.58). Only Baron Montedomini denounces the
power and strength of the mafia in league with politics:

There is nothing but mafia! It has become an institution. The govern-

ment supports it, the citizens fear it, justice can do nothing against it.
Everyone is sure that so-and-so is a criminal. Should we imprison him?
Put him on trial? But no! He can’t be touched: he must be consulted
with respect and deference, his is the decision to be accepted!
(Ibid., p.75)

The baron is no longer portrayed as a positive charater, as at the begin-

ning in his denunciation of the mafia and its methods. His behaviour
becomes a passionate defence of certain attitudes, illustrated by the
episode in which Rasconà reveals to the hated nobleman that he holds
his son in hostage. He does not want money, only the consent to the
marriage with the prefect’s daughter. When the baron accuses him
of being in league with a member of the institutions, Rasconà replies
haughtily, underlining his status as ‘omu di panza’:

I don’t give a fig for the prefect, as I don’t give a fig for you, your
saints and the whole universe. So the other evening when you sent
me some sugared almonds with his field guards, the prefect knew
nothing about it. I look after myself. (Ibid., p.79)
112 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Cesareo portrays Montedomini as a coward who uses the same violent

methods he criticises others of using, but who also wants to know if
Rasconà is truly a feared man of honour and ‘does he believe himself
fearful?’ The reply hints at his strength and the group of followers who
surround him:

Do I believe? No, my friend, I am and I know I am. I have a band of

men who know me and are ready to throw themselves into the fire
on my command: I have power of life or death over them, I judge and
condemn them without any formalities. (Ibid., p.80)

These words reveal Rasconà’s true nature as head mafioso of the town.
His statements confuse the baron still more, because he cannot under-
stand why a head mafioso should worry about the lost honour of a girl
from the mainland, without gaining any personal benefits.
However, the story unfolds and reveals that the pitiless Rasconà is the
brother of Viola who as a 16-year-old many years ago was seduced and
abandoned by Baron Montedomini himself:

Twenty years ago, I was a student at Naples: my father was the

notary of the town. He had a sixteen year old daughter Viola, sweet
violet by name and character, gentle creature! Beautiful, good, hard-
working, with a cheerful voice and honest as daylight. One day
when I was away, my sister disappeared. My poor father appealed to
the judges, the delegates in vain ... they paid no attention, or were
distracted ... Is he a man, a mere notary? After a year, one evening
my sister returned home ... she knocked ... my mother ran to open
as if her heart had spoken ... It was her daughter, Violedda, the dove
of the house! But she was so thin and exhausted, her face pale as
wax, her hair dishevelled, her eyes hollowed from weeping, that my
mother felt herself torn apart by her passion. Do you know where
she had been, from which cursed nest she had escaped? (Ibid.,
pp.80–81)

Young Viola had suffered violence and dishonour at the hands of the
powerful baron and was pregnant. Montedomini defends himself
claiming that no one had sent her away, to which the irate Rasconà
replies:

Naturally! Who would have touched her as long as she accepted the
honour of becoming the servant and concubine of the most noble
baron? When my father, poor old man, was informed of everything,
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 113

the betrayal, the vile treatment, the dishonour and then the preg-
nancy and her escape, his blood boiled out of pity and rage. (Cesareo
1921, pp.180–81)

Rasconà’s anger for the terrible treatment of the girl and her family –
in fact, the father died of a broken heart – explodes against the baron:
‘Ah Baron! If Christ had sent you to me on that day ... !’ (ibid., p.81).
Montedomini is frightened and asks if he intends to kill him, but the
final words between Rasconà and the baron serve to justify Cesareo’s
ideological paradigm and Rasconà’s membership of the mafia group:

No, no, don’t be afraid! ... Fool! My sister died too, as you know. She
died in my arms, begging me to spare her kidnapper, out of love for
the innocent child, the fruit of her womb. So I said to myself, in order
to live in a society like this, one had to be able to hand out one’s own
justice; and as I was poor and you were rich, I was common and you
were patrician, I was weak and you were strong, I looked around to
find some companions. My profession helped me: I laid hands on an
association which, yes, does commit crimes but which can also be
used against oppression and iniquity ... as now. (Ibid., p.81)

The violence of the mafia is certainly justified when it combats oppression

and iniquity, but still more when it protects those who are not protected
by the institutions and have to submit to the foibles and torments of
the arrogant noble class. The figure of the mafioso becomes an outlaw
who helps the poor against the power of the rich, that helps reinforce
the mystique. As we have seen,previously noted, Franchetti had already
identified this form of mystification in his enquiry with particular refer-
ences to the legend of the kindly brigand who pays the dowry for a
penniless girl or the debts of a poor peasant, which was handed down
from one generation to another. In Franchetti’s analysis, but also in the
description of Rasconà, the figure of the mafioso must behave as much as
possible like a Robin Hood stereotype, and be a victim of the enemies of
the lower classes. He must fight injustice and the oppression of the domi-
nating classes and protect the oppressed, he is a good man in the sense
of popular morality, he is a ‘knight’ and kills only for defence. Rasconà’s
deeds are therefore not simply blackmail, as the baron stubbornly wants
to believe, but go beyond personal interests. They are a reply to the injus-
tices which derive from the arrogance of the nobility:

Your son gets into trouble with a girl who is honest and faithful, he
promises to marry her, she is already mother – do you understand? – they
114 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

love each other, they could be happy : no, my lord! This is forbidden
by the rascal/(arcinfanfaru). He must abandon her, betray her, make
her die of heartache and shame. But I expect – I demand – that this
marriage takes place, I’ll make this the blackmail. (Ibid., p.82)

The head-mafioso Rasconà expresses his ideology; ‘No, no, Baron

Montedomini: I am avenging my sister! You see: justice and crime are
involved in this affair: in the eyes of men perhaps I am the crime and
you are justice; but in the eyes of God – you are the crime and I am
justice!’ (Ibid., p.82). This is a fundamental part of the play which not
only illustrates the illicit use of force that both make (the baron repre-
sents oppression while Rasconà is an instrument for fighting the oppres-
sion of the nobility), but also a tòpos in literature which defends the
mafia: ‘the fact that Rasconà feels sincerely, deep in his heart, that he
defends the laws of God against the unjust laws of man represented by
the baron’ (Onofri 1995, p.118).
Many traces scattered throughout the pages of La mafia help to give the
mafia of the early twentieth century an aura of legend in the narrative
tradition of plots and mysteries. Rosa Maria Monastra comments that
these signs ‘basically aim to render the mafioso noble and heroic, but this
ennobling is especially important because it does not concern fantasy or
a distant past, but touches contemporary reality’ (Monastra 1998, p.62).
The mafioso Rasconà is inspired by the figure of the romantic rebel and
the various protagonists of popular novels such as I Beati Paoli which
had been so successful especially in Sicily. Rasconà, like the characters in
these popular novels, symbolises the untiring hero of natural justice and
natural rights that are part of human nature and which precede positive
justice, and Cesareo constructs, spreads and legitimises the ideology of a
romantic mafia. As regards this legitimisation, Sciascia observes:

We look over the list of the charaters and get the impression that
at last we have it: a marquis, a prefect, a questor, a deputy, a police
inspector, a baron, a field-guard; and a mafioso. But this character,
explicitly called mafioso, makes us suspicious: so is there only one
mafioso in the play, we ask? (Sciascia 1989, p.1109)

In the final act of the play, Rasconà succeeds in making Lucio, the son
of the arrogant baron, marry the daughter of the prefect, re-establishing
the natural laws that the haughty baron had tried to overturn. The
ineffectual prefect, on Baron Montedomini’s insistance, tries to have
Rasconà arrested for having confessed to being a member of the local
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 115

mafia. However, the conversation between Rasconà and the govern-

ment deputy Terrasini is enlightening. In fact, the former treats Terrasini
almost as if he were inferior ‘You will leave for Rome this very evening,
go straight to the minister, talk to him, tell him everything exactly
as it happened ... the role of the prefect ... his plotting ... his two-faced
behaviour’.
Rasconà’s plan is clear, as is his reply to the injustice of the laws of men:

Ah so they want war? I accept. When a society is as rotten as yours

is, it can only be handled with iron and fire ! The law is unjust,
provocatory,a lie ? So I put myself above the law. Today’s moral means
looking after one’s own interests, tip-toeing over the law books? Wel I
prefer to leap over them. I go straight ahead without scruples or fear.
Enough! This is idle chatter. Look at the positive things. The govern-
ment should think it over. It should consider what will remain, what
men, money and compromised honour, after the hunt for the brig-
ands! ... And then in six months, it is election time ... And then ... I will
send them the deputies. (Cesareo 1921, p.93)

The style of mafioso in the vein of Rasconà reproposes the archetype

created by Mosca and Rizzotto; he is, in a basic sense, a Jachinu who
has become part of the new Italian society and has climbed the social
ladder to become equal if not superior to the Incognito of the day. Both
are descendents of the legend of the ‘good’ bandit and as Rasconà adds:

Then tell him: – Rasconà is a faithful friend, shrewd, sure but he is

not prepared to tolerate arrogance ... . If they try to touch so much as
a hair, within a month he will have organised banditry in the entire
province. Two or three bands, armed to the teeth, comanded by reso-
lute leaders, fearless and ferocious, the finest examples of convicts,
protected and favoured by numerous hordes of free delinquents and
criminals of both sexes, will fill the land with robberies, raids, extor-
tion, massacres ... . (Ibid., pp.92–93)

Again the intention of self-defence becomes clear; Rasconà the just is

abandoned by the corrupt and unjust state after he had supported it.
This story seems to anticipate the true story of Salvatore Giuliano the
bandit, several decades later, a legend which became known not only in
Sicily and which still survives today.5 The final scenes of the play, with
Rasconà managing to escape from under the prefect’s nose, are summa-
rised in the ironic words of Marquis Sciamacca, who reveals Cesareo’s
116 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

thoughts about incompetent bureaucrats, especially Italian ones, who

have to deal with the mafia ‘So these are the experts sent by the govern-
ment to Sicily to hunt down the mafia!’ (ibid., p.108). As we have seen,
Cesareo has used the typical plot of a marriage which is opposed, along
with typically Sicilianist themes marked by post-unification disappoint-
ment. The Sicilian writer writes an interesting eulogy of the victims and
the unfairness of the state and its laws. Alongside the oppressed and
tormented peasants are also other classes who have been humiliated and
offended, such as Edmea the daughter of the prefect (disapproved of by
the baron because of her inferior social rank), but above all Rasconà, the
son of a notary who had been humiliated in the past by the baron who
seduced and abandoned his sister. We also find characters who are both
victims and tormentors such as Piddu Spataru, the baron’s field guard,
and the marquis, Sciamacca, whose words about the dramatic situation
of the peasants and the idea of the mafia as social revolt ‘seem to be an
excuse to support the claims of the lower-middle classes on the rise (this
claim is illustrated in the text by the substitution of Montedomini by
Rasconà as president of the sulphur consortium,6 where the author may
be referring to a real situation), perhaps with the complicity of a down-
graded aristocracy’ (Monastra 1998, p.61).
Cesareo’s play is the apex of the Sicilian ideology which developed
from Pitrè’s theories several decades earlier. The Sicilian playwright
notes, like Franchetti had done, that the elements of violence and ille-
gality are the price to pay for the transformation of feudal Sicilian society
which did not take place, represented by the arrogant and violent Baron
Montedomini. He is countered by the figure of the mafioso Rasconà,
who represents the meeting place between the mafia and the world of
politics and business, but who also embodies the ideal of a romantic
avenger mafioso, a rebel against feudal Sicily who fights the oppression
and injustice of the noble class, and exalts a concept of mafia which
represents the ‘just’ law of God in conflict with the unjust law of man.
The idea of the mafia as a form of intolerance of oppression and injustice
becomes legitimised. However, Cesareo’s opinions are not isolated, but
are part of an uninterrupted stream of writings which aim to minimise
or even deny the seriousness of the problem. This was a strategy which
fitted in with the plans of the Sicilian ruling classes, and which shortly
after, was expressed most famously by the deputy Vittorio Emanuele
Orlando in a speech during the election campaign of 1925:

Now I say that if by mafia we mean a sense of honour taken to

extremes, an intolerance of arrogance and oppression that becomes
 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia 117

rage, generosity that stands up to the strong but helps the weak,
faithfulness to one’s friends, stronger that everything else even to the
death, if by mafia we mean these attitudes, even with their excesses,
then these are signs which are indissolubly linked to the Sicilian soul
and I declare myself mafioso and am happy to be one! (Giornale di
Sicilia 1993, p.142)

Orlando’s claims cannot be taken too seriously because he makes the

usual distinction between a ‘bad’ criminal mafia and a ‘good’ mafia,
expression of honour and loyalty, a distinction expressed in terms of
Sicilianism by a politician who was under pressure from the incipient
Fascist regime.
Rasconà was legitimised even by important figures of Sicilian politics
of the day, and it is easy to agree with Sciascia’s despondent comments
on the play by Cesareo: ‘it seems that Cavaliere Rasconà professes this
theory: that Sicily is through language and sentiment, a nation; and that
the mafia is its “constitution”, its invisible but concrete “state” behind
the visible but useless State, the illusionary screen of the Italian State’
(Sciascia 1989, p.1112).
7
Fascism and the Surrender of
the Mafia, the Allied Invasion and
the Return of the Villains

The mafia as seen by Mori and fascism

The years following the First World War saw the problem of crime in
Sicily become increasingly serious. The grave economic and social crisis
which had followed the war led to a growth in crime, especially in theft
and cattle stealing.
In this climate a new mafia emerged, recruited principally from the
ranks of the ‘ex-soldiers of the First World War ... who returned home
no longer used to work, and with the desire to get rich quick’; they
made alliances with outlaws already on the run who made up new mafia
groupings which opposed the old mafia. In reality, this was a young
mafia which ‘avoided, sneered at the protection of politicians, consid-
ering their own rifles to be the best form of protection’ (Lo Schiavo
1962, p.168).
The new mafia was a hybrid phenomenon. It was made up of thugs
who operated mainly in the countryside and whose actions often
revealed their brigand-like character, while their lack of contacts with
the political scene condemned them to a marginal role. The old mafia,
on the contrary, was made up of those men who had avoided obligatory
military service and the call-up, and who had got rich during the war
with speculation and crime. This veritable army of deserters had become
‘a source of worry for the government’, and was estimated to number,
perhaps exaggeratedly, more than ‘40,000, above all in the winter of
1916–17’ (Duggan 1986, p.17).
Some years earlier in 1914, the worries of the government with
regards to these outlaws had produced a bill, presented by Vittorio

118
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 119

Emanuele Orlando and Antonio Salandra and discussed with urgency

in 1916, which proposed the reinforcement of mobile squadriglie
of carabinieri and policemen around the territory. The head of this
activity was Vice-Questor Cesare Mori, well known on the island for
his role as commissioner for public safety in the province of Trapani
from 1904 to 1914.
After the war, the victims of violent struggles between the criminals
were mainly the landowners, often incompetent aristocrats who had
been absent from their estates for several generations. This period saw
the growth of the movement which called for concessions of land to
agricultural cooperatives, with new members who were both lower class
and ex-soldiers. The mafiosi tried to exploit the situation and infiltrated
the movement with differing behaviour, from the armed defence of the
estates when they were rented out to members of the mafia or people
under mafia protection, to the exploitation of the peasant cooperatives
when it was necessary to convince a reluctant owner to rent out the
lands in which a local cosca had an interest. Post-war Sicily had expe-
rienced a political mobilisation no less intense than in the rest of the
country. After the reforms of 1913 and 1919, the electoral roll had been
extended and the peasant movement was able to use the tool of collec-
tive rents. In fact, Lupo states that

the cooperative substituted the gabelloto in renting the land and elimi-
nated his parasite-like intermediation, without however changing the
all-round old-fashioned nature of the relations concerning production
and the access of man to the land. The rivalry between the peasant
organisation and the gabelloto maintained the rents stable, in effect,
countering the depressing effect that emigration had on the coun-
tryside, so after an initial resistance, the land-owners had accepted
the partnership with the peasant organisations which proliferated
rapidly, above all in the Sicilian interior. (Lupo 1987, p.376)

So a new class of mediators was created between the peasant activity and
the reaction of the landowners, since the cooperative organisations had
filled the place of the gabelloto and, in particular, had adopted his old
function of patronage (through the control of the peasants’ votes, the
areas to be cultivated, the distribution of credit). So, old and new client
groups gathered round these new organisations, ready to exploit them
for renewed social control. The most important members of the ‘young’
post-war mafia were Calogero Vizzini and Giuseppe Genco Russo who
gained ‘auctoritas and a discrete patrimony thanks to these organisations,
120 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

channelling the peasants towards the land, organising their clients in

cooperatives or, one might say, cosche’ (ibid., p.382).
Calogero ‘Don Calò’ Vizzini from Villalba, son of a modest peasant,
often forced to work as a day labourer, gained not only personal advan-
tages from this situation but also the reputation for being a uomo di
rispetto (man of respect). Don Calò, from his youth, despite his illit-
eracy, stood out on his estate for his undoubted ability to mediate
cleverly between the diverse needs of the landowner and the peasants.
He became one of the most influential gabelloti in the area around
Caltanissetta in a few years, and took over the command of the mafia of
Villalba, extending his power over the entire region thanks to his links
with politicians and dignitaries of the island. At the outbreak of war, ‘u
zu1 Calò’, Uncle Calò was exempted from military service after a few
days ‘as was fitting for a man of his rank, and he was not unaware of the
immediate and considerable gains that the new situation could offer to
those who were experts in nefarious dealings and who had an efficient
network of collaborators’ (Pantaleone 1962, p.77). After the First World
War, Calò was one of the main organisers of agricultural cooperatives in
the province of Caltanissetta, but his main intention was to govern the
process of transformation of the estates and control the peasant move-
ment from within.
The emergency caused by the war stimulated an improvement in the
quality of the organisation of criminal activity, by now all controlled
by the mafia which ‘spread its field of action to interprovincial dimen-
sions’ (Lupo 1987, p.395). The mafiosi, as the case of Don Calò demon-
strates, had started to become true ‘business men’, breaking away from
the stereotype of the ‘armed fist of the latifondi’, which had accompa-
nied them all through the previous century, and becoming autonomous
individuals who looked principally to their own interests.
Because of the situation, the agrarian nobility embraced fascism
with enthusiasm and great hopes, not out of any ideological belief, but
because fascism appeared to be not only a conservative dictatorship
which would revive past glories but also a repressive regime which could
free them from the increasingly suffocating grasp of the mafia.
Mussolini (Il Duce) tried to remove all the obstacles in his way which
slowed down the process of making the entire country fascist. In Sicily,
the greatest obstacle, and the most difficult to overcome, was the pres-
ence of the liberal-client networks linked to the parliament, the so-called
‘liberal mafia’. The other obstacle was the mafia itself which, the Duce
believed, would undermine the foundations of a completely fascist Sicily;
the presence of a strong, influential parallel state, the mafia, would have
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 121

prevented the creation of a wholly fascist Sicily. Only the utter annihila-
tion of the criminal organisation would have allowed fascism to gain
total control of the island. The calls for the destruction of the mafia
traditionally came from the left-wing parties, and the first meridionalisti
such as Colajanni and Villari, now came loudly from the fascist right-
wing, as revealed by the fascist secretary of Alcamo in April 1923, shortly
after Mussolini had come to power:

If we want to save Sicily, we must break that strange type of reor-

ganisation called the mafia; if Fascism wants to do Sicily a service, it
must solve this problem, and then it will be able to put down roots
even deeper than it has in the North, weakening Bolshevism. (Lupo
1993, p.144)

Mussolini had understood this well. In May of the next year, during a
visit to the island,2 in the fight against the mafia he identified the true
test of the ‘regenerated’ state, avoiding with ‘shrewd political intuition
that dangerous equation where mafia equals Sicily’ (Lupo 1993, p.144).
The attitude of the Duce, and afterwards the attitude of his prefect in
Sicily, Cesare Mori, contrasted decidedly with the approach to crimi-
nality in Sicily of other rulers or influential politicians on the mainland.
These had often been unable to resist the temptation of lumping together
the entire population of Sicily with the criminals, thus provoking senti-
ments of self-defence which in the past had encouraged an irrational
and exaggerated local pride, the true source of the Sicilianist delirium.
Mussolini, on the contrary, knew how to amalgamate elements of a
harshly repressive political system with a profound respect for the local
population, as he showed in a famous speech held in Agrigento in May
1924: ‘it is no longer possible to tolerate a few hundred criminals who
overcome, impoverish and damage a magnificent population like this
one’ (Lupo 1993, p.144). The portrait of the mafia drawn by Mussolini
was one of an organisation with precise, well-defined parameters, not
the vague, unclear one often synonymous with all of Sicily.
Thus, a year after the speech in Agrigento, on 23 October 1925, Cesare
Mori, former prefect of Trapani, portrayed by his enemies with the ironic
motto ‘vedi Trapani e poi Mori’ (see Trapani and ‘Mori’-die) (Onofri
1996, p.124), became the new prefect of Palermo with new powers. Mori
is without doubt one of the most contradictory figures of the entire
period. Was he a romantic hero with strong nationalist sentiments or
simply a determined and harsh bureaucrat who knew how to play his
cards right? And did he truly succeed in weakening the terrible plague of
122 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

the mafia? Mori is one of the most disputable figures of the fight against
the Sicilian mafia, certainly a hero for some (above all for himself, as is
demonstrated by the photos and high-flying titles of his autobiograph-
ical books) because his actions are bound to a legend which the Sicilians
have recounted for decades. It is no coincidence that the party which
emerged from the ashes of fascism after the war, the Movimento Sociale
Italiano, had a strong electoral position for years, thanks to the associa-
tion between the fascist Mori and the defeat of the mafia, as Leonardo
Sciascia has observed in various writings. It is, however, difficult to judge
his actions in an unambiguous way.
Vainglorious and rhetorical, but vigorous and fairly independent (as
demonstrated at Bologna when as prefect in 1921–22, he opposed the
most clamorous forms of violence of the fascist squads), Mori arrived in
Palermo in October 1925 and remained until June 1929, when he was
sent to ‘rest’. In 1928 he was nominated senator.
There is no doubt that his action was the simple affirmation of a total-
itarian doctrine which could not accept the mafia as a parallel force to
the state. His ideals, as set forth in his books, were to restore the authority
of the state, obtain the trust and support of the people through strong
actions, and return faith in the state to the landowners.
There is also no doubt that Mori’s fight against the mafia obtained
important successes. Between 1926 and 1928 during the numerous
round-ups, including the famous siege of the town of Gangi, some 11,000
people were arrested with the accusation of associazione a delinquere
(criminal association). The areas involved demonstrate the extensive
powers obtained by the prefect. Five thousand were arrested in the prov-
ince of Palermo alone: Gangi, Corleone, Partinico, Bagheria, Monreale,
and then also Agrigento and Enna, Caltagirone and the western part
of Etna (Lupo 1993, p.146). The surrender of the criminals was total,
and almost all walks of life were involved in the repression of the iron
prefect: professionals and mayors, but above all, the gabelloti – the
intermediaries par excellence of the parasitic mafia power, who had got
rich at the expense of the landowners. These latter were, however, the
representatives of l’alta mafia for whom Mussolini had also wanted to
annihilate, and who became a protected class, praised by Mori himself.
The regime’s attack was directed towards the old liberal mafia, the mafia
which had been abominated by Pirandello’s I vecchi e i giovani. Together
with the old liberal mafia, the radical bourgeois and progressive fascism
promoted by the federalist Cucco came under attack. The electoral and
parliamentary system in Sicily had legitimised the old liberal mafia as
a ruling class, thanks mainly to the networks of political relations in
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 123

the local and regional systems. Fascism, which opposed decentralisation

with a strongly centralised state, in actual fact cut off the lifeblood of
the wheeling and dealing and corruption of regional politics. Sciascia’s
words describe the situation eloquently:

In the years between 1920 and 1923, the murders which took place
at Regalpetra reached frightening numbers. Some months saw a body
being found each time the sun went up ... . After 1923, the number
of murders sank; then Mori with his well-known methods swept up
mafiosi and supporters, but don’t think he managed to eliminate
them definitively; only those nostalgic for Fascism could think such
a thing. (Sciascia 1987, Vol.I, pp.31–35)

He continues:

that when Fascism gained power, by now self-assured and bold,

that sort of syllogism (the mafia is itself fascism) doesn’t disappear
completely: but since Fascism had to get rid of certain ‘revolutionary’
fringes to be able to negotiate with the land-owners and owners of
the sulphur mines, they had to give Fascism at least the appearance of
restoring public order – freedom from the most worrying and blatant
forms of crime. (Sciascia 1992, p.126)

The image of the mafia that the new fascist hierarchy aimed to transmit
was one of an organisation weakened and under the control of the
institutions which restored public order. In fact the criminal fringes
continued to worry both the landowners and the fascist police. Prefect
Mori, in order to get rid of these criminals, used the field guards, the
campieri, who had previously acted as the first intermediaries between
the estates and the criminal groups. During Mori’s repression, these field
guards became an irreplaceable element, contributing to the efficiency
of the pact. The great round-ups and successive trials broke up the
cosche. The main weapon of the repressive campaign was the unscru-
pulous use of forced residence and accusations of criminal association;
often the word of an employee of the pubblica sicurezza (public safety)
was enough to be condemned. In 1927 Mussolini announced a compli-
mentary summing-up of the activity of Mori and the Sicilian magistracy
to the parliament.
There was, however, a fairly obvious limit to Mori’s action; the pres-
ence of a strong totalitarian state which, with violence, both legitimate
and illegitimate (e.g., the use of torture in cases which were difficult
124 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

to solve) repressed but didn’t resolve the problem of the mafia at the
roots. The infamous sieges of Gangi and other towns in the Sicilian inte-
rior had demonstrated how certain actions normally associated with
war – almost medieval in character – could be efficient, but that being
limited to the rural mafia (the country mafia that was losing) saved,
above all, the agrarian class whose interests were protected by prefect
Mori himself:

Even a monkey would have been able to restore order with the
systems used by Mori and which only the Fascists love, but Mori’s
systems anaesthetised the mafia; in fact the reawakening after the
war was violent. (Sciascia 1978, p.35)

However, fascism did not destroy the mafia. Some famous characters,
such as Vito Cascio Ferro, ended their lives in prison, but others such
as Don Calò and Genco Russo, did quite well for themselves, surviving
fascism and finding themselves, as if by magic, in their old commanding
roles in the years after the fall of the regime with increasing prestige,
power and wealth. The official version, after the repression of Cesare
Mori, was that fascism had destroyed the mafia, but some judicial docu-
ments hint at a situation that continued to worry, with criminal activity
typical of mafia delinquency: kidnappings, cattle stealing, receiving of
stolen goods, aiding and abetting crime. In the 1930s, the most open signs
of the mafia presence had disappeared, but criminal activity continued,
although it was not wise to talk about it in the papers. Fascism had ‘offi-
cially’ destroyed the mafia.
Mori was, in any case, responsible for the defeat, partial as it may
have been. Duggan writes that the fascist prefect ‘was by nature authori-
tarian and very conservative, with great faith in the state and a strong
sense of duty’ (Duggan 1986, p.37), and this is why, between 1919 and
1922, he believed it right to force even the fascists to respect ‘his laws’.
This attitude cost him a temporary removal from his post during the
early years of fascism, but as Sciascia notes ‘that period of doing nothing
served ... to write his memories of his fight against crime in Sicily under
the sentimental title Tra le zagare, oltre la foschia (Among the Orange blos-
soms, Beyond the Haze) which certainly contributed to make him seem
the right person, given special powers, to repress the virulent Sicilian
criminality’ (Sciascia 1992, p.127).
The idea that the mafia was nothing more than a sentiment of pride
and the myth of the ‘good’ mafia, as presented by Pitrè, was exploited
by Cesare Mori in two works, Tra le zagare, oltre la foschia (1988) and
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 125

Con la mafia ai ferri corti (1993), in an attempt to set the mafiosi against
their protectors, the bearers of a ‘healthy omertà’. His work Tra le zagare,
oltre la foschia which is essentially theoretical, is less well known than
the next book, and was published in 1923, two years before he went
to Palermo as prefect. Tra le zagare, oltre la foschia begins with a series
of reflections on the causes of the origins of the mafia, in a period not
clearly specified, with explanations of the mutual support between the
mafia and common criminality; to conclude, he considers the motives
which led many Sicilians to have no faith in the forces of law and
order, and to accept the dominion of the various forms of violence
perpetrated by the criminals, rather than collaborating with the law.
The book is interesting because the image of the mafia, clearly distin-
guished from common criminality, refers back to the theories of Pitrè
and Capuana. This idea of the mafia has undefined borders, like a dark
force, and originated from a ‘magnificent psychology of elation (which)
underwent a process of degeneration, from a highly developed sense of
self-respect, to exasperated egotism, to rapacious selfishness, to arro-
gance and high-handedness, from self-restraint, to the basest forms
of simulation and dissimulation’ (Mori 1988, p.18, my italics). In the
second part, Mori examines lucidly and in detail the practical sugges-
tions and the repressive techniques which can effectively combat the
criminal phenomenon, while his attempt to define the mafia is less
lucid. His analysis is in the style of Pitrè, whose image of the mafia
remained constant even among those, like Mori, who knew the organi-
sation well.

It isn’t an association or an organised sect, but a specific morbid atti-

tude of certain elements which isolate the person in a sort of caste.
And so a mafia sense of omertà developed: a poisonous derivative of
pure omerta’. (Mori 1988, p.18)

The ‘iron prefect’s’ image of the mafia certainly doesn’t fit with the crim-
inal phenomenon he fights against. Interesting but clearly contradictory
is his analysis of the presence of local mafia oligarchies:

They grew spontaneously or were imported, and with a sense of soli-

darity thanks to their lineage and ... common faith, occupied great
part of the territory of the island, binding it in a net with a single
guiding thread; with an exaggerated sense of local pride, tradition-
alist, and formalist and jealous of their privileges, conferred on them
by remote and respected habits, they create and make up the active
126 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

centres of zones of special influence and exclusive jurisdiction. So

they are local and circumscribed regimes. (Ibid., p.21)

The truth of this statement is confirmed by the presence of several

cosche which operated in the western part of the island in those years,
with a considerable number of head-mafiosi, including the most impor-
tant one, Don Vito Cascio Ferro.3 Don Vito was condemned to eight
years under Mori’s rule in Palermo and died in prison.
In his analysis of the mafia, Mori had to consider the enigma which
has puzzled so many other scholars: should the mafia be considered an
organisation or a culture? Mori paid special attention to the concept of
omertà, which he considered, just like Pitrè, a noble sentiment, but he
was very careful not to offend the self-respect of the Sicilians:

Because, in fact, although the current use of the word omertà means –
I quote from a dictionary – law of the criminals where one does not
protest against the offender, nor reveal his name, keeping vendetta
for oneself, and one does not reveal and denounce the crime, it still
maintains its original, pure form: a) vendetta as a noble reaction to an
offence; b) silence out of noble solidarity. These are the highest senti-
ments of human dignity. Reactions which can go against the law, but
like chivalry leads to the duel. Silence which can be caused by a sense
of dignity, or by ideals of justice or nation.4 So silence is sacred! And
it goes beyond Sicily. (Ibid., p.19)

So what was the difference between a man of honour and a mafioso for
Mori? The difference was very subtle. While for convinced Sicilianists
like Capuana, Pitrè and Cesareo, natural right rendered legitimate any
act of self-defence or vendetta, Mori had identified a degenerate form of
omertà, and explained this statement:

because the population itself, despite understanding the various

meanings of the word depending on the circumstances, calls both
sorts mafia and because in actual fact, in many cases, the dividing
line between the man, in the sense of pure omertà and the man, in
the mafia sense, is too fine to be perceived at first glance. But there is
a dividing line and it must be remembered. In fact it must be hunted
out, identified and respected. Because: if the mafia is degeneration,
pure omertà is strong energy, sometimes excessive but fundamen-
tally healthy. The mafia is always, painfully against the law, but only
culpably when and to the extent that he extends and applies his right
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 127

to legitimate defence arbitrarily and excessively and depending on

the extent to which he is excessive in his acts of self-defence and
vendetta. (Ibid., pp.38–39)

Mori justified and approved of behaviour on the borders of illegality

if there were reasons for self-defence or justice, but he condemned the
mafia, here no more precisely defined, but which he would later identify
in the figure of the gabelloto. It is surprising, considering his experience
in Sicily, that the Lombard made no mention of this figure, later identi-
fied as lethal, who acted as intermediary between the peasants and the
nobility and who was the symbol of oppression and violence in the
Sicilian countryside.
In his book Con la mafia ai ferri corti, Mori described the principles
which governed his actions: the restoration of state authority and
obtaining the support of the people. He went back to the themes which
he had considered earlier: how to distinguish between a presumed ‘pure’
omertà (in order to conquer the favour of the Sicilian ruling class, Mori
re-proposed some of Pitrè’s classic theories) and the degenerate omertà
of the mafia.
In the attitude of prefect Mori, we find the same ambivalence that
many decades later was to characterise the attitude of fiercely anti-mafia
judge Giovanni Falcone; that is, the recognition of something in the
mafia to admire and something to mock. He repeated often, ‘I have
heard very often mafiosi being called honest men in perfect good faith,
only because, being particularly resolute, courageous and allergic to oppres-
sion, they reacted to crime in an immediate, direct, violent, extra-legal
way, omitting to turn to the authorities’ (Falcone 1991, p.75). Mori’s
statements about the mafia were certainly important because they
demonstrate a cultural continuity (in Sicily if not on the mainland) that
persisted despite the changes which had occurred.

Not only was the title of mafioso used with fragile prodigality out of
incomprehension, ignorance or stupidity, but it was also used often
in bad faith and in all walks of life, including politics, as a way of
getting revenge, expressing rancour, striking one’s enemies, wasting
energies and putting a stop to initiatives. (Mori 1993, p.78)

However, Mori divided the mafia from this behaviour, which seemed to
him to be more common criminality. ‘In the army of crime’, he wrote,
‘the delinquents represent the troops, the mafia the General Staff’ (ibid.,
pp.85–86). It is important to note the idea of mafia which emerges
128 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

from Mori’s analysis, because it is a model which develops during the

decades of fascism. For the ‘iron prefect’, the criminal group represents
an obstacle between the institutions; that is, the fascist government and
the people.

Another particularly wide-spread tendency is the attribution of the

title of mafioso to the members of the great land-owning class of
the island, because of the preference they were supposed to show in
renting lands and entrusting the custody of farm-estates to elements
of the mafia.
But here too, one is often unfair. Left defenceless for decades by the
agnosticism of the state and especially exposed to attacks by crimi-
nals, the land-owners of Sicily had to see to their own protection, and
were thus forced to deal with and compromise with the mafia to avoid
ruin. Either they had to rent lands in conditions of extortion (thus
the greedy figure of the mafia in the form of the gabelloto caused
great damage to the agricultural economy of the island) or they had
to accept (in cases of direct management) and pay the men who were
designated by the mafioso to guarantee the safety of the estate. This
gave rise to the infamous ‘campieri’, field guards, guardians and the
like (custodians of lands and estates) who came from the ranks of the
mafia and were imposed by the mafia, and who, while they actually
kept the estates under the domination of the mafia, assumed the role
and gave unknowing people the impression of being the custodians
of the lands. (ibid., pp.67–68)

The future motto of The Leopard, where in order to change everything, every-
thing must remain the way it is could well have been expressed in a fascist
setting, where the ruling classes always colluded with illegal activity on
the island (in this case the alta mafia). Mori believed that the relation-
ship between fascism and Sicily had to be direct, without intermediaries
between the state and the social classes. The mafia was an obstacle, and
this new part is added to the image of the organisation during the years
of fascism.

In reality, gabelloti, field-guards, guardians and such like, the typical

expressions of the dominating rural mafia, were not – as many today
still believe – a direct, spontaneous off-shoot of the land-owners,
but were the greatest parasites; members of and confirmation of the
coercive regime to which the land-owners were forced to submit
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 129

by the mafia, and against which the owners rebelled as soon as the
state – the Fascist state – took active steps to be present and express
its will ... . What the origins of the word are, I cannot say with preci-
sion. Probably it derived from homo: in fact some believe that it was
originally omineità (manliness). However, it is quite certain that –
contrary to what many still believe – omertà does not belong exclu-
sively to any single place. (ibid., pp.66–68)

For Mori, omertà was born with man and is cosmopolitan and universal,
and the word had two meanings – one primitive and one modern. In
its primitive meaning, the word summarises and defines the individual,
specific expression of the most vigorous and healthy spiritual manli-
ness, ‘in the most noble and concrete sense of character, in a way of
feeling and acting which makes people say even today and everywhere:
he is a real man, he truly is a man or more simply, he is a man’ (ibid.,
p.48). As for the common modern meaning,

it’s usually used to identify those who are proud men, measuredly
resolute, reserved; who move surely along their path; immune to
common weaknesses, intransigent about, rights, duties and personal
dignity; allergic to oppression; equally capable of desiring and having
the power; acting and reacting, moving and waiting, speaking and
above all keeping quiet, of breaking – if necessary – reaching extreme
consequences, and of self-control bordering on impassiveness; in any
case, used to paying for themselves and being self-sufficient. These
are the men for whom one can talk about pure omertà; that form of
omertà which in its first meaning, is a form of aristocracy of character,
deriving from an exaltation of the healthiest and most male individual
energies. (ibid., pp.48–49)

Mori’s book reveals an interesting mix of Sicilianist theories a la Pitrè

and Capuana and their hypertrophic sense of the ego (at the roots of the
defence of the mafia), and fascist ideological propaganda which made
honour, virility and courage some of its most important elements.5 In
fact, in this context and with this vision in mind, Onofrio suggests, ‘the
mafia can be defeated by appealing to that system of prejudices and
sentiments which Pitrè had formulated in the late 1880’s and which
were at the heart of Sicilianism, reducing the mafia to an exaggerated
sense of honour, and a vocation for justice, which at most becomes
boldness’ (Onofri 1996, pp.126–27).
130 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Comandè and the new man of the time: Don Giovanni

Malizia

Sicilian literary production of the time followed this new trend. In the
novel by Giovanni Maria Comandè, Don Giovanni Malizia, set in the pre-
unification period, we find a character with these tendencies: the ‘good’
mafioso, almost a necessary figure. The novel was published in 1930 by
a writer from Monreale, Giovanni Maria Comandè; ‘of Gentilian educa-
tion, he renounced his early Catholic culture and became a neophyte of
the nationalistic and authoritarian programme of Fascism’ (Mazzamuto
1970, p.41), only a few years after Mori’s victorious campaign in Sicily in
the period in which the mafia officially did not exist anymore.
The novel had well-defined aims, especially for the Sicilianist culture
which felt it necessary to distinguish between recent criminal degen-
erations, magnificently demolished by fascism, and the old mafia of
the pre-unification period which had guaranteed order and justice in a
period of utter disorder and injustice. The distance between the old and
the new worlds are clearly expressed in the novel:

Those who go today to spend a pleasant holiday at Giacolone cannot

begin to imagine the terror which struck the hearts of travellers and
cart-drivers when they crossed that region to go down to Monreale
or up to Borsetto. Today, thanks to the purging of delinquents with
the iron glove of the National Government, one can breathe deeply
with a steady heart there where in 1850 one’s heart raced. (Comandè
1930, p.78)

The old post-unification world was marked by a deep hiatus: on the one
hand, the groups of the Bourbon age who did not know they were a
group because they did not operate as a criminal organisation but rather
with the spirit of medieval chivalry (this was Pitrè’s suggestion); on the
other, the post-unification mafia which meant crime, violence, theft and
anarchy. Comandè’s ideological orientation was certainly in line with an
‘undoubtedly Fascist’ history of Italy (Onofri 1996, p.130). Comandè
tells the story of a respected man with great charisma, Don Giovanni
Malizia. The novel is set in the fertile area around Palermo (Monreale,
Lenzitti, Giacalone), in the zone of the so-called garden-mafia (Lupo
1990, p.115), where the charismatic protagonist operates from 1849 to
the years after the Unification of Italy. At the end of 1849, ‘after Novara
and the Bourbon restoration, Sicily has a king but doesn’t know him.
It no longer has its own parliament. It has no justice and no peace ... ,
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 131

Ruggero Settimo and Don Ciccio Crispi are in exile, Garibaldi has flown
from Rome, losing Anita and swallowing’. Sicily is under the control of
Maniscalco:6

the director of the Police, a ferocious reactionary and more ferocious

still because he was Sicilian. The tax-collector rules to skin the people,
after depriving them of their souls and their dignity. In the country-
side anarchy and criminality rule. And in the face of organised crime,
the police-force with its Bavarian or Neapolitan or sometimes Sicilian
officials stands impotent. (Comandè 1930, pp.14–15)

The situation is intolerable for all the inhabitants, all victims of the
abuse of power, but above all for the weakest ‘who put up with the situ-
ation in silence, and who wouldn’t dream of going to the police or they
turn to Don Giovanni Malizia’ (ibid., p.15). There is a clear echo here of
the myth of the Beati Paoli, the same situation of submission and impo-
tence of the poor and weak. But who is this feared and respected char-
acter? Don Giovanni Malizia is the only one who continues to defend
the weak, sometimes using force to impose a wedding of amends, or
resolve a squabble between an arrogant estate owner and his peasants,
or free someone who has confessed to a murder he did not commit.
Among his many actions, he sends the young Roccu away from Sicily to
America, because he has committed a murder which could trigger a feud
between several families. Comandè portrays his Don like a country lord,
‘hieratic, wise and solemn, respectful of religion and traditions’ (ibid.,
p.131), so very different to the despicable Bourbon officials.
This saintly portrait by Comandè refers back to the man of honour
as described by Mori7 and Pitrè. ‘That man of privileged tempera-
ment, intransigent in questions of rights, duties and personal dignity’
is the perfect character to embody the idea of the ‘old’ authoritative
non-democratic mafia, who descends from a prestigious chief such as
Don Giovanni. Don Giovanni, in fact, represents ‘a champion of the
Risorgimento, friend of Vittorio Emanuele II, of Garibaldi and the pre-
Fascist Crispi’ (Mazzamuto 1970, p.42), even though the Risorgimento
he represents is the mythical one the fascists had first wreathed in glory
and then taken possession of. In the novel, the elements constantly
found in defensive Sicilian literature reappear – that is, the moral good-
ness of the head-mafioso who descends from the avenger-figure of
the Beati Paoli, and the close relationship between the mafia and the
Garibaldian revolution, along the lines of Pitrè and Rizzotto. This is an
idea ‘clearly sanctioned from the beginning, by two chapters, “Don Ciccio
132 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Crispi, frate and Il gran picciotto”, who happens to be Giuseppe Garibaldi’

(Onofri 1996, pp.133–34).
This excerpt celebrates the archaic mafia which Don Malizia repre-
sents, an association for mutual succour and philanthropy, the natural
ally of the movement of the Redshirts, which fought for justice against
Bourbon oppression and corruption. Don Giovanni Malizia is above all
a celebration of the old archaic and patriarchal mafia, founded on the
myth of omertà, that same omertà glorified paradoxically by Mori in his
works.

In all corners of the world, it is normal to consider a man someone

who wears trousers or has the attributes of virility. In some corners
of Sicily this was not enough, years ago, to be written into the lists
of male citizens: more was required. Or at least, there were also men,
who like in all other parts of the world worked, ate, drank and multi-
plied; but in order to be a ‘man’ in an antonomastic sense, one had to
be a certain type, have certain qualities, and not have others. The man
we are talking about had to have ‘pancia’, belly; all men think they
have it but they have always deceived themselves. Those who had
‘pancia’ were those western Sicilians who could keep water in their
mouths, keep quiet as mice, talk like diplomats. They had to know
and not know, see and not see, hear and not hear. And then they
would start to belong to a certain category, a certain understanding.
Of those ‘men’,8 then there were those who paid and those who ate,
and no-one talked in any case. (Comandè 1930, pp.315–16)

Alongside the concept of omertà, another important element was the

idea of Justice as a Divine Law, therefore superior even to the laws of
men, as already presented by Natoli and in the play by Cesareo, La
mafia. The image of the good mafia is personified by Don Malizia, who
takes to heart the situation of an honest girl, Fanuzza, who was tricked
sentimentally by a young baron from Palermo, Totò, who is about to
graduate in law. The young aristocrat defends himself by affirming that
the law is on his side because the ‘girl is of age’. This ungenerous state-
ment was referred to Don Giovanni and ‘had upset him for more than
two months’. The Old Man, who considered justice and the law to be
the same thing, could not understand how ‘a man of honour could
appeal to the law to go against the law’ (ibid., pp.134–35). Don Giovanni
Malizia administers his justice privately as head of the honoured society
of Monreale and obliges the young man to make amends for the hurt
done to Fanuzza.
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 133

The law of rich Totò clashes with the concept of law that Don Malizia
administered in his territory. The old mafia, which he represented, was
the expression of true justice, as Don Malizia reminds the arrogant
lawyer: ‘What law? God’s law or the laws of men? My dear Avvocato,
the Law was created yesterday but honour was made by God! And so you
acted knowing yourself safe because the honour of the girl was defence-
less?’ (ibid., p.140).
The laws of men are nothing compared to the laws of God – the fair
justice which Malizia administers.
The lesson of justice given by Don Malizia must not divert attention
from the author’s intentions about the image of the mafia. The strong
ideological tension between the ideal represented by Mori’s lesson and
the natural justice a la Cesareo are well combined in the figure of Don
Malizia. The main character represents a perfect mix of sexual ethics9
and mafia ideology (the mafioso is a positive figure because he repre-
sents a true Robin Hood).
It comes as no surprise that the first use of mafia phrases in the novel,
as Onofri cleverly notes, ‘takes the form of a philological lesson in the
style of Pitrè, about female beauty’ (Onofri 1996, p.128). A messenger
sent by Don Giovanni tries to persuade the despotic young baron to
make amends with Oliva for his sexual crime: ‘I go to the Opera dei
Pupi (marionette theatre) of Oliva’s father every night ... and I see that
bewitching and bright women like Angelica marry asses like Medoro,
and that knightly lords, without offending your Lordship, marry low-
class country girls’ (Comandè 1930, p.189).
The intention to save what can be saved, such as the good faith and
the generosity of those who enforced their own law before there was
recognised common law, emerges from the details, especially in the
chapter dedicated to the tavern keeper, Don Tanu (ibid., pp.315–27).
With the grotesque kidnapping of the wife and daughter of Don Tanu,
this chapter presents the farcical aspects of a cowardly pseudo-mafia,
which is intended to contrast with the previous chapter where the
real kidnapping of a child, the young Giugiù, focused on the dramatic
aspect of the new forms of crime. Don Tanu is a comic character used
by Comandè to dissolve the ethnic-psychological tòpos a la Pitrè. The
mafioso Don Tanu is a ‘man’ who won’t put up with any nonsense,
but who really pays and keeps quiet, and who always tries to save face
without risking anything himself. Another episode, which illustrates the
ideological framework of the book still more clearly and brings it in
line with other Sicilian works, is the denial of the mafia as a criminal
organisation. Three Englishmen come to visit because they want to see
134 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

the mafia close up. The English tourists look for adventure, fascinated
by the ‘fantastic stories’ ‘about a vast, potent association, tightly organ-
ised with a strict hierarchy and impenetrable mystery’. Don Giovanni
was ‘speechless. What on earth where they asking him’? He seemed
dumbfounded. That mysterious, so very indigenous word pronounced
by the English had a strange effect. The English girl obstinately looked
for brigands so she could be saved by Malizia, as she had heard about in
London, but the wise patriarch replied, ‘My lords are safe and sound and
in excellent health, so why look for me? What is this mafia?’ It turns out
that their exotic informer is a man from Palermo of no worth, Giorgio
Sinatra, ‘from the Stoppagghiara party’, who will be forced to pay ‘old
and new mistakes’ by Don Giovanni (ibid., pp.20–29).
The mafioso that Don Malizia personifies is not linked to any crim-
inal grouping, he is not the degenerate dishonourable mafioso that Mori
would have been abhorred, and his mafia is an association which believes
that ‘where the laws of men are missing or contain rules that contradict
the laws of God, the breaking of men’s law is authorised by truth and
justice’ (Onofri 1996, p.135). The legitimisation of the mafioso Malizia
is not in contradiction with the fascist ideology of the time. Sicilianism
leaves behind its old legends and adopts the new rhetoric of the regime,
trying to escape all the shadows of its past so as to create only a positive
image.
Don Giovanni combats the abuse of power and the torments of the
Bourbons, but the situation changes after the Unification of Italy, when
a new law, in line with the author’s ideological beliefs, is inaugurated.
This law, however, undermines the juridical certainties of the old mafia
patriarch.

That vague feeling that had invaded the heart and soul of Don
Giovanni shortly after the entry of the Mille at Palermo, now came to
face a sad reality: an age had passed and a new one was born, and old
values were transformed ... . He seemed to himself to be a king who
had been deposed by no-one, but whom no-one had to obey out of
duty any longer. His power of command, once silent, hot and fright-
ening was weak now, not so much in its effects because everything
gave way to him, but in its source. (Comandè 1930, pp.254–55)

The old head mafia accepts the new situation with difficulty. He was not
able to add any lustre to ‘that Law that had a Code and a Tribunal’ (ibid.,
p.255). His crisis, accurately noted by Onofrio, ‘is transcendental, almost
philosophical: in some truly didactic pages, it is hoped that the mafioso
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 135

will convert to Fascism, as both positions guarantee the continuity of

the concept of honour’ (Onofri 1996, p.136).
The dialogue between the old Don Giovanni and the young barrister,
Augusto Campo, son of an exiled revolutionary who ‘died at Malta,
a month after Ruggiero Settimo’, is exemplary. The young man is the
boss’s godchild and has an ambiguous attitude towards him – part intel-
lectual superiority and part moral subordination. Men like Giovanni
Malizia (and his free interpretation of the Law) worry the new rulers.
The young judge, however, does honour the old head and a form of
positive mafia which was necessary in times of tyranny and injustice:

My Godfather, Don Giovanni, even if former governments were

guilty of impotence, even if one could allow that strange social func-
tion of a private force which regulates public justice, do you not think
that now, with a King freely chosen and proclaimed by all, a solid
government, a new regime of justice which has its organs, methods,
tribunals, police and rules, another administration of Law is an inad-
missible and unjustifiable doubling up? (ibid., p.337)

Comandè’s story fits into the fertile field of historical novels in the
Sicilian literary tradition, from De Roberto to Consolo, and has a certain
attraction for the modern reader for the way in which it is written. As
Rosa Maria Monastra observes:

It is both traditional and innovative: the long period which is covered

in the story10 is treated transversally, with a series of quick flashes,
almost like frames of a script with various story-lines, which sepa-
rate and meet up again; and on the other hand, the viewpoint of
the novel is often strongly marked,11 with effects that, depending on
the character, range from ironic detachment to mythicizing longing.
(Monastra 1998, p.68)

The words of the young barrister hurt the revolutionary spirit that had
pushed Don Giovanni to enlist with the Redshirts12 to fight for a new
nation, free and fair:

The Grand Old Man felt ensnared. It was true. And he had hardly
even thought of it. He had for decades desired justice, bounty, well-
being and peace for his brothers ... and now he noticed that in the last
years – he had forgotten – he continued to desire to do good when it
was no longer his job, because there was another King, delegated by
136 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

God and the People, for whom he had also voted ‘yes’ in a plebiscite.
(Comandè 1930, p.337)

The writer from Monreale tried to reconcile the ideals of the Risorgimento
(which in his eyes are the same as fascism) with a glorification of the
old ‘benign’ mafia, personified by an important head, Don Giovanni,
who recognised the power and the Law of the new ‘Government of
Justice’. The condemnation of the new mafia, the degenerate version
that has become common delinquency is personified by Roccu, who has
betrayed the ideals and methods of Don Giovanni Malizia. Two mafias
and two characters come face to face in a key episode: Don Giovanni
who is about to lose his power and Roccu who declares:

– ‘But I am not the one who decides ...’

– ‘Ah, yes? Are there other heads? Are there other heads here apart
from me? I didn’t know’. He sneered – ‘I wanted to get here’, Roccu said
with a quiet but decided voice. ‘They appeal to “liberty”. Of course.
And perhaps it would have been better for us if they hadn’t brought
us this “freedom” ... They say now that our head is in Piedmont: King
Vittorio, and that here no one commands anymore. If you have guts
you defend yourself with a loaded gun or a knife’. (Ibid., p.287)

The group Roccu represents is not the old noble mafia – with Don Malizia
as a generous paladin of offended honour and natural justice – which
bows to the new laws and ceases to operate after the Unification of Italy,
but a new organisation, rather like the ‘degenerate’ mafia described by
Mori. Roccu has betrayed the methods and ideals of Don Malizia.

And since Don Giovanni Malizia, like a Lion deprived of his crown,
has now shut himself away impenetrably in his cavern, brooding
over crisis of conscience which will accompany him to his death,
Roccu has, strangely enough, picked up the crown he had laid down
and has gathered the clients of the Old Man under his protection.
This was the birth of that colossal historical misunderstanding which
saw the mafia as crime. Because the mafia as a form of knighthood
had died on the 27 May 1860, while Garibaldi’s Red-Shirts abolished
a reign of negation to create one of justice. (Ibid., pp.345–46)

This is, in fact, what Mori thought. He, too, had separated the two forms:
the image of the old mafia as a knighthood with respect for honour
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 137

and therefore for omertà (one of the many philological mystifications

of Pitrè) and the criminal organisation of his day, which Comandè
described as a form of delinquency – ‘they were two men and they were
two epochs and two tendencies: the generous, knightly past and the
realist, utilitarian present’ (ibid., p.291).
The novel ends with the death of Roccu (who is the father of the child
that Don Giovanni’s daughter is expecting, but he does not know it)
at the hand of Don Giovanni himself, a death that is necessary for the
general good. It was Roccu who returned after 1860 and reorganised
the cosca which had been dissolved by Malizia, turning to crime and
violence. On the one hand, there was the old patriarch who had been
capable of keeping a vast area under his control with his auctoritas, and
on the other were the disaggregated conflicts of some groups of bandits.
Don Malizia had promised to end all action that resisted the new order
imposed by the government, but Roccu, at the head of this new organi-
sation, could not accept this.
Don Giovanni Malizia certainly defends the mafia and omertà, contin-
uing in the tradition of Pitrè, Capuana and other Sicilianist writers of
the late 19th century, who had represented the mafioso as the bearer of
a just ideology, a rebel of exceptional humanity and a character of pure
omertà.
138 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

The Allied invasion and the return of the ‘Hydra’

As already noted, the fascist regime with the strong-arm tactics of the
prefect Mori caused the paralysis of the mafia-patronage network which
had dominated in the preceding decades. However, this network was
able to spring back into action with the fall of the regime, thanks to the
contribution of the Allies.
Much has been written in the years after the war about presumed mafia
support for the Allied invasion of Sicily on 10 July 194313 and about the
existence of a pactum sceleris, obtained with the mediation by American
mafia families between the Allied military command and the mafiosi.
In exchange for mafia support of the invasion in Sicily, this pact would
have guaranteed freedom for all the mafiosi in prison or exile, posi-
tions of power in the local administrations for these mafiosi and judicial
impunity. The creation of this ‘myth’ was largely due to a successful
book by Michele Pantaleone (1962),14 which gave a fascinating insight
into the links between politics and mafia in the years after the fall of
fascism on the one hand, but contributed to building a legend about
this particular period and the special circumstances, on the other, which
are ‘not noted by Luigi Lumia, the scrupulous historian of Villalba, in
his book or in any other source’ (Pezzino 1995, p.184). Another text
by Nicola Cattedra (1993) adds that there was a proper pact contained
in a secret codicil added to the acts of the Armistice signed at Cassibile
on 3 September between the Allies and Italy, in which the Italian State
guaranteed impunity for previous crimes committed to anyone who had
collaborated with the Allied troops; this codicil included a list of some
10,000 names including 1000 names of members of Cosa Nostra. This
mysterious document, states Pezzino, ‘had already been mentioned in
a report by the parliamentary anti-mafia commission, but the commis-
sion’s attempts to trace the document were unsuccessful’ (Pezzino 1995,
pp.185–86).
The Sicilian historian Francesco Renda also agrees that ‘the history
of the mafia during the Allied military occupation, rather than being
the tale of ... a pactum sceleris between organised crime and the invading
forces, was the revival of a phenomenon which, by exploiting the situa-
tion, found no obstacles or hindrances to imposing its presence centrally
within a precise emergency situation’ (Renda 1987, Vol.III, p.87).
There is, however, no doubt that there were documented contacts
between mafia elements and the fringes of Sicilian separatism, which
were initially regarded favourably by the Americans. There was also
the exchange of favours between the American government and the
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 139

Italo-American mafiosi, such as Lucky Luciano, who was asked to

protect the harbour of New York from possible saboteurs and enemy
spies during the war and to prevent hindrances to the movement of
men and goods towards the war zones. These favours were rewarded
with freedom granted to Luciano after the war, allowing him to return to
Italy. It is also probable that soldiers and officials of Sicilian origins, once
on the island, came into contact with their families once more, some of
which may well have had contacts with the mafia.
The Allies, not fully aware of the situation in Sicily, had even expressed
concern about the possible return of mafia power, although they often
placed mafiosi at the head of the local councils, on the advice of local
influential people. The possibility of recreating an intermediary class
between landowners and peasants was an idea which the Americans
considered when they first came into contact with the Sicilian mafia.15
This possibility is not to be read only in the light of the social upheavals
caused by the war, but above all in the light of the hopes for renewal,
almost for a palingenesis, that all democratic forces from the demo-
christians to the communists and socialists and the Americans fostered.
Between 1943 and 1945, after the liberation of Sicily, it was very difficult
to define with any certainty who was fascist and who was anti-fascist, in
part because there was no resistance movement. In this confused situ-
ation, it was easy for important mafiosi who had been in prison or in
exile, like Calogero Vizzini, to exploit the chaos and demand a certain
respect, not only in the eyes of the Allies.
The creation of the Allied military government was the central event
around which all the expectations of the bureaucrats and the polit-
ical struggles over administrative problems rotated. The Allies’ project
for government was not supported by well-defined objectives for the
future of Italy; the main concern was to guarantee law and order using
the minimum number of people possible. Those responsible trusted
in the possibility of using the existing administrative structures and
delegating the running of affairs to the Italian functionaries under
the control of the Civil Affairs Officers. This project, however, posed
the problem of political legitimacy, because both the British and the
Americans had little faith in their potential intermediaries. The British,
who had greater responsibility for planning and government in Sicily,
placed their hopes in the possibility of collaborating directly with the
most important members of the local ruling class and the church hier-
archy, believing in a ‘widespread sympathy for England’, as Mangiameli
notes, especially among the former. The social influence of the members
of the ruling class and the clergy would have made relations with the
140 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

population and the Italian civil servants easier, ‘on the model of indirect
rule,16 already tested in some areas under British control’ (Mangiameli
1994, p.LXIII).
The decision to use indirect rule also seemed sensible because of the
conviction of the Allies that Sicilian society was basically backward and
rural.17 This attitude, however, led to collaboration with the agrarian
elites and opened the door for mafia elements. The image of backward-
ness, in fact, led the Allies to underestimate the social and political
complexity of the island administration. Unable to meet the needs of
the population with the resources available to them, the Allies tried to
reorganise the collection of supplies and delegated the management of
these stores to landowners, thus reinforcing their position in the insti-
tutional setup of the occupying government. Important members of the
local mafia became responsible for the stockpiling of supplies, and this
certainly had notable importance in the reorganisation of the mafia; it
enabled the mafiosi to exploit the black market – the only alternative
to starvation – with great abandon, thanks to the failure of the stock-
piling system. Through this activity, the mafia could once more take on
its double role of instigator and custodian of social order, renewing its
legendary reputation as a just and protective association, especially in
the towns of western Sicily where the Allies had nominated mafiosi as
mayors and councillors. As for the mafia mayors, it must be said that the
nominations had been proposed with the same logic as the indirect rule,
because often the only representatives of a limited ruling class in small
towns were mafiosi.
In order to understand the resurgence of the mafia phenomenon,
there is no need to look to legendary tales about the Allied invasion, nor
to secret pacts between mafiosi and Americans.
The complex links between politics and society provided the ideal
humus from which the mafia could regrow and strengthen its posi-
tion, especially since it could aspire to exercise functions of sovereignty
over the territory and exploit certain mechanisms of social mobility,
economic competition and political struggle particular to Sicily. The
historical context of the period in which the power of the mafia was
renewed was profoundly different from the 19th century or the period
of Giolitti, and the Sicilian situation had special characteristics, diverse
from other parts of Italy: in fact, the island was torn by bitter struggles
in those years.
When the Anglo-American troops arrived in Sicily, a poster had
greeted the liberators announcing the objectives of the Committee for
Independence18: it declared the monarchy to be in decline and with
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 141

it the statutory obligations of Sicilian loyalty to national unity sanc-

tioned by the plebiscite of 1861; consequently, the Allies were asked to
proclaim the republic of Sicily. The delay with which the representatives
of the Italian state had distanced themselves from fascism and Germany,
and attempted to withdraw from the war, created great mistrust in all
social classes. In Sicily this mistrust took the form of separatism. Sicilian
separatism was, however, a phenomenon linked to the years 1943–47
and the break-up of the national structure of fascism. The separatist
group which emerged was generally more interested in the return of the
men who had been important before fascism, while the interest in inde-
pendence was provoked by the disaster created by the war and post-war
period. The appeals of the committee for independence were taken up
by some of the great landowners of the island – those who immediately
after the First World War, within the ranks of the agrarian parties, had
supported fascism – who were interested in maintaining their power
despite the change in regime. The support of these landowners, in fact,
brought with it the class of the mafiosi-gabelloti, such as Genco Russo
of Mussomeli, Michele Navarra of Corleone, and the most famous of all,
Don Calogero Vizzini of Villalba.
Thus the mafiosi initially supported the MIS (movement for the inde-
pendence of Sicily)19 which hoped for the independence of the island
from Italy. However, support for the separatist movement, which in
western Sicily was controlled by the great landowners,20 was largely out
of self-interest and exploitation. This support permitted the cosche to
enter the great political game once more. The mafia groupings adopted
a tactic of support ‘which left escape routes open, however, in case the
project became impossible’ (Pezzino 1995, pp.86–87). Calogero Vizzini
therefore supported the MIS, but ‘at the same time he had his nephew,
Beniamino Farina enrolled in the Democrazia Cristiana, the party to
which he himself turned not long afterwards’ (ibid., p.87). Apart from
anything else, his brothers who were priests had been ‘important leaders
of the Partito Popolare around Caltanissetta’ (Pezzino 1995, p.87).
The alliance with the separatists provided the mafia cosche with the
opportunity to re-establish contacts with the political circles of the island,
links which had been almost completely severed, and to play a part in
the political games in a period of transition to a democratic regime. This
choice was also determined by the friendship of an environment tradi-
tionally very close to the mafia, the landowners, in order ‘to control not
only the bandits but also the peasant movements’ (Lupo 1993, p.165).
However, the mafia had an independent attitude. The criminal organisa-
tion did not simply become the tool of the landowners but exploited a
142 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

position of leadership within the peasant movements when it could get

greater benefits from their support rather than from the landowners.
The Sicilian separatist movement, having lost the initial support of the
Allied military authorities, chose armed struggle after the return of the
island to Italian governmental administration on 11 February 1944. The
EVIS (voluntary army for Sicilian independence)21 employed, among
others, famous bandits like Salvatore Giuliano from Montelepre.
After the fall of fascism, the mafia took on the role it had always had,
with the consensus of the landowners (sometimes voluntary consensus,
sometimes extorted with violence): primarily to guarantee protection
for the landowners from the numerous raids by bandits who roamed the
countryside, but also and above all to keep the peasants in their place,
especially since they had begun to organise themselves in leagues and
chambers of work, often under communist or socialist control. Under
the laws of 19 October 1944, the uncultivated or badly cultivated lands
could be conceded to peasant cooperatives and the produce would be
divided among the participants. So hundreds of leagues and cooperatives
were set up creating a huge network of peasant movements directed not
only by communists and socialists but also by demochristians. When
the Gullo laws began to be applied, the most spectacular result was the
concession of uncultivated lands to the cooperatives. The landowners
were the first to oppose the application of the Gullo laws vehemently,
but those who were really affected by the strong peasant movement were
the gabelloti, with their guards or controllers who always reported back
to the mafia. This crisis not only affected the specific economic interests
of the gabelloti but also affected their capacity to maintain control of
the estate and hinder agricultural reform, both essential conditions for
strengthening their need for recognition and visibility and their contrac-
tual power. In fact, the greatest successes of the peasant movement
occurred in those areas where the mafiosi had had the greatest control
over the estates. This time there had been no need for police repres-
sion, as there had been under fascism, nor did the terror and violence
of the criminal organisation seem to worry people, because it appeared
that such behaviour would create only condemnation and indignation
which would isolate the mafia.
The separatist movement was a political tool which the great land-
owners sought to use to consolidate the economic system, which worked
in their favour, and to hinder change; but in actual fact, in everyday
life, the mafia was their most effective ally in keeping the peasants in
place, even resorting to incredible violence to counter the social pres-
sures created by the appalling misery.
 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia 143

One of the most important episodes, not only in the history of the
mafia but also in the social history of the island in the years after the
Second World War, was the struggle between the criminal phenomenon
and the Sicilian peasant movement. Between 1944 and 1948 certain
typical characteristics of the mafia emerged which made its nature and
social function within the Sicilian estate, and its absolute determination
to impede any weakening or modification of this role, quite clear.
In October 1945, Andrea Finocchiaro Aprile, accused of sedition, was
arrested along with other leaders of the MIS; the separatists replied by
turning to the bandits and, in particular, to the terrorist operations of
the EVIS. The involvement of Salvatore Giuliano, who had his own gang
of fighters, with the EVIS is marked by tragic events. The Sicilian bandit
carried out a series of terrorist attacks mainly against carabinieri and
soldiers. The emergency situation sped up the work of the Consulta,
which drew up a project for a regional statute within April 1946, and
with the approval of the statute for the autonomous region of Sicily
on 15 May, the separatist movement, in effect, came to an end. Late in
1945 and early in 1946, the positions were still in discussion. Andrea
Finocchiaro Aprile wanted to bring the separatist movement into the
legal fold once more, trying to organise and represent the subversive
armed EVIS group politically. But the end of the independence move-
ment became evident after the first elections of the Sicilian regional
assembly on 20 April 1947, when the left-wing parties celebrated success
and the separatists went into an unstoppable decline. With regional
autonomy, a powerful centre of political management was created at
regional level, often based on forms of patronage, which became in
many ways fertile ground for the subversive potential of the mafia.
The reply of the mafia, which had in the meantime reorganised a new
series of political alliances, was swift. It launched all its potential for
violence and terrorism against the peasant movement in one terrible
and shocking act. On 1 May 1947, Salvatore Giuliano and his band shot
at a group of peasants who were gathered in Portella della Ginestra to
celebrate the annual workers day. From the top of Monte Pelavet, the
bandits opened fire on the defenceless crowds, killing 11 people and
injuring 26.
Portella della Ginestra represents the beginning of a real ‘strategy
of tension’ in Italy (and of a new, more sinister image of the mafia,
which contrasts with the reassuring image described by Pitrè). In 1952,
at Viterbo, the trial for the massacre was held, but Giuliano was already
dead by then. He had been killed on 5 July 1950, in a gun battle,
according to the carabinieri. But the official reconstruction of his death,
144 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

as revealed by a journalist, contained too many contradictions to be

convincing. At the trial, his cousin-lieutenant Gaspare Pisciotta emerged
as the killer. He had been contacted by the carabinieri of the Comando
forze-repressione-banditismo under Colonel Luca, through the mafia.
But even this version was questionable. What did emerge clearly was
that Giuliano had become a nuisance on the Sicilian political scene
which was ‘gelling’ around the Democrazia Cristiana, the party with the
relative majority.
The events at Portella della Ginestra and Salvatore Giuliano’s death
showed clearly how Giuliano’s bandits were exploited both by the
mafia and by some political institutions: the bandits were protected by
both as long as they was useful to them, especially as Guiliano was a
supporter of separatism first and an anti-communist later. However, at
the trial at Viterbo, Pisciotta accused the politicians Bernardo Mattarella
of the Democrazia Cristiana, Tommaso Leone Marchesano and Prince
Gianfranco Alliata of the monarchic party, the regional deputy Geloso
Cusumano, also a monarchist, and Mario Scelba of the DC. The court
held these accusations to be unfounded, and Pisciotta was condemned
to life imprisonment. On 9 February 1954, a few days after he had
expressed the intention to reveal all the details of the affair, Gaspare
Pisciotta was poisoned in the prison of the Ucciardone at Palermo with
a cup of coffee laced with strychnine.
The armed sector of the mafia, often paid by the landowners,
continued with the massacres. Their victims were usually communist
or socialist leaders: ‘four dead in ‘45, eight in ‘46, nineteen in ‘47, five
in ‘48’ (Marino 1998, p.168). This was a war against trade unionists and
political militants, waged in a climate of general disinterest, which only
came to an end when the question of land lost importance, halfway
through the 1950s.
8
The Breaking Point: Danilo Dolci
and a New Image of the Mafia

The formation of a new kind of intellectual: Danilo Dolci

In the three years between 1945 and 1948 some 40 people, trade union-
ists and members of the peasant movements were killed by the mafia
(Placido Rizzotto, Salvatore Carnevale and Epifanio Li Puma are the
most famous).
There were numerous conflicts in these years; not only those of a
political-judicial kind between the mafia and state powers (the police
forces had great difficulty in fighting certain forms of banditry linked
to the mafia and the mafia itself) but also the conflict between the
mafia and the trade unions which reached moments of great trouble
(such as the assassinations already mentioned). These conflicts forced
the state to develop a more mature awareness of democratic guarantees
but also stimulated a more compact organisation of the peasants on
the land, forcing the mafia to retreat from the old feudal estates into the
cities where they could and would then dominate the economies of the
markets and the construction industry. But these conflicts also stimu-
lated polemical inspiration from a literary point of view, as Mazzamuto
suggests,

which finds its main source of nourishment in the judicial and social
instances of contemporary civilisation and the same motivations for
the neo-realist taste which is the basis for post-war poetics from what-
ever ideological or cultural provenance, Catholic or Marxist, resting
all its truth in the widest and most human sense on dialogue with the
masses, inter-individual relationships, and leaving behind decadent
monologues and spiritual and fantastical isolationism. (Mazzamuto
1970, p.47)

145
146 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

The 1950s mark an important moment in the literature concerning the

mafia. A new original genre develops, dominated by sociological inter-
ests and often supported by civil and legal intentions. This new trend is
best represented by a non-Sicilian writer, Danilo Dolci, who came from
Trieste on the north-east border of Italy. He, too, is an original character,
and his presence in Sicily for many years provoked a metaphorical earth-
quake ‘in one of the most miserable and bloody corners of the world’
(Dolci 1974, p.125).
Danilo Dolci has certainly fascinated and divided Italian public
opinion, especially in Sicily, from the second half of the 1950s to
the end of the 1960s. Dolci considered literature to be a commit-
ment to transformation and processes of change. Despite the interest
of several intellectuals of the day in the processes of political, social
and economic change, Dolci made a clean break with the old literary
traditions. He represented a concrete example of how an intellec-
tual could be closely involved in the process of change and there-
fore closely linked to the needs of the people (and of a certain place
with its specific characteristics) but also to a conception of culture
and life. What was remarkable about Dolci is that he did not make do
with spoken or written words, public meetings or minutes; he lived
the life of the less fortunate, starved with them, ‘shared their beds,
descending into their forced abjection to help them rediscover and
reclaim their dignity and their redemption’ (Address of Lawyer Nino
Sorgi 1956, pp.255–56). Dolci was not afraid to become a fisherman or
a road builder to help those unfortunate people understand through
his actions that culture was on their side too. During this experience,
Dolci encountered and clashed with individuals both from a historical
perspective and from modern times. From a historical point of view,
his encounter with the world of the peasants and certain forms of
literature represented by writers such as Carlo Levi,1 Ignazio Silone and
above all, Rocco Scotellaro2 was decisive, although Dolci’s Fate presto
was written a year before the publication of Scotellaro’s Contadini del
sud. Dolci heard of the experiences of the most important representa-
tives of the peasant movements in Sicily such as Accursio Miraglia at
Sciacca or Placido Rizzotto at Corleone, both of whom had been killed
by the mafia before he arrived in Sicily, and whose experiences were
then retold in literary, almost neo-realist terms in Dolci’s works. His
accusations brought him into conflict with other elements, violent
and oppressive, which opposed change and about which he wrote in
Banditi a Partinico (1955), Inchiesta a Palermo (1956), Spreco (1960) and
Chi gioca solo (1966).
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 147

Dolci was without any doubt a revolutionary figure in this context.

He was one of the few to have documented how the mafia was born,
how it developed and consolidated its position in a period when those
who attempted to study the phenomenon were marginalised or even
eliminated. At a time when it was taboo to talk about the mafia, Dolci’s
work was a unique civil experience (he was obliged to struggle against
almost all of the state institutions), but also the basis for a new way of
thinking which affected social, political and cultural attitudes in the
following years, leading to the approach adopted by men like Falcone
and Borsellino who in the 1980s became part of the anti-mafia pool
which managed to bring a large part of the structure of Cosa Nostra to
justice.
The situation in some parts of Sicily was of continual tragic suffering,
where the state almost became the torturer of the citizens; ‘in some areas
there is a situation where there is not even the minimum necessary for
existence, for surviving physically ... . A public administration which
does not deal with and solve the most basic necessities is preparing
tombs’ (Dolci 1954, p.96). These were some of the themes which would
be proposed again in a strong vibrant manner in the enquiry Banditi a
Partinico. In 1955, Dolci moved from Trappeto (where he had arrived in
1952) to Partinico for various reasons.
Partinico was the scene of a continuous increase in banditry, and the
rates of violence were among the highest in Italy. It was the town of
Salvatore Giuliano (he had grown up in the Madonna quarter) and one
of his most zealous protectors, Santo Fleres. The latter, a well-known
mafioso, was the uncontested lord of Partinico from 1943 to 1948, the
ally of another important head-mafioso, Doctor Navarra of Corleone,
just at the time when Giuliano, known as the King of Montelepre and
considered a Robin Hood–style outlaw, terrorised citizens and institu-
tions alike. The story of Giuliano and his band is emblematic because in
the 1950s, banditry was a marginal problem, much less powerful than
the mafia and therefore tightly controlled by the criminal organisation.
Giuliano’s band served groups dealing with large-scale smuggling and
cattle stealing (under the command of Doctor Navarra) which were more
concerned with accumulating wealth than assuring social protection.
Control of illegal operations in the area around Corleone (stretching to
Montelepre, where Giuliano was hiding out) was firmly in the hands
of Navarra’s cosca, a well-structured organisation ‘in which men with
consolidated mafioso authority who had emerged unscathed from the
Fascist period found a welcome’ (Mangiameli 2000, p.128). References
to the mythical reputation of Giuliano helped to cover up the illegal
148 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

goings-on of the band of mafiosi under Luciano Liggio3 in the country-

side around Corleone, but this myth was also used by the ‘violent entre-
preneurs’ of Corleone and indicated the capacity to use picciotti (young
thugs) to build up one’s power over an area. As the Sicilian historian
Mangiameli says, it was almost a case of ‘supernatural patronage’, invoked
to protect Corleone, although it was more realistically the declaration of
a mafioso group which had control over the various disorganised and
wild forces, using them for their own ends (ibid., p.129).
The conservative nature of the mafia was identical to the character
of the Sicilian ruling class, and many Sicilian politicians demonstrated
limitless cynicism. Thanks to pressure from the mafia, many of these
politicians had great electoral success and were able to neutralise or
eliminate any adversary or competition in their districts using this same
pressure. A detailed study of 1 September 1949 in the journal Cronache
sociali stated:

These candidates can boast of having being able to acquire the support
of brigands besides the logically foreseeable mafia support. The local
cosche are in ferment; in separate interviews all the candidates for the
assembly promise to assure notable amnesties for the men of honour
and their faithful emissaries from Castellammare to Montelepre,
from Balestrate to S. Giuseppe Jato. With such a background, it is easy
to explain the physical elimination of some minor trade-unionists,
presumably at the hands of the mafia, but also Portella della Ginestra
and the massacres of the following 22nd June (a phonogram by Major
Angrisani in May 1947 concludes that Portella was ‘A terrorist action
to be attributed to reactionary elements in league with the mafia)’.
(Dolci 1966, p.249)

New commitments: mafia and anti-mafia

Three editions in a few months of Banditi a Partinico, published in 1955,

brought Dolci’s name and initiatives to the attention of national and
international public opinion. His new enquiry didn’t just record but also
shared the misery of the inhabitants: ‘there is a world of condemned
people near us. Sometimes out of justified desperation, they try to rebel:
the reply is the machine-gun and prison’ (Dolci 1956, p.19).
Of the 6000 families that make up the 36,000 inhabitants, ‘one thou-
sand eight hundred are on the poor register and receive half a kilo of pasta
and one thousand lire a month’ (ibid., p.11). The state spent two billion
lire to catch the bandits, but no one dealt with the fishing boats with
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 149

their trawl-nets that broke all the rules. There was a powerful business
group behind them linked to the mafia. In his enquiry, Dolci denounced
the outlawed activities and thus provided elements for creating a new
image of the mafia: it no longer represented criminal ‘labourers’ but was
more like a business group of wheelers and dealers who exploited both
legal and illegal activities. This mafia dominated many activities, and
Dolci revealed to an unwitting public how the mafia ran its territory on
a day-to-day basis. The fishing mafia ran this business with great intel-
ligence, building up a tight network of special relationships with impor-
tant local people and the police forces: ‘banditry survives on the sea:
since January 1954, the motor trawlers have fished illegally, undisturbed
or in actual fact favoured by those responsible, for 350 entire days’ (ibid.,
p.13). Every day, seven or eight fishing boats from Terrasini or Palermo
fished undisturbed up to 50 metres from the shore, infringing the minis-
terial regulations. Even the financial police, along with the Maresciallo
di Marina ‘smile sceptically at our attempts to eliminate illegal fishing.
They repeat that no-one can manage to beat the sea-mafia’ (ibid., p.15).
The mafia was revealed as an anti-state.
The authorities responsible for the safety of the area were more worried
about the protests of the suffering than the widespread illegality of the
mafiosi, and they invited Dolci not to spread news concerning the area,
but rather to speak about ‘Verga, Pirandello and other Sicilian glories’
(ibid., p.17). Dolci, in his Banditi a Partinico, confirmed himself as an
authentic voice of the deep South, but many resented this authenticity.
The image of a decaying Sicily, with its client-based mafia power, which,
like an incredibly strong octopus, strangles the miserable economy of
the area, started to attract attention. The local dignitaries began to worry
about this visionary and his volunteers from all corners, who dedicated
their lives to the less fortunate, a rare example of solidarity in the Italy of
the ‘economic miracle’ which chased after money and easy earnings.
The denunciation in Banditi a Partinico was based on a fundamental
need for a rapid social revolution which didn’t involve the usual bloody
conflicts. Dolci saw the non-violent strike as the tool with which to
achieve his aims. The years between 1952 and 1957 were fundamental
for his experience and sowed the seeds for his future development both
as a writer and as an educator, from his sociological commitment to his
initiatives for change. On 30 January 1956, a thousand people, mainly
peasants and fishermen, began their hunger strike on the beach of San
Cataldo to protest against the illegal fishing practices of many boats.
The main purpose was above all to protest against the criminal activities
of the mafia who used motor trawlers and explosives in shallow waters
150 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

near the coast. These illegal activities damaged not only the possibility
to fish in the future, but also meant that the poor fishermen could not
make a living because they could not reach the deep waters with their
rowing boats to fish. The mafioso owners of the motor boats openly
broke the laws which local authorities were unable to enforce. Dolci was
the first to use a hunger strike in a non-violent situation to denounce
the torments of the mafia and the lack of interest of the state institu-
tions. Dolci’s protest therefore aimed to help the poor fishermen against
the fishing mafia, but at his side, as on many other occasions, and as
Vittorini bitterly observes, were others:

the very authorities which tolerate the greedy transgression of the

marine mafia every day, committed themselves to stopping the
victims of that transgression from denouncing it by hunger-striking
in public against the scandal, with some 500 policemen. (Crovi
1998, p.347)

The protest found national support, the cultural milieu moved unani-
mously in favour of the action, and this altered not only the image of
the anti-mafia struggle but also the image of the criminal phenomenon
in national opinion. The following month, on 2 February, Dolci and
some trade unionists were arrested for having encouraged a group of
peasants from Partinico to restart work on an old council road that had
been abandoned and was not asphalted (trazzera). This was his famous
‘back-to-front strike’ where the unemployed had wanted to show with
their action that they could work for the good of all. Instead they were
accused of ‘invading land’ and ‘resisting the forces of law and order’. The
accused defended themselves by quoting Article 4 of the Constitution
which recognised ‘the right of all citizens to work and to promote condi-
tions which made this right effective’.4
The fellow feeling that Dolci’s movement shared with left-wing move-
ments was enough to force journals of all political colours to intervene,
sometimes with extreme virulence. The ‘Dolci case’ became a national
phenomenon, and intellectuals, writers, journalists and poets came to
Palermo in March to witness the trial. Dolci’s commitment to the Sicilian
cause had attracted the attention of those who were interested in the
fate of that part of Italy, which, unlike the Italy of the economic miracle,
had experienced a boom of desperation. From then on, the mafia would
no longer be simply an aspect of the centuries-old Southern problem,
but became a subject for national political debate, even though this had
a negative result because it led to a taking of sides, where the left-wing
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 151

parties were strongly anti-mafia and the right-wing parties were often on
the defensive and denied the existence of the problem.
In the 1950s, the support of Italian intellectuals for Dolci’s work in Sicily
was extraordinary, from Norberto Bobbio to Carlo Levi (who portrayed
him in Le parole sono pietre), from Elio Vittorini to Ignazio Silone, from
Aldo Capitini to Giulio Einaudi. The Associazione Italiana per la Libertà
della Cultura led by Ignazio Silone wholeheartedly supported Dolci, and
Silone was one of the promoters of the Comitato di Solidarietà (soli-
darity committee) con Danilo Dolci, founded at Rome, to which Carlo
Levi, Renato Guttuso and Antonello Trombadori belonged. Dolci’s work,
which was more interested in the individual rather than any particular
party, ‘coincided with the liberating movement of the southern masses’,
wrote Silone in a letter promoting membership of the committee.
The trial at Palermo became a political problem affecting both the
Parliament and the Senate because of the appeals presented by the main
political parties. The trial concluded with the condemnation of the
accused, although the judge ‘made allowances for extenuating circum-
stances because of the special social value’ of the actions. In any case,
Dolci’s protest was successful in its aim to allow the people to express
themselves, demonstrating that often it was the forces of the state that
were against the law. Dolci stated,

it was necessary to show who was breaking the law, to underline

that the people wanted to work and participate in life, they wanted
to make their own contribution towards development ... . It was
monstrous that the state, instead of finding a way of giving these
people work, intervened by imprisoning, torturing and assassinating.
(Spagnoletti 1977, p.59)

In Inchiesta a Palermo, Dolci continued the studies he had begun in

Banditi and was able to illustrate the particular physiognomy of Sicilian
society, in the face of the tenacious prejudices which were rooted on the
mainland. Along with these prejudices, he came up against a defence
of the powerful men of the island who were always ready to complain
about the offended dignity of the island any time that constructive
enquiries were carried out. The failure of the noble class to become a
ruling class – because of its habit of defending privileges and income
which were then used outside Sicily, its lack of civic sentiment and social
conscience, and the attitude towards public life as a privileged situation
to be exploited – had infected the middle class which was culturally
independent from the nobles and clergy. The men of culture represented
152 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

‘a class of functionaries and administrators who often confused the laws

of all with the privilege of exercising authority’ according to Domenico
Novacco, and ‘serving all means the homage of all towards the person
who holds the sceptre of power thanks to his higher position. So in
Sicily the man is worth his prestige’ (Novacco 1963, pp.453–63). The
three roads to social advancement were culture, ecclesiastical benefits
and the mafia. The poor were left to become social outcasts. Only the
mafia, however, were really part of the Sicilian question. The criminal
organisation was the real spine of typical Sicilian society, resisting all
attempts at transformation, whether from outside or within, from the
period of Unification to World War II and the peasant movements. Dolci
appeared at Partinico at the end of the 1950s to reveal the degradation
and the collusion of the client-mafia networks, thanks to the evidence
of the protagonists of the degradation and the victims of mafia power.
Sicily was for Dolci a metaphor for the world. His studies and
enquiries into a microcosm represented by some of the most run-down
and violent corners of the Western world (Trappeto, Partinico and the
capital, Palermo) gave the inhabitants a chance to express themselves
and gave life to a process of change. Dolci was not alone in his work
but gradually built up national and international support also among
foreign intellectuals such as Erich Fromm, Bertrand Russell and Jean-
Paul Sartre. Dolci himself claimed that ‘it is not enough to understand
the situation, and how it should be, but one must discover exactly what
the mechanism capable of changing it is ... . Awareness can thus become
organisation, a tool for change’ (Spagnoletti 1977, pp.50–60).
Dolci’s enquiries differ from the studies of the communities from
Lucania done in those years5 and permit the people of the place in ques-
tion to become the protagonists of change.

The decisive tool for these pressures was once again documentation:
not a series of proposals from outside, but precise data ... a sort of
choral documentation, as it were, which worked splendidly, because
everyone had the opportunity to reflect, and find out about what the
others said or did. (Ibid., p.82)

However, this choral documentation was transformed into collec-

tive action, as already shown by the strike of the thousand people and
the back-to–front strike, and became a chance to demonstrate how
one could reach a gelling point, creating the opportunity to develop
a sort of community thought and general decision-making. ‘This was
for us general experimentation’ (ibid, p.82). It is clear that this feeling
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 153

was far removed from the theory that was being proposed at that time
by the American anthropologist Edward Banfield, known by his term
‘amoral familism’ (Banfield 1976). Along with other American sociolog-
ical studies which animated the political-cultural debate of the 1950s,
Banfield’s research identified the real roots of banditry and the mafia in
the Southern ethos, so often guided exclusively by immediate, material
gains which could be achieved for one’s own family group.
Dolci’s studies revealed that it was not to a backward mentality that one
had to look in order to understand mafia and banditry. Human degra-
dation depends not only on precise structural conditions – high unem-
ployment and illiteracy levels, economic dependency, or geographic
isolation – but, above all, on an unjust and violent state. The image of
the mafia was radically changed by Dolci’s studies – it was a ‘business’
phenomenon, a civic reality, a force which managed statutory powers, a
consortium which cohabited with the forces of law and order. But it was
a force which could and must be weakened.

The enquiries: the mafia and the peasant struggles

Dolci’s arrival in Sicily coincided with a period of ‘restoration’. The fight

for land ownership for the peasants had failed in most cases, and there
had been several murders at the hands of the local mafia. The designated
victims had mostly been people who had fought for a radical change to/
from the old system of latifundia (large estates in the hands of a single
owner). After 1950, when the bandit Giuliano had been handed over
to the state, the government was able to proceed with the agricultural
reform. This long-awaited reform was approved on 27 December 1950,
and foresaw the handing over to the poor peasants of lands that had
been confiscated, but reimbursed, from the large estate owners. The Ente
per la Riforma Agraria in Sicilia (ERAS, body for agricultural reform in
Sicily originally set up under the fascist regime) was authorised to carry
out transformations and improvements. ERAS, with the support of the
Coldiretti6 and therefore of the Democrazia Cristiana, was soon trans-
formed into a system of patronage, for which the mafia was able to
gain access to regional funds to create small land holdings. The peas-
ants got the worst land, those areas which the owners themselves had
wanted to hand over to the ERAS in order to pocket the reimbursement.
Furthermore, the large-scale public works linked to the allocations and
relative land improvements opened up new interesting horizons, espe-
cially for those with ‘special’ qualities, such as Vito Ciancimino and
Luciano Liggio, both from Corleone. The case of the boss Giuseppe
154 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Genco Russo, consultant and collaborator of ERAS, is typical: he was

‘awarded the direct management of the Land improvement consortium
of Tumarrano’ (Marino 1998, p.202). With the creation of the Cassa del
Mezzogiorno (state funds for the south) in 1950, the opportunities to
speculate with public money were multiplied. The end of the latifundia
system did not mean the end of the agrarian mafia, nor the end of the
criminal phenomenon, but a new, more modern organisation, run on
the lines of a business holding, was strongly emerging.
At the same time, Dolci intensified his struggle to improve the social
and economic conditions of the people of the Jato valley, using his writ-
ings to spread awareness of the true nature of the mafia. In May 1958, he
founded the Centro studi e iniziative per la piena occupazione (centre
for studies and initiatives for full employment) at Partinico which
extended its activities to Roccamena, Corleone, Menfi, Cammarata and
San Giovanni Gemini. The studies carried out by this centre supplied
Dolci with knowledge of the still feudal world in Sicily and the reasons
for its lack of development.
Already in Inchiesta a Palermo, Dolci had noted that the presence of the
mafia was a main obstacle to the development of the area. His new study,
Spreco (Waste), started in the feudal estates and studied the human and
material resources that were wasted at great cost to the poorest part of
the population of the island. In Spreco, alongside the explanations for the
superstition, and the incredible ignorance of the peasants and shepherds
as to their personal resources and their simplest means of survival, we
find many voices which express constant fear of the brutal force of the
mafia. In a suffocating climate of fatalism where every event is accepted
with patient submission, where illiteracy and superstition cloud any
attempt to act positively, the seed of waste is to be found, best expressed
by the mafia patronage system. One of the interviewees claims:

Many people emigrated after the war out of desperation; either you
bend or you leave. And even if you bend to them, you are lucky to
find work ... . Here there are many things which are not exploited,
and so it is as if they didn’t exist ... . Without work, because of the
competition, one is obliged to turn to the priest and the mafioso.
(Dolci 1960, pp.60–61)

The culture of omertà and parasitism is one in which the mafia can spread
undisturbed. Opposition to these rules, passively accepted by the entire
community, means death. Those courageous young people who found
the force to rebel against this system were silenced forever, with the
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 155

complicity of an unjust justice which never discovered nor wanted to find

the culprits. Mafia murders (64 of them in 15 years in Corleone alone) are
the most dramatic and vile forms of waste. This is the new image of the
mafia – no longer the bandit-heroes, the avengers, but a waste of human
resources.
In his book, Dolci brought the experience of the victims back to life in
the tales of friends and relatives. His bond with the peasants and their
centuries-old suffering and bloodbaths led him to collect the oral tales
about Accursio Miraglia of Sciacca and Placido Rizzotto of Corleone,
trade union leaders who had led the struggle for agrarian reform, as
Salvatore Carnevale was to do in the town of Sciara described by Carlo
Levi in Le parole sono pietre (1961, pp.15–45). These men were protago-
nists of a remote and abandoned feudal Sicily, they were organisers of
the people; young, simple men who encouraged their fellow citizens to
break their rigid code of omertà and free themselves from the chains
of slavery, and who ‘became martyrs of the collective short-sightedness
and the prophets of their country’ (Chemello 1988, p.69). These figures
were important to Dolci because they were the first to understand the
necessity of an organisation with which to fight the mafia power. They
were the first to challenge the mafia openly, and to have questioned the
age-old habits of submission and isolation.
This encounter was important because Dolci, by telling the story of
their deaths, then tried to transmit their experience of organisation as
the first form of resistance against the mafia patronage system. A form of
anti-mafia literature emerged for the first time and sowed the seeds for
an anti-mafia movement. It was also the first time in which the victims
of the mafia became the main characters of literary works and the mafia
was shown for what it really was: a violent threat to change. The pages
dedicated to the murder of socialist Placido Rizzotto are dramatic, domi-
nated by an atmosphere of irredeemable perdition, which marks how
the division of the estates in Sicily could only lead to death. Rizzotto’s
father was a gabelloto linked to the mafia, arrested under the harsh repres-
sions of the fascist Mori.7 But Placido, the oldest son, took a completely
different path at the end of the war.

He talked about politics and the like. They called him to Palermo to
the ANPI, he talked about these things at home ... , he started to get
involved in politics and so he became president of the veterans and
soldiers of the ANPI, the secretary of the Camera del Lavoro of Corleone
and president of the commission of Madonna della Rocca to organise
the celebrations on the last Sunday in August. (Dolci 1962, p.169)
156 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Rizzotto began his crusade against ‘the high levels of the mafia, who
were in league with the questura and the magistrates, and had got rich
during the war’ and started his activity as ‘a trade-unionist in favour of
the people’ (ibid., p.171). Rizzotto knew the world of the feudal estate
well and knew what role the gabelloto had as a mediator and exploiter,
hindering any process of change, but he also understood that only the
trade unions could change the destiny of the peasants:

he was against anyone who rented the land ‘in gabella’ because he
said that the gabelloto was more demanding and vexing than the
owner. He explained this. He said the gabella was to be abolished.
He knew his father had been a gabelloto, he knew that his father
didn’t work and he knew how he treated the peasants, referring to his
personal experience. (Ibid., p.173)

His devotion to the peasant cause was total, as was his aversion for the
mafia patronage system that controlled the estates.

I asked him – ‘How is it that instead of following the direction of your

family you are against it?’ – He answered that whatever the mafia did
reeked of unending murder, of exploitation. – ‘Even if I were dying of
hunger, I wouldn’t ask the mafiosi for land’. (Ibid., p.174)

While Rizzotto was increasingly involved in his mission, his father had
good reasons for advising him against this struggle, as Placido’s friend
remembers.

His father didn’t want him to for various reasons. He knew they could
do us harm. He always said to us – ‘If anyone wants to talk to you, ask
for half an hour off and come and tell me’. (Ibid., p.174)

This reveals the bitter truth that everyone was aware of. The names were
known by all, but only a few, such as Dolci, had the courage to denounce
them. Dolci also revealed how the interests of the groups of power that
had been disturbed by Rizzotto were diverse and numerous.

He had challenged those who run the oil presses, because they asked
for an exaggerated price to produce the oil, and when it ran out they
then stole the oil from the peasants; and in the square right in front of
the council building, he had had, I would say, a violent discussion with
these people, and among these people were mafiosi. (Ibid., p.173)
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 157

In Spreco, various novelties of Rizzotto’s fight against the mafia and his
new forms of action are emphasised.

He had gone various times to the countryside to help the trade-union

representatives who came to visit the uncultivated lands, all in the
hands of the mafia. Then he had a violent argument with the mafiosi
themselves. There was rationing and the store-rooms were all in the
hands of the mafiosi, who swindled sugar, flour, pasta and above
all were able to overprice the goods, thanks to an agreement with a
council representative who was later denounced. He pressed to have
the storerooms taken from the mafia and run by a public body or by
a person who would have the people’s interests at heart. This is why
they killed him, because he got mixed up in all these things, because
he went digging. (Ibid., pp.173–74)

From the testimony of people close to Rizzotto, he emerges as someone

similar to the socialist Bernardino Verro, killed by the mafia in 1922, who
as a council employee became the leader of the peasants of Corleone, set
up a cooperative and managed to get the Zuccarone estate divided up
between the peasants, but he came up against the power of the mafia
and was assassinated.8 Rizzotto was also beloved by the peasants, but
was a respected reference point for the council administration, too, and
had even refused to be a candidate for the Socialist Party for the regional
parliament:

The mafia had seen all these things, they knew he was a crafty
person and someone who from the inside had gone out, like the
dog which takes its bone outside, because as the son of his father, he
knew about secret things from the inside, and was really dangerous
for them. (Ibid., p.180)

His great generosity and altruism and his belief in the development of
a collective identity weren’t enough to save him from a violent death,
committed in an atmosphere of solitude, fear and omertà. His friend
told Dolci,

When I arrive home, I enter, never thinking about what might

happen; there are people all around. They go down to the square.
From there they are followed by two men who were in a bar. These
men point a revolver at his back. He stops and asks what they want.
They are in the middle of the market square. It is March, the days are
158 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

already long. It hadn’t rained, there are people all around. The people
disappear, the square empties. Some doors shut. (Ibid., p.186)

The friend’s story illustrates the wall of silence around the village and the
negligent attitude of the institutions. The kidnap takes place in the partic-
ular social climate of Corleone where there is an abyss between the soli-
tude of a man who had fought for solidarity and the fear of those who can
do nothing but hide behind their exasperated sense of individualism.

He understands immediately and tries to flee up the steps on the

right. At the top, other two people throw blankets over his head,
seize him, beat him up as if they were pressing grapes, bundle him
up and throw him into a car that was parked some twenty metres
away and drive off. He shouts, calls. No-one wants to hear him. (Ibid.,
pp.186–87)

Dolci, in Spreco, shows a different aspect of the anti-mafia struggle.

Rizzotto had always thought that the inhabitants of Corleone, once
united, could have fought the violent organisation and had therefore
encouraged them to group together in cooperatives. But in a place like
Corleone, everything was difficult. His friend noted bitterly that his
motto ‘l’unione fa la forza’ (unity is strength) had a particular value
here. Here when one talks to someone who is not trusted, one talks
‘with a quince tree in one’s stomach’; that is, one never expresses every-
thing or says what one really thinks (ibid., p.184).
Fear reigns everywhere, even for those who demonstrate courage by
their actions. Dolci emphasised fear as an integral part of the power of
the mafia – omertà was founded on fear, not on some misplaced general
sentiment or opinion, as the Sicilianist ideology would have it. The new
image of the mafia was therefore of a force which uses violent means
to impose its will and oppress the people, far from being a benevolent
organisation which helps the citizens. The mafia is an elit sect that expoits
other human beings (or people/individual). Under exterior courage, in
fact, one hides his fear of lacking protection. Rizzotto was an exceptional
person in that violent, individualistic and silent part of Sicily; he was a
revolutionary who wanted the development of the land and of the local
people, he was open, optimistic, courageous but above all a new kind of
figher against the mafia. With his story, Dolci helped to alter the old idea
of the mafia but also the nature of the anti-mafia struggle.
Fear, omertà, difficulties in cooperating, the negligence and lack of
interest of the state bodies responsible for security, the suspicion felt
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 159

towards all forms of institutions – all contributed to the murder of

Rizzotto. Dolci learnt an important lesson for his struggles. The memory
of the trade union leader echoed in the tales of the people who knew
him and helped to approach the truth, although the assassins were never
found. Dolci’s enquiry was done in detail, with limited resources and the
lack of collaboration of the investigators who considered him a nuisance
who was wasting their time.
Again, the demand for justice on the part of those who were fighting for
a profound change went unheard. The state, embroiled with the mafia,
took on a sinister role in Dolci’s writings, and, in the words of a farm
worker from Corleone, it is possible to witness the violence of an associa-
tion which does not respect even the smallest and most defenceless:

Everyone knows that when they killed Placido Rizzotto, who was a
good man for the people and helped us with out requests, and threw
him in the cave, a boy who looked after the sheep noticed and was
so frightened that he fell ill so they took him to hospital. And there
Doctor Navarra gave him an injection at the hospital because he was
afraid that the boy would talk. And the boy, after the injection of
poison died immediately ... . Even though at the trial, they deliber-
ately mixed up the days. (Ibid., p.133)

The continual accusation of state collusion with criminal associations is

an important element in these early works of Dolci’s. The state, the DC
(Christian Democrats), found in Dolci a sworn enemy, a dissident intel-
lectual who started to create a new climate in Sicily. Firmly convinced
that criminal organisations base their power on the negative solidarity
created by blackmail, murder, revenge and fear, Dolci saw in coopera-
tion, association and organisation an important antidote to the mafia,
as he wrote in Spreco:

Certain things cannot be done if one doesn’t work together, and one
almost loses a part of one’s life if one cannot trust one’s companions
because the companion looks after his own interests and not the
interests of society. He doesn’t understand that by looking after his
own interests he destroys society. One loses life because one is not
united: one loses life because there is no organisation. (Ibid., p.253)

The novelty of Dolci’s enquiry was that he had modulated the schemes
of action used by the great leaders of the peasant movements murdered
by the mafia, when they were involved in land occupation. The historian
160 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

from Partinico, Giuseppe Casarrubea, a close collaborator of Dolci’s,

noted:

on an occasion during one of the first struggles for the construction

of the Garcia dam, in that still feudal hinterland, there were endless
processions of peasants on their mules, sit-ins in the square where
many windows remained shut all year round ... , the famous ‘caval-
cades’ of Accursio Miraglia in Sciacca sprang to mind, with similar
demonstrations that seemed to restore the estates sown with grain
their antique soul of long ago. (Casarrubea 2001)

Accursio Miraglia is another important character in Spreco. He was the

first to talk about cooperation and the struggle for land at Sciacca in
1944, just after the war, and he opened the first Camera del Lavoro at
Sciacca and became secretary. Like Rizzotto, he had tried to encourage the
peasants to form cooperatives to share the land equally and managed to
enlist 1800 members. He wanted the people to claim their rights. He had
created a cooperative where every member had responsibility, without a
hierarchy of control. The cavalcades were a unique moment for getting
together for the people of Sciacca. Miraglia’s challenge to the exploita-
tion and avidity of the violent and powerful earned him the hatred of
the mafia and leaders of Sciacca, but the commission of the uncultivated
lands at the Tribunal were so struck by this event that the process of land
division increased rapidly. Cavalcades like Miraglia’s had been organised
during the Rivoluzione dei Fasci in 1893, but his courage also led him
to his death. The scene was different to Corleone, and the two assassins
were forced to flee in the dark to avoid being seen.
Dolci didn’t just tell the story of these two peasant heroes through
the words of friends and relatives, but considered the contradictory
nature of the two sentences (of absolution) in an attempt to discover
the truth. He denounced the negligence of a careless and incapable
state, even providing the evidence in an appendix. His revelations were
shocking, but he was almost alone in denouncing the phenomenon.9
Even the left-wing parties, especially in Sicily, were reluctant to take on
the mafia.
In any case, there is no doubt that the PCI (communist party) was
fascinated by several powerful head-mafiosi just after the war, as is illus-
trated by the attempt of Girolamo Li Causi, secretary of the regional PCI,
to establish a dialogue with Don Calò Vizzini, before coming to consider
him definitively as an enemy. In fact, Li Causi wrote in La voce comunista,
24 June 1944, that ‘members of the old mafia will no longer have to
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 161

break the law in the struggle for land’, and he hoped for an alliance with
the peasant democratic front: ‘only by adapting to the new times and the
new need for union between all workers, will they be able to achieve their
aspirations and economic emancipation like all the peasants’. Li Causi
considered the separatists to be his real enemies because a victory for
separatism would have meant ‘the consolidation of the estates, a concen-
tration of ownership, the exclusion of the same mafiosi who would have
continued to act as hired assassins’ (Mangiameli 2000, p.16).
This attitude derived from a widespread culture found in all left-wing
parties, and more generally in all parties on the regional scene, which
certainly prevented the mafia phenomenon from being considered a
problem which hindered the development of the island. The effectiveness
of Dolci’s actions undermined the system of relationships between the
criminal group, the institutions, the political parties and the trade unions,
whilst also breaking up the forms of culture which saw in the mafia as a
folkloristic phenomenon found in some forms of defensive literature.
However, Dolci was in conflict with the PCI in the 1960s, as Casarrubea,
his collaborator but also a militant in the PCI of Partinico, noted:

I can quote examples because I was very near to the left-wing of

Gramsci and Togliatti and also to Dolci himself, so I could note
the differences. When I left palazzo Scalia where I met Danilo and
entered the office of the PCI, I noticed the abyss. For example, behind
Danilo’s desk there were notes with important questions ‘Who killed
Nando Renda at Alcamo?’, ‘What happened in the courtyard of the
Parrini?’, ‘Why was Vincenzo Campo killed at Alcamo’, ‘Who killed
Salvatore Giuliano?’ But these questions were forbidden at the PCI
office, because the across-the-board culture which affected even the
left-wing was a culture of silence and omertà; questions or denuncia-
tions were forbidden. (Casarrubea 2001)

Dolci was a continual provocation for the island’s left-wing parties,

but he certainly fascinated them. He could not promote any initiative
without involving the social bases from the members of the various
trade unions and the left-wing parties. The historian from Partinico
remembers when, in 1956,

he organised the first back-to-front strike, inviting the unemployed to

work, obviously as a demonstration, he was supported by the Camera
del lavoro of Salvatore Termini, who was the secretary of the camera
del lavoro of Partinico, who supported him decisively, organising
162 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

thousands of people for that iniziative. So when the battles for the
dam took place in the late Fifties and early Sixties, the camere del
lavoro in our territory organised the march in favour of the construc-
tion of the dam, against the interests grouped around the mafia who
wanted to stop the dam being built because the criminal organisa-
tion had resources in the private wells that they managed. (Ibid.)

Challening the unlawfulness of the head-mafiosi boss

In 1955, one of the most representative characters of the estate system,
Calogero Vizzini, died, and the historic generation of ‘godfathers’ disap-
peared; but despite this, the agrarian mafia were not at risk of dissolving.
The mafiosi, who had their own estates in the countryside, equipped
themselves for new roles in new businesses, aiming to strengthen their
political-electoral links in order to control the local administrations and
patronage networks better, and support certain ‘friendly’ politicians, as
in the case of Genco Russo. He succeeded Don Calò as supreme head-
mafioso in his home town of Mussomeli, and he led the delegation
of Sicilians at the mafia summit meeting at the Hotel delle Palme in
Palermo in1957.10 Don Genco Russo, having first supported the Sicilian
movement for independence, entered the DC and offered ‘his precious
services to the Honourable Calogero Volpe’ (Lupo 1993, p.176). This
was why Dolci felt it necessary to dedicate attention to the person at
the head of the organisation. His portrait of the head-mafioso was far
from reassuring. Genco Russo was also an example of a more universal
phenomenon, representative of a strong, deeply rooted, illegal power.
The feared boss of Mussomeli was the leading figure of the mafia in the
1950s, the supporter of various DC politicians of the area, and the DC
candidate for the administrative elections for Mussomeli in 1960.
The typical career of the single mafioso has given rise to various argu-
ments between scholars on the subject. In the early 20th century, an
objective scholar like Cutrera wrote:

The head mafioso always comes from the class of gabelloti and land-
owners, that is, people who are in better economic conditions with
respect to the social class that they occupy. While the poor peasant,
the real victim of the latifundia system and the present economic
condition is very rarely a mafioso. (Cutrera 1990, p.96)

The Marxist English historian Hobsbawm also stated that:

All the mafia heads were (and are) rich men, some were former
estate owners from the middle of the island, but above all they were
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 163

middle-class, capitalist farmers, tenant farmers, lawyers and the like.

(Hobsbawm 1966, p.43)

In actual fact, as Hess notes, the majority of mafiosi come from the lower
social classes:

Unfortunately, a mafioso only comes to one’s attention once his posi-

tion has already been consolidated and monopolised; that is, when
he is a true mafioso and not during his career. And so all the police
reports and court proceedings deal much more with the crime than
with the curriculum of the criminal. (Hess 1993, pp.66–67)

The most famous examples of head-mafiosi in the first half of the 20th
century seem to support the theory of the German sociologist:

three of the most infamous mafiosi of this century, for example, are
of humble origins. Vito Cascio Ferro who enjoyed the greatest respect
at Palermo up until the arrival of Mori, was the son of an illiterate
peasant of Bisacquino. Calogero Vizzini’s father was a small-hold
farmer who had to work as a day labourer to make a living, not forget-
ting Giuseppe Genco Russo. (Ibid.)

Don Genco Russo was poor and had to work as a shepherd in the
Polizello estate (where he later became the gabelloto) so he was on the
lowest rung of the agrarian social ladder, as noted by a peasant from
Mussomeli in Spreco:

Once he was really the dregs, as we say, for example: Give me some
bread – and he would never return the favour, and now they are the
lords of the town; he and his companions rule the town. (Dolci 1962,
p.57)

Dolci also remembered the unique opportunity of the Allied invasion,

exploited by Genco Russo, just like Calogero Vizzini, to redefine his
social position. He could also thank his friendship with some of the
most influential prelates of the area, as one of his adversaries and a
collaborator with Dolci revealed:

Then when the invasion came, he was part of the liberation committee,
they went to meet the Americans with a white flag because they felt
themselves to be victims of Fascism. But almost at the last moment,
when they had already disembarked. All the storerooms of the grain
164 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Consorzio and the military deposits, because stock-piling was obliga-

tory, were emptied; food and clothes, cars, lorries, they sold them at
Palermo. Black market. They started to relax. At Villalba, all power
was in their hands; church, mafia, estates, rural bank, everything in
the hands of the same family. (Ibid., p.58)

Dolci revealed how the role of patron was taken on by Genco Russo
in the area. As he became increasingly successful in the position of
protector and conciliator, this function became ever more important.
Hess observes:

the problem-free activities of his businesses are increasingly guaran-

teed by the competence which he is attributed with, rather than by
his physical force. The more people believe he is capable of carrying
out certain functions, the greater the dependence without opposi-
tion of other people who make this success possible. In the charac-
terisation of the mafioso, one should never forget this relationship of
interdependence, this continual swinging between being and having
power. (Hess 1993, pp.79–80)

The same head-mafioso explained to Dolci the dynamics of power,

success and influence in an area where interpersonal relationships of
an almost feudal type persisted, in a false and pretty pathetic defence
of his own:

I was born like this. I move without interests. I do anyone who asks
me a favour because my character commands me to act like this. It
is a mix of character and sentiment that is born with man. This is
my natural character. People find in me someone who will sympa-
thise with them ... , why don’t they turn to others? ... . They call them
‘accordafaccende’ (gophers): if there is a company that won’t give
someone a job, the gopher finds an agreement: he pays the ticket
and sees that he is taken on. He is found everywhere. Of course the
mafioso is more famous in Sicily, and does many deals with the politi-
cians at Palermo, and possibly also with America. (Dolci 1962, p.61)

Dolci revealed how the position of Genco Russo was legitimised by a

fundamental network of relationships, within which he could count on
local leaders, the ecclesiastical hierarchy, and above all direct or indirect
institutionalised power. Don Genco Russo broke off almost all of his
compromising relationships with the criminals of the area and became
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 165

the wise councillor of politicians and others, including prelates.11

The ‘boss’ of Mussomeli had a faithful and prestigious ally in Padre
Castiglione, leader of the local rural bank (banca rurale). Both had a
similar mentality, linked to the concrete interests of the ruling class, and
they tended to regard morality as an independent context of values and
social traditions which was distinct from the state system of legality.

He’s become a friend of the priests, of a certain Father Castiglione,

who was the director of the Cassa Rurale di San Giuseppe, the local
bank. Both of them commanded. Under the bank’s presidency, the
people were slaves. Slowly he got richer, bought lands, an orange
grove, we don’t know how, then a nice vineyard, he bought a car,
now he’s got Giulietta ... . One went to him and said: – ‘Can you do
me this favour?’ – Even a squabble with someone else, and he would
step in and make the two parties agree, so his name would become
known, and famous ... He smiled at everyone, he is polite, smiling,
cordial, shakes hands ... . Some fear him, some do not fear him and
some do both. (Ibid., p.58)

In the pages of Spreco, Dolci revealed the situation of the head-mafioso

in Mussomeli. The name of Genco Russo was famous by now, and his
reputation was great enough that he no longer had to resort to physical
violence. His fellow citizens were aware of his power, and so they recog-
nised and accepted his authority. Now there was no need to threaten
because he already commanded, or he sent others: ‘he doesn’t need to
squeeze to obtain. He obtains without squeezing from those who listen’
(Ibid., p.50). It was really Genco Russo who guaranteed law and order in
the area, as was fitting for someone with his consolidated legitimacy.

Now they no longer steal animals. The mafiosi here are well off, with
money, so try to live quietly. These mafiosi have arrived, they are not
starting out like the ones from Corleone, for example. They make
agreements and look after their own interests at the same time. It’s
in their interest that nothing happens in Mussomeli. After the war,
five petty thieves went around the countryside stealing and the mafia
made them disappear; they found all five of them together burnt at
Mappa, unrecognisable. They had strung them up and then burnt
them. (Ibid., p.62)

His irreprehensible devotion to the Catholic Church certainly helped to

consolidate his legitimacy. In his position as boss mafioso, he denounced
166 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Dolci, which was, in itself, an opposition to religious sentiment and was

no problem for the men of the Church at Mussomeli.

For the Feast of September 8th, for the Madonna Maria Santissima
dei Miracoli, he takes his cap and collects money. He stands there,
near the bell-tower, and collects five hundred lire from one, fifty, one
thousand, ten lire from another, depending on who it is. By himself
he collects some one hundred and fifty thousand lire, which he
donates to the commission of the Feast every year. He is always in
contact with priests, the priests go to him, he goes to the bank which
is always run by priests, and the bank director is a priest, the bank has
always belonged to the priests. (Ibid., p.63)

In Spreco, we also find hints of the collusion between the head-mafioso

and the police forces. ‘From mixing with those people, he has evolved,
the police respect him, they greet him, they really pay homage to him.
Today he is the best-dressed, and the Maresciallo goes to meet him and
shake his hand’ (Ibid., p.60). In this setting of interpersonal relation-
ships, his links to the political world were very important, and this
aspect became the main theme of Dolci’s interests in the years to come,
culminating in the famous denouncement of important demochristian
politicians of the area, accompanied by a rich dossier of accusations.
Danilo Dolci’s importance as a writer lies principally in his capacity to
undermine the legitimacy of the boss in Mussomeli. Dolci managed to
uncover the collusion between state power, mafia patronage groupings,
and the strong ecclesiastical lobby. In Spreco, he illustrated the robust
structure on which this network could rely. The evidence of a peasant,
an adversary of Genco Russo and collaborator of Dolci’s, leaves no
doubts as to the links between the mafia in Mussomeli and the elected
politicians of the area.

The other day, for the elections, he was embracing the Fascist, the
Honourable Occhipinti, in the square: they link up with those who
command to steal with them. Some who want to become elected poli-
ticians come when it is election time, they all go and make claims in
that house ‘Find me four hundred votes ...’ Four, five hundred, or more.
They all go there, Demo-Christians, Monarchists, Liberals, Fascists,
and he promises votes for all, he promises he will get votes for them.
This year he and his band supported Lanza and they helped him get
one thousand seven hundred votes. He’s always out and about. Cars
arrive, all different sorts. Luxury, medium, when there’s anything
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 167

going on. They all come here from all these towns, Cammarata,
Campofranco, Acquaviva, Palermo, Caltanissetta, Villalba, etc. It’s
clear that if you don’t go along with them they won’t do you any
favours ... . At the end of May, for the election campaign, Minister
Zaccagnini, Honourable Lanza and he went for dinner together and
then came out arms linked. (Ibid., pp.59–60)

The grey area of collusion between politicians who need votes and
the ordinary people who believe that what are actually their rights are
granted to them as favours by the mafioso, emerges from the words of
the people.

Really, the poor people act as the pulpit for the mafioso, and this is
why he has influence over the politicians who need his votes, and
with this influence he can have even more influence over another
part of the population. It’s a circle. (Ibid., p.61)

The congratulatory self-portrait of Don Genco Russo corresponds

perfectly to the diverse functions that the mafia boss covers within his
community: mediator, commander and councillor.

With politics? I’m involved for the general good without personal
interests or expectations. Respect for priests? At the most I respect
religion: Roman Catholic Apostolic Church. I respect everyone, and I
can only show courtesy ... . People ask how to vote because they feel
they must ask my advice out of gratitude, recognition, they feel in the
dark and want to fit in with the people who have done them good.
Tomorrow for example, I must leave my plough, animals and all my
things, to go to Agrigento to recommend someone who must pass an
exam. (Ibid., pp.68–69)

Dolci’s image of the boss is completely negative and there are no moments
of complicity. He reveals the important function of arbiter which makes
the boss powerful and legitimate, acting as an intermediary between his
less fortunate fellow citizens and the local and national bureaucracy.
This role gives him a power which cannot be undermined; his knowl-
edge of the higher levels of political and social life make him an excel-
lent patron who works to help his network of clients.

Someone comes and says – I have a problem with so-and-so, see if

you can sort out the problem – I call the person involved, or I go to
168 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

visit him, depending on our relationship, and I get them to agree ... .
I can’t say no to anyone. It’s hard work but not so bad that I can’t
resist the necessities that arise. It’s an urge from above that pushes
the individual to move towards the others. I feel for the others and
I can divide myself up into many parts, but, as I say, you should ask
others about these things, not me. You could also ask the Carabinieri.
(Ibid.)

Don Calogero Vizzini had illustrated how the function of mediator legit-
imised his position as boss in an interview with Indro Montanelli, some
years earlier: ‘the fact is, he replies after a while, that in every society
there must be a category of people who sort situations out when they
get complicated’ (Montanelli 1958, p.282).
The novelty of Dolci’s interview was that this category of mafia inter-
mediaries, those who ‘sort out situations’, were considered an element
of some of the administrations and institutions of western Sicily which
could not be done without. The legitimisation of the mafioso occurred
because of his links to the Church and the police, but these links were
firmly denounced by those who could not accept that force and violence
had become institutionalised. One of Genco Russo’s clients said:

The mafia has an important role, not because the population is scared
but because the mafia commands ... they are all one group and main-
tain discipline in the town. The mafia at Mussomeli and the people all
agree. The mafia, the authorities, the priests of the church, the police
all agree, and if someone makes a mistake, he and the authorities will
see to it, they’re all one group, that’s logical. (Dolci 1962, p.67)

The Church itself did not clear away the doubts of those who had to
submit to mafia violence:

At the moment, mafia and church are the same thing. The Church is
in need because of the politics. People carry on with a certain trepi-
dation. The Church protects us from the law. The head mafiosi from
round here worked for the Church, and most of these then vote for
the Church at election time. The Church uses them for votes and
they use the Church for protection. (Ibid., p.139)

This was the situation in Sicily in the late 1950s; the mafioso was
legitimised by his important acquaintances which were decisive for
his evolution. His integration into the institutional world was already
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 169

consolidated, as the comments of the magistrate Giuseppe Lo Schiavo,

one of the most important judges of the mafia trials under fascism,
reveal. On the death of Don Calò Vizzini, he hoped that ‘his impor-
tant successor “Genco Russo” would push “the occult grouping ... along
the road towards respect for the State’s laws and social improvement” ’
(Lupo 1993, p.171).
This was the climate into which Dolci’s solitary accusation burst. His
enemies were the enemies of development, and this is why his activity
in Sicily encountered opposition from the parasite class of the economic
system, the mafiosi, who were the social class most concerned with
maintaining the status quo. The figure of the mafia boss in Spreco repre-
sented the most important element of the system which had halted any
possibility of development, and this is why he was portrayed in such
a negative manner by Dolci. This was a successful attempt to delegiti-
mise the mafioso boss. On the contrary, Dolci’s encounter with Rizzotto
and Miraglia was ‘a healthy, first-class’ experience. The two trade union-
ists murdered by the mafia ‘should have been better known, recog-
nised more for their part in the history of Sicilian and Italian renewal’
(Spagnoletto 1977, p.90). Spreco also confirmed the existence of an
anti-mafia movement in those dark years of struggle with the criminal
organisation; Dolci was certainly the most important representative of
this movement without ever getting too involved with trade unions and
political parties.

The mafia and politics

In November 1963, the Commissione parlamentare anti-mafia,12

presided over by Senatore Pafundi, turned to the Centro studi e inizia-
tive di Partinico to find out whether the centre was able to supply
documentation which could help the Anti-mafia Commission. Dolci
thought that the research should concentrate on the relationship
between mafia and politics, a problem which had one of the most
negative effects on the development of the island. He started to collect
information about the DC politician Bernardo Mattarella, who had been
minister13 several times, and who was a member of the government at
that time. Of course, the problem of mafia and politics in Sicily was
not confined to Mattarella, but he was the most representative politi-
cian in the area where Dolci worked, and so Dolci concentrated on
him. Proving links between a politician and the mafia was not an easy
task. Dolci and one of his closest collaborators, Franco Alasia, thought
that they should follow his movements during the election campaign,
170 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

noting all the occasions in which he had publicly met well-known or

suspected mafiosi during meetings and other occasions, and catalogue
all the cases in which these mafiosi had actively supported the election
campaign of the minister. The evidence consisted in declarations, each
one signed by one or more witnesses, which certified single, proven
episodes relevant to the case. Names of mafiosi appeared, which the
witnesses identified as the supporters of Mattarella, who were always
on the platform with him during speeches, or had meals with him,
or strolled with him in the square or political offices. Some of these
episodes are shocking in their own right but also profoundly discon-
certing if we remember the scenes were repeated again and again across
the island:

After each political rally held by Mattarella ... a procession would

form to march back to the DC offices in via Umberto I: these proces-
sions were headed by Mattarella, surrounded by all the mafiosi of
the town, (Salvatore and Leonardo Vitale, Gaspare and Giuseppe
Maggadino and other local heads) and often one would also see Rimi
di Alcamo, the minore from Trapani and others ... . In any case at the
end of the processions after the rallies, in the DC offices, Mattarella
was very cordial to them, shook their hands in front of everyone, and
they had coffee together at Navetta’s, and outside the cafe the mafiosi
would surround Mattarella, while every so often one of them would
call Mattarella aside to chat, often linking arms with him. (Dolci &
Alasia 1965, p.2)

This alleged close, permanent link between the mafiosi, the ‘great
voters’ and Mattarella, was maintained by Liborio Munna, defined by
a witness as ‘a mafioso in clean clothes, an urban rather than an agri-
cultural mafioso: Munna was Mattarella’s godfather and the father of
the mayor of the present mayor’. At election time, these mafiosi went
around the houses handing out leaflets for the DC expressing a pref-
erence for Mattarella, and this was ‘common knowledge among the
people; the police were certainly not blind and saw exactly what this
was’ (ibid., p.3).
The first 50 dossiers were consigned to the Commissione parlamen-
tare anti-mafia on the 22 September 1965, and on the same day, Dolci
held a press conference in Rome to let the public know that the mate-
rial had been handed over to the commission. His declared intention
was to make sure that the commission could not forget about the mate-
rial or forget to follow up the enquiry. The mafia had had, allegedly, a
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 171

fundamental role in the election of Bernardo Mattarella, and as Dolci

declared at the end of the press conference:

Those who wish, and those who have the duty to, only need to collect
more details in larger numbers. History might be able to fill in more
details, but it will not change the substance of what has been collected
here. These direct testimonies were collected independently from each
other, but confirm each other, and confirm the suspicions aroused by
the serious clues which had emerged previously. (Ibid., p.1)

Dolci concluded by demanding the immediate resignation of Mattarella

as minister: ‘it is unacceptable that such a person should represent the
Italians in world trade’. Dolci also asked that ‘the anti-mafia commission
should investigate rapidly with all available means, the alleged relation-
ships and the responsibilities of Bernardo Mattarella’. He hoped that,

during the next elections, for each Sicilian council, the press in general
and the Sicilian correspondents in particular, will carefully and
publicly document those candidates who usually look to the mafia
organisation for support, and the mafiosi who accompany them and
support them; when those mafiosi have to hide from public opinion,
this will be a step in the right direction. (Ibid., p.1)

When Bernardo Mattarella and Calogero Volpe were allegedly accused of

collusion with organised crime, more than 100 people agreed to sign up
with substantiated evidence, exposing themselves to risk. Immediately,
Minister for Foreign Commerce Bernardo Mattarella and Undersecretary
for Health Calogero Volpe claimed libel damage.
In order to understand the political climate of the time with regards to
the mafia, the opinion of the Informatore Parlamentare of 27 September
1965 is enlightening. Only a few days after the accusations of Dolci and
Alasia, the paper presented the problem of the mafia by returning to
certain ideas similar to Pitrè’s: ‘what is erroneously called mafia, is the
prestige, the respect which certain wise people enjoy in the small towns,
those who know how to give advice, and who with their charisma
often manage to sort out differences in a friendly way’ (Informatore
Parlamentare 1965).
Mattarella’s defence strategy during the trial was to claim that the
accusations of relationships with the mafia were a political set-up and
the witnesses were all militants or supporters of parties which opposed
the minister. Having solved the problem, declaring that ‘there was no
172 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

possibility of an agreement, or prospect of collaboration between the

two environments (political and mafioso) who maintained a state of
non-communication’, the judges can be given the merit of coming to
the convinced belief that ‘neither Mattarella nor the other defendants
had ever had relationships with individual mafiosi’ (Dolci 1971, p.6).
Dolci was condemned for libel, but he was pardoned. Bernardo
Mattarella emerged from the trial unscathed, but from 23 February 1966,
when Moro formed his third government, he was no longer a minister.
The magistrates called to judge Mattarella had demonstrated a very
vague understanding of the mafia phenomenon. Despite the mystifica-
tion and bad faith, the mafia continued to be a synonym for organ-
ised crime, omertà, brutality and terror, and the alleged links between
famous and less famous politicians, part of the ruling class in Sicily, and
the mafia continued and could not be denied.
The accusations and signed declarations had revealed the alleged bonds
between the local mafiosi and the politicians (mostly those in the govern-
ment), with the fundamental support of the reactionary Sicilian Church.
At this time, it was not only the state which hindered a normal process
of development or protected the criminal organisation in Sicily. If the
collusion between important Sicilian politicians and certain ‘men of
honour’ was clear and evident, the Catholic Church, an institution just
as influential and powerful as the political parties, if not more so, failed
to adopt an attitude of open condemnation of the mafia. The relation-
ship between the Church and the mafia was complex and diverse, and
reflected the very nature of Sicilian society. Religion, traditionally the
foundation on which the system of traditional reliefs and values was
built, found itself tightly bound up with the mafia, which also had its
origins deeply rooted in popular culture. After the Second World War,
mafia votes were accepted by the politicians of the DC for political
motives, without thinking about the moral or religious legitimacy of
this support, nor did the hierarchy of the Church have any scruples
about it. The ideological danger posed by communism justified every
compromise in order to gain power, even with an anti-communism
front which included right-wing parties, who represented the interests
of the landowners and the mafia. In the 1950s, the mafia support shifted
from the right-wing parties to the DC, and the clergy and lay Catholics
coexisted with the mafiosi without protesting, because the obligation to
maintain Catholic political unity in the face of communism had trapped
them in this situation. The Sicilian Church and its highest representa-
tive, Archbishop Ruffini of Palermo, lacked the culture to be able to
understand the new needs of society and accepted unquestioningly the
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 173

old image of the mafia which had been promoted so many times by the
Sicilianist movements of defence. One startling example was the famous
pastoral letter by Ruffini, Il vero volto della Sicilia (The Real Face of Sicily)
sent to the faithful for Palm Sunday at Easter in 1964. Ruffini’s letter
was dedicated to the honour of Sicily: ‘Pitiless propaganda in the press
and television, has led Italy and abroad to believe that the mafia infects
large parts of the island and that Sicilians in general are mafiosi, thus
denigrating a conspicuous part of our country’. Rather than the mafiosi,
he blamed all those who in some way or other had put salt in the wound
of the Sicilian problems.
In this letter, the Archbishop of Palermo pointed to the mafia, Danilo
Dolci, and the book that later became the great film, The Leopard, as
responsible for the slander of the island:

Another reason for the slander depends on the book The Leopard by
Giuseppe Tomasi, Prince of Lampedusa, certainly against his inten-
tions, in which he paints a dark picture of the Sicilian aristocracy
and middle class with methods and habits which afflicted the Sicilian
people in the 19th century, which the reader might think are still
current. Along with the mafia and The Leopard which downgrade our
beloved island, we find the journalist Danilo Dolci. (Ruffini 1964)

These claims certainly helped those whose interest it was to slow down
or shelve the activity of the parliamentary commission. It is difficult to
believe though that only this letter ‘marked a U-turn in the intentions of
this commission’, as later suggested by Michele Pantaleone (Pantaleone
1978, p.131).
In his letter, Ruffini made it a point not to identify the mafia with
the Sicilian people or the history of these people with the history of the
criminal organisation. The Sicilians were the victims of two injustices,
according to Ruffini – one at the hands of the mafia, the other at the
hands of the state – and for him the people and the Church meant
the Christian people. His defence of the Church and the institutions
used, perhaps unwittingly, the old Sicilianist paradigm. In the eyes of
the Church, Danilo Dolci was certainly guilty of having fostered the
belief that, despite the religious sentiment and the presence of many
priests, extreme poverty and great neglect on the part of the state powers
reigned supreme in Sicily.

He was born in Sesana (Trieste) on 23.6.1924, and in February 1952 he

came to Trappeto, in the province of Palermo, to start his apparently
174 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

beneficial campaign, which was to corrupt the true face of Sicily in

the eyes of many countries in Europe. I keep my eyes on the list of his
actions which I won’t explain to avoid awkward details. It’s enough
to say that after more than ten years of pseudo-apostolate, this land
cannot boast of any important work that can be attributed to him.
Yet he continues to hold conferences in various countries making
them believe that, despite the religious sense and the presence of
many priests, extreme poverty and negligence on the part of the State
powers reigns. In the meantime, he is applauded and collects money,
arousing true commiseration for the Sicilians in those who hear him.
(Ruffini 1964)

Thus even the Church became an obstacle for Dolci’s activities, espe-
cially since he had begun to call not only for a cultural change but also
for a transformation of the current religious mentality.
Dolci opposed the conservatism of the Archbishop of Palermo. He was
a convinced believer in progress and saw in the Church the pseudo-
feudal mentality that he associated with the classic mafioso culture, a
mentality that opposed change. Thus his anti-mafia activity acted on
four levels – local, national, institutional and religious – in areas which
he saw as presenting the greatest obstacles to development.
That Dolci could make his denunciations, in a land where the law of
omertà reigned, meant that even the image of the mafia was changing
and it was perhaps becoming less frightening. A new image emerged in
the writings of the time, and Dolci’s denunciations of the mafia-politics-
patronage networks began to be taken into consideration outside Sicily
(in Rome). His accusations against the Sicilian ruling class had had an
effect, and something changed in the relationships with the centre.
The responsibilities of a political class – and the magistrates – became
evident; instead of supporting a movement which could have pushed the
fight against the mafia forwards several decades, it had tried to isolate
and eliminate the anti-mafia movement, even inflicting the punishment
of two years imprisonment on Dolci and Alasia for slander.

The system of mafia patronage

Dolci’s analytical study of the mafia and patronage networks led to the
publication of another important work in 1966, Chi gioca solo (Going
It Alone). Despite the scrupulous and detailed analysis of the problem,
it was not as effective as his work as a journalist. Here Dolci illus-
trated exactly what the mafia was and how it was structured. It was
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 175

principally a sociological work which studied the system of relation-

ships, and was based on the evidence given by witnesses because he saw
in this evidence an affirmation of civil values and because it could thus
ensnare the mafioso who could be seen committing crimes in specific
circumstances.
This work was the denunciation of the mafia patronage system which
exploits the primary needs of the people. The link between the Sicilian
politicians and local mafiosi emerged clearly from the detailed state-
ments; a link which had been lethal for Sicilian development. Whatever
fine names the main protagonists of this system had, the figures were
always the same: the politician, the ‘great voters’ and the simple people.
In an interview in 1966, Dolci stated that the politician ‘covers his crim-
inal content with his prestige’. However,

Without his ability to manoeuvre, or his capacity to make his uncivi-

lised activity appear civilised, without his actions which tend to
paralyse the normal activities of the organs of justice, the mafioso
phenomenon cannot survive. (Dolci 1996)

Some of the ‘great voters’ contributed in a decisive way to the prestige

and the power of their chosen politician.

They are true mafiosi: that means that they reproduce in their
networks of clients, not just the parasitic nature of the client-system,
but also some characteristics typical of the mafia, such as the attitude,
the extreme violence used to achieve anything, and therefore terror,
secrecy and a complete closure to the outside world. (Ibid.)

A part of the population was unable to recognise its own basic interests
and was deluded by the politician and his clients into ‘lending its vote
to the prestige and power of someone whose interests often run counter
to its own’ (Ibid.).
This was a new idea for Dolci; that even the simple people have some
responsibility for the situation. The conditions which made this para-
sitic system possible were multiple, as Dolci himself observes:

first of all, the poor economic situation of vast parts of the popula-
tion, for whom the search for a piece of bread or a job is so urgent
that everything else becomes secondary.
Secondly, the low level of culture and politics of vast parts of the
population means that the desire to satisfy one’s own interests
176 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

becomes egoism without a minimum of consideration for the general

good. The client system and the mafia client system are therefore
possible as long as the individual is isolated and is not able to make
his worth felt, when he is resigned to not acting or thinking about his
real interests. (Ibid.)

Violence is certainly not limited to only western Sicily but, as Dolci

explains,

penetrates in different forms in all parts of the world. I think it is

interesting for all to understand the mafia client system because it is
an extreme form of organised violence, and it can help us to under-
stand, as if we had a magnifying glass. (Cassano 1972)

The client system is a complex group of two-way relationships and has

interesting analogies to the mafia system (with a structure rather like
the mafioso cosca). Both systems are characterised by the subordination
of the clients towards the protector. There is a sort of do ut des (tit-for-tat)
relationship between the two, because the protector offers certain serv-
ices which are used to satisfy the demands of the client, who in return
promises fidelity to his protector and political fidelity with his vote in
the form of voto di scambio. As Catanzaro suggests, ‘in this sense the
client relationship is reciprocal but not symmetrical, because there is a
substantial inequality’ between the parts (Catanzaro 1991, p.17).
Dolci’s efforts in Sicily aimed to resolve certain problems: the exasper-
ated sense of individuality, the amoral familism, the attitudes of omertà
and silence. If one of the important characteristics of the client system
is the support of a politician for his clients and for people who may
have interests different to his own in order to gain power and votes,
in the mafia client system ‘which is a mix of mafia violence and the
client system which hides behind a facade of representation and democ-
racy’ the characteristics are the particular ‘winks’, the special pressures
brought to bear on the clients, the special terror which the bully-boys
strike into their hearts, the imposition of will and the success in passing
this unfair system off as democratic.
The client system developed as an attempt to survive, and

As a reciprocal parasitic phenomenon or insane symbiosis – the recip-

rocal exploitation, the reciprocal parasitism, these are the antitheses
of a common development, without managing to evolve in positive
symbiosis within the group. The generous hospitality, the habit of
 The Breaking Point: A New Image of the Mafia 177

grouping together roads, quarters, towns or in certain circumstances,

are not yet real capacities for association; in most cases these group-
ings are for defence or an unwitting attempt to overcome the feeling
of anguish of the individual. (Dolci 1966, pp.277–78)

In many ways these considerations were similar to those made by

Leonardo Sciascia some years earlier, but the solution that Dolci proposed
was very different to the one of the writer from Racalmuto. According
to Dolci, this subdivision of the people could be recomposed by popular
self-analysis, autoanalisi popolare. He claimed that,

as long as the more normal forms of collaboration are of a mafia

client type (it is typical that many use the word ‘association’ to
mean ‘criminal association’: he was accused of association) and one
does not have a well founded and positive alternative experience,
it is quite understandable that people will generally see groups as
dangerous and impossible, repeating ‘he who plays by himself never
loses’. (Ibid., p.278)

After Chi gioca solo, Dolci’s interest in the collusion between politics
and organised crime faded. There were various reasons for this, but put
simply, Dolci felt increasingly impotent in the terrible battle against the
many-tentacled ‘octopus’ of organised crime.
Nonetheless his work and studies on the mafia were fundamental
despite being hampered at all levels. The results of his campaigns and
his writings contributed to a change in the idea of the mafia in popular
imagination in Italy and elsewhere. He courageously revealed the links
between the mafia and business interests which dominated Sicily in the
1950s and 1960s, and he illustrated how the institutions often protected
and collaborated with the criminal organisation, leaving Sicily, in partic-
ular in the area around Palermo, in a condition of near feudalism. Later
Dolci changed from being the activist who tried to transform the culture
through collective actions, to being almost a mystic who attempted to
bring about the change of the individual, hoping thus to transform
society. His feelings towards the mafia never changed, however, and he
continued to fight against this cancer in Sicilian society.
9
Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as
the Public Conscience

Instead of following the customary cultural approach of their time, there

have been authors who have brought widely accepted contemporary
cultural values into question: this is what Leonardo Sciascia did by making
Sicily a privileged observatory for looking at the world from a mafia perspec-
tive. His analyses, investigations and stories do not just give us an insight
into Sicily, they are a metaphor of the world. This is the role of the intel-
lectual according to Sciascia. Writers cannot live in a turris eburnea, alone in
their own intellectual isolation; they must play a public role of testimony
or a role of ‘public awareness’, as defined by Gesualdo Bufalino.
In this context, we must identify the role of intellectuals and writing.
Literature can be transformed into a complaint about a certain situation,
which French critic Claude Ambroise accurately pointed out with his
‘sword = pen’ equation. A pen can be used to fight. It is a weapon that an
artist or an intellectual uses in order to highlight contradictions within
society and to expose what makes it dysfunctional, rather than carrying
out an analysis on it.
Instead of analysing the mafia phenomenon and society, the ‘Mafioso’
works by Sciascia are more of a denouncement, or a head-on attack.
They are not directly aimed against the mafia, but rather the absence of
the state, which either indirectly or voluntarily has become a guarantor
and accomplice of the mafia.

The mafioso crime novel: Il giorno della civetta

It is not possible to examine the image of the mafia without analysing

the work of Leonardo Sciascia and Il giorno della civetta (The Day of the
Owl, published in English in 1987) in particular. It was the first ‘crime
novel’ published by the Sicilian writer.

178
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 179

In order to play a public role of testimony, or ‘public awareness’,

Sciascia also used a mass literary genre: the crime novel. The author
justified writing his story as a crime novel because it was the most disloyal
narrative technique he could use. It does not let the reader leave the
book half read; you cannot put it down until you have read the very last
line (Sciascia 1989, Vol.II, p.1196).
Edited in 1961, Il giorno della civetta has sold more copies than any of
his other books and is his most famous novel. It was his first book to be
translated abroad and to have had the honour (or often the burden) of
being made into a film,1 not to mention its various theatrical adapta-
tions. With Il giorno, Sciascia spread light on the reality of the criminal
clique, which was not yet recognised as an organised crime ring by the
state authorities.
Even before he was a writer on the subject, the mafia first interested
him as a citizen; he thought of it as an offence to his civil conscious-
ness and to man’s dignity. Il giorno della civetta arose from his desire
to provide transparency as well as from moral reasons. The idea that
the mafia offended man’s dignity and consciousness began to take
shape for the first time during the sociological investigations carried
out by Danilo Dolci. However, Sciascia decided to take on one of the
most burning issues of Italian life by writing a novel, meaning his work
would be available to a wider audience. Just like Poe, Sciascia had a
habit of being ahead of his time: with Il giorno, he anticipated what
would happen in Sicily. Without this ‘mafia crime novel’, which was
also very different from and much more than a collection of jour-
nalistic chronicles, it would not have actually been possible to fully
comprehend the escalation of the rural mafia groups taking over the
cities and work contracts.
The strength of Il giorno della civetta mainly lies in its immense
popularity, giving it the ability to force people to see the mafia
phenomenon as a national problem. With Sciascia’s novel, this strong
message of condemnation reached everyday Italians. A large Italian
audience took an interest in Il giorno. What’s more, the film adapta-
tion of the novel was also a great public success. We can definitely
talk about Il giorno as a real ‘turning point’ towards a new image of the
mafia phenomenon, an image so far removed from that of the Sicilian
political upper class, which up until then had thought this criminal
phenomenon only existed ‘in poets’ imaginations’.2 The effect,
however, was explosive. The reality of the mafia came to life with
the publication of Il giorno. Up until 1961, the word mafia was hardly
seen outside of journalistic, historical or sociological writings – and
180 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

even then, perhaps with the exception of Danilo Dolci’s works, it was
in a justificatory context – never mind the thought of turning it into
a fascinating novel that would be available to everyone. So, not only
did the government ignore the mafia phenomenon but, as Sciascia
poignantly observed in an annotation printed for his educational
edition of the crime novel, ‘they explicitly denied it’ (Sciascia 1969,
p.IV). At the time, talking about the mafia, even through literature,
was not done.
It is true that there were sufficient investigations and papers written
to provide the government and the population of Italy with very accu-
rate information about the mafia, but literary pieces of work ‘are better
at reaching and inspiring a wider audience than any essay or inquiry’,
argued Sciascia.

there were just two of them: one was extremely popular with
the public, portraying a world of small neighbourhood Mafiosi –
although they were overpowering, violent thieves, they had feelings
and were open to the idea of redemption. This book was called I
mafiusi della Vicaria. The other book, called Mafia, which was also
written for the stage, in Italian, by Giovanni Alfredo Cesareo ... ,
represented a bourgeoisie that accepted the mafia almost as an
ideology, which is practised as a rule of life, social relationships and
politics. (Ibid., p.V)

Both these publications, for different reasons, were nevertheless a form

of justification, not of the mafia as a criminal organisation, which in
this sense its existence was denied, but of something ‘which the greatest
scholar of popular Sicilian traditions, Giuseppe Pitrè, called the “Mafioso
feeling”: a vision of life, behavioural rules, and a way of carrying out
justice and regulating it outside of the law and the institutions of the
State’ (Collura 1996, p.171) .
However, Sciascia had identified the mafia as something else. He
thought of it as

a ‘system’ in Sicily that possesses and moves the economic interests

and power of a class that can roughly be called bourgeois. It does not
appear and develop within the ‘emptiness’ of the State, (or rather,
when the State with its laws and functions is weak or not present)
but ‘inside’ the State. The mafia is therefore nothing more than a
parasitic bourgeoisie, a bourgeoisie that embarks upon nothing, and
exploits everything. (Sciascia 1970, p.62)
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 181

The identification of a mafioso bourgeois class was based on the innova-

tive theories of Eric Hobsbawm, stating that the mafia was originally a
primitive form of social revolt, the only sort of revolution possible in
Sicily. Il giorno della civetta was not anything but ‘an exemplar’ of that
definition, as stated by Sciascia below. Years later, during an interview
with Davide Lajolo, Leonardo Sciascia revealed, with some bitterness,
the significance of this exemplar:

I do not love Il giorno della civetta. It was too successful, as well as for
external reasons. I do not regret writing it, quite the opposite: but it
is irritating to sometimes realise that people read it as a folkloristic
report; instead, I wrote the story as an ‘exemplar’ (as Bernardino
da Siena would say) of what the mafia was like during its passage
from the countryside to the towns, showing its transition from a
rural to an urban phenomenon. I think that this exemplar is abso-
lutely clear, even when highlighting the mafia’s relationships with
legal power: the executive branch of the government, bureaucracy
and the political parties (especially the Christian Democratic Party).
(Lajolo 1981, p.55)

Even though Sciascia did not love this novel, Il giorno della civetta is defi-
nitely the best Italian story based on the mafia (Mazzamuto 1970, p.59),
as it presents aspects that hold considerable importance regarding the
representation of this criminal phenomenon. Novels about the mafia
were often justifications about the ‘Mafioso feeling’; however, Leonardo
Sciascia’s book is an out-and-out anti-mafia novel, not a veiled venera-
tion of a brutal clique. This is also why nobody, whether they were from
within political circles, entrepreneurial circles or even intellectual ones,
could willingly give praise to Sciascia’s story – nobody would have been
able to accept such a denouncement.3
The importance of Il giorno della civetta is mainly due to the success
of it being a pamphlet story, a politico-social investigation filled with
numerous metaphors and images of Sicily. The fact that Capuana and
Verga had hardly realised that the mafia existed, and that Pirandello
had willingly ignored it, gave Sciascia a sense of civil and moral inspi-
ration, almost as if it were a form of existential research. This is what
Italy was like in 1961, and the worst condemnation of an entire political
system is the one contained within the last few lines of his notes on
the book, where the author felt obliged to inform his readers that he
had been unable to write his book ‘with the complete freedom that a
writer ... should always have’ (Sciascia 1987, Vol.I, p.483).
182 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

With its Shakespearian title (an extract from Henry VI, part III, act V,
scene IV):

And he that will not fight for such a hope,

Go home to bed, and like the owl by day,
if he arise, be mocked and wondered at.

The story is a reference to a joke about the Duke of Somerset, who should
be remembered, and as observed by Frank Kermode, ‘a few scenes later is
seen defeated and taken away to the gallows’ (Kermode 1991, p.93). As
well as the title of the novel referring to corruption and a ruthless fight
for power, likening a mafia-dominated Sicily to the England of Henry VI,
it also refers to the contrast between the light of reason (daytime) and
the shadow of crime and death (the owl). The title also signifies an
unnatural condition that, due to its peculiarity, creates both astonish-
ment and ridicule in everyone. It is useless, ridiculous and pathetic to
search for the truth within a police investigation on a crime carried out
in Sicily, as Sciascia appears to believe, especially if behind it there is the
hidden and widely spread power of the mafia, where an investigator will
only find himself in the same conditions of unease as an owl finds when
the sun begins to rise. As well as bearing a strong sense of civil commit-
ment, the quotation from Henry VI also takes on a heavily symbolic
meaning of death (owls are nocturnal animals). However, this strong,
symbolic meaning is not linked to darkness in the novel but to Sicilian
light – a symbol of Sicilian death, death for the mafia (Belpoliti 1996,
p.33). This is undoubtedly a necessary step for Captain Bellodi, who is
used to a completely different sort of light (the white, snow-covered city
of Parma as described in the last few pages of the book), to really be able
to understand Sicily, a place which is difficult to comprehend consid-
ering the obscurity of so many situations, but which is also the premise
for his final ‘mi ci romperò la testa’ (I will rack my own brain, even if it’s
the end of me).
Sciascia was motivated to write Il giorno della civetta following two
real-life events: the death of the communist union member Accursio
Miraglia, killed by the mafia in Sciacca in 1947, and the actions of a cara-
biniere official who was a friend of the writer, Renato Candida (Sciascia
1992, pp.161–64). The narrative mechanism that the writer creates
is certainly commendable: Salvatore Colasberna is a small building
contractor, an honest company owner who manages to obtain moder-
ately sized contracts for constructing public building projects. He is
killed with a shotgun at 6.30 in the morning on the bus which connects
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 183

S., a small Sicilian town, with Palermo. Paolo Nicolosi, a decent man
and tree-trimmer by trade, is also killed alongside him, despite having
nothing to do with either Colasberna or the alleged business network of
the mafia. Captain Bellodi has only been in the area for a short while, a
young carabiniere official from Parma and former Resistance fighter. The
Captain is a typical continental with a just and honest vision of problems
and the relationship between citizens and the law, who is able to clearly
construct the inner workings of a crime and discover the motivations
behind it. An informer, Calogero di Bella, also known as Parrinieddu,
who is also the most ambiguous character in the story, gives the Captain
the opportunity to prove his logical constructions. ‘Off-screen’ reflec-
tions, a dialogue in a café in Rome, a statement by a high-ranking official
and the thoughts of a high priest demonstrate that the investigations of
the Captain are beginning to bother the corridors of power – which the
Church is annexed to – that are associated with the mafia.
However, Bellodi senses that the disappearance of the tree-trimmer
Paolo Nicolosi and the murder of Colasberna are related. It is Nicolosi’s
wife (whilst undergoing a complex interrogation which reveals the
respect the Captain also shows towards such humble witnesses), who
remembers that her husband, after the gunshots, had seen a man named
Zicchinetta hurry by. He was a former convict also known as Diego
Marchica. After Marchica is arrested, the informer Parrinieddu realises
that he is done for. He then sends Captain Bellodi a letter with two
names written on it and then, as he had feared, is killed a few hours
later. The anonymous tip-off arrives on Bellodi’s desk after his death,
leading the Captain to be able to immediately arrest the characters who
were exposed in the letter: Pizzuco and Marchica. During questioning,
Pizzuco and Marchica are tricked by a false statement and are convinced
by the seemingly reciprocal accusations of this double crime. When the
investigators manage to obtain a confession, readers are then introduced
to the well-protected Don Mariano Arena, the alleged instigator of the
crimes and renowned mafia boss in the area. The meeting between
the Captain and the mafia boss reveals, with extraordinary intensity, the
pride with which Don Mariano confirms his vision of the world, however
refusing to accept his own responsibilities. Nevertheless, Captain Bellodi
manages to trap him using the tax system, as the mafia boss is unable
to credibly explain his high standard of living considering the jobs that
he officially holds. At that moment, the old mafia boss cannot deny
trading illegally for lucrative contracts. However, he recognises a worthy
rival in Bellodi, who actually prefers the mafia boss to the secretaries and
governmental representatives involved with the mafia.
184 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

The arrest of Don Mariano causes alarm within the political circles
of Rome who are working together with the mafia. In fact, during a
parliamentary debate, a deputy minister states that the mafia only exists
inside the imagination of the social communists. Despite having great
respect for Bellodi, Don Mariano has powerful friends in parliament
and in government, which he goes on to use to bring down the offi-
cial’s accurately constructed and logical framework like a house of cards.
Respectable people without criminal records provide incontestable alibis
for the criminals who had confessed; after they are let out of prison,
the investigations carry on, but in a different direction. When Captain
Bellodi is on holiday in Parma, he finds out that the widow of Nicolosi
and her lover are strong suspects for the crimes: the authorities prefer to
steer their investigations towards a crime of passion, which is easier and
less worrying for everybody. Captain Bellodi is defeated, with the law
and justice going down with him.
Sciascia’s crime novel is unusual and bitter. The guilty party is not
revealed, nor is he or she ever put to trial. There is no punishment,
and justice is the defeat of the lead character of the story. Despite this,
however, readers of Il giorno della civetta are not left feeling completely
betrayed, because the death of Colasberna and the murder of Nicolosi
incited people to begin researching into, and to have a new awareness
of, an intolerable political and social structure.
Within Il giorno various themes intertwine: the relationship between
the substratum of Sicilian culture and mafioso behaviour (and as a
consequence the relationship that the inhabitants of the island establish
with the state); the harsh and rigid criticism of the authorities, moral
standards, culture and political practices of Italian society; and finally, a
clear analysis of historical and social issues which are at the heart of the
country’s problems.
Right from the very beginning of the book, Sciascia immediately
introduces us to the problem of a general sense of omertà, or code of
silence, and to the profound, almost genetic, hiatus between the citi-
zens and representatives of the state. He reveals a blanket of omertà
and fear, which also rules over the small towns of western Sicily, like S.,
and offers a new view of the tight-lipped culture that forms part of the
violent code of the mafia. The image of omertà portrayed by Sciascia is
completely different from the one successfully conveyed by Pitrè and
Capuana who in their works had interpreted it with a symbolic meaning
of omineità – a sense of manliness. However, Sciascia’s image is also far
removed from the temptation to create a sort of superman, which seems
to be the case in the character Don Giovanni in Comandè’s novel Don
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 185

Giovanni Malizia. The main character of the novel is Captain Bellodi, a

carabiniere official, with a firm and determined bundle of certainty in
the values of democracy.

an Emilian from Parma, was by family tradition and personal convic-

tion a republica, a soldier who followed what used to be called ‘the
career of arms’ in a police force, with the dedication of a man who
has played his part in a revolution and has seen law created by it. This
law, the law of the republic, which safeguarded liberty and justice, he
served and enforced. If he still wore a uniform ... ... it was because the
task of serving and enforcing the law of the Republic was becoming
more arduous every day. (Sciascia 1987, p.97)

He is a modern and efficient servant of the state, convinced that he

bears the values of legality and justice, the foundations of state power,
without which a state would not be able to call itself so, as it would
have no legitimacy. But above all, he is a man of reason, a character that
symbolises reason in search of fairness and justice.
Bellodi is not a character, instead he is ‘just an idea, an abstraction’
(Sciascia in Baldwin 1980, p.30). The Captain is not only a homage to
the North (an apparently lawful land, the result of a sense of awareness
which has lived through war and partisan fighting), which has been
put in place to contrast with the South (where there is the untouch-
able mafia that over time has become a depository of age-old knowledge
linked with the population). Without doubt, he represents Sciascia’s
idea of a model Italian citizen.
Bellodi brings with him various ideas and ideals (the legacy of partisan
fighting and the idea of law and justice). For Sciascia, the Captain is a
homo novus who the whole of Sicily should follow as an example; he
symbolises the Italy of the Resistance, an Italy that believed in the ideals
of democracy, justice and civil society. Bellodi also represents power which
has been founded on a principle of legitimacy, and which is therefore
provided with a moral and juridical basis. He represents reason and is also
a spokesperson for a state that identifies itself with legality and justice. He
is therefore not a redeeming main character that represents the doctrine of
natural law, unlike other main characters depicted by Sicilianist authors.
Bellodi ends up being a foreigner amongst the Sicilian population, a
‘positive’ character, according to the norms of neorealism, from whom
Sciascia has removed the populist character that was typical of this move-
ment. He is a positive hero who believes in the law and the possibility of
being able to cure the ills of the island, but who has an alienating effect
186 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

on the whole situation right from the very beginning. Although he has
this alienating effect, it definitely does not work with the lesser characters
that gravitate around him. Calogero di Bella (also known as Parrinieddu
the informer) and Diego Marchica (the hit man known as Zicchinetta)
are not abstract characters, masks from a Greek tragedy, however.

we have an exemplary representation of the characters, men that were

around in the past, in the context of their surroundings, with char-
acters which correspond exactly with typical situations and which,
at the same time, reveal important tendencies of the social develop-
ment of Sicily. (Ghetti Abbruzzi 1974, p.49)

The informer, the most ambiguous character in the story, lives besieged
by terror that ‘lurked within him like a radib dog’ (Sciascia 1987, p.27).
His circumstances mean that he finds himself living side by side with
both the mafia and the state, trying to juggle between these two ines-
capable worlds. However, when Parrinieddu meets Captain Bellodi, he
realises that his hopes of benefitting from the ambiguity of his role as
an informer have been dashed; he is destined to remain crushed by this
very ambiguity. The key words within this part of the story are fear and
death: ‘From fear of death, they faced death every day; until finally it
struck, final, permanent, inequivocal death, not the double cross, the
double death of every hour’ (ibid., p.28). It is helpful, therefore, to see
through Sciascia’s words that it is impossible (for many) to have access
to a legal system guaranteed by the state.

To the informer the law was not a rational thing born of reason, but
something depending on a man, on the thoughts and the mood of
this man here, on the cut he gave himself shaving or a good cup of
coffee he has just drunk. To him the law was utterly irrational, created
on the spot by those in command, the municipal guard, the sergeant,
the chief of police or the magistrate, whoever happened to be admin-
istering it. The informer had never, could never have, believed that
the law was definitely codified and the same for all; for him between
rich and poor, between wise and ignorant, stood the guardians of
the law who only used the strong arm on the poor; the rich they
protected and defended. (Ibid., p.29)

A state with law and order is not only absent in the world of the mafia, it
seems to be missing from the whole of the Sicilian world. An objective,
positive legal system is missing; there is only a false system of law and
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 187

order, which is administered according to the mercy of whoever holds

power. There are no laws and no state present to make sure that they are
respected. Bellodi’s failure is closely linked with the absence of the state
rather than with the presence of the mafia. Although Sciascia depicts the
informer as a humble figure in the story – a trembling villain, a supporter
of the mafia, a confidant of the carabinieri, with a tragic ending already
written – or in general, as a negative character, Parrinieddu recovers a
tragic piece of dignity from the letter he writes, signed with his name
and surname, and in death:

The captain read the letter only after hearing of the death. ... ... That
man had left his life with one final denunciation, the most accurate
and explosive one he had ever made. The two names were in the
middle of the page, and beneath almost at the foot, that desperate
message, the ‘regards’ and the signature. It was not the importance
of the denunciation which made such an impression on the captain,
but the agony, the despair which had provoked it. Those regards made
him feel brotherly compassion and anguished distress, the compas-
sion and distress of the one who under appearances classified, defined
and rejected, suddenly discovers the naked tragic human heart. By
his death, by his last farewell, the informer had come into a closer,
more human relationship; this might be unpleasant vexatious; but in
the feelings and thoughts of the man who shared them they brought
a response of sympathy, a spiritual sympathy.(Ibid., p.32)

Without doubt, Captain Bellodi is a symbol of the law ‘that origi-

nated from the idea of justice’, the opposite of the mafioso logic of
Parrinieddu, who lived in constant fear of an idea of the law which was
left to the absolute irrationality of an act or the vengeful whims of an
important man. Although he was cautious regarding the character of
the informer, Sciascia’s motives are different to those of a number of
writers of Sicilianist traditions, as referred to earlier, in his portrayal
of this character. In doing this, Sciascia did not want to defend the tire-
less justifications of the principle of omertà, as writers such as Rizzotto,
Capuana and Cesareo had done in their books. Instead, he wanted to
condemn the opportunities that the layering of omertà in such a society
offered to people with a devious character.
What’s more, the Captain tries every single way to unveil the prob-
lems of omertà and people’s reluctance to speak out, which seems to
dominate Sicilian society. As can be seen in the book, Bellodi is different,
not only regarding Sicilian society but also in terms of the institution he
188 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

represents. It is here, however, where his contradiction lies. He believes

he can serve the law fully within the eyes of the law through the use
of the authorities and, as a consequence, instead of using violence (as
is used by the carabinieri) he stands out for his use of respect, kindness
and persuasion in every situation. This is also the case when he himself
falls into a trap of tyranny that takes the place of justice, straight after
the informer’s death. What has happened with the mafia, in fact, pushes
him, like the warrant officers on the island, to dream of the impossible.
But, as a partisan and a follower of the Enlightenment, he immedi-
ately remembers the repressions of Mori and fascism, and ‘rediscovers
the magnitude of his own ideas, his own feelings’. Bellodi is a true egali-
tarian, so he knows that going down the road of ‘suspending constitu-
tional guarantees’ would be dangerous. Many years later, Sciascia added
that the temptation of special laws

is not only found within the pages of my novel. It comes up continu-

ously in real life. Even today, during the slow process of a mass trial.
Someone would want to change the rules and block provisional
detention. That would be a fatal error. The mafia would still be here
and we would no longer have our rights. (Sciascia 1986)

Sciascia often portrays an ideology, that of respecting positive law in

all circumstances; Il giorno is full of this ideology. This involves the law,
justice and equal dignity for citizens, which is provided by democratic
institutions that work for the defence of civil liberties – the unlawfulness
of the strongest is no more.

Delegitimising the boss

Although Bellodi may only represent ‘an idea, an abstraction’ for Sciascia,
his rival Don Mariano Arena resumes a series of embedded beliefs. They are
not only expressed through his consistency, they are also deeply rooted in
the origins of the very history of the island. Sciascia gave Don Mariano the
features of a character of epic proportions; he is a symbol of an invincible,
although occasionally present mafia, whose knowledge of the people grazes
the limits of wisdom. But above all, he has the features of a real person.
Sciascia had, in fact, already met a character like Don Mariano Arena,
as he revealed in an interview with Tom Baldwin:

One of the characters in the book who is real is the Mafioso, Don
Mariano. I have never met a Carabinieri official like Bellodi, but I have
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 189

met someone like Don Mariano Arena. Bellodi therefore represents

my opinion of the mafia as a citizen. As a writer, the real character
is that of Don Mariano, who has a complete vision of life, despite its
tragic nature. (Baldwin 1980, pp.30–31)

The character that Sciascia refers to has a number of features and char-
acteristics in common with Don Peppino Genco Russo, considered to
be the real head of the Sicilian mafia after Don Calò. After being inter-
viewed by Sciascia at the end of the 1950s, the boss of Mussomeli was
at the centre of a further delegitimising portrait by Danilo Dolci in his
book Spreco. His interview with Sciascia, just like Il giorno, is very inter-
esting because, as well as revealing a cross-section of the mafia at the
time, he analyses the career and legitimisation of mafia members and
the very functions of mafioso behaviour. It was then over ten years,
until the publication of Hess’s essay Mafia, before these perceptions were
seen again as part of a real sociological study.
The picture that Don Genco paints of himself is that of a ‘godfather’
who is convinced he has a role to play, both as a protector and as a
go-between or advisor. In this sense, the mafia is not a criminal organisa-
tion at all but an organisation providing mutual aid.

Right now, we are getting to know each other, we are drinking beer
and having a nice, friendly chat. You are from Racalmuto. Let’s say that
tomorrow I need to attend to something in Racalmuto: I remember
that you are there, I come and find you, and you help me as best you
can with whatever it is I need to take care of. Then one day you might
need to do something in Mussomeli: you come and find me, and I will
help you out. We are friends, aren’t we? ... . That’s all it is: maybe it’s mafia,
maybe it isn’t; I don’t know ... I call it: friendship ... People that meet up, that
like each other, and that help each other out ... . If there’s been an argument:
let’s settle it; if someone needs help: let’s give it ... . If people want to call that
mafia, then I would say: I am a Mafioso. The truth is that people just still
don’t get it. They talk about organisation; but where is this organisation?
Some people are called Mafiosi, and they are Christian Democrats;
then other people are also called Mafiosi, but they are Communists. Is
this a sign of organisation? (Sciascia 1991, p.198, my italics)

Don Peppino is a representation of the typical mafia boss who believes

that he has a legitimate role in the morals of the Sicilian population, and
like the main godfather character of Il giorno, he has the right contacts
for when he needs protection or mediation. In fact, Sciascia adds,
190 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Don Peppino lives in Mussomeli, but he is usually going around Sicily

sorting out problems, assisting operations, advising and helping
people out: yesterday he was in Caltanissetta due to some business
with Prince B., today he is going to be in Sciacca, and tomorrow who
knows where. A few days ago, he had to go to S., to put a good word
in for an orphaned girl to her teacher: because of one subject, the girl
wasn’t going to be able to graduate. Don Peppino went to find the
teacher, or a friend of the teacher, and told him: ‘You should turn
a blind eye, we are talking about a sad situation: it wouldn’t be the
first time that someone turned a blind eye, or even both of them.
Let her pass: because if you don’t let her pass, I won’t let you live’.
(Ibid., p.199)

Despite Sciascia’s persistent attempt, ‘Perhaps – let’s just say – the mafia is
a little like the Church, supporting those on the right, but not excluding
potential agreements with those on the left. And then there is the fact
that you possess special and far-reaching authority: that’s why people
think of it as an organisation’ (ibid., p.200), Don Peppino tries to pass
off the criminal organisation as a group of friends doing favours for each
other. ‘I put aside my own things, my interests, to do it. I want the well-
being of the people and justice. No vendettas’ (ibid., p.200). Genco Russo
is a farmer, full of wisdom and pessimism, his use of language is heavily
figurative and flamboyant. He felt, as Sciascia went on to add a few
years later, that he represented ‘a culture which was impregnated with a
system of ideas and values’ (Jurg Altwegg 1992, p.2). The final part of the
interview not only reveals the collusion between officers of the Allied
armies and the local mafia bosses in Sicily: ‘when the Americans arrived,
one of them came to me with a list of fourteen fascists in Mussomeli
that had to be arrested and deported. I took the list and I ripped it up:
no vendettas. And that’s what I was like in the Liberation Committee
too’ (Sciascia 1991, p.200) but also the mafia’s absolute control of the
monopoly on violence:

they were terrible times: gangs were overrunning the countryside too:
but in Mussomeli nothing happened, they didn’t even steal a chicken. I
would have made their bones shake if anyone had dared to put a foot
wrong.
He says this last sentence with chilling power. Just hearing this
sentence, for the way he says it, made it worth meeting Don Peppino
Genco Russo. (Ibid., p 201)
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 191

There is, therefore, a lot of Genco Russo’s features in the picture that
Sciascia paints of Bellodi’s rival, Don Mariano Arena. In the first few
pages of the book, the opposing mafia boss of Il giorno is referred to as
‘the old man’. He has not yet been introduced as a character in the story,
but it is possible to imagine the physical appearance and the features of
a mafia boss who is respected and feared.

The cold, astute violence for which he had been famous in his youth,
the calculated risk, the presence of mind, the swiftness of hand, all
the qualities, in short, which had coaused him to be regarded with
such respect and dread, sometimes seemed to ebb from him like the
sea from the shore, leaving empty shells of wisdom on the sand of the
years. (Sciascia 1987, p.51)

Violence is the fundamental tool for obtaining and keeping power. Don
Mariano also conducts himself in a philosophical manner ‘; he becomes
a real philosopher at times, mistaking philosophy for a sort of play of
mirrors in which a long memory and a brief future reflect twilit thoughts
and vague distorted images of reality (ibid.). But then the hard and cruel
man that he once was comes out:

At other times the older man would reveal how hard and merciless he
had been; and it was strange that when he was delivering his severest
and most realistic judgments on the world, his speech was literally
strewn with words ‘horns’ and ‘cuckold’, often with different mean-
ings and nuances, but always to express scorn. (Ibid., pp.51–52)

A particularly symbolical passage about this power is the dialogue

between Don Mariano Arena and a young henchman. The young man –
who is speaking about fascism as a period when ‘Mussolini decided who
would be the country’s representatives and leaders, whatever came into
his head, he would do’ but now ‘representatives and mayors are decided
by the people’ – is answered by the old mafia boss with a long mono-
logue revealing a cruel picture of society, where political power can
change from one regime to another, or from one period to another, but
the mafia boss’s ability to control always remains strong.

The people’ said the old man, sneering, the people were cuckolds
then and they still are. The only difference is that fascism hung only
one flag on the people’s horns and democracy let everyone hang one
on his own horns and choose his own colours. We are back to the old
192 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

argument: not only men but entire nations are born cuckolds, cuck-
olds from olden times, generations after generations ... (Ibid., p.51)

The monologue by the mafia boss reveals a sort of Nietzsche style of

cynicism, a scornful vision of humanity. All that matters is power.
Whoever is subordinate, subject to the mercy of others, is seen as a sub
species, stripped bare of the rights that Enlightenment was thought to
have wanted to spread. Humanity is light years away from the concept
of dignitas humanae personae. An anti-humanist view of man emerges,
produced by history and expressed in a pre-rational determination to
be a boss himself, not subject to or a victim of others. Therefore the
word – which is not very tasteful or dignified, and not at all poetic – is
‘cuckold’. It is not the search for truth that drives the old mafia boss but
the ingrained custom of adapting oneself to the various courses of history
and benefitting from them. For Don Mariano, there is a striking simi-
larity between the power of fascism and the way it is used in democracy.
For him, democracy is just a bluff – beneath it there are various other
mechanisms, and little has changed since the days of fascism. The most
remarkable difference lies in the different forms of legitimacy that the
two powers possess; in democracy, it is the people who decide, whereas
fascism is ‘a brutal power, whoever is subjected to it only respects it
because it is power’ (Gentile 1995, p.38).

The people, democracy, said the old man, ... ... ‘are fine inventions;
things dreamed up at a desk by people who know how to shove one
word up the backside of another, and strings of word up the backside
of humanity, with all due respect ... with all due respect to humanity’.
(Sciascia 1987, p.52)

A symbolic and deeply obscene image, this wicked dance over the cuck-
olds of humanity reveals the concept of abuse and oppression caused by
this unjust power.

Humanity’s a forest of horns, thicker than the woods of Ficuzza when

they really were woods. And do you know who are who have fun
walking on its horns?
Firstly – bear this well in mind – priests. Secondly: politicians, and
the more they say they are with the people, out for people’s welfare,
the more they trample on their horns. Thirdly: people like you and
me ... it’s true that there is the risk of putting a foot wrong and being
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 193

gored, for me as for priests and politicians, but even if a horn rips into
my guts, it’s still a horn, and anybody who wears one on his head is
a cuckold. The satisfaction of it by God, the satisfaction, I am done, a
goner, but you, you are nothing but cuckolds! (ibid. p.53)

As these pages reveal, mafia violence is the refusal of every form of

altruism, the search for personal advantage, making use of pure power:
the status quo, the political system from which profit and power are
obtained, is never brought into question.
It is important to emphasise that some important observations on the
difficulties of being Sicilian end up being a subtext of many characters,
which provides a strong explanation for their actions, including their
use of violence. Mentions about the Sicilian psyche have been present
ever since his very first literary publications.

In Il consiglio d’Egitto it was the viceroy of Sicily, when leaving Palermo

after the difficult ‘codici di San Martino’ affair, who asked the lawyer
Di Blasi, ‘What does it mean to be Sicilian? What are the fundamental
characteristics of the Sicilian psyche that have been set in stone over
the centuries? How can you be Sicilian?’ (Sciascia 1987, Vol.I, p.547)

Sciascia tries to answer these questions with a number of convictions

that, through articulate analyses, appear in many of his essays and writ-
ings. In Pirandello e la Sicilia, the Sicilian writer states that the essential
character of Sicilian life is an exasperated form of individualism where
the elements of virile exaltation and sophistical disintegration move in
dual and opposite directions. Sciascia believed these features were quin-
tessentially of Arabic origin, but that they had found a natural humus
within the social fabric of Sicily. Sciascia better explains the essence of
being Sicilian, stating that

the feelings of honour, respectability, envy and revenge, experi-

enced as formalistic reflections of feelings rather than actual feelings
(in a sort of juridical anxiety where, putting it in juridical terms,
merit wears thin and its form disappears), are, even in the common
sense of the word, ‘mean’ as they treat other people as objects:
objects of honour, respectability, envy and revenge. (Sciascia 1968,
pp.20–21).

This is the case with Don Mariano’s monologue, for example, where he
mentions a number of standard beliefs regarding the analysis of Sicilian
194 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

character. His speech is a symbol of the boastful arrogance that can be

seen in self-pity; a sort of alternation between living and not living, and
which Sciascia had adopted from the analysis of the Spanish character
carried out by Americo Castro. In fact, in an essay called La corda pazza,
Sciascia observes that, like Spain, as already said by someone else, Sicily is
more than just a nation, it is a way of being (Sciascia 1987, Vol.I, p.460).
Within this way of being, quite a confused and often contradictory corpus
has been created in the shape of Sicilian madness. This madness is not
anything other than the overthrow of fear and insecurity – which is always
present in Sicilians – and the creation of a separate world, a delirious struc-
ture that is isolated from the outside world and reality. This attitude is defi-
nitely present in Don Fabrizio’s thinking in Il gattopardo where he states
that Garibaldi’s followers in Sicily ‘have come to teach us good manners,
but they will not succeed because we are gods’ (Tomasi di Lampedusa 1988,
p.166). His speech to the Piedmont-born Chevalley highlights, with great
poignancy, this fundamental aspect of the Sicilian spirit:

Sicilians never want to improve for the simple reason that they believe
to be perfect: their vanity is stronger than their misery; every intru-
sion of strangers for both origin and also, if Sicilians, for independ-
ence of spirit, disrupts their gibberish achieved perfection, threatens
to disturb their complacent waiting for nothing; trampled by a dozen
different people they believe they have an imperial past that entitles
them to lavish funerals’ (Tomasi di Lampedusa 1988, pp.166–67).

Sciascia states that this characteristically Sicilian way of completely disre-

garding the outside world and its laws as if they did not exist, and portraying
a sort of impermeability to the environment, went back to Sicilianism; a
rather confused and contradictory combination of national privileges, as
well as class, traditions, customs and routines which are considered to be
perfect and superior, as well as forming part of the character of Sicilian
madness. It was from this world that a mafioso bourgeois social class was
created and, when Italy was unified, it was the first to realise that it would
be better to change everything if you wanted nothing to change.
Sicily is a difficult country to govern, because it is difficult to under-
stand. The difficulty in understanding it is not just due to the nature of its
‘contradictory and extreme’ inhabitants but also, as Sciascia reiterates,

due to its juridical institutions, the whole game of jurisdiction, and

of all the privileges and immunity whose disappearance over the last
century has left marks that are still clearly visible, as confirmed over
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 195

these last twenty years by the regional autonomy that should have
got rid of them completely. (Sciascia 1987, Vol.I, p.962)

The judicial passion of the Sicilians took centuries to develop because ‘it
had to deal with a multitude of laws and information that their privi-
leges had descended from’ (Sciascia 1979, p.58). Who could be surprised,
argued Sciascia,

that a world of disputes, arguments, and multi-coloured laws took

root here, that Sicilians have become experts in every type of law,
and that a class of fierce jurists has been established, one of the main
functions of which was to spread an essentially juridical culture, even
into everyday life? On the other hand, it may be that at the root of all
of this, there is a desire for real, non-formalist justice, with the mafia
being just one way of expressing it. (Ibid., p.60)

The writer from Racalmuto went on to reiterate his thoughts on the

‘Mafioso feeling’, which he distinguished from the criminal phenom-
enon, in a review of an essay by Antonino Uccello, Carcere e mafia nei
canti popolari siciliani (Prison and the Mafia in Popular Sicilian Songs),
published by the newspaper L’Ora in Palermo in 1965. Regarding such
sentiment, Sciascia deduces that

they are expressions of the hate towards the use of penal justice, even
when it is to assert your own rights ... even when it is to keep yourself
safe; omertà; a tendency to do things in person or secretly in order to
take revenge or obtain compensation; little respect for other people
or public property; an inclination to corrupt public powers, or rather
the individuals that represent them, and family compassion and
friendship pushed to the extremes; scorn towards traitors, informers,
and policemen that sometimes led to them being punished and more
often, especially policemen, to episodes of cold-blooded fair play.
(Sciascia 1965)

However, judicial etiquette and Sicilian madness are not enough to

explain ‘Sicilian feeling’: it is important to also look back at history and
the country’s geography. Its strategic geographical location, in the centre
of the Mediterranean, has secured power and control for its various
rulers, which paradoxically means it also has ‘a defensive vulnerability,
an insecurity that, accompanied by a tendency to separate itself every
time from the system of power it was being conquered by, has made it
196 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

open and available to all military and political manoeuvers’ (Sciascia

1987, Vol.I, pp.962–63).
Insecurity is the main element of Sicilian history, concludes Sciascia,

and it influences its people’s way of being, their behaviour, and their
vision of life. However, it is necessary to observe that this contrasting
duality effectively goes together with more complex reasons: it is not
the sea that isolates them, that cuts them off leaving them on their own
that Sicilians are wary of, it is the sea that has brought to their shores
Berber and Norman cavalrymen, Lombardy soldiers, the unreasonable
barons of Charles of Anjou, the adventurers that came from the ‘avari-
cious poverty of Catalonia’, the armies of Charles V and Louis XIV, the
Austrians, Garibaldi’s soldiers, the Piedmontese, the troops of Patton and
of Montgomery; and for centuries a continual plague of Algerian pirates
who would keep turning up to take its people and possessions. (Sciascia
1987, Vol.I, p.963)

Over time, this historical fear has turned into insecurity, angst, anxiety
and existential apprehension – ‘this is shown through their tendency to
isolate and separate individuals, groups, communities – and the whole
region’ (ibid.).
Past rulers and the divide-and-rule politics of the Spanish government
destroyed the foundations of civil society, or ‘public faith’. Only ‘private
faith’ remains, which is that pertaining to family members and close
friends. Sicily was forced to seek refuge within the family, resorting back
to a society of endogamy because the outside world, observes sociologist
Gambetta, ‘a world of exogamic affection, civil society and reality was
completely untrustworthy, unjust and threatening’ (Gambetta 1992,
p.92). Sciascia’s close examination of being Sicilian, a secular culture
of separation and distance which had created and established a pecu-
liar relationship and idea of the state, is made clear as Captain Bellodi
reflects shortly before Don Mariano is put under questioning. All this,
thought the Captain, is the result of the fact that the only institution
in the Sicilian conscience that really counts is the family, counts, that
is to say, more as a dramatic juridical contract or bond than as a natural
association based on affection. The family is the Sicilian’s state (Sciascia
1987, p.95).
For Captain Bellodi from Parma, a former partisan, it must be the state,
a legitimate power, which settles conflicts within society. Sicilians, on
the other hand, believe, due to their natural impression and historical
certainty, that the institutions do not form part of legitimate power. The
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 197

state is a foreign entity, deprived of both a moral conscience, necessary

for protecting itself should violence arise, and the possibility of guaran-
teeing justice after being violently attacked.

The State, as it is for us, is extraneous to them, merely a de facto entity

based on force; an entity imposing taxes, military service, war, police.
Within the family institution the Sicilian can cross the frontier of
how own natural tragic solitude and fit into a communal life where
relationships are governed by air-splitting contractual ties. (Ibid.,
pp.95–96)

The state, reaffirms Bellodi, is the main enemy of the Sicilian population,
considering that it practices economical coercion in the form of taxa-
tion and political coercion with the presence of the carabinieri. Being
abandoned by the authorities helps to convince the Sicilian people to
remain alone in their own island society:

To ask him to cross the frontier between family and state would be
too much. In imagination he may be carried away by the idea of the
state and may even rise to be prime minister, but the precise and
definite code of his rights and duties will remain within the family,
whence the step towards victorious solitude is shorter. (Ibid.)

It was the first time that a writer had decided to probe Sicilian society
in a piece of writing about the mafia, in order to try to understand how
and why mafioso and legal powers came together. According to Sciascia,
the foundation of this mingling lies in a collection of rules and habits,
and of intertwining between the political, economic and, in part, the
educational systems. Closed up in their ancestral solitude, Sicilians
accept, albeit with anguish and opposition, that the family is the only
institution that they feel judicially connected with, but they do not
push themselves, nor do they do anything to bring into consideration a
different, broader and more complex contractual relationship with the
legitimate power of the state. Captain Bellodi identifies an anthropo-
logical background that is a necessary quality for the mafia to be able to
assert itself and make progress.
In fact, as Bellodi states while he is thinking to himself, it is without
doubt that over time, this concept of the family has been strength-
ened by the numerous failures of the Italian State. Since unification,
the Italian State has rarely shown benevolence with regards to fami-
lies, who themselves often felt continuous distrust and little loyalty
198 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

towards the authorities. There was therefore nothing left to do other

than shut themselves off and rely on their clientele network or their
relatives. Within this lacking presence of the state, Judge Falcone had
also identified the cultivating terrain of the mafia as an ‘interiorised
value’. In Sicily, the state has always been a foreigner or an enemy that
exploits and oppresses ‘a foreign state, as experienced with the foreign
invaders of Sicily’ (Falcone 1991, p.54). Sciascia’s opinion about the
failure of the state on the island did not change over the years: in
a book interview with French journalist Marcelle Padovani in 1979,
he reaffirms that the state has never existed in Sicily, except during
fascism: ‘I however do not feel any nostalgia for that State’ (Sciascia
1979, p.117). However the family, continued Sciascia, ‘is the only
institution that is truly alive in Sicily’; it seems that Sicilians only have
their families for ‘integrating themselves into general life, using it as
an institution that protects and favours its members, exempting them
from the duties shared equally amongst everyone, with a complete
absence of “public faith”, credible authority, and confidence in the
State’.
Regarding this, in his interview with Padovani, Sciascia describes an
episode of his life when he was younger. As a child, every Saturday he
was forced to wear a Balilla (a fascist youth organisation) uniform and to
march with his friends in the school courtyard:

but then one day, I think around 1930, I managed to get out of it: the
husband of one of my mother’s sisters was nominated president of
the Opera Nazionale Balilla in Racalmuto. With the protection of my
aunt, I didn’t go to the drills on a Saturday anymore, and I no longer
wore the uniform. In Sicily, the family, with its broad ramifications, has
the following function: to protect and favour its members regarding the
duties that society and the State impose on everyone. It is the main root of
the mafia, and I know that well. But for once I took advantage of it too.
(Sciascia 1979, p.7, my italics)

The mafia heightens and brings the fundamental character of Sicilian

society to extreme effect. It is a social system centred upon the ‘religion
of the family’, observes Sciascia, which is so clearly conveyed in I mala-
voglia as a ‘leading feature of the Sicilian way of being’ (Sciascia 1987,
Vol.I, p.21).
Even in his first essays, Sciascia had identified (and later made it clear
in Il giorno, and especially in A ciascuno il suo) a close link between the
dependency of the mafia and that of the family, such a central element
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 199

of the Sicilian people’s life that it has created a real deep cut into them-
selves too.

I write about myself, for myself, and sometimes against myself. For
example, let’s take this Sicilian reality that I live in: I disapprove of
and condemn a good number of its features, but I see them with pain
and ‘from within’; my ‘being Sicilian’ suffers unspeakably from the
games and the massacres that I follow. When I denounce the mafia
I suffer as well, because in me, as in any Sicilian, the remains of the
Mafioso feeling are still there and alive. Therefore fighting against
the mafia also means fighting against myself, it’s like being split up
or torn apart. (Sciascia 1979, p.74)

This is not at all a surrender to the cultural code of the mafia, which at
times can also be found within even the most honest Sicilian, but, as
Sciascia reaffirms in another interview, ‘I talk about the woes of Sicily,
not because I hate them, but because I carry them inside me and I would
like to rid myself of them’ (Baldwin 1980, p.33).
Sciascia confronts the problem of Sicily and being Sicilian in full
Sicilitude, ‘the feeling of being Sicilian, but almost transposed in a literary
form’ (ibid., p.30). This is in contrast with Sicilianism, the essence of
being Sicilian in a negative sense, with the various Don Marianos or
Don Genco Russos representing a comprehensive summary of this. For
Sciascia, literature is therefore the essential key to understanding Sicily:

Nevertheless, it is true that Sicilian culture has always had Sicily as

a subject and object: not without particularism and pettiness some-
times; but more often through studying and representing Sicilian
reality and ‘Sicilianity’ (or ‘Sicilitude’ according to an avant-garde
Sicilian writer) with force, strength, and a completeness that will
lead you to the intelligence and fate of the whole of humanity. You
only need to mention the names of Michele Amari and Giovanni
Verga; Isidoro la Lumia, Luigi Capuana, Federico De Roberto, Alessio
di Giovanni; Luigi Pirandello; Francesco Lanza, Nino Savarese, Elio
Vittorini, Giuseppe Tomasi and Salvatore Quasimodo. (Sciascia 1987,
Vol.I, p.965)

However, Sciascia can also be included amongst those who have studied
and portrayed Sicilian life with a ‘completeness that leads to intelligence’.
In his representation of Don Mariano, as with some of his third-level
characters (high priests, politicians and various high-ranking officials)
200 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

it is definitely possible to find both the Sicilitude of the author and the
Sicilianism of the character.
In Il giorno, Sciascia skilfully depicts a number of elements which
moderate the sense of mafia immunity, but which relate to the old
Sicilianist refrain about overturned morality in terms of mafia and
justice. Such aspects can definitely be seen in the description of the old
mafia boss given by two important Sicilians (one of which is definitely a
priest, which is probably masking the identity of Cardinal Ruffini from
Palermo).
The attitude of Cardinal Ruffini from Palermo towards the mafia
phenomenon was indeed not a mystery. Cardinal Ruffini was one of the
last strong personalities of Sicily, called upon to manage Church matters
according to the old authoritarianism style. He intervened in all areas
and was the epigone of essays about an ideological model inspired by
Capuana and Pitrè. For Sciascia, the cardinal was ‘a true cardinal of the
Renaissance. Born in Mantua, he has managed perfectly to acquire a
Siculo-Mafioso mentality’ (Sciascia 1981). His predecessors had always
carefully avoided even saying the word mafia, whereas Ruffini, as Sciascia
then says, ‘would say the word, but only to deny its existence. It is a pure
name according to cardinal Ruffini: but it was invented to the detriment
and slander of Sicily’ (ibid.).
In Il giorno, Sciascia courageously reveals the arrogance with which the
Church – in this case, it is that of the high priest, an anonymous char-
acter in the story – deals with people that ‘the public voice’ suspects as
being part of the mafia and which nevertheless makes hardly any effort
to fight against these violent conditions.

You grieve me, my boy, you grieve me. Both as a Sicilian and as
the reasonable man I claim to be ... what I unworthily represent, of
course, has nothing to do with it ... . but both the Sicilian I am and
the reasonable man i claim to be rebel against this justice to Sicily,
this insult to reason ... And mind you, I have always spelt the word
reason with a small ‘r’... Is it really possible to conceive of the exist-
ence of a criminal organisation so vast, well organised, so secret and
so powerful that it can dominate not only half Sicily, but the entire
United States of America? With a head here in Sicily interviewed by
reporters and then, poor fellow vilified by the press in the blackest
terms? (Sciascia 1987, p.62)

The image of Don Mariano made by the priest is that of an ‘avenger’

who is only pinpointed as a mafia boss by the incontrollable rumours
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 201

of the ‘public voice’. It reminds us of the characters found in the

justificatory literature written at the beginning of the century or
those during the 20-year period of fascist government – the rebel-
lious and romantic Rasconà in the play La mafia by Cesareo, or Don
Giovanni Malizia by Comandè. These are symbols of a natural law,
symbols of reason, laws that came before positive law was introduced,
and which were already recurring in Sicilian tradition. Upon these
laws, the ideology of a romantic mafia was created and later legiti-
mised – laws that date back to the medieval secretive sect, the Beati
Paoli.

Do you know him? I do. A good man, an exemplary father, an untiring

worker. He’s got rich, certainly, he has, but by his own efforts. And
he, too, had his troubles with Mori (the Fascist prefect) ... Certain men
inspire respect: for their qualities, their savoir-faire, their frankness,
their flair for cordial relations, for friendship. Than what you call
public opinion, the wind of the calumny, gets up at once and says:
there are the heads of the mafia. Now there is something you don’t
know; those men, the men whom the public opinion calls the heads
of the mafia, have one quality in common, a quality i would like to
find in every man, one which is enough to redeem anyone in the eyes
of God – a sense of justice – which makes them inspire respect. (Ibid.,
p.62–63)

When the person the high priest is speaking to does not agree that the
administration of justice should be carried out by the state, the high
priest begins telling him about the same ideology that can be seen
residing in Genco Russo.

I am speaking of the sense of justice, not the administration of

justice ... Anyway, suppose we two were squabbling about a piece
of land, a will or a debt; and along comes a third party and settles
things between us; then in a sense that third party is adminis-
tering justice. But you know what might have happened if we had
continued litigation before your justice? Years would have passed
and finally, may be, from impatience or anger, one or both of us
might have resorted to violence ... In short, I don’t consider that
a man of peace, a peacemaker, is usurping the administration of
justice, which, of course, is the legitimate prerogative of the State.
(Ibid., p.63)
202 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

The ecclesiastical dignitary talks over the person he is speaking to

when he is talking about the mafia, and even goes as far as to deny its
existence:

Public opinion! What is this public opinion? Rumours in the air,

rumours which spread calumny, defamation, cheap vengeance. Any
way, what is the mafia? Just another rumour. Everyone says it exists,
but where no one knows ... Rumours, will-o’-the wisp rumours echoing
in empty heads, believe me. Do you know what Vittorio Emanuele
used to say? I will quote you his very words and, as far as we are from
his ideas, when repeated by us take on even more authority. He used
to say ... . (Ibid., p.62)

This was also a significantly new development, as it was the first time
that the Church, or a distinguished ecclesiastical dignitary, had been
depicted in part as an accomplice of the mafia-business-clientele network.
In Sciascia’s crime novel, as well as complaining about how the mafia
boss has been treated – ‘I just can’t understand, it’s unthinkable, a man
like don Mariano Arena, upright, devoted to family and parish; old too,
and with some many infirmities and crosses to bear ... And they arrest
him like a common criminal’ – the high priest flies into a rage when
the person he is speaking to adds ‘but there are well founded suspicions
that ...’, first suggesting his potential involvement in the murder.
‘Founded? Where and how? Say someone goes out of his mind and
sends you a note with my name on it, then you come along here, at dead
of night, and, old as I am, without regard for my past record as citizen,
drag me off to jail as if I were anyone ...’ or when bringing into question
criminal virginity of Don Mariano.
‘Well, to tell the truth, there are some stains on Arena’s record.’

[High priest] Stains? Listen to me, my friend, let me talk as a Sicilian

and as a man in my position, if that offers any guarantee. The famous
Mori wasted blood and tears in these parts, that was one of the sides
of the Fascism on which it’s better not to dwell; and mark you, I am
no detractor of fascism, some newspapers, in fact, even go as far to call
me one myself. And was there no good in fascism? Instead there was,
and how ... Now this rabble who call liberty the mud they sling about
to besmirch the finest people and the purest sentiments ... but don’t
let’s go into that ... Mori, as I was saying, was a scourge of God here; he
swept up all and sundry, guilty and innocent, honest and dishonest,
according to his own whims and his spies. It was a catastrophe for
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 203

the whole of Sicily, my friend. And now you come and talk to me of
stains. What stains? If you knew Don Mariano Arena as I do, you’d
not talk of stains. He’s a man let me tell you, of whom there are few of
this kind about. I am not referring to the integrity of his faith, which
to you rightly or wrongly, may be a matter of indifference, but to his
honesty, his love for others, his wisdom. An exceptional man I assure
you. (Ibid., pp.60–61)

The dialogue is a comprehensive summary, albeit brutally expressed,

of Sicilianist ideology, rejecting the validity of Franchetti’s investiga-
tion, labelling it as ‘una tale fantasia che mai me la sarei aspettata da un
uomo responsabile’ (‘was so fantastic that I’d never have expected such
nonsense from a responsible perrson’) (ibid., p.63, my italics). Then
when the other person infers that reading Franchetti’s book had been
very informative for him, the distinguished ecclesiastical dignitary priest
responds in accordance with his fervent Sicilianist standards.

If you mean you learned something new, all right, but whether the
things described in the book really exist is another matter ... Now let’s
look at it from another point of view. Has there ever been a trail
during which it has emerged that there is a criminal association
called the mafia and this association has been definitely responsible
for or actually committed a crime? Has any document or witness any
proof at all which has ever come to light establishing a sure connec-
tion between a crime and the so-called mafia? In the absence of such
proof, and if we admit that the mafia exists, I’d say it was a secret
association for mutual aid, no more and no less than freemasonry.
(Ibid., pp.63–64)

The high priest recalls an old saying by Pitrè and Capuana: the mafia
does not exist, there is no proof or ‘documents’, and if a clique that acted
in such a manner really did exist, it would not be anything more than
an organisation providing mutual aid, another masonic organisation.

You just believe me. Take my word for it and, in the position I unwor-
thily hold, God knows if I could deceive you, even if I would ... What
I say is this: when you, with the authority vested in you, direct or
shall I put it? Your attention to persons indicated by public opinion
as belonging to the mafia merely on the grounds of suspicion, with
no concrete evidence that the mafia exists or that any single indi-
vidual belongs to it then in the eyes of God, you are committing
204 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

unjust persecution. This brings us to the case of Don Mariano Arena.

(Ibid., p.64)

Unlike the influential characters of the book – third-level characters such

as the high priest – the character of Don Mariano represents old Sicilian
shrewdness, as well as consolidated and legitimised tradition. He is also
the representative of a power that has been handed down to him by his
ancestors, a power which goes beyond the limits of the law and justice.
In Il giorno, Sciascia reveals the coherence of the Mafioso system, the
only ‘order’ that has really been established on the island. In this regard,
Sciascia reveals that:

The mafia represents a tragic vision of existence. It requires you to be

serious and rigorous. You are exposed to risks and relate to them by
a claim of totality that is found in Mafiosi of all ranks. It personifies
what Montesquieu called the ‘virtues of the ruling class’. But Mafiosi
are virtuous in a sense that is also very simple. It is not possible
for them to get involved in even the slightest scandal. There is no
divorce, no drugs, and no pleasantness towards the extreme left. They
hate disorder and disregard of the rules. The Mafioso is a puritan, both
socially and individually. In a society which is powerless to prevent
its values from disintegrating, the Mafioso lives in a coherent system,
which Calvino would have definitely liked. (Altwegg 1987)

It is the whole society, and it’s intertwining with the mafia, which, in
certain parts of Sicily, represents order. The context of society (represented
by alleged mafia members, including people colluding with them, those
remaining silent for them and their protectors) that Sciascia reveals in
Il giorno della civetta, is dominated by a standardising power which the
Enlightenment follower Bellodi tries to rebel against. Therefore, in this
context, speaking about mafia members as if they were unlawful, or as
people who are messing up a certain type of order, is definitely out of
place. It is the mafia, Sciascia explains, which is a normal phenomenon
in Sicily; everything else, including Bellodi’s investigations, his idea of
justice, his devotion to the police force, and the methods he uses, are
‘destabilising’ elements in this 1960s Sicily. Il giorno is explosive because
Bellodi – as well as the trade unionist Miraglia, who was the book’s inspi-
ration – unlike the main characters of previous justificatory novels about
the mafia, rebels against this normality.
The philosophy of Bellodi, who tries to get to the truth through justice
and tolerance, is intentionally far away from the Sicilianist ideology that
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 205

envelops some of the characters of the book. The descriptions given of

the old mafia boss in Il giorno are often violent and cruel, but Bellodi
is neither an accomplice nor is he accommodating towards the crim-
inal phenomenon, and his mocking the mafia boss about his daughter
staying at a Swiss boarding school is, in part, a confirmation of this.

[Don Mariano] It’s the father’s duty to think about his children’s
future.
[Captain Bellodi] Very proper. And you have assured your daughter
a life of ease ... But I am not sure your daughter would approve of
the way you provided her with it. I know that at the moment she’s
at a finishing-school in Lausanne – a very expensive, a very famous
one ... . I expect when you next see her, you’ll find her very changed,
more refined, pitying what you despise, respecting what you don’t.
[Don Mariano] Leave my daughter out of this ... My daughter’s like
me.
[Captain Bellodi] Like you? I hope not, and what’s more, you are doing
all you can no longer recognise her, you’ll have paid in a way, the price
of wealth acquired by violence and fraud. (Sciascia 1987, p.99)

Sciascia considers the mafia to be a system that possesses and moves

economic interests, and therefore believes it is necessary to nose around
the riches of mafiosi and their family members. Bellodi is, in fact, the
first police officer – and only in fiction – who has managed to carry
out the required bank verifications on Don Mariano’s assets, a complete
novelty regarding the image of the mafia.

[Captain Bellodi] Let’s talk about your daughter from the point of
view of what she costs you in hard cash, and the money you’ve accu-
mulated in her name. A great deal, a very great deal of money, of, shall
we say ... doubtful origin. Look at these: they are Photostat copies of
the account in your own and your daughter’s name at various banks.
As you can see, we didn’t just check at local branches: we went as
far as Palermo ... A Great deal, a very great deal of money? Can you
explain its origin?’
[Don Mariano] Can you?
[Captain Bellodi] I am going to try. Because it’s in the money you
so mysteriously accumulate that lie the motives for the crimes I am
investigating; these motives have to be more or less illustrated in my
206 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

report on you for investigation to murder. I am going to try ... but

in any case you’ll have to give an explanation to the income-tax
authorities, as we’ll be handing over all these data to them. (Ibid.,
pp.99–100)

Also in this case, there is a need to highlight the novelty and clearness
of Sciascia’s ideas regarding the Mafioso phenomenon (it is only 1960).
Bellodi’s reflections on criminal events and behaviour create a nervous
picture of his set-up of effective tools for fighting against crime. This
is actually what he should be taking advantage of. The Captain knows
perfectly well that it is useless trying to bring down a member of the
mafia using the penal code, as there will never be sufficient evidence,
because the silence of both dishonest and honest men ‘will always
protect him’. It is useless as well as dangerous to ‘consider the chance
of a suspension of constitutional rights’ (ibid., p.100). Right from the
beginning, a new Mori would immediately become a political-electoral
instrument, a ‘not of the government, but of a faction of the govern-
ment: the Mancuso-Livigni one or the Sciortino-Caruso one’.4 However,
Bellodi has hope in the new investigatory methods he has taken from
America, hoping to ‘grab them for tax evasion’ – but not just people like
Mariano Arena, and not just in Sicily.

There should be a swoop made on the banks, experts set to work on the
books, falsified as often as not, of business big and small; the registry of
land property brought up to date; a check should be made on all those
of dubious character, young and old, who spend so much of their time
and breath of politics; and on the company kept by the more restless
members of the great family group which is the government; and on
their families’ neighbourhoods, and their families’ enemies, and on
the luxury villas, custom-built cars, the wives and mistresses of certain
civil servants; and their tenor of life compared to their salaries. Then
the proper conclusions should be drawn. (Ibid., p.101)

Bellodi thinks that this is the only way that men like Don Mariano ‘can
feel the ground begin to give away under their feet ... In any other country
in the world a tax evasion like this one, of which I have the proof, would
be severely punished, here Don Mariano just laughs, knowing how little
it will take to confuse the issue. (Ibid., p.102).
Sciascia was given indisputable merit for having identified, perhaps a
bit too early, one of the keys to effectively fighting against the mafia and
its allies, which was by carrying out financial investigations. It was a wait
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 207

of another 20 years, together with the assassinations of many people

working for the state, including the communist politician Pio La Torre,
who was killed for this very reason in May 1982, and Judge Falcone a few
years later, before these tools were taken into consideration.
Don Mariano, an undoubtedly worrying figure, represents a mafia that,
nevertheless, has its own code of honour and its own intrinsic accept-
ance of certain values, even though they might be an infringement of the
laws laid down by the state. He is a solid and full-blooded character who
represents not only the philosophy of an important mafia boss ‘but also
a socio-anthropological typology of the various personalities referring to
a value/non-value contrast’ (Gentile 1995, p.40). Don Mariano seems to
support this theory, later developed by German sociologist Hess, which
Sciascia would take up various times throughout his work on the mafia;
that mafia members ‘do not know they are mafia members’. In an inter-
view with Tom Baldwin, the Sicilian writer reiterates that the protagonist
boss in Il giorno ‘forms part of a vision of life, of laws, and of a culture,
which is the only one he knows’ (Baldwin 1980, p.32).
The mafia boss takes back the old Sicilianist tradition of Pitrè, the impos-
ture of a good mafioso, which is necessary in a violent and oppressed
land like Sicily. He expresses a great respect for Captain Bellodi. These
two men represent opposing powers; however, Don Mariano’s power is
more widespread than Bellodi’s. The mafia is more powerful than the
state, which allows the boss to express his admiration for his enemy, to
whom, in perhaps the most famous passage of the book, Don Mariano
declares his unusual, cynical and misanthropic philosophy of life.

I, have a certain experience of the world; and what we call humanity –

all hot air, that word – I divide into five categories: men, half-me,
pigmies, arse-crawlers, if you’ll excuse the expression, and quackers.
Men are very few indeed, half-men few, and I’d be content if humanity
finished with them ... But no, it sinks even lower, to the pigmies who
are like children trying to be grown-ups, monkeys going through
the motions of their elders ... Then down even lower we go, the arse-
crawlers, who are legion ... And, finally, to the quackers; they ought
to just exist, like ducks in a pond: their lives have no more point or
meaning. (Sciascia 1987, p.102)

It was the very success of the negative character (the mafioso), to the
detriment of the positive one (representing the law) which caused
Sciascia distress and extreme concern. Various times, the writer from
Racalmuto checked that his subdivision of humanity into five categories,
208 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

so effectively and cynically expressed, had caught the imagination of

his readers, especially those in Sicily. Philosophy was the foundation of
this subdivision of humanity, noted by Sciascia himself, to win over his
readers, by making a violent and lawless character seem like a likable
person to them.
Following the mafia boss’s lively digression, the famous interrogation
sequence of Don Mariano Arena by Captain Bellodi has often been inter-
preted as a truly ‘colourful provision of details’.

[Don Mariano] ‘But you, even if you nail me to these documents like
Christ to His Cross, you are a man –’ [Captain Bellodi] ‘So are you’ said
the captain not without emotion. Then, with a twinge of discomfort
at having exchanged a ‘Present Arms’ with a head of the mafia, he
tried to justify this by remembering that he had once shaken hands
with Minister Mancuso and the Honourable Member Livigni as repre-
sentatives of the people, surrounded by fanfares and flags amid the
din of a National Holiday. Unlike them, Don Mariano, at least, was a
man. Beyond the pale of morality and law, incapable of pity, an unre-
deemed mass of human energy and of loneliness, an instinctive, tragic
will. As a blind man pictures in his mind, dark and formless, the world
outside, so Don Mariano pictured the world of sentiment, legality and
normal human relation. What other notion could he have of the
world, if around him, the word ‘right’ had always been suffocated by
violence, and the wind of the world had merely changed the word
into a stagnant and putrid reality? (Ibid., pp.102–103)

The passage in question has also puzzled a number of critics who have
always felt strong admiration for Sciascia’s work, as if the Sicilian writer
had wanted to give the godfather a sort of honour of arms. Regarding
this, there are various interpretations of the famous dialogue; there
are some who were penitently reminded that ‘many years before these
recent controversies and serious accusations, which I do not think he
has defended himself well from, I considered his work to be “mafia liter-
ature”, not just because of the subject matter, but also for its “recogni-
tion of the mafia’s greatness” ’ (Muscetta 1987, p.12). Others, like Onofri,
thought that throughout the whole book there were metaphors that
were ‘drawn from a Christological and ecclesiastical view point’ (Onofri
1994, p.109) and that Bellodi, a substitute of Sciascia himself,

for a moment arrives to a sort of bare and rugged no man’s land, where
even a person like Don Mariano can seem like a brother to him. It is
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 209

also true that in this land, far away from morality and the law, and
let’s not forget, far away from pity, it is a completely unlawful place
run by passion, he manages to recognise a certain sense of justice,
albeit loutish and unrefined, in a criminal like Don Mariano. (Ibid.,
pp.215–16)

Others, such as Farrell, identified this attitude within the relational

dynamics that are created between the writer and the main character.

In his introduction to Saint Joan, Bernard Shaw analysed the prob-

lems facing a writer who has to make credible a character he may
view as villainous, and this is not for the reasons given by Bufalino in
his defence of Sciascia, that Sciascia was exercised by subtle aesthetic
factors, but because the superficially presented villain makes no
impact. Many writers have been accused of falling in love with their
powerfully presented villains – be they Iago or Professor Moriarty.
(Farrell 1996)

However, the real controversies about the interpretation of Bellodi’s

‘Present Arms’, broke out a few years after the author’s death. It was
first criticised in the summer of 1993 by the writer Sebastiano Vassalli,
who, in an interview about the mafia shortly before the publication of
Il cigno,5 stated:

I do not believe that Sciascia’s unfortunate, witty remarks against

anti-mafia professionals6 were a slip-up. On the other hand, I believe
that even an intellectual and a writer like Sciascia, who has helped us
so much to understand mafia culture, when confronted with making
a final choice between the State and the mafia, has been subjected to
the power of the Monster’s enchantment, and has ended up – I don’t
know how consciously – following its allure. (Vassalli 1993)

This controversy got even worse towards the end of 1993, after a decla-
ration by sociologist Pino Arlacchi about a book that had just been
published by Vassalli himself. In this interview, the Calabrese sociologist
stated that he admired Vassalli’s book because it represented a politico-
mafioso crime carried out in Sicily at the end of the 19th century, using
cold, distant and basic language and tones, without, however, indulging
in the glorification of the power of the mafia. What’s more, reaffirms
Arlacchi, Vassalli’s work, for the first time, put the subject of Sicilianism
forward as an ideology for the defence of the interests of mafia members
210 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

who had been affected, at the centre of a piece of literature. Arlacchi

believed that with Il cigno, Vassalli had carried out a liberating operation
towards a cultural tradition, that of Sicily, which holds great scientific and
intellectual value, and which is also conservative and sceptical. It helped
to transform Sicily’s historical sufferings, with the mafia being its most
important, ‘into metaphysical entities, or “destinies”, which only insane
and “deviant” people can dream of escaping from’ (Arlacchi 1993).
Arlacchi’s attack was aimed at Leonardo Sciascia’s literary production
about the mafia: ‘Reading Il Giorno della Civetta was a disappointment.
I was unable to find the writer’s particularly famous “civil responsi-
bility” ... that I believed in when I was a boy. In fact, in one of the pages
of Il Giorno della Civetta ... I found hints of political apathy and civil
cowardice’ (ibid.). Arlacchi’s witty remarks, like Vassalli’s article, accused
Sciascia of following a tradition of scepticism and cynicism towards
Sicilian culture, a tradition, as reiterated by the Calabrese sociologist,
which has created the myth of omnipotence amongst the mafia, and
of its identification with the mentality, values and the most profound
beliefs of Sicily and Sicilians.
The neologism coined by the Calabrese scholar, Sciascism, helped to
heat up the tension even more. Arlacchi had coined a neologism which
can be likened to that of Pirandellism, created by the journalist Giorgio
Bocca in his famous work La disunità d’Italia, to show ‘the silent truth,
but there is no use chasing into relativity after it. Hope dies straight away
in a pessimistic vision of the world’ (Bocca 1992, pp.42–43). Bocca iden-
tified Sciascism and Pirandellism with Sicilian culture. And this is what
Arlacchi wanted his declarations to demonstrate. According to Bocca’s
theory, the mafia and anti-mafia, represented by Arlacchi and Vassalli,
are two inseparably linked aspects of the same reality. Those who, like
Sciascia, had fought against the mafia were subject to the temptation of
being ‘bewitched by the monster’, suggested Vassalli. Journalists, soci-
ologists and politicians, as well as certain scholars, chose to use methods
of interpretation that were different to those used by people who were
critics by trade; they were convinced that Sciascia’s work should be read
from a ‘sociological’ perspective. It is necessary to start again from this
new, certainly negative ‘mask’, to try to interpret the reasons for so
many belated controversies. Paradoxically, Sciascia had already envis-
aged these types of ‘critics’ in the old dog Barruggieddu, a dog which
barked and bit too much, a dog whose name was always messed up and
said incorrectly (for example, being called Barruggeddi or Bargieddi),
Sicilian sheriffs who ‘had lorded it over the townships and sent people
to the gallows for their own cruel pleasure’.
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 211

‘I’ve got it, said the captain, It means Bargello: the chief of police’
(Sciascia 1987, p.88).

‘Bargello like me, with short length of rope, my collar, my mania’

and he felt more akin to the dog called Barriuggeddu, ... ... ‘Hound
of the Law’ he thought of himself, and then he went on to think
of the ‘hounds of the Lord’ who were the Dominicans, and of the
Inquisition, a word which conjured up a dark empty crypt and stirred
gloomy echoes of history. He found himself wondering with anguish
whether he, too, the fanatical hound of the law, had not already
crossed the threshold of that crypt. (Ibid.)

When reading between the lines, it is impressive to find a prophetic

scepticism about the ideological dogmatism of the future anti-mafia
movement in a book that is certainly a cultural and political anti-mafia
manifesto.
The representation of the mafia created by Sciascia was shiny and new.
The book contains various ambiguities that were so misleading that they
seemed to be at one with human awareness, the viscosity of things and
feelings within which there seemed to be no possibility of distinction,
a sort of honour of arms between the anti-mafia fighter and the mafia
boss Don Mariano Arena, who both consider each other as men. These
ambiguities must inevitably be referred back to a more complex analysis,
to an anthropology of power and of ‘Sicilitude’, which the writer from
Racalmuto would have perfected, for example, in his observations of
Pirandello e la Sicilia regarding the sophistication of sexual morals thanks
to bourgeois-mafioso rules (Sciascia 1968, pp.16–19). The ambivalence
in his presentation of Don Mariano must not be interpreted, as shown
by Arlacchi, with the attitude of someone who risks being led down the
wrong path (or ‘bewitched by the monster’ as suggested by Vassalli), in
a land of boundaries where the mafia has its roots, and which Sciascia
heedlessly visits. For Sciascia-Bellodi, thinking of Don Mariano as a ‘man’
is the only way to be able to redeem a connection based on reason,
which is essentially honest, with a public reality that seems to him to be
illogical and unreasonable.
This approach by the ‘maestro from Racalmuto’ was different, as was
Judge Falcone’s, who, against the criminalisation of a whole section of
society which would otherwise be marginalised, had also noticed that

the significance of such ‘promiscuity’ between the mafia and Sicilian

society is not always clear. Palermo is a typical example of this. I lived
212 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

there until I was twenty-five and I knew the city very well ... . I talked
about it to recall the extraordinary economical, ideological and
moral proximity between the mafia and those not pertaining to it,
and the inevitable mingling between Sicilian values and those of the
mafia, between members of the organisation and ordinary people ... .
I mention all of this to show that this mixing between honest society
and the Mafioso society in Palermo can be seen by everybody, and
the infiltration of Cosa Nostra is a part of everyday life. I was also
friends at school with Franco La Parola, an entrepreneur who was
killed in 1984. We went to Liceo Umberto together. (Falcone 1991,
pp.88–89)

Judge Falcone then provided an answer to the dogmatism of the protag-

onists of the anti-mafia movement in the same interview with Marcelle
Padovani, reiterating that ‘it is perfectly possible to have a Mafioso
mentality without being a criminal’ (Falcone, 1989, p.76), and adding
that ‘if we want to effectively fight against the mafia, we must not trans-
form it into a monster, nor think of it as a parasite or cancer. We must
admit that we look very alike’ (ibid., p.83). Sicilians like Don Mariano
needed to be put in a position where they could choose, argued Sciascia
a few years later, ‘between the law and crime, and not between one
crime or the other’ (Sciascia 1986).
Falcone highlighted the connections, although it was a bit too embar-
rassing for some, between the tout court culture of Sicily and the mafioso
mentality. But it is this very busillis that was noted by Sciascia and will-
ingly ignored by Sciascia’s critics. Don Mariano is both an expression of
popular Sicilian culture and the mafia mentality. It is strange that people
like Vassalli, Arlacchi and Dalla Chiesa could attack Sciascia, but at the
same time praise Falcone. Their approaches, analyses and interpreta-
tions were identical, just like their anti-mafia loyalty.
It can be surmised that the character Bellodi was indeed like Judge
Falcone: calm, aware, determined and cautious, a man of universal curi-
osity, who nevertheless knows how to understand Don Mariano, and
how to make himself appear the same as Don Mariano.
With the character of Don Mariano, Sciascia learnt to recognise
humanity even in individuals who were apparently some of the worst.
Bellodi tried to investigate the secret of a man who is the bearer of
death, and what he found was unliberated energy. Although this energy
is an amoral power, it can definitely be steered into various directions.
However, reason can only stem from irrationality. The dilemma is not
only knowing how to establish ‘just reason’, and not the sort of reason
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 213

that brings death and violence through the mafia, but also how to
expose those that support and hide this reasoning of death and violence
found everywhere.
Don Mariano’s distinction of humanity into five categories and
Captain Bellodi’s admission that even Don Mariano, like himself, is a
man, is not an ideological error but rather a recognition of the inves-
tigator’s positivity towards the accused. Don Mariano does not decide
to live as a mafioso through criminal vocation; his way of life is rather
his answer to a clear socio-historical situation, in a context where the
distinguishing elements of Sicilian society clearly emerge. A sharp critic
like Filippo Ciluffo described Don Mariano as ‘a nameless man who is
not destined for conversion’ (Ciluffo 1985, p.201) because he is heavily
integrated into the order which is guaranteed by its justice, and into a
web together with his companions.
Bellodi never, not even for one moment, concedes any authority to
Don Mariano. Unlike what happened with the characters Rasconà or
Don Giovanni Malizia, the Captain never gives in to the charm and
wisdom of the mafia boss, neither does he shy away from his plan to
arrest him. Instead, he clearly outlines his previous crimes, as revealed
by one of the mafia boss’s henchmen, a transformist politician.

‘I had his dossier in my hands in 1927, it was thicker than that’ –

he pointed to one of Bentini’s tomes – ‘a kind of criminal encyclo-
pedia ... a for arson, b for battery, c for corruption ... the lot. Fortunately
the dossier vanished’. (Sciascia 1987, p.91)

The story reveals very profound tendencies and aspects of life on the
island. It shows how the intimidation of the mafia works against the
construction companies and contractors, such as the Colasberna family,
who refuse to work with the protection of the mafia. It also shows the
network of collusion which passes over the ecclesiastical hierarchy and
important representatives of national politics, as can be seen from the
statement by the high priest in one of the dialogues in the book: ‘In
Plain language, this means Don Mariano is revered and respected by the
whole town, is a bosom friend of mine and – believe me – I know how
to choose my friends, he is also highly thought of by the Honourable
Member Livigni and by the Minister Mancuso’ (ibid., pp.64–65).
Like Dolci, Sciascia brought another fundamental revolution: looking
at the mafia phenomenon from a political perspective. Hidden behind
the mafia, a corrupt political power that first rules over the large
estates and then the city can be found, but none of its critics have ever
214 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

emphasised this important aspect. The link between mafioso hierarchy

and political hierarchy is another complete novelty, which is made even
more significant through incisive observations of the dialogue.

‘I’ve just had a call from Rome; I am not saying from who, but you
can guess ... . That Bellodi – I told you, remember? – has stirred up
scandal on a national scale ... National I tell you ... One of those scan-
dals that, when someone like you or I is involuntarily involved, mean
there’s hell to my pay my friend, blackest hell.’ (Ibid., p.83–84)

According to Sciascia, despite being terribly primitive, Don Mariano’s

ethics are actually superior to that of his political protectors – this is why
his behaviour comes across to the reader almost as a form of collusion.
In fact, Captain Bellodi is not defeated by the cultural code of the mafia,
but rather by the political code of his superiors who in the end are the
real instigators of the various crimes. The condemnation of the state
clearly emerges from the incredible declaration by the deputy minister, a
former influential member of the Fascist Party, who said that ‘as regards
public order in Sicily, the Government saw no particular reason for
concern’ and continued

‘About the happenings at S., to which the honourable Members had

referred in their question, the Government, he said, had no comment
to make, since there was a judicial inquiry in course. The govern-
ment, however, considered these happenings as manifestations of
normal criminality and rejected the interpretation put on them by
the said Honourable Members. Furthermore, the government indig-
nantly rejected the base insinuation, spread by left-wing newspapers,
that certain Members of Parliament – and even of the Government –
had any connection whatsoever with elements of the so called mafia,
which in the opinion of the Government, only existed in the imagi-
nations of socialists and communists.’ (Ibid., p.112)

It can be said with certainty that the invisible network of silence and
omertà, the latter being the essence of Sicilian psychology, reveals
Bellodi’s sense of civic duty, who nevertheless is not defeated by Sicilian
cultural rules. Don Mariano, as already seen, wavers beneath the focused
accusations of the evidential structure constructed by the Emilian offi-
cial. Therefore both the main characters are victims, or losers; Bellodi,
as he is a representative of a state which is unable to bring justice (the
captain in the end will never be able to do anything against the alibis of
 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public 215

the accused, who come victoriously out of prison), and Don Mariano,
as he is an appendage of a power he is protected by. Don Mariano is an
enemy, and even though he is protected, he is recognisable and also easy
to get hold of. It would even be easy to convict him if it were not for,
concludes the Captain, the presence of a devious and sometimes anony-
mous power that protects him.
Despite the Captain’s temporary ‘defeat’ in Il giorno, Sciascia carries
out an important procedure that is completely opposed to the ideolog-
ical Sicilianist model. First of all, Captain Bellodi is the bearer of his own
political desperation, and of his individual pain – he is therefore far from
the doctrine of natural law shown by Rasconà or Don Malizia. Together
with this, Sciascia fully takes in the lesson taught by Manzoni, that of
using writing as a moral action and as a statement of the irremissible
principles of truth and justice.
Il giorno della civetta is therefore linked to a new awareness that was
emerging on the island during that period, ranging from the struggles
suffered by Dolci to the condemnations of Michele Pantaleone. Bellodi
was a symbol of this movement which tried in every way to turn over
a new leaf from the past; of those who, even in his writings, showed
real anger towards the criminal phenomenon – ‘I write books when I’m
angry’ (Baldwin 1980, p.30), as reaffirmed by Sciascia a few years later. It
is necessary to keep this mood in mind in order to understand the true
meaning of the most famous blow of the interrogation scene of Don
Mariano Arena. On the contrary, Sciascia is well acquainted with the
sort of mafia that is characterised by its conduct, and almost regrets it
20 years later when the violence and aggression of the Corleonesi started
to challenge the same state. It is above all a condemnation of the state,
rather than of Don Mariano, which has allowed things to carry on like
this. Sciascia does not reduce the mafia phenomenon to an element of
folklore, as was the case in the depictions of certain authors between the
19th and 20th centuries – Pitrè, Cesareo’s Rasconà and Comandè’s Don
Giovanni Malizia – but he saw its influential power on Sicilian life. This
is without doubt a remarkable novelty, an explosive change to the very
image of the criminal clique. This is the most significant contribution of
Leonardo Sciascia to the ‘Sicilianist’ myth of the mafia.
Conclusion

The appearance of the mafia as a criminal phenomenon cannot be clearly

dated, although the first half of the 19th century is generally indicated
as the period in which it emerged, with the creation of fratellanze, or
sects, known also as partiti, even if the ‘marriage’ of the thing, to the
mafioso phenomenon as the historian Di Bella has acutely observed, is
‘celebrated by Giuseppe Rizzotto on the stage of the Sant’Anna theatre
in 1863’ (Di Bella 1991, p.17). However, the mafia is not born in the
post-unification period nor in the minor towns of the island; its roots
are far deeper and more ancient. The first part of the book analysed
these very roots. It was the noble class who gave legitimacy and protec-
tion to the bands of brigand who roamed Sicily as early as the 18th
century, something which the Scottish traveller Patrick Brydone noted
with amazement. To his eyes, the alliance between the nobility and
‘proto-mafiosi’ was incredible. Brydone’s writings reveal how from the
beginning of the development of the criminal phenomenon, a culture
existed that was protective and tolerant towards the Sicilian organ-
ised criminal groups; it was these proto-mafia groups that encouraged
and fostered a spirit of the mafia, which took a more definitive form in
successive decades.
The figure of the gabelloto emerges as one of the few winners in the
process of unification, as illustrated in Il gattopardo (The Leopard), a
historical novel by Tomasi di Lampedusa, set in this very period. One
can claim that the mafia is a criminal and cultural phenomenon of
low life, and that a spirit was already present during the period of the
birth of the liberal united state, but, as shown in the second chapter
of this study, it was somehow legitimised by avant-garde intellectuals
who dominated the Italian literary scene at the end of the 19th century
(such as Capuana). These writers, despite making reference and writing

216
 Conclusion 217

about the mafia, never express a clear intention to denounce the crim-
inal phenomenon. More prominent in late-19th-century literature
were the anthropological theories of Pitrè, the Sicilian expert on folk
culture who had a ‘benign’ vision of the mafia and identified it with
popular traditions and feeling Sicilian. There is little or no historical
and political analysis of the phenomenon, despite the important late-
19th-century enquiries of Franchetti and Sonnino, the acute observa-
tions of Alongi and Colajanni, the emergence of the Fasci Siciliani and
the Notarbartolo affair. This last case illustrates the connivance between
mafia and politics and the formation of the phenomenon of Sicilianismo
with its impact on the very mystique of the mafia itself. The social and
cultural representation of the mafia circulates in the public and cultural
debate lags behind in its condemnation of the criminal phenomenon,
incapable of understanding it, even defending and excusing it, for much
of the 19th and 20th century. Only one Sicilian writer, Don Luigi Sturzo,
denounced the mafia in the first half of the 20th century, despite the fact
that fascism, through Prefect Mori, had taken decisive action against the
criminal consortium in Sicily, if only because fascism had to maintain
its image of strength and it could not tolerate the idea of ‘a state within
the state’.
It is only in the post-war period, when the mafia problem explodes
with violence, with the murders of the trade unionists, like Placido
Rizzotto and Salvatore Carnevale, and of those who fought for a fair
agricultural reform, that the problem began to be considered, including
all its illegal and cruel aspects. As emerged in Chapters 8 and 9, in the
post-war period there is an overturning of the 19th-century theories
and a real challenge to the mystique of the mafia. Literature senses
what politics had partially chosen to ignore: the mafia is not a benign
activity. Dolci and Sciascia saw that behind the mafia lay a network of
political and economic interests. Their writings, no longer contempla-
tive, folkloristic, or commendatory, became a matter of conscience and
condemnation.
Moreover their writings and actions have been an example, a lead,
and a guide for those who continued to challenge the mystique of the
mafia. In the decades that followed the logical heir of the two intellec-
tuals it was Sicilian anti-mafia Judge Giovanni Falcone who kept alive
the defiance towards the mafia mystique.
Through his investigations, writings and public appearances Giovanni
Falcone challenged the fundamental principles of the mafia and ques-
tioned constitutive traits of the criminal consortium like omertà, the
anthropological theories of Pitrè that had embellished the mafia as a
218 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

psychological trait of Sicilian nature or the conceptualisation of the mafia

as a secret sect that, in a situation of weakness and corruption of the public
authorities, avenged the injustice and suffering of oppressed people.
‘Let me explain that as a child I had breathed the air of the mafia with
every breath’ argued Falcone, ‘in the atmosphere of that period I also
breathed in an “institutional culture that denied the very existence of an
a, mafia and resisted any reference to it (Falcone 1992, p.21).
If Sciascia and Dolci were able to challenge the mystique of the mafia
in the 1950s and 1960s – denouncing in their writings its pervasiveness –
public opinion, the media and even the investigators took very little notice
of Cosa Nostra’s omnipresence and power in the Mediterranean island.
Despite Italy having to deal with embedded, resourceful and powerful
mafia consortia since its unification it was only in the last three decades
that the state ‘worked out and enacted criminal rules specially designed for
prosecuting criminal organisations of mafia-type’ (Colombo 2006, p.512).
The article 416 bis, which introduced in the legal system a new crime,
that of criminal association of Mafia-type, was only introduced in the
penal code after the murders of Pio La Torre and General Carlo Alberto
Dalla Chiesa in 1982.1
The cultural mystique and judicial delay in the comprehension of the
mafia phenomenon has certainly helped Cosa Nostra to prosper until
the 1980s.
Posited Giovanni Falcone, ‘I remember that in 1979 a number of
colleagues actually asked me: Does the mafia exist’ (Falcone 1992, p.93).

It wasn’t understood, nor was there a desire to understand that behind

many episodes of illicit activities there was only one and the same
mafia. Yet, one only needs to read the police reports of the Sixties to
discover that certain important individuals who went on to become
bosses, were already mentioned, that the basic structure of the organ-
isation was known. ...
the Seventies were the years of terrorism. ... Hardly anyone bothered
about the mafia. That was during which drug-trafficking began and
the mafia was transformed into the power it is today. So a grave error
was committed at a time when we had all the information needed
and when the conditions were right to understand and combat the
mafia. (Ibid., p.94)

It is only with Giovanni Falcone’s intuitions and his ability to ‘turn’

Tommaso Buscetta, a mafia boss, into a cooperating witness that we see
a pivotal moment in internally undermining the criminal organisation.
 Conclusion 219

As already argued, until the 1960s the word mafia defined a way of life,
a behaviour and an expression of traditional society.
Statements by pentiti have certainly helped to separate such a mystique
from the real organisation. Buscetta and other cooperating witnesses
provided an insight into the hierarchical structure, careful vetting of
members, divisions of territory and wide coordination mechanisms. The
statements also reveal that mafia groups tend to outlive their individual
members (Massari 2013, p.77; see also Lupo 2009, p.134).

Falcone (the ethnologist), Buscetta (the language teacher)

and the demise of the mafia mystique

In the mid-1970s, Cosa Nostra took over heroin trafficking from groups
operating out of Marseilles. Opium was transported directly from Asia
to Sicily, where it was refined into heroin and trafficked into US markets
(UN 2010, p.255; see also Dickie 2004, Lodato 2006).
In the US, heroin was distributed countrywide through a network of
pizzerias. From 1975 to 1984, this ‘pizza connection’ supplied about
one-third of the entire US market and 80% of the heroin consumed in
the country’s northeast region (UN 2010, p.256; see also Dickie 2004,
Falcone 1997).
The control of drug routes was the central cause of the mafia war in
Sicily, which ran between 1981 and 1983. ‘Much to the ire of the other
families, just a few – in particular the Bontade and Inzerillo families –
were well positioned to control the primary trafficking nodes. The fight
over this key territory left some 1000 people dead, giving Palermo a
murder rate three times the national average in 1982. The end result was
the dominance of one family – the Corleonesi – in the Sicilian heroin
trade and in the control of Cosa Nostra’ (UN 2010 p.255; see also Dickie
2004, Arlacchi 1996).
Former examining prosecutor Antonio Ingroia contends that the
so-called mafia war of the 1980s is termed incorrectly: ‘it wasn’t a war
but well planned eliminations of any rival who attempted any reaction
against the Corleonesi’ (Ingroia 2008). Riina and Provenzano trans-
formed a de facto ‘imperfect democracy’ into a dictatorship. The clans,
before the Corleonesi, regularly elected their bosses; ‘the Cupola “parlia-
ment” met regularly, discussed issues openly and then took a decision,
often by vote. As a rule, bosses sought to reach a consensus’ (Follain
2008, p.149). The new Cosa Nostra, in the words of Falcone ‘emerged,
stronger than ever, more compact, monolithic, watertight, rigidly hier-
archical and more clandestine than ever. The rebels and recalcitrant had
been winkled out and eliminated one by one’ (Falcone 1992, p.97).
220 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

Riina and Provenzano turned the fraternity into a dictatorship based

exclusively on terror. Bosses were imposed from above and chosen for
their links to the Corleonesi (Follain 2008, p.149), a pyramid-based
organisation totally subjected to the diarchy (see the new structure in
Figure C.1).
Up until 1984, very little was known about the Corleonesi, a powerful
mafia family who had been able to impose their leadership on Cosa
Nostra. The investigators of the time were looking for people suspected
of mafia activities or sentenced for murder but completely ignored the
existence and influence of mafia bosses, like Totò Riina or Bernardo
Provenzano from the Corleone family. Police investigations, led by Ninni
Cassarà, only started to report about the supremacy of the Corleonesi in
the early 1980s. Falcone then succeeded in integrating Buscetta’s state-
ment with these reports.
In his depositions, Buscetta delineated the internal structure of Cosa
Nostra.2 He also informed the public opinion that Cosa Nostra is the
term used by mafiosi to refer to the Sicilian mafia.

Cosa Nostra under

Corleonesi

Capo di
Tutti
Capi White collars,
professionals,
Politicians entrepreneurs and
Commissione
members of civil society

Mandamento
Capomandamento

Reggente Consigliere

Famiglia
Capo Famiglia

Vice Capo Consigliere

Decina
Capodecina
Uomini d’onore
Petty
Picciotti
criminals

Figure C.1 The old mafia ethos of mediation was replaced by the ruthless and
violent culture of the viddani (peasants) from Corleone
 Conclusion 221

Falcone’s aim, as well as Dolci and Sciascia’s in the 1950s and 1960s,
was to provide facts and to challenge Cosa Nostra’s mystique. As exam-
ining magistrate at the Palermo court, and through his writings and
interviews in the media, he provided us with ‘the most accurate guide to
Cosa Nostra’ (Paterson 1992) to date.
He believed that ‘the current power of the mafia is directly related
to our ignorance and underestimation of it. Step by step and with the
invaluable contribute of Tommaso Buscetta he put together a compre-
hensive picture of the complex criminal consortium that was at the
heart of the subsequent Maxi trial’ (Falcone 1992, p. 16).
Falcone’s investigations, as has been argued by Deborah Puccio-Den
(2011), ‘could not overlook any single detail, like an ethnologist’
(Puccio-Den 2001, p.17). As Falcone himself put it, ‘in the world of Cosa
Nostra every detail has a precise meaning and is related to another details
in a logical pattern’ (Falcone 1992, pp.16–17). Falcone had managed to
overcome some of the stumbling blocks that had hampered the work of
other investigators in the early 1980s, even after the enactment of the
Rognoni–La Torre law.
Falcone contended that in the recent past,

the usual response to mafia crimes ... , where it was difficult to gather
enough evidence to incriminate the assassins, was to establish the
background against which the crime had been carried out and subse-
quently to incriminate members of the organisation on the basis of
the criminal association. The accused was brought to trial ... . But
these were only palliatives. Soon, in fact the so called criminal associ-
ates were released and only a tiny proportion of them were actually
sentenced. (ibid., p. 140)

He argued that with the help of the new crime of mafia association,
these trials served only to detain a few people who were suspected of
having committed terrible crimes, for a while, but against whom there
was ultimately insufficient evidence. ‘The famous La Torre Law, passed
in 1992, ultimately did nothing but perfect this policy, emphasising
the experience of the individual Mafioso and introducing certain new
elements to the specific crime of mafia association such as intimidation,
and l’omertà, or the code of silence, which had not been included in
the crime of ordinary criminal association’. Yet the La Torre law, created
specifically to tackle the phenomenon of the mafia and to overcome
the problem of lack of evidence and according to judge Falcone, ‘(due
in part to the unwillingness of the general public to co-operate with us,
222 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

and the difficulty in finding witnesses willing to testify in mafia trails)

does not seem to have made a decisive contribution to the fight against
the mafia’ (ibid., pp.141–42).
Without a method, argued Falcone, no one can understand anything.
‘All the information gathered in Cosa Nostra and the evolution of its
methods has been enormously important to the work of the magistrates
and the police. As far as I am concerned it has above all helped me to
dissect the various criminal cases brought to me’ (ibid., p.109). ‘At the
end results is that evidence which once would only have been strong
enough to justify opening an enquiry ends up being used to obtain a
conviction’ (ibid., p.142), and banking investigations were often key
evidences in his investigations.
Falcone’s endeavour to ‘reconstruct a dense network of connivance
between the Sicilian cosche and the Gambino family using minute clues
such as bank statements, airfares tickets, photographs and fingerprints’
(Puccio-Den 2001, p.18) brought rewards.
Falcone’s distinction also derived from his ability to interpret the codes
the mafiosi used: ‘our work as magistrates also includes mastering a key
for interpreting signs. For me, a Palermitan, this is only natural’ (Falcone
1992, pp.27–28). He was able, like fellow Sicilian Leonardo Sciascia, to
understand a culture that is nothing less than a ‘heightened attachment
to typical Sicilian values and behaviour one must have breathed the air
of the mafia with every breath’ (ibid., p.28). ‘I collaborated with Falcone’
another pentito, Antonio Calderone, told a newspaper, ‘because he is a
man of honour’ (Arlacchi 1996, p.17). Why did these men of honor trust
me? Falcone observed himself I believe they know that I understand the
torment they go through ... . and above all they know that, when they
speak to me, they are being heard by someone who has, in one way,
lived through similar experiences to their own.
I was born in the same neighbourhood as many of them. I know the
Sicilian spirit well. From an inflexion in the voice, a wink of the eye I can
understand much more than from a long statement. (Falcone 1992, p. 50).
Buscetta’s revelations were a real breakthrough in the knowledge about
Cosa Nostra. ‘Before Buscetta we had only a superficial knowledge of the
mafia phenomomen’. With him we began to look inside it. He gave us
confirmation of its structure, its recruiting methods and its raison d’etre.
But above all he gave us a broad, far reaching global vision of the organi-
sation. He gave us the essential keys to the interpretation of the mafia, a
language, a code. For us he was like a language teacher who could enable
us to go to Turkey without having to communicate by gestures. ... . Other
pentiti have perhaps greater importance than Buscetta in terms of the
 Conclusion 223

content of their revelations. But he was the only one who taught us a
method ... this method can be summed up in few concepts, we must reign
to conducting very large investigations, to gather as much more or less
relevant information as possible, ... so that once we have all the pieces of
the puzzle, we can develop a strategy” (ibid., p. 23–24)
As the investigation deepened “ ‘a network emerged, a structure took
shape, and from one relationship to the next’ the unified nature of Cosa
Nostra became clear. By reconstructing the culture ‘from inside’, like an
ethnologist, the judge was able to organise data already collected into
a coherent system” (Puccio-Den 2001, p.19). However, the Maxi Trial
enquiry did not hinge entirely on Buscetta’s revelations. Falcone was
able to ‘outline a fairly comprehensive panorama of Cosa Nostra from all
possible perspectives’ (Falcone 1992, p.63). Cosa Nostra, learnt Falcone,
‘is not only secret to the outside ... . But also within itself; it discourages
full knowledge of the facts and creates obstacles to the circulation of
information ... Cosa Nostra is the realm of incomplete speech. It should
therefore be no surprise that today, revelations of facts unknown even
to the men of honour who have been at the top of Cosa Nostra come to
light’ (Arlacchi 1996, pp.85–87).
Cosa Nostra, argued Falcone, is a ‘serious and perfectly organised’ insti-
tution. It is, a society, an ‘organisation which to all intents and purposes
has its own legal system. Its regulations, in order to be respected and
adhered to, require effective means of sanction. Given that within the
mafia structure there are no courts and no police force either, it is essen-
tial that each of its citizens know what punishment is inevitable and that
the sentence will be carried out immediately’ (Falcone 1992, p. 17).
Falcone stumbles on a notion of statehood: ‘this mafia which, when you
look closely, is essentially nothing other than a need for order and there-
fore, a state ... . This adventure has made my sense of the state even more
authentic. By confronting the mafia state, I realised just how much more
functional and effective it is than our state’ (ibid., p.71). In this respect,
what really set Giovanni Falcone apart, and gave him the symbolic value
he has acquired since his death, was his confidence that the mafia could
actually be beaten; ‘his life set a rare example of optimism in the midst of
much hand-wringing and defeatism’ (Paterson 1992).
Falcone, more than anyone, was at the heart of undermining the
romantic image of mafiosi being men of honour. Anti-mafia Judge
Roberto Scarpinato suggests that Cosa Nostra ‘with its ranks and its roles
offers an identificatory path to individuals who do not want to remain
“nuddu miscatu nenti” (a person mixed with nothing), to use an expres-
sion often employed by the pentiti. By embodying a positive image of
224 Challenging the Mafia Mystique

the state, Falcone and Borsellino made other identifications possible

prompting the Mafiosi to repent’ (Scarpinato 1998 in Puccio-Den 2001).
The importance of Falcone also lies in the fact that the Maxi Trial
alone would never have had an impact on society if it had not occurred
along with other, more profound, changes that Falcone’s teachings had
initiated. He produced a conflict and a contradiction within the Italian/
Sicilian ‘quiet life’. He made politicians and civil society officials under-
stand that hat no one could keep a blind eye towards such a criminal
organisation. This was the turning point against the embedment of the
mafia. Pino Arlacchi speaks of a ‘cultural revolution, that consists in
no longer considering the mafia as essential to Sicilian society or as a
sort of fate specific to the island and consequently, in believing in the
ethical superiority of the state of law and its representatives’ (Chinnici
et al. 1992, p.56). The work of Falcone and his colleagues heralded the
demise, and even death, of the mafia mystique.
The death of Falcone and Borsellino deeply changed Cosa Nostra and
the fight against the mafia. Today the organisation is widely challenged.
The media has followed this lead. Mafiosi are literally on the run. Arrests
throughout the organisation’s hierarchies are numerous, and mafia assets
worth billions of euros have been seized (and redistributed for social
ends). Effectively, with Falcone’s death a new generation was born. The
beginnings of a society where previous images explored in this book are
gone. Mafiosi are now seen by most as criminals. This is the legacy of
‘generation Falcone’, to use Norma Ferrara’s epithet (Ferrara 2012).

Postface

‘Do you believe that the word comes from the Arabic?’
‘Very probably, dear sir, very probably ... But when it comes to words,
this is a science that is far from certain: where they come from, what
roads they have taken, the changes in their meanings: a hellish
chaos ... ... The fact is that everyone tries to understand what it means
now before finding out the origin of the word: and this is where the
problems begin; those who believe the word refers to a state of mind
go off in one direction, those who believe it refers to a state of affairs
go off in another.’
‘So Pitrè says that the word mafia, whatever its origins and registered for
the first time only in 1868, existed before the coming of Garibaldi.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘There are many things you don’t know, dear sir, and it is good to remember
that learning is a wonderful thing’ (Sciascia 1974, pp.93–97).
Notes

Introduction
1. Report of the Prefect of Palermo of 25 April 1865 (Alatri 1954, p.92).
2. For a detailed analysis of Pitrè and his interpretation of the word mafia exclu-
sively from a psychological and folkloristic point-of-view, see the following
chapters.

1 The Origins of the Mafia as a Criminal Phenomenon and

as a spirit
1. The maestranze survived the suppression of the 18th century, carried out else-
where, which followed the new Enlightenment ideology. The very close sense
of solidarity between members and the ties which were both religious and
economic guaranteed stability and strength to these organisations, but they
were bound to an ecclesiastical and feudal system of privileges. For a detailed
analysis of the role of the maestranze in pre-unification Sicily, see Domenico
Novacco, Inchiesta sulla mafia, (1963, pp.86–87) and, by the same author,
Mafia ieri, mafia oggi, (1972, pp.83–84).
2. For further analysis of the legend of the Beati Paoli, see the following
chapters.
3. The text of the proclamation of 28 May 1621 reads: ‘vendere et alienare ...
ogni giurisdizione di mero e misto impero, alta e bassa, cum gladii potestate,
a tutte quelle città et università et terre del Regno che la vorranno comprare’
(Bonaffini, 1975, pp.18–19).
4. The writer Brydone, whom we will go on to look at in detail, was one of the
first to describe with spirit and efficiency the link between the noble class and
mafiosi ante litteram.
5. The first chapter of the Promessi Sposi is largely dedicated to enumerating
the grida, with which the viceroys and governors of Milan tried to solve the
problem of the bravi, paid by the local lords to guarantee their personal safety,
but who often behaved more like paid assassins.
6. The legations were the administrative and territorial divisions of the Roman
Curia. The organisation of the church’s territory dates from under Clemente
XI (1700–1721), Dizionario di Storia, 1995.
7. The first edition was published in London in 1773, followed immediately by
nine other editions. The book was rapidly translated into German and French.
The Italian version only appeared in 1901.
8. See the following chapters.

225
226 Notes

2 The Abolition of Feudalism, Mafia in the Unified

Kingdom and I Mafiusi della Vicaria
1. For a more detailed picture on the Bourbon restoration, see also La mafia in
un villaggio siciliano (1860–1960) by A. Block and Storia della Sicilia medievale e
moderna by D. Mack Smith.
2. See also on this subject the interesting work by Giovanna Fiume Le bande
armate in Sicilia, Palermo, Sellerio, 1984.
3. See the following chapters.
4. F. Renda, ‘Mitologia e sociologia della mafia’ in La mafia. Quattro studi, Aa.Vv,
Bologna, 1970.
5. F. Renda, Storia della Sicilia, Vol. III, Palermo, Sellerio, 1984–87, p.115.
6. The gabellotto in Sicily was someone who paid the gabella, or the tax for
renting a property, usually of a large size. He was therefore a tenant, except
that the gabellotto did not usually cultivate the land himself but sublet to
others, thereby loading the extra cost of mediation onto the last person in the
chain.
7. The terrible prison was between Piazza Marina and the Cala del Carbone;
completed in 1598 and in use until the end of the 19th century, it was then
replaced by the safer prison of the Ucciardone.
8. Although literary verismo is best represented by Southern Italians and Sicilians
(Verga and Capuana above all), it was in Milan that the movement origi-
nated in the 1870s. It was partly the positive outcome of the non-conformist,
subversive Scapigliatura movement which involved painters, musicians, poets,
critics and had its centre in Milan. The aspiration to free themselves from
cultural provincialism led the scapigliati to look outside Italy towards France,
in particular, and Germany. French naturalism and Zola became major cultural
references. Verga’s arrival in Milan, in 1872, came at the right moment in his
literary career.
Verga’s verismo, after his arrival in Milan, was a rediscovery of the popular,
ethical world of his rural Sicily which he contemplated and described with
the detachment and nostalgia of a transplanted intellectual. ‘Restraint
may be singled out as the dominant feature of Verga’s stories and novels
of the 1880s: restraint of passion and emotion in the portrayal of Sicilian
peasants and fishermen; formal restraint in the elaboration of a terse, self-
effacing, sapid prose style which almost lets the story tell itself and the
characters speak their minds in their own way. Sensationalism and excess
are banished on principle. Violence may occur in the form of murder
and is set within the natural ethics of the community which endorses it.
(Sansone, 1987 p.15).
A good example is the short story novella, Cavalleria rusticana, where
Alfio has to challenge Turiddu in public and then kill him in a rustic duel.
Cavalleria rusticana was later adapted as an opera in one act by Pietro
Mascagni in 1890, and considered one of the classic verismo operas. Its
music has been the inspiration for mafia movies (the most notable example
is the opera which Anthony Corleone appeared in at the Teatro Massimo in
Palermo).
9. M. Onofri, Tutti a cena da Don Mariano, Milano, Bompiani, 1996, p.52.
 Notes 227

10. Antonio Starabba, marquis di Rudinì, a Sicilian politician, was mayor (1864)
and then prefect (1866), before moving to Naples in 1868. He was minister
and member of parliament for right-wing movements and headed two
governments (1891–92 and 1896–98) whose policies were anti-Crispi (i.e.
limits to expenditure on the home front and a rapprochement with France
on the foreign front).
11. G. Nicastro, Teatro e società in Sicilia, Roma, Siia, 1978, p.16.
12. S.F. Romano, Storia della mafia, Milano, Mondadori, 1963, pp.170–71.
13. D. Pantano, ‘Proposta di messa in scena de I mafiusi della Vicaria’ in
Risorgimento e mafia in Sicilia, edited by S. Di Bella, Cosenza, Pellegrini, 1991,
p.95.
14. S. Pedone, Prefazione a I mafiusi della Vicaria, Palermo, La Zisa, 1994, p.vi.
15. G. Rizzotto, I mafiusi della Vicaria, Palermo, La Zisa,1994, p.54.
16. Loschiavo rightly notes that the last act of the play, added later, ‘is fairly flat
and stilted ... with a rhetorical, bombastic and non-spontaneous finale, where
the unknown or Incognito turns up’. He adds that ‘to have this unknown
man, armed with a revolver, appear in the workshop of Gioacchnio Funciazza
to stop the outbreak of fighting single-handedly, and threaten judicial perse-
cution like a policeman, seems to me to have been an act of stupidity on the
part on the author’ (Loschiavo 1962, p.95).
17. Probably the author meant to be ironic here; the mafia is also a society of
mutual assistance. For Diego Gambetta, in fact, this is the fundamental
nature of the honourable society.
18. P. Mazzamuto, La mafia nella letteratura, Palermo, Andò, 1970, p.15.
19. All classes of society from the nobility to the working class saw the play, and
this is above all what made it so important. The play enjoyed great success
nationwide and the company toured as far as Milan and Turin, as would
happen later with Verga’s Cavalleria rusticana.
20. The lampa was ‘the name of a sort of tribute that a new prisoner was asked
and obliged to pay to the head-camorrista of the cell on the first evening’
(Pitrè 1889, p.325).
21. S. Di Bella, Risorgimento e mafia in Sicilia, i mafiusi della Vicaria di Palermo,
Cosenza, Pellegrini, 1991, p.17.
22. L. Franchetti, Condizioni politiche e amministrative, Roma, Donzelli, 1993,
p.93.

3 Public and Private Enquiries on the Criminal

Consortium ... but the Mafia Doesn’t Exist
1. R. Catanzaro, Il delitto come impresa, Milano, Rizzoli, 1991, p.126.
2. Atti Parlamentari della Camera dei deputati, (1874–75), ‘Discussioni’, 11
giugno 1875, p.4126 in Storia della mafia, S. Lupo, Roma, Donzelli, 1993,
p.28.
3. This historian was one of the most important intellectuals of the second half
of the 19th century. He gave rise to the theories of Italian positivism and
wanted to apply the methods of the exact sciences to the humanities (the
so-called historic method). His intellectual activities were matched by his
intense participation in political life. Apart from his institutional roles (he
228 Notes

was MP for the right twice and minister for education in the government
of Rudinì in 1891–92), his comments about Italian social problems were
considered to be authoritative, and he was regarded as one of the most lucid
and attentive analysts of the time. His writings about the Mezzogiorno were
particularly important, and his Le lettere meridionali (Napoli, Roma-Firenze,
Bocca, 1882) are considered the starting point for Italian meridionalismo.
4. These were inspired by a series of writings in letter form sent by Pasquale
Villari to the newspaper L’opinione in 1875. At the centre of attention were
the appalling socio-cultural conditions of the South, but also the means and
methods of the Italian Unification, and in general the cultural and political
omissions of the country. Altogether, Le lettere meridionali represent an exam-
ination of the conscience of the whole generation which had directed the
Unification, and they are considered the first expression of the meridional-
ismo (meridionalist movement).
5. The notabili (important people) were those who controlled the political and
economic power in liberal Italy of the late 19th century, thanks to their
capacity to create a network of clients who ensured their re-election to
parliament.
6. G.C. Marino, L’opposizione mafiosa, Palermo, Flaccovio, 1996, p.139.
7. Archivio Centrale di Stato, ‘L’inchiesta sulle condizioni sociali ed econom-
iche della Sicilia (1875–76)’, Bologna, 1969, in Il nome e la cosa, Tessitore,
Milano Angeli, 1997, p.110.
8. Ibid.
9. Ibid., p.110–11.
10. G. Bonfadini, ‘L’inchiesta sulle condizioni sociali ed economiche della Sicilia
(1875–76)’, in Il nome e la cosa, Tessitore, Milano Angeli, 1997, pp.110–11.
11. Franchetti was a 29-year-old from Livorno. He was a rich landowner who had
studied in Paris and then at the Law Faculty at Pisa. He was a liberal, influenced
by the ideas of positivism proposed by Stuart Mill. In Florence, during the 1870s,
he became associated with Pasquale Villari and Sidney Sonnino. Together they
created a group of conservative intellectuals, openly hostile to the left-wing
government. Franchetti, along with Sonnino, dedicated his life to politics and
was elected to the Chamber in 1882, becoming Senator in 1909. He was a
famous landowner, but his life was marked by his humanitarian sentiment and
philanthropy, and he founded a cloth factory that was managed directly by the
workers. On hearing of the defeat at Caporetto, he shot himself, leaving his
lands to the peasants and creating scandal among the landowners. Sonnino,
Franchetti’s contemporary, was Florentine, son of a banker and an English prot-
estant; he had started a diplomatic career, and had shared the experience of the
Commune in the French capital along with Franchetti. Sonnino had a long,
brilliant political career, becoming minister several times, and prime minister,
even if only for a few months, in 1906 and 1909, respectively.
12. E. Cavalieri, Introduzione a La Sicilia del ‘76, di L. Franchetti e S. Sonnino,
Firenze, Vallecchi, 1926, p.XV.
13. L. Franchetti, Condizioni politiche e amministrative della Sicilia, Roma, Donzelli,
1993, pp.14, 34.
14. This state of affairs was also recorded by a noble lady in c.1900 in her auto-
biographical novel, L. De Stefani La mafia alle mie spalle, Milano, Mondadori,
1991. The family estate had been left to a local head-mafioso.
 Notes 229

15. R. Conti, Risposta all’orrendo libello di Leopoldo Franchetti intitolato ‘La Sicilia nel
1876: condizioni politiche e amministrative’, Catania, Trinacria, 1877, p.112.
16. P. Pezzino, Industria della violenza, Firenze, La Nuova Italia, 1995, pp.34–35.
17. Rudinì follows the paradigm of the play by Rizzotto, even if the word mafiusu
appeared only in the title.
18. As regards this, we should note the position of Giuseppe Stocchi, in one
(the fifth) of the 14 letters published in August and September 1874 in the
Gazzetta d’Italia, which dealt with law and order in Sicily.
However, the mafia is not really an association, or at least it isn’t always,
and it is one only very rarely. Whosoever out of physical strength or
mental superiority, or other obvious merits, feels capable of imposing
himself on others ... behaves like a mafioso ... this is, in a manner of
speaking, the good mafia, usually innocuous and sometimes even posi-
tive, when the aims and intentions of the leader are not dishonest and
perverse. (In Pezzino 1987, nota p.926)
19. G. Pitrè, Usi e costumi, credenze e pregiudizi del popolo siciliano, Vol. II, Palermo,
Forni, 1889, p.289.
20. M. Onofri, Tutti a cena da Don Mariano, Milano, Bompiani, 1996, p.40.
21. ‘The mafioso wants to be repected and almost always respects others. If
he has been offended, he doesn’t turn to justice, or the law; if he did so
this would be proof of weakness, and would offend omertà, which regards
as schifiusu [offensive word meaning ribald, society’s rubbish, damned etc.
V. Mortillaro 1876] or ‘nfami [infame, vile] those who for whatever motive
turn to the magistrates’ (Pitrè 1889, Vol. II, p.292, my italics).
22. This is the socio-anthropological school of thought which during the 1970s
and 1980s produced interesting but, according to some historians, some-
times misleading studies. If the works of Hess (1970), Block (1986), Boissevain
(1974), Schneider and Schneider (1988) and Arlacchi (1983) are to be believed,
Lupo observes, ‘the network of family, client and friend relationships of the
various mafia heads would in itself describe the structure of the cosca; which
would thus represent one of the forms taken by family relationships, clients
and friendships in Sicily. The cosca would thus represent a small, unstable
structure, unwilling to formalise the associative ties’ (Lupo 1993, p.13).
23. See the interesting work of G. Alongi La maffia nei suoi fattori e nelle sue mani-
festazioni. Saggio sulle classi pericolose in Sicilia, Palermo, Napoli, Sandron,
1940.
24. L. Sciascia, Opere, Vol. II, 1987, pp.1106–107.
25. We should remember the various theories of the schools of penal law, with
exponents such as Ferri and Lombroso (L’uomo delinquente, Torino, Bocca,
1889). According to these two eminent jurists and sociologists, physical
factors (climate, temperature) and anthropological ones (race) have a funda-
mental influence on the criminal phenomenon. Lombroso also produces a
well-known study of the somatic characteristics which indicate an innate
tendency to crime: dolichocephalism and brachycephalism. The theory,
staunchly supported by Lombroso, claims to indicate a geographical distri-
bution of crime, because the climate and racial characteristics are the cursed
heritages which incite crime, violence and robbery.
26. Collected in the fascinating book by Antonino Uccello, Carcere e mafia nei
canti popolari siciliani, Bari, De Donato, 1974.
230 Notes

27. As we have seen, the word ‘camorra’ in the language of the time, is used
mainly for associations of malefactors in the prisons, and by extension, for
a violent imposition of an illegal force, for example, in the expression ‘la
camorra delle aste pubbliche’ (the camorra of the public bids for contracts).
28. G. Pitrè, Canti popolari siciliani, Vol. I, Palermo, Carlo Clausen, 1940, pp.69–70.
29. Giuseppe di Menza was a Sicilian magistrate famous for a popular series
about Sicilian brigands, who in open conflict with Franchetti, used linguistic
and ethnological facts about the word mafia and the phenomenon shame-
lessly. His theories were taken up even outside Sicily, as is demonstrated by
the book written by a lieutenant of the Bersaglieri, sent to Sicily to fight
brigandage, who dogmatically repeats Menza’s theories (Fincati 1881).
30. G. Pitrè, Usi e costumi, credenze e pregiudizi del popolo siciliano, Vol. II, Palermo,
Forni, 1889, p.294.
31. Ibid., pp.294–301.

4 Mafia and Politics in Sicilian Society at the End of the

19th Century: The Notarbartolo Affair, the Formation of
‘Sicilianism’ and Consolidation of the Mafia Mystique
1. Gaetano Mosca (1858–1941) was an Italian jurist, lecturer in constitutional
law, deputy (1909–19), senator from 1919, and undersecretary for the colo-
nies (1914–16). He was a political theorist linked to the right-wing group,
and he criticised the problems of the parliamentary system. He wrote several
works including Elementi di scienza politica (Roma, Letta, 1896) in which he
outlined his theory about the political class (Mondadori 1999).
2. In finance, stornare means transferral of money from one entry to another;
rectify; correct an account.
3. Barone notes that ‘the elections of March 1897 required prudence from
judges and politicians: Palizzolo became pro-government and Codronchi
accepted his candidacy to strengthen the ministerial list in the capital of the
island; Di Rudinì, with his typical cynicism, suggested to Notarbartolo’s son
that he should avenge himself, finding a paid killer to get rid of Palizzolo’
(Barone 1987, p.312).
4. Giuseppe Fontana, mafioso of Villabate, could boast of a long series of acquit-
tals from serious accusations. After the Notarbartolo trial, he was employed
by the Prince of Scalea to administer his estate. He was arrested early in 1894
together with other mafiosi from Villabate for criminal association, but not for
the Notarbartolo murder, and again acquitted by the Palermo court for lack of
evidence – also because the Prince of Scalea gave evidence on his behalf. He
then moved on to the Prince of Mirto, whose lands were threatened by the
brigand Varsalona, and became his go-between. While he was being hunted
for the Notarbartolo murder, Fontana decided to give himself up, and he was
accompanied by the prince’s lawyer in the coach, with the family coat of
arms, directly to the house of Questor Sangiorgi. This complicated procedure
indicated two important aspects of the mafia code: the man of honour did
not recognise in any way the constitutional powers (his surrender was just to
avoid greater problems for his protector) and he gave himself up to Sangiorgi
in private, therefore to the gentleman and not to the state official.
 Notes 231

5. Il giorno, 8 gennaio 1900.

6. A newspaper was founded by the committee which supported Palizzolo’s
innocence (A. Crisantino 1994, p.44).
7. The Florio family was the only Sicilian industrial group in Sicily in the 19th
century and the first decades of the 20th century. They managed to construct
a Sicilian mercantile fleet in a few years, producing Marsala, and in the first
decades after Unification they created a real industrial empire, which disap-
peared quite rapidly, however, because it had no cultural hinterland behind it
nor was it part of a commercial network.
8. This movement was created to stir up agitation in the city and collect funds to
plead for the annulment of the sentence at the Court of Cassation.

5 The Literature of Defence and the ‘Heresy’ of Don Sturzo

1. This definition is found in a letter of 18 February1881 in C. Madrignani 1970,
p.124.
2. In French and European naturalism there is a vitality – a force and social
evolution where the intellectuals attempt to portray the world in which they
live – with a marked desire to improve, progress and aspire to greater things.
3. In Sicily and the south of Italy, there is an increasing distance between the
intelligence of the few and the blind and mute desolation of the majority. The
Italian exponent of verismo remains the galantuomo (gentleman) who bows
down to contemplate ‘with sincere piety but a touch condescendingly, the
material and moral misery in which the masses seen to be immersed without
hopes for salvation in the near future’ (N. Sapegno 1973, pp.323–24).
4. The ideological-political position of Capuana with regards to the problems
posed by Boutet has been analysed by D. Tanteri 1989, pp.33–55. The same
aspect is taken up in the introduction to an edition of L’isola del sole by Nicolò
Mineo 1994, pp.9–19.
5. For a detailed analysis of the political events of the period, see G. Candeloro
1970, Vol.IV, pp.408–11; R .Villari 1984, pp.294–96.
6. L. Capuana 1994, p.36, and again on pp.44, 58, 78.
7. The missing act was not destroyed as the critic Montemagno suggested because
‘at a certain stage in his life, Sturzo realised that his play, staged at any time
after the Second World War would have seemed to be an unwitting prophecy,
but was given to his friend Giuseppe Spataro who realised that he had the last
act when the manuscript of the first four acts was due to be published’ (De
Rosa 1986, p.XIV). De Rosa adds in his preface, ‘I think that all the story of the
fifth act was simply a case of an archival adventure, quite easily explained’.
Sturzo had entrusted his mainly Calatine archive to ‘his brother Mario, Bishop
of Piazza Armerina, when he went into exile; some manuscripts he gave to
Spataro, and others he took with him, incrementing this part with the new
documents produced in exile. On his return to Italy, he tried to assemble
all this material, and it is quite likely that things got muddled up. I cannot
exclude that, before he began to sort it all out, documents were removed or
confused, but nothing which would imply a deliberate desire to make the fifth
act disappear, because it is part of the logic of the play as Sturzo had conceived
it’ (ibid., p.XIX).
232 Notes

8. There was a flourishing popular theatre in Sicily at the time, exemplified by

the theatre of Angelo Musco and Giovanni Grasso.

6 The Popular Legitimisation of the Mafia: The Beati Paoli

and the Mafioso as an Avenger
1. Bernardino Verro, socialist mayor of Corleone, director of the agrarian coop-
erative movement, and great organiser of the peasant struggles to have
the so-called Pact of Corleone applied, was assassinated in this town on 3
November 1915.
2. Many authors were inspired by the idea of a secret society, a theme which is
still kept alive today in oral traditions. In the 18th century, the Marquis of
Villabianca wrote a work, Opuscolo sui Beati Paoli, which aimed to demon-
strate that the sect was not made up of avengers but of assassins; Benedetto
Naselli was inspired to write a play on the subject with the same title as
Natoli’s book, I Beati Paoli; and Vincenzo Linares and Giuseppe Bruno Arcaro
dedicated works to the mysterious sect. Giuseppe Pitrè was also interested
in the subject and collected everything that survived about the organisa-
tion in the form of songs and tales. Natoli’s novel was then published in a
single volume by the publishers Gutemberg of Palermo in 1921, and then in
1949 it was sold by the publishers ‘La Madonnina di Milano’, who reprinted
the book in 1955. In 1947 the story became a film I cavalieri dalle maschere
nere, produced by the Organizzazione Filmistica Siciliana and directed by Pino
Mercanti.
3. These elements will be found again above all in The Godfather by Mario Puzo,
but also in the interviews with Genco Russo, both by Sciascia and Dolci.
4. Sciascia also uses the main character in this way in Il giorno della civetta, above
all in the famous conversation with Captain Bellodi.
5. This is best represented by the film version by Michael Cimino of The Sicilian,
based on the novel by Mario Puzo, The Sicilian in which the story of the
Sicilian bandit becomes a true defence of banditry and the ‘benign mafia’ of
the day.
6. Cesareo’s play (pp.33–34).

7 Fascism and the Surrender of the Mafia, the Allied

Invasion and the Return of the Villains
1. ‘U zu’ is the name given to someone who is well integrated in the mafia
group.
2. In May 1924 during his first visit to the island, ‘while Mussolini’s cortege
was moving through Piana dei Greci, near Palermo, the mayor, Mafioso Don
Francesco Cuccia, gestured disparagingly towards the Prime Minister’s bodi-
guards and muttered unctuously in his ear “You are with me, you are under
my protection. Why do you need all these cops for?” The Duce did not reply
and fumed for the rest of the day at the insolence’ (Dickie 2004, p.182). This
episode has passed into legend as ‘catalyst for Mussolini’s war on the mafia’
(ibid.).
 Notes 233

3. Formerly connected to the American Black Hand, he had returned to Sicily

some years before and was suspected of the murder of the Italo-American
policeman Joe Petrosino.
4. It is clear here that the new Nationalistic-Popular course is gaining more
followers.
5. Literature and non-fiction, like art (futurist painting, sculpture and the
Dannunzian superman), are strongly influenced by fascist ideology.
6. A historic character who also appears in Il Gattopardo.
7. As we will see, a similar self-portrait is drawn by Don Genco Russo in Danilo
Dolci’s Spreco, and then repeated to Leonardo Sciascia in an article in a daily
newspaper.
8. The philosophy of Don Mariano Arena, in Il giorno della civetta.
9. Typical of the bourgeoisie, as clearly indicated in Sciascia’s Pirandello e la
Sicilia (1961, pp.16–54).
10. From 1849 to an unknown date, after Aspromonte, probably c. 1875.
11. This often happened in the traditional historical novel and would also
happen in Tomasi di Lampedusa’s masterpiece, Il Gattopardo.
12. This comment on the survivors of the adventure of Garibaldi is very inter-
esting: ‘Heroes and not heroes, all the volunteers had been elevated morally
and had acquired an awareness of their own human and social worth: all of
them had conquered something and felt deep down that they had new rights
to assert, without understanding what or who they were, but they felt them’
(Comandè 1930, p.224).
13. On 10 July 1943, the Allied invasion began in Sicily with a huge deploy-
ment of men and resources and marked a turning point in the Second World
War. This was, in fact, the first military action of the Allies (the alliance led
by the United States, the Soviet Union and Great Britain) that took place
directly in enemy territory. Two entire armies landed in Sicily (the American
Seventh and the the British Eighth) and advanced quickly without meeting
much opposition; in fact, by 17 August, all of Sicily had been conquered
with a minimum of bloodshed. The invasion forced Italy out of the pro-
Nazi coalition and on 25 July 1943 the majority of the great council (the
supreme organ of the Fascist party) voted to remove Mussolini from his post
as head of the regime. Immediately afterwards, the king had the former Duce
arrested and formed a new government presided over by General Badoglio
who signed the Armistice with the Allies, announced on 8 September 1943.
14. Cited in a number of books published in the years to come. This legend has
also been used to justify the re-emergence of the mafia in Sicily after the fall
of fascism in a 1993 Timewatch documentary, Allied to the Mafia: the extraor-
dinary story of the Second World War’s most secret alliance between the US
Naval Intelligence and the Italian American Mafia.
15. After fascism, when Sicily returned to democratic life once more, the leading
figures in public life who had successfully survived the dictatorship also
returned to the political scene. At the end of 1943, the American Captain
W.E. Scotten, former vice-consul in Sicily, wrote an important report about
the mafia in Sicily called The Problem of Mafia in Sicily, which described the
reappearance of these important figures: ‘the professional politicians of the
pre-Fascist period are few, old and cynical, but they have the great advan-
tage of experience in politics, and the networks of the old organisations
234 Notes

are at their disposal. They are particularly active in reconstructing their old
patronage networks and they remain independent, tending to form their
own political parties or aligning themselves with the smaller groups, such
as the Liberals, the Party for Action or, better still, with the Separatists. They
are prudent, never make pronouncements and play the waiting game to
see which way the wind will blow. A small number are even active in the
Democrazia Cristiana’ (Mangiameli 1994, p.LXII).
16. This model of indirect government had been tried out by the British in the
years between the two World Wars in the tropical areas of the British Empire.
This consisted in entrusting the local chiefs with administrative responsi-
bility at local level and avoiding the insertion of modern elements which
were foreign to tribal society.
17. An important document which has in many ways contributed to the crystal-
lisation of a series of stereotypes about Sicily is the Sicily Zone Handbook 1943,
a manual drawn up by the British Foreign Office just before the invasion of
the Allied troops in Sicily. Designed for the officials, it contained informa-
tion about various aspects of Sicily from politics to administration, religion
to culture, mafia crime to the economy. The author of the text, historian
Rosario Mangiameli, explains that the origin of the legend about a pactum
sceleris between Americans and mafia elites to which Pantaleone refers is in
large part explained by ‘a polemical disagreement between American and
British about who had greater importance in the Allied military government
in Sicily (in the post-war period, these polemics spread to the wider ques-
tion of the handing over of power from the British to the Americans in the
Mediterranean)’ (Mangiameli 2000, p.22).
18. The Comitato per l’indipendenza della Sicilia (Committee for the
Independence of Italy) was founded on 28 July 1943. Among its supporters
were mainly professional politicians from varied backgrounds who were
some important representatives of the landowning aristocracy.
19. The movement grew up immediately after the Allied invasion, was very
strong for four years, but disappeared almost completely after the admin-
istrative elections of 1947. When in 1944 the Allies formally handed Sicily
over to the Italian government, the reply of the separatists was to form an
armed organisation called EVIS which clashed more than once with carab-
inieri and the police. From this moment, strange contacts started to develop
between the separatists on the one hand and the mafia and bandits on the
other; many of the most famous members of the mafia of the post-war period
were in the MIS, while Salvatore Giuliano, the bandit, was a member of the
EVIS organisation.
20. The separatist movement was actually the only movement which made no
mention at all of agricultural reform in its manifesto.
21. The EVIS was founded in April 1945 by the representative of the democratic
wing of the independence movement, Antonio Canepa. It consisted in some
50 young men, largely students. Representatives of the separatist right-wing
parties in Palermo decided to get Salvatore Giuliano involved in EVIS; he
already had his own tough band, capable of carrying out terrorist actions
against carabinieri and soldiers, before turning against the left-wing parties,
the Camere di lavoro and defenceless peasants.
 Notes 235

8 The Breaking Point: Danilo Dolci and

a New Image of the Mafia
1. The evidence that the Piedmontese writer provides about the forgotten South
is diverse and interesting, as illustrated by Cristo si è fermato ad Eboli (1945)
and Le parole sono pietre (1961), in which we find an affectionate portrait of
Dolci himself.
2. Dolci, as Fontanelli observes, ‘was the real promoter of the idea of the “deep
South” which we find also in Scotellaro, Butitta and others but he was free
from the constrictions of a certain taste for it which dominated in many ways
at that time’ (Fontanelli 1984, p.49).
3. Lucianeddu, also known as the scarlet pimpernel, as a young field guard,
took over as head-mafia from old Michele Navarra and led the Corleonese
mafia in the assault on Palermo, in an open challenge to the other families
of Cosa Nostra. Apart from the conquest of the illegal markets, he got rich by
exploiting construction works in the city, both public and private, using his
special relationship with the politician Vito Ciancimino, who was assessor
and mayor of Palermo in those years of the sack of the city. He didn’t hesitate
to eliminate the many obstacles he encountered, including the trade unionist
Placido Rizzotto, murdered in March 1948, and head-mafioso of Corleone
Michele Navarra, killed in August 1958. Absolved for lack of evidence, first
at Catanzaro and then at Bari in June 1969, he killed the head procurator
of Palermo, Pietro Scaglione, in May 1971. After a long period of hiding in
the north, he was responsible for many kidnappings, including those of Luigi
Rossi di Montelera, Paul Getty III, Giovanni Bulgari, and Egidio Perfetti.
4. For a detailed account of the events, see Processo all’art. 4, in the notes of A.
Battaglia, N. Bobbio, P. Calamandrei, C. Levi, D. Dolci, and others (1956).
5. There were many Italo-American anthropologists and sociologists who were
interested in discovering a different culture in the peasants of south Italy, on
the trail of an idea which had begun after the war with the masterpiece of
Carlo Levi’s Cristo si è fermato ad Eboli. Together with American scholars such
as Frederik Friedman, George Peck and Donald Pitkin (the work of the most
important American scholars can be found in the Italian edition of Banfield’s
book Le basi morali di una società arretrata. Nuova edizione di una comunità del
Mezzogiorno, 1976), we find intellectuals like Rocco Scotellaro who tried to
overcome the sterile logic of the ‘significant example’ and intellectual pater-
nalism, trying to understand the human problems and actively working
towards a real change, as Scotellaro’s project Per un libro sui contadini e la loro
cultura (Scotellaro 1955) in those years demonstrates.
6. Confederazione nazionale dei coltivatori diretti (Coldiretti): Italian peasant
organisation with Catholic ideals, founded in 1944 and run by Paolo Bonomi
until 1980. For 20 years, along with the Federconsorzi, it was a potent tool for
gathering consensus for the hegemony of the DC.
7. ‘When he got out of prison, he decides to change lifestyle, he sells livestock
and starts to work with his son, the trade-unionist who was killed, “We sold
the animals and he worked with me for the grain. I sold the animals out of
need and because I didn’t want to have any more contact with those people
who didn’t want to mind their own business”‘ (Dolci 1960, p.168).
236 Notes

8. ‘Bernardino Verro was a quick, common sort; when they killed Verro, I was
at the hospital at Palermo. The mafia bosses said: – “Why doesn’t he mind
his own business?” – They said he was a spy because he worried about other
people’s problems. They wanted him to stop. The high mafia make them
do it, they have influence with the prefecture, the magistrates, the police;
they emerge unscathed and the other do their orders to have favours done
and prestige’ (Dolci 1960, p.171). Fascism had suffocated Verro’s ideals, and
Rizzotto and his companions had grown up under fascism, and so they
didn’t understand how important a trade union organisation could be. It’s
important to remember the historical situation here; unlike the years of the
Fasci Siciliani (of which both di Verro and head-mafioso Calogero Vizzini
had been members), the years under fascism had been dark days for any form
of association. However, Rizzotto had built up people’s faith again and had
got the peasant movement involved in a trade union, a difficult thing to do
after the period of dictatorship.
9. Carlo Levi and Michele Pantaleone are the other two who worry about the
problem of the mafia in this period.
10. This new structure of Cosa Nostra was ‘of a federative, horizontal and
vertical type, almost military and hierarchic, respecting the territorial divi-
sions between the various mafia groups’ and emerged at the famous summit
meeting of 12 October 1957 at the Hotel delle Palme at Palermo, where
an international meeting took place with representatives of the American-
Sicilian mafia (Lucky Luciano, the grand manager, Giuseppe ‘Joe Bananas’
Bonanno, and others), and the most important mafiosi of the island such
as Genco Russo and Giuseppe Maggadino. The structure was improved and
applied to Sicily on the basis of the previous American experience, aban-
doning the old system of the cosche which were only loosely linked together,
whose relationships were always mediated by the boss and who usually had
decisional autonomy (Marino 1998, pp.213–14).
11. Typical of this situation is what Dolci’s collaborator says: ‘there are some
thirty priests here ... there is a tradition in families of shepherds to have one
son become a priest, because he has an important position. As soon as they
have a son who is a priest, they become rich and respectable people’ (Dolci
1960, p.60).
12. On 20 December 1962 with Decree n.1720, the Commissione parlamentare
d’inchiesta sul fenomeno della mafia in Sicilia (Anti-mafia Commission) was
founded; it is still active today despite alternating fortunes. The Anti-mafia
Commission collected an enormous quantity of information and research
about the mafia, but the ‘political’ effects or the capacity to translate this
information into effective laws were fairly poor, mainly because of the contra-
dictions and resistance of the governing political parties who were more
interested in covering up the complicity and links of their Sicilian represent-
atives with the mafia. The Commission, set up on 14 February 1963, began
work in July – in April there had been national elections – after the tragedy
of Ciaculli, when a car full of explosives killed four carabinieri, two soldiers
and the police marshall.
13. These allegations have been firmly rejected by the Mattarella’s family.
Moreover, Piersanti Mattarella, the oldest son of Bernardo was killed by the
mafia on the 6th of January in 1980. Piersanti Mattarella was president of the
 Notes 237

Sicilian regional assembly. He wanted to clean up the government’s public

contracts racket that benefited Cosa Nostra and decided to launch a moral
renewal of the Sicilian Christian Democracy (Stille 1995). Excellent Cadavers.
The Mafia and the Death of the First Italian Republic, New York)
According to his friend, the current mayor of Palermo and antimafia
antivist Leoluca Orlando, the rumours about his father and his party’s expe-
riences with the Mafia were probably responsible for Piersanti’s aspiration to
clean the Christian Democrat party of any such connections (Orlando (2003)
Fighting the mafia and Renewing Sicilian culture New York: Encounter
Books)

9 Leonardo Sciascia: The Writer as the Public Conscience

1. Adapted from the novel by Leonardo Sciascia, the Italian mafia crime thriller
film directed by Damiano Damiani was released in 1968. In the movie, the
widespread level of corruption and omertà – political, judicial and ecclesias-
tical – is particularly highlighted.
2. As stated by the deputy mayor of Palermo in a famous interview with Carlo
Levi which was published in Le parole sono pietre (1961, p.33).
3. For a more complete examination of the criticisms of Sciascia’s novel, please
refer to N. Fano, Come leggere Il giorno della civetta (1993, pp.65–103).
4. This is basically the theory brought forward by Christopher Duggan in his
essay La mafia durante il fascismo (1986, pp.15–85).
5. S. Vassalli, 1993. The novel is set in Sicily in 1893, the year of the ‘excellent’
homicide of the commendatory Emanuele Notarbartolo.
6. The controversy which aroused the debate on the fight against the mafia,
exploded loudly after the publication of a famous article in the Corriere
della sera, on 10 January 1987, under the title ‘The anti-mafia professionals’
(Sciascia never wrote about anti-mafia professionals; the title was created by
the newspaper’s editors). According to the maestro from Racalmuto, the great
new careers (sometimes underserved) under the anti-mafia flag, exploited the
indisputable anger of public opinion against the criminal phenomenon. The
controversy came to life when the anti-mafia organisation (which included
more than 300 members, amongst which were left-wing politicians, magis-
trates, university professors, students, and relatives of victims of the mafia)
attacked Sciascia and paraphrasing one of his most famous passages from Il
giorno they indignantly addressed him as a ‘quaquaraquà’ – a man without
qualities or personality (Collura 1996, p.339), or rather, the most ignoble
type of person in his scale of individuals. Even if the controversial criterion
chosen by Sciascia were correct, the name he chose, Borsellino, was the worst,
bearing in mind the contextuality of the period.

10 Conclusion
1. On 13 September 1982, the Italian authorities enacted law No. 646, just a
few days after the assassination at Palermo of General Dalla Chiesa, who had
been sent to Sicily by the government to fight against the mafia. This law
is known to ltalians as the ‘Rognoni–La Torre law’, named after one of its
238 Notes

founders, Pio La Torre, head of the communist party in Sicily and member of
the anti-mafia commission, who was also assassinated at Palermo by the mafia
five months prior to Dalla Chiesa.
2. He revealed that the organisation is composed of various units called famiglie
or cosche (families). They usually take their name from the area where they
operate, be it a neighbourhood, cities like Palermo or Trapani, a small town or
a village. A famiglia may include various members, from ten to as many as few
dozen; they are called uomini d’onore (men of honour) or soldati (soldiers).
They are normally organised in groups of decine (ten) managed by a capodecina
(head of ten). Each famiglia is run by a capofamiglia or rappresentante (boss
of the family or representative), elected by the uomini d’onore, alongside a
consigliere (advisor) and a vicecapo (underboss) or sottocapo (deputy boss). The
vicecapo or sottocapo, along with the consiglieri (advisors) and capidecina
(heads of ten) are chosen by the family boss, but only if the size of family
requires it. There are never more than three consiglieri.
A gruppo (group) is formed when a famiglia is eliminated due to a conflict
within the organisation. Thereafter a completely new body is created;
although it is staffed by men who were not in the old family, it has essen-
tially the same function as the family. The group is placed under the
command of a boss nominated by the Commission.
Three or more families with contiguous territories (particularly in
the cities and towns) form a mandamento (district), whose own boss is
appointed by the various capifamiglia, Buscetta explained. Two governing
bodies operating at provincial and regional levels, the Commissione provin-
ciale (provincial commission) and commissione or cupola (regional commis-
sion) supervised the activities of the various families. The commissione or
cupola is above the families and has a coordinating role. Its members each
represent three families with adjacent territories. It is presided over by the
head of one of the mandamenti, the segretario or capo commissione (secre-
tary/head of commission). Buscetta designed also the organigramme of
the organisation.
Above all there is the regional commission, which take the most important
decisions and dictates the strategic directives of the organisation. However the
single families have absolute control of the territory they govern. Outside the
organisation there are connected units represented by picciotti or affiliati (often
petty criminals, they are not involved in mafia activities but they are tolerated
and authorized by the families because they constitute a source of income for
the cosche and are men waiting to become men of honour). Finally there is
another broad unit of people a disposizione (available) or vicini (close). They are
useful for the support of the strategic support of the organisation (see Lo Forte
2004, Grasso 2008, Scarpinato 2008, Falcone 1993).
The structure hasn’t really changed in the last three decades as proved
the recent note seized at Lo Piccolo’s hideout (one of the mafia bosses
arrested in 2007).
Bibliography

Primary texts by Sciascia: first editions

This list is in chronological order. All references in the thesis are to the three
volumes of Sciascia’s collected opere edited by Claude Ambroise. The two excep-
tions are La palma va a nord (1982) and Ore di Spagna (1988), and references to
these texts in the thesis are to the editions in the list below.

Primary Sources
Brydone, P., Viaggio in Sicilia e a Malta, a cura di Vittorio Frosini, Milano,
Longanesi, 1968.
Brydone, P., A tour through Sicily and Malta in a Series of Letters to William Beckford,
Esq.; of Sommerly in Suffolk; from P. Brydone, F.R.S, in two volumes, Vol. I and II,
London, 1790.
Bufalino, G., ‘Cere perse’ in Opere Classici Bompiani, Milano, 1992, pp. 860–64.
Buttitta, I., La vera storia di Giuliano, Palermo, Sellerio, 1997.
Buttitta, I., Lamintu pi la morti di Turiddu Carnivali, Palermo, Sellerio, 1997.
Capuana, L., L’isola del sole, Caltanissetta, Lussografica, 1994.
Capuana, L., Per l’arte, Napoli, Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 1994.
Casarrubea, G., Intervista personale 18/04/2001.
Cesareo, G.A., La mafia, Catania, Niccolò Giannotta, 1921.
Comandè, G.M., Don Giovanni Malizia, Palermo, Sandron, 1930.
De Roberto, F., I Viceré, Milano, Garzanti, 1991.
Dolci, D., Fare presto (e bene) perché si muore, Torino-Firenze, De Silva, 1954.
Dolci, D., Banditi a Partinico, Bari, Laterza, 1955.
Dolci, D., Inchiesta a Palermo, Torino, Einaudi, 1956.
Dolci, D., Spreco, Torino, Einaudi, 1960.
Dolci, D., Conversazioni contadine, Torino, Einaudi, 1962.
Dolci, D., Racconti siciliani, Torino, Einaudi, 1963.
Dolci, D., Chi gioca solo, Torino, Einaudi, 1966.
Dolci, D., Inventare il futuro, Bari, Laterza, 1968.
Dolci, D., Appunti per gli amici, ciclostilato 543, Centro Studi e Iniziative, Partinico,
1971, p. 6.
Dolci, D., Chissà se i pesci piangono, Torino, Einaudi, 1973.
Dolci, D., Esperienze e riflessioni, Bari, Laterza, 1974.
Dolci, D., Non esiste il silenzio, Torino, Einaudi, 1974.
Dolci, D., Palpitare di nessi, Roma, Armando, 1985.
Dolci, D., Dal trasmettere al comunicare, Milano, Sonda, 1988.
Dolci, D., Gente semplice, Milano, Camunia, 1993.
Dolci, D., Intervista personale, luglio, 1996.
Dumas, A., Pasquale Bruno, Palermo, Bardi, 1988, pp. 12–16.
Hugo, V., Hernani, Paris, Gallimard, 1995.

239
240 Bibliography

Levi, C., Le parole sono pietre, Torino, Einaudi, 1961.

Martoglio, N., O’ scuru o’ scuru, Messina, G. D’anna, 1964.
Martoglio, N., ‘Lu cumbattimentu di Orlandu e Rinardu (parra lu cantastorii di
la Marina)’ in A. Scuderi, The dialect poetry of Nino Martoglio, New York, Peter
Lang, 1992.
Mori, C., Tra le zagare oltre la foschia, Monreale, La Zisa, 1988.
Mori, C., Con la mafia ai ferri corti: le memorie del prefetto di ferro, Napoli, Pagano,
1993.
Natoli, L., I Beati Paoli, Palermo, Flaccovio, 1993, Vol. I–II.
Pirandello, L., I vecchi e i giovani, Milano, Mondadori, 1972.
Pitrè, G., Usi e costumi, credenze e pregiudizi del popolo siciliano, Vol. II, Bologna,
Stampa anastatica editore Forni, 1889.
Pitrè, G., Canti popolari siciliani, Palermo, Carlo Clausen, 1891.
Rizzotto, G., I mafiusi della Vicaria, Palermo, La Zisa, 1994.
Ruffini, E., Pastorale, Domenica delle Palme 1964 Il vero volto della Sicilia [senza data
e senza indicazione tipografica].
Sand, G., Le piccinino, Paris, Michel Lévi Frèrès, 1857.
Sciascia, L., Pirandello e la Sicilia, Caltanissetta-Roma, Salvatore Sciascia, 1961.
Sciascia, L., Il mare colore del vino, Torino, Einaudi, 1973.
Sciascia, L., I mafiosi, Torino, Einaudi, 1975.
Sciascia, L., ‘A ciascuno il suo’ in Opere 1956–1971, Vol. I, Milano, Bompiani, 1987.
Sciascia, L., ‘Filologia’ in Opere 1956–1971, Vol. I, Milano, Bompiani, 1987.
Sciascia, L., ‘Gli zii di Sicilia’ in Opere 1956–1971, Vol. I, Milano, Bompiani,
1987.
Sciascia, L., ‘Il consiglio d’Egitto’, in Opere 1956–1971, Vol. I, Milano, Bompiani,
1987.
Sciascia, L., ‘Le parrocchie di Regalpetra’ in Opere 1956–1971, Milano, Bompiani,
1987.
Sciascia, L., Opere 1956–1971, Vol. I, Milano, Bompiani, 1987.
Sciascia, L., Fatti diversi di storia letteraria e civile, Palermo, Sellerio, 1989.
Sciascia, L., Opere 1971–1983, Vol. II, Milano, Bompiani, 1989.
Sciascia, L., ‘La strega e il capitano’ in Opere 1984–1989, Vol. III, Milano, Bompiani,
1991.
Sciascia, L., Opere 1984–1989, Vol. III, Milano, Bompiani, 1991.
Scott, W., Ivanhoe, London, Wordsworth Classics, 1993.
Sturzo, L., La Mafia, dramma in cinque atti, Roma, Istituto Luigi Sturzo, 1986.
Tomasi di Lampedusa, G., Il gattopardo, Einaudi, 1988.
Vassalli, S., Il cigno, Torino, Einaudi, 1993.
Verga, G., La cavalleria rusticana, Milano, Mondadori, 1981.
Verga, G., Tutte le novelle, Milano, Mondadori, 1983.

Secondary Sources
AA.,VV., Mafia and politics. A cause célèbre, London, Danilo Dolci Trust, 1968.
Adamo, L., Leonardo Sciascia tra impegno e letteratura, Enna, Papiro, 1992.
Aglianò, S., Che cos’è questa Sicilia, Palermo, Sellerio, 1996.
Agrigento del 9 maggio 1924, in S. Lupo, Storia della mafia, Roma, Donzelli, 1993,
p.144.
 Bibliography 241

Alatri, P., Lotte politiche in Sicilia sotto il governo della Destra (1866–1874), Torino,
Einaudi, 1954.
Alongi, G., La maffia nei suoi fattori e nelle sue manifestazioni. Saggio sulle classi
pericolose in Sicilia, Torino, Bocca, 1887.
Altan, C.T., La nostra Italia, Milano, Feltrinelli, 1986.
Altomonte, A., Mafia, briganti camorra e letteratura, Milano, Pan, 1979.
Altwegg, J., ‘Giudizi e pregiudizi sulla mafia. Intervista a Leonardo Sciascia’,
Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung-Magazine, 31 luglio 1987, pubblicata sulla rivista
Sudovest, 1992.
Ambroise, C., Invito alla lettura di Leonardo Sciascia, Milano, Mursia, 1974.
Ambroise, C., Leonardo Sciascia Opere 1971–1983, Vol. I, Milano, Bompiani, 1987.
Arlacchi, P., La mafia imprenditrice. L’etica mafiosa e lo spirito del capitalismo,
Bologna, Il Mulino, 1983.
Arlacchi, P., Gli uomini del disonore, Milano, Mondadori, 1992.
Arlacchi, P., ‘Stregato dalla mafia’, Repubblica, 23 dicembre 1993.
Arlacchi, P., Addio Cosa nostra, Milano, Rizzoli, 1996.
Avellone, G.B., Morasca, S., La mafia, Roma, Voghera, 1911.
Baldwin, T., ‘Leonardo Sciascia: l’uomo, il cittadino e lo scrittore’, ATI, number
30, Rugby, Hawker Williams ltd, Spring 1980.
Banfield, E., Le basi morali di una società arretrata, a cura di D. De Masi, Bologna,
Il Mulino, 1976.
Barbina, A., Teatro verista siciliano, Bologna, Foni, 1970.
Barone, G., ‘Mafia e finanza: il delitto Notarbartolo’ in M Aymard Storia d’Italia, le
regioni, la Sicilia, Torino, Einaudi, 1987.
Barone, G., ‘L’eredità di Danilo: non violenza, utopia, progetto’, Azione non
violenta, anno XXXVI, n. 12, dicembre 1999.
Barone, G., La forza della non violenza, Napoli, Dante & Descartes, 2000.
Barrese, O., I complici. Gli anni dell’antimafia, Milano, Feltrinelli, 1973.
Belpoliti, M., ‘Nel chiarcaro. Sciascia, la luce e la morte’ in Nuova Corrente, n. 117,
1996.
Biagi, E., Il Boss è solo, Milano, Mondaddori, 1986, p. 72.
Bianchini, A., Il romanzo d’appendice, Torino, Eri, 1969.
Bianchini, A., La luce a gas ed il feuilleton: due invenzioni dell’Ottocento, Napoli,
Liguori, 1988.
Block, A., La mafia in un villaggio siciliano (1860–1960), Torino, Einaudi, 1986.
Bocca, G., Il provinciale, Milano, Mondadori, 1991.
Bocca, G., Inferno, Milano, Mondadori, 1992.
Bocca, G., La disunità d’Italia, Milano, Garzanti, 1992.
Boissevain, J. Fiends of friends, Oxford, Blackwell, 1974.
Bonanno, J., A Man of Honour: the Autobiography of a Godfather, London, Book club
associates, 1993.
Bonomo, G., Pitrè la Sicilia e i siciliani, Palermo, Sellerio, 1989.
Booker, I., Ogden, J., Report on Menfi, London, Danilo Dolci Trust, 1962.
Borsellino, N., Storia di Verga, Roma-Bari, Laterza, 1982.
Buscetta, T.. La mafia ha vinto, Milano, Mondadori, 1999.
Buttitta, A., ‘Pitrè e la mafia’, in Pitrè e Salomone Marino, AA. VV., Palermo,
Flaccovio, 1968.
Cabani, M.C., Le forme del cantare epico-cavalleresco, Lucca, Fazzi, 1989, pp. 5–13.
Cancilia, O., Cosí andavano le cose nel XVI secolo, Palermo, Sellerio, 1987.
242 Bibliography

Candeloro, G., Storia dell’Italia moderna Vol. IV, Milano, Bompiani, 1970.
Candida R., Questa mafia, Caltanissetta-Roma, Sciascia, 1956.
Captini, A., Danilo Dolci, Manduria, Taranto, Lacaita, 1956.
Capuana, L., ‘La Sicilia nei canti popolari e nella novellistica contemporanea’ in
M. Pomilio Verga e D’Annunzio, Bologna, Cappelli, 1972, pp. 145–46.
Carnazzi, G., Verga e i veristi, Padova, Piccin, 1991.
Casarrubea, G., I fasci contadini e le origini delle sezioni socialiste della provincia di
Palermo, Palermo, Flaccovio, 1978, II, p. 257.
Casarrubea, G., Portella della Ginestra. Microstoria di una strage di stato, Milano,
Angeli, 1997.
Caselli, G., Le regole della libertà, in Dalla parte di Libera, Torino, Edizioni Gruppo
Abele, 1995.
Caselli, G. L’eredità scomoda. Da Falcone ad Andreotti. Sette anni a Palermo, con
Antonio Ingroia, Milano, Feltrinelli, 2001.
Caselli, G., ‘Postfazione in Luca Tescaroli‘, Perché fu ucciso Giovanni Falcone, Soveria
Mannelli, Rubbettino, 2001.
Caselli, G., L’eredità di Falcone, in Francesco La Licata, Storia di Giovanni Falcone,
Milano, Feltrinelli.
Caselli, G., ‘Prefazione a Enrico Bellavia e Salvo Palazzolo‘, Voglia di mafia. Le
metamorfosi di Cosa nostra da Capaci a oggi, Roma, Carocci, 2004.
Caselli, G., ‘Prefazione a Gruppo Abele‘, Dalla mafia allo stato. I pentiti: analisi e
storie, Torino, Edizioni Gruppo Abele, 2005.
Caselli, G., Le due guerre. Perché l’Italia ha sconfitto il terrorismo e non la mafia,
Milano, Melampo, 2009.
Caselli, G., Vent’anni contro. Dall’Eredità di Falcone e Borsellino alla Trattativa, con
Antonio Ingroia, Roma-Bari, Laterza, 2013.
Cassano, M., ‘Chi è Danilo Dolci’ in L’Ora, 12 settembre 1972.
Castiglione, P., Storia di un declino. Il Seicento siciliano, Siracusa, Ediprint-Collana
le Ali del Tempo, Biblioteca di Storia, 1987.
Castiglione, F., Indagine sui Beati Paoli, Palermo, Sellerio, 1987.
Catanzaro, R., Il delitto come impresa, Milano, Rizzoli, 1991.
Cattanei, L., Leonardo Sciascia: introduzione e guida allo studio dell’opera sciasciana,
Firenze, Le Monnier, 1979.
Cattedra, N., Il filo nero. La mafia: vita quotidiana e patti segreti nel racconto di un
testimone. Milano, Anabasi, 1993.
Cavalieri, E., Introduzione a La Sicilia del ‘76, di L. Franchetti e S. Sonnino, Firenze,
Vallecchi, 1926.
Ceruso, V., Il Libro Che la Mafia non ti Farebbe mai Leggere, Milano, Newton &
Compton, 2009.
Chemello, A., La parola maieutica, Firenze, Vallecchi, 1988.
Chinnici, G., Santino, U., La Fiura, G., Adragna, G., Gabbie vuote. Processi per
omicidio a Palermo dal 1983 al Maxiprocesso, Milan, Franco Angeli, 1992
Ciluffo, A., ‘Leonardo Sciascia: cinque immagini della Sicilia’ in Nuovi quaderni
del Meridione, 1965.
Ciluffo, F. ‘Leonardo Sciascia: cinque immagini della Sicilia in Leonardo Sciascia’
in La verità, l’aspra verità di Antonio Motta, Manduria, Piero Lacaita, 1985.
Colajanni, N., Nel regno della mafia, Palermo, Iva Palma, 1971.
Colasanto, B., Il clima della palma (saggio sull’arte di Sciascia), Napoli, Edizioni
Scientifiche Italiane, 1995.
 Bibliography 243

Collura, M., Il maestro di Racalmuto, Milano, Longanesi, 1996.

Colombo, G., ‘Investigating and Prosecuting Large-scale Corruption: The Italian
Experience’, Journal of International Criminal Justice, Vol. 4, Oxford University
Press, 2006.
Consolo, V., ‘Ma la mafia non è nei cromosomi’ in Corriere della Sera, 2 luglio
1995.
Conti, R. Risposta all’orrendo libello di Leopoldo Franchetti intitolato ‘La Sicilia nel
1876: condizioni politiche ed amministrative, Catania, Trinacria, 1877.
Correnti, S., Storia di Sicilia come storia del popolo siciliano, Milano, Longanesi,
1972.
Correnti, S., La Sicilia di Sciascia, Catania, Greco, 1977.
Crisantino, A., Capire la mafia, Palermo, La Luna, 1994.
Crovi, R., Il lungo viaggio di Vittorini, Venezia, Marsilio, 1998, pp. 340–66.
Cutrera, A., La mafia ed i mafiosi. Saggio di sociologia criminale, Palermo, Reber,
1900.
Dalla Chiesa, N., Il potere mafioso, Milano, Mazzotta, 1976.
Dalla Chiesa, N., Delitto imperfetto. Il generale, la mafia, la società italiana, Milano,
Mondadori, 1984.
Dalla Chiesa, N., La palude e la citta, Milano, Mondadori, 1987.
Dalla Chiesa, N., Storie di boss, ministri, tribunali, giornali, intellettuali, cittadini,
Torino, Einaudi, 1990.
Dalla Chiesa, N., Manifesto dell’Antimafia, Torino, Einaudi, 2014.
Dauphiné, J., Leonardo Sciascia: Qui êtes-vous? Paris, La Manifacture, 1990.
De Martinis, C., ‘L’illuminismo nella narrativa di Sicilia’, in La Civiltà cattolica, 4
settembre 1966.
Di Bella, S., Risorgimento e mafia in Sicilia, i mafiusi della Vicaria di Palermo, Cosenza,
Pellegrino, 1991.
Di Giovanni, A., Teatro siciliano, Catania, Studio edit. Mod., 1932.
Di Grado, A., L’isola di carta, Siracusa, Edi print, 1984.
Di Grado, A., Leonardo Sciascia, Marina di Patti, Pungitopo, 1986.
Di Lorenzo, S., La grande madre mafia (psicoanalisi del potere mafioso, Parma,
Pratiche, 1996.
Dizionario enciclopedico di mafie e antimafia, Gruppo Abele, Torino, 2013.
Dizionario di Storia, Milano, Mondadori, 1999.
Dickie, J., Cosa Nostra – A history of the Sicilian Mafia, Coronet Books, 2004.
Dickie, J., Mafia Republic: Italy’s Criminal Curse. Cosa Nostra, ‘Ndrangheta and
Camorra from 1946 to the Present, Sceptre, 2014.
Dino, A. Pentiti, Roma, Donzelli, 2006.
Dolci, D., Alasia, F., ‘Dossier su Mattarella’ in Paese Sera, 25 settembre 1965,
inserto del quotidiano, p. 2.
Duggan, C., La Mafia durante il fascismo, Catanzaro, Rubettino-Soveria Mannelli,
1986.
Eco, U., prefazione a I Beati Paoli, Palermo, Flaccovio, Vol. I pp. I–XXIII.
Falcone, G., Padovani, M., Cose di cosa Nostra,Milano, Rizzoli, 1991.
Falcone, G., Padovani, M., Men of Honour: The Truth about the Mafia, London
Fourth Estate, 1992.
Falcone, G., ‘Che cos’è la mafia’, in Micromega, n. 3, 1992, pp. 7–14.
Falcone, G., ‘Mafia, un futuro prossimo difficile’ in Segno, XIV, 96–97: 9–17.
Fano, N., Come leggere Il giorno della civetta, Milano, Mursia, 1993.
244 Bibliography

Farrell, J., Leonardo Sciascia, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University press, 1995.

Farrell, J., Leonardo Sciascia: quale critica?, Articolo non pubblicato, 1996.
Farrell, J., Sciascia stregato dal mostro, Relazione non pubblicata 1996.
Fernandez, D., ‘Sciascia et la Sicile’ in Quinzaine Littèraire, 28, 1967.
Fincati, E., Un anno in Sicilia, 1877–78. Ricordi di un bersagliere, Roma, Urbe,
1881.
Ferrara, N., Generazione Falcone, I Siciliani, Giovani Govani, Maggio 2012.
Fiume, G., Le bande armate in Sicilia, Palermo, Gelka, 1984.
Fofi, G., Strana gente. 1960, un diario tra sud e Nord, Roma, Donzelli, 1993.
Fontanelli, G., Danilo Dolci, Firenze, La Nuova Italia, 1984.
Franchetti, L., Condizioni politiche e amministrative della Sicilia, Roma, Donzelli,
1993.
Frosini, V., ‘Mitologia e sociologia della mafia’ in La mafia. Quattro studi, AAVV.,
Bologna, Boni, 1970.
Frye, N., Cultura e miti del nostro tempo, Milano, Feltrinelli, 1969, p. 104.
Galante Garrone, M., ‘Inchiesta a Palermo’, in La Stampa, 10 gennaio 1957.
Gambetta, D., La mafia siciliana, Torino, Einaudi, 1992.
Gangi, M., ‘Cultura progressiva e tendenze conservatrici in Giuseppe Pitrè’, in
Pitrè e Salomone Marino, AA.AA, Palermo, Flaccovio, 1968.
Gangi, S.M., La nazione siciliana, Napoli, Edizioni storia di Napoli e della Sicilia,
1978.
Gentile, G., Il tramonto della cultura siciliana, Firenze, Sansoni, 1985.
Gentile, S., L’isola del potere: Metafore del dominio nel romanzo di Leonardo Sciascia,
Roma, Donzelli, 1995.
Ghetti Abbruzzi, G., Leonardo Sciascia e la Sicilia, Roma, Bulzoni, 1974.
Ghidetti, E., ‘Introduzione a L. Capuana’ in Racconti, Vol. I, Roma-Salerno,
Novellieri Italiani, 1973.
Giarrizzo, G., Mezzogiorno senza meridionalismo. La Sicilia, lo sviluppo, il potere,
Venezia, Marsilio, 1992.
Giarrizzo, G., ‘Vicende del sicilianismo’ in Dal Viceregno alla mafia, AA.VV.,
Caltanissetta-Roma, Sciascia, 1970.
Ginsborg, P., Stato dell’Italia, Milano, Il Saggiatore, 1994, pp. 284–91.
Giornale di Sicilia, 28 luglio 1925 in Storia della mafia, S. Lupo, Roma, Donzelli
1993, p. 142.
Gioviale, F., Leonardo Sciascia, Teramo, Lisciani, 1993.
Giudice, G., Leonardo Sciascia Lo stemma di Racalmuto, Roma, L’ancora del medi-
terraneo, 1999.
Gramsci, A., Letteratura e vita nazionale, Torino, Einaudi, 1974.
Grasso, F., A Montelepre hanno piantato una croce – Danilo Dolci missionario civile
nella zona della mafia e del banditismo. Milano-Roma, Avanti!, 1956.
Grasso P., Lodato, S., La mafia invisibile. La nuova strategia di Cosa Nostra, Milano,
Mondadori, 2001.
Grasso, P., Francesco La Licata, Pizzini, veleni e cicoria. La mafia prima e dopo
Provenzano, Milano, Feltrinelli, 2008.
Grasso, P., Alberto La Volpe, Per non morire di mafia, Milano, Sperling & Kupfer,
2009.
Grasso, P., Liberi tutti. Lettera a un ragazzo che non vuole morire di mafia, Milano,
Sperling & Kupfer, 2012.
Grasso, P., Lezioni di Mafia, Milano, Sperling & Kupfer, 2013.
 Bibliography 245

Hart, H., ‘La letteratura come contemplazione della morte. Riflessione su un

tema principale dell’opera di Leonardo Sciascia’ in Sizilien. Geschichte, Kultur,
Aktualität, a c. di H. Hart e T. Heydenrech, Atti del convegno di Erlangen 1984,
Tübingen, Stauffenburg Verlang, 1987.
Hess, H., Mafia, le origini, la struttura, Roma-Bari, Laterza, 1993.
Hobsbawm, E.J., I ribelli. Forme primitive di rivolta sociale, Torino, Einaudi, 1966.
Hodder, The Last Godfathers: The Rise and Fall of the Mafia’s Most Powerful Family,
2009.
Il giorno, 8 gennaio 1900.
Informatore Parlamentare, 27 settembre 1965.
Ingroia, A., L’associazione di tipo mafioso, Milano, Giuffrè, 1993.
Ingroia, A., Caselli. G.C., L’eredità scomoda. Da Falcone ad Andreotti. Sette anni a
Palermo, Milano, Feltrinelli, 2001.
Ingroia, A., Io so, Milano, Chiarelettere, 2012.
Ingroia, A., Caselli, G., Vent’anni contro. Dall’Eredità di Falcone e Borsellino alla
Trattativa, Bari-Roma, Laterza, 2013.
Jackson, G., Leonardo Sciascia 1956–76 A Thematic and Structural Study, Ravenna,
Londo, 1981.
Jones, V., ‘Leonardo Sciascia’ in Writers and society in contemporary Italy, by Ceasar,
M. and Hainsworth, P., Lemington Spa, Berg, 1984.
Kermode, F., ‘La civetta di giorno’, ne Il sereno pessimista, di Antonio Motta,
Manduria, Piero Lacaita, 1991, p. 93.
La Duca, R., prefazione a I Beati Paoli, L. Natoli, Palermo, Flaccovio, 1993,
p. XXVII–XXXII.
Lajolo, D., Conversazione in una stanza chiusa, Varese, Sperling and Kupfer, 1981.
La Spina, A., Mafia sotto pressione, Milano, Franco Angeli, 2013.
Lestingi, G., ‘L’associazione della fratellanza nella provincia di Girgenti’, Archivio
di Psichiatria, vol. V, 1884, p. 362, in Mafia, le origini, la strutura, Hess, Roma-
Bari, Laterza, 1993.
Lettera del card. Ruffini a Scelba, ministro degli Interni, Partinico, Centro di docu-
mentazione, 9 agosto 1961.
Lewis, N., The Honoured Society, London, Collins, 1964.
Lo Dico, G., Storia dei paladini di Francia, Palermo, Cammarata, 1971.
Lo Forte, G., The Sicilian mafia: a profile based on judicially confirmed evidence,
Modern Italy, Vol. 9, 2004.
Loschiavo, G.G., 100 anni di mafia, Roma, Vito Bianco, 1962.
Lodato, S., Dieci anni di mafia, Milano, Milano, Rizzoli, 1990.
Lodato, S., Diciotto anni di mafia. Una guerra che non sarà infinita, Milano, Rizzoli,
1994.
Lodato, S., ‘Ho ucciso Giovanni Falcone’. La confessione di Giovanni Brusca,
Milano, Mondadori, 1999.
Lodato, S., Trent’Anni di Mafia, Saggi, Rizzoli, Milano, 2006.
Lombroso, C. L’uomo delinquente, citta’, Hoepli, 1878.
Longo, F., Il romanzo popolare, Ravenna, Longo editore, 1974.
Lorenzini, L., La ragione di un intellettuale libero: Leonardo Sciascia, Messina,
Rubettino, 1992.
Loteta, G., ‘La mafia vince ancora’ in L’Astrolabio, 2 luglio 1967.
Lumia, L., Villalba, Soria e memoria. Caltanissetta, Lussografica, 1990.
246 Bibliography

Lupo, S., ‘La crisi dello stato liberale’ in M. Aymard, Storia d’Italia, le regioni, la
Sicilia, Torino, Einaudi, 1987.
Lupo, S., ‘L’utopia totalitaria della Sicilia’ in M. Aymard, Storia d’Italia, le regioni,
la Sicilia, Torino, Einaudi, 1987.
Lupo, S., Il giardino degli aranci. Il mondo degli agrumi nella storia del Mezzogiorno,
Venezia, Marsilio, 1990, pp. 115–70.
Lupo, S., Storia della mafia, Roma, Donzelli, 1993.
Lupo, S., ‘Danilo Dolci, il pensiero come arma civile’, L’unità, 31 dicembre 1997.
Lupo, S., History of the Mafia. New York: Columbia University Press. 2009.
Lupo, S., Fiandaca, G, La mafia non ha vinto, Roma_Bari- Laterza, 2014.
Mac Neish, J., Fire under the ashes. The life of Danilo Dolci, London, Hodder and
Stoughton, 1965.
Mack Smith, D., Storia della Sicilia medievale e moderna, Bari, Laterza, 1970.
Madrignani, C., Capuana e il naturalismo, Bari, Laterza, 1970.
Magrì, E., L’onorevole padrino, Rizzoli, Milano, 1992.
Mangano, A., Danilo Dolci educatore, Firenze, Fiesole, Cultura della Pace, 1992.
Mangiameli, R., La mafia tra stereotipo e storia, Caltanissetta, Sciascia, 2000.
Mangiameli, R., ‘Banditi e Mafiosi dopo l’Unità’ in Meridiana. Rivista di storia e
scienze sociali, 1990.
Mangiameli, R., Sicily zone handbook 1943, Caltanissetta, Sciascia, 1994.
Mangione, J., A passion for Sicilians: The world around Danilo Dolci, New York,
Morrow, 1968.
Marino, G.C., Ideologia sicilianista, Palermo, Flaccovio, 1971.
Marino, G.C., Partiti e lotta di classe in Sicilia da Orlando a Mussolini, Bari, De
Donato, 1976.
Marino, G.C., Storia della mafia, Roma, Newton & Compton, 1997.
Marino, G.C., L’opposizione mafiosa, Palermo, Flaccovio, 1996.
Marino G.C., Scaglione, P. L’ALTRA RESISTENZA, Storie di eroi antimafia e lotte
sociali in Sicilia, Milano, Paoline, 2014.
Marino, G. C., Storia della mafia, Roma, Newton and Compton, 1998, p. 36.
Massari, M., Mafia violence in Italy: Guns in the Family, in Small Arms Survey
Cambridge University, 2013.
Mauro, W., Leonardo Sciascia, Firenze, La Nuova Italia, 1974.
Maxwell, G., Dagli amici mi guardi Iddio, Milano, Feltrinelli, 1957.
Mazza, A., Leonardo Sciascia, Palermo, Sellerio, 1999.
Mazzamuto, P., La mafia nella letteratura, Palermo, Andò, 1970.
Mineo, N., ‘Introduzione’ a L’isola del Sole di Luigi Capuana, Caltanissetta,
Lussografica, 1994.
Monastra, R.M., L’isola e l’immaginario. Sicilia e siciliani del ‘900, Cosenza,
Rubettino, 1998.
Montanelli, I., Pantheon minore, Milano, Mondadori, 1958, p. 275–86.
Morgante, T.R., Maieutica e sviluppo planetario in Danilo Dolci, Maduria, Lacaita,
1992.
Mosca, G., Uomini e cose di Sicilia, Palermo, Sellerio, 1980.
Motta, A., Leonardo Sciascia: la verità, l’aspra verità, Manduria, Lacaita, 1985.
Muscetta, C., Don Chisciotte in Sicilia, Catania, Edizioni del Prisma, 1987.
Natoli, L., Le tradizioni cavalleresche in Sicilia, Il folklore italiano, Palermo, Publisher,
1927.
Nicastro, G., Teatro e società in Sicilia, Roma, Bulzoni 1978.
 Bibliography 247

Nino Sorgi in Processo all’art. 4, nella documentazione di A. Battaglia, N. Bobbio,

P. Calamandrei, C. Levi, D. Dolci, ed altri, Einaudi, Torino, 1956, pp. 255–56.
Notarbartolo, L., Memorie di mio padre, Pistoia, Seppia, 1949.
Novacco, D., ‘Bibliografia della mafia’ in Nuovi quaderni del meridione, N.5, 1964.
Novacco, D., Inchiesta sulla mafia, Milano, Feltrinelli, 1963.
Nuove Effemeridi, n. 9, 1990, rivista interamente dedicata a Leonardo Sciascia.
Onofri, M., Tutti a cena da don Mariano, Milano, Bompiani, 1996.
Onofri, M., Storia di Sciascia, Bari, Laterza, 1994.
Orlando, L., Palermo, Milano, Mondadori, 1990.
Padovani, M.L., Sciascia, La Sicilia come metafora, Milano, Mondadori, 1979.
Pantaleone, M., Antimafia, occasione mancata, Einaudi, Torino, 1978.
Pantaleone, M., Mafia e Politica 1943–62, Torino, Einaudi, 1962.
Pantano, D., ‘Proposta di messa in scena de I mafiusi della Vicaria’ in S. Di Bella,
Risorgimento e mafia in Sicilia, Cosenza, Pellegrino, 1991.
Pasolino, P.P., Passione e ideologia: 1948–1958, Milano, Garzanti, 1960.
Paterson, H., ‘Martyr to the Mafia’, The Independent, 06 September 1992.
Pedone, S., Prefazione a I mafiusi dela Vicaria, Palermo edizioni Del 1994.
Petacco, A., Il prefetto di ferro, Milano, Mondadori, 1976.
Pezzino, P., Industria della violenza, Firenze, La Nuova Italia, 1995.
Pezzino, P., Le mafie, Firenze, Giunti, 1999.
Pezzino, P., Nascita e sviluppo del paradigma mafioso,in Storia d’Italia, le regioni, la
Sicilia, a cura di M. Aymard, Torino, Einaudi, 1987.
Pezzino, P., Una certa reciprocità di favori, Milano, Franco Angeli, 1990.
Pitrè, G., Fiabe, racconti e novelle popolari siciliani, Palermo, Pedone Lauriel, 1875,
Vol. IV, pp. 57–59.
Pitrè, G., Le tradizioni cavalleresche popolari in Sicilia, Palermo, Romania, 1884,
pp. 46–47.
Porzio, D., Fuoco all’anima, Milano, Mondadori, 1992.
Puccio-Den, D., The ethnologist and the magistrate, Giovanni Falcone’s Investigation
into the Sicilian MafiaP.U.F. | Ethnologie française, 2001/1 Vol. 31, pp. 15–27.
Reid, Ed., Mafia, Firenze, Parenti, 1956.
Renda, F., Il processo Notarbartolo ovvero per una storia dell’idea della mafia, in AA.VV,
Socialisti e cattolici in Sicilia 1900–1904, Caltanissetta, Sciascia, 1972.
Renda, F., Storia della mafia, Palermo, Sigma, 1997.
Renda, F., Storia della Sicilia, Vol. III, Palermo, Sellerio, 1984–87.
Renda, F., I Beati Paoli. Storia, letteratura e leggenda, Palermo, Sellerio, 1988.
Romano, S.F., Storia della mafia, Milano, Mondadori, 1966.
Rossani, O., Leonardo Sciascia, Rimini, Luisé, 1990.
Sansone, M., Verismo from literature to opera, PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh,
1987.
Santoro, M., La voce del padrino, mafia cultura, politica, Verona, Ombre Corte, 2007.
Sapegno, N., Il verismo in L’ideologia critica nella letteratura italiana, Loffredo,
Napoli, 1973.
Scarpinato, R., ‘Cosa Nostra e il male oscuro della dispersione del sé’, in La mafia
dentro. Psicologia e psicopatologia di un fondamentalismo, Milano FrancoAngeli,
1997.
Scarpinato, R., ‘Cosa Nostra e il male oscuro della dispersione del Sé’ in Girolamo
Lo Versi (ed.), La Mafia dentro: Psicologia e psicopatologia di un fondamentalismo,
Milan, Franco Angeli, 1998.
248 Bibliography

Scarpinato, R., ‘Borghesia mafiosa’ in Nuovo Dizionario di Mafia e Antimafia, EGA

Torino, 2008.
Scarpinato, R., Lodato, S., Il ritorno del principe, Chiarelettere, Milano, 2008.
Scelba, M., Per l’Italia e l’Europa (autobiografia), Roma, Cinque Lune, 1990,
pp. 55–180.
Schneider, J., Schneider, P., Classi sociali, economia politica in Sicilia, Soveria
Mannelli, Rubettino, 1988.
Schneider, J., Italy’s southern question: orientalism in one country, Oxford, Berg,
1998.
Sciascia, L., ‘Breve Storia del romanzo giallo’, adesso in Cruciverba, Vol. II.
Sciascia, L., ‘Carcere e mafia nei canti popolari siciliani’ in L’ora, 11 Ottobre
1965.
Sciascia, L., ‘Inchiesta a Palermo’, L’ora, 27 febbraio 1957.
Sciascia, L., Introduzione polemica a La vera storia di Giuliano, Palermo, Sellerio,
1997, pp. 82–88.
Sciascia, L., Lezione sulla mafia, resoconto su un dibattito fra Leonardo Sciascia e gli
studenti del Magistero di Palermo, in L’ora del 3 maggio 1973.
Sciascia, L., A futura memoria, Milano, Bompiani 1992.
Sciascia, L., ‘Appunti su mafia e letteratura’ in AAVV., La mafia. Quattro studi,
Bologna, Boni Editore, 1970 ed ora in Opere 1971–1983, a cura di Claude
Ambroise, Milano, Bompiani, 1989.
Sciascia, L., ‘Del dormire con un occhio solo’ introduzione a V. Brancati Opere
1932–1946, Milano, Bompiani, 1987.
Sciascia, L., ‘Il cardinale e la mafia’ in L’ora, 29/11/1981.
Sciascia, L., ‘La biblioteca di Babele, La Gazzetta di Parma 22/12/1955’ in M.
Onofri, Storia di Sciascia, Laterza, Roma-Bari, 1994, p. 17.
Sciascia, L., ‘La corda pazza’ in Opere 1956–1971, Vol. I, Milano, Bompiani, 1987.
Sciascia, L., ‘La mafia resta, muore il diritto’ in Corriere della sera, 29/11/1986.
Sciascia, L., ‘Quei mafiosi ‘pentiti’ di sessant’anni fa’ in Corriere della sera,
23/02/1986.
Sciascia, S., ‘Cruciverba’ in Opere (1971–1983), Milano, Bompiani, 1989,
pp. 1102–25.
Siciliano, E., ‘Caro Arlacchi, Sciascia è un’altra cosa’ in Repubblica, 15/12/1993.
Slowey, G., ‘Sciascia’s Il giorno della civetta’ in Jati, 27, 1979, pp. 49–59.
Sorgi, N., Processo all’art. 4, nella documentazione di A. Battaglia, N. Bobbio,
P. Calamandrei, C. Levi, D. Dolci, Torino, ed altri Einaudi, 1956, pp. 250–66.
Spagnoletti, G., Conversazioni con Danilo Dolci Milano, Citta missing, Mondadori,
1977.
Speroni, G., Il delitto Notarbartolo, Milano, Rusconi, 1993.
Spinazzola, V., Emilio De Marchi romanziere popolare, Milano, Edizioni di Comunità,
1971.
Spinazzola, V., Verismo e positivismo, Milano, Bompiani, 1977.
Stabile, F.M., Chiesa e società a Caltanissetta all’indomani della seconda Guerra
mondiale, Caltanissetta Salvatore Sciascia editore, 1948, pp. 135–50.
Stabile, F.M., I consoli di Dio, Caltanissetta Salvatore Sciascia editore, 1999.
Steinman, A., Pour ou contre Danilo Dolci, Paris, édit. Du Cerf, 1959.
Sturzo, L., Scritti inediti, Roma, Cinque Lune, 1974, pp. 232–33.
Sturzo, L., La croce di Costantino, Roma, Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1958,
p. 36.
 Bibliography 249

Tanteri, D., ‘Il vero di Capuana’ in Le lagrime e le risate delle cose, Catania, Lo Bue,
1989.
Tarozzi, M., Intervista a Danilo Dolci Istituto Buddista Italiano Soka Gakkai
‘Duemilauno’, p. 49, 1995.
Tessitore, G., Il nome e la cosa (quando la mafia non si chiamava mafia), Milano,
Angeli, 1997.
Time Magazine. ‘Busting a pizza connection’ 23 April 1984.
Titone, V., Storia mafia e costume in Sicilia, Milano, Del Milone, 1964.
Traina, G., Leonardo Sciascia, Milano, Mondadori, 1999.
Traina, Giuseppe Pedone Lauriel Editore, Palermo, 1868, pp.723–24.
Tranfaglia, N., ‘Sciascia pregi e difetti’ in Repubblica, 21/12/1993, p. 38.
Tranfaglia, N., Mafia, politica e affari, Bari, Laterza, 1992.
Troisi, L., Il culto della memoria, Palermo, La Luna, 1998.
Tuzet, H., La Sicile au XVIII siècle vue par les voyageurs étrangers, Édition P.H. Heitz
– Strasbourg, 1955.
Uccello, A., Carcere e mafia nei canti popolari siciliani, Bari, De Donato, 1974.
Ulloa P. Calà, ‘Considerazioni sullo stato economico e politico della Sicilia’,
Trapani, 3 agosto, 1838, in E. Pontieri, Il riformismo borbonico nella Sicilia del
Sette ed Ottocento. Saggi storici, Napoli, Esi, 1965.
UNODC report, Globalisation of Crime, 2010, pp. 254–55.
Vassalli, S., ‘Signora mafia con gli occhi di Medusa’ in Repubblica, 07/08/93.
Veronese, A., Dame, droga e Galline, Padova, coop. Libraria, 1977.
Vigna, P.L., ‘Fighting Organized Crime, with Particular Reference to Mafia Crimes
in Italy’, Journal of International Criminal Justice, Vol. 4, Oxford University Press,
2006.
Villari, P., Le lettere meridionali, Napoli, Roma-Firenze, Bocca, 1882.
Villari, P., Il Sud nella storia d’Italia, Roma-Bari, Laterza, 1984.
Violante, L, Il ciclo Mafioso, Roma-Bari, Laterza, 2002.
Zappulla Muscarà, S., Luigi Capuana e le carte messaggiere, Catania, C.U.E.C.M.,
1996.
Index

Ab antiquo, 45 Associazione a delinquere (criminal

Agrigento association), 122
famous antimafia speech by Austrians, 194
Mussolini, 121 Avellone Giovan Battista, 100–03
mafia in, 121, 122, 167 Austrians, 194
Alasia, Franco, 169–71, 174 Mafia benigna in, 100–03
Alatri, Paolo, 225
Algerian, 194 Balata, Ricu, 29
Alcamo Baldwin, Thomas Donald, 185, 188,
mafia in, 121, 161, 170 189, 199, 207, 215
Alliata, Gianfranco Prince, 143 Balestrate (town), 148
Alongi, Giuseppe VIII, 69, 217, 229 Balilla (Fascist youth organization), 198
Altwegg, Jurg, 190, 204 Banco di Sicilia, 59–61
Amari, Michele, 199 banditry, 11, 14, 23, 25, 37, 42, 43,
Ambroise, Claude, 178 51, 72, 103, 105, 145, 147, 149,
American, 52, 137–40, 153, 163, 190, 153, 232
233–36 bandits, 7–11, 13, 14, 16, 21, 23–25,
anglo- troups, 140 37, 43, 59, 92, 137, 141, 143,
anthropologist, 153, 235 148, 233
Black Hand, 223, see Black Hand Banfield, Edward, 153, 235
criminals, 89 Amoral Familism in, 153
Italo policeman, 89, 138, 233 Barone, Giuseppe, 61, 63, 63, 64, 230
mafia, 137, 233 Beckford, William, 11, 12
Sicilian mafia, 236 Berber, 196
Ammafiata, 5, 50 Belpoliti, Marco, 182
ancient regime, 19 Biagi, Enzo, 99
ANPI (Italian Partisan organisation), Bisacquino (town), 89, 163
155 Black Hand, 5, 89, 233
anti-mafia, 2, 22, 79, 80, 127, 138, Block, Anton, 226
147, 148, 150, 151, 155, 158, Bobbio, Norberto, 151, 235
169–71, 174, 181, 209, 210–12, Bocca, Giorgio, 241
217, 224, 236–38 Sciascim in, 210, 228, 229
Commission, 138, 169, 171, Boissevain, Jeremy, 229
236, 238 Bologna (town), 39, 40, 122
judges, 127, 217, 224 Notarbartolo’s trial in, 40, 64–66,
manifesto, 224 68, 69
movement, 155, 169, 174, 211, 212 Bonanno, Joseph, 236
novel, 2, 181 Etymology of the Cosa Nostra by, 5
Apostolica Legazia, 10 Bonfadini, Romualdo, 38, 39, 69, 78,
Arlacchi, Pino, 98 81, 228
Arlacchi and pentiti, 99, 219 enquiry, 25, 38, 39, 41, 42, 46
Arlacchi against Sciascia, 222, 223, Borgo (neighbourhood of Palermo),
225, 229 4, 49, 50

251
252 Index

Borsellino, Paolo, 147 Verismo in, 70, 71, 74–82

Maxi Trial, 147, see also Maxi Trial Carabinieri, 109, 111, 119, 142, 143,
murder of, 224 168, 187, 188, 197, 224, 236
Bourbon (dynasty), 17, 21, 23, 26, 29, Caracciolo, Domenico (viceroy of
30, 31, 33, 34, 37, 39, 79, 102, Sicily), 6, 17
130–32, 134, 226 Carboneria, 31
Bravacci (thugs), 94 Carini, 88
Brigandage, 9, 10, 18, 19, 21–25, 48, Carnevale, Salvatore, 145, 155, 217
51, 56, 70, 76, 78, 92, 93, 230 Casarrubbea, Giuseppe, 160, 161
British Foreign office, 234 Cascio Ferro, Vito, 89, 124, 126, 163
Brydone, Patrick, 11–16 Cascittuni (traitor, supergrass), 54
analysis of Sicily by, 11–16 Cassa Comune (communal fund), 20
Cultura criminale in, 16 Cassa del Mezzogiorno (State funds
Mafia ante-litteram in, 11, 12, 16, 225 for the South of Italy), 154
Bufalino, Gesualdo, 239 Cassará, Nini’, 220
on Sciascia, 178, 229, see also Sciascia Castellammare, 148
Buscetta, Tommaso, 98, 99, 100, 215, Castiglione, Blasco (character in the
221, 222, 223, 238 popular novel), 96
Buttitta, Ignazio, 235 Castiglione Father (catholic priest close
to the boss Genco Russo), 165
Caccamo (town), 59, 61 Castiglione Francesco Paolo, 8
Calabria, 77 Castro, Americo, 194
Calamandrei, Pietro, 235 Catalonia, 194
Calderone, Antonino, 99, 222 Catania, 6, 26, 81, 229
Caltagirone, 81, 82, 87, 122 Catanzaro, Raimondo, 227, 235
Caltanissetta, 103, 120, 141, 167, 190 client and protector/patron
Cammarata (town), 154, 167 relationship in, 176
Camorra, 4, 28, 29, 33, 34, 39, 51, 56, Caterina La Licatisa, 3
78, 230 Catholic Church, 10, 15, 26, 139,
Camorrista, 29–33, 35, 51, 55, 56, 227 164–68, 172–74, 183, 189, 190,
Campanilismo (exaggerated local 200, 202, 225
pride), 68 Cattedra, Nicola, 138
Campieri (field guards), 10, 11, 18, 43, Cesareo, Giovanni Alfredo, 126, 132,
123, 128 180, 187, 201
Camporeale, Prince of, 64 mafia and Fascism in, 100, 103–06,
Cancilia, Orazio, 6, 7 110, 112–17
Candeloro, Giorgio, 231 Charles V, 194
Candida, Renato, 3, 181, 182 Chemello, Adriana, 155
Cantastorie (street singers), 24 Ciancimino, Vito, 153, 235
Capitini, Aldo, 151 Ciluffo, Filippo, 213
Capuana, Luigi, 40, 70–79, 81, 82, Cimino, Michael, 232
100–02, 105, 106, 125, 126, 216, Civlli (civilians), 18, 19, 21, 73, 76, 94,
226, 231 145, 175
debate about Franchetti’s enquiry Clientelism, 26, 58, 82
in, 72, 75, 76, 81 Cocca (of Turin), 40
debate about the mafia in, 70–71 Colajanni, Napoleone, 63, 65, 69, 70,
Notarbartolo affair in Capuana, 129, 79–81, 121, 217
137, 181, 184, 187, 199, 200, 203 Coldiretti (Italian peasants
Pitré theory in, 70–78 organization), 153, 235
 Index 253

Collura, Matteo, 180, 237 De Roberto, Federico, 135, 199

Colombo, Gherardo, 218 I Viceré by, 26, 25
Colonna Di Cesaró, Gabriele (Duke), 25 Democrazia Cristiana, 141, 143, 153, 234
Comandè, Giovanni Maria, 130–34, Di Bella, Calogero, Parrinieddu
136, 137, 201, 233 (character in Sciascia’s novel Il
Commissione Parlamentare Antimafia giorno della Civetta), 183, 186
(Parliamentary Antimafia Di Bella, Saverio, 18, 28, 35, 216, 227
Commission), 169, 170 Di Rudini’, Marquis of, 227, 230, see
Compagnie d’armi (privately hired Starabba
gangs), 7, 10, 11, 19 Dickie, John, 219
Conca d’Oro, 87 Disonore (dishonor), 55
Consolo, Vincenzo, 135 Dizionario di Storia, 225
Conti, Rosario, 229 Do ut des (tit-for-tat), 176
Corleone (town), 90, 122, 140, Dolci, Danilo, 1, 2, 145–66, 168–79,
146–48, 153–55, 157–60, 165, 189, 213, 215, 217, 218, 221, 232,
215, 219, 220, 232, 235 235, 236
Anthony, 226 Duggan, Christopher, 118, 124, 237
Corleonesi (mafia group), 215, 219, 220 Dumas, Alexandre, 13, 92, 93
Correnti, Santi, 6 Dutch (jurists), 52
Corriere della sera (daily newspaper),
62, 237 Eco, Umberto, 94, 96–98
Corruption, 20, 37, 68, 71, 76, 105, Emilian, 185, 214
123, 132, 182, 213, 218, 237 Encyclopedie, 11
Corte di Napoli, 11 England, 26, 139, 182
Cosa Nostra, 138, 147, 212, 218, English, 22, 133, 134, 162, 178, 228
219, 219 troops in Sicily, 18
definition of, 5 ERAS (Ente per la Riforma Agraria
internal structure of, 220–24, in Sicilia, body for agricultural
236, 237 reform in Sicily), 153–54
origins of, 98–99 European, 11, 16, 74
under the Corleonesi, 220, see also literature, 91
Corleonesi Naturalism, 72, 231
Covoni, General, 36 EVIS (voluntary army for Sicilian
Crisantino, Amelia, 9, 231 independence), 141–43, 234
Crispi, Francesco, 21, 30–32, 61, 69,
72, 102, 131, 132, 237 Facinorosi (Mafiosi and delinquents),
Croce di Costantino, la (newspaper), 15, 45
81, 83 Falcone, Giovanni, 127, 218, 238
Cronache Sociali (journal), 148 challenging the mafia mystique in,
Cultura criminale (criminal culture), 16 210, 224
Cuneo (town), 106 Cosa Nostra secrecy, 223
Cusumano, Geloso, 143 as an ethnologist, 219
Cutrera, Antonino, 68, 69, 162 Falcone’s method, 221, 222
Fascism and the mafia in, 147
Dalla Chiesa, Carlo (general), 237, 238 Generation Falcone, 224
Dalla Chiesa, Nando, 67, 212 mafia as ‘interiorized value’ in, 198
D’Angelo, Gioacchino, 3, 27, 35 mafioso mentality in, 212
D’Azeglio, Massimo, 93 Pentiti in, 221–23
De Giuffrida, Felice, 63 structure of Cosa Nostra in, 223
254 Index

Fano, Nicola, 237 Naturalism, 71, 226, 231

Farrell, Joseph, 209 Friedman, Frederick, 235
Fasci Siciliani (Sicilian Fasci), 72, Frosini, Vittorio, 3, 12
89, 236 Funciazza, Iachinu, 27–33, 227
Fascism, 118–25, 127–31, 133, 135–37,
139, 140–43, 163, 169, 188, 191, Gabella, 156, 226
192, 198, 202, 217, 232, 233, Gabelloti, 8, 9, 15, 18, 19, 43, 67, 81,
236, 237 89, 120, 122, 128, 140, 142, 162
Ferdinando IV (king), 18 Galantuomini (gentlemen), 33
Ferrara, Norma, 224 Galt, William, 91, see also Luigi Natoli
Feudalism, 8, 18, 19, 21, 23, 25–27, Gambetta, Diego, 99, 196, 227
41, 45, 78, 177, 226 Gangi (town), 9
abolition of, 17, 19, 21, 23, 25–27, siege of, 122, 124
29, 31, 33, 35, 45, 226 Garibaldi, Giuseppe, 3, 6, 21, 23, 26,
Feuilleton, 93, 98 28, 34, 37, 131, 132, 233
Filippello, Matteo, 62 Garzone di malavita, (low-life
Finocchiaro Aprile, Andrea, 142, 143 characters), 29
First World War, 103, 118, 120, 140 Gattopardo (il) (book), 23, 27, 194,
Fiume, Giovanna, 226 216, 233
Fleres, Santo, 147 Gazzetta d’Italia (newspaper), 229
Florentine, 2, 28 Genco Russo, Giuseppe, 119, 124,
Florio, family, 64, 66, 231 140, 154, 162–69, 189–91, 199,
Fo, Dario, 85 201, 232, 233, 236
Fontana, Giuseppe, 62, 64, 65, 230 Gentile Sara, 192, 207
Fontanelli, G., 235 German, 46, 52, 140, 163, 207,
Fracassa (newspaper), 63 225, 226
Franchetti, Leopoldo, 16, 35, 43–47, Ghetti Abbruzzi, G., 186
55, 78, 228–30 Giarrizzo, Giuseppe, 224
and Bonfafini enquiry, 69, see Ginsborg, Paul, 224
Bonfadini Giolitti, Giovanni, 61, 72, 90, 140
Cascittuni (traitor) in, 54 Giornale di Sicilia (Il), 91, 117
mafia as an ‘industry of violence’, Beati Paoli in, 69
in, 41–70 pro-Sicilia committee in, 66
mafia as an organized crime group Giorno (ll), 63
in, 46, 75 Giovani d’onore (honoured young
mystification of the mafia in, 113, 116 men), 55
Pitré, see Pitré Girgenti (town), 82
private enquiry on the mafia, 38, Giuliano, Salvatore, 24, 87, 115, 141,
45, 47, 70, 75, 92, 106, 217 143, 147, 153, 161, 234
Sicilianist ideology, in, 203, see Godfather (the) 232
sicilianismo Gramsci, Antonio, 98, 161
and Sonnino Sidney, 8, 41–43, 69, Grasso, Giovanni, 232
70, 72, 76 Grasso, Pietro, 238
Vendetta in, 55 Greek tragegy, 186
Fratellanze, 19, 20, 216, see Grida and prammatiche
Brotherhood (proclamations), 10, 225
French, 13, 31, 48, 49, 178, 198, Gualtiero, Filippo, 4, 37
225, 228 Gullo (laws), 142
literature, 72, 75, 92, 93 Guttuso, Renato, 151
 Index 255

Hess, Henner, 3, 164, 207, 229 Li Causi, Girolamo, 160, 161

mafioso behaviour in, 46, 163 Li Puma, Epifanio, 145
Hobsbawm, Eric, 162, 163, 181 Liberation Committee, 163, 190
mafioso as primitive rebel, 22, 24 Liggio, Luciano, 148, 153
Homines novi (new men), 29, 60 Linares Antonio (bandit), 92
honoured society, 7, 132 Linares Vincenzo, 91, 232
Hotel delle Palme, 162, 236 Lo Forte, Guido, 238
Hugo, Victor, 92 Lodato, Saverio, 219
Lombardy (region), 63, 101, 127, 196
Incognito (an unknownn, mysterious Lombroso, 229
character), 30–34, 115, 227 Loschiavo, Giuseppe Guido, 3, 27, 28,
Infami (infame, vile), 28, 52, 54, 229 29, 30, 31, 33, 118, 169, 227
Informatore Parlamentare, 171 Louis XIV, 194
Ingroia, Antonio, 219 Lucky, Luciano, 5, 90, 138, 148,
inquisition, 12, 17, 211 153, 236
Inteso (feared figure of authority), 29 Lumia, Luigi, 199
Italians, 34, 53, 62, 73, 81, 93, 171, Lupo, Salvatore, 38, 43, 44, 46, 52,
179, 226 103, 119–22, 130, 141, 162, 169,
Italy, 4, 5, 11, 22, 25, 29, 30, 38, 41, 219, 227
49, 50, 51, 63, 72, 75–77, 82, 88, democratisation of violence, in, 44
93, 101, 106, 130, 134, 136, 138, new interpretation of the mafia, 22
139–41, 143, 146, 147, 149, 150, structure of the cosca, 229
173, 177, 180, 181, 185, 194, 218,
226, 228, 231, 233–35 McClellan Commission, 5
Southern, 22 Mack Smith, Denis, 37, 226
United, 25, 29 Madrid, 10
Maestranze (early forms of trade
Jato, San Giuseppe (town), 148 unions), 6, 225
maestro (primary school teacher),
Kermode, Frank, 182 211, 237
maffia, 3, 4, 5, 48, 229
La Duca, Rosario, 98 mafia
La Torre, Pio, 207, 218, 221, 222, 237, agrarian, 154, 162
238 ideology, 94, 133
Rognoni law, 221, 222, 237 in odore di (reeking of mafia), 62
Lajolo, Davide, 181 liberal, 120, 122
Lampa (tribute to be paid to the head- mafia alta (high), 24, 49, 236
camorrista in prison), 35, 227 mafia, Arabic origin of the word, 3,
Latifundia (large estates in the hands of 193, 224
a single owner), 8, 22, 26, 41, 120, mafia and bandits, 43, 234
153, 154, 162, see also latifondi; mafia bassa (low), 24
latifondisti, 8, 22, 26, 41, 120 mafia benigna (good), 40, 47, 100,
Lazio, 77 136, 232
Leonardo, Don, 29–33 mafia brigandage, 21
Leopard (the) (book), 23, 27, 128, 173, cosche (groupings), 19, 80, 85, 89,
216, see also Il Gattopardo 90, 104, 120, 123, 126, 141, 148,
Levi, Carlo, 146, 151, 155, 235, 222, 236, 238
236, 237 mafia brotherhood, 12, 13, 19, 80, 89,
Lewis, Norman, 5 see also fratellanze
256 Index

mafia crime, 62, 179, 221, 234, 237 mentality, 11, 46, 200, 212, see
mafia culture, 69, 80, 209 behaviour
mafia delinquency, 22, 39, 124 political-mafioso connection, 10, 105
mafia maligna (bad), 48 proto-mafioso phenomenon, 6, 8,
mafia (new), 103, 118, 136 17, 91
mafia novels, 1, 2, 4, 12–14 as Robin Hood, 113, 133, 147
mafia octopus, 77, 78, 149, 177 Sicilian mafioso middle-class, 26,
mafia (old), 118, 130, 133, 136, 27, 58
160, 220 mafiun or uomo piccino (small minded
mafia and omertá, 28, 57, 70, 77, or petty person), 2
102, 137 mafiusa, 4, 5, 50
mafia organisation, 84, 171 mafiusedda, 4, 50
mafia patronage, 137, 154, 155, 156, mafiusu (mafioso), 3, 27, 50, 51, 102,
166, 174, 175 229
mafia plays, 2, 11 Magrì, Enzo, 62, 63
romantic, 91, 114, 201 maha, 3
mafia and politics, 28, 61, 63, 65, 67, mahias, 3
69, 85, 107, 169, 217, 230 malfattori (delinquents), 42
mafia spirit, 6, 7, 11, 13, 14, 40, 48, man of honour, 57, 103, 105, 108,
56, 57, 67, 68, 78, 79, 80, 97, 99, 112, 126, 131, 132, 222, 230
100, 105, 129, 130, 135, 145, 187, Mangano, Vincent, 5
194, 216, 222, 225 Mangiameli, Rosario, 21–22, 147, 148,
mafia structure, 220, 223 161, 234
mafia system, 47, 176 indirect rule in, 139
mafia violence, 168, 176, 193 Sicilian brigandage in, 21
war, 219 maniera di essere (way of being), 45
mafioso, 3, 5, 9, 10, 17, 22, 24–28, Mantua (town), 200
35, 41, 45–47, 50–52, 57–59, Manzoni, Alessandro, 96, 215
61, 62, 67, 70, 76, 78–80, 86, Marchesano, Tommaso Leone, 143
89, 90, 99, 101–05, 111–17, Marino, Giuseppe Carlo, 25, 39, 144,
126–28, 130, 131, 133, 134, 154, 228, 236
137, 147, 148, 150, 162, 170, Sicilianism in, 68
172, 174–76, 178, 180, 181, 1 Marsala (region), 3
84, 187–89, 194, 195, 197, 199, Marsala (town), 25
200, 204, 206, 207, 209, 211, Marsala (wine), 231
212–14, 216, 221, 228–30, 232, Martoglio, Nino, 83
235, 236, theatre of, 103
as avenger, 30, 35, 89, 92, 96–98, Marxist p., 22, 145, 162
100, 103, 108, 116, 131, 155, Mascagni, Pietro, 226
200, 232 masonic organisation, 19, 77, 203
behaviour, 2, 7, 46, 47, 184, 189 Massari, Monica, 219
bourgeoisie, 22, 23, 24, 26, 63, 180, Masticusu, Turiddu, 29
181, 194, 211 Mastro (master), 33, 73, 74
classic mafioso, 30, 174 Mattarella, Bernardo, 143, 169–73,
definition of, 3, 5, 41, 45, 46, 50–52, 236
57, 67, 70, 76, 78, 80–82 Piersanti, 236
dishonourable mafioso, 134 Maupassant, Guy de, 75
feeling, 82, 180, 181, 195, 199 Mauro, Giorgio
ideology, 2, 67 (mafioso in the play Lamafia), 109
 Index 257

Maxi trial, 221, 223, 224 Mussolini, Benito (il Duce), 120–23,
Mazzamuto, Pietro, 71, 181, 227 191, 232, 233
literarary representation of the Mussomeli (town), 140, 162, 163, 165,
mafia by, 130, 131, 145 166, 168, 189, 190
men of honour, 14, 32, 148, 172, 223,
224, 234, 238 Naples, 11, 23, 28, 29, 40, 112, 227
Menfi (town), 154 Natoli, Luigi, 2, 91, 95, 96, 98, 132, see
Mero e misto impero, 8, 225 also the pseudonym William Galt
Mezzogiorno (Southern Italy), 51, 72, Navarra, Michele, 140, 147, 159, 235
154, 228, 236 neorealism, 185
Middle Ages, 45, 99 Nicastro, Guido, 227
Milan, 87, 101, 196, 225–27 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 96, 192
Notarbartolo’s trial in, 62–64, 68 Norman, 196
Milanese, 62, 76 Notabili (influential people), 38,
Mineo (town), 72, 77, 231 68, 228
Mineo, Nicolo’, 231 Notarbartolo, Emanuele, 59–64, 67,
Capuana in, 72, 77 68, 79, 237
Miraglia, Accursio, 146, 155, 160, 169, affair, 40, 50, 58
182, 204 trial, 79, 81, 82, 85, 89, 90, 217, 230
Mirto, Prince of, 230 Notarbartolo, Luigi, 230
MIS (Movement for the independence Novacco, Domenico, 2, 3, 4, 10,
of Sicily), 141, 142, 234 152, 225
Monastra, Rosa Maria, 104, 114, Novara (town), 130
116, 135 Nunzio, Don, 29–30
La mafia (play) by Cesareo in
Monastra, 104, 114, 116 omertá (code of silence), 28–30, 32,
Monarchic party p., 143 35, 45, 46, 49, 52, 54–57, 64, 68,
Monreale (town), 27, 87, 122, 130, 70, 74, 77, 78, 82, 83, 84, 86, 102,
132, 136 105, 106, 125–27, 129, 132, 137,
Montanelli, Indro, 168 155, 156, 157, 158, 161, 172, 174,
interview with Don Calogero 176, 188, 187, 195, 214, 217, 222,
Vizzini by, 168 229, 237
Montecitorio, 81, 82 degenerate omertá, 127
Montelepre (town), 141, 147, 148 pure omertá, 125–27, 129, 137
Morello, Vincenzo, 62 omineità (manliness), 57, 129, 184
Mori, Cesare, 163, 201 omu (man), 55, 57, 58, 111
degenerate form of omertá, 125, Onofri, Massimo, 1, 2, 51, 52, 106, 114,
126, 127, 128, 134, 136 121, 129, 130–35, 208, 226, 232
Fascism and mafia, 1, 118, 121, 122, Opera Nazionale Balilla, 198
123, 124, 125, 155, 188, 201, 202, Ora, l’ (newspaper), 66, 145
206, 217 Organizzazione Filmistica Siciliana, 232
Mosca, Gaetano, 60, 64, 67, 230 Orlando, Andrea (Socialist militant in
Sicilianism in, 67, 69, 70, 80, Corleone killed by the mafia), 90
81, 115 Orlando, Leoluca, 237
Mosca Gaspare (authour of I Mafiusi Orlando, Vittorio Emanuele, 116,
di la Vicaria), 3, 27, 30, 51 117, 119
Motta, Duke (of) in I Beati Paoli, 95, 96
Mu afah, 3 Pactum sceleris, 137, 138, 234
Munna, Liborio, 170 Padovani, Michelle, 198, 212
258 Index

Palermo, 3, 4, 8, 11, 15, 20, 21, 24, Poe, Edgar Allan, 179
27–31, 33, 35–37, 40, 43, 44, 47, Portella della Ginestra (massacre),
49–51, 56, 59–66, 68, 71, 77, 79, 143, 148
81, 87, 89, 91, 99–101, 121, 122, Positive Realism, 71
125, 126, 130, 132, 134, 144, 146, Positivism, 71, 227, 228
149–52, 154, 155, 162–64, 167, Pro-Sicilia
172–74, 177, 183, 193, 195, 200, Committee, 50, 65, 66, 68
205, 211, 212, 219, 221, 225–30, Manifesto, 66
232, 235–38 proto-mafia, 7, 9, 11, 216
Pantaleone, Michele, 120, 137, 173, Provenzano, Bernardo, 219, 220
215, 234, 236 Puccio-Den, Deborah, 221–24
Parma (town), 40, 183–85, 196 Pugnalatori (of Parma), 40
Partinico, 88, 122, 146–50, 152, 154, Puzo, Mario, 232
160, 161, 169
Partito Popolare Italiano, 80–82, 141 Quasimodo, Salvatore, 199
Paterson, Harriet, 221, 223
PCI (Italian Communist Party), Ravenna (town), 39, 40
160, 161 Renaissance, 200
Peck, George, 235 Renda, Francesco, 7, 12, 24, 63, 64,
Pedone, Salvatore, 227 69, 90, 138, 161, 226
Pelavet, Monte, 143 resistance, 40, 102, 119, 139, 155, 183,
Petrosino, Joe, 89, 233 185, 236
Pezzino, Paolo, 7, 19, 20, 48, 54, 57, Riina, Toto’, 219, 220
58, 89, 138, 141, 229 Risorgimento, 17, 21, 23, 26, 27, 30,
Sicilian Brigandage in, 21–24 32, 33, 131, 136, 227
Piana dei Greci (town), 232 Rizzotto, Giuseppe, 3, 24, 27–32, 34,
Piazza Armerina (town), 231 35, 40, 51, 65, 70, 101, 115, 131,
Picciotti (young thugs), 21, 148, 187, 216, 227, 229
220, 238 Rizzotto, Placido, 145, 146, 155–60,
Picciotto di sgarro (petty criminal), 29 169, 217, 235, 236
Piedmontese, 2, 4, 29, 36, 77, 78, 79, Roccamena, 154
196, 235 Roman Curia, 10, 225
Pilo, Rosolino, 102 Romano, Saverio Francesco, 93, 227
Pirandello, Luigi, 122, 149, 181, 193, Rome (town), 39, 40, 51, 61, 81, 83,
199, 211, 233 88, 98, 102, 103, 115, 131, 151,
Pisciotta, Gaspare, 143, 144 170, 174, 183, 184, 214, 225
Pitkin, Donald, 235 Ruffini Ernesto (Cardinal), 172–74, 200
Pitrè, Giuseppe, 4, 5, 28, 40, 184, 200, Pastorale of, 173, 105
203, 229, 230, 232
concept of omertá, in, 56–57 Sand, George, 92, 93
definition of mafia in, 4, 5 Sangiorgi (questor), 230
Franchetti’s enquiry in, 70 Sant’Anna theatre, 35, 216
pro-Sicilia committee in, 65 Sant’Uffizio (religious tribunal), 17
theory on the mafia, 40, 49–57, 62, Sapegno, Natalino, 231
65, 66, 67, 69, 74, 78, 79, 81, 91, Saracen (tribe), 3
94, 100–02, 116, 124–27, 129, Sardinia, Kingdom of, 36
130, 131, 133, 137, 143, 171, 180, Savarese, Nino, 199
207, 215, 217, 225, 227 Savoy (dinasty), 29, 34, 36, 37
Pizzu (protection money), 30, 35 Sbirri (police), 29
 Index 259

Scaglione, Pietro, 235 151–55, 158–60, 164, 168, 169,

Scalea, Prince of, 230 172–74, 176–82, 184–86, 190,
Scarpinato, Roberto, 224, 238 193, 194, 196, 198–200, 203, 204,
Scelba, Mario, 143 206–10, 212, 214, 216, 217, 219,
Schneider, Jane and Schneider, Peter, 225, 226, 229, 230–34, 236–38
229 Siena, San Bernardino da, 181
Sciacca (town), 146, 155, 160, 182, 190 Signori, 8, 21
Sciara (town), 155 Silone, Ignazio, 146, 151
Sciascia, Leonardo, 1–3, 87, 177–85, Smaferi (Word mafia in Tuscany), 4
215, 221, 222, 229, 232, 233, 237 Socialist Party, 66, 157
critics against Il Giorno della sociological studies on the mafia, 1,
Civetta, 209–13 146, 149, 153, 175, 179, 189, 210
mafia bourgeois class, 22–24 Somerset, Duke of, 182
mafia and fascism in, 122–24 Spagnoletti, Giovanni, 151, 152
mafia in, 201–07 Spanish, 17, 94, 194, 198
on the mafia bosses in, 187–93, monarchy, 8, 10
208–10 Spannucchiatu, Toto, 29
origin of the mafia in, 6 Spinazzola, Vincenzo?, 71
origin of the word mafia in, 3 Squadracce (of Ravenna or Bologna),
romantic mafia in, 110, 114, 117 39–40
Sicilianismo in, 28, 53, 74–79, 194–99 Starabba, Antonino, 30, 47, 227, see
Scotellaro, Rocco, 235 also Di Rudini’
Scotsman, 2, 15 Sturzo, Luigi, Don, 1, 2, 70, 79, 80–83,
Scott, Walter, 92–93 85, 87, 88, 217, 231
Scotten, W.E., 233 Sue, Eugene, 93
Scottish Superman, 96, 98, 184, 233
Englightnment, 12
Nobleman, 12 Tajani, Diego, 37, 38
Traveller, 11–13, 15, 216 Teatro Massimo, 226
writer, 7, 12, 15 Termini Imerese (town), 61
Second World War, 79, 142, 172, Terrail, Ponson du, 94
231, 233 Tessitore, Giovanni, 8, 10, 46, 228
Sedara, Calogero, 23 Timewatch (documentary), 233
Separatism (Sicilian), 138, 140, 143, 161 Tomasi di Lampedusa, Giuseppe, 194,
Sicari (of Rome), 39–40 216, 233
Sicilian mafia, 1, 5, 15, 22, 29, 59, 88, Traina, Antonino, 4, 49
101, 103, 122, 138, 189, 221, 236 Trapani, 37, 119, 121, 170, 238
Sicilianism, 40, 49, 58, 59, 67, 68, 72, Grand criminal Court of, 19
105, 117, 129, 139, 194, 199, 200, Trappeto (town), 147, 162, 173
209, 217, 230 Trazzera (old council road not
Sicilianismo, 23, 28, 217, see asphalted), 150
Sicilianism Tribuna di Roma (newspaper), 62
Sicilitude (the feeling of being Trieste (town), 146, 173
Sicilian), 199, 200, 211 Trombadori, Antonello, 151
Sicily, 1–12, 15–18, 20, 22–24, 26, 28, Tronto (river), 63
30, 31, 36–50, 53, 56, 58, 62–81, Turin (town), 40, 237
83, 87, 90–94, 98–104, 106–08, turris eburnea (ivory tower), 178
110, 114–22, 124, 126–28, Tuscan, 4, 41, 44, 47, 49, 72, 76, 77
130–32, 137–42, 146, 147, 149, Tuzet, Helene, 11, 12, 13
260 Index

Ucciardone (prison), 144, 226 Vespers (Sicilian), 99

Ulloa P. Calà, 19, 20 Vicaria (old prison of Palermo), 3, 6,
umiltá (humility), 55, 56 17, 26–35, 48, 51, 65, 180,
United States of America, 10, 200, 226, 227
219, 233 Villabate (town), 61, 62, 230
Uomini d’onore, 14, 238, see also men Villafranca Prince of, 12–15
of honour Villagrazia (town), 87
Uomo di panza, 109 Villalba (town), 103, 120, 138, 140,
Uomo di rispetto (man of respect), 14, 164, 167
120 Villari, Pasquale, 38, 121, 228, 231
Uzeda (family), 26 Viterbo (town), 77, 143
Vittorini, Elio, 150, 151, 199
Val Demoni, 12 Vizzini, Calogero, Don Caló, 103, 119,
Valachi, Joseph, 5 120, 139–41, 160, 162, 163, 168,
Vassalli, Sebastiano, 209–12, 237 169, 236
Verdura (Duke of), 61 Voce comunista, la (newspaper), 160
Verga, Giovanni, 71, 73, 74, 81, 101, Volpe, Calogero, 162, 171
149, 181, 199, 226, 227
Verismo, 70, 71, 226, 231 Zaccagnini, Benigno, 167
Sicilian, 28, 71, 74, 82 zizza (well turned out), 50
Veronese, Antonella, 96 Zola, Emile, 71, 226
Verro, Bernardino, 90, 157, 232, 236 zu (uncle), 30, 33, 120, 232