Italy’s ‘invisibles’ living precariously
CASTEL VOLTURNO, Italy — They are known as “the invisibles” — undocumented African migrants who, even before the coronavirus outbreak plunged Italy into crisis, barely scraped by as day laborers, prostitutes, freelance hairdressers and seasonal farmhands.
Locked down for two months in crumbling apartments in a mob-infiltrated town north of Naples, their hand-to-mouth existence has grown even more precarious with no work, no food and no hope.
Italy is preparing to reopen some business and industry on Monday in a preliminary easing of its virus shutdown. But there is no indication that “the invisibles” of Castel Volturno will get back to work anytime soon, and no evidence that the government’s social nets will ease their misery.
A patchwork team of volunteers, medics, a priest, a cultural mediator and local city hall officials are trying to make sure “the invisibles” aren’t forgotten entirely, delivering groceries daily to their apartments and trying to provide health care. But the need is outstripping the resources.
“There is an emergency within the covid emergency which is a social emergency,” said Sergio Serraiano, who runs a health clinic in town.
The virus struck hardest in Italy’s prosperous industrial north, where the first homegrown case was registered Feb. 21 and where most of the infected and 28,000 dead were recorded. The bulk of the government’s attention and response focused on reinforcing the health care system there to withstand the onslaught of tens of thousands of sick.
Castel Volturno is another world entirely, a 17-mile strip of land running along the sea north of Naples that is controlled by the Camorra organized crime syndicate. Here there have only been about a dozen covid cases, and none among the migrants.
But Castel Volturno has other problems that the covid crisis has exacerbated. Known as the “Terra dei Fuochi” or land of fires, Castel Volturno and surrounding areas have unusually high cancer rates, blamed on the illegal dumping and burning of toxic waste that have polluted the air, sea and underground wells.
Here the mob runs drugs and waste disposal, and officials have warned the clans are primed to exploit the economic misery that the virus shutdowns have caused.
It is also here that “the invisibles” have settled over the years, many after crossing the Mediterranean from Libya in smugglers boats hoping for a better life.
The men get by on day jobs picking tomatoes, lemons or oranges, or in construction where they earn $28 a day. The women sell their bodies, or if they are lucky, work as freelance hairstylists or selling trinkets and cigarette lighters on the street.
In normal times, the men gather at 4 a.m. waiting for trucks to pick them up and take them to farms or construction sites. But since the lockdown, even that illegal off-the-books system known as “caporalato” has ground to a halt.
The level of desperation is apparent everywhere: With no electricity or refrigeration, food spoils quickly and is cooked immediately. On a recent day, cooked fish and goat heads were left out on shelves. Outside, chicken was being cooked on a makeshift stove made from old mattress springs.
A consortium of unions and nonprofit organizations has called for a general amnesty to legalize undocumented migrants. Government ministers have vowed to help even those in the black-market economy survive the emergency. A proposed law would legalize migrant farm workers for the strawberry, peach and melon harvests, given that Italy’s legal seasonal farm hands have been kept at home in Eastern Europe because of virus travel restrictions.
But no proposals have made it into law, and there is fierce opposition nationwide and in tiny Castel Volturno to any moves to legalize the African workforce currently here.