An Italian prison that is application-only
It is the smallest island in the Tuscan archipelago and is the last prison island in all of Europe. But the Gorgona Agricultural Penal Colony is no maximum-security Alcatraz. On the contrary, inmates serve their sentences by working outdoors, ranching and farming and learning a trade that will help them reintegrate into society once they complete their sentences. They are overseen at intervals by police officers who do not stand guard but who cycle by on patrol. Prison gates remain open during the day, and new inmates are housed in two-person cells. The best-behaved earn a cell of their own.
“Compared to those serving their sentence in a common prison, the likelihood of reoffending and returning to prison is much lower: 20 percent versus 80,” Luigi Flagello, a policeman stationed in the prison, tells photographer Stefano Morelli and me when we arrive one hot day in August. The police boat to Gorgona, which leaves once a day from Livorno, takes just over an hour. Rough seas mean canceled boats and make planning a visit to the island difficult for those who wish to visit the incarcerated. Sea conditions can also mean a canceled return trip from the island, stranding visitors for the night. The prison operates a guest house for those who planned to stay — and those who did not.
The prison is just a few minutes’ walk from the small and sparsely inhabited town that is close to the harbor. Gorgona has summer residents whose houses are passed down in families, never bought or sold, and there is just one permanent year-round resident who is neither an inmate nor a police officer. “I left the island when I was 16 to go to live in Florence,” says 96-year-old Luisa Citti. “But I came back in the 1980s. Until the 1970s, the town was alive, there was a school, post office, trattorias . . . . Then it emptied out.” There are 24 police officers working on the island and, when we visited, 79 inmates, all men. The prison’s capacity is 85 to 90 inmates.
“To be a policeman at Gorgona, you are not sent, but you apply,” explains Roberto Torcasio, an officer at the prison. Not many aspire to work there, he says. But like many of the police officers I interviewed for this story, Torcasio does not feel free to elaborate. Nevertheless, a familiar picture about prison management emerges. There should be more police officers at Gorgona, because, while the atmosphere is more relaxed than in a traditional prison, the place is not without its challenges. There was a double homicide a few years ago. Fights break out. The overcrowding of Italian prisons has generated a significant turnover of inmates on the island. Some who arrive have less than five years to serve, which complicates the five-year plan in place for prisoner rehabilitation. Ideally, Gorgona would staff a psychologist and psychiatrist, but it does not.
Inmates, too, apply to go to Gorgona, which is never an offender’s first prison. Though relaxed, the prison has a zero-tolerance policy about what is and is not acceptable behavior. “As soon as they arrive on the island,” says Barbara Radice, an educator who follows the inmates starting with their first interview, “we give them a decalogue to follow.” It is a kind of no-nonsense Ten Commandments, and, Radice says, “We do not compromise: At the first disciplinary [hearing], the inmate ends his stay here and is sent to another prison.” Drug possession or testing positive for drugs during monthly spot checks, for example, results in expulsion.
Some choose to leave. “Coming to Gorgona is a nice opportunity,” says Federico. “But there are some problems. Because of the sea conditions, even going on leave or having family members visit is more difficult than on the mainland.” Federico and other inmates we spoke with asked that we use only their first names, to protect their families’ privacy.
Still, inmates who follow the rules can thrive at Gorgona. They wake early and work from 6 a.m. to 11 a.m. They are paid for their labor. After a lunch break, they can work out, take music or theater classes, go to the library, or play soccer. At 9 p.m., they are locked in their cells for the night.
Maurizio, an inmate from Palermo, is a shepherd here. “I am doing well,” he says. “Working allows us to earn money and be able to send money to our families.”
Yusf, originally from Albania and with a sister and parents in Boston, looks after the pigs. “With my salary, I manage to send some money to my aunt and uncle,” he tells us.
Others work as electricians, carpenters, masons, mechanics, and vintners.
In the kitchen, we find fresh vegetables, fruits, and meats and a year-round menu for observant Muslims. A bakery, commissary, canteen, and bar for Gorgona’s guards are located beyond the prison proper. Nearly all the labor on the island is done by inmates. This includes sorting trash and recycling.
Some inmates produce honey. Luigi, who learned to be a beekeeper here, says he plans to work as one when he finishes his sentence at the end of the year.
Giuseppe Renna, Gorgona’s current director, touts innovative collaborations between mainland enterprises and the inmates. Since 2011, winemakers with the prominent Tuscan winery Frescobaldi have worked with inmates on nearly 5 acres, teaching them viticulture and giving them a future in the wine trade once they have regained their freedom.
Everyone we interviewed, from law enforcement to business leaders to inmates, told us that the Gorgona model should be exported because it restores hope. As Luigi, a 74-year-old inmate nearing release, told us, “Dostoevsky missed what can be beautiful in prisons.”
Francesco Bertolucci is a journalist based in Viareggio, Italy. His work has appeared on Rai 5 and in Domani, La Nazione, and Junge Welt. Follow him on Instagram @ francesco.bertolucci.
Stefano Morelli is an Italian photographer and visual anthropologist. His work has been published in The Washington Post, The Guardian, and publications in Italy, Spain, Austria, Germany, and Qatar. Follow him on Instagram @stefanomorelliphoto.