underhistory (3)

Dietrologia:
DeLillo's archaeological counterhistory

‘[E]verything connects in the end, or only seems to, or seems to only because it does’ (DeLillo 1998: 465).

Like so much of Don DeLillo’s work, his novel Underworld (1998) questions the legitimacy of multinational capitalism, its manipulation of images through saturation media and advertising to construct identity through in-toxic-ating acts of consumption, and its managing of ideological ‘waste’ [1]. In his work DeLillo has often proposed a sort of strategic paranoia about America’s military-industrial complex and restricted access to detailed knowledge of its open secrets – realities known to exist and yet officially denied, covered up. Agent orange/orange juice, baseball/the Bomb - ‘everything is connected’, or seems to be, if only in the ‘underworld’; Pynchon’s phrase from Gravity’s Rainbow is reiterated repeatedly in this novel. 

DeLillo also returns on several occasions here to the notion of dietrologia, the study of what ‘lies behind’ (events, appearances), ‘the science of dark forces’ (ibid: 280) - a word familiar to organized crime investigators and conspiracy theorists in Italy. However DeLillo carefully decentres any singular unifying (conspiracy) theory linking people and events in this dynamic, complex and unpredictable relational matrix. Ultimately, he seems to suggest, some potentially connective thread or tissue is always already there and concealed, and our grasp on what transpires is inevitably partial, compromised. 

DeLillo is drawn back again and again to the blank(ed) spaces on the maps, often in the southwestern desert, that strategically constructed ‘empty space’ in geopolitical cartographies. There, and in the overexposed psychic landscape of the open secret, there’s always an absent presence ‘behind’ (dietro), ‘below’, ‘under’, shadowing the complexities of the day world, ‘the thick lived tenor of things’ (ibid: 827). For prepositional multiplicity, impenetrable causal uncertainty and an ambiguous drive-ridden acquiescence characterize the ontological terrain of the contaminated, anomie-laden Cold War subject living through chemistry: ‘drained, docile, soft in our inner discourse, willing to be shaped, to be overwhelmed’ (ibid: 826), in barely contained terror amassing possessions ‘against the dark shape of some unshoulderable loss’ (ibid: 191-2).

In Underworld as elsewhere in DeLillo, there is a recurrent undercurrent – an ‘atavistic dread’ – related to the apocalyptic ecological threat of capitalism, and the media’s normalizing and rendering invisible of this threat. In a novel structured in part through reiterations of disappearance, loss, and betrayal, DeLillo presents a counterhistory of Cold War America in the shadow of the threat of auto-annihilation: a subterranean ‘underhistory of the Cold War, a curious history of waste which forms an underground stream in this book, waste and weapons’ (DeLillo in DePietro 2005: 146). Remember that Oppenheimer called the bomb ‘merde’, the ob-scene thing beyond words …
 
DeLillo figures wasted lives by describing literal ‘wastelands’, including massive landfills - in particular Fresh Kills on Staten Island, New York - that reflect the volume of waste generated in consumer culture, and capitalism’s postmodern solution to the problem of waste: not containment of the growth of waste (an index of business’s success), but a containment of its appearance. In the novel, Nick Shay works in waste management, pursuing the opportunist entrepreneurial restructuring and recycling of waste as commodity in the production of capital. Shay becomes a ‘cosmologist of waste’ (DeLillo 1998: 88), who encounters scenes that are ‘medieval-modern, a city of high-rise garbage, the hell reek of every perishable ever thrown together’ (ibid: 104). At one point, he muses: ‘Waste is an interesting word that you can trace through Old English and old Norse back to the Latin, finding such derivatives as empty, void, vanish, and devastate’ (ibid: 120).  

As commodity culture’s allegorical other, waste’s threatening potential is to ‘unmask the symbolic pose of the commodity as a sham’ (Stallabrass 2009: 417) and reveal itself as broken ruin of utopian promise. In the management of waste, therefore, the ideal is to remove all visible traces, disappear it ‘underground’ - as Shay seeks to do with his own contaminated and leaking past. Yet as Viktor Maltsev, one of a number of ‘theorists of waste’ in the novel, suggests, waste is culture’s ‘devil twin’, and its stubborn persistence within its burial grounds stages ‘the secret history, the underhistory’ (ibid: 791) – a repressed history of ‘banned words, the secrets kept in white-washed vaults, the half-forgotten plots’ that Shay imagines ‘out here now, seeping invisibly into the land and air, into the marrowed folds of the bone’ (ibid: 802-3) [2]

One of DeLillo’s triggers for his title relates to proposals for plutonium and other nuclear waste to be buried in the desert in the South-West of the USA at Yucca Mountain and elsewhere. Within the novel, he uncovers the etymological link to Pluto, ‘god of the dead, ruler of the underworld’: the waste managers ‘took him out to the marshes and wasted him’ (ibid: 106). The novel also explores affiliations with a criminal ‘underworld’, as well as an underclass of homeless people in New York, capitalism’s ‘collateral casualties’ (Bauman 2004: 15), redundant and abjected human ‘waste’. Many of these outcast ‘wastelings of the lost world, the lost country that exists right here in America’ (ibid: 628) are based in the subway (‘underground’). In addition, there are recurrent intertextual echoes here of the ‘valley of ashes’ in Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, of the secretive ‘underground’ network WASTE in Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49, and of Dickens’ Thames-side dust-ash-and-waste entrepreneurs in Our Mutual Friend.

DeLillo’s bricolage novel references apocalyptic representations in art of the underworld, notably Breughel’s Triumph of Death: a ‘landscape of visionary havoc and ruin’, against a ‘background of ash skies and burning ships’ (ibid: 41). Furthermore, scattered throughout the novel are instances of waste being critically reappropriated and recycled as cultural intervention in radical ‘underground’ or ‘outsider’ art practices. These include: Klara Sax’s ‘Long Tall Sally’, a land art recuperation of the uncanny and sublime carcasses of decommissioned B52s abandoned in the Arizona desert (in part triggered by a visit to Sabato Rodia’s waste bricolage constructions, the Watts Towers in Los Angeles); subway graffiti artist Ismael Muñoz AKA ‘Moonman 157’ and his later commemorative interventions made collaboratively with ‘runaways and throwaways’ (ibid: 813) in an area of South Bronx wasteland known as ‘The Wall’; as well as a group of anarchist ‘guerrilla’ artists who try to steal J Edgar Hoover’s garbage and use it to make performance art. [3] Historically, Hoover himself had authorised ‘dumpster diving’ as a legitimate means for the FBI to gather evidence.
 
In addition, DeLillo invents a series of Lenny Bruce gigs, improvised jazz-like hipster riffs around the time of the Cuban missile crisis, his uncanny channeling of the voices of the powerful and the irradiated ‘wastelings’, the metaphorical ‘downwinders’, with the reiterated catch-phrase: ‘We’re all gonna die!’ Bruce’s junked-up ‘undervoice’ is described as ‘the revolt of the psyche, the id-like wail from the audience’s own souls, the desperate buried place where you demand recognition of primitive rights and needs’ (ibid: 547).

DeLillo also invents a supposedly ‘lost’ Eisenstein silent film called Unterwelt, about institutional power’s failure to contain the ‘mutilate yearning, the inner divisions’ (ibid: 444) of the dispossessed ‘living in the shadows’ (ibid: 424) in the underbelly of the city. In the novel, which resembles this fictional Eisenstein film both thematically and in its montage structure, [4] Klara Sax views it between two other films: Robert Frank’s documentary about the Rolling Stones’ hedonism on tour in America in 1972, Cocksucker Blues; and an art installation video loop of multiple copies of the Zapruder film, a chance document-become-commodity with its flickering traces of the assassination of John F Kennedy in Dallas. Associatively, all three films are concerned with waste and wasting: discarded lives produced by redundancy and repression; the decadence and dereliction of ’junk’/heroin, shot in a melancholic blue light that suggests the ‘nimbus of higher dying’ (ibid: 384); the recycled, infinitely looped trace of horrifying political violence as benumbing ‘snuff movie’ spectacle, alongside the obliterating psychic fission of trashed ambitions, traumatised ideals and atomizing conspiracy-fueled paranoia – the ‘streamy debris of the deep mind’ (ibid: 496).
 
So in Underworld DeLillo constructs a braided archaeological counter-narrative about proliferation and its waste, in both the arms race and consumerism. Through a reverse chronology structure (Nick Shay’s fallen angel trajectory is ‘backwards into the future’), DeLillo traces ‘underground’ logics of another form of history, ‘the sand-grain manyness of things that can’t be counted’ (ibid: 60), provoked by a desire ‘to unrepeat, to find an element of felt life’ (ibid: 77). In so doing, he provides a cognitive mapping or fractal patterning of History’s ‘waste’ – what it ejects, forgets, overlooks, represses: things, people, values and so on – and its status as uncanny memento mori, mirroring our own ephemerality and mortality. The novel proposes a scavenging resistance, an exercise in waste management, a recycling of history’s fall-out, a retrieval from what Marx, Benjamin and others have called the ‘trash heap’ of history. En route, DeLillo employs a range of compound words, some of them bricolaged neologisms: ‘underbreath’, ‘undervoice’, ‘underdream’, ‘undersheet’, ‘underreal’, ‘underhistory’. A term that recurs throughout is ‘understand’ – the uncovering of the cover-up, or at least the impulse to do so, the infinitely compromised desire to stand-under the unsettling glare of knowledge. This desire loops us back to dietrologia, the science of what lies behind, and to Plato’s hyponoia and Hillman’s ’undersense’ in the underworld.

*****

Sea dreams: ‘blink’

In another dream, the Sea has vanished suddenly - and completely - and its exposed bed is dotted with people out walking, inspecting what it has left behind. Out there, where the Sea once was, all sorts of people, bent over inspecting a patch of ground, or a piece of driftwood the size of a small tree. Or a bloated purple jelly-fish, scratching at the sand around it with their feet. I can see laughing kids with buckets and spades making castles and cities, and dads sculpting mermaids with shells in their hair, and writing messages in huge letters for the sky. Huddled figures have gathered beside a pool and they stare into it in silence, as though it is infinitely deep, or the plug-hole through which the Sea has departed. As far as the eye can see, thousands of shiny fish pulse on the sand, clasping and unclasping like fingerless silver hands.

Perched on some rocks is a wreck of a wooden schooner encrusted with barnacles, its cabin draped in fine weed, like Christmas decorations; its tattered sails slap and dance in the breeze. Closer to the shore a blue yacht lies on its side, its mast pointing to the sky at an angle of, say, ten o’clock; it looks like a weird oversized sun-dial. Elsewhere there is a beached whale and its cub, breathing heavily, with a man posing for a photo next to the mother’s soft eye: as the shutter closes, the whale blinks. The air is full of birds …

I stand transfixed on the shore watching all of this activity, too frightened to walk out on to the sea bed and join the other people. For I’m terrified of the possibility of the Sea’s sudden return … Perhaps that low smudgy strip of grey cloud on the horizon is in fact a thundering wall of water hundreds of feet high …

Nobody seems to notice except me, they just carry on regardless. I stand there, trembling like a hobbled racehorse.

*****

Fresh Kills
For more than 30 years, Mierle Laderman Ukeles has been artist-in-residence with the New York City Department of Sanitation, initially unsalaried, self-appointed. Many of her large-scale public projects focus on issues and processes related to waste management, and combine the social-civic-participatory, the environmental, and the political. In Touch Sanitation (1978-84), she documented her meetings and conversations with NY’s sanitation workers, over an 11-month period thanking and shaking hands with over 8,500 ‘garbage’ workers in all 59 municipal districts in the five boroughs of New York. In response to their social marginalization, she was endeavouring to re-value the role of sanitation workers in the accumulation of small respect-ful human encounters: empathetic recognition of ‘the domestic on an urban scale’, and the value of human relations.

Flow City (1983-90) revealed to visitors the scale and material reality of solid waste management in NY City. It included access to the vast marine transfer station in Manhattan on the Hudson River, where the city’s waste is loaded from trucks onto barges for transportation by river to the landfill site. The project involved collaboration with artists, architects, scientists, ecologists; it entailed the construction of viewing platforms, a glass bridge/walkway, and video monitors with live-feed relay of the flows of river, landfill, recycling. The work made these ‘invisible’ processes available and immediate, and invited reflection on our imbrication within these relational circuits and their fragile ecologies.

Since 1989, Ukeles has also been working directly around the Fresh Kills landfill site on the Western shore of the borough of Staten Island. This is the biggest landfill site in the world where, for about 50 years until its closure in March 2001, 25,000 tons of waste from NY City were delivered daily. It was eventually closed because of its size – it had become one of the highest objects on the Eastern seaboard of the US, and threatened to impede air traffic. 2,200 acres, about 3.4 square miles, the equivalent of 2.5 Central Parks.

(Currently, and in the coming years, this vast brown fill site is being transformed into ‘Fresh Kills Park’, a huge public park space: the garbage has been capped, covered in a layer of earth and an impermeable plastic membrane, then topped with clean soil - up to 4 feet deep, native plants, its methane tapped and processed).

On 13th September 2001, one part of Fresh Kills, the largest (Western section 1/9), was re-opened as an emergency site for the FBI and NYPD to sift, sort and dump World Trade Centre debris from the terrorist attacks on September 11th. Dormant marine transfer stations and barges were re-mobilised within days. In an article for Cabinet magazine in 2002, Ukeles asked: ‘What is the meaning of this place now?’ She refers to Fresh Kills as a collectively constructed urban earthwork, ‘a 50-year old social sculpture we have all produced, of four mountains made from 150 million cubic yards of the un-differentiated, un-named, no-value garbage, whose every iota of material identity has been banished’ (Ukeles 2002). However with this dispersal of the ‘flying dust’ from ‘thousands of unfound, incinerated human beings’, and the mingling of human remains and garbage, she suggests: a ‘memorial, or graveyard – or whatever it is – needs to be created out of an utterly opposite kind of social contract. The shattered taboo that enabled this unholy shotgun marriage needs to be restored; a chasm-change in attitude is required, one of very deliberate differentiating, of naming, of attentive reverence for each mote of dust from each lost individual. Thus remembered. This must become a place that returns identity to, not strips identity from, each perished person …” (ibid).

*****

Elsew/here: ‘looking for our lives’
Elsew/here, another kind of sea far inland. The travellers arrive in ones and twos, sometimes a small van arrives in a dust cloud and disgorges an unsteady gaggle of people, shrouded against the sun. They carry light bags for the journey, just the barest of essentials. They have long since said goodbye to their families. Those that stay behind never say their son or daughter or husband ‘left’ or ‘migrated’; they refer to them as ‘the burnt ones’, those that have burnt the law, the past.

At the meeting point in the dunes a man in sunglasses shows them the pre-fabricated kit from which they will build the boat. As he explains the process, he traces lines and swirls in the sand with a stick. Lengths of untreated pine are laid out on the ground; to one side on a white cloth, a variety of bolts, screws, two screwdrivers, a hammer, some bags of plastic ballast. The wood looks like the ruptured rib cage of some extinct beast, bleached by the sun, then buried by the tidal movements of the sand, and only now disinterred.

Many of them have never seen the sea; with diverse images of ‘boat’ in their minds, they start to assemble this mysterious thing in which they will entrust their hopes and their lives. Gradually separate pieces are linked together and the boat’s outline emerges. Their tap-tap-tapping is sometimes interrupted by the low throb of a military plane scouring the dunes; they hide under camouflaged tarpaulins, or lie flat on the sand to try to make themselves invisible, just more fragments of unremarkable desert flotsam.

When the boat is finished, they stand around it with a mixture of astonishment and trepidation. In silence they wait huddled against the cold night until dawn, unable to sleep, then at first light they drag the boat through the sand towards the sea. We go looking for our lives, they say.

On these journeys, there is time but not a thing by which to tell it, save the passage of the sun, the phases of the moon, and the patient pulse of the sea’s pull and give.

*****

Slow burial
‘It is interesting, the debris in the air. A surprising portion of it is spider legs, and bits thereof. Spider legs are flimsy … because they are hollow. They lack muscles; compressed air moves them. Consequently, the snap off easily, and go blowing about. Another unexpected source of aerial detritus is tires. Eroding tires shed latex shreds at a brisk clip, say the folk who train their microscopes on air. Farm dust joins sulfuric acid droplets (from burned fossil fuels) and sand from the Sahara Desert to produce the summer haze that blurs and dims valleys and coasts.

We inhale “many hundreds of particles in each breath we take” … Air routinely carries intimate fragments of rug, dung, carcasses, leaves and leaf hairs, coral, coal, skin, sweat, soap, silt, pollen, algae, bacteria, spores, soot, ammonia, and spit, as well as “salt crystals from ocean white-caps, dust scraped off distant mountains, micro bits of cooled magma blown from volcanoes and charred micro-fragments from tropical forest fires”. These sorts of things can add up.

At dusk, the particles meet rising water vapor, stick together, and fall; that is when they will bury you. Soil bacteria eat what they can, and the rest of it stays put if there’s no wind. After thirty years, there is a new inch of topsoil’ (Dillard 1999: 123-4).

*****

To be continued ...
__________________________________________

Notes

[1] At one point, DeLillo co-opts a Dupont Corporation slogan as an ironic chapter title: ‘Better Things for Better Living, Through Chemistry’ (Delillo 1998: 499).

[2] It is pertinent to compare this ‘return of the repressed’ with psychoanalysis’s core interest in the ‘secret histories’ contained within the overlooked waste products of psychic life. Like Benjaminian collectors, psychoanalysts endeavour to ‘divine secret and concealed things from despised or unnoticed features, from the rubbish-heap, as it were, of our observations’ (Freud 1985: 265). In Agnès Varda’s film Les Glaneurs et la Glaneuse (2000), one of the elderly grape gleaners Varda interviews is the celebrated psychoanalyst Jean Laplanche, although she does not realize who he is until she returns to make a second film Les Glaneurs et la Glaneuse – deux ans après (2002). In this later film, Laplanche suggests that both gleaning and psychoanalysis pay particular attention to the overlooked, ‘what falls from speech (discours). What is dropped, what is picked up. Words which are beside usual speech are of special value to psychoanalysts, because things which are picked up or gleaned are more valuable to us than what is harvested’ (Varda 2009).

[3] This narrative thread seems to be based in part on the self-styled ‘non-governmental garbologist’ AJ Weberman, and his notorious pursuit in the 1960s of Bob Dylan (and others) through raiding his trash, an act of muckraking purportedly intended to recuperate traces that would offer a register of Dylan’s ‘real’ identity’. For a more detailed account, see e.g. Scanlan 2005 147-53.

[4] Cf. Walter Benjamin, history’s ‘ragpicker’ scouring the residual dream-worlds of obsolete commodity fetishism, on The Arcades Project method as ‘literary montage’: ‘I shall purloin no valuables, appropriate no ingenious formulations. But show the rags, the refuse – these I will not inventory but allow, in the only way possible, to come into their own: by making use of them’ (Benjamin 1999: 460).

Bibliography

Bauman, Zygmunt (2004). Wasted Lives: Modernity and Its Outcasts, Cambridge: Polity

Benjamin, Walter (1979). ‘Naples’, in One Way Street, and other writings, London: Verso, pp. 167-76

Benjamin, Walter (1992) [1940]. ‘Theses on the Philosophy of History’, Illuminations (trans.
Harry Zohn), London & New York: Fontana/HarperCollins, pp. 245-55

Benjamin, Walter (1999). The Arcades Project (trans. Howard Eiland & Kevin McLaughlin), Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press

Biemann, Ursula & Homes, Brian (eds) (2006). The Maghreb Connection: Movements of Life Across North Africa, Actar

Calvino, Italo (1974). ‘Continuous Cities 1: Leonia’, Invisible Cities (trans. William Weaver), Florida: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, pp. 114-6

Davis, Mike (2006). Planet of Slums, London: Verso

DeLillo, Don (1998). Underworld, London: Picador

DePietro, Thomas (ed.) (2005). Conversations with Don DeLillo, Jackson: U.P. Mississippi

Dillard, Annie (1999). For the Time Being, New York: Vintage

Fonseca, Isabel (1995). Bury Me Standing: The Gypsies and their Journey, London: Vintage

Hawkins, Gay & Muecke, Stephen (eds) (2003). Culture and Waste: The Creation and Destruction of Value, Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield

Hillman, James (1979). The Dream and the Underworld, New York: Harper & Row

Lacy, Suzanne (ed.) (1995). Mapping the Terrain: New Genre Public Art, Seattle, Washington: Bay Press

Lippard, Lucy R. (1995). ‘The Garbage Girls’, Z Magazine, New York, December 1991: reprinted in The Pink Glass Swan: Selected Essays on Feminist Art, New York: New Press, 1995

Lundstrom, Jan-Erik, Dimitrakaki, Angela (eds) (2008). Ursula Biemann - Mission Reports: Artistic Practice in the Field, Bristol: Arnolfini Gallery

Marx, Ursula, Gudrun Schwarz et al (eds) (2007). Walter Benjamin’s Archive: Images, Texts, Signs, London: Verso

Neville, Brian & Villeneuve, Johanne (eds) (2002). Waste-Site Stories: The Recycling of Memory, Albany NY: State University of New York Press

Rathje, William & Murphy, Cullen (1992). Rubbish! The Archaeology of Garbage, New York: Harper Collins

Rogers, Heather (2005). Gone Tomorrow: The Hidden Life of Garbage, New York: New Press

Saviano, Roberto (2007). Gomorrah: Italy’s Other Mafia (trans. Virginia Jewiss), Basingstoke: Macmillan

Scanlan, John (2005). On Garbage, London: Reaktion

Senior, Kathryn & Mazza, Alfredo (2004). ‘Italian “Triangle of Death” linked to waste crisis’, The Lancet (Oncology), vol. 5, September, pp. 525-7

Sinclair, Iain (2003). London Orbital, Harmondsworth: Penguin

Sinclair, Iain (2009). Hackney, That Rose-Red Empire: A Confidential Report, London: Hamish Hamilton

Steedman, Carolyn (2001). Dust, Manchester: Manchester University Press

Strasser, Susan (1999). Waste and Want: A Social History of Trash, New York: Henry Holt & Co

Ukeles, Mierle Laderman (2002). ‘It’s about time for Fresh Kills’, Cabinet no. 6 (‘Horticulture’), Spring, pp. 17-20. Published online at Cabinet website: http://www.cabinetmagazine.org/issues/6/freshkills.php

Websites
For Legambiente, Italy, see here
For Legambiente’s illegal waste archive reports, see here


A version of some of these 'Underhistory' texts, was first presented as ‘Underworld, underground, underhistory: ecomafia landscapes’, part of the 4-day AHRC-funded ‘Landscape and Environment’ conference at Aberystwyth University, Wales, in June 2009. (Coordinators: Mike Pearson and Heike Roms). For further details, see here

underhistory (2)

Undersense 

James Hillman: '[This concern with depth leads us in practice to] pay special attention to whatever is below. This has been so since the beginning of psychoanalysis, and its notions of suppression, subconscious, and shadow. These are terms for what we see in images: burials, the dead, ancestors; workers in refuse, sewers, plumbers; criminals and outcasts; the lower body, its garment and its functions; lower forms of life that we ‘look down upon’, from apes to bugs; the underside of the world, the floor of the sea, the downstairs and cellars, and in fact anything whatsoever that can be turned over in the sense of hyponoia to reveal a deeper significance. The emotions that go with these images of bottoming are reluctance, loathing, sadness, mourning, inhibition, enclosure, lethargy, or that sense of depth that presses on us as depression, oppression, suppression. Our downward imagination has entered the earth' (Hillman 1979:139-40).

Hyponoia - Plato’s notion in the Republic: ‘“undersense”, “deeper meaning”, which is an ancient way of putting Freud’s idea of “latent”. The search for undersense is what we express in common speech as the desire to understand … search for deeper grounding … All these movements of hyponoia, leading towards an understanding that gains ground and makes matter, are work’ (ibid: 137).

*****

Insides white
In her book about the Roma and Sinti peoples of Eastern Europe, Bury Me Standing (1995), Isabel Fonseca describes relations between a marginalized, devalued people ‘outside History’, and their geographies, the landscapes made available to this ‘underground nation’ (277). Part of Fonseca’s project was to register the lives lived in these ‘Black Towns’ across Eastern Europe: communities in locations typically on the town dump, often without a name, or ‘with names like ‘Take-It-Or-Leave-It’, ‘Like-It-Or-Not’, ‘No-Man’s-Land’, ‘Cambodia’, and ‘Bangladesh’’ (305).

She cites an example from before the 2nd World War, in 1936 Berlin. Partly in order to clear the streets of Berlin before the Olympic Games, the chief of police authorized the arrest of all Gypsies in Prussia; 600 Roma and Sinti ‘were corralled under police guard into a sewage dump next to a cemetery at Marzahn, a suburb of Berlin’. As Fonseca points out, the location is doubly punitive for people with ‘elaborate codes of hygiene’ and superstitions about graveyards (257). With only 3 water pumps and 2 toilets for what the Nazis called the ‘Gypsy uncreatures’ or ‘the plague’, ‘lives unworthy of life’ (261), there were inevitable outbreaks of disease with many mortalities. Subsequently these Gypsies and others were sent into forced labour and death in Dachau, then later Auschwitz, in the systematic annihilation Gypsies refer to as porraimos, ‘the devouring’ (253).

Compare this with the Gypsy slums of Slovakia in 1990s. One settlement at Rudnany was dispersed over an abandoned arsenic mine, in ‘post-industrial squalor’; people were living in derelict mining offices, these decaying and often roofless buildings surrounded by corroded containers leaking white powder. An environment surrounded by heavy metal waste: arsenic, antimony, bismuth, mercury. In 1993, Slovakian premier Vladmir Meciar made a speech in which he stated that it was ‘necessary to curtail the extended reproduction of the socially unadaptable and mentally backward population’ (293).

In her book, Fonseca includes an image of a pair of Rom children playing in the river at Copsa Mica, Romania, in the shadow of a vast smoke-belching industrial plant. She explains that in this heavily polluted Transylvanian town ‘all the sheep are black – along with everything and everyone else. The residents drink great quantities of milk in the belief, according to one long-term resident, that it will at least “keep their insides white”’ (93).

She also reiterates Brian Vesey-Fitzgerald’s description of how, in 1940s Britain, “Gypsies suffering from pulmonary disease attempted a symbolic transference by breathing three times into the mouth of a live fish, and then throwing it back into the stream from which it had been fetched. The hope was that, confused, death would go for the fish” (248).

In 2008, Silvio Berlusconi’s party ‘Il Popolo della Liberta’ (‘People of Freedom’) proposed to introduce legislation that required all Roma people to be fingerprinted, including children. Berlusconi’s public rationale proposed that this was imperative given the ‘fact’ that Gypsy people ‘have the criminal gene’.

*****

The Angel of History
‘A Klee painting named Angelus Novus shows an angel looking as though he is about to move away from something he is fixedly contemplating. His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned towards the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. This storm irresistible propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress’ (Benjamin [1940] 1992: 249).

*****

Elsew/here: ghost net
Elsew/here a ghost net drifts across the ocean’s surface, a floating island unconsciously gathering its catch. From a distance it looks like a small reef breaching the surface. Close up, it’s another story. Caught in the net’s mesh are seaweed, drift wood, plastic bottles, lengths of blue polymer twine, twisted drinks cans, a paint can half full of toxic sludge, empty crisp packets, an aerosol can, dead fish, various bird carcasses, a dolphin cub, and a fluttering tern, its feet caught in the fine nylon filaments: its wings are the only visible sign of life. This is how it happens. A length of pelagic drift netting, one of the instruments of choice for those barely-legal fishing fleets engaged in a kind of maritime strip-mining, breaks loose and floats free. As it drifts it entraps whatever it encounters, gradually ballooning until its mass of waste and putrefying flesh finally sinks beneath its own weight. Over time, this material then breaks down or falls free to allow the net to rise to the surface once more - and the cycle begins again.

On these journeys, there is time but not a thing by which to tell it, save the passage of the sun, the phases of the moon, and the patient pulse of the sea’s pull and give.

*****

26 May 2009
‘ A Nepalese Sherpa who holds the world record for climbing Mount Everest said yesterday that rising temperatures were melting snow and turning the slopes barren, making it even harder to scale the world’s tallest peak. Apa Sherpa, back from his 19th successful ascent of Everest last week, said a snow trail to the peak was now just a stretch of bare rocks, as climate change pushed up snowlines and shrank glaciers …

Environmental activists say rising temperatures are rapidly shrinking the Himalayan glaciers from which several Asian rivers originate, threatening the lives of millions of people who depend on them for water.

As well as the impact of climate change, Everest’s environment is also threatened by rubbish left behind by climbers, campaigners say. Apa Sherpa, who first climbed Everest in 1990, said his team had brought down more than 5 tonnes of litter from the mountain, including old tents, ropes, plastic and gas canisters, human waste, and parts of a helicopter that crashed in 1973’ (‘Everest getting harder to climb, says Sherpa’, The Guardian, 26 May 2009).

12 December 2008
‘The government of the Andaman and Nicobar islands is investigating the deaths, over the past three days, of eight members of the Onge tribe who succumbed after drinking a chemical from a brown glass bottle which washed ashore. The Onge already has fewer than 100 members, and Stephen Corry, Survival International's director, said: "This is a calamity for [them]. If any more die, it could put the survival of the entire tribe in serious danger”. The Onge was devastated after the British occupied the islands in the 19th century. Today activists accuse the government of chronic neglect’ (Sanjib Kumar Roy, ‘Bottled chemical on beach kills tribe members’, The Guardian, 12 December 2008).

*****

underhistory (1)

In 2004, the Croatian performance artist DB Indos took me to a vast rubbish tip near Zagreb; he called it ‘the mountain’, ‘an apocalyptic place, as if something terrible has happened’. A chaotic archive of the broken, the unwanted, the redundant, the forgotten, the repressed: a monumental landscape of fragments of the city’s discarded pasts. He told me about methane build-ups within this mass of refuse, how some years ago a huge explosion had scattered rubbish far and wide across the southern suburbs of the city. Then he told me of his desire to make a performance here, and pointed to a spot high on a crest …

Introduction
The following texts emerge from a long-term interest in Italian politics and organized crime: its performative modus operandi, and its imbrication in the circuits and flows of globalization. In addition, and more recently, I have been looking at approaches to waste in environmentalism, cultural studies, archaeology, psychology and psychoanalysis, and certain contemporary art practices. As John Scanlan and others have shown, terms like 'garbage', 'trash', 'refuse', 'waste' and 'rubbish' are complex metaphorical terms employed to organize and legitimize the treatment of parts of life normally desired to be overlooked. So perhaps attention to waste can provide uncanny shadow histories and geographies of ‘things, people or activities that are separated, removed, and devalued’ (Scanlan 2005: 10).

What follows in this sequence of three consecutive blog posts are sections from a longer set of texts – very much unfinished, a work-in-progress. In large part, I am inspired here by the work of particular activists, artists and investigators, and I dedicate this research to them: Dan Gretton and his colleagues at Platform; the artist/activist Ursula Biemann; the investigative journalist Roberto Saviano; the artist Mierle Laderman Ukeles; and the Sicilian magistrates Giovanni Falcone & Paolo Borsellino, murdered by the Mafia in the summer of 1992.

I’d like to begin with three prefatory quotations:

First, Iain Sinclair, from his recent book Hackney, That Rose-Red Empire: ‘We are the rubbish, outmoded and unrequired. Dumped on wet pavings and left there for weeks, in the expectation of becoming art objects, a baleful warning. Nobody pays me to do this. It is my own choice, to identify with detritus in a place that has declared war on unconvinced recyclers while erecting expensive memorials to the absence of memory’ (Sinclair 2009: 7).

Second, Isabel Fonseca in Bury Me Standing, her extraordinary 1996 book about Roma & Sinti people in Eastern Europe. In 1940s Britain, she writes, “Gypsies suffering from pulmonary disease attempted a symbolic transference by breathing three times into the mouth of a live fish, and then throwing it back into the stream from which it had been fetched. The hope was that, confused, death would go for the fish” (Fonseca 1995: 248).

And finally, Walter Benjamin, an incomplete fragment from his ‘First Sketches’ for the Arcades Project: ‘And nothing at all of what we are saying here actually existed. None of it has ever lived – as surely as a skeleton has never lived, but only a man. As surely, however … [broken off]’ (Benjamin 1999: 833).

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Leonia
In Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities, Leonia is a city that ‘refashions itself every day’ – everything is discarded and replaced on a daily basis. It’s uncertain whether Leonia’s ‘true passion’ is ‘the enjoyment of new and different things’, or rather ‘the joy of expelling, discarding, cleansing itself of a recurrent impurity’. Every day the street cleaners, who are ‘welcomed like angels’, remove ‘the residue of yesterday’s existence’, but nobody in the city knows where they take it. Somewhere ‘outside’. However ‘the bulk of the outflow increases and the piles rise higher, become stratified’, until eventually a ‘fortress of indestructible leftovers surrounds Leonia, dominating it on every side, like a chain of mountains’.

‘This is the result: the more Leonia expels goods, the more it accumulates them; the scales of its past are soldered into a cuirass that cannot be removed. As the city is renewed each day, it preserves all of itself in its only definitive form: yesterday’s sweepings piled up on the sweepings of the day before yesterday, and of all its days and years and decades …’

Meanwhile, the other cities are also ‘pushing mountains of refuse in front of themselves’. ‘Perhaps the whole world, beyond Leonia’s boundaries, is covered by craters of rubbish, each surrounding a metropolis in constant eruption. The boundaries between the alien, hostile cities are infected ramparts where the detritus of both support each other, overlap, mingle’.

As the mountains of refuse grow in height, the danger of a cataclysmic landslide increases. ’A tin can, an old tire, an unravelled wine flask, if it rolls towards Leonia, is enough to bring with it an avalanche of unmated shoes, calendars of bygone years, withered flowers, submerging the city in its own past, which it had tried in vain to reject, mingling with the past of the neighbouring cities, finally clean …’ The other cities are ready to move into the new territory, flatten it with their bulldozers, and erase all trace of Leonia, freeing a space for their own street cleaners to push ‘still farther out’ (Calvino 1974: 114-6).

*****

Campania Felix

The last twenty-five years or so has seen the rise of an organized crime phenomenon known as the ‘Ecomafia’, a term that refers to illegal development and construction, and to waste disposal. Since the late 1970s, the waste disposal industry has become a lucrative context in an extreme form of gangster capitalism, in which toxic materials are dispersed illegally and with devastating effects. Bernardo Provenzano, former boss of bosses in the Sicilian Cosa Nostra, wrote in one his smuggled notes, with a Midas-related boast: “It’s easy - it goes out shit, and comes back gold”. In Italy, investigators suggest that millions of tons of industrial waste ‘disappear’ every year, of which about 300,000 tons are highly toxic. An estimated 500 tons a day go missing from the province of Milan alone, almost 40% of its daily total.

Campania: Campania Felix, as it used to be known – ‘a land as clear as daylight’ is the advertising strap-line of the Regione Campania tourist board. Their brochures quote Pliny the Elder, writing almost exactly 2,000 years ago: ‘This land is so happy, so delightful, so fortunate that it is obvious it is nature’s favorite. This revitalizing air, the perpetually clear skies, the so fertile land …’ However, in the early part of the 21st century, in a semi-circle to the north of Naples, in the so-called ‘Land of Fires’, Campania contains the greatest concentration of illegal toxic and non-toxic dumping and unregulated incineration in Western Europe, which has poisoned the land and many of its inhabitants; there is an estimated illegal dumping of about a million tons a year in this region alone.

The scale is bewildering, to say the least. According to Lagambiente the Italian environmental NGO (the original inventors of the word ‘Ecomafia’ in the 1990s), “if all the trash that has escaped legal inspection in Italy [since the early 1990s] were collected in one place, it would form a mountain […] rising 47,900 feet from a base of 3 hectares. Mont Blanc rises 15,780 feet, Everest 29,015. So this heap of unregulated and unreported waste would be the highest mountain on earth” (Saviano 2007: 283).

In Italy almost all of this waste travels North to South, contracted out at 40-80% below its legal disposal costs: mostly scattered across Campania, Calabria, Puglia, Sicily. As Roberto Saviano points out, these regions with the greatest number of recorded environmental crimes, also “head the list for the largest criminal associations, the highest unemployment rates, the greatest number of volunteers for the military and the police forces” (ibid: 283).

All sorts of materials have been found: derivatives from incinerators & thermoelectric plants; asbestos; polluted soil from reclamation projects; petrochemical companies’ waste; paint residues; chemical thinners; carcinogenic hydrocarbons; radioactive and other waste from hospitals; old road surfaces with a very elevated tar density; sludge from tanning factories and purification plants; heavy metals – lead, mercury, cadmium – as well as arsenic, chrome, nickel, cobalt; even exhumed body parts from cemeteries when they clear space by moving on the so-called ‘superdead’ (over 40 years old). And in the plumes of illegal incinerations, the release of huge quantities of dioxins that find their way into the water table, and agricultural produce, including most famously into buffalo mozzarella cheese.

Saviano describes a farmer ploughing a newly purchased field, his plough blade becoming jammed and uncovering bales of pulped lire bank notes (285). Also, during the public prosecutor’s 2006 covert operation Madre Terra ('Mother Earth'), the discovery of huge dumps of printer toner (286) leaching carcinogenic hexavalent chromium into the soil.

This dispersal has reconfigured the landscape to create ‘previously non-existent hills and suddenly restored lost mass to mountains devoured by quarries’ (Saviano 285). There is a terrible logic to the cycle. Buy land – create new quarries/tips – get the contract for its reclamation.clean-up – re-disperse these materials, and re-use the old quarry/tip sites again – use the capital to drive out small holders, buy more land, create more space … Anywhere is a potential empty space: underground petrol tanks of disused gas stations, abandoned houses. In the documentary Biutiful Cauntri: construction waste is dumped in a pyramidal pile in the middle of the road on an underpass on the motorway. Another common dispersal technique is through mixing waste with cement or asphalt for use in construction (a technique employed in England by London Waste for the illegal dispersal of fly ash), or cutting waste into fertilizer and compost, distributed nationally and spread widely on agricultural land.

Cumulatively, this activity has generated billions of euros for the Camorra clans. It’s known that organized crime makes a lot more money per annum than Fiat, for example. It has produced spiralling health problems in farm stock & humans in Campania. Including (according to research by the WHO and others) an alarming increase in particular cancers - liver, leukaemia, lymphoma etc. - in Caserta, Acerro and other areas around Naples (see Senior & Mazza 2004).

Evidently this is just one part of widespread illegal dumping elsewhere; one thinks of Trafigura’s astounding criminal recklessness in its dispersal of a highly toxic sludge in Abidjan on the Ivory Coast, or of Shell’s implicatedness in the environmental devastation of the Niger delta. For organized crime in Italy it operates via an international network related to drug trade routes and connections, and easy deals with the 3rd world. Also to Eastern Europe (particularly Romania, where there is documentary evidence of radioactive waste having been dumped in the Black Sea); to Albania, China, Costa Rica – and in particular to Africa (Mozambique, Nigeria, Somalia etc.), on land and in the sea. There has been tipping directly off ships – barrels dumped over the side into the sea, as well as the sinking of ships with holds full of waste, then claim the insurance. It’s now known, for example, that ships containing barrels of radioactive waste have been sunk off Calabria in the Mediterranean, as well as much more widely off the east coast of Africa.

Then in December 2004, the tsunami threw up hundreds of decaying barrels of illegally dumped radioactive and heavy metal waste on to the beaches of Somalia. UN reports and other sources confirm the link with Italian organized crime. Recent statements by some of the Somalian ‘pirates’ taking ships hostage have justified their ransom demands in part as compensation to be used in cleaning up the coastline ‘laid waste’ by Ecomafias in this way over the past 20 years, and in helping to protect their fishing territories. There remains very limited discussion of this in the Western media, with the notable exception of Johann Hari in The Independent, and more recently George Monbiot in The Guardian.

Strange reversals: ‘Waste disposal’ as environmental terrorism - the performance of ‘piracy’ as radical environmentalist intervention.

*****

three bags full

The following text is from a recent Italian news article, as 'translated' by Google, about purported collusion between Raffaele Lombardo, the current President of the region of Sicily, and the mafia. The former Christian Democrat and MEP was elected in 2008 with over 68% of regional votes. He took office after President Salvatore Cuffaro (nicknamed Vasa Vasa, 'Kiss Kiss'), another former Christian Democrat, currently serving a 7-year sentence for aiding and abetting Cosa Nostra.

"I did not expect this news-went-but certainly, if someone was waiting for" and added: "On this story I will write a book." Prosecutors say there were contacts between Lombardo and Cosa Nostra mafia. The existence of direct relationships between the boss of Calatagirone, Rosario Di Dio, and Raffaele Lombardo emerge from wiretaps and statements of cooperating witnesses. God refers to an accomplice who Lombardo time ago he would go to him. "At half past one at night came, and was two and a half hours from me here. From one and a half to four in the morning. He ate seven cigarettes." He added that Lombardo had been received through your farmer "three bags full of facsimile" inviting him to engage in elections.

Photograph at top: graffiti on the back wall of Palermo's cathedral, 2008

Photo at bottom: from events in memory of Peppino Impastato in Cinisi, May 2012

mush, bagels & duckling

'Real names didn't mean anything to these guys. They didn't introduce by last names. I knew guys that had been hanging out together for five or ten years and did not know each other's last names. Nobody cares. You were introduced by a first name or a nickname. If you don't volunteer somebody's last name, nobody'll ask you. That's just the code. The feeling is, if you wanted me to know a name, you would have told me' - Joe Pistone (AKA 'Donnie Brasco').

The recent arrest in the New York region and in Sicily of more than 120 reputed Mafiosi from the five big families - Gambino, Colombo, Genovese, Bonanno, Luchese, as well as deCavalcante, di Maggio, Mannino, Inzerillo - brings to light some new 'made men' nicknames.

As a kind of addendum to an earlier post about Mafia names ('Little Charles the Cat Eater', 16 October 2008) - and with a nod at recent news that undercover British policeman Mark Kennedy's nickname among the environmentalists he infiltrated for 7 years was 'Flash' - the list below is drawn from last week's mass federal indictments in the US, in the wake of the FBI operation named 'Mafia Takedown'.

Luigi Manocchio ('The Old Man', 'The Professor, and 'Baby Shacks' - so named purportedly because of his frequent liaisons with women); Vincenzo Frogiero ('Vinny Carwash'); Anthony Cavezza ('Tony Bagels'); Joseph Carna ('Junior Lollipops'), Jack Rizzocascio ('Jack the Whack'), Bartolomeo Vernace ('Bobby Glasses'), Andrew Russo ('Mush'), Benjamin Castellazzo ('The Claw' or 'The Fang'), Dennis deLucia ('Fat Dennis' or 'The Beard').

Also, 'Johnny Cash', 'Baby Fat Larry', 'Johnny Pizza', 'Lumpy', 'The Bull', 'Meatball', 'Louis Ices', 'Marbles', and 'Skinny'.

Meanwhile, I've been reading sociologist Diego Gambetta's fascinating Codes Of The Underworld: How Criminals Communicate (Princeton University Press, 2009), which devotes a chapter to nicknames. There's a great section about derogatory Sicilian nicknames, triggered by the fact that the Sicilian word for nickname - 'nciuri - means 'abuse'. Gambetta writes, for example, about a fishmonger known as Gioiellere ('The Jeweller') because his merchandise was said to be as expensive as diamonds.

Gambetta also explores some Mafioso names I haven't come across before, metonymies inspired by physical features: u'Buttigghiuni ('Large Bottle'), Faccia di Pala ('Shovel Face'), Cosce Affumate ('Smoked Thighs'), Scillone ('Pendulum'), Mussu di Ficurindia ('Prickly Pear Mouth'), and Pinzetta ('Tweezers'). Others related to psychological or behavioural features include: Farfagnedda ('Stammer'), Tempesta ('Storm'), Parrapicca ('Few Words'), and Abbruciamontagna ('Burnt Mountain', hot temper). And then there are the hit men whose names are stripped of threatening connotations: Scarpuzzedda ('Little Shoe'), Anatreddu ('Duckling') and il Ragioniere ('The Accountant') ...

secrets and tears

'Without Sicily, Italy leaves no clear and lasting impression; this place is the key to everything' (Goethe, Italian Journey: Palermo, 13 April 1787).

‘Psyche chooses its geography’ (James Hillman).

The reasons why Sicily so inhabits my psyche remain mysterious to me. Why is my dream life so animated and intense when I am there? Why do I feel so 'at home' in this place of extremes? The following text & images - a version of a presentation at a Lone Twin symposium in Lancaster, 2007 - stem from a number of journeys to Sicily since 2002, a period that overlaps with my collaborations with Lone Twin (in particular during the preparation of Alice Bell). I had talked in a bantery way with Gregg & Gary about my fascination with Sicily, but had never really begun to articulate its complexity. This presentation endeavoured to touch on more personal interests.

Perhaps there's a circuitous link with Lone Twin insofar as these materials touch on the relations between travelling & stories, and on travel as a machine for generating stories. Perhaps there are other connections of sorts in some of the paradoxes & ambiguities of Sicily: in the spaces between generosity, compassion, sumptuous beauty and poverty, damage, dereliction, cruelty, suffering; between a celebratory joie de vivre and infinite sadness & tears; between wonder and horror; between unashamed & miraculous revelation and the repressive silencings of enforced secrets - so much of what happens there is invisible, half-glimpsed, or it cannot be spoken about, it is ‘unspeakable’; and in particular between hope (an action, a thing you 'do' in Sicily) and loss or even despair.

 _______________________________________

secrets and tears

In the noise of Sicily there are many different kinds of silence, and at least three gestures for a silence that is also a silencing:

1) Sew the lips together ('Cusitti la vucca') - 'Acqua in bocca' - 'Bouche cousue' - 'My lips are sealed'

2) Two fingers over the lips, slightly pushing up the nose ('Spiuni, muffuttu, cascittuni, sbirru') - 'As well as referring to a policeman, the gesture defines the informer, and all those who break the code of silence. When such a person appears, people say he stinks. The stink is due to the custom, in the past, of shoving such a person’s head into the toilet in the cell …'

3) Hands up, palms forward, leaning back ('Nenti sacciu, nenti haiu dittu, e se dittu e chiddu c'haiu dittu, nun l'haiu dittu') - 'Niente so, niente ho detto, e se detto e cio che ho detto, non l’ho detto' - 'Je ne sais rien, je n’ai rien dit, et si j’ai dit ce que j’ai dit, c’est comme si je ne l’avais pas dit' - 'I know nothing I have said nothing, and if what I said is said, I didn’t say it'

There’s an exquisite novel called The Leopard, by Lampedusa, about a Sicily in perpetual transition. In the novel Lampedusa describes the instability of truth in Sicily: ‘Nowhere has truth so short a life as in Sicily: a fact has scarcely happened five minutes before its genuine kernel has vanished, been camouflaged, embellished, disfigured, annihilated by imagination and self-interest: shame, fear, generosity, malice, opportunism, charity, all the passions, good as well as evil, fling themselves on the fact and tear it to pieces; very soon it has vanished altogether’ (216).


Perhaps I could try to tell you about the hot breezes – the sea – the sky – the smell of rain on the burnt earth.

Or some of the mythical stories about Sicily. The island is said to be supported above sea level by three huge marble columns, one of them broken. And Etna is the ‘forge of Vulcan’ – the Titans are said to be trapped under the volcano belching sulphur and rock.

Or Sicily's complex cultural layerings from a succession of invasions and occupations: Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Muslim Arabs, Normans, Spanish Bourbons, Fascists in the 2nd world war, Americans in the wake of WW2. A composite, a palimpsest, a contradiction: it seems closer to North Africa than to Rome (or indeed to Europe), and perhaps inevitably so many people remain suspicious of outsiders.

Or some of its place names: there are towns called Pachino, Rossollino, Cinisi, Cimino – all of these mafia towns – and a ‘Coppola’ is a hat traditionally worn by rural mafiosi.

Or the graffiti – in this culture of silences, disallowed agendas and beliefs seep out proliferatively into these anonymous textual interventions: ‘HOW COULD HELL BE WORSE THAN THIS PLACE’ / ‘MUSSOLINI LIVES’ / ‘NEVER GIVE UP, NEVER CONFESS, NEVER COOPERATE’ / 'ANDREOTTI = MAFIA' / ‘THANK YOU FALCONE’

Or the recent ‘t-shirt wars’ (another textual outlet): Last year, t-shirts with the slogan La Mafia: Made in Sicily were on sale in Palermo markets & shops – there were huge sales, particularly in the wake of the arrest of the then boss of bosses, Bernardo Provenzano, found in a hut very close to his home town of Corleone. The shirts generated political outrage, and there were unsuccessful attempts to ban them. Particularly vocal was a man called Salvatore Cuffaro the Governor of Sicily (who was himself, ironically, under investigation for aiding & abetting the Mafia).

Then in the UEFA Cup, West Ham were drawn against Palermo: in London, before the first of the 2 matches, unlicensed vendors were selling t-shirts with the slogan The Hammers v. the Mafia, with the marionette strings logo from the Godfather films. Great offence was caused among Sicilians & politicians, including Cuffaro again. West Ham lost 1-0. At the return match in Palermo, free t-shirts were distributed outside the ground in the local team colours (pink) with the slogan La Mafia fa schifo (is disgusting): la liberta e la cosa nostra (freedom is our thing). After their team’s first goal, Palermo fans hummed the theme tune from The Godfather ... Palermo won 3-0 … Almost inevitably, there was some rioting after the match.

Then last summer (2006), the Corleone town council, as part of a re-branding of this most notorious Mafia town in Sicily, produced a festival called ’I love (heart) Corleone’, with t-shirts to match. The money raised was to be used to fund projects to turn confiscated Mafia properties into schools and farming co-ops. However – get this - the town council is being sued by the daughter of the former Mafia ‘boss of bosses’ Salvatore Riina (now serving a life sentence); the Riina family owns a clothing company called Mania Max, who claim a copyright on the slogan; they have been producing their own ‘I love Corleone’ t-shirts for a number of years …

Or perhaps I could tell you about the astonishing food and the markets - ‘a hungry person’s dream’, according to the great Sicilian writer Leonardo Sciascia: 'a market is more than a market, it's a vision, a dream, a mirage'. Lemons, figs, peaches, grapes, melons, always sprigs of leaves around the fruit: cartoon perfect vegetables; fish – tuna, swordfish, octopus, squid aglow under the red tented canopies; vats of olives, cheeses, almonds, pistachios – more often than not the markets are a kind of vision, a fantasy of plenty … and a sensory overload. Flayed goat’s heads hanging over the meat stalls. A chicken’s head in the gutter. The wind-scattered trash in the market’s wake.

Or the weddings you see everywhere in the summer months: one in particular I remember, in Piazza Armerina, where the bride seemed to be so much more in love with the photographer than with her new husband.

Or perhaps I could tell you about Paul, the father of a friend Daniel: a Dutch hippy walking along the Alcantara river valley in the 1980s, through the plain and into the gorges, eventually finding a cave to live in; he believed he had found his dream river/valley, and he has been there ever since.

Or the places I love: the white shell beach in the Zingaro park; the tonnara at Scopello, and the view over the bay from Vito's; the waves and sand of Calamosche, near Noto; Siracusa, and in particular the streets and baroque tufo buildings of the adjoining island Ortigia; the crumbling old city around La Kalsa in Palermo; the hills around Palermo's conca d'oro, with its ghosts of Salvatore Giuliano; the Catania fish market; Castiglione di Sicilia; the Alcantara valley; Leonardo's abundant orchards, and the woods near Pantalemi; the luminous baroque beauty of Noto; the road through the mountains past Novara di Sicilia towards the coast at Tindari; Cefalu; the blue water at Favignana ...

Or the birds everywhere ... The swifts Hannah filmed flocking & swooping around the facade of the Banco di Sicilia in Palermo, en route to Africa for the winter – catching & drinking water droplets from the condensation coming from the air conditioning units. Then the thousands of startled birds that scattered from a grove of trees in Noto when the fireworks started during the fiesta ... Then there’s the hunting season: gunshot echoing around the valley, any bird seemingly a potential target: the tension in your spine ...

Or the wild dogs everywhere ... moving slowly from pocket of shade to pocket of shade during the summer months - scavenging around the edges of the markets - or the dog I saw asleep on the steps of the Teatro Massimo in Palermo, re-enacting Al Pacino’s death scene at the end of Godfather 3 - or the wild dogs running on the pitch during rioting at a Catania v. Palermo football match in early February 2007, the local derby match that led to the temporary suspension of all football in Italy. There were pictures on the news of players with their shirts over their heads to protect themselves against the tear gas as the match was abandoned and the dogs ran free …

Or - football - calcio - everywhere: oh the bewilderingly troubled state of Italian football ... The world cup triumph, high-level corruption, match fixing, demotions from Serie A including Juventus, etc. But what of the football itself, and the Italian aesthetics of football? Of the three vital ingredients required for the best football players and teams, Italians say the unruly passion of British football lacks all three: fantasia (the ability to do unpredictable things with the ball, surprising inspired instinct, imagination, flair); furbizia (cunning, slyness, tactical bending of the rules, all aspects of gamesmanship: all those things that offend and frustrate English fans so much); and tecnica (technique, skill). Surprise – cunning – skill ...

Or perhaps I could tell you about getting lost with Sue in the backstreets of Corleone, a little panicked, abandoning the car on some impossible vertical cobbled surface heading for some impossibly narrow gap between the houses. Meeting a sparkling-eyed man, telling him ‘Siamo perduto’ ('we are lost', I thought; in fact, 'we are desperate') – he laughs and says, ‘How can you be desperate when you can see the Madonna on the hillside?’

Or the countless Madonnas in little niches everywhere: votive candles, flowers, often in states of some disrepair, with dead flowers propped up in cans & coke bottles. The Madonna carrying a skull in her hand in the wall of Palermo’s Ucciardone Prison, the so-called ‘Mafia University’. Or the 'Weeping Madonna' (‘Madonna delle Lacrime’) in Syracusa: a ceramic Madonna who ‘wept’ for five days in 1953. Her tears are kept in a tiny glass phial in an ornate gilded centrepiece inside a giant dome built to resemble a tear drop. Or the Black Madonna at Tindari in the north of Sicily – La Madonna Nera, with her Latin plaque underneath her: Negra sum, sed formosa - 'I am black, but beautiful’. When this icon first appeared mysteriously ‘from the East’ a series of miracles occurred: for example, when a child fell from the cliffs towards the crashing sea below, the Black Madonna emptied the sea from the beach and cushioned the child’s landing with the soft sand. Since that time that stretch of beach has never been covered by the sea …

Or the roadside memorial in Alcantara to the young man whose body was thrown from a bridge into the gorge below in May 1950 during a car accident: somehow, miraculously, he survived … He was caught by St Antony, the memorial suggests.

Or my friend Leonardo telling me about his son-in-law, tragically killed when he fell backwards off building site scaffolding onto rocks: his tearful description of his young grandson asking about his disappeared father – ‘Why can’t he come down from the sky?’

Or Etna - the attitude of people living under the volcano: a mix of living in the moment and a kind of philosophical indifference. Its snow-covered peak: hundreds of years ago, ice was collected by the Arabs in great slabs from the summit, covered in ash, transported as far afield as Palermo and the mainland of Italy, for refrigeration.

Perhaps I could tell you about Empedocles, a hermit philosopher and early volcanologist who lived in an observatory near Etna’s summit, and studied it closely. Finally, in 433 BC he dived into the main crater (‘La Bocca Grande’) in attempt to prove that the gases spurting from the volcano would support his body weight and that he would float …

Or the lava sculptures on sale at stalls in the midst of the surreal lunar landscape near the mouth of the volcano: a row of Mussolinis and a row of Scottish Terriers ('scotties') amongst the Madonnas ...

Or perhaps the virgin martyr Saint Agatha, the patron saint of Catania and becalmer of Etna. She was put to death under the Roman regime in the 3rd century for refusing the sexual advances of the local Roman magistrate; she was imprisoned, beaten, tortured, and her breasts were crushed and cut off. Later canonised by Catholic Church for her miraculous intervention in the 17th century, her veil was carried from her tomb in Catania towards the eruptions, and the volcano stopped - saving the city from complete destruction by the lava flows. Agatha is still invoked against volcanic eruptions, as well as fire and lightning. Every February on her feast day, the bejewelled reliquary (purportedly) containing her breasts and various sinews is taken from the cathedral in Catania and paraded through the streets.

Or Pio Padre, pictures of whom are everywhere, on most motorbikes, cabs, shops. Known to all modern Italian Catholics, the Capuccin monk ‘received stigmata’ - bleeding wounds on his hands, feet and abdomen – and then performed miracles until his death until the late 1960s; there were inexplicable cures with his bandaged hands, instant conversions, visions & prophecies …

Or the African migrants illegally landing their boats on the beaches of Lampedusa (south of Sicily) every summer. There have been thousands of these economic migrants from Sub-Saharan Africa in recent years; over 2000 have died in the sea en route to a new life. Many of the survivors are held in detention camps near Siracusa.

Or the storms: A nocturnal electrical storm over the bay of Castellamare, west of Palermo, burning ephemeral images of coast and sea and sky onto our retinas - and our failed attempts to photograph the lightning.

Or the nocturnal fires apparently out of control in the olive groves on the hills; no one seems to notice as they burn through the night ...

Or 17 year old Rita Atria, daughter of a Mafia family whose father and brother had been murdered, who broke the vow of omerta/silence and went to the police. Denounced and threatened by her mother, she was given a safe house in Rome where she befriended the Mafia investigator Paolo Borsellino; he treated her like one of his own daughters and he became her one trusted link to home and the outside world. In 1992 a week after Borsellino was killed in a car-bombing in Palermo, Rita threw herself off the balcony. In a suicide note, she wrote: ‘There is no one left to protect me’ … Three months after her funeral, on the Day of the Dead, Rita’s mother smashed her headstone and obliterated the photo attached to it.

Yes, perhaps I should try to talk about the Mafia: Cosa Nostra, 'The Octopus', 'The Organisation', the State-within-the-State. Cusitti la vucca!

The complex hierarchies and codes of honour and respect, each family structure called a cosca, an artichoke, a unit with inter-folded leaves. The initiation rituals for becoming a ‘made man’ or ‘a friend of the friends’: a pricked finger, blood on the picture of saint, the image set on fire, the flames held in the hands, the oath sworn on pain of death. The connections with party politics, secret histories beneath the surface of Italian democracy: covert associations and conspiracies. The close links with the Christian Democrats (in their common horror of the Communists, like the Catholic Church – in 1948 voters were threatened with excommunication if they voted Communist). The particularly close links with seven-times prime minister Giulio Andreotti, and with members of Berlusconi’s Forza Italia - a party named after a football chant: 'Go Italy!' The murky rise of 'il Cavaliere' Berlusconi, from sleazey cruise-ship crooner to media monopolist, owner of AC Milan, three-time president in alliances with nationalists and fascists, always one step ahead of the law ... The protection money, pizzo, a word for the beak of a small bird - and an estimated 80% of businesses in Palermo are still thought to be paying the pizzo. The heroin refineries. The money laundered in real estate contracts, disastrous totalitarian-style housing development and unfinished public works projects – blocks of flats that collapse, roads that suddenly stop, flyovers in the middle of nowhere. The Mafia’s word for the Law – la sonnambula (the somnambulist, and it’s a female sleepwalker). The apartment in Palermo found by police in the mid 1980s, its rooms stacked floor to ceiling with bank notes. The illegal horse racing, closing off the roads in Palermo & Messina. The coded actions: the look, the gesture, the entry-phone button covered in glue (a common warning), the silent phone call, the threatening note, the poisoned dog, the dead fish sent through the post, the banker hanging off Blackfriars bridge with bricks & stones in his pockets, the body with money stuffed in its mouth, the precise coding of floral tributes at funerals ... The Corleonese psychopaths Luciano Liggio (the so-called ‘Black Knight’, although he preferred to be called ’The Professor’) and Toto ‘the Beast’ Riina, AKA Uncle Toto or Shorty - although you wouldn’t call him that to his face - he was responsible directly or indirectly for over 800 murders; Bernardo ‘The Tractor’ Provenzano in hiding for over 40 years (‘he shoots like an angel, but has the brains of a chicken’, according to his boss Liggio, who was reading Kant and Freud in Ucciardone prison, the ‘Mafia University’) - Provenzano was finally arrested in April 2006; and now probably the new capo di tutti capi, the Porsche-loving, computer operating, Latin speaking, playboy killer from Trapani, Matteo Messina Denaro, ‘Matthew Money’, who once strangled a rival’s pregnant girlfriend – ‘I filled a cemetery all by myself’, he once bragged; he has been in hiding since 1992 ... The massacres of the 1970s and 1980s, a systematic ‘terror’ engineered by Toto Riina, the psycopath from Corleone who just loves Corleone ... The killings, hundred & hundreds of people. The victims were rival Mafiosi, local and government politicians, judges, investigators, policemen, journalists, doctors, businessmen, the so-called ‘excellent cadavers’ or ‘distinguished corpses’: one lawyer’s severed head was found on the front seat of his car in Naples, the rest of his body had disappeared ... And then there were hundreds of other people simply in the wrong place at the wrong time – knives, garrottes, strychnine, sawn-off shotguns, kalashnikovs, grenades, acid vats, even a bazooka was once found; and then the bombs, there were lots of bombs …

Those that were murdered included: Giuseppe Russo - Michele Reina - Giorgio Ambrosoli - Boris Giuliano - Cesare Terranova - Piersanti Mattarella - Emanuele Basili - Gaetano Costa - Pio la Torre - Carlo Alberto Dalla Chiesa - Rocco Chinnici - the pentito Leonardo Vitale - Ninni Casara - Antonio Saetta - Giovanni Buonsignore - Giuseppe Insalaco - Rosario Livatino - Antonio Scopelliti -

These were all resisters – and I’d like to mention just a few remarkable others here:

In particular, prosecuting magistrates Giovanni Falconi and Paolo Borsellino – who recognised the ‘highly refined minds’ of some of the Mafiosi, and said the octopus was first of all inside all of us. They were responsible for bringing hundreds of core figures in organised crime to trial. Top Mafia enemies, extraordinary figureheads in exposing the structures and key players – both were murdered within a few weeks of each other, both with car bombs in the early summer of 1992 – Falcone on the way from the airport to Palermo with his wife and bodyguards, Borsellino while visiting his mother in Palermo on a Sunday afternoon.

Earlier on, Peppino Impastato: the son of a Mafioso who witnessed the death of his uncle (a local Mafia boss & heroin trafficker) in a car bomb when he was 15. Peppino refused to become Mafioso, broke off relations with his father, and became a left-wing activist. He started a community radio station (Radio Aut) that derided the local Mafia bosses in satirical & grotesque sketches; his radio programme ‘Onda Pazza’ (‘Crazy Waves’) used the cash registers in Pink Floyd’s ‘Money’ as an intro theme tune. A year after his father was ‘accidentally’ killed by a passing car, and on the same day in 1978 when former Prime Minister Aldo Moro’s body was found in the boot of a Fiat in Rome, dumped by the Red Brigades, Impastato was shot, his body was dumped on a railway line near Cinisi, explosives tied to his chest were detonated – a death designed to look like the suicide of a terrorist. Two days after his death he was elected as a local councillor. His murderers were only convicted in 2002, mainly due to the persistence of his mother & brother.

Libero Grassi, the shopkeeper who in August 1991 went on TV to signal his refusal to pay protection money (the pizzo): he was shot two days later ...

The seven students who one night in 2005 plastered the streets of Palermo with stickers demanding an end to protection payments, the pizzo: ‘A people that pays pizzo is a people without dignity’. Local pressure forced the city council to come on board and support this campaign, which continues today. So far over 7000 shoppers have been encouraged only to use retailers who refuse to cooperate with the Mafia; more than 150 local businesses are now involved in this grassroots ‘addiopizzo/consumo critico’ movement (‘Goodbye to protection/critical consumption’).

Letizia Battaglia, photographer/documenter of Mafia killings, community activist, local politician, who took to the streets to clean up needles and plant trees.

Perhaps above all, Rosaria Schifani. Live on television, the young wife of one of Giovanni Falcone’s bodyguards, killed in the same explosion at Carpaci, was one of the first 'ordinary' people (i.e. not in public office) to speak out to a mass audience against the Mafia and its connections to the State. The first words she spoke were: ‘My beautiful Vito. He had such beautiful legs’. She went on:

'I, Rosaria Costa, wife of police escort Vito Schifani, in the name of all those who have given their lives for the state – the state – I ask first of all that justice be done, now. I’m speaking to the men of the mafia who are here among us. You can ask for forgiveness. I will forgive you but you must get on your knees, if you have the courage to change. But they don’t want to change – they won’t change! … I ask, on behalf of the city of Palermo, Lord, which you have turned into a city of blood, too much blood, I ask you to work for peace, for justice, for hope, for love – love for everyone – but there is no love here … there is no love here … there is no love here …'

This final outrage, and her tears and her words, changed a lot of people’s hearts. Her public grief - and accusations - helped bring huge public pressure for change, and encouraged the growth of a popular anti-mafia movement throughout Sicily. Her words remind me of Carlo Levi’s description of the mother of a murdered communist peasant speaking out at the trial of her son’s killers in the 1950s: ‘And so this woman created herself, in the course of a day: tears are no longer tears, they are words now, and words are stones’.






(Extracts from 'Secrets and tears', a presentation as part of ‘I Can’t Go On Like This: a Lone Twin symposium', Nuffield Theatre, Lancaster University, February 2007 - © David Williams).