Marco Risi
Fortapàsc

Dear Giancarlo,

I'm sorry I never had the chance to meet you. I believe it would have been nice. Yesterday, I watched the film that Marco Risi, Dino's son, the one from "Il sorpasso," dedicated to you, and I think it was a good thing because I fear that some people might have forgotten or perhaps ignored you. Who knows, maybe because no one ever remembered you like they did in this film. You were portrayed by a young actor, really talented, named Libero De Rienzo. A guy who deserves it.

Seeing you again amidst the rubble of Torre Annunziata, where you worked as an illegal journalist for "Il Mattino," where you showed eternal love for that job that would kill you without even thanking you with a contract that came too late, I asked myself: "Was it worth it?"

Immediately, two schools of thought emerged. The first, the one of no, made half of my brain reflect and made me realize that, unfortunately, there are still plenty of people like those who eliminated you. In your time, there were the Gionta, the Bardellino, the Nuvoletta. Today, there are the Casalesi, the Scissionists of Secondigliano in the spotlight. Corrupt local politicians living off bribes stained with blood still exist. Rigged and camorra-controlled contracts still exist, and not just in Torre Annunziata. Massacres like those at the fishermen's circle still happen. Perhaps the situation has worsened excessively. Do you know they're killing us with toxic waste, with ecoballe, with illegal incinerators? Did you understand, Giancà? Maybe when you left us more alone, the air was still somewhat breathable. More or less. If you told the truth, the camorra would kill you, and with physical elimination, it proved that what you said was true. Just like it happened to you. Perhaps the camorra was less afraid and did not shy away from issues.

The school of yes, the one that made the remaining half reflect, made me realize something else. There is a boy named Roberto, who is a journalist like you and somehow followed in your footsteps. Uè Giancà, you should have seen him. This Roberto went to Casal di Principe and made an unprecedented mess. He made names and surnames just like you, and besides shouting them with anger and hatred, he also wrote them on paper and published them through a book that sold a ton of copies. He insulted them in front of everyone. I will tell you more, Giancà. He even dared to do more, not because he was braver, but because he has more resources and was luckier than you but is loved just the same. Times have changed since you left. Today there is the internet that informs millions of people in the blink of an eye. Maybe the camorra is afraid, and when someone tells the truth, it might not kill to try to make people believe you're talking nonsense. Yet it threatens you, not denying their status as scum. Roberto, for what he did, lives under protection. You didn't have protection, and imagine if anyone would expose themselves to give it to you. No one cared, Giancà. Your protection was that quirky Citroen you drove in the Bronx looking for hot news to publish.

Know one thing Giancà. Roberto paid you tribute and is fighting the same crap you fought, picking up the weapons you left on the battlefield in that lost war in 1985. A pen, a notebook, a camera. In addition to you, he'll have a laptop, a pen drive or an mp3 player, but these are trivial details. Giancà, rest assured that no one has forgotten you. Marco Risi remembered you with a beautiful film. Roberto is doing his part, and we, within the limits of our possibilities and/or capabilities, are doing ours. I assure you, Giancà.

Thank you for the example you left for posterity, Giancà. Like you, there are Roberto Saviano, Rosaria Capacchione, Lirio Abbate, Raffaele Cantone, Lorenzo Diana, you name it...

I hug you tight, Giancà. Goodbye.

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