There's a stretch of Naples that should represent the vitality, culture, and pulsating life of a welcoming and breathing city. Yet today, Corso Umberto I has become a corridor of fear, a place where walking means looking over your shoulder and hoping to return home with everything you've got on your back.
I know because it happened to me.
A few days ago, in broad daylight, I was the victim of a mugging right there. I had a backpack on my shoulder, and if I hadn't been quick, they would have taken everything: wallet, phone, documents. The backpack was already completely open. I spun around and grabbed the guy, and he, taken aback, simply said, "Leave me alone, I didn't take anything!"
I stopped, only because I still had everything with me. But inside I was seething. The truth is, in cases like these, if you react, you risk being the one in the wrong.
And it doesn't end there.
Just fifteen minutes later, right before my eyes, they tried to rob a man, probably a foreigner. I instinctively shouted to warn him. And immediately the group approached me in a threatening manner, warning me that "those things aren't done." Do you understand?
He doesn't let himself defend himself. He doesn't let himself shout. He doesn't let himself react. Meanwhile, one of them, more in the background, was acting as a "spy." He asked me if it had happened to me too, then, with glacial calm, he picked up the phone and called someone. At that moment I knew it was best to leave.
And so, Mr. Mayor, I ask myself: how is it possible that in the beating heart of the city there is no constant presence of the police?
A few steps from universities, schools, shops, banks and offices, Corso Umberto has now become the Bronx.
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Naples doesn't deserve this.
The citizens who cross that street every day to work or study don't deserve it. Nor do the tourists who come from all over the world to see the beauty and find themselves faced with fear.
We need a permanent, visible, human, daily presence. Cameras aren't enough, and proclamations aren't enough. Security isn't promised: it's guaranteed.
Today it happened to me, tomorrow it could happen to anyone. Even a relative of the mayor, a councilor, anyone who crosses that street thinking they're simply in their own home.
I write with bitterness, but also with a hope I don't want to lose: that Naples can still be defended, that its dignity will return stronger than fear, and that Corso Umberto I, once a symbol of life and movement, will not remain an empty name in a city increasingly abandoned to itself.
Valeria Iuliano
Neapolitan town
Comments (1)
What can I say? When I leave the house in the morning, I know I'm walking into a jungle.
Who to contact. It seems law enforcement always has more important things to do. The traffic police, who it's worth remembering are MUNICIPAL POLICE, are always absent. Either they're on duty in that one square meter they occupy, or they're busy on the phone. That's all Antonio.