WORLD WORLDWIDE EUROPE ITALY - news journal UPDATE - (en) Italy, FAI, Umanita Nova #34-25 - Mud and solidarity. Chronicles from the flooded Friuli (ca, de, it, pt, tr)[machine translation]

 When the phone vibrates at dawn, it's usually bad news. And indeed, the

voice of a friend on the other end comes broken, trembling: water is
invading his home. In Versa, Friuli, the night has turned into a river,
and people are waking up with their feet immersed in mud. It's not a
figure of speech, it's reality: people groping in the dark, searching
for flashlights, with dogs barking. ---- The surrounding roads are
impassable. Cars can't pass. The rubber dinghies will arrive later. In
Versa, the sirens are almost suffocated by the water that invades,
pushes, digs, and carries away everything that isn't securely fastened.
And even what seemed stable-the earth, the walls, the memories-are being
sucked away.

Meanwhile, a tragedy arrives from the Brazzano di Cormons hill that
doesn't surprise those who had been keeping their eyes open: a landslide
breaks loose, spilling mud, debris, and houses. Three homes were
destroyed. Two people died. The collapse wasn't just a matter of rain:
it was the result of poor management, a fragile territory, and political
decisions that ignored the urgent need to consolidate the slopes. Behind
those lush vineyards, behind that picture-postcard landscape, lies a
slope that has already shown signs in past years: a land ravaged by vine
monoculture.

Those who closely monitor weather warnings know that this isn't the
first time Brazzano has had to worry. In recent days, in weather
enthusiast groups and local forums, many have evoked ancient warnings:
not only the recent event, but also what apparently occurred between
2017 and 2018, has resurfaced. In those years, the hill had shown signs
of instability, and according to residents themselves, not all the
promises of maintenance had materialized. Indeed, some consolidation
efforts appear to have remained more on paper than in action. One of the
two victims had warned the municipality: "Everything here will
collapse," he reportedly said, fearing the hill would collapse, which
promptly occurred.

This is crucial: we're not talking about an unforeseeable disaster. If
there have been multiple episodes of landslides and flooding in the last
decade, it's legitimate to ask whether there was a genuine desire to
invest in prevention or whether they chose to postpone until it was too
late. It's worth remembering that the Region had already planned
consolidation work on that side of Brazzano after past landslides, but
those efforts don't appear to have been enough. Confagricoltura (the
Italian Agricultural Confederation) claims that at least part of this
emergency could have been avoided if constant and timely maintenance and
repairs to the waterways and embankments had been ensured, a point
Enrico Tuzzi has been denouncing for years.

If we then add climate change-with increasingly intense and sudden
rainfall-to the historical fragility of this area, with its fragile
slopes and neglected streams, we get an explosive mix. It's not just
about "extraordinary" weather events. Infrastructure is built on
premises that no longer hold true: hydrological models have changed,
watersheds no longer manage the amount of water they receive, and
embankments and streams are subjected to increasing pressure.
Furthermore, vineyards, unlike forests, have poor water management
capacity and can generate high levels of subsurface runoff that can
saturate the soil and cause it to collapse. When the soil stops
breathing and draining, when the rain no longer has a gentle pattern,
the earth boils beneath our feet.

And then there's the Tuzzi Mill, not far from here, next to the Judrio
stream, which has also suffered a devastating blow. That place isn't
just a business: it's a laboratory of resistance, an idea of community
agriculture with the Eastern Friuli Flour Pact, and collaborations with
Solidarity Purchasing Groups: a bridge between past and future. The
water invaded warehouses, machinery, and workspaces, staining everything
with mud and pain. In just a few hours, a collective dream was shattered
by a mountain of debris. But the response wasn't just dismay: people
rolled up their sleeves. Supporters, including libertarians, immediately
stepped in: from Caffè Esperanto in Monfalcone, Germinal in Trieste, and
Laboratoria Transfemminista Queer in Udine. A crowdfunding campaign was
even launched to keep the mill afloat, to restart from where the fury
had attempted to erase: "Let's support Molino Tuzzi after the flood" on
the Produzioni dal basso platform.

In Versa, devastation came once again from the Judrio stream. It
overflowed, invading homes, land, and lives. Hundreds of people were
left on roofs and then evacuated, animals died, nights spent away from
home or at the gym, phones that didn't work, power outages, the constant
roar of generators. And the fear isn't just about the water: some
residents fear that the fury of the mud has pulverized and dispersed
dangerous materials like asbestos into the air. It's an old, deep-rooted
fear, tied to old pipes that should have been cleaned up long ago.

In the midst of the destruction, however, there's also a force that
doesn't let up. Neighbors bring thermoses of coffee, those who arrive
with shovels to shovel, young men in boots too big for them who want to
lend a hand. Solidarity made of small, concrete gestures: an
anti-fascist book saved from the wastepaper basket, a scarf with a
circled "A" saved from the dirty water. It's memory, it's identity, it's
resistance.

The institutions pass by among photographers and cameras. In Versa,
residents protest, shouting "buffoons." They're criticizing failures and
broken promises, recalling the previous flood of 1998. The Carabinieri
are the ones who contain the outrage. The media will cut these scenes short.

Those left in the mud are amazed that the warning didn't come sooner.
Meanwhile, with dirty hands, they reflect on what rebuilding truly
means. It's not just cleaning houses and streets, but putting
sustainability, prevention, and participation back at the center. If
anything comes back, it won't be thanks to those who came from above to
be filmed, but thanks to those who shoveled mud, nurtured relationships,
and didn't abandon the red and black flag in the wet corner.

At the end of the day, when the sun sets and the mud seems to melt
underfoot, a phrase written down by one of us, someone who lives the
mill every day, remains:
"There are those who have friends in high places, but just look: the sun
always rises from below."

And so here's the point. If anything rises again-the houses, the mills,
the communities-it won't be thanks to the helicopter tours of governors
and parliamentarians with their media spotlights, their promises. It
will be thanks to those who were there to get soaked to the bone, to
those who lent a hand, to those who carried a shovel, to those who kept
solidarity alive even when everything else collapsed, dragged into the mud.

Luca - Caffè Esperanto

https://umanitanova.org/fango-e-solidarieta-cronache-dal-friuli-sommerso/
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