In a country that has fought for decades to weaken its
homegrown mafia, a foreign crime group is gathering strength.
The group’s members are Nigerian. They hold territory from
the north in Turin to the south in Palermo. They smuggle drugs and traffic
women, deploying them as prostitutes on Italy’s streets. They find new members
among the caste of wayward migrants, illicitly recruiting at Italian
government-run asylum centers.
Investigators and justice officials say the Nigerian mafia,
as it’s called here, has capitalized on half a decade of historic migration — a
scenario merging crime and migrants in a manner that nationalist politicians in
Europe and beyond have long warned about.
As Italy’s politics swing to the right, the country is
contending not only with a foreign mafia but also with a divisive question: Are
long-held migration fears coming to fruition?
For the leaders who won control of Italian politics with
pledges to stop the “invasion,” the Nigerian mafia helps justify the
lock-the-doors border approach put in place last year. Matteo Salvini, Italy’s
most prominent politician, recently used Twitter to highlight one Nigerian
crime case after the next, writing that the “African” crime bosses pose “a
growing threat that needs to be eradicated immediately.”
For the far right’s opponents, the Nigerian mafia has proved
to be a trickier case — a problem that is politically risky to play down but
that they say is being exploited as a cudgel against all migrants. They note
that the Nigerian mafia primarily occupies immigrant neighborhoods, preying on
those residents in a way that may feel familiar to Italians who have lived
under the mob.
In a speech in April, Pope Francis — whose migration
advocacy runs counter to the Italian government’s stance — made the case that
delinquents can be found anywhere and that the mafia is “ours — made in Italy.”
“It was not Nigerians who invented the mafia,” he said.
Nationalists and strongmen have long portrayed migration as
a source of danger, saying that people crossing borders might be intent on
terrorism. Data from some countries, such as the United States, show those
claims are overstated. But the emergence of a new foreign mafia strikes at some
of the most emotional chords in a country still traumatized by its so-called
mafia wars.
There are no reliable estimates of how many members of the
Nigerian mafia operate in Italy. But interviews with detectives, prosecutors,
aid workers and human-trafficking victims, and a review of hundreds of pages
of investigative documents, show that the Nigerian mafia has built Italy into a
European hub, smuggling cocaine from South America, heroin from Asia, and
trafficking women by the tens of thousands.
Italian investigators say the Nigerian syndicate meets the
definition of a mafia, rather than a criminal gang, because it has a behavior
code and uses the implied power of the group to intimidate and silence.
Nigerian members have been sentenced on mafia-related charges that Italy drew
up decades ago in its fight against the homegrown mob.
Although perhaps lesser known than organized-crime
syndicates of Japan, Russia and China, the Nigerian group has become “the most
structured and dynamic” of any foreign crime entity operating in Italy, the
Italian intelligence agency said this year. Some Nigerian members sneak their
way into Italy with the intention of joining the criminal group. Others are
recruited after arriving.
Members of Salvini’s League party have emphasized some of
those dangers, and politicians in the Brothers of Italy, a smaller far-right
party, have pushed in Parliament for tougher oversight of foreign mafias, while
accusing the left of looking away from the threat in the name of political
correctness.
But leaders in at least one city where the Nigerian mob
has gained a foothold have tried to push back. In the Sicilian city of Palermo,
Mayor Leoluca Orlando, a 71-year-old who keeps a Koran in his office and calls
Salvini a “little Mussolini,” said he refuses to distinguish one kind of
criminal from the next on the basis of ethnicity or “blood.” Several Nigerians
in Palermo have organized news conferences and rallies, holding signs that say
not all Nigerians belong to the mafia.
“Just like with the Sicilians,” said Samson Olomu, the
president of Palermo’s Nigerian Association, “not all of them are mafia.”
'If you don't repay the debt, you die'
The Nigerian mafia has had a presence across Europe since
the 1980s. In recent years, it has not only expanded but also pushed into the
one Italian territory where no foreign mob had dared to go.
Sicily was conquered and raided by Greeks, by Byzantines, by
Normans. But for much of the past century, the island’s overlords have been
Mafiosi, members of the Cosa Nostra group who specialized in racketeering,
gambling and killing, and who have not typically shared their turf.
“In the 1980s, 1990s, this never would have happened.
Never,” Giuseppe Governale, the head of Italy’s central anti-mafia agency, said
of Cosa Nostra sharing territory with outsiders.
Today’s Sicily is different. Cosa Nostra is hobbled. Its
leaders have been imprisoned, one after the next. The group has grown quieter,
less openly violent, and over the past decade, a new wave of people has come —
hundreds of thousands of Africans, arriving in Sicily, Italy’s de facto front
door for migrants until Salvini closed ports last year. Many of the migrants
have moved on to other parts of Italy, and even Europe. But some have stayed.
Investigators say they first saw signs of the Nigerian mafia
presence here in 2013 with an uptick in violent assaults. Two years later,
evidence emerged that the new group might be cooperating in the drug trade with
Sicilian mafia: A taped conversation showed two Cosa Nostra higher-ups
describing the Nigerians as “tough young’uns” who are dangerous but know their
place. That peace between the groups has held ever since.
Authorities say that may be because the Nigerian mafia has
built much of its business on the one thing Cosa Nostra has never shown an
interest in: prostitution.
Some experts say that as many as 20,000 Nigerian women, some
of them minors, arrived in Sicily between 2016 and 2018, trafficked in
cooperation with Nigerians in Italy and back home.
“Think of the port — hundreds [of women] pouring in every
day,” said Sergio Cipolla, the president of Cooperazione Internazionale Sud
Sud, a Palermo-based nonprofit organization that deals with migrants,
describing that period. “The women would be taken to government reception
centers. But they weren’t forced to stay there. They would flee and vanish.”
According to documents, investigators and personal accounts,
the women come to Italy on a promise, agreeing to pay a steep fare — 20,000 or
30,000 euros — for a life in Europe with a job. Before leaving Nigeria, most
swear to repay that debt during a voodoo rite. But women arrive in Italy to find
out there is no child-care or hair-stylist position awaiting them.
One Nigerian trafficking victim, who spoke on the condition
of anonymity out of fear of retribution, said she was handed a short skirt and
a pack of condoms and told to go to work. Within several months, she tried to
kill herself by swallowing bleach.
“I believed the oath,” said the woman, who is 23 and came
from Nigeria’s Benin City. “If you don’t repay the debt, you die.”
'They are criminals'
Francesco Del Grosso, center left, chief of the foreign
crimes section at the national police unit in Palermo, and plainclothes police
officers mix with shoppers and tourists in a market in Ballaro. (Valentino
Bellini/For The Washington Post)
Because of those oaths, it is rare for women to go to the
police — but when they do, the payoff for investigators can be significant.
Francesco Del Grosso, the head of the foreign crimes section at the national
police unit in Palermo, was at his desk in 2017 when a Nigerian woman showed
up, saying she was afraid but ready to talk.
She described several years of sex and coercion — a
pregnancy, being forced back onto the street — and she said she was being
sheltered by a charity group. People were looking for her.
The woman described details about the men she had seen
around her: ritual handshakes, color-coded blue and yellow outfits — a telltale
of the Eiye group, one of the main Nigerian mafia clans. Del Grosso showed the
woman some photos of Nigerian men he already had on file, and a new
investigation opened.
Nineteen months later, 14 Eiye members were arrested on
mafia and drug charges, including the suspected Sicilian Eiye boss, Osabuohien
Ehigiator. Del Grosso said all 14 people had come to Italy “on boats” in the
past several years.
Soon after the news broke, Salvini tweeted his thanks to the
investigators.
“One more blow against the Nigerian mob,” he said.
Del Grosso said he has to keep politics out of work. He
never intended to fight foreign crime. He graduated from the national police
academy and requested a transfer to Palermo “because of what it represents” — a
holy land in the fight of the state vs. the Italian mob.
“It’s where all the biggest clashes took place,” he said.
Instead, he found a job with a window into Sicily’s
immigrant crime world, and the neighborhood where much of that crime takes
place is a short walk from his office.
One day last month, just before lunch hour, Del Grosso took
a walk with a deputy through the Nigerian mafia’s Palermo hub, a neighborhood
of dilapidated buildings, tight alleys, food vendors, motor scooters zipping
by.
Del Grosso came to a wider street and stopped, noting the
places where he had made arrests and the dozen or so prostitution houses hidden
away in upper floors. His deputy pointed out a building that, until recently,
had been used as a drug den.
“This, for Italy, is a new criminal phenomenon,” Del Grosso
said. “But from my perspective, it changes nothing. They are criminals.”
Criminals, he said, have always crossed borders.
“When Italians went to America,” he said, “they brought
crime, too.”
Washington Post
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