A-Infos (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/
_________________________________________
A - I N F O S  N E W S  S E R V I C E
By, For, and About Anarchists
Send news reports to A-infos-en mailing list
A-infos-en@ainfos.ca
Subscribe/Unsubscribe https://ainfos.ca/mailman/listinfo/a-infos-en
Archive: http://ainfos.ca/en