About 40 minutes after the Morandi bridge collapsed I was there, under it, amid the ruins. It was pouring with rain and the road had been closed shortly before by the city police. I ran to the site. And when I caught sight of the destroyed “little Brooklyn” – as we Genovese liked to call it – I started to weep.
The collapse of the bridge last week was laden with symbolism. First, it marked the end of an era – an end that in fact began in the 1980s, when the country halted its path to prosperity and set out instead on the road to the country it is 30 years later: insecure, angry and self-destructive.