In the evening of April 18, a prisoner in one of the dormitories of Via Corelli detention camp (Milan), ‘hurts himself’: we do not know whether he swallowed toxic drugs, batteries, pieces of iron or inflicted wounds on himself. We just know that, following this nth case of self-injury, the other prisoners in the camp ask for an ambulance to be called. As the latter does not arrive, the inmates of the dormitory decide that the only solution is to start a protest, which will soon turn into an uprising. As usual, the Red Cross, which is responsible for the management of the camp, call the police: searches are carried out, personal belongings and books (especially copies of the Koran) are destroyed, and beatings are inflicted. The immigrants begin a hunger strike on April 9, which lasts at least ten days, and is carried on over the following weeks by fits and starts.
On Sunday April 10 a demo is organised outside San Vittore prison, where two of the immigrants who took part into the revolt have been moved: Gisela, a Brazilian, and Mohammed, a Moroccan, both accused of ‘damage and arson’ and arrested thanks to the reports of Red Cross operators Inverinizzi and Sei.
Meanwhile, immigrants are being deported, especially those ones who have been in touch with supporters. At the same time, however, a great number of prisoners are freed in order to get rid of possible rioters.
The main thing the authorities want to achieve, in fact, is to put an end to any attempt to provoke an uprising, but it must be pointed out that they do not always attain their goal. The ‘exploited among the exploited’ are strongly determined to resist; so much so that, when released because they are considered as ‘rioters’, they keep on protesting outside the camp. Furthermore, those who were recently imprisoned to fill the empty places in the camp (it must be remembered that the Red Cross are given 75 euros a day for every prisoner) are the first to get on the roof during the protests of 15th and 16th April. This happens to be a number of Rumanian women who have been rounded up from the ghettos created by Prefect Bruno Ferrante. The protest, therefore, extends to the female sector of the camp, which has been more hesitant in the struggle until now.
On April 25, official anniversary of the liberation of Italy from the Nazi troops (25th April 1945), at the end of the annual march held by victims and persecutors together, a gathering outside the detention camp is organised in support of the struggles of the immigrants and to remind people that concentration camps still exist. Police soon prevent the advance of the comrades towards the detention camp by lining up cops and vans along the street. Some demonstrators decide to give up; others remain in the area as they think that the existence of the camp is a problem that concerns everybody, including those who live next to it; other comrades reach the nearby road from where the camp can be watched and hang a banner that is seen by the prisoners inside the camp.
The immigrants get on the roof again because their requests, ‘closure of the detention camps and an end to deportations and arrests’, have not been taken into account. Police officer Aversa, who had intervened during the last uprising promising he would put a temporary halt to all deportations, also breaks his word. In the following month other protests are carried out, some are supported outside and some other are unfortunately left isolated.
In the night between 23 and 24 May, after they broke one of the cameras that constantly spy on them, the immigrants go on the roof once again and shout ‘Free everybody, we do not want to be prisoners any more!’. They stay there until police drag them down: some immigrants end up in the infirmary, some in the hospital, some to San Vittore prison.
In the morning of May 24, without the lawyers of the arrested immigrants knowing, all 21 arrests are ratified: 9 people are sent to prison, the other 12 are taken to Via Corelli camp or to the detention camp in Bologna. On May 31 the first hearing of the trial is held in a suffocating atmosphere in a courtroom full of cops. Despite the massive deployment of guards and the public prosecutor complaining about the noise, the comrades manage to communicate with the accused in the cages as well as with those who are not locked up. ‘These bars can’t do anything, I’m free!’, one of the prisoners says. ‘You don’t scare me any more!’ another one says to the cops. E., who is not in the cage and has her wrists in chains, does not stop shouting at the cops who try to keep her calm. When she asks to go to the toilet, they take her ‘downstairs’. Yes, there is a ‘downstairs’ in Milan court, one that reminds of the ‘Olimpo Garage’, a stark reminder of the period in which it was built, proof that from Fascism to the Democratic Republic the State has remained the same. That day, the accused who choose to be judged immediately, are sentenced to 6 and 8 months imprisonment, more than the public prosecutor had asked, by judge Fabiana Mastrominico. The sentence for the others will be decided June 23, in the presence of their accusers: Romano Pili, chief inspector of Lambrate police headquarters, and Alberto Bruno, representing the Red Cross. Once again the Red Cross reveal what they are and for whom they work.
Now in the detention camp a new section for the cops is being built along with an identification point for the asylum seekers. Paradoxically, it is exactly by jumping from this structure of bricks and concrete that two immigrants manage to escape. They have gained the freedom they craved for with one simple gesture.