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Cattle roaming freely on the roads of southern Italy. They're a relic from the days of the mafia here in Calabria. No one knows how many there are, and even today they're considered untouchable. The cows are sacred and belong to a mafia linked network. The police know about them, but don't do anything. The cows cause accidents and destroy fences. Local farmers are fed up. The cows come and wreck everything. It's been like this for 30 years. In the end, you leave the gate open and say, "Come on in. Do whatever you want. I'm leaving." For many, the cows are a daily reminder that the past is hard to leave behind.
People are afraid to even leave their homes. The cows come right at you. What can we do? How do people deal with this problem left behind by the mafia? One that the state has never been able to fully solve. the Asponte Mountains in southern Italy. Amid the olive groves and gravel roads, Jeppe Morabito, known as Pepe, makes his way to a roadside shrine. Cows have been here and have ravaged the place. Pepe is a town councilman and responsible for security. For years, he's been documenting where the animals show up and the damage they leave behind.
They're considered sacred, just like the cows in India that must not be touched because they belong to the unrangit. That's why they've multiplied over the years. They cause damage and everyone has remained silent. To me, they're not sacred. They're stray animals. I feel sorry for them because it's sad. It's a story that keeps repeating itself. Cheetah Nova is a town of about 10,000 residents in the region of Calabria. It's a small town where everyone knows everyone. a place where one can find peace. But wasn't always as peaceful as it is today. In the 1970s and 80s, it was run by the mafia with many members posing as farmers owning fields, barns, and cows.
Agriculture served as their cover. Behind the facade of rural life, their criminal operations continued. The Andrangata used agriculture to consolidate its power in the countryside and the cows became part of the operation. Pepe wants to get the problem under control. He's visiting the mayor of Chanova to give him an update. Good afternoon. How are you? So we did another count. Dominico Antto knows all about the cows and has been working closely with Pepe. The problem is coming up again. These cows originally belong to mafia families from around here. Then our area was plagued by many feuds and mafia wars.
The mafia members in question no longer had time to take care of the animals. The feuds put pressure on the mafia and they left the cattle business behind. But the cows remained free and uncared for and they multiplied uncontrollably. As the number of animals increased, so did the damage. No one dared to speak up. No one but this man. Everyone here knows him. Fortunata, a retired opthalmologist who tended his family's fields. He reported the owners, knowing full well they were mafia. A short time later, he was shot dead in his car. Investigators see this as a targeted act of revenge. The cows had become a symbol of power. The silence around the topic
returned and hardly anyone complained anymore. Even the authorities looked the other way. Everyone denied the Indrangetta even existed. The existence of the mafia was denied by mayors, by public officials. They said it didn't exist, even though everyone knew it did. Things have started to change in Chitaanova, but that's not the case elsewhere. Only a few municipalities have dared to stand up to the mafia.
We're an hour south of Chittanova in the hills of the Ionian coast. Bruno Bonfar is a farmer who grows bergamots in his fields, a rare citrus fruit harvested for its fine perfume oil. Time and again, cows have ravaged parts of his farm. These are burgamats. They grow in clusters like grapes. This one is already ripe and should actually be hanging a bit higher, but it was damaged by the sacred cows and is now like this. They should be much bigger, too. Others were completely destroyed. Bonf's father was murdered not far from these fields. He had witnessed a mafia kidnapping and paid for it with his life.
Since that day, nothing has been the same for Bonfar. The murder was the moment it all began. It's sad because my father provided jobs for many people. I too had many employees. During harvest season, I employed 50 or 60 people. And we could have done so much more. But the government didn't support us. Then the struggle began. It all started after the murder. Bonfa wanted to know who murdered his father. He began asking uncomfortable questions which the mafia didn't like. Shortly after that, the intimidation began. Bonf suspects the cows were driven onto his land on purpose to pressure him.
There was the other entrance gate which was completely removed so the sacred cows could come in. They didn't just cut through the barbed wire fence. They took the entire gate. These are signs telling you to leave. This area was full of sacred cows and the military police simply said it wasn't true. They're destroying everything. Why? Because they want to break you down and force you out. Bonf is convinced the attacks are planned and have a purpose. He says the criminals are using destruction and pressure to drive him away and take his land. Among the targets, his equipment and tools.
This is one of the last pieces of construction equipment I have left. Most were stolen or stripped down to render them unusable. Here they caused damage so that the rotary tiller can't be used. It needs to be repaired. So the tractor was damaged, the rotary tiller was damaged and the bulldozer was damaged. I do this because it's a family tradition. It used to be a family business. It reminds me of my father and I won't give that upon. In Chanova, the problem with the mafia's sacred cows is getting worse. In recent years, there have been more and more
dramatic encounters with stray cattle in the area around the town. No one knows how much damage they've caused. When Pepe walks through town, many people stop him and tell him about their run-ins with the animals. I was out in the countryside one evening. Suddenly, I saw this bull. He was coming straight toward my car. It was already dark. I could barely see him. Then he jumped onto the hood and completely dented it. My little fiesta was totaled. Luckily, I wasn't hurt. There have been about 200 incidents in and around Chetanova. To avoid getting reported, people put up warning signs. Watch out for cows. But even if you drive slowly, it's the bull that hits you, not you hitting the bull.
This only happens here. For a long time, the authorities didn't intervene and the problem remained. One day, it affected Pepe personally. The experience changed him and turned him into an activist and a fighter. In 2017, my daughter was in a car accident with a bull while driving to work. She called me. I drove to the scene of the accident and saw the car was completely destroyed. My daughter wasn't in the car and I called out, "Franchesca! Franchesca, but I didn't see her.
Franchesca!" She was behind an olive tree crying, paralyzed by the fear that had gripped her when she saw the bull coming toward her. That's when it all began. I told myself, Pepe Morabito, you have to wake up. People can't live like this. Even though I knew that some had died because they rebelled. Despite the danger, Pepe broke his silence. In 2017, he co-founded the No Bull initiative. For the first time, citizens brought the problem into the open loudly, visibly, and collectively.
Their anger turned into a movement. Dominico Antto who later became mayor was also involved from the very beginning. The situation has changed in our cities. The mafia wars are over. Mafia, but the end of the mafia wars didn't mean the end of the problem. No bull demanded authorities act to protect affected communities. And for the first time, they actually did. Politicians and police responded together, forming a task force. Authorities killed hundreds of cattle, stunning and removing many others. In the early years, this worked very well. We had good results. but the task force started reducing its operations about a year ago.
Now the problem is resurfacing. The cattle roam about 52 km, an area roughly the size of Manhattan. The terrain is rugged, the roads narrow, the paths overgrown. It's a nightmare for emergency crews tasked with capturing the cows. The animals can easily find shelter and can reproduce undisturbed. They only leave their hiding places when searching for food or water. Pepe is once again on the hunt. He wants to find out where the herds were last seen and what trace they left behind. So, Chitanova, Mloio, Zulro, cattle roaming freely everywhere
across 52 kilometers. So far, the task force has captured 618 cattle. free roaming cattle. We're setting up these cameras to monitor the area. We're placing them where we think they might pass by so we can count them. Pepe relies on these cameras because it's nearly impossible to locate the cattle by looking for them. Images of the wild animals provide reliable data on their numbers and movements. Pepe repeatedly sets up a network of around 10 cameras in various areas all around Chitaanova. He checks them and then moves them several times a week all year round.
I give these photos to the prefecture, the police, and the task force. That way they know where we need to operate. If the task force were to come tomorrow, I'd set up the camera in this area the night before and the next day we'd know where they are. The camera footage shows what's long been evident in the fields. The herd is growing again significantly. We do regular counts. Last year there were about 150. This year we're already at almost 200. If this keeps up, there will be 250 next year. If we don't finally get this under control, things are going to get tough. On his rounds, Pepe visits a farmer from
a neighboring village. They've known each other for many years. Dominico Kuringa is fighting for his land, but the free roaming cattle are making his life difficult. It's a dangerous, almost hopeless battle. It was here. I took a picture of it. A bull pretty big. Take a look. And of course, I was far away. I was afraid to get closer. I called the police and they said they couldn't do anything because they don't have permission to shoot the animals. They said they don't pose a danger.
Apparently, they don't pose a danger to someone sitting behind a desk. Those trees over there have a few olives on them. I can harvest those. They come over and they twist the wire with their horns and break it. I put up these stakes with spikes to stop them. But when I fix things here, they just break the fence a little further down. It just goes on and on. But he doesn't want to give up. For years, he's been trying to hold on to his land. Even though every day brings new losses, Pepe is heading back to work. He's needed everywhere.
The mayor of the municipality of Carnolo Novo in the heart of Aspro Monte also called me because they have a problem with the sacred cows or free roaming cattle, whatever you want to call them. This is a public safety issue. In Cano, just a few kilometers from Chitanova, the cattle are a daily problem. The people here need Pepe's help. The cows are a danger to the village, to all the residents of Canalo. People are even afraid to leave their homes. The cows come right at you.
What can we do? I'm a town council member in Chanova. It's about the sacred cows. The mayor has called me to say they're having the same problem here. Let's see what we can do to find a solution. That's only possible when we work together. Have a good shift. The military police, the carabineri aren't responsible, but it's also unclear who is. As reports go back and forth between the police, the forestry office, and the veterary office, the animals move on. The problem keeps shifting, like the herds themselves. Just how dangerous it still is to stand up to the mafia is especially evident in parts of Calabria.
Bruno Bonfar wanted to build a lodge on this property, but then he started asking questions about the mafia linked murder of his father. I planted olive trees on this property. They damaged them. This is the farmhouse where they put up stickers with death threats. Do you see the ocean over there? I wanted to build an inn here, a tourist center. The sea, the land. This used to be paradise.
These are the remains of the fire. There used to be plants here. This isn't just about sacred cows. It's not just about thefts, fires, and break-ins. They've managed to force me out. The memory of my father lives on here. We must never forget him. Seeing all this makes me angry because we trusted a state that doesn't exist. Back in Chanova, when Pepe walks through the streets, almost everyone knows him. Many greet him. Some stop him only briefly because they know he has important work to do.
He's the backbone of the town. He's someone who takes care of everything, every problem. He's always there. Yes, the cows that have returned to keep us company. He helps the community in many ways. Have a nice day. Thanks. Goodbye. Having someone who helps you when it's tough is very important. He's Cheetah Nova's number one. A polite person, a hard worker, the best of the best, fully committed, a person who literally gives it his all.
Pepe is flattered by the praise, but he's got to get back to work. Residents have spotted bulls downtown, a rare occurrence. He sets out to investigate. They called us at 1:00 this morning. Two bulls broke in. They came from the river. A serious problem that hasn't happened in 20 years. I'll check where they came from. Maybe I'll find them. Pepe documents their tracks. These photos prove the problem exists even in the middle of town.
A short while later, he runs into some men from the neighborhood. They too have had encounters with the bulls. What a beast. Yesterday morning, he encountered the bulls we saw. It was 6:15 a.m. I almost crashed into the bull with his little car. I missed him by a hair. If you crash into a bull like that, you can kiss your car goodbye. After sunset, the roads around Chitaanova become especially dangerous. There are few street lights. Just the occasional headlight, cutting through the darkness. At night, the cattle come down from the hills, searching for food and water.
They follow the roads and cross paths with cars and residents. Pepe has seen this countless times. He's always on the move when the animals are out and about. He knows what to do. We're called the Carabineri because there's a herd out there with a bull. It was moving from the river toward the highway. It's probably crossing the road because it's looking for water. That's dangerous. We have to figure out how to scare them away.
Good evening. We have a public safety issue. There's a large bull coming up here. Maybe you can park one car here and use the other with the siren on to drive him inland. That way we can avoid further problems on the highway. Yes, we'll drive through. The carabineri are neither trained nor equipped for major cattle management operations. They're only allowed to secure the road and chase the animals away. And the task force responsible for capturing the animals does not assist with spontaneous nighttime operations. It only deploys for planned actions. They heard the siren and are gone. It's unlikely they'll come back tonight.
The situation may be under control tonight, but the greater problem remains. There's still a gap between official responsibilities and workable solutions. The task force is too slow and the carabineri are powerless. The animals, of course, don't care about any of that when they're out searching for food. The mafia cows have left their mark. In the area around Chitaanova, many farms stand empty and fields lie abandoned. On his rounds, Pepe takes in the sad state of things.
These farmed areas have all been abandoned as a former orange grove. 20, 25 years ago, there was still something here. people fled and even left the gate open. That's a sign. They fled and just left the gate open. Do you see those oranges? No one is going to harvest them. In Germany, a kilo of those sells for several euros, right? Many young people are moving away. No one wants to take over the fields. Available EU subsidies rarely reach small farms. Southern Italy is losing around 2,000 farms every year, and many of those are here in the hills of Calabria.
Used to be a tool shed. Look how deserted it is. and blue. It's so sad. And vacant buildings have long been part of the landscape here, silent witnesses to migration and abandonment. The free roaming cows are part of the trend. Their presence prevents people from building a life in the area. And everyone also knows the mafia could reappear at any moment to threaten people's safety and livelihood. A risk too big for most. There's always fear in the air. The cows represent evil. Look at what a beautiful countryside this is. but I'll continue to hope. Otherwise, it's all over.
The mafia have changed so much in the area. It takes a lot of courage to remain hopeful here amidst the abandoned fields and farms of Calabria.
