judge of conscience

But suddenly, without any warning, everything loses its meaning. Dozens of police cars turn on ambulance and fire engine sirens and speed through the streets towards the airport. Nearby, at a bend on the highway, a device exploded, destroying the road and three vehicles. One of them was Judge Giovanni Falcone and his wife, Judge Francesca Morvillo. Both die.

Many before them suffered the same fate. Carabinieri general Carlo Alberto Dalla Chiesa was killed by a gunshot. Police officer Mario Malausa was killed by an explosive device. Palermo police chief Boris Giuliano was shot dead. Silvio Corrao, police officer, killed by explosive device. Cesare Terranova, the judge, was shot dead. Prosecutor Rocco Chinnici was killed with an explosive device.

The list is endless. And criminals known to everyone. thing nostra, Sicilian Mafia, and his most feared capo was Salvatore Riina, nicknamed The Beast, and in his absence no one dared to utter that word in front of him, Short, because of his small stature.

For many years, this gang of murderers came to control almost everything, in collusion with some politicians and businessmen. From what appears to be legality, urban planning and administrative concessions, to purely criminal, drug trafficking. Money flowed in and this allowed many to buy more dependent on vile metal than on the most basic moral principles.

Then came Falcone, a Sicilian, a Palermitan, who could not bear to have his beloved Sicily watered daily with the blood of the innocent. His life was in danger, he knew very well. Every morning he woke up, aware that this might be his last day. But he didn’t care. He did not request a transfer to another place. He did not go to Milan or Rome to be able to do this. He chose to stay and act as the judge, upholding legality and acting against those who have sown terror for years by openly disdaining the lives of others.

He went from the municipality of Lentini in the east of the island to Trapani, then to Palermo after the murder of Judge Terranova. He made a name there. Everyone knew they were before an honest man of noble principles. Like his deputy, Judge Paolo Borsellino, the two are inseparable, so much so that Giovanni’s early enforcers distorted Paolo’s life days later.

Falcone and Borsellino, Giovanni and Paolo. Two symbols of justice, of true justice, always honest and never for sale, fearlessly governed regardless of the consequences of doing not only what a job requires, but above all what conscience requires.

Thirty years have passed since Falcone passed away on May 23, July 19, when Borsellino went to his mother’s house after having lunch with his wife and children, and a car parked in front of the house exploded. He and five of his escorts died; Among them is Agent Emanuela Loi, the first Italian police officer to die in the line of duty.

Today Palermo airports bear their names: Falcone-Borsellino.

They followed the path that many had followed before. Not only in Italy, but also here, in our country, in Spain, others who have been wrestling with terrorism for many years followed.

Memory is important. This is all we have left. The memory of those who are no longer there, their faces, the way they speak. Memory dark stops forgetting. And if we resist leaving him, Falcone and Borsellino will have won. We will have won because only by knowing our past will we be able to build a worthwhile future.

“People pass, ideas stay, and they will continue to walk on other people’s feet” (Giovanni Falcone).