Debate over Sicily bridge spans Italy‘s past, future

TORRE FARO, Italy -- Since the times of their grandfathers' grandfathers, the people in Torre Faro, on the tip of Sicily, have entertained mankind's desire to tame the Strait of Messina.

The treacherous waterway that separates this island from Italy's boot toe daunted Ulysses and Hannibal. Mythical monsters menaced its shores, and invading armadas braved the crossing at great peril.

Now, Silvio Berlusconi is taking his turn.

The prime minister wants to build the world's longest suspension bridge across the strait, the most ambitious component of an enormous, lucrative public works project aimed at modernizing Italy's infrastructure while winning votes for Berlusconi.

After more than three decades of debate, plans have been drawn, contractors are bidding, and construction is scheduled to begin at the end of next year. The $7.5 billion project is expected to be completed in 2012, if all goes to form.

Spanning 2.06 miles, the bridge would link Sicily to the mainland for the first time -- a connection Berlusconi and supporters say finally would bring the picturesque but tradition-bound island ''into the heart of Europe."

Its central span would stretch nearly 11,000 feet. Currently, the world's longest suspension bridge is the Akashi Kaikyo, which opened in Japan in 1998 and has a central span of more than 1.23 miles.

Two steel towers the height of the Empire State Building and weighing 56,000 tons each would anchor the structure, planted near Villa San Giovanni in Calabria and Torre Faro in Sicily, north of the area's main city, Messina.

The project is fraught with risks: The area is seismic, the price tag is huge, the possibility of Mafia infiltration is ever-present. But proponents say the bridge is the key to economic and social revival of impoverished southern Italy.

In seaside villages such as Torre Faro on the Sicilian shore, and Villa San Giovanni on the mainland, opposition to the bridge runs deep. Deeper still is skepticism that the bridge will be completed.

The arguments sound familiar to anyone versed in the controversies of coastal development.

Opponents say the bridge would ruin habitats of sea creatures and plants, displace hundreds of people, throw others out of work, and destroy a cherished, laid-back way of life. They say the bridge is unnecessary -- people can cross the strait on ferries -- and an expensive boondoggle when southern Italy has greater needs, such as good roads.

''They want to ruin the most beautiful part of Sicily," Nicola Mancuso, 47, said as he plucked mussels from one of the deep freshwater lagoons that dot the island's northeastern corner.

The mistrust that courses through southern Italy, especially its islands, makes it difficult for people in Torre Faro to think they stand to benefit. Sicilians feel isolated and largely abandoned by any central Italian government; geographically, Sicily is closer to Tunisia than to Rome.

They have seen too many projects start only to be abandoned, in part because of Mafia corruption. Mob-linked companies get contracts, pour the concrete, then take the money and run.

Such problems aside, there certainly is raw beauty in Torre Faro. Large, slow ferries and graceful sailboats crisscross the choppy waters of the strait -- where the Ionian and Tyrrhenian seas meet -- much as they have for generations. Fishing boats with spotters high in the masts are on the lookout for swordfish, the local staple; the shiny spearlike creatures, longer than a man is tall, are hauled in, carved up, and sold at the water's edge.

Residents who oppose the bridge and the disruption they think it would bring envision their idyllic corner converted into a huge, dust-choked construction pit. They fear being reduced to living in ghettoes in the shadow of a mighty steel bridge, like the underpass-dwelling homeless people they see on American television programs.

The Rev. Mario Aiello, the parish priest in Torre Faro, said politicians on the left and right have been promising to build a bridge over the Strait of Messina for as long as anyone can remember.

''We are sure it will never be built," Aiello, 59, said in a small office at his 200-year-old church. ''But our fear is they will begin, dig the construction sites, destroy the houses, then never finish. Only the ruins will remain, and we'll end up like Troy."

To make way for the powerful pylons that would support the bridge, about 800 homes would be destroyed in villages on both sides of the strait and several hundred families displaced. Support cables would stretch above Torre Faro's cemetery and an access ramp would nip at its edge. At least 1,200 ferryboat pilots would lose their jobs.

But the company in charge of designing the bridge, Stretto di Messina, said that it would keep the disruption to a minimum and that the fresh investment, new employment, and boost to the economy would more than compensate for any sacrifice by residents.

Pietro Ciucci, chief executive of the company, said he was confident that the bridge would be built according to schedule, and not become a white elephant like so many prior projects in Sicily and the south. He said the company was committed to ''full transparency" and had worked from the beginning with law enforcement officials to prevent Mafia infiltration.

Every year, millions of cars, trucks, and people are taken by ferry across the strait between Calabria and Sicily, the waters churning with strong currents, whirlpools, and blustery winds. The trip is normally about 20 minutes and can be quite pleasant, but during the busiest times, the wait can grow to an hour or more. Trains have to be dismantled, loaded onto the boats, and reassembled on the other side, a process that takes 2 hours.

Proponents of the bridge say it would drastically reduce travel time. A motorist would zip across in three minutes, the company literature says (officials acknowledge that is a bit of an exaggeration); the bridge would have a ''theoretical capacity" of 6,000 vehicles an hour and 200 trains a day, thanks to six traffic lanes and two rail tracks.

The bridge's designers said it could withstand an earthquake of magnitude 7.1 and, because of its ''wing profile," winds exceeding 120 miles per hour.

If true, that would be a good thing. The city of Messina was flattened and 80,000 people were killed on both sides of the strait in a 1908 quake.

Ferdinando Giovine, a geologist and marine biologist who stands to lose his house in Villa San Giovanni, said he remains unconvinced. The region, he said, is a hotbed of seismic rumbling, and the Mount Etna volcano is not far away.

''Look at the stress lines," he said, pointing to the jagged hillside. ''Just like California."