The siren that can often be heard wailing across the rooftops of Venice
whenever the sea threatens to engulf the city is redolent of a
second-world-war air-raid warning. But few people panic — most simply
calculate what footwear they will need that day. Venetians, or at least
those who have chosen to remain in the city while many thousands have left,
have become used to this. At the start of the previous century, St Mark's
Square — one of the lowest points in Venice — flooded an average of 10 times
annually. Today the vast piazza can be covered in water more than 100 times
each winter. In the past 10 years alone, the siren heralding extreme high
water has rung out from a network of towers across the city more than 50
times, mostly in the winter months. It is then that the strong sirocco wind
whips up the waters of the Adriatic, sending it surging into the lagoon and
along the city's canals virtually unchecked.
In the past 30 years, the population of Venice has been haemorrhaging; the
number of people living here has declined from 130,000 to around 60,000. And
in this slow evacuation, the floods have played their part. After centuries
of gradually raising the levels of the foundations of many of the city's
buildings and pathways to their maximum height, the lowest part of Venice
now lies just half a metre above sea level. Homes and shops are frequently
inundated with water; shopkeepers know they must move quickly to shift goods
onto high shelves. In this city, there is no such thing as a basement flat.
Some Venetians actually welcome what they refer to as acqua alta — high water. "I
love it," says Ana Bianchi, 51, whose family has run a restaurant in
the old San Jobbe slaughterhouse district of the city for generations. "It
makes the city seem somehow surreal. Besides, the salt water cleans the
streets." Shaking his head and laughing, her 77-year-old father, Lino,
agrees: "When I worked in the meat-packing houses around here, we used
to welcome high water, because it drowned the mice and rats."
But ask Venetians what they think about the multi-billion-pound engineering
scheme now under way to check the flooding and they are far less phlegmatic. "Folly,"
"Absurd," and "A white elephant" were just three
reactions confided to me. It is not that Venetians believe the floods should
be ignored: many are simply sceptical about both the motives behind the
scheme and its long-term effect. Many now question: for whom precisely is
Venice being saved? The answer, they believe, is the tourists. Some fear the
city is rapidly being turned into the museum quarter of the greater Venetian
metropolitan area. "Venice is a dying organism, it's become a circus, a
Disneyland for tourists, and who wants that?" laments Gherardo Ortalli,
a history professor at Venice University.
For decades, saving Venice has been the focus of international debate. Much of
the impetus behind the plans to safeguard the city has come from
international bodies such as Venice in Peril, set up by the former British
ambassador to Italy Sir Ashley Clarke in response to disastrous floods in
Venice in 1966. This British charity, which for 30 years has received a
proportion of the proceeds from every Veneziana pizza sold in the Pizza
Express chain of UK restaurants, has donated millions of pounds for the
restoration of the city's buildings and art works.
Construction of the latest flood-protection scheme began two years ago. Known
as Mose, after the Italian acronym for "experimental electromechanical
module", it has become the focus of huge controversy. The scheme,
costing around £2.5 billion, is based on the creation of 78 mobile
underwater barriers — each weighing more than 300 tonnes — which will for
most of the time rest on the sea bed. But when the high tide surges more
than 1.1 metres above the mean sea level, these barriers will be raised like
a string of giant medieval drawbridges. It is a fantastically grandiose
scheme; but the grandiosity is not such a surprise when you examine its
provenance. The Italian prime minister, Silvio Berlusconi, cut the ribbon on
this gargantuan project and declared it "the most important
environmental-protection measure in the world".
The scheme, which is due to be completed by 2011, is the most ambitious in a
series of grand engineering works given the go-ahead in recent years by the
Italian premier. Other projects include the building of a giant bridge
linking Sicily to the mainland, and a high-speed railway link between Turin
and Milan. But it is the barriers that Italians, and especially Venetians,
are most sceptical about. As Berlusconi preened, placing an elaborate scroll
carrying his name inside a hollow in the first massive stone to be laid at
the inauguration ceremony, a mini armada of protesters surrounded the site.
They have since regularly blocked water traffic on the Grand Canal with
their flotillas of boats
carrying placards denouncing the scheme.
Many Venetians, and environmental organisations including the World Wide Fund
for Nature, fear the barriers could impede tidal flushing and irreversibly
damage the lagoon's delicate ecosystem. Others oppose them on the grounds
they will, at worst, be ineffective, and at best, only a short-term
solution, with rising sea levels owing to climate change rendering them
obsolete within a few decades.
Critics are also incensed that the barriers are being built by the same
consortium of industrial and engineering concerns that proposed them — a
consortium that operates with little control or restraint. They say there
are no proper safeguards, and that the project is simply another example of
political opportunism by a perma-tanned premier who once compared himself to
Jesus Christ. Long embroiled in scandal, Berlusconi sees investment in
infrastructure as a way of stimulating the economy — and saving his
political skin. Many of the scheme's critics are, however, reluctant to
shout too loudly. They fear that if this project is scuppered by opponents —
given the amount of time the Mose scheme took to progress from drawing board
to construction — it could take decades before an alternative system of
protection is approved. "There is absolutely no alternative to the
barriers at present," argues Anna Somers Cocks, chairman of Venice in
Peril. "They must go ahead. They should not become a victim of stop-go
government."
If construction is stopped, experts predict the city that was once Europe's
most powerful merchant empire could be uninhabitable by the end of this
century. Far-fetched as it sounds, they argue, Venice could become a
real-life Atlantis, only visible from a glass-bottomed boat.
For centuries, Venetians have tried to hold at bay the water that has
threatened to engulf what has always been one of the world's most fragile
cities. Engineering work began as early as 1501, when legions of workers
toiled for nearly 200 years, diverting the three main rivers and scores of
smaller ones that flowed into the lagoon. The problem then was that the
rivers brought so much debris with them from the surrounding plains that
they were silting up the lagoon and slowly raising water levels.
The rate of human intervention in the natural dynamics of the lagoon speeded
up dramatically with the advent of the industrial era, particularly in the
first half of the 20th century. From the 1920s, factories on the mainland
around the perimeter of the lagoon started tapping into underground
freshwater, causing serious land subsidence over a wide area, and depressing
land under Venice so that the city started slowly sinking. By the time
pumping was stopped in 1970, Venice had sunk by more than 12 centimetres — a
significant change. In addition, the lagoon itself was reduced in size by
almost a third when the giant industrial port of Marghera expanded in the
1940s and 50s; with this came highly polluting chemical and petrochemical
plants. Large sections of the lagoon were also lost when they were separated
off for use as fish farms. Perhaps the harshest blow to the stability of the
lagoon, however, was the construction in 1952 of a 15-metre-deep channel in
one of the three main inlets leading from the Adriatic. to allow oil tankers
to berth at Marghera. Deep shipping channels were also dredged through the
two remaining inlets.
These modifications had a complex and devastating effect on the lagoon.
Pollution of its water from industrial waste and pesticides contained in
agricultural runoff from the surrounding area killed off much subaquatic
life, including sea grass that once helped anchor sediment on the lagoon
bed. This lack of aquatic vegetation, together with the deeper channels,
allowed stronger currents to flow into the lagoon, accelerating the speed
with which high tides could rush towards Venice. It also led to the floor of
the lagoon becoming further eroded, with unknown quantities of sediment
washed out to sea each year.
A freak confluence of low atmospheric pressure and torrential rainfall, along
with exceptionally high tides exacerbated by these conditions, caused Venice
to succumb to its worst recorded floods on November 4, 1966. Back then,
there was no siren system to alert the city's population to impending
disaster. It was left to a handful of volunteers to run through the streets
shouting a warning through megaphones.
It was around 7am when Ranieri da Mosto heard someone calling at the door of
his palazzo in the heart of Venice. Da Mosto was then a correspondent with
the Rai broadcasting corporation, and the caller was a technician who had
come to pick him up — by sailing a small gondola right through the front
door. When da Mosto heard the warning an hour or so earlier that an
exceptionally high tide was expected, he was, he says, "alarmed, but
not too much. We had no idea then what would happen later that day".
With the water rising to 1.27 metres above sea level at the height of that
morning's tide, da Mosto was taken by gondola to his office near the train
station. He was able to make a single brief broadcast about the city's
exceptional flood before the phone lines and electricity went dead. As
torrential rain continued, strong sirocco winds prevented the morning tide
from leaving the lagoon before the afternoon tide rushed in. By 7pm the
water had risen to nearly two metres above sea level. "There were boats
in many of the streets, a total electrical blackout and, because many
underground oil tanks had burst, there was thick black fuel floating on top
of the flood water," da Mosto recalls.
When his loyal technician finally managed to get one phone line working that
evening, da Mosto broadcast a report, written by candlelight, alerting the
world to the fact that Venice was submerged in the worst floods for over
1,000 years. Paolo Canestrelli, the current director of the city's tidal
forecasting and warning centre, also remembers that day in 1966 clearly,
though he was just 14 at the time. He recalls making paper boats with his
brother, which the boys launched from the first-floor window of their home,
carrying lighted candles. "Looking back I realise how dangerous this
was, given the amount of raw fuel floating on the water. But for us at the
time, it was an adventure."
Few others saw it as such. When the flood water eventually receded 20 hours
later, Venice was devastated: 5,000 people had lost their homes, businesses
had been destroyed, and some of the city's unique treasure chest of art and
architecture was irreparably damaged. But Venice was not the only Italian
city to have suffered that day. Torrential rain and flooding across the
country, particularly in Florence, had caused widespread destruction. In the
following weeks and months it was Florence, not Venice, that became the
focus of national and international efforts to salvage precious art works
and buildings damaged in the floods.
Once this work was under way in Florence, however, art and architecture
experts from around the world turned their attention to the problem
presented by Venice. Organisations such as Venice in Peril were formed, and
they have kept the city's plight in the international spotlight ever since.
In the wake of the 1966 disaster, the government provided funding for
restoration projects and for work to find long-term measures to protect
Venice from future flooding. Under the auspices of Unesco, experts from
around the world gathered to discuss what could be done to "save Venice".
Italy's unstable political scene — 60 changes in government in as many years —
did little to ease decision-making in the search for definitive solutions.
It was not until Berlusconi was re-elected four years ago that he threw his
weight behind the Mose barriers mooted for decades. Other, less costly
proposals — which were also easier to reverse if found to be ineffective —
were dismissed. One of the alternatives was to make the three inlets to the
Adriatic shallower, to reduce the amount of water flowing in and out of the
lagoon. This, it was argued, would restore its natural equilibrium. This
proposal was rejected on the grounds that it would block the passage of
deep-draught oil tankers to Marghera, and of gigantic cruise liners. Yet
many believe the largest ships should be banned from entering the lagoon
anyway. Their powerful wash, together with the waves from the growing number
of motorboats constantly ploughing along the canals, is one of the biggest
causes of crumbling foundations. Plans have long existed for building a
marina beyond the lagoon's perimeter, from which passengers could be ferried
into Venice, and for laying a pipeline between Marghera and a docking
station for tankers in the Adriatic.
"These cruise ships are like skyscrapers," argues Gherardo Ortalli,
who is also a member of Italia Nostra, one of Italy's foremost environmental
organisations. "It is both stupid and dangerous to allow them into the
lagoon. People say tourism is important for Venice, yet it is not Venetians
but international shipping companies that profit from these ships."
In common with many Venetians, Ortalli believes it is because of the "enormous
financial interests invested in the Mose project" that it was given the
go-ahead while other cheaper, possibly more effective solutions were
shelved.
"It is obviously in the interest of the big companies and industrialists
who proposed the Mose scheme, and are now contracted to build it, to have as
expensive a project as possible," says Stefano Boato, professor of city
planning at Venice University and another keen environmentalist, who has
been trying to challenge the legality of the Mose project.
He questioned the conflict of interest that the same consortium proposing a
solution to Venice's flood problem was then charged with executing that
solution. More recently, he has launched a legal challenge on the grounds,
he contends, that the scheme contravenes urban planning laws. Maria Teresa
Brotto, the engineer who co-ordinated the final design of the barriers and
one of the chief spokespeople for Consorzio Venezia Nuovo (CVN), the
consortium of private companies behind the Mose project, dismisses critics
such as Boato and Ortalli as "a small but noisy minority". Dressed
in a white-and-silver leather jacket, jeans and cowboy boots, Brotto eases
back in her chair as she fields questions about the scheme with an
exasperated look on her face. "I am amazed that people keep asking me
the same things after all this time. This is the most studied project in the
world. I am strongly convinced it is the best solution to this city's
problems. It has all the necessary approvals," she concludes, looking
at her watch.
But the scientific community remains divided. In 1996 the Italian government
commissioned two exhaustive studies on the Mose project: one
environmental-impact assessment by Italian experts, and another by
scientists from Brussels, the Netherlands and the Massachusetts Institute of
Technology (MIT). The former issued a negative report, not only questioning
the efficacy of Mose, but saying it would be too detrimental to the
environment. The latter concluded, with reservations, that it was the best
solution for Venice. Some have since questioned the independence of their
verdict, noting that several of the MIT professors had previously been paid
as consultants by the consortium that is building the barriers.
This is the crux of much of the controversy that continues to engulf the Mose
project. As far as many are concerned, the consortium behind it — set up by
the Italian government 20 years ago as an "exclusive concessionaire"
charged with uniting private companies vying for fat public-works contracts
— is simply too powerful and operates with too few checks and balances.
In theory, the activities of the consortium are supervised by a local
authority in Venice called the Magistrato alle Acque. In practice, critics
argue, this thinly staffed local body acts as a virtual rubber stamp. "It
is an empty box. The consortium controls everything and, like our present
government, it is very interested in big business," says Silvio Testa,
a senior correspondent with one of Venice's main newspapers, Il Gazzettino. "People
here are both perplexed and dubious about Mose, and those who are more
informed are very critical of the scheme. They simply don't want it. I am
convinced that as people come to realise the impact it will have on the
environment, hostility to it will grow considerably."
Even people such as Somers Cocks, of Venice in Peril, recognise that the
barriers are likely to be only an interim measure. "The barriers will
probably only buy Venice some time to search for longer-term solutions,"
says Somers Cocks. "But I believe their construction should go ahead.
People are living in a state of denial about how Venice is being irreparably
damaged by the constant flooding."
Two years ago, the British charity, which funded a research project into the
problems facing Venice, organised a conference in Cambridge aimed at
clarifying the state of scientific research into these problems. Somers
Cocks admits that some Italians initially viewed such efforts by outsiders,
particularly the British, as "interference". Some even went as far
as to suggest it smacked of "colonial arrogance". But the
Cambridge conference was considered a great success. It brought together 130
scientists and engineering experts from around the world who specialised in
lagoon processes and flood control. Among the accusations levelled at the
Mose scheme, when alternatives to it were being mooted, was that crucial
data that should have been made available to the scientific community for
independent analysis were not released by the consortium. One of the
principal conclusions of those who attended the Cambridge conference was
that it was essential that those in charge of Mose — already by then given
the green light — remain flexible enough to adapt to improved understanding
of the lagoon, advances in technology and unforeseen consequences of the
construction of the barriers.
To ensure this happens, Somers Cocks believes an international commission
should be set up — under the auspices of the European parliament, perhaps —
not only to oversee the project as it is being built, but to monitor how it
is working once construction is complete. "This will not happen unless
there is enough international pressure to push it forward," she says. "But
I believe passionately that the Italian government needs to wake up to its
responsibility, and to realise that you cannot deal with the problem of
Venice on an ad hoc government-by-government basis.
"Venice is a microcosm," she adds. "Some of the problems the
city faces now, and will face in the future as a result of global warming,
will eventually confront other cities around the world. We all need to wake
up to this. We need to get it right here, of all places."
It is a conclusion echoed by Jane da Mosto, an environmental scientist and
co-author of a book, The Science of Saving Venice, that resulted from the
Cambridge conference: "Venice is a precious laboratory for dealing with
complexities. Man and the environment have co-existed here for a thousand
years. Whatever is done to safeguard Venice, we need to take into account
all the interrelationships that exist here."
What Venice lacks — and, most agree, desperately needs — is a long-term
strategic plan. Because saving the city from flooding has been the focus of
attention for so long, the question of what sort of city is being saved has
been ignored. Lack of jobs, rising housing costs and the inconvenience of
living in such an unusual city have driven young people, in particular, to
the mainland, leaving it with an ageing population and an ever-expanding
influx of tourists — an estimated 15m a year. Although tourism provides a
vital source of income for Venice, it makes life almost unbearable for many
who live here. Testa reflects the view of many Venetians in describing
tourism as a "cancer" that is destroying the fabric of the city.
Initiatives such as tax breaks for businesses that are relocating here, and
the provision of affordable housing for young workers and their families,
could revitalise the city's economy and make it less dependent on tourism.
Plans for an underwater metro line linking Venice to the mainland — known as
the sublagunare, or sub-lagoon railway — are also mooted as a solution to
the island-city's transport difficulties — though some fear this would
simply increase the influx of tourists.
But here again, the expense of the Mose scheme comes under attack. For as soon
as the project was approved, nearly all state funding for Venice, which once
went to projects such as reinforcing the foundations of the city and
repairing its buildings, was funnelled through the consortium constructing
the barriers. Those who run it now virtually control the city's purse
strings, deciding how all government money allotted to preserving Venice is
allocated.
One of the most startling sights for any visitor to Venice is the spectacle of
sections of canals drained of water, as workmen using the latest technology
shore up the city's rotting foundations. Such work follows a tradition
dating back to the 9th century, when Venice was transformed from temporary
refuge to permanent settlement, as millions of wooden poles of alder, oak
and larch were sunk into the lagoon floor so that Istrian-stone and marble
platforms could be laid on top. But what money will be available now for
such feverish restoration activity is in doubt.
Since the very first plans for the Mose scheme were first mooted, the retired
architect Pino Rosa Salva has campaigned vigorously against them. Sitting in
front of a large draughtsman's table scattered with photographs of Venice
during its many floods, Rosa Salva unfurls one of the posters he and other
members of Italia Nostra have repeatedly plastered up on the city's
crumbling walls over the years.
In stark black and white, the poster depicts the barriers as giant teeth
stretching across the three inlets of Venice, denouncing them as "monstrous
dentures" that will destroy the lagoon and devour millions in state
funds. "This scheme is a folly. There are cheaper and simpler solutions
that should at least be tried," concludes Rosa Salva, now in his
nineties. "If man cannot save Venice, what can he save? But I am an old
man now and do not have much energy left to fight."
It is a weariness echoed by many in La Serinissima, which, when it comes to
the fallout from the Mose project, is anything but serene.
