“You are great,” Chief Inspector Isea Ambroselli (53) praises her team of seven officers. During an hour of checking at a metro and bus station, they not only handed out a pile of fines (of 400 euros) for the lack of corona proofs, but also caught a fare dodger and brought a Somali without a residence permit to the immigration service in the secured police car.
Ambroselli, a short woman with dyed blond hair who calls all her colleagues “darling” or “sweetheart,” works in Casilino, one of the easternmost suburbs of Rome. “This is the biggest meeting place for drug dealers in Italy,” she describes her district.
That is why the corona control often results in other finds for the police. For example, yesterday he came across a long-sought criminal, inspector Angelo Rossi (57) says with satisfaction. The officers have direct access to the police system via an iPad, so everyone’s criminal record is checked.
In his 36 years as a police officer in the rugged Roman periphery, Rossi went through it all: chases, robberies, colleagues being shot before his eyes. “Compared to that, this is not a very dignified job,” he admits, as he watches his younger colleagues at the bus station fine a woman and get her off the still stationary bus. “But the government has now made this our priority.”
Vaccination obligation for people over 50
In Italy, do not expect drivers who openly doubt the usefulness of corona enforcement. The covid standards are just as important to both politicians and police as any other law, if not more so. The police are currently focusing strongly on enforcement of the covid rules; if they catch criminals during the checks, that is a welcome by-catch.
The Italian government also makes no secret of the fact that it wants to pressure the 10 percent of unvaccinated Italians over the age of twelve to get vaccinated. As of February 1, in addition to the far-reaching 2G rules (vaccinated or cured), a 3G policy (vaccinated, cured or tested) will also apply in shops, hairdressers, beauty centers and government offices.
For example, some form of corona admission ticket is required in almost the entire public indoor space, with a few exceptions, including in any case a supermarket and pharmacy. As of mid-February, a general vaccination obligation for people over 50 will be added. In any case, this is checked at their workplace (there is also a 3G policy for people under 50), but can also lead to a fine outside of that.
Of course, you can’t enforce everywhere, Rossi admits. ‘But checks are also prevention. We show that we take it seriously.’ He instructs the police team for the next stop: he’s been eyeing a bar next to the Finocchio metro station, on the fringe fringe of the capital, some twenty kilometers from the Colosseum.
A pizza here costs 2.20 euros, next to the dusty counter is a row of slot machines. ‘No’, the boy behind the bar answers honestly when asked whether he has checked the corona passes of the six customers on his terrace. The consequences are huge. Half an hour later, the owner has arrived, and Rossi and Ambroselli inform them that the bar must be closed for five days.
Fear justifies the means
In Italy, for many, the tightly enforced 2G and 3G policies feel like a logical continuation of the first lockdown. Then the police was immediately assigned a central role in the fight against covid, as inspector of mouth caps (still mandatory everywhere) and forms for those who ventured outside.
Moreover, there was already a vaccination obligation for ten other vaccines before the pandemic, so that it is less taboo than in the Netherlands. In short, critics of the policy find little resonance in Italy, where fear of the virus still predominates and the fight against it therefore justifies many resources.
‘This is hallucinatory’, the bartender muttered meanwhile, while he powerlessly tosses a cigarette butt away. His toddler son waddles across the terrace chasing a ball between the quarreling adults. Desperately, the entrepreneur turns to Rossi: ‘Can’t we solve it differently?’
The policeman explains with some regret in his voice that he is obliged to apply the rules. In the meantime, Ambroselli calls the office for an extra car: three customers on the terrace turn out to be Albanians without a residence permit, who are taken to the immigration service.
The bar owner turns to Rossi again. “You get a salary every month, but when my business is closed, I don’t eat!” It is also a split for entrepreneurs, the agent acknowledges softly as the man walks in. They do not want to scare customers away with strict checks, but are even further away from home during a police check. ‘I support the policy’, says Rossi, ‘but on a personal level I sometimes regret it.’