In Naples, Mount Vesuvius is more than just a volcano. Neapolitans like to say that they live “all’ombra” (in the shadow of) the massive crater that stands nearly 4,265 feet high, and can be seen from almost every corner of the southern Italian city.
Of course, such proximity to what is still technically an active volcano means living with the constant reminder that, sooner or later, an eruption could change everything. The nearby remains of Pompeii won’t let anyone forget.
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Yet, Vesuvius is also a reassuring presence constituting a pivotal part of the local identity. Lately, instead, a different volcanic threat is looming over the city, a more mysterious one that has never attained celebrity abroad and unconditional love at home.
Located a few kilometers west of Naples, the lesser known Phlegraean Fields are now making headlines in Italy because of intense volcanic activity detected in the area, which is causing frequent earthquakes and sparking speculation, rarely based on any data, that a major eruption is on its way.
A night of fear
Though few have heard of them, the Phlegraean Fields are the largest active urbanized caldera in the heart of the European continent. Part of the explanation of their relative anonymity is that most of the 24 craters making up the site are hidden underwater.
I remember spending sleepless nights as a child, thinking what would happen in case of an eruption.
Yet, the effects of the volcanic activity going on underground are clearly visible — and lately have been sowing panic among the inhabitants of the area. On May 20, a magnitude 4.4 earthquake hit the Phlegraean peninsula at around 8 p.m. It was the strongest quake in 40 years, but only one of the thousands that have been recorded over the past year. On the same day, eight more major earthquakes were detected by the National Institute of Geophysics and Volcanology.
Following the major quake, the area, located west of Naples, was gripped by panic. Many inhabitants in the city of nearby municipalities left their apartments and spent the night in the street for precaution. NapoliMONiTOR, a local online newspaper, recounted the scenes during a night marked by veiled concern and solidarity. People shared pizzas, paninis and water, discussed geology and bonded over the eruption. While some complained very conspicuously to the police about the lack of chemical toilets, teenagers were trying to dilute the tension by playing football, laughing about the event, smoking and, for some, hiding out with their partners.
Growing up in the outskirts of Naples, only a few miles from Vesuvius’ cone, I remember spending sleepless nights as a child, thinking what would happen in case of an eruption. In school, we had learned all the gruesome details of the 79 B.C. eruption that submerged Pompeii and other nearby towns. Nothing else scared me more in the world.
My hometown has not been impacted by the recent earthquakes, and it is relatively far from the Phlegraean Fields. Still my family’s group chat was filled with messages of relatives making sure that everyone was okay.
No reason to panic
The Phlegraean Fields have been dormant for five centuries, but the volcanic activity going on underground can be felt constantly because of a phenomenon known as “bradyseism,” a sort of slow earthquake that caused ground level to rise by as much as 25 centimeters over the past months. And yet its most devastating eruption dates back tens of thousands of years: The “Ignimbrite Campana,” which occurred about 40,000 years ago, was the most violent explosive eruption ever in the Mediterranean region, with volcanic dust covering an estimated area of 5 million km², extending as far as what is today Russian territory and causing climatic disturbances affecting the whole planet.
Data gives no reason to worry about a similar eruption happening anytime soon, despite the intense seismic and bradyseism activity recorded in the area (a total of 1,252 earthquakes were detected in the month of April 2024 only). Yet, this did not prevent some media outlets from playing to fears to capture the attention of locals and the world.
RSI, the Swiss public broadcaster in Italian, aired a report on the Phlegraean Fields in early April, featuring scientists discussing the possible consequences of an eruption similar to the “Ignimbrite Campana” and the “Tufo giallo napoletano,” another devastating event which occurred about 15,000 years ago. The report shows fictitious images of devastation resulting from such an eruption in Naples, including the city’s main square, Piazza Plebiscito, covered by volcanic dust with flames coming out of the San Francesco di Paola church.
Living in Naples and the Phlegraean peninsula means living with the constant reminder that, before you know it, life could simply vanish.
In response to the report, which was also picked up by Italian media outlets, the National Institute of Geophysics and Volcanology published a press release on Apr. 17, which criticized the publication of “information not based on data” that “completely ignore all the important scientific and planning activities” performed in the area. The institute also insisted that data “show no evidence of the imminence of a volcanic eruption, let alone a large one”.
A natural reaction
While the worst has been ruled out, the fear and damage created by the event remain. The Italian newspaper Corriere della Sera reported that 762 buildings were damaged and 46 families were preemptively evicted and moved in tents set up on Pozzuoli’s waterfront as a result of the May 20 earthquake.
In an editorial published by the Italian newspaper Domani, Naples’ Mayor Gaetano Manfredi stressed the importance of communicating with citizens to contain panic and avoid misinformation. “We must all together be able to provide accurate and not alarmist communication,” he wrote. Yet, Manfredi acknowledges that communication, while pivotal, will not necessarily be effective against fear, which he defines “legitimate” and “normal” in such a situation.
Looking up to see a volcano that might one day destroy everything you hold dear is bound to create a kind of diffused anxiety.
Growing up less than 30 kilometers away from Pozzuoli, I have had the privilege of learning to tame that fear, but it can still be found somewhere buried in the back of my mind. Living in Naples and the Phlegraean peninsula means living with the constant reminder that, before you know it, life could simply vanish.
Looking up each day to see a volcano that might one day destroy everything you hold dear is bound to create a kind of diffused anxiety across the city, and constantly feeling the ground shaking under your feet understandably creates fear and panic. Yet, ever since I left Naples four years ago, when I look up and I don’t see Vesuvius I don’t feel relief, but an emptiness inside that devours everything.