The Aftershocks

Seven of Italy’s top scientists were convicted of manslaughter following a catastrophic quake. Has the country criminalized science?

By David Wolman
Animation by Rebecca Mock

Giulio Selvaggi was asleep when the shaking started. It was the night of April 5, 2009, and the head of Italy’s National Earthquake Center had worked late into the night in Rome before going home to crash.

From the motion of his bed, Selvaggi could tell the quake was big — but not close. When you’re near the epicenter of a major quake, it’s like being a kernel of corn inside a popcorn maker. When you’re farther away, the movement is slower and steadier, back and forth, as the shock waves hit you.

Selvaggi hopped from the bed and checked his phone, but there were no messages. He hurried into the living room, dialing the office on the way.

“Where is it?” he asked.

“L’Aquila, 5.8,” came the answer.

(It would later be classified as a 6.2.)

Selvaggi’s first thought: At least it’s not a 7. A magnitude 7 quake centered in L’Aquila, a medieval town high in the mountains, would have killed 10,000 people.

Seventy miles from Rome, Giustino Parisse had already been woken twice by tremors. The second one, at 12:39 in the morning, had stirred his whole family. Checking the house, Parisse, a 50-year-old journalist with the L’Aquila newspaper Il Centro, met his teenage son in the hallway.

“Questo terremoto ci ha rotto,” said 17-year-old Domenico, restless. This quake is breaking our balls.

“I know, I know,” Parisse replied. “But you have school tomorrow. You really have to go back to bed.”

He switched on a light to peek in on his 15-year-old daughter, Maria Paola. She wasn’t asleep.

“We’re all going to die here,” she said.

Startled, Parisse tried to muster a joke. “Nothing could ever kill you,” he said, and headed back to bed.