The devastating earthquake that struck Sicily's Belice Valley on January 14, 1968, marked the beginning of one of Italy's most tragic natural disasters and subsequent reconstruction failures. At exactly 1:28 p.m., families gathered for lunch were suddenly shaken by the first powerful tremor that hit the towns of Montevago, Gibellina, Salaparuta, and Poggioreale, forever changing the landscape of this historic region.
The seismic catastrophe unfolded in a series of increasingly destructive waves throughout that fateful day. A second major tremor struck at 2:15 p.m., so powerful that it was felt as far away as the major cities of Palermo and Trapani. The most devastating blow came at 4:48 p.m., showing no mercy to the communities of Gibellina, Menfi, Montevago, Partanna, Poggioreale, Salaparuta, Salemi, Santa Margherita di Belice, and Santa Ninfa.
The nightmare extended well into the night and beyond, with additional tremors at 2:33 a.m. and another occurring just thirty minutes later. What followed was described as a purgatory that lasted until September 1968, during which seismologists recorded a total of 345 tremors. The once-peaceful Belice Valley and its nine historic villages were transformed beyond recognition, no longer resembling the idyllic places immortalized in the literary works of Giuseppe Tommasi di Lampedusa.
Fifty years after the Belice earthquake, the region stands as a monument to failed, delayed, and incomplete reconstruction efforts. The story that emerges is fundamentally one of defeat and missed opportunities for renewal. In the town of Gibellina, artist Alberto Burri created a haunting memorial that has become both an artistic landmark and a symbol of the area's tragic history.
Burri's installation, known as "Il Cretto" (The Crack), serves as a white concrete labyrinth that covers the ruins of old Gibellina like a shroud. This massive artwork spans 80,000 square meters and meticulously retraces the original streets and alleyways of the destroyed town. The stark modernity of the concrete structure serves multiple symbolic purposes: it freezes memory in time, stigmatizes human failure in the reconstruction process, and embraces the profound pain experienced by the earthquake's victims.
Visitors who walk through the concrete pathways of Burri's labyrinth experience a profound emotional journey, feeling the deep sadness of a city that was completely destroyed and remembering the lives lost to the earthquake. Despite its imposing presence, the artwork respects and integrates with the surrounding landscape, appearing to complete rather than violate the natural environment. Behind this memorial installation, ten wind turbines stand as symbols of green technology and sustainable development that doesn't consume the planet's precious resources.
Beneath the surface of this artistic intervention lies a deeper metaphor: a permanent laceration and wound in the very fabric of the land and its people. The great labyrinth of the cretto represents a space where the original town is forever lost, yet the pathways remain real and navigable, creating what can be described as an afterlife of Gibellina. This creates a landscape that appears suspended in time, caught between past destruction and an uncertain future.
The Belice Valley's failure to achieve complete reconstruction, or its pattern of late and partial rebuilding efforts, ultimately tells the narrative of a comprehensive defeat. The region serves as a stark reminder of how natural disasters can reshape not only physical landscapes but also the social and cultural fabric of entire communities, leaving lasting scars that persist for generations.
