terms: it was how they knew each other.
Both men played to their strengths: Riina was not particularly interested in contracts; Provenzano considered drug trafficking too risky. Riina had a caustic sense of humour – as Provenzano began to suffer with prostate trouble, Riina liked to tease him about his health problems – but he could also throw a good celebratory banquet (particularly if there was an execution to be toasted with champagne). Provenzano was more private, a family man, affectionate to those who sought him out.
Few could see it from the outside, but they worked as a team. When a difficult step had to be taken, they bought time by deferring to each other.
‘My friend and I don’t always agree on everything,’ Riina confided to Giuffré, ‘but we never get up from the table until we’ve come to an agreement.’
To Giuffré this was a significant statement: it showed Riina, the hot-headed dictator, in a different light, forced to negotiate with his counterpart. Provenzano was always conscious that the leadership should appear to be harmonious. ‘If there were disagreements, they sorted them out,’ says the anti-Mafia prosecutor Pietro Grasso, ‘so whatever happened was their joint responsibility. Even if they disagreed, they made a public show of being united.’
When the two leaders attended meetings together, Provenzano tended to say little or nothing during the discussions. On occasion he let it be known that he would give his view at the following meeting. This fuelled suspicions (which he carefully nurtured) that he had to consult an important contact. ‘You have to remember that, according to the rules,’ said Tommaso Buscetta, ‘only one representative from the Corleonesi should have been allowed to attend commission meetings. Provenzano and Riina came as a couple. And the thing that made everyone furious was that Provenzano would never agree to anything. Even Riina was uncomfortable with the way he acted. All this proves to me that, at least in this particular phase, Provenzano was the boss, while Riina was champing at the bit.’
‘When the commission held a meeting, Riina would go one time, the next time he’d send Bernardo Provenzano, or else they’d both cancel at the last minute and rearrange the whole thing’, Brusca recalled.
Both were masters of the art of
tragedie
– a concept peculiar to Mafia culture, meaning pretending to be something you’re not or manipulating others to believe what you want them to believe. In terms of a secret society like the Mafia, the ability to manipulate information (or disseminate rumours beneficial to you or detrimental to your adversaries) is essential. They would set brothers against each other, send rumours flying that old friends were plotting against each other. In the confusion their target would end up dead, killed by his own side. Riina could make a person believe he was in danger from a certain quarter, when in fact the danger came from Riina himself. Provenzano would feign ignorance about amurder when he had already given his consent. They played their parts: Provenzano may have seemed more avuncular, and Riino more dynamic, and men would gravitate towards one or the other; when they met in private, each would learn who had confided in the other.
The differences between the two men were not always so stark and clear. Provenzano was not just the man of peace: he put down a rebellion by a splinter group of gangsters in Gela, on Sicily’s industrial south coast. The armed gangs, or
stiddari
, caused havoc in the town, stealing and shooting in the streets. Provenzano crushed the rebels in a violent war in which over 300 died.
Riina may not always have been the man of war. Lupo points out that we only have the
pentiti
’s accounts of Riina’s leadership qualities – and they were all, by definition, his enemies. We don’t have Riina’s words of advice, his encouragement. ‘Maybe Riina was a good mediator too.’
Maybe. On the
Both men played to their strengths: Riina was not particularly interested in contracts; Provenzano considered drug trafficking too risky. Riina had a caustic sense of humour – as Provenzano began to suffer with prostate trouble, Riina liked to tease him about his health problems – but he could also throw a good celebratory banquet (particularly if there was an execution to be toasted with champagne). Provenzano was more private, a family man, affectionate to those who sought him out.
Few could see it from the outside, but they worked as a team. When a difficult step had to be taken, they bought time by deferring to each other.
‘My friend and I don’t always agree on everything,’ Riina confided to Giuffré, ‘but we never get up from the table until we’ve come to an agreement.’
To Giuffré this was a significant statement: it showed Riina, the hot-headed dictator, in a different light, forced to negotiate with his counterpart. Provenzano was always conscious that the leadership should appear to be harmonious. ‘If there were disagreements, they sorted them out,’ says the anti-Mafia prosecutor Pietro Grasso, ‘so whatever happened was their joint responsibility. Even if they disagreed, they made a public show of being united.’
When the two leaders attended meetings together, Provenzano tended to say little or nothing during the discussions. On occasion he let it be known that he would give his view at the following meeting. This fuelled suspicions (which he carefully nurtured) that he had to consult an important contact. ‘You have to remember that, according to the rules,’ said Tommaso Buscetta, ‘only one representative from the Corleonesi should have been allowed to attend commission meetings. Provenzano and Riina came as a couple. And the thing that made everyone furious was that Provenzano would never agree to anything. Even Riina was uncomfortable with the way he acted. All this proves to me that, at least in this particular phase, Provenzano was the boss, while Riina was champing at the bit.’
‘When the commission held a meeting, Riina would go one time, the next time he’d send Bernardo Provenzano, or else they’d both cancel at the last minute and rearrange the whole thing’, Brusca recalled.
Both were masters of the art of
tragedie
– a concept peculiar to Mafia culture, meaning pretending to be something you’re not or manipulating others to believe what you want them to believe. In terms of a secret society like the Mafia, the ability to manipulate information (or disseminate rumours beneficial to you or detrimental to your adversaries) is essential. They would set brothers against each other, send rumours flying that old friends were plotting against each other. In the confusion their target would end up dead, killed by his own side. Riina could make a person believe he was in danger from a certain quarter, when in fact the danger came from Riina himself. Provenzano would feign ignorance about amurder when he had already given his consent. They played their parts: Provenzano may have seemed more avuncular, and Riino more dynamic, and men would gravitate towards one or the other; when they met in private, each would learn who had confided in the other.
The differences between the two men were not always so stark and clear. Provenzano was not just the man of peace: he put down a rebellion by a splinter group of gangsters in Gela, on Sicily’s industrial south coast. The armed gangs, or
stiddari
, caused havoc in the town, stealing and shooting in the streets. Provenzano crushed the rebels in a violent war in which over 300 died.
Riina may not always have been the man of war. Lupo points out that we only have the
pentiti
’s accounts of Riina’s leadership qualities – and they were all, by definition, his enemies. We don’t have Riina’s words of advice, his encouragement. ‘Maybe Riina was a good mediator too.’
Maybe. On the
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