The Irpinia 1980 earthquake remains one of Italy’s deadliest seismic events. This Campania earthquake struck the province of Avellino and surrounding areas, causing unprecedented destruction in Southern Italy. Through personal photographs and firsthand testimony, this account documents the human cost of Italy’s 1980 natural disaster.
Irpinia 1980 Earthquake: A Personal Account of Italy’s Devastating Tremor
On November 23rd, 1980, at 7:30 PM, Southern Italy experienced one of its most devastating natural disasters. The 1980 Irpinia earthquake lasted 90 seconds but destroyed 6,600 square miles of territory in the Campania region – an area 1.3 times the size of Connecticut – leaving lasting scars on communities and families
Where is Irpinia?
Irpinia is the name commonly used for the province of Avellino, a town of almost 60,000 in Campania, about 50 Km away from Naples, and 40 Km from the Amalfi Coast.
Irpinia was the area most severely hit by the earthquake. So, for all the press info about the tragedy, it started to be called the Irpinia earthquake.
The 1980 Irpinia Earthquake: 90 Seconds That Changed Everything
The official total cost of the 1980 Irpinia earthquake was 2,914 deaths, more than 10,000 injuries, and 300,000 homeless. Roads, railways, water pipes, and electric pipes—the majority of the area’s infrastructure—were destroyed or damaged.
The Aftermath: Days of Grief and Rescue Operations
Those were days of grief, fear and freeze. Together with the earthquake came the winter, and that wasn’t pleasant for the homeless who were hosted in tents.
It was dark when the 1980 Irpinia earthquake hit, and only the day after the light made it possible to understand how big the destruction was, but the area was so vast and partially remote that it took three days to have a complete idea of the dimensions of the tragedy.
Mr. Stählin and the Swiss Rescue Mission
On November 23rd, 1980, I was also homeless. The building that hosted the flat where I used to live was still standing but damaged. The flat was on the sixth and top floor of that tall and narrow building. Authorities told us we were not authorised to live there. But we had the chance to go up just once to collect warm clothes, blankets and our valuables. I forgot the blankets, but took my Pentax and all my B&W Ilford FP4 film rolls.
The following days were spent mainly searching for survivors or corpses. I had my camera with me and used it every time I could.
When he heard the news about the earthquake, Charles Stählin, a Swiss engineer, loaded his car with his newly built gear and, together with his daughter, left the tiny, peaceful village of Oberengstringen and drove straight to Avellino.
His invention was a sound receiver and amplifier that could be placed between the debris to hear sighs, cries, or any noise that could evidence the presence of survivors.
Today, thirty years later, it’s a very common gear among rescue teams, but at that times it was something new and rare. Those were the times when the research was held mainly with dogs and removing the debris carefully.
Mr Stählin was slightly lame in one leg, but perfectly able to take care of himself and his daughter; he had no hint of Italian, that is why he needed an interpreter. At the crisis unit headquarters, somebody chose a guy who studied German at the college. It was me.
Searching Through the Devastation
Just the time to introduce ourselves, and we were already driving in the direction of the most severely hit area: in Lioni, the roads were cracked, the railway station’s building collapsed, and the rails were crowded with freight wagons used to host the homeless. The Town Hall was also destroyed.
In Bisaccia, a great amount of the old buildings were destroyed, but also the modern hospital collapsed in a vertical shift: therefore, the collapsed floors were piled up and among them were the beds, crushed by the debris. The rescuers had to work with the oxyhydrogen flame to create a path and reach the corpses. The smell all around was unbearable.
In Teora the coffins were piled up at the edge of the road, ready to be filled.
Sant’ Angelo Dei Lombardi was almost destroyed, and an emergency hospital had been installed in the football stadium.
Conza della Campania: Complete Destruction
But we saw the real, absolute destruction once we arrived in Conza della Campania: there were only rocks and stones where once buildings and houses stood. No single building was still intact. The church collapsed when it was full of people (it was a Sunday when the earthquake hit), and many faithful were killed. Only the water tank still stood exactly on the top of the hill where once the town was, incongruous, overlooking a landscape of rubble and death.
I didn’t have many chances to be helpful with my language skills. My knowledge of German was useful in talking with Mr Stählin, his daughter and the German soldiers who came to rescue with trucks, field hospitals, doctors and helicopters. But my presence on the field was important because Mr Stählin needed somebody to help him place his microphone in the right spots, and this meant under the debris of a collapsed building, between the stones that filled up a cellar and things like that. That was my duty. But I also aimed to shoot photographs.
We lived that life for over a week and finally returned to Avellino. Mr Stählin’s help made it possible to rescue a dozen people. For this reason, years later, he was granted an honorary title.
Documenting History Through Photography
These black and white photographs of the 1980 Irpinia earthquake serve as historical documentation of one of Italy’s most tragic natural disasters. Developed under difficult conditions in the aftermath of the earthquake, stored carefully and finally scanned to grant them a longer life, these images preserve the memory of the 2,914 victims and stand as testimony to the resilience of the affected communities. For anyone interested in Italian earthquake history or disaster photography, these images provide invaluable insight into the human impact of seismic events in Southern Italy.
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