DON PEPPE DIANA: FOR THE LOVE OF THE PEOPLE

Don Giuseppe "Peppe" Diana was an Italian priest who dedicated his life to the fight against the Camorra, the Neapolitan mafia. He became a key figure in denouncing organized crime in his community. From his parish, always close to his people, he used both words and actions to oppose the violence, corruption, and oppression that the mafia inflicted on the youth and families of the region. Here is part of his story.

Peppe Diana: for the love of the people.

He woke up very early, as was his custom—not one acquired during his seminary days, but born of his life as a peasant, helping his parents and younger siblings work the land on the Diana family’s plot in Casal di Principe. The Church of San Nicola di Bari, also in Casal di Principe, had been under his care for nearly five years. As in most churches in Italy—especially south of Rome—Mass was held at least twice a day: early in the morning and again in the late afternoon, sometimes even three times a day. Around six in the morning, Don Peppe entered the church and went straight to the sacristy. Several minutes passed in that sacred room. The sacristy, more than just a preparation area, was often the most revered space in a church—especially in that socially intricate architecture of Caserta province. Most of the early morning congregation were elderly women, some with upright backs, others hunched, their arms either thin or stout, shaped by decades of labor. Each had their own spot: the same pew, the same place in the pew. They knelt before the cross, made the sign of the cross, and began to pray. Some gave thanks, others asked for better health or financial relief, and still others pleaded for forgiveness—or a reduced sentence—for a relative imprisoned for a mafia-related crime. A photographer, Augusto Di Meo, had arrived early. A friend of Don Peppe, he had rare access to the sacristy—a space usually reserved for the priest, his closest aides, and trusted parishioners. 

That morning, well before Mass began, a car had been parked in the square outside the church. Several people sat inside. At approximately 7:22 or 7:23 a.m., a man of around forty years, with long hair and a black leather jacket, stepped out. He crossed the square slowly—either lazily or confidently—and entered the Church of San Nicola di Bari. He walked down the long central aisle, where elderly women were already praying, and made his way to the sacristy. At 7:25 a.m.—three minutes after stepping out of the car—the man opened the sacristy door. Inside, Don Peppe was putting on his stole, preparing for morning Mass. “Who’s Don Peppe?” the man asked idiotically, failing to recognize the priest’s liturgical garments. Don Giuseppe Diana turned and answered, “I am.” Upon hearing this, the man pulled out a 7.62mm semi-automatic pistol and fired four bullets into the priest’s head. The devil smiled in the house of God. The assassin, the mafioso, the Camorra hitman, had just murdered the priest who, 815 days earlier, had denounced the Camorra—on Christmas Day—in a manifesto read aloud simultaneously in every parish in the Diocese of Aversa, accusing the mafia of dismantling the institutions of the State and civil society for their own gain—and for that of corrupt politicians and businessmen.

A young priest, Giuseppe Diana, with his gaze always on the humble.

Giuseppe Diana was born on July 4, 1958, in the town of Casal di Principe—what one might truly call a village at the time, as it had fewer than fifteen thousand inhabitants. It was part of a geographic area known for its hard labor, a trait—or burden—that gave it the dubious distinction of belonging to the so-called Terra di Lavoro (Land of Work). His parents, Gennaro and Yolanda, were farmers who worked the land with their own hands. They had managed to purchase property; some referred to them as small landowners. Giuseppe was the first of three children the couple would eventually have. He attended middle and high school just a few kilometers from home, at the seminary in Aversa, where his calling to God and His work began to take shape. He earned a degree in Biblical Theology on time and with distinction, but then decided to pursue Philosophy at the University of Naples Federico II. From a young age, guided by God’s word, he became involved in both religious and social organizations that sought to support the people of Casal di Principe—a community held hostage by poverty and abandoned by a state that not only enabled but was gradually consumed by a criminal organization: the Camorra. The Camorra controlled drug trafficking, extortion, smuggling, waste disposal, human trafficking, slave labor, and diverted public funds—national, regional, provincial, and municipal—for its own benefit.

From its very origins, the Camorra fed on the young, the excluded, the marginalized—draining the lifeblood it needed to sustain itself. Despite its enormous criminal profits, the Camorra never received the same media attention as the Sicilian or Calabrian mafias, though it is the Italian mafia group with the highest number of deaths in its long, bloody history. Most of these victims were innocent civilians or young people lured by the promise of belonging—after performing dangerous, low-level crimes, they aspired to be part of a family (as mafia clans call themselves), hoping to provide brief financial relief for their own families. During Don Peppe’s years of pastoral formation, the recruitment of young people by warring Camorra clans was accelerating. Several clans formed a loose alliance called the Fratellanza Napoletana (Napolitan Brotherhood)—dubbed the Nuova Famiglia (New Family) by the press—to confront the Nuova Camorra Organizzata led by Raffaele Cutolo. As with any war, this turned into an endless massacre. Young men, impoverished and desperate to improve their lives, aspiring mafiosi, a few bosses, and—above all—many innocent bystanders died over the five-year conflict.

Witnessing this situation, living among and suffering with the poorest of Casal di Principe, and guided by the Gospel, Don Peppe found a particularly meaningful connection in one of the many social and religious organizations he participated in: the Associazione Guide e Scouts Cattolici Italiani (AGESCI). His dedication to helping young people through scouting led him to formally join AGESCI in 1978—coincidentally, the same year the mafia war between the Nuova Famiglia and the Nuova Camorra Organizzata began. Over four years of direct work with youth, while still in seminary, shaped Don Peppe’s convictions and response to the problems that affected Campania’s most vulnerable. He was ordained a priest on March 14, 1982, and his relationship with institutions that served society’s most overlooked—the very people the Church is meant to prioritize—grew stronger. Don Peppe became chaplain of the Italian National Union for the Transport of the Sick to Lourdes and International Shrines (UNITALSI), an association dedicated to caring for the ill and disabled. In Camorra-controlled areas, such people were essentially condemned to be born and die in hell. His ties to the scout movement also deepened. He became the ecclesiastical assistant for the Aversa Scout Group and the Foulard Bianchi Group, organizing social, educational, recreational, and spiritual activities. These programs aimed to help young people discover their own talents and interests—and above all, sought to prevent or at least hinder their recruitment by the Camorra.

Aerial photo of Villaggio Coppola, a residential area built in the 1970s and later taken over by the Camorra. Photo by Paolo Manzo for the newspaper El País (ESP).

That Camorra war—one of the many that fill the mafia’s bloody history—was something Don Peppe lived through side by side with young people, working across various Church institutions. The war ended when the mafiosi united under the Nuova Famiglia banner emerged as the victors. But victory did not bring about the peace longed for by those who had never taken part in the conflict. Control over large parts of the Camorra remained contested, and alliances among clans were once again reconfigured. One historically powerful and violent faction, known for its heavy firepower, was the so-called Casalesi clan, based in Casal di Principe and San Cipriano d'Aversa—towns in the province of Caserta. Historically dominant in the agricultural markets of the productive yet impoverished Terra di Lavoro region, these clans were led by Antonio Bardellino, widely considered the founder of this powerful criminal network. Bardellino expanded his clan’s influence, but he also centralized it. This concentration of power bred discontent among other criminal entrepreneurs, a simmering unrest that would ultimately ignite a new mafia war against his rule. A few years later, that war broke out—triggered by Bardellino’s own lieutenants, who devised and carried out a meticulous plan to eliminate the boss who had grown too powerful and too unwilling to share that power. Bardellino was reportedly murdered in 1988 by the brother of one of his many victims—also a camorrista—who happened to be one of his closest men. The murder was allegedly instigated by Francesco "Sandokan" Schiavone, a prominent figure in organized crime in the Caserta region. Whether killed or disappeared—his body was never found—Bardellino was gone. His killer appeared to take control of the clan in an agreement with Schiavone. This criminal power pact in Caserta unleashed a new wave of killings and violence. Its goal was not only to multiply criminal profits, but to discipline and send messages of brutal, almost demonic force to their enemies—and, above all, to their own allies who might consider following the same path. These violent messages took the form of countless murders and disappearances, transforming Aversa into the region with the highest homicide rate in all of Europe, even surpassing the Balkan states—where, at the time, the first signs of ethnic violence were emerging, leading to war two years later.

Peppe Diana at a camp with the scout group.

On September 19, 1989, Don Peppe was appointed as the parish priest in charge of the Church of San Nicola di Bari in Casal di Principe—the town where he was born, raised, and which he hoped to rescue from the clutches of the mafia. He was also named secretary to the bishop overseeing the Diocese of Aversa, an ecclesiastical jurisdiction that includes most of the municipalities in the province of Caserta—including Casal di Principe and San Cipriano d'Aversa, the core and stronghold of Casalesi power—as well as many towns in the greater Naples metropolitan area. With firm conviction to cut off the Camorra’s access to fresh recruits, Don Peppe, in addition to his priestly duties, also worked as a literature and religion teacher in several local high schools and religious institutions. His commitment and clear understanding of what needed to be done to confront mafia power came from his daily, unfiltered contact with the poor—those living on the margins, searching for a shepherd who would rise up against injustice.

As Don Peppe took on the responsibility of guiding the Church in Casal di Principe, the Camorra was entering a new phase of business—and of violence. After the assassination of the clan’s founder, the new Camorra bosses were dissatisfied with the internal arrangements and began plotting against each other. Sandokan Schiavone, who had the strategic advantage of having his cousin as mayor of Casal di Principe, set out to kill Vincenzo De Falco, a Camorra boss attempting to control the Casalesi clan. The first assassination attempt failed. Schiavone had lured De Falco to a meeting at the home of a local councilman, but De Falco, suspicious, tipped off the police. The ambush backfired, and Schiavone was arrested and held in pre-trial detention. But Schiavone’s retaliation came quickly. In a second attempt, his faction—the most powerful wing of the Casalesi—succeeded in killing De Falco using Soviet-made Kalashnikov rifles, the new weapon of choice among mafiosi. The murder of De Falco, along with a series of other events that would have been tragic for any other mobster, granted Francesco "Sandokan" Schiavone total control over the Casalesi clan—and a powerful seat at the Camorra’s criminal table.

With real and symbolic power concentrated in Schiavone’s hands, drug, arms, waste, and human trafficking; loan-sharking; slave labor; extortion; and the embezzlement of national reconstruction funds—originally destined for earthquake-stricken regions of Campania, Basilicata, and Foggia—became routine. The influence, and above all the fear, imposed by Schiavone’s near-demonic persona silenced the people, who no longer dared even whisper the word Camorra. It was against that fear that Don Peppe took a stand. In every homily, in every meeting, he loudly named the Camorra, denounced its crimes, and called on its members to repent and abandon their criminal activities. He publicly criticized mobsters, but also targeted government officials who, out of corruption, fear, or incompetence, collaborated with the Camorra. Don Peppe believed that the Gospel, beyond comforting and guiding souls—and especially conduct—compelled him to denounce the political and criminal abuse afflicting his community. To everyone, in every possible space, he repeated: "The prophet must act as a sentinel: if he sees injustice, he must denounce it and recall God's original plan, as the prophet Ezekiel said."

Don Peppe was a skilled and passionate writer. Always with paper and pencil nearby, many of his homilies became pamphlets distributed during and after Mass. One of the most powerful was titled “Enough of the Camorra’s Armed Dictatorship.” It was endorsed and signed by numerous parish communities that increasingly joined the efforts Don Peppe was leading. As part of his passion for writing, he also contributed to a monthly social magazine called Lo Spettro. In its pages, he published scathing critiques of corrupt or ineffective sectors of the State with ties to the Camorra. He also denounced the Camorra itself, of course—but with more time and space, these articles offered concrete proposals for confronting mafia violence. In all of them, he emphasized the central role that young people should play in building an alternative.

Tragic events continued to emerge from the Casalesi’s internal war, offering up the bodies of innocent victims. On June 21, 1991, during one of many territorial shootouts, a 23-year-old Jehovah’s Witness and bricklayer named Angelo Riccardo was murdered—yet another innocent victim of the Camorra. "I don’t care who God is. I care what side He’s on," Don Peppe said in response to the killing. In a town where the devil acted like the rightful owner, his statements, denunciations, his grief, his compassion-filled words reached every corner of Italy—and even made it to Rome. The pamphlet denouncing the Camorra dictatorship caused tremors at the heart of Italian politics. Whether out of convenience or conviction, on September 29, 1991, the Italian national authorities dissolved the municipal governments of Casal di Principe—then governed by Schiavone’s cousin—Mondragone, and Casapesenna, after confirming the infiltration of the mafia into those administrations.

Don Peppe’s church was a Church with open doors. The front pews were reserved for the most fragile: the broken, the disabled, the immigrants—especially his “African brothers,” who were often exploited for agricultural labor, illegal waste disposal, underground garment workshops, street vending, and in cement quarries. Unlike other mafia organizations at the time, the Camorra also controlled sex trafficking, exploiting women in brothels across Campania and southern Lazio. Don Peppe denounced it all—publicly, standing before his community and the mafia, but also through his writings. “The Camorra calls a criminal clan a ‘family,’ where absolute loyalty is law. Any form of autonomy is forbidden—not just the idea of leaving, but even the idea of turning to honesty is considered a betrayal punishable by death. The Camorra uses every means to grow and consolidate this kind of family, even exploiting the sacraments. The Camorra seeks to create its own form of religiosity, deceiving not only the faithful, but sometimes even naïve or unsuspecting shepherds of souls.” These words reinforced the statement issued a decade earlier by the Campania Episcopal Conference against the Camorra, titled: “For the love of my people, I will not be silent,” quoting the prophet Isaiah. That document—one of the Church’s first direct challenges to the mafia—denounced the Camorra, its allies within the State, and called on the Church and its communities to take action against the root causes that fed organized crime.

Don Peppe Diana with the bishop and the Caserta security forces.

By the end of 1991, the work carried out over all those years, in each and every place Don Peppe visited daily, allowed him to speak in all of those places at once. His words were no longer limited to the men, women, youths, and children engulfed by an imposed and preventable poverty to whom he always addressed himself. He had managed to speak to all of Italy, to Campania, to Caserta, to the Church, to every community, and to the Camorra at the same time. His words struck each of them. Along with the other parish priests of Casal di Principe, of Aversa, and of the deanery of Casal di Principe, during Christmas Mass in 1991 — the midnight Mass, the most important of the year, usually attended by the entire community in one way or another — a letter written by Don Peppe was read aloud as part of the homily, with the support of his brothers in faith. Entitled “For the Love of My People, I Will Not Stay Silent” — in clear reference to the document issued by the Episcopal Conference of Campania a decade earlier — the words written in that letter became, from the mouths of each priest, a multiplied and direct manifestation against the Camorra and its criminal system. The letter, which turned into several homilies simultaneously, began with a concise and striking description of the Camorra’s criminal activity and mechanisms.

"(...) The Camorra today is a form of terrorism that instills fear, imposes its own laws, and tries to become an endemic component of society in Campania.” (...) “The camorristi enforce unacceptable rules through violence and at gunpoint: extortion has turned our territories into subsidized zones with no autonomous capacity for development; bribes of twenty percent or more on construction projects discourage even the boldest entrepreneurs; illicit trafficking of drugs, the consumption of which produces legions of marginalized youth and workers at the service of criminal organizations; violent clashes between rival factions, which strike like devastating scourges at the families of our region; negative role models for adolescents, forming true laboratories of violence and organized crime."

The letter continued with even more forceful and precise paragraphs on the mafia phenomenon. It denounced the increasing responsibility and complicity of a growing sector of the State with the mafia.

"(...) It is now clear that the disintegration of civil institutions has allowed the infiltration of Camorra power at every level. The Camorra fills a power vacuum left by the State, whose peripheral administrations are marked by corruption, delays, and favoritism.” (...) “The Camorra represents a deviant State, parallel to the official one, but without the bureaucracy and intermediaries that plague the legal State.” (...) “The inefficiency of employment, healthcare, and other policies can only foster distrust among our citizens — a growing sense of vulnerability with each passing day, and the poor protection of the legitimate rights and interests of free citizens. The shortcomings of our pastoral efforts should also convince us that the Church's action must become more incisive and less neutral, allowing parishes to reclaim spaces for a ministry of liberation, of human promotion, and of service.” (...) “Perhaps our communities will need new models of behavior — certainly ones based on reality, on witness, on example — in order to be credible.”

The letter went on to call on Christians to commit themselves to denouncing injustice and supporting the cause. The following paragraphs became a call to replicate brave testimonies — from the community in general, and especially from the Church's pastors.

"(...) A few years from now, we do not want to beat our chests in remorse and say with Jeremiah: 'We have been far from peace… we have forgotten what prosperity is’.” (...) “Our ongoing experience of wandering, of uncertainty… of our painful disorientation about what to do and decide… is like wormwood and poison.”

The letter, read aloud by the priests, immediately became a milestone in the fight against the mafia. Confusion swept through the community, unsure how to react — and even more unsure of how the Camorra would.

"Where there is no State, there is Camorra,” was a phrase often found in the journal of Judge Rosario Livatino, murdered by the Sicilian mafia in September 1990. These were words and ideas that Don Peppe also embraced and sought to share. “Where the State is absent, the Camorra thrives. Where rules are lacking, where law does not exist, lawlessness and oppression reign. We need to get to the root of the Camorra to heal the rotting root.” These phrases were part of an interview from 1992, in which Don Peppe explained his vision of institutions like the Church and the State. “A Church that is differently committed to this cause could do a great deal. We must bear witness to a Church that serves the poor, the most disadvantaged — where poverty, marginalization, unemployment, and misery reign, the bad seed of the Camorra easily grows and spreads.” The role of the State in the fight against organized crime — and especially the vigilance the State must exercise to prevent the Camorra’s expansion — was Don Peppe’s greatest concern, and that of the emerging anti-mafia movement. “To the old and new politicians we say: stop improvising. It’s not possible to govern without programs, without real political education. We invite young people to step forward, to raise their voices, and to take part in the cultural, political, and civil dialogue of municipal life.” Don Peppe’s messages always ended with words for the camorristi. He appealed to their repentance and offered forgiveness, if that change of heart was sincere. “Lastly, we invite the camorristi to step aside — not to further contaminate or bring down this beloved country of ours, which now needs nothing more than Resurrection.”

Peppe Diana: for the love of the people.

The 1990s were a time of great upheaval in Italy. In Caserta, Sandokan Schiavone had been released for the last time after serving a short sentence for illegal possession of firearms and a public shootout. He had not been convicted of mafia association, as his appeal had landed in the office of Judge Corrado Carnevale, the Court of Cassation magistrate nicknamed “the sentence killer.” Once back on the streets, Schiavone gave new momentum to the clan’s criminal activities and managed to diversify its money laundering operations across several countries in Europe, Central America, and South America. Meanwhile in Sicily, the Cosa Nostra — the Sicilian mafia — had begun a wave of attacks targeting State officials, especially members of the judiciary, as well as journalists and activists who opposed them. Among all the murders carried out, the ones that caused the greatest impact and national grief were those of Giovanni Falcone, his wife, and his bodyguards on May 23, 1992, and of Paolo Borsellino and his escort on July 19 of the same year. In response to these horrific crimes, the honest sectors of the State, the corrupt sectors of the State, and a faction within Cosa Nostra seeking to de-escalate the conflict allowed the arrest of the then-boss of the Sicilian mafia, the brutal Salvatore “Toto” Riina. Faced with the attacks perpetrated by the Sicilian mafia, the leadership of the Catholic Church felt compelled to deliver a message of condemnation. In April 1993, Pope John Paul II was on a pastoral mission to the island of Sicily. Breaking with protocol during his journey from Catania to Agrigento, he had his vehicle stop and approached the home of an elderly couple. They were the parents of murdered anti-mafia judge Rosario Livatino — a 36-year-old devout Catholic and practicing believer. Rosario’s parents handed the Pope their son's personal notebooks — and, as was later revealed, in one of them John Paul II read the words: “We will not be asked if we were believers, but if we were believable.” The meeting with the judge’s parents lasted just a few minutes, after which the Pope continued on to Agrigento, where he would celebrate Mass. When he arrived at the Valley of the Temples, the Pope delivered the first public condemnation of the mafia by the highest authority of the Catholic Church: “God once said: Thou shalt not kill. No man, no human association, no mafia can change or trample on this most sacred right of God… In the name of Christ, crucified and risen — Christ who is the way, the truth, and the life — I say to those responsible: Repent! One day God’s judgment will come!”

Cosa Nostra first, and then the Camorra, in response to the progress the State was making against them, decided to directly attack the Catholic Church. On July 27, 1993 — two months after John Paul II’s visit to Sicily and his first declaration against the mafia — two bombs exploded in Rome, damaging parts of the Church of San Giorgio al Velabro and the Basilica of St. John Lateran. These initial attacks were part of the pressure campaign the Sicilian mafia exerted on the State, but they also served as a message to the Church — and to those within it who had been -and in some cases still were- complicit and complacent with the mafia — warning them of the cost of breaking away. Four months after the bombings in Rome, the Sicilian mafia struck again, this time targeting those Church representatives most committed against it. On September 15, 1993 — his birthday — Don Pino Puglisi, parish priest in the Brancaccio district of Palermo, was assassinated by a mafia hitman. That same year, the power of Sandokan Schiavone within the Casalesi clan began to crumble. His cousin Carmine — the manager of the criminal fortune built on blood, cocaine, waste, weapons, and much more — was arrested and sentenced to five years in prison for mafia association. Carmine quickly accepted the State’s offer to become a justice collaborator and began revealing a series of facts that, over time, would become crucial to future investigations. For the first time, judicial files documented the waste trafficking from northern Italy, which was being buried between the provinces of Caserta and Naples, poisoning fertile farmland and triggering an epidemic of illness among the population. The region would become known as the Terra dei fuochi — the Land of Fires — named after the blazes that frequently erupted in those areas as a consequence of the Camorra’s illegal and criminal disposal of toxic waste. In his testimony, Carmine Schiavone also provided information about businesses, bars, hotels, farming cooperatives, restaurants, and more — all used for money laundering — that were eventually seized by the Italian State and later repurposed for social use.

Meanwhile, Don Peppe and the other priests of the region continued to denounce mafia activity. Don Peppe presented himself before the magistrates of the Naples courts and provided information about the Camorra’s activities and its connections with politicians and businesspeople. The violence was no longer confined to Sicily, Campania, and Calabria; it was now reaching northern capitals across the country. “If the Camorra has killed our country, then we must resurrect it — we must climb back up to the rooftops and once again proclaim the word of Life.” These were times of great change — for society, and for the Camorra as well. The political and economic crisis sparked by a unique judicial investigation two years earlier — Mani Pulite (Clean Hands) — was threatening to collapse Italy’s entire political system. In that void, businessmen of questionable wealth emerged, and at the start of 1994, one of them became, for the first time, Italy’s Prime Minister. Murders also continued in Casal di Principe. Two camorristi — father and son, both surnamed Quadrano — were assassinated, and Don Peppe agreed to perform the final rites. He did so without luxury, and without the solemnity that the camorristi believed they deserved. The times of bloodshed, upheaval, and major political shifts created an opening for the camorristi who, years earlier, had been targeted by Sandokan Schiavone. They began to consider how to provoke just the right amount of chaos to destabilize Schiavone and send a message to the Church figures in the region. Nunzio De Falco — brother of Vincenzo De Falco, who had been murdered on Schiavone’s orders a few years earlier — believed that by killing the priest who dared defy the Camorra, the other priests would return to the silence that had dominated them in the past. At the same time, it would help displace Schiavone from the leadership of the Casalesi clan, since all accusations would be directed at him. The man in his forties, with long hair and a black jacket, waiting in the car alongside Mario Santoro and Francesco Piacenti — both camorristi — in front of the Church of San Nicola di Bari, where women, their backs either hunched or upright, prayed before the cross, was named Giuseppe Quadrano. He was the nephew and cousin of the two camorristi who had been killed three days earlier — and he was the one who shot Don Peppe Diana four times in the head.

A national newspaper reported the murder the next day on its front page. "The Camorra kills in the church."

By chance, photographer Augusto Di Meo happened to be in the sacristy with Don Peppe at the time, and this would later prove crucial in identifying the priest’s murderers. After overcoming the shock and fear that had initially paralyzed him, Di Meo ran out of the sacristy, crossed the nave of the church — now silent, no longer filled with prayer — and rushed to alert the Carabinieri. His unexpected presence enabled authorities to identify the hitman: Giuseppe Quadrano, boss of the Quadrano clan and ally of the De Falco clan. The hours and days following the crime were filled with deep shock. Who would dare to murder a priest? Like other mafias around the world, the Camorra has always counted on the complicity of certain media outlets. Through the Corriere di Caserta newspaper, the camorristi launched a smear campaign similar to those that many innocent mafia victims across the country had endured. Mud was flung — but not just mud: filth, dung, the very excrement through which Don Peppe had walked to rescue youth and the marginalized from the grip of the Camorra. Those same hands, in addition to pulling the trigger, now tried to smear Don Peppe’s memory with excrement. The newspaper printed stories suggesting the priest might have been killed by a jealous husband who discovered his wife was having an affair with him; or that he had been murdered in an act of vigilante justice because he was involved in a pedophile ring; or that he had begun working with a faction of the Camorra and was hiding weapons for the mafia in the church.

By chance, photographer Augusto Di Meo happened to be in the sacristy with Don Peppe at the time, and this would later prove crucial in identifying the priest’s murderers. After overcoming the shock and fear that had initially paralyzed him, Di Meo ran out of the sacristy, crossed the nave of the church — now silent, no longer filled with prayer — and rushed to alert the Carabinieri. His unexpected presence enabled authorities to identify the hitman: Giuseppe Quadrano, boss of the Quadrano clan and ally of the De Falco clan. The hours and days following the crime were filled with deep shock. Who would dare to murder a priest? Like other mafias around the world, the Camorra has always counted on the complicity of certain media outlets. Through the Corriere di Caserta newspaper, the camorristi launched a smear campaign similar to those that many innocent mafia victims across the country had endured. Mud was flung — but not just mud: filth, dung, the very excrement through which Don Peppe had walked to rescue youth and the marginalized from the grip of the Camorra. Those same hands, in addition to pulling the trigger, now tried to smear Don Peppe’s memory with excrement. The newspaper printed stories suggesting the priest might have been killed by a jealous husband who discovered his wife was having an affair with him; or that he had been murdered in an act of vigilante justice because he was involved in a pedophile ring; or that he had begun working with a faction of the Camorra and was hiding weapons for the mafia in the church.

The legal process concerning Don Peppe’s murder included the civil participation of his family and the AGESCI association, of which Don Peppe had been a member for nearly two decades. The family’s and association’s vigilance and constant involvement in the proceedings helped dismantle the defamation campaign orchestrated by the Camorra and certain media outlets. They also requested legal measures and ensured their enforcement. The testimony of Augusto Di Meo — photographer and friend of Don Peppe, who had witnessed the murder — was fundamental in identifying the assassin, camorrista Giuseppe Quadrano. The sound of the four gunshots that ended Don Peppe Diana’s life reached Rome that very day. The day after the murder, during the Sunday Angelus, Pope John Paul II, speaking from the window of the Apostolic Palace, dedicated heartfelt words of condolence to Don Peppe, his family, and the community of Casal di Principe: “I feel the need to once again express the deep sorrow caused by the news of the murder of Don Giuseppe Diana, parish priest of the Diocese of Aversa, gunned down by ruthless assassins as he was preparing to celebrate Holy Mass. In deploring this new and brutal crime, I invite you to join me in praying for the soul of this generous priest, committed to the pastoral service of his people. May the Lord grant that the sacrifice of this minister of His — an evangelical grain of wheat fallen to the earth — bear fruit in full conversion, active harmony, solidarity, and peace.”

The hitman and camorrista Giuseppe Quadrano was arrested a year and one day after the crime, on Pius XII Avenue in the city of Valencia, Spain. Nunzio De Falco was not arrested until November 13, 1997, also in Spain — in Albacete — a refuge and operations base for many Camorra clans who had fled after being defeated in various mafia wars. In 2003, Nunzio De Falco was sentenced to life in prison as the instigator of Don Peppe’s murder. In his defense, he attempted to blame Sandokan Schiavone for the killing, but the court did not believe him. In 2004, camorristi Mario Santoro and Francesco Piacenti — the two men in the car with Quadrano on the day of the murder — were sentenced to life in prison for mafia association and as co-authors of the crime. After requesting to become a pentito, a justice collaborator, Giuseppe Quadrano received a reduced sentence. He was ultimately convicted and sentenced to 14 years in prison as the gunman who murdered Don Peppe Diana.

Pope Francis kisses Don Peppe Diana's stole from the hand of Don Luigi Ciotti.

The impact of Don Peppe’s murder on the people of Casal di Principe, on Italy, on the Church, and on the anti-mafia movement remains immense. The commitment that Don Peppe embraced did not die with him — it multiplied and spread immediately. Economic, social, and cultural projects based on properties seized from the mafia now bear Don Peppe’s name. With the support of the anti-mafia association Libera, agricultural cooperatives operate on land confiscated from clans in the Caserta area. These cooperatives employ migrants and disadvantaged individuals who produce and market local traditional products — including buffalo mozzarella. The Italian State awarded him the Gold Medal for Civil Valor in recognition of his fight against the mafia.

Since 2006, the Don Peppe Diana Committee, together with AGESCI, has petitioned the Church to open an investigation for the beatification of Don Peppe — a process that remains ongoing. On March 21, 2014, during a prayer vigil held at the Church of San Gregorio VII in Rome as part of the 19th Day of Remembrance and Commitment in Memory of Innocent Victims of the Mafia, the priest, founder, and president of Libera, Don Luigi Ciotti, presented Don Peppe’s stole to Pope Francis. The Pope wore it while blessing the hundreds of family members of innocent mafia victims who were present. Don Peppe Diana, who did not remain silent for the sake of his people, sowed admiration with the passion of his witness — a seed that continues to grow.