Security, in Italy, is not an abstract idea nor a topic good only for political debates. It’s something that people experience first-hand, every day. It’s the route you choose to go home, it’s the meeting that makes you uncomfortable, it’s the decision to take a longer route to avoid a dark alley. And when you listen to Italians, a country emerges characterized by very different sensations. Nationally, six in ten citizens say the situation in their neighborhood has remained stable over the past year. But this average figure hides a clear fracture.

The bigger the city, the more the feeling of safety decreases

In small municipalities, with up to 20,000 inhabitants, only 14% talk about a worsening. In medium-sized cities it rises to 26%. And in municipalities with over 100,000 inhabitants, almost one in two people – 46% – feel a worsening. In other words: the more the city grows, the more the sense of security decreases. Behind this difference there are very concrete experiences. In large cities, incidents that mark everyday life are increasing: encounters with people perceived as threatening, areas avoided, thefts, scams, attacks. It’s not just a matter of crime news: it means changing habits, changing timetables, giving up parts of your neighborhood. Those who feel vulnerable do not go out in the same way, do not consume in the same way, do not experience the city in the same way. The state of the places contributes to worsening the picture.

Degradation – dirt, neglect, poor lighting – is not a simple aesthetic nuisance: it is an indicator of abandonment, a factor that inflates the sense of insecurity and can even encourage illegal behaviour. In municipalities with over 100,000 inhabitants, more than one citizen in two reports conditions of urban decay. It is a percentage almost triple that of small towns. And degradation and insecurity feed each other. Where spaces seem less cared for, people tend to retreat and spaces become even more fragile. It is a vicious circle that requires precise interventions: more order, more presence, more attention. However, alongside the material factors there is a social element that really makes the difference. In small municipalities the network of relationships is stronger: you know each other, you greet each other, you recognize the faces of the neighborhood. This “social capital” works like an emotional parachute: it reduces fear, facilitates the request for help, creates a sense of widespread protection.

Anonymity and solitude

In large cities the opposite happens: anonymity, solitude and continuous mobility weaken bonds and amplify the feeling of being alone in the face of risks. But be careful: safety is not a feeling, it is a right. And anyone who suffers a crime – whether small or large – must find protection, listening and answers. Victims cannot be left alone or forced to justify their fear. For this reason, the clearest request that emerges from citizens is only one: more presence of the police, more visibility, more control. Not out of fear, but out of normality. Security arises from the meeting of three factors: the fight against crime, the quality of urban space and the strength of social relationships. If one of these elements is missing, the others also become weaker. And when security falters, everything changes. The way we move, the way we consume, the way we participate in social life changes.

A citizen who feels insecure reduces travel, avoids places, limits activities: he becomes a more cautious, more distrustful, less present economic actor. And above all, trust is declining: in people, in institutions, in the city itself. Insecurity is a lens that deforms the world: it makes every road narrower, every face more threatening, every gesture more risky. And when a community stops trusting, it closes down, loses vitality, slowly dies. This is why safety is never a secondary issue. It is what decides whether a city grows or retreats; if it becomes a place that welcomes, or a territory that tests; whether it allows us to look at the world with confidence, or with fear.