Mafias as the Future of the West

Organized Crime as Alternative Governance

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Nothing in this article amounts to an endorsement of criminal activity of any kind.

Our recent article series on dirty civil war[1][2][3] struck a nerve. Folks are clearly alive to the reality that the time of coherent nations of millions is drawing to a close, and this article series gained much traction because of that dawning realization. At the same time, our article series on absolutism[1][2] set out what seems at first glance to be a very different vision—a politics of unbounded authority flowing from the top-down. This represents the purest and most consistent form of elite theory.

On the face of it, these two things appear to stand in complete opposition. But look a little deeper, and you will see that not only do tribalism and elite theory not contradict each other, that not only have they historically worked hand in hand, but that there exist well known social orders which marry elite politics to tribal modes of organization—right now. I’m speaking of organized crime.

What we are witnessing today is the abdication of sovereign authority by the state due to a competence deficit. This will sound insane to casual observers, because on the surface the state has never been more powerful. In one sense this is true—the state has never had such powerful tools at its disposal, particularly in terms of surveillance, cryptography, and data analysis. But the state is struggling more and more to govern on the ground. This is partly due to unwillingness to rein in its foreign client groups, but it now struggles even to manage the indignation of its ethnic majority. We will not rehearse the evidence adduced for this in part III of the tribal war series—you have seen all this yourself.

Suffice it to say that official state authority is not what it used to be, and this necessitates a second look at those structures which take up the burden of local governance where the state cannot or will not do so.

In this article we will concentrate on the Sicilian Mafia, which, while it emerged in a very different political ecology—under a state which was weak because it was young, rather than a state which is weak because it is old—resembles those structures in the modern West which find themselves increasingly able to decide their own exception. We will not stop there though, but will extend our analysis to other and perhaps more relevant para-sovereign criminal organizations. Finally, as usual, we will say what this means in practical terms for our folk going forward.

Introduction

Nature abhors a vacuum—when official state authority falters, other powers inevitably rush in to fill the void. Wherever government institutions are weak, illegitimate, or absent, organized crime groups have emerged as alternative centres of governance and coercive authority. These criminal syndicates do more than commit crimes—they actively govern communities, monopolize violence, and even dispense social services. They are adaptive responses to institutional failure, which transform regions of state neglect into layered systems of parallel authority, reconstituting sovereignty outside the law.

No matter the time and place, the conditions enabling organized crime follow a similar pattern. Weak or failing states, rife with corruption and unable to enforce laws or provide basic security, create a power vacuum that invites alternative enforcers. This is not abstract theory—it was the lived reality of the Western Roman Empire as the crises that devolved it took hold. In time what began as “criminal” (in their words: barbarian) grew into legitimate sovereign authority.

It is crucial to recognize that mafias thrive not simply by brute force but by mimicking core functions of the state: monopolizing violence in a territory, extracting revenue, enforcing contracts, and cultivating legitimacy—whether loved or feared, or both—among the governed. In our analysis of the various criminal organizations, we will see this mimicry of core state functions appear over and over.

Sicilian Mafia (La Cosa Nostra)

Perhaps the archetype of organized crime as alternative sovereignty is the Sicilian Mafia, locally known as Cosa Nostra. Emerging in the mid-19th century during Sicily’s transition from feudal rule to a unified Italian state, the mafia arose as an informal power structure to fill gaps left by weak governance. Early Sicilian governments struggled to project authority into the island’s hinterlands, where peasants, bandits, and landed elites were often at odds.

The Sicilian Mafia is essentially a cartel of extra-legal protection firms. Mafiosi enforce contracts and settle conflicts among those who cannot rely on the legal system—including other criminals, businesses, and sometimes ordinary citizens. In effect, Cosa Nostra claims a monopoly over violence and protection within its territories, much as a state claims monopoly over legitimate force. Mafiosi even distinguish themselves from “common criminals,” adopting honorific titles like uomo d’onore (“man of honour”) and enforcing their own code of silence (omertà) to uphold a parallel form of legality.

That the Sicilian Mafia filled a governance void is clear from historical evidence. By the 1890s, vast rural areas and even towns in western Sicily were effectively under their sway. Local landlords and politicians tacitly relied on mafia bosses to manage labour unrest and administer rough justice, especially during periods of social upheaval such as the rise of peasant socialist movements, a dynamic documented in the aftermath of the 1893 drought and economic crisis.¹ The result was the entrenchment of mafia cliques in local power structures, and over the following decades, Sicilian mafiosi infiltrated municipal governments through patronage and intimidation. Even a century later, the Italian state had to repeatedly intervene in Sicilian politics: between 2001 and 2014, forty-three Sicilian municipalities were placed under emergency administration to weed out pervasive Mafia infiltration in local government and contracting.²

In terms of organizational structure, Cosa Nostra operated as a secret society of semi-autonomous local “families” (cosche), each led by a boss (capo) and claiming sovereignty over a certain territory (often a town or district). This federated arrangement allowed the Mafia to function like a network of mini-states: each family levied its own “taxes” (extortion payments) and enforced its own laws, but all shared a common ideology and code of conduct. A commission of bosses (the Cupola) was later established to coordinate strategy and prevent internal conflicts, mimicking a rudimentary federal government. This organized hierarchy, as well as rituals like initiation oaths, reinforced the Mafia’s durability by ensuring discipline and loyalty akin to that of state institutions.

The reach of the Sicilian Cosa Nostra eventually extended far beyond Sicily. Through waves of emigration in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Sicilian mafia clans helped spawn the American Mafia, which replicated the Sicilian model in cities like New York and Chicago. By 1982, the Sicilian Mafia controlled an estimated 80% of heroin trafficking in the northeastern United States,³ even using Mafia-owned pizzerias as fronts for distribution.⁴ This transnational reach shows how a group that started as a local guardian of lemon groves and estates in Sicily evolved into a worldwide network—effectively exporting its parallel governance wherever it went.

Calabrian ’Ndrangheta

The power of the state—when it was still powerful—eventually reined in Cosa Nostra by legal means. But if Cosa Nostra is the archetypal mafia, the ’Ndrangheta of Calabria is today the most powerful. Centred in the impoverished, rugged region of Calabria at Italy’s southern tip, the ’Ndrangheta offers a textbook case of how organized crime can both arise from and perpetuate weak governance.

Calabria’s history of poverty, geographic isolation, and limited state penetration provided fertile ground for criminal fraternities. Although the term ’Ndrangheta was not widely used until the 20th century, Calabrian bandit groups were already noted in the 1800s, similar to the Sicilian Mafia’s emergence. Over time, these groups coalesced into the modern ’Ndrangheta, which, unlike the more urban-based Camorra or the Sicilian Mafia, was rooted in tight-knit rural clans bound by blood and marriage ties. This clan-based structure made the ’Ndrangheta famously impenetrable to law enforcement and remarkably resilient. By exploiting family loyalty and the code of silence, the ’Ndrangheta expanded quietly under the radar for decades, and today it is Italy’s most extensive and wealthiest mafia organization.

The ’Ndrangheta’s power rests on its dual character of entrenched local control in Calabria paired with global reach. At home, the clans have entrenched themselves in the economy and governance of Calabria to an extraordinary degree. A leaked US diplomatic cable assessed that the ’Ndrangheta “controls substantial portions of the region’s territory and economy,” and accounts for at least 3% of Italy’s GDP through its activities.⁵ The organization has so deeply penetrated Calabria’s institutions that in certain towns there is effectively no clear line between the local government and the ’Ndrangheta. For example, in the Calabrian town of Africo, the entire city council was dissolved by the national government in 2019 due to mafia infiltration, for the third time in recent history.⁶ This is hardly an isolated case. Since Italy introduced a special law in 1991 allowing the dissolution of municipal governments for mafia ties, hundreds of city councils (over 300 by 2020) have been dissolved, many repeatedly, in Calabria and neighbouring regions.⁷

Structurally, the ’Ndrangheta is a loose confederation of perhaps 100 autonomous clans, each governing a specific town or territory. There is no single “boss of bosses” dictating daily operations; instead, the strength of the system lies in the solidarity of family ties and common rituals. Every clan (or locale) claims jurisdiction over its area, and while their monopoly of violence is not always absolute, outsiders challenge it at their peril—including the Italian state.

Importantly, the ’Ndrangheta has historically avoided high-profile confrontation with the Italian state—in contrast to Cosa Nostra, which in the 1980s made the mistake of declaring war on prosecutors and politicians and faced a fierce crackdown.⁸ By keeping a lower profile of violence and investing its illicit profits into seemingly legitimate enterprises, the ’Ndrangheta entrenched itself economically without attracting as much public outrage.

The revenue from global drug trafficking (on the order of 53 billion euros annually⁹) has further enabled the ’Ndrangheta to buy influence and social consent on a grand scale. They finance local businesses, sponsor religious festivals, and provide jobs, weaving themselves into the social fabric of Calabria. The quid pro quo for locals is clear: the clan will protect and employ you (perhaps in the illegal economy), but you owe loyalty and silence, and you must turn to the clan—not the state—if you have a problem.

From its impoverished origins, the ’Ndrangheta has expanded to more than 84 countries worldwide,¹⁰ following Italian diasporas and global trafficking routes. ’Ndrangheta cells have been documented across Europe (especially in Germany, Switzerland, and the Netherlands), in the Americas (Canada, the United States, Argentina), and even in Australia. These international networks allow the ’Ndrangheta to function as a shadow multinational, moving drugs, arms, and money across borders with ease. Yet wherever it operates, it tends to replicate the same model of parallel authority: clandestine, family-run units that infiltrate local economies and politics¹¹ while keeping fealty to the codes set in Calabria.

The ’Ndrangheta shows how a mafia can scale up its pseudo-sovereignty from a cluster of villages to a worldwide enterprise—all while benefiting from weak governance both at home and abroad. The clans profit from underdevelopment and in turn perpetuate it by siphoning off public funds and deterring outside investment. In that sense, they have become a self-sustaining alternative regime, with the power to make or break the official government’s presence in the region. The Italian state’s ongoing efforts¹² can be seen as attempts to reassert legitimate sovereignty over areas where, for decades, the clans have been the real power.

Neapolitan Camorra

In Naples and the surrounding Campania region, the Camorra presents another variant of mafia rule—at once more urban and less centralized, and so perhaps even more relevant to the modern West than either the Sicilian Mafia or the Calabrian ’Ndrangheta.

The Camorra is one of the oldest mafia-type organizations in Italy, with roots traced to the early 19th-century Neapolitan prison gangs and the chaos of Italy’s unification in 1861. From the outset, the Camorra’s business was entwined with politics and urban economies. As members of gangs left prison, they found they could easily gain influence in Naples and across Campania in the post-Risorgimento upheaval.

This embedding of the Camorra into the civic life of Naples continues in evolved forms today. Indeed, by the late 20th century, the Camorra had permeated every sphere of Campanian society, from construction and retail to city hall. A report describes it as “seeped into every sphere […] terrorizing the local population through a quasi-unbreakable cycle of violence and corruption”.¹³

What distinguishes the Camorra’s structure is its fragmentation. Unlike Cosa Nostra or the ’Ndrangheta, the Camorra has never had a singular hierarchy or unified cupola. It consists of hundreds of independent clans that can ally or feud as suits their interests. Each clan, led by its own capo, holds sway over specific city neighbourhoods or towns in Campania, where it runs drug markets, extortion rings, and other rackets. The absence of a vertical command means the Camorra functions more like a continually shifting federation of mini-states—sometimes united for common ventures, other times at war with one another.¹⁴

For governance, this fragmentation means the Camorra’s “rule” can be very localized and uneven. In some Naples slums, a single clan dictates everyday life, while a few blocks away a rival holds sovereignty. Still, the cumulative effect is that large parts of the urban territory fall under one Camorra faction or another, creating what David Betz calls “zones of negotiated police control” and alternative power centres within the city. For example, districts like Scampìa and Secondigliano became notorious in the 2000s as Europe’s largest open-air drug marketplaces, governed internally by Camorra militia and lookouts, where the Italian police dared not enter except in military-style raids.¹⁵ In these zones, the Camorra clan not only sold drugs but also enforced order—their order—on the streets, punishing thieves or competitors, and providing a kind of street-level dispute resolution among residents. They also recruited local youth en masse into their employ, effectively becoming the primary employer in certain poor quarters.

Historically, the Camorra’s governance functions included controlling black markets and public services during crises. A vivid example came at the end of WWII. With Naples bombed and the state in disarray, Camorra bosses seized control of the food and goods black market, allowing them to amass political power among locals by the provision of scarce necessities.¹⁶ Allied forces unwittingly abetted this by making deals with Camorristi for intelligence and for protecting supply depots, further cementing the clans’ position in society. Thus, as the formal Italian state was collapsing, Camorra networks stepped in to keep a form of order (albeit criminal order) and satisfy basic needs—functioning as a de facto sovereign authority.

In later decades, the Camorra also exploited governmental failures such as the waste management crisis in Campania. Throughout the 1990s-2000s, corrupt Camorra enterprises took over trash collection and disposal (the so-called “garbage racket”), making immense profits by illegally dumping toxic waste, while state services failed to cope.¹⁷ The result was an environmental catastrophe in the “Land of Fires,” but also an example of the Camorra outcompeting or compromising local government to control a public utility. Residents in some areas came to fear and depend on the Camorra in equal measure: fear, because of violence and pollution; depend, because the official alternative—a paralyzed, graft-ridden local government—offered little better.

This dynamic is captured by the term “quasi-narco-state” used to describe Campania in the late 1970s when Camorra drug revenues soared. As the Camorra poured cocaine and heroin into southern Italy, it accumulated enormous cash (by one estimate, employing 40,000–60,000 people by the 1970s in Campania’s illicit economy) and used that wealth to invest in local businesses and to corrupt officials. Raffaele Cutolo’s attempt in the 1980s to unify the Camorra under the NCO (Nuova Camorra Organizzata) was an overt bid to create a single commanding authority, but it failed amid internecine war.

But even without unity, the Camorra’s collective impact has been to severely undermine the Italian state’s sovereignty locally. In Naples, the Camorra became a shadow government not by creating an alternative parliament, but by systematically subverting individual segments of governance—a neighbourhood here, a business sector there—until the official authority was hollowed out. So long as socioeconomic conditions (mass youth unemployment, corruption, poverty) and institutional weaknesses (inefficient justice, complicit politicians) persist in Campania, the Camorra’s parallel power system also persists. It perpetually adapts, proving that mafia power there is not an aberration but an ingrained local adaptation.

Japanese Yakuza

Moving from Europe to Asia, Japan’s Yakuza make for a fascinating contrast. Here we have a modern, generally strong state coexisting with a form of organized crime that at times has been quasi-legal and even publicly acknowledged. The Yakuza demonstrate how non-state power can embed itself not by opposing the state outright, but by accommodating it and stepping in where convenient.