ALBERTO TANDOI

Genny and the Cross, Rozzangeles

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Just fifteen minutes south of Milan’s golden Madonnina, the shining symbol of the city’s wealth and prestige, lies Rozzano, or “Rozzangeles” as many call it. A place geographically close yet worlds apart, defined by poverty, concrete housing blocks, and a reputation that often overshadows the humanity within it.

It is here that I met Genny. Once a hardcore criminal and drug addict, his past is written across his skin. He has the same facial tattoo as Mike Tyson, a Pitbull symbolizing strength, and a gun on his neck that serves as a reminder of his past life. Across his shaved brows he carries the name Area 51, the charity he founded in Rozzano. Born in Naples, he spent years in Poggioreale, one of Italy’s most notorious prisons. Today he feeds the poorest, supports those who are trapped in the same darkness he once experienced, and welcomes people on home arrest, offering them a space where redemption can slowly begin to take shape, at least for the two hours a day they are allowed to leave home.

In an extraordinary act of redemption, Genny walked from Rozzano to Rome, carrying a heavy wooden cross for about 600 kilometers in order to meet the Pope. On his back he has the tattoo “Barabba,” the criminal who was freed instead of Jesus. His journey reflects the paradox of starting again. A man condemned in the past who chooses every day to try and become a better version of himself.

This project documents that journey. It is a visual exploration of the lives connected to Area 51. People paying for their crimes, people trying to help others, and a community suspended between the weight of the past and the hope of a new beginning.

M was caught selling drugs on the streets. Area 51 gives him a short moment of freedom each day. Two hours to work, breathe, and maintain human connection. He introduced me to the neighborhood and the people who make it what it is. In his portrait, he shows me a screenshot from a video call with Renato Vallanzasca, a legendary criminal figure in Milan’s history. For M, Vallanzasca represents rebellion and power, a myth passed down in places where crime offers a first sense of identity. The portrait holds both M’s story and the legacy of a past generation that continues to influence the present.

Anna spent many years in prison after a youth spent robbing banks. Someone once told me that the dark circles under her eyes are the kind you only get after spending too much time behind bars. She works tirelessly alongside Genny. Tough and deeply spiritual, she maintains a strong connection to her faith. Just before her portrait was taken, she ran to grab a statue of Jesus, kissed it, and said that with Him present the picture could finally be taken. In her image the sacred and the criminal sit together, both part of who she has become.

A is confident and physically imposing. His identity seems shaped by his strength, his gold watch, and his presence online. Yet behind that first impression is someone quietly focused on rebuilding himself. He uses every minute permitted outside his home to make a positive change and slowly repair what was once broken.

There are also the children who come and go. They help out, listen to stories, or simply enjoy free ice cream in summer and a warm meal in winter. Their presence is a quiet hope that the next generation may learn from the past instead of repeating it. They are a reminder that redemption can begin long before mistakes are made if someone is willing to show them another path.