Italian judicial reform rejected amid systemic tensions between populist governance and judicial independence

Italy’s legal system, rooted in Roman law and later fascist-era codes, has historically marginalised indigenous and regional customary practices (e.g., Sicilian or Sardinian legal traditions). The referendum’s focus on 'efficiency' in judiciary obscures how such reforms often erase local legal pluralism in favour of centralised, technocratic governance. Indigenous legal frameworks, which prioritise restorative justice over punitive systems, are entirely absent from the debate, despite their potential to address Italy’s prison overcrowding and corruption.

Italy’s judicial system was reshaped after WWII to prevent authoritarianism, but fascist-era laws (e.g., Rocco Code) persist in parts of the penal system. The 2020 constitutional reform under Meloni echoes Mussolini’s 1925 attempt to subordinate the judiciary to the executive, revealing a cyclical pattern of populist leaders targeting courts. The referendum also parallels 1970s-80s 'clean hands' investigations, where anti-corruption crusades were later co-opted by political factions, suggesting reforms often serve elite power struggles rather than systemic justice.

Globally, judicial independence is under siege in majoritarian democracies, from Hungary’s capture of courts to India’s collegium system debates. In Turkey, Erdogan’s purges of judges post-2016 coup mirror Meloni’s rhetoric about 'politicised' judiciaries, yet both leaders frame reforms as 'democratic renewal.' Latin America’s 'lawfare' phenomenon—where courts are used to persecute political opponents—highlights how judicial reforms can become tools of authoritarian consolidation rather than accountability.

Empirical studies show that judicial independence correlates with lower corruption and higher economic growth, but Italy’s reforms risk politicising appointments without addressing structural inefficiencies. Research on populist governance (e.g., Levitsky & Ziblatt) indicates that attacks on judiciaries often precede democratic backsliding, yet mainstream coverage lacks quantitative analysis of such trends. The referendum’s binary framing ignores evidence that Italy’s judiciary is already overburdened by underfunding and political interference, not just ideological bias.

Italian cinema and literature (e.g., Fellini’s *La Dolce Vita*, Pasolini’s critiques of power) have long depicted the judiciary as a symbol of institutional decay. The referendum’s polarising rhetoric evokes Dante’s *Inferno*, where corrupt judges are damned in the eighth circle—a metaphor for Italy’s cyclical struggles with impunity. Spiritual traditions like Catholic social teaching, which emphasises subsidiarity and checks on power, are invoked by both sides but rarely analysed as a systemic framework for reform.

If Meloni’s reforms had passed, Italy could have faced EU sanctions under Rule of Law mechanisms, triggering economic instability. A likely scenario is prolonged institutional gridlock, with judiciary and executive locked in conflict, further eroding public trust in state institutions. Alternative futures include a constitutional crisis or a negotiated compromise that entrenches hybrid governance models, blending populist rhetoric with technocratic oversight—a pattern seen in Poland and Hungary.

Southern Italian regions, where judicial corruption is most acute, were sidelined in the debate, despite bearing the brunt of underfunded courts. Migrant justice groups, who face systemic discrimination in legal access, were excluded from the narrative, reinforcing the idea that 'reform' is a top-down process. Anti-mafia prosecutors, often targeted by populist rhetoric, were framed as 'elites' rather than defenders of marginalised communities, obscuring their role in exposing systemic corruption.