The Ranucci method, explained

There is a convenient – and misguided – way to discuss "Report": to decide first whether Sigfrido Ranucci and his editorial team are heroes to be protected or enemies to be brought down, and then to fit the facts into that framework. There’s no need for that. “Report” has made history in Italian investigative journalism; it has stuck its nose where many did not want it to go, and has ruffled the feathers of governments, companies, political parties and powerful figures. A democracy should be glad that such programmes exist and should exercise caution when politicians try to intimidate them. But precisely because “Report” is important, and has the backing of the public service broadcaster, it is legitimate to ask whether, over the years, it has developed a method that has caused some harm: when suspicion becomes a foregone conclusion, an investigation becomes evidence, and insinuation becomes television truth. Rai itself presents “Report” as one of the programmes that have shaped the history of investigative television journalism. It is precisely this authority that makes it necessary to subject “Report” itself to the same scrutiny that “Report” subjects others to.

A journalist is not a judge and should not have to wait for a verdict to report what they know. Nor does an acquittal automatically prove that a report was false: journalistic truth and legal truth do not always coincide. The problem arises when the media narrative, which gives enormous prominence to the opening of a case file, a search or a person’s inclusion on the list of suspects, then devotes infinitely less space to the case being dropped or an acquittal. In the pages of "Report", the legal developments in its own investigations are, quite rightly, recorded. But then one must also take the other side of the coin into account. If a case file opened following an episode becomes a stamp of approval for the journalistic work, a closed case file cannot be reduced to a footnote. The best evidence of this problem is that “Report” itself has pages dedicated to acquittals that followed cases it had covered: from the State-Mafia negotiations to the Enoteca d’Italia scandal.

The Eni-Nigeria case is the best way to explain to those who have forgotten what we are talking about. For years, Opl 245 was portrayed as one of the major international corruption scandals, an alleged massive bribe of over a billion dollars linked to a Nigerian oil field. The programme ‘Report’ covered the story. However, the trial concluded in March 2021 with the acquittal of all fifteen defendants, including Eni and Shell, Claudio Descalzi and Paolo Scaroni, ‘because the offence did not exist’. In July 2022, after the Attorney General’s Office withdrew its appeal, the acquittals became final. This does not mean that it was unlawful to investigate or report on the allegations. It means that the grand criminal theory around which a devastating public narrative had built up did not stand up to judicial scrutiny. And reputations do not automatically return to their previous state. It is worth adding, so as not to replace one narrative with another, that in June 2026, prosecutors Fabio De Pasquale and Sergio Spadaro were also definitively acquitted of the charge of having withheld evidence favourable to the defendants: therefore, not even this subsequent proceeding can now be used to discredit the original investigation. The essential facts remain: fifteen defendants, fifteen acquittals and no corruption proven in the Opl 245 trial.

Mario Mori is another name that helps to illustrate the mechanism. “Report” devoted a great deal of coverage to the so-called State-Mafia negotiations, culminating in the special “Le menti raffinatissime” and the subsequent “Il vertice delle stragi”. This is a subject in which there are historical facts, grey areas and legitimate questions. But there are also court rulings. Mori, Antonio Subranni and Giuseppe De Donno, who were convicted at first instance, were acquitted on appeal, and in April 2023 the Court of Cassation made the acquittals final. It is incorrect to claim that the ruling has erased every contact, every initiative or every historical fact reconstructed over the years. It is correct to say that the prosecution’s case, which attributed criminal responsibility to ROS officers, did not hold up. And here the contrast with the television programme’s narrative is worth noting: when it aired “Il vertice delle stragi” in 2021, “Report” announced its intention to investigate the role of state officials in the events surrounding the massacres of 1992–93. Two years later, the Supreme Court ruled out the criminal liability of the ROS officers. In the public consciousness, however, the stigma of the ‘negotiations’ has proved far more enduring than the acquittal. For Mori, there is also a second chapter, often confused with the first: the failure to capture Bernardo Provenzano in Mezzojuso in 1995. Mori and Colonel Mauro Obinu stood trial for aggravated aiding and abetting the Mafia: according to the prosecution, they had failed to act despite the fact that the information received via Luigi Ilardo could have led to the boss. They were acquitted at first instance and on appeal; in June 2017, the Court of Cassation made the acquittal final, rejecting the prosecution’s appeal. The grounds for the appeal were “because the act does not constitute a criminal offence”. The judgements also contain critical assessments of the investigative decisions: these must not be concealed. But neither can we overlook the final chapter of the story. The principle of due process does not require us to forget the suspicions: it requires us to remember how they were resolved.

Then there are the diamonds. In 2016, in its programme “Occhio al portafoglio”, “Report” exposed the sale, via banks, of investment diamonds at prices far above market value. The affair led to legal proceedings, fines and a massive legal dispute. Maurizio Sacchi, owner of Diamond Private Investment, faced criminal charges and even spent months in prison. In 2026, however, the Court of Cassation acquitted him of the charge of being one of the masterminds behind the massive scam: “the charge is unfounded”. Here, we must keep two truths in mind. Sacchi’s criminal acquittal is a major development and dismisses the criminal charges against him; at the same time, the competition authority sanctions for unfair commercial practices—confirmed through administrative proceedings—remain in place, and the banks have reimbursed clients approximately 1.2 billion. So it is not that ‘Report’ was right about everything, nor that ‘Report’ had made it all up. The problem lies in the asymmetry between the personalised nature of the accusation on television and the far lesser impact of the acquittal.

The same applies to a story that has now been all but forgotten: Enoteca d’Italia. In 2005, “Report” devoted its “In vino veritas” segment to the management of the Sienese organisation, at a time marked by serious allegations. Twelve years later, the defendants – including former president Pier Domenico Garrone – were acquitted. The same page of “Report” would later state, unequivocally: “Enoteca d’Italia case: all acquitted”. In 2021, the Rome Court of Appeal upheld the acquittals of all the defendants, declaring the prosecution’s appeal inadmissible. It is good that “Report” reported on the outcome. But this is precisely the point: the episode of the accusations remains in the public memory through images, faces and headlines; the acquittal comes twelve years later, when the public’s attention has moved on. The judicial exoneration lacks the same dramatic impact as the initial allegations.

The case of the face masks and Domenico Arcuri’s special commission requires even greater precision. “Report” devoted several features to Covid-19 emergency supplies, including those purchased by the special commission led by Arcuri. For years, there has been talk of a massive, opaque deal involving over 800 million items purchased from China for around 1.25 billion euros. Arcuri was acquitted in January 2025 of the charge of abuse of office, but not on the merits of the case: the offence had been repealed and the ruling was that the act is no longer classified as a criminal offence under the law. It would be incorrect to use that verdict as proof that all the allegations were unfounded. But it would also be incorrect to omit the fact that the original charges of corruption and embezzlement against him had already been dismissed, and that on 31 March 2026 the Court of Rome acquitted Antonio Fabbrocini, Arcuri’s former right-hand man, whilst the Italian intermediaries were also cleared of the charges. The final legal picture is therefore far less set in stone than the one that has become entrenched in public opinion over the years of the face-mask case.

And so we come to the last three years. In December 2023, “Report” and Il Fatto Quotidiano brought to light the case of the painting by Rutilio Manetti in Vittorio Sgarbi’s possession. The public prosecutor’s office launched an investigation following the journalistic reports: “Report” itself subsequently highlighted this on its website. In the meantime, some of the original allegations were dropped; on the remaining charge – money laundering – Sgarbi was acquitted on 16 February 2026. The public prosecutor’s office had sought a sentence of three years and four months. It would be simplistic to conclude that every detail of the journalistic investigation was false: there remains a complex story regarding the painting’s provenance and alterations, as well as testimonies that warranted verification. But it is precisely this case that highlights the asymmetry: if ‘the investigation begins after “Report”’ becomes a validation of the work carried out, then ‘the trial ends in an acquittal’ must carry equal weight in the historical record.

In January 2025, “Il Signor D” returned to the subject of Marcello Dell’Utri and the 1993 Mafia massacres, placing great emphasis on the fact that Dell’Utri was still under investigation in Florence as part of the inquiry into the alleged hidden instigators. On 15 January 2026, the investigating magistrate in Florence dismissed the case; the news was made public on 4 June. The judge noted the lack of concrete evidence regarding the alleged direct links between Cosa Nostra, Silvio Berlusconi and Marcello Dell’Utri. It was the sixth time the case had been dismissed in thirty years of investigations into the alleged hidden masterminds. ‘Report’ had not fabricated the file: the file did indeed exist, and reporting on its existence was perfectly legitimate. But the existence of an investigation is not proof that the investigative hypothesis is well-founded. It is precisely this distinction that journalism should make clear, even when the prosecution’s account is compelling and irresistibly compelling for television.

In Pioltello, even greater caution is required because the trial is not yet over. In its 8 October 2023 episode of “L’ultima fermata”, “Report” revisits the 2018 rail disaster: three deaths and over two hundred people injured or suffering psychological trauma. In February 2025, however, the first-instance trial concluded with just one conviction and eight acquittals, including that of the former CEO of RFI, Maurizio Gentile, and RFI itself. The judgement ruled out evidence of culpable acts or omissions on the part of senior management, stating that they could not have known the condition of the rail joint that caused the accident. The public prosecutor’s office lodged an appeal, and the appeal proceedings began in 2026. There is therefore no definitive truth to be used against “Report”. There is, however, a lesson to be learnt: there is a huge gulf between reporting a maintenance problem that actually existed and attributing criminal liability for it to senior management.

Just a few days separate one episode from another legal outcome. On 19 January 2025, whilst discussing the Strait Bridge and the figure of Pietro Ciucci, “Report” also revisits his years at ANAS and the collapse of the Scorciavacche viaduct in Sicily. Eleven days later, on 30 January, Ciucci and two ANAS executives were acquitted ‘on the grounds that they did not commit the offence’ of inducing the giving or promising of benefits, for which the prosecution had sought a four-year sentence for Ciucci. Here too, the facts must not be distorted in the opposite direction: the viaduct did indeed collapse, and other charges in the case were dropped due to the statute of limitations. But using the existence of a pending trial as a building block to shape a person’s public profile carries an obvious risk: that eleven days later, the courts might say something very different.

Then there are the corrections, which sometimes illustrate the method even better than major investigations. The report “Il candidato al contrario” of 10 December 2023 included a claim regarding Minister Adolfo Urso’s alleged membership of Freemasonry. Urso denied this. On the official page for the ‘Report’ programme, the programme then states that the minister’s denial is taken as fact for the purposes of the broadcast and adds its regret for the distress caused to the person concerned. It is a necessary correction, and ‘Report’ should be credited for making it. But it also shows just how dangerous it is to give airtime to such a serious accusation regarding someone’s identity when the fact-checking does not allow it to be fully substantiated. The correction is necessary; it cannot erase the first impression, which on television is almost always the one that sticks.

One might add the Bambino Gesù Hospital. In March 2025, as part of “Patti chiari”, “Report” revisited the deeply tragic death of Lisa Federico following her bone marrow transplant. The programme’s website subsequently had to note that on 20 May 2025, the investigating magistrate had dismissed the case against Professor Franco Locatelli. This, too, does not mean that the journalists’ questions about the case were illegitimate, nor does it erase the family’s grief and unanswered questions. It does, however, serve as a reminder of a rule: when a person becomes the subject of public scrutiny in the context of a criminal investigation, the dismissal of the case is not a mere formality but an integral part of the news story.

None of this gives anyone the right to portray “Report” as the epitome of all that is wrong with Italian journalism. That would be the exact opposite of what is being criticised here. “Report” has produced important investigations, brought true facts to light, forced institutions and companies to respond, and disturbed powers that would have preferred not to be disturbed. And not all the controversies surrounding Ranucci are well-founded: a lawsuit does not prove that a report is defamatory, just as an investigation does not prove that an interviewee is guilty. The principle of due process, if taken seriously, applies to journalists too. One cannot criticise “Report” for treating a notice of investigation as a conviction and then treat a lawsuit against “Report” as a conviction of Ranucci.

The problem lies in the cycle that can develop between journalism and the justice system: a programme puts forward a hypothesis; the hypothesis attracts attention and is sometimes included in a case file; the opening of the case file is reported in the media as confirmation of the investigation’s importance; the suspect is identified for years by the charge against them; when acquittal is granted, the mechanism that had amplified the suspicion no longer works. There is no need for conspiracies between journalists and magistrates to see this. The normal dynamics of news reporting are enough: the charge is new, dramatic and telegenic; the acquittal is belated, technical and unspectacular. For those caught up in it, however, the damage to their reputation is very real. And there is also cultural damage: accustoming the public to viewing an investigation as the first step towards a guilty verdict rather than what it actually is – namely, a hypothesis that has yet to be proven.

“Report” uses legitimate yet extremely powerful narrative tools: editing, probing questions, silences, a succession of documents, and sources that add pieces to the puzzle. The viewer does not merely receive information: they receive a constructed narrative. This is the language of television, and there is nothing scandalous about it. It becomes a problem when that construction visually eliminates the conditional form that may still survive grammatically. One can say “according to the prosecution”, “is alleged to have”, “is under investigation for”, whilst simultaneously conveying a sense of moral certainty. It is here that investigative journalism risks turning into oracular journalism: not in the desire to conduct investigations, but in the difficulty of truly leaving room for doubt.

Those with short memories therefore do not need a catalogue of acts of revenge against “Report”. What is needed is to recall the outcomes. Eni-Nigeria: all acquitted. Mori on the negotiations: definitively acquitted. Mori and Obinu on Provenzano: definitive acquittal. Sacchi on the diamonds: acquitted by the Court of Cassation, in a commercial case where penalties and reimbursements remain. Enoteca d’Italia: all acquitted. The face mask case: Arcuri’s technical acquittal, the previous dismissals of charges relating to corruption and embezzlement, and the subsequent acquittals. Sgarbi: acquitted of the last remaining charge. Dell’Utri: case dismissed regarding the 1993 bombings. Pioltello: eight acquittals at first instance and an appeal still pending. Ciucci: acquitted in the Scorciavacche proceedings. Locatelli: case dismissed. Urso: the programme “Report” itself acknowledges his denial regarding Freemasonry. These are not identical cases; they do not carry the same weight, and it would be incorrect to treat them all on the same footing. It is precisely their diversity, however, that reveals the constant: suspicion enjoys a more intense media life than any subsequent refutation.

The damage caused by this method cannot, therefore, be measured by counting how many “Report” investigations are “wrong” – an impossible and, indeed, foolish task. It is measured in terms of asymmetry. An accusation can take up an hour of prime-time television and haunt a person’s name for ten years; an acquittal may take twenty seconds. An anonymous source can build a negative reputation in a matter of minutes; a 300-page judgment dismantling the accusation arrives when no one can remember where it all began. A public prosecutor’s office opening a case file following a television programme generates a headline; one closing the case years later produces a brief news item. The first news item confirms, in the media narrative, the value of the investigation; the second rarely leads to a revision of the previous narrative. And it is in this disproportion that the real pillory is created: not necessarily in the falsity of what is reported, but in the practical impossibility for the accused, when they are in the right, to achieve the same narrative power with which they were originally accused.

The solution is not to muzzle “Report”, place it under supervision, standardise it or turn every mistake into a political pretext. That would be worse than the problem itself. It is to demand a simple rule from such a powerful programme: the same curiosity about exculpatory evidence as about incriminating evidence; adequate space for follow-up reports when they overturn the narrative; greater care in distinguishing fact from hypothesis and hypothesis from insinuation; less complacency in presenting the opening of a judicial inquiry as a badge of journalistic valour. And perhaps a very simple rule for television: when a report has given great prominence to an accusation against a person and that accusation is subsequently dropped or results in an acquittal, revisit the story with the same clarity with which it was first reported.

Ultimately, the issue is not about Ranucci. It concerns a concept of journalism. The best journalism is not that which never accuses and never makes mistakes because it never takes risks. It is the kind that takes risks, accuses when it has grounds to do so, but retains enough scepticism to recognise that a public prosecutor’s office can make mistakes, a source can make mistakes, a witness can make mistakes and, of course, ‘Report’ can make mistakes too. Credibility is not lost by admitting a mistake. It is lost when one insists that one’s own version be exempt from the very scrutiny one demands of others. Recalling acquittals, cases being dropped and corrections does not mean waging war on ‘Report’. It means applying to ‘Report’ the principle that ‘Report’ has applied to everyone else for thirty years: no power should be considered untouchable. Not even the power of those who report on the untouchables.