Flood risk perception and behavioural responses in conditions of repeated floods: evidence from Bagnacavallo (Ravenna, Italy)

In the study of how people react to danger, scientists have long understood that fear is a powerful motivator. When a community faces a sudden threat, such as a fire or a storm, people often come together quickly, setting aside differences to help one another survive. This instinctive cooperation is well-documented. However, a more complex question arises when the danger does not pass. What happens when the threat returns, again and again, over a short period? Does the initial wave of unity hold, or does the repeated strain of disaster wear people down? Researchers are also interested in how these repeated events change the way people see the world. Do they begin to understand that the weather is changing in a fundamental way, or do they simply view each new flood as a separate, unlucky event? Understanding these shifts is crucial because the ability of a community to work together is often the difference between a manageable crisis and a catastrophic one.

In the small Italian town of Bagnacavallo, located in a flat, river-rich region, residents have lived through a series of devastating floods that began in May 2023. Within just two weeks of that month, two separate storms caused rivers to burst their banks, followed by further severe flooding in September 2024 and again in early 2025. To understand how this relentless cycle affected the people living there, a team of researchers from Italian universities conducted a deep dive into the community's mindset. They did not rely on distant statistics alone. Instead, they sat down with twenty-one residents in small group discussions and surveyed one hundred people from the area. The goal was to listen to how these neighbors perceived the risk of future floods, how they viewed the role of climate change, and how their willingness to cooperate with one another changed as the emergency phase faded into a long, difficult recovery.

The researchers found that the experience of repeated flooding fundamentally altered how the town saw its own safety. Before the disasters, many residents, especially older generations, remembered the local rivers as friendly neighbors, a view passed down through family stories. The floods shattered this memory. Today, the risk of water rising is no longer seen as a rare, once-in-a-lifetime tragedy, but as a constant, expected reality. This shift was felt by everyone, not just those whose homes were damaged. Even residents who escaped direct water damage reported a deep sense of insecurity, driven by constant weather alerts, road closures, and the sight of repair work that never seemed to end. The fear was not just about the water itself, but about the uncertainty of when it would return and whether the authorities could stop it.

A significant part of this new reality involved a growing awareness of climate change. The residents did not view the floods as a mysterious, isolated act of nature. Instead, they recognized that climate change was a factor that worsened the impacts of extreme weather, but they did not see it as the sole or primary cause. Rather, they viewed the floods as the result of a combination of global climate shifts and local territorial mismanagement. They felt that the impacts were exacerbated by the absence of adequate institutional interventions and the failure to address known structural vulnerabilities. This understanding came with a heavy dose of frustration. While they acknowledged that climate change was making storms more intense, they also felt that local and national authorities had failed to manage the land properly. They pointed to years of ignored warnings and slow, disjointed responses from government agencies. This lack of trust in institutions became a central theme, with many residents feeling that the system was opaque and unresponsive, leaving them to face the consequences alone.

The most striking discovery, however, concerned the social fabric of the town. In the immediate aftermath of the first floods, the community displayed a remarkable spirit of unity. Neighbors helped neighbors, volunteers arrived from across the country, and a sense of shared fate bound everyone together. But as the emergency phase ended and the long process of rebuilding began, this unity began to fray. The researchers observed that the initial wave of cooperation gave way to tension and competition. This shift was not just between those who were flooded and those who were not; it happened even among those who had suffered damage. A painful dynamic emerged where residents began to compare the severity of their losses, with some feeling that their suffering was being overlooked or that others were not doing enough to help.

This fragmentation was driven by the uneven nature of the damage. Some families lost everything multiple times, while others lost nothing at all. Those who could repair their homes quickly or move away found themselves withdrawing from collective efforts, while those who remained dependent on community support felt abandoned. The researchers noted that the sense of shared obligation, which is so strong during a crisis, weakened as the recovery dragged on. The community began to fracture along lines of who had been hit hardest and who had been spared, turning a collective struggle into a series of individual battles.

Despite this erosion of trust and unity, the study revealed a persistent, albeit quiet, desire to act. Residents expressed a willingness to change their daily habits to help the environment, such as recycling more or using less water. Yet, they also held a deep skepticism about whether their individual actions could make a real difference against such massive forces. A significant barrier to collective climate action was a psychological phenomenon where people assumed their neighbors were less willing to help than they actually were. Everyone believed that others were too selfish or indifferent to act, which discouraged them from taking the lead themselves. This misunderstanding created a cycle where good intentions remained hidden, and the community failed to mobilize the collective power it actually possessed.

The story of Bagnacavallo offers a clear lesson for the future. It shows that while a single disaster can unite a community, a series of repeated disasters can slowly tear that unity apart, especially when the damage is unevenly distributed. The path forward requires more than just building higher walls or fixing levees; it requires rebuilding the trust between neighbors and between the people and their leaders. Without addressing the deep-seated feelings of unfairness and the lack of faith in institutions, the social bonds needed to survive the next crisis may already be too weakened to hold. The residents of Bagnacavallo have learned to live with the fear of the next flood, but the challenge now is to learn how to live together again.