The recent case highlighted by Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni powerfully illustrates why many women — and citizens in general — might struggle to trust the justice and immigration systems in countries like Italy. In early March 2026, Meloni publicly condemned court rulings that blocked the detention and deportation of dangerous foreign criminals, including a Moroccan national named Fathallah Ouardi with a documented history of serious offenses: illegal entry, drug dealing, resisting public officials, conspiracy to commit sexual assault, and participation in a gang rape.
The core issue stems from Italy's application of international protection and asylum rules. Even after transfer to an offshore processing center in Albania (part of Meloni's push for stricter irregular migration controls), judges refused to validate continued detention once the individual applied for protection. This effectively prevented repatriation, with authorities claiming they were "almost forced" to grant international protection despite the criminal record. Meloni described these judicial decisions as "surreal," arguing they prioritise procedural protections over public safety and victims' rights.
Her most pointed question cuts directly to the heart of women's safety and systemic trust: "What trust can a woman who has been gang-raped have in the system if her rapist can't even be deported?" She extended this frustration to broader implications — how can any citizen feel secure when repeated offenders who entered illegally cannot be removed? She also challenged feminist groups like "Non una di meno" (Not One Less) for their apparent silence on such cases, implying a selective approach to women's rights advocacy that overlooks migrant-perpetrated violence.
This isn't an isolated frustration. Meloni's government has pursued aggressive policies on irregular immigration, including the Albania centres, precisely to enable faster processing and expulsions. Yet judicial interventions — often rooted in human rights obligations under EU and international law — repeatedly hinder these efforts for individuals with criminal histories. The result is a perception that the system protects perpetrators more than victims, eroding confidence especially among women who fear sexual violence.
Consider the broader pattern this case fits into: repeated reports of serious crimes (including gang rapes and assaults) by irregular migrants in Europe, followed by legal blocks on deportation due to asylum claims, non-refoulement principles, or concerns over treatment in origin countries. When courts intervene to halt removals, it creates a cycle where convicted offenders remain in society or are released back into communities, fuelling distrust.
Women, who disproportionately bear the brunt of sexual violence, have every reason to question a system that appears to place ideological or procedural commitments above their physical security. If the state convicts someone of gang rape but cannot — or will not — remove them due to legal loopholes, the message becomes: justice stops at the border, and safety is secondary. This breeds cynicism, not just toward immigration policy but toward institutions claiming to protect vulnerable groups.
Meloni's determination to "work three times, four times, ten times harder" to enforce tough policies reflects a response to this exact erosion of trust. Until systems prioritise victim safety and swift removal of proven dangerous criminals over expansive asylum interpretations, many women will rightly feel the state has failed them. The question isn't just rhetorical — it's a fundamental challenge to whether the current framework can deliver justice and security in an era of mass irregular migration.