From the investigation into neo-Nazi minors to the legal conundrum: Can possessing critical information constitute evidence of a crime? The crux lies in the transition from thought to action by Andrea Monti – Initially published in Italian by Italian Tech-La Repubblica
The Anarchist Cookbook, CIA Explosive Sabotage, Home-Made Firearms, Home Workshop Prototype Firearms, Black Book Companion: State-of-the-Art Improvised Munitions, Strategy of the Coup d’État, Instructions for the Construction of the TAPT. These are the “banned books” that, according to page 2 of the local newspaper Il Centro on April 1, 2026, were seized as part of an investigation into a group of minors organized into a neo-Nazi-inspired cell, one of whose members was planning an assault on the Misticoni art high school in Pescara (IT.)
A side issue, but no less important, of this story is the return of the “they teach how to make bombs on the internet” mantra, a mantra that dates back as far as the days of the BBS —the bulletin board systems that formed the cultural and technical foundation upon which “the Net” would later be built — which the media promptly revived after learning of the seized materials and how the suspects obtained the information.
The Danger of Free Access to Information
The court file will certainly contain other evidence supporting the charges, but if we are to consider what the media has reported, then we must ask ourselves why possessing content that can be easily purchased in any bookstore would constitute evidence of a crime. Yes, because the CIA book on explosives is an official declassified document; those on firearms were published by Paladin Press, the controversial American publisher that ceased operations in 2018; while the book on coup strategy could be the one written in 1968, with the same title, by Edward Lutwak.
So, why should reading a very practical book like *Der totale Widerstand*—published in 1957 by a Swiss army officer with the aim of training citizens in resistance in the event of a Soviet invasion—be considered evidence of criminal intent? What would make Cryptonite—the book written in 1998 by a collective operating under the name Joe Lametta, which explained in concrete terms (even providing the software) how to use cryptography to oppose the control and restriction of individual freedoms—“illegal”?
The danger of free access to knowledge
Furthermore, given the skills that can be acquired in certain academic programs, wouldn’t authorization from the Ministry of the Interior or Defense be required to graduate as a mechanical or electronic technician, or to earn a degree in engineering, physics, medicine, chemistry, and pharmacology? And while we’re on the subject of practical skills, on what grounds is the practice of disciplines such as Filipino Kali (which teaches the lethal use of knives) or airsoft (which involves studying guerrilla tactics and strategies—including urban warfare—and putting them into practice while wearing military attire and using highly realistic replicas of military weapons, even if only CO2-powered) permitted? And are we certain that teaching anyone first-aid methods is a good and just thing, considering that this knowledge could prove useful to perpetrators of assaults and attacks?
This lengthy argument is clearly provocative and deliberately paradoxical, but it highlights with some clarity the consequences of viewing information or skills in and of themselves as something inherently dangerous and therefore to be banned.
The Limits to the Limits of Knowledge
Regardless of the merits of the investigation, as is evident, this case once again raises the issue of the “limits to the limits” of freedom of expression when it concerns the circulation of information that can be used for illicit purposes.
In the U.S., the circulation of practical manuals on the use of weapons, survival techniques, and other “extreme” topics is traditionally protected by the “First Amendment,” the provision of the Constitution that guarantees freedom of expression. However, in 1997, a book published by Paladin Press established an important legal precedent that helps clarify when the dissemination of information can no longer be considered an activity protected by the Constitution.
In the case Rice v. Paladin Enterprises, the Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit ruled that Hit Man: A Technical Manual for Independent Contractors was not protected by the First Amendment and therefore held the publisher jointly liable for a triple homicide committed by an individual who had “learned the trade” precisely thanks to the book. The main reason for the conviction—and thus the distinction between what is permissible to publish even if critical or disturbing, and what is not—was the finding that Hitman did not disseminate information, but was a step-by-step guide to becoming a hired killer—that is, to committing a crime. It mattered little to the judges that the book had actually been written by drawing on action novels and films, because what counted (negatively) were the author’s intent and the work’s actual ability to impart concrete skills for committing illegal acts.
What would happen if we imprisoned information
At first glance, this criterion might seem reasonable, but if that were the case, then we would have to ask ourselves, for example, what would happen if we applied it to hyper-realistic video games like those used by Anders Breivik—whose name, incidentally, emerged in the investigations as an “inspirer”—to train for the Utoya massacre. Is the creation of a scenario almost indistinguishable from reality, in which one moves and acts using methods and weapons not permitted to civilians, still considered “just a game”? And what about the media’s publication of information that is available but not commonly known—for example, regarding what military and strategic activities are carried out at certain sites? Doesn’t this risk putting “bad ideas” into the minds of some lone wolves or organized groups who might want to, say, derail trains or target industrial sites?
The issue is extremely delicate because it is not easy to draw a line between “freedom of thought” on the one hand and incitement to commit crimes, glorification of crime, attacks, and radicalization on the other, but we must be careful not to invoke general restrictions in the name of specific cases, however serious they may be.
We don’t need a law, but a sense of individual responsibility
On the other hand, however, we cannot ignore that over time, the indiscriminate dissemination of information has become a far less noble activity, capable of creating disorder both at the systemic and individual levels, despite any “good intentions”. There is no substantial difference between the killer’s manual published by Paladin Press and platforms that actively find system vulnerabilities, making them available to security experts but also to those engaged in other “work.” Similarly, there is no substantial difference between the exploded view (the technical blueprint) that allows one to learn how a firearm is constructed down to the smallest detail and those platforms (including AI-based ones) that enable the creation of ready-to-use exploits and malware.
Therefore, we do not need yet another law to “ban” the circulation of information, but rather to refer to a principle dating back to the time of Ulpian that represents a cornerstone of our criminal law: cogitationis poenam nemo patitur. No one can be punished for having ideas, the Roman jurist warned, but determining when thought is on the verge of becoming punishable action is the responsibility of the judiciary, not the parliament. Any other solution would all too easily become a tool to silence critical thought and surreptitiously legitimize preventive and generalized control over the circulation of knowledge.
Information wants to be free was the utopian claim of the early hackers. Today, information wants to be free has become the bulwark for the protection of democracy.