Mohammad, a young Syrian man of 24, climbs the steps of the ship. After the first few paces on deck, he breathes a sigh of relief. Then he looks up at the sky and smiles. After seven hours in the open sea, he is safe. We are on board the Life Support, the Italian humanitarian agency Emergency’s boat in the central Mediterranean.
Life Support is a repurposed supply vessel, refitted for search and rescue operations in the perilous water crossings between northern Africa and Europe.
It can transport up to 175 people in addition to its international crew of 28, which includes a doctor and two nurses, squads to operate inflatable rescue boats, cultural mediators, logistics experts and mariners, all under the command of ship’s master Domenico Pugliese.
Emergency launched Life Support in 2022. The non-government organisation had provided onshore support to the shipwrecked for many years as part of its remit, but decided it might do better to help at sea.
“We have always worked in difficult conditions, in favour of the victims of war and poverty,” says Alessandro Bertani, Emergency’s vice-president. “With Life Support, we continue this work at sea, because those we save are desperately looking for a chance to survive rather than to live better.”
On quiet days, the crew practise rescue simulations, ready for any eventuality in any sea conditions, in the dark or in broad daylight.
Today, Life Support is sailing through increasingly rough seas in the Maltese search and rescue zone.
“From now on, we must be ready for anything and keep our radios on at a high volume,” urges Ani Montes Mier, the search and rescue co-ordination manager.
A few hours later, she summons the crew – a mayday relay has been received from Frontex, the European Union’s border and coastguard agency. About 40 people have been spotted on a gas platform in Tunisia’s Miskar gas field.
Life Support heads to the area, lowering two rigid-hull inflatables into the water as it nears the platform. A Frontex plane circles above.
“We have clearance for you to approach,” Montes Mier informs Janne Malmstrōm, who is helming one of the inflatables. He picks up speed as the waves keep rising in a strong wind.
The platform is only a few metres away and people can be seen clinging to the stairs that descend from the structure down into the waves. Nearby, an empty dinghy drifts.
From Life Support, the inflatables are instructed to move 500 metres back. There is a tense silence before another order comes through: “Get back to the mothership.” Shouts of disapproval burst out but orders are to be obeyed.
“We made you come back because Miskar suddenly refused to let you approach, despite an initial green light,” Montes Mier explains. “[They are] asking us to hand over the shipwrecked people to a Tunisian naval unit. We refused; Tunisia is not a safe port.”
The denial of intervention came nine months after a memorandum was signed between the EU and Tunisia, providing for the European Commission to donate €105 million (NZ$184m) to the North African country for migration management and strengthening of coastal controls.
As the Financial Times reported in March, after a series of disagreements over the disbursement of the funds, an estimated €164m will instead be given to the Tunisian Security Forces, despite criticism from various humanitarian organisations, such as Human Rights Watch.
“The Tunisian authorities have forcibly repatriated people fleeing by boat who risk serious harm in Tunisia,” says Lauren Seibert, a Human Rights Watch researcher. “By these fundings, EU shares responsibility for the suffering of migrants, refugees and asylum-seekers in Tunisia.”
During the night, the inflatables stayed in the water in case the Miskar platform changed its mind, but it did not respond to further inquiries from Life Support. At the time of going to print, inquiries about the outcome of the people clinging to the platform have gone unanswered.
“That scene stuck in my mind,” says Bader Belrhazi, a cultural mediator who was on the rescue boats. “We were thrilled to save those people and were really close to them. I was ready to calm them down by telling them we would take everyone away. I could clearly see two children and some women – then the call to turn back.”
Prepare for rescue
One day later, Life Support sails towards the Libyan search and rescue zone. Suddenly, Montes Mier is on the radio again: “To all Emergency staff, we made visual contact with a boatload, prepare for rescue operations.”
A broken-down, overloaded boat can be seen from the deck. Tareq Aljabr, another of the cultural mediators, is on a megaphone. “We are an Italian humanitarian organisation, stay calm,” he shouts, as the inflatables are lowered again.
In a rising swell, 52 people are rescued and transported to Life Support. They are from Pakistan, Bangladesh, Syria, Egypt, Nigeria. Some are dehydrated and in pain, but health checks establish there are no serious clinical cases.
Pugliese comes down from the bridge to meet them, and he has good news.
“I inform you that the Italian authorities have given us the port of Catania [in Sicily] to disembark. Tomorrow evening you will be in Italy.”
A round of applause breaks out. Amhed*, a 24-year-old from Aleppo, embraces friends he has made on his fraught journey.
“We left from Zuwara, Libya, last night. The sea was very rough; we were forced to walk through the waves before reaching the boat. The water was up to our chests; we were all afraid of drowning.”
He had gone to Libya from living in Jordan.
“This is the second time I have tried the crossing. The Libyans have always treated us badly; we were even captured by a militia that asked US$2000 each to release us. Once we were free, we decided to try again together – we had no choice.”
It cost Amhed and two companions US$8500 to get from Syria to Libya and buy their places on the boat, which would aim to smuggle them to Italy. It was a nightmare, he says – passengers taking turns to bail water from the vessel. “Then we spotted you. You were salvation.”
In the distance, the snow-capped peak of Mt Etna can be seen; Catania is now a few hours away.
On board there is a surreal silence, broken only by the rustle of the wind.
Almost 30 hours after the rescue, Life Support docks in the Sicilian port. The passengers disembark, now under the jurisdiction of Italian authorities.
New journeys lie ahead: for many, a new beginning.
Giacomo Sini is an Italian journalist covering migrant rescues on the Mediterranean Sea. * Name changed for security reasons.