Source: The Conversation – (in Spanish) – By Yelena Smirnova, Profesora de emprendimiento, estrategia y dirección de empresas | Investigadora | Profesora acreditada por AQU Catalunya y ANECA, Universitat de Barcelona
Sin embargo, también puede ser un obstáculo para la innovación y el crecimiento económico de muchas empresas emergentes (startups y scaleups, el paso siguiente en el crecimiento empresarial de una startup) de la región.
Además, los problemas no se limitan a un lugar o sector específico. Tanto en Alemania, Portugal o Cataluña, como en distintos sectores – tecnologías de la información, comercio electrónico, salud u ocio–, las nuevas empresas afrontan retos similares.
¿Por qué un problema?
En una encuesta de 2024 a fundadores y directivos de startups y scaleups europeas, el 60 % señaló que las normas de la UE sobre privacidad de datos tienen un impacto negativo en la creación y el crecimiento de empresas tecnológicas en Europa. En el mismo estudio, el 53 % también mencionó el impacto del nuevo Reglamento de Inteligencia Artificial (AI Act).
Las grandes empresas cuentan con equipos legales, responsables de cumplimiento y expertos en sistemas informáticos para gestionar el RGPD. En cambio, las startups suelen tener pocos recursos, equipos pequeños y una mentalidad de moverse rápido. Esto las hace más vulnerables a cuatro grandes retos comunes:
Altos costes: cumplir con el reglamento implica auditorías legales, mejoras técnicas y, a menudo, contratar consultores externos. Para empresas pequeñas, estos gastos son difíciles de asumir.
Complejidad técnica: tecnologías emergentes, como blockchain o el internet de las cosas, complican la gestión de datos y derechos como el “derecho al olvido”.
Ambigüedad legal: el lenguaje del RGPD no es lo suficientemente claro y permite múltiples interpretaciones. Esto genera confusión y aumenta la incertidumbre.
Falta de formación: muchos empleados carecen de preparación para tratar datos de forma responsable, lo que aumenta los riesgos incluso con buenas herramientas.
Estas dificultades aparecen en sectores diversos: desde las tecnologías de la información y la comunicación (TIC) hasta los servicios de ocio o las fintech. Pero la diferencia está en los recursos y conocimientos que cada empresa tiene para afrontarlos.
¿Por qué debería importar al usuario medio de internet que las startups tengan problemas con el Reglamento General de Protección de Datos? La respuesta es sencilla: si estas empresas no cumplen la normativa, nuestra información personal puede estar en riesgo.
Cuando una empresa recorta gastos en privacidad, datos sensibles como correos electrónicos, historiales médicos o hábitos de navegación pueden quedar expuestos. Por otra parte, si cumplir la normativa resulta demasiado caro o complicado, muchas startups frenan su crecimiento o incluso cierran. Eso se traduce en menos innovación, menos empleo y economías locales más débiles.
Un análisis de 16 estudios científicos identificó cuatro grandes tipos de dificultades: técnicas, legales, organizativas y regulatorias. Esto muestra que el impacto del RGPD no es solo financiero: también influye en la cultura empresarial, en la forma en que las empresas trabajan con sus proveedores y en su relación con las autoridades públicas.
En otras palabras, cumplir con el RGPD no es simplemente marcar una casilla legal. Es la base para construir confianza digital. Y sin confianza digital no puede haber innovación sostenible ni beneficios reales para la sociedad.
¿Qué se puede hacer?
El gran reto es encontrar un equilibrio entre proteger bien los datos personales y permitir que la innovación avance con rapidez. Para lograrlo, las startups necesitan orientaciones claras, apoyo adaptado a su sector y programas de formación asequibles para sus equipos.
Las instituciones públicas pueden ayudar reduciendo la carga que supone el RGPD, pero sin poner en riesgo los derechos de los ciudadanos. Estas son algunas propuestas:
Simplificar las guías jurídicas: creando documentos fáciles de entender, con pasos prácticos para cada sector, en lugar de textos legales complicados.
Apoyar la formación del personal: financiando programas accesibles para que los empleados de pymes y startups adquieran conocimientos básicos sobre privacidad de datos, con un enfoque específico para su sector.
Ofrecer soluciones a medida: reconocer que una startup de tecnología no tiene los mismos retos que una de ocio o servicios, y adaptar el apoyo según sus necesidades.
Con este respaldo, las startups podrían dejar de ver el RGPD como un obstáculo y empezar a considerarlo una oportunidad para ganarse la confianza de los usuarios, diferenciarse de la competencia y construir negocios más sostenibles.
Datos seguros, confianza digital
Aunque el RGPD pueda sonar técnico, sus efectos nos conciernen a todos. Cada día compartimos datos personales al descargar una aplicación, registrarnos en una web o realizar una compra en línea. La forma en que las startups gestionan esa información no solo determina su éxito, sino también la seguridad y confianza de los usuarios digitales.
El futuro de la economía digital depende de encontrar el punto de equilibrio. La protección de datos personales debe ir de la mano con el apoyo a la innovación emprendedora. Al final, el RGPD europeo no es simplemente un conjunto de normas: es una herramienta para fortalecer la confianza sobre la que se construye nuestra vida digital.
Las personas firmantes no son asalariadas, ni consultoras, ni poseen acciones, ni reciben financiación de ninguna compañía u organización que pueda obtener beneficio de este artículo, y han declarado carecer de vínculos relevantes más allá del cargo académico citado anteriormente.
Esta infraestructura ha sido fundamental para el desarrollo agrícola, energético e industrial durante el último siglo. El modelo está orientado, sobre todo, al abastecimiento del regadío, que actualmente consume alrededor del 80 % del agua disponible. En seis décadas, la superficie irrigada se ha duplicado, pasando de 1,8 millones de hectáreas en 1960 a 3,7 millones en 2018.
La paradoja del agua almacenada
Esa enorme capacidad de almacenamiento esconde una paradoja hidrológica: almacenar agua implica su pérdida. Según un estudio que nuestro equipo de investigación acaba de publicar, cada año se evapora cerca del 10 % del volumen embalsado, unos 2 000 hectómetros cúbicos, equivalentes a 5 embalses de Yesa o 47 de Pajares llenos al 100 %.
Desde 1961, la pérdida acumulada supera los 114 000 hm³, un volumen similar a las aportaciones de caudal de toda la cuenca del Ebro durante una década. Pese a su magnitud, esta pérdida sigue sin contabilizarse en los ciclos de planificación hidrológica.
Cuanto más se llena el embalse, más agua se pierde
El análisis de 362 embalses, que representan el 94 % de la capacidad total, muestra un aumento sostenido de las pérdidas de 27,7 hm³ al año entre 1961 y 2018. En las dos últimas décadas, las pérdidas anuales superaron los 2 600 hm³, convirtiendo la evaporación en un componente estructural —y hasta ahora ignorado— del balance hídrico nacional.
El incremento de la evaporación no se debe tanto al cambio climático como al efecto combinado de la expansión de la red de embalses y la cantidad de agua almacenada. La influencia del crecimiento en número y tamaño de presas ha sido 22 veces mayor que la del clima, y la del volumen embalsado, 7 veces superior.
Cada hectárea de lámina de agua actúa como intercambiador directo con la atmósfera: debido a su topografía, cuanto más se llena un embalse, mayor es la superficie expuesta y mayores son las pérdidas. A ello se suma la mayor capacidad de retención de vapor de agua de la atmósfera a medida que ésta se calienta, lo cual incrementa las tasas de evaporación.
En las cuencas del Júcar y Segura, las más áridas, la fracción evaporada entre 1961 y 2018 superó el 11 % del agua almacenada, frente al 8,3 % de la media nacional.
La evaporación media anual —unos 2 000 hm³— equivale al 46 % del consumo urbano español. Y sus pérdidas económicas están estimadas en 800 millones de euros al año. En términos hidrológicos, supone una reducción efectiva de los recursos disponibles, pero esta pérdida no aparece reflejada en la planificación hidrológica 2022–2027, que aún no contempla la evaporación como variable de ajuste.
Las simulaciones climáticas para el escenario de altas emisiones (SSP5-8.5) prevén un aumento del 35 % de las pérdidas por evaporación en embalses a finales de siglo, alcanzando cerca de 3 000 hm³ anuales. En ese contexto, la fracción evaporada podría llegar al 20 % del agua almacenada, más del doble del promedio histórico (1961-2018). Y supondría perder hasta 2 de cada 10 litros almacenados.
Las cuencas del Guadiana, Tajo, Ebro y Duero se perfilan como las más vulnerables, por su gran capacidad de retención y el incremento de las temperaturas, con pérdidas proyectadas de 600 a 700 hm³ por año.
¿Qué hacer cuando el remedio se convierte en problema?
El modelo tradicional, basado en aumentar la capacidad de almacenamiento para hacer frente a las sequías, se revela ineficiente en un clima más cálido y seco, donde la demanda evaporativa de la atmósfera crece sin cesar. En estas condiciones, los embalses pierden parte de su función de reserva estratégica: una fracción del agua simplemente se desvanece.
Ante este escenario, las soluciones pasan por incorporar la evaporación en el balance oficial de recursos y redefinir la gestión operativa de los embalses. Mantener niveles intermedios de llenado, reducir la permanencia de grandes volúmenes durante los meses de máxima evaporación y aplicar tecnologías de supresión —como cubiertas flotantes, láminas monomoleculares o estructuras de sombreado parcial — son medidas técnicas viables, especialmente en embalses pequeños.
También se plantea introducir “créditos de evaporación” en los sistemas de asignación de agua, de forma que las pérdidas atmosféricas se contabilicen en el precio del agua y se incentive así su reducción.
La evaporación en los embalses se ha convertido en una de las principales causas de pérdida de agua en España, comprometiendo la seguridad hídrica, el abastecimiento agrícola y la producción hidroeléctrica.
Desde una perspectiva hidrológica, el mensaje es inequívoco: el agua almacenada no siempre permanece disponible. Una parte significativa se evapora y retorna a la atmósfera, cerrando el ciclo de forma poco eficiente para los usos humanos.
Incorporar la evaporación a la planificación hidrológica no es un detalle técnico, sino una condición estratégica para mantener la coherencia y sostenibilidad del sistema hidrológico español en un contexto climático de calentamiento acelerado.
Celso García recibe fondos de Ministerio de Ciencia, Innovación y Universidades
Sergio Vicente Serrano recibe fondos de Ministerio de Ciencia.
Enrique Morán Tejeda y Jorge Lorenzo Lacruz no reciben salarios, ni ejercen labores de consultoría, ni poseen acciones, ni reciben financiación de ninguna compañía u organización que pueda obtener beneficio de este artículo, y han declarado carecer de vínculos relevantes más allá del puesto académico citado.
Source: The Conversation – (in Spanish) – By Ananda Pascual Ascaso, Doctora en Oceanografía Física e Investigadora Científica, Instituto Mediterráneo de Estudios Avanzados (IMEDEA – CSIC – UIB)
Visualización de las corrientes oceánicas en el Atlántico confeccionada por la NASA.
“Nuestras vidas son los ríos que van a dar en la mar”
Jorge Manrique
Desde hace siglos, el mar ha sido fuente de misterio y poesía. Pero también de desafíos que ya no podemos ignorar. Hoy no solo hablamos del océano desde la mirada del navegante o del poeta, sino también desde la del científico que trata de descifrar cómo esos ríos invisibles –las corrientes marinas– están cambiando. Porque sí, hay ríos en el mar.
El océano está en continuo movimiento. Sus corrientes transportan calor, oxígeno, carbono y nutrientes, desempeñando un papel esencial en la regulación del clima y en la dispersión de contaminantes, microplásticos y larvas de peces, además de influir en procesos meteorológicos y climáticos a escala regional y global.
Algunas de estas corrientes se están volviendo más rápidas, más intensas, como si el pulso del océano se acelerara. ¿Está aumentando su energía? ¿Qué lo causa? Todavía no tenemos todas las respuestas, pero lo estamos vigilando de cerca.
El ritmo del mar se acelera
Comprender la dinámica de estas corrientes es clave para mejorar la gestión del océano y anticipar los efectos del cambio climático. En un análisis de tres décadas de datos satelitales hemos mostrado que la energía de los remolinos –responsables de cerca del 90 % del movimiento del océano– está creciendo de forma global, con un pulso especialmente fuerte en regiones como la corriente del Golfo o de Kuroshio. Señales que invitan a revisar cómo los modelos climáticos representan la circulación oceánica.
Durante los últimos treinta años, la altimetría de alta precisión, la ciencia de que se ocupa de medir las alturas de los diferentes puntos de la superficie del planeta, ha transformado nuestra comprensión de la circulación oceánica. Misiones como TOPEX/POSEIDON, ERS-1 y ERS-2, Jason-1/2/3, ENVISAT, Geosat Follow-On, CryoSat, SARAL/AltiKa y Sentinel-3A/B han permitido medir con gran exactitud la topografía superficial del mar. Y, a partir de ella, inferir la dinámica de las corrientes oceánicas.
Así, con un solo satélite se pudo detectar el aumento del nivel medio del mar asociado al cambio climático y observar fenómenos de gran escala como El Niño. La combinación de varios altímetros permitió cartografiar estructuras más pequeñas, como remolinos y meandros, y analizar la variabilidad de mesoescala (dimensión intermedia en el estudio de fenómenos) donde se concentra la mayor parte de la energía del océano.
En nuestro grupo de investigación hemos trabajado durante años para reunir datos, diseñar métodos y analizar ese latido del océano. Ciencia de fondo, que necesita tiempo y equipos. Y ahora, con la nueva misión altimétrica SWOT, podemos ver más que nunca.
La colaboración internacional en campañas de observación coordinada –que combinan satélites, boyas, gliders (submarinos autónomos) y mediciones in situ– está permitiendo obtener un retrato más completo de estas corrientes.
En la zona en torno a las Islas Baleares se han desarrollado experimentos específicos para calibración y validación de la misión, convirtiéndose en una de las áreas oficiales de referencia para este propósito.
Pero este logro tecnológico, como pasa con cada avance científico, es fruto de una historia colectiva. Detrás de SWOT hay una comunidad internacional –la comunidad altimétrica– que, con enorme esfuerzo y cooperación, ha conseguido medir el nivel del mar con precisión de centímetros desde satélites a más de 800 kilómetros de altura.
Observar el mar no es un lujo: es una necesidad. Nos ayuda también a entender si aumentan las olas de calor marinas, cómo cambian los ecosistemas y cómo podemos anticipar los impactos del cambio climático.
Precisamente en este mar Balear, la temperatura superficial ha subido en los últimos cuarenta años a un ritmo cercano a cuatro centésimas de grado por año. Los episodios de calor extremo de 2003 o 2022 siguen grabados en la memoria de sus aguas, recordándonos que el calentamiento es ya parte de nuestro presente.
Pero observar no basta: hace falta interpretar. Y ahí entran los equipos científicos, que cada día dan sentido a esos datos. La ciencia se construye en equipo, con ética, dedicación y pasión. Las nuevas generaciones nos ayudan a adaptarnos, a mirar desde otros ángulos. Nos recuerdan que aún hay espacio para el asombro.
Cuando un terremoto sacude las costas rusas y provoca un tsunami que viaja miles de kilómetros, no es solo una noticia lejana: es una advertencia. El océano no entiende de fronteras. Nos afecta a todos y todas.
Por eso, observar, medir y comprender el océano es un acto de cuidado hacia nosotros mismos y hacia el planeta.
Ananda Pascual Ascaso recibe fondos de los proyectos FaSt-SWOT (PID2021-122417NB-I00), financiado por el Ministerio de Ciencia, Innovación y Universidades de España, la Agencia Estatal de Investigación y el Fondo Europeo de Desarrollo Regional (MCIN/AEI/10.13039/501100011033/FUE); del “Sea Level Thematic Assembly Center” (SL-TAC), financiado por el Servicio Marino de Copernicus; y del proyecto europeo “Ocean observations and indicators for climate and assessments” (ObsSea4Clim), financiado por el Programa de Horizonte Europa de la Unión Europea, bajo el acuerdo de subvención nº 101136548. Este trabajo se desarrolla en el marco de las actividades del Centro de Excelencia María de Maeztu otorgado al IMEDEA (CSIC-UIB) (CEX2021-001198).
The Liberal government has introduced bail reform legislation to expand “reverse-onus” provisions in the Criminal Code, stipulating that someone accused of a crime, rather than the Crown, must demonstrate why they should be released before trial.
Bill C-14 also proposes tougher sentencing laws for serious and violent crimes.
But will these changes effectively address concerns from some politicians, police and the public that bail is too easily granted and contributes to rising crime? Probably not. They are symbolic responses unlikely to satisfy critics or address the root causes of crime.
Bail decisions are challenging
Bail laws are designed to strike a balance between protecting public safety and upholding the rights of people who are supposed to be presumed innocent until proven guilty.
Under the Criminal Code, there is a presumption that an accused person should be released with as few conditions as necessary. But bail can be denied if the person is unlikely to attend trial, poses a threat to public safety or if their release would undermine confidence in the legal system.
Bail decisions are inherently discretionary. Judges and justices of the peace must already weigh factors like risk, criminal history and the nature of the offence to determine if an accused can be safely released. Given the nature of bail decisions, more reverse-onus provisions are unlikely to substantively change bail outcomes.
A dearth of reliable information
Bail reform should be driven by evidence to ensure policy changes are effective and accountable. Yet the biggest barrier to evaluating the bail system is a lack of reliable information. We know little about:
1. How many people are released;
2. Under what conditions they are released;
3. How often accused who are released on bail reoffend.
A review of bail decisions for 2022-23 by the BC Prosecution Service in British Columbia revealed that detention rates were slightly higher than average when there was a violent offence involved (between 10 to 13 per cent) and notably higher where there was a violent offence and breach of conditions (between 17 and 24 per cent).
A 2013 study prepared for Canada’s justice department found that 51 of 291 people from two locations violated the terms of their bail release — and the vast majority were for breaching conditions or failing to attend court rather than new offences.
Balancing enforcement with support
While the scant data available do not support the belief that the current system releases all offenders who then go on to commit serious crime, it’s also clear that some accused released on bail subsequently do in fact reoffend — a fact acknowledged by bail supervisors.
But Canada cannot arrest its way to safer communities. A recent report, Finding Common Ground, found that police, lawyers and service providers are aligned on the need for both better supervision of high-risk individuals and greater investment in social supports as top priorities for improving bail.
A recent poll also suggests many Canadians are open to balanced, long-term solutions that combine accountability with social investment, recognizing that real safety comes not from quick fixes but from a more responsive and supportive system.
The Liberal government has also acknowledged the need to invest in community-based supports as part of broader bail reform efforts.
We offer concrete solutions that will enhance fairness, public safety and democratic accountability:
1. A more detailed set of guidelines in the Criminal Code — passed by elected parliamentarians — to make bail determinations. These changes may largely codify existing considerations but could be used to adjust the bail calculus, including de-emphasizing more minor breaches and emphasizing the need to address repeat offending.
2. More social service provisions are needed, particularly in terms of housing. Allowing people to remain in the community and possibly maintain familial and employment connections is more cost-effective and better for public safety than jail time.
3. Better tracking and monitoring of people on bail — including electronic monitoring and improved information processing and communication — can help ensure compliance with conditions and reduce the risk of reoffending.
4. Better data collection on the bail process and outcomes can inform policy reforms and support more effective judicial decisions.
5. Improving bail court efficiency and decision-making through increased resources, information sharing and a shift in courthouse culture can help reduce delays and support more timely and effective hearings.
To build safer communities, the federal government should follow through on its commitment to invest in support services while also helping provinces better monitor and enforce bail conditions. Doing so will ease pressure on the legal system while improving outcomes for people and communities.
Carolyn Yule receives funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC).
Laura MacDiarmid receives funding from Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC).
Troy Riddell does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Morgane Dujmovic, Chargée de recherche CNRS, Géographe et politiste spécialiste des frontières et migrations, Centre national de la recherche scientifique (CNRS)
As the Ocean Viking approaches the Italian coast, the prospect of a new life in Europe becomes more concrete. Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
This is the final part of our series drawing on a year of research conducted on board the Ocean Viking, the civilian search-and-rescue ship operated in the central Mediterranean by the NGO SOS Méditerranée. It explores the perspectives of exiled people based on testimonies from 110 survivors who were picked up while attempting the crossing from North Africa, as well as crew members’ experiences and the researcher’s creative collaborations on board the ship.
Catch up on parts one, two and three, and explore an immersive French-language version of the series here.
Solidarity at sea and autonomy
While my study onboard the Ocean Viking search-and-rescue ship highlighted civil rescue operations by one of the many NGOs now present in the central Mediterranean, it is important to emphasise the significance of autonomous crossings – and the many rescues and acts of solidarity at sea carried out by exiled people themselves.
For example, Ellie, a member of the SOS Méditerranée search-and-rescue (SAR) team, recounted a rescue during which two vessels in distress assisted each other:
There are people I remember very well. They had left through the Tunisian corridor in a fibreglass boat and came across another boat, wooden, which was adrift. When we arrived, we had this fibreglass boat in distress towing a wooden boat in distress, with 30 or 40 people on board. It was like a rescue of a rescue – quite incredible, this solidarity among the people at sea.
Reconstruction of a rescue between distressed boats by Ellie from SOS Méditerranée. Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
NGO crews thus seek a balance between maintaining the autonomy of exiled people, and the management of large numbers of people onboard boats in sometimes extreme conditions (often referred to as “crowd control”).
Our study on the OV precisely explored the expectations of rescued people in the immediate aftermath of rescue, known as the post-rescue phase. Their opinions made it possible to formulate several operational recommendations for the days of navigation until the rescue ship reaches a safe port in Europe.
One of the most striking findings was the need for direct communication with loved ones – particularly to inform them that the crossing had not ended fatally.
Support and information from family and friends are among the main resources available to people on the move at different stages of migration (mentioned by nearly 60% of respondents). But it is not uncommon for rescued people to lose their phone during the crossing, and even when that’s not the case, connectivity is limited in the middle of the sea.
Psychological and physical impacts
The study also revealed both the physical and psychological impacts of violence in Libya, which affect the mere ability to meet basic needs. Participants mentioned their difficulties eating, as well as finding rest and respite:
In prison we only ate once a day, we could wash only once a month.
My back is very painful, I cannot sleep.
My mind is too stressed and I can’t control it.
These traces are also visible in the countless graffiti drawings left on the Ocean Viking’s walls over the years.
Survivors’ comments and drawings aboard the Ocean Viking. Morgane Dujmovic
In this chain of violent borders, the stay on the rescue ship represented a breathing space, judging by the open-ended comments offered at the end of our questionnaire:
We are treated like your brothers here; it’s so different from Libya!
I don’t have much to say, but I will never forget what happened here.
In the middle of the sea, when the number of people on board allowed it, we would sometimes witness moments of regained intimacy – or, conversely, collective jubilation, most notably when a port assigned by Italy as a landing point for the survivors was announced.
As for the mapping workshops and the questionnaire study I conducted, participant feedback suggests that they were able to engage in a form of empowerment – or at least, in the power to reflect and to narrate their experiences.
It’s the first time in a very long time that someone asked me what I think and what my opinions are about things.“
An explosion of joy after the announcement of a port of disembarkation in Italy. Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
A sense of regained control over their actions emerged as the prospect of disembarkation and a new life in Europe drew near. As we sailed towards the Italian coast, the drawings and comments gathered from survivors on our collective exercises illustrated their increasingly concrete dreams and imaginings:
I hope to quickly get a residence permit in Germany.
I’m thinking to give back the money I borrowed to its owners, learn the language fast, and see my family safe and healthy.
‘When dreams reach the land’ (from the collective mapping project on board the OV). Alisha Vaya/SOS Méditerranée , Fourni par l’auteur
A new form of violence
One can imagine the emotion of setting foot for the first time in a European port for those who finally make it. But what is less often imagined is that this step can represent a new form of violence. In Ancona, for example, Koné recalled the impression left by the heavy deployment of forces when they arrived:
When I got off the boat, I saw so many sirens that I thought: ‘Are there only ambulances in Italy?’
The welcome committee for people disembarking in Italy after being rescued at sea is composed of national security authorities (police and the carabinieri), Italian health services, the Italian Red Cross and Frontex, the European Border and Coast Guard Agency – whose intervention is systematically oriented around a single question: “Who was driving the boat from Libya?” In other words: “Who could be prosecuted for facilitating unauthorised entry into the territory of the European Union?”
At the level of international search-and-rescue (SAR) conventions, the rescue officially ends once people are disembarked in a “place of safety”. For the SOS Méditerranée crews, it is customary to consider that the work stops there – even if human relationships sometimes continue afterwards.
For civilian search-and-rescue NGOs, disembarkation is quickly followed by many administrative procedures and interrogations that they must undergo to avoid the risk of vessel detention, which would prevent a ship going back out into the operational area to continue its rescue missions.
After several days aboard the Ocean Viking together, the goodbyes are tinged with both joy and anxiety, as we know that for each of these individuals, a new journey of struggle is beginning.
First steps on Italian soil. Alisha Vaya/SOS Méditerranée, Fourni par l’auteur
In this fleeting moment of grace, when dreams touch the ground, I am struck by the profound power of silence.
The silence of the sea that swallowed so many bodies.
The focused silence of rescue teams when RHIBs race toward distressed boats.
The stunned silence aboard the same RHIBs bringing people back to the mothership, still dazed from escaping shipwreck.
The exhausted silence of survivors regaining their strength; the palpable silence as I listen to their stories on the deck of the Ocean Viking.
The tentative silence as the Italian coast appears for the first time.
The silence of European institutions, which conceal and obstruct the efforts to save lives at sea – and on land, by supporting interceptions and forced returns to Libya.
And finally, my own silence, faced with the awareness of my powerlessness toward the exiled people I met at sea:
I know you’re writing – it’s good, people will see it. But the story will go on.
The wake of the Ocean Viking search-and-rescue ship. Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
Acknowledgements
Heartfelt thanks go to everyone who participated in this onboard study and shared their stories, especially Koné and Shakir, as well as to all the teams at sea and on land who supported my long-term research, in particular Carla Melki and Amine Boudani. I also warmly thank Rafik Arfaoui and Elizabeth Hessek for their assistance with translations from Arabic and into English.
Note: some real first names were used in these articles and others were changed , according to the preferences of the people concerned.
Morgane Dujmovic does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Louis Bayman, Associate Professor in Department of Film Studies, University of Southampton
It was a classic year at this year’s BFI London Film Festival, which took place earlier this month. If there was any observable shift, it was the number of filmmakers who turned to smaller-scale dramas of human connection, with action, fantasy and, to some degree, politics less prominent than usual.
Even the big releases seemed to turn inwards. The opening night gala marked a break with precedent by not showcasing a major British release. Instead there was a screening of Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery, the third in the Benoit Blanc comedy detective series, hailed as a return to form after the rather grandiose Glass Onion.
The films that really excelled at this year’s festival succeeded in taking apparently small subjects and revealing the depths within. Blue Moon is set in the theatre bar on the opening night of Oklahoma!, the first collaboration between legendary partnership Rodgers and Hammerstein. Rodgers’ previous writing partner, Lorenz Hart, sits there drowning his sorrows, regaling fellow bar patrons with tales of showbiz glamour and trying to hold onto his fading hopes.
Directed by Richard Linklater, it’s a tour-de-force by Ethan Hawke as Hart, by turns amused, melancholy and sardonic in his take on the power of entertainment to brighten and conceal the disappointments of life.
Chloe Zhao’s Hamnet adapts Maggie O’Farrell’s novel about the son who died prior to Shakespeare writing Hamlet. It is a two-hander between Paul Mescal as Shakespeare and Jessie Buckley as his wife Agnes as they become estranged by personal tragedy and Shakespeare’s pursuit of the London stage.
In an astonishing closing sequence, Agnes travels to London to see the play her husband abandoned her for, its poetic questioning of the meaning of a life lived under the shadow of grief transcending the division between author and stage, imitation and life.
Loss seemed to be the theme of the festival, and the power of art to provide not only an expression of loss but an imaginative trace of a past that cannot, however, be relived. Oliver Hermanus’s The History of Sound follows two musicologists (Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor) over one winter as they collect the folk music of rural America and develop a more intimate bond. Their eventual separation makes the film a document of the loss of both an older way of life and a brief moment of human connection.
Pablo Trapero’s & Sons features a famous but reclusive author who invites his two estranged sons to his mansion to ask them to look after their half-brother after he dies. But there’s a twist that makes the two brothers wonder if they have ended up in the plot of one of their father’s novels.
Even Paolo Sorrentino, a director prone to gaudy exuberance, turned to introspection with La Grazia. Toni Servillo plays a fictional Italian president reflecting on the decisions that await in his final months of service, while mourning the loss of his beloved wife and trying to maintain his connection with his daughter.
James Sweeney’s Twinless was the standout comedy of the festival, a laugh-out-loud film that could probably best be described as a buddy movie, about two men who meet in a support group for twins whose siblings have died.
If I Had Legs I’d Kick You starts off as a fairly gentle account of the stresses of motherhood. But the escalating anxiety and absurdity end up making this a white-knuckle ride, centred on an Oscar-worthy performance from Rose Byrne. There’s also a nicely sardonic supporting role from Conan O’Brien as her exasperated therapist.
Still on the theme of children, Train Dreams features an impressive Joel Edgerton as a logger who spends his life waiting for the return of his lost wife and child, secluded from the passage of the decades amid the grandeur of the American pine forests.
Personal and political
Where films took a more overt political stance, they were again more likely to zero in on the intimate rather than the epic. The Iranian filmmaker Jafar Panahi, who has faced state repression for his social criticism, presented It Was Just an Accident. This stunning work follows a man who thinks he might have found the torturer who tormented him in prison. The film ultimately poses the question of how one can live not during, but after, atrocity.
Coming very much from the midst of atrocity, The Voice of Hind Rajab features the real audio recordings of a six-year-old girl who called the Red Crescent emergency line in Gaza. She is the only survivor in a car full of her dead relatives, and her rescue would only take eight minutes, but the route has to be agreed first with the Israeli Defence Forces. The hours of waiting that ensue become an utterly devastating account of the reality of occupation.
In another break with precedent, a documentary, Lucrecia Martel’s Landmarks, about the murdered indigenous activist Javier Chocobar, won the official festival competition. Combining documentary footage with Orwell’s writing, Raoul Peck’s Orwell: 2+2=5 is a compelling documentary examination of propaganda and power.
A number of films missed the mark in my view. Noah Baumbach’s Jay Kelly has a great cast (George Clooney, Adam Sandler, Laura Dern, Billy Crudup) but not much else to recommend it. Edward Berger’s follow up to Conclave, Ballad Of A Small Player, lacks the dramatic focus of his earlier film.
The biopic Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere, Daniel Day-Lewis’s return to the cinema in his son Ronan Day-Lewis’s Anemone, and Kristen Stewart’s directorial debut, Chronology of Water, all failed to live up to their promise.
Whether the turn towards more intimate dramas is a sign of a larger trend remains to be seen. But this year, the misses were greatly outnumbered by the hits, and there will be plenty of films to enjoy in the coming year.
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Louis Bayman does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Gambling advertising is everywhere. Even people who have never placed a bet are familiar with slogans like “Gamble responsibly,” “When the fun stops” and “Take time to think”.
But these industry-developed messages could soon change, with the government and the gambling regulator working to create independent warnings for gambling, much like those found on tobacco and alcohol packaging.
Our research has long argued that such changes are needed. Australia took this step in in 2023, imposing health warnings for gambling advertisements and websites.
By studying how gamblers perceive Australia’s messaging, we’ve identified which warnings are likely to be the most effective in deterring people from gambling. Australia’s warnings fall roughly into four categories: loss-based, positive emotional messages, counter-industry messages and self-appraisal.
Loss-based messages warn people about the likelihood of losing money from gambling. The Australian examples include: “Chances are you’re about to lose,” “You win some. You lose more” and “What are you prepared to lose today? Set a deposit limit.”
In a paper published earlier this year, we asked 4,000 gamblers to rate ten pre-existing and novel (created for the study) loss-based messages. We found that the best-ranked message was the novel “99% of gamblers lose in the long run.”
This message was based on a gambling company executive candidly telling a UK parliamentary committee: “99% of the customers who play on our sites will lose, so you’re probably losing more if you play more.” Our findings suggest that concrete information is received better than the vaguer Australian messages.
Positive emotional messages, like Australia’s “Imagine what you could be buying instead,” communicate the positives of not gambling.
Following a similar methodology to the previous study, we found that two novel positive messages scored highest: “Quitting gambling can help you with the relationships that matter the most to you” and “Don’t gamble on your happiness: do something else that will make you happy today.”
Such messages reflect how harms from gambling losses are not just financial, but also psychological, and health and relationship-related. The Australian warning scored joint third overall – good, but not the very best.
Loss-based messages appeared more effective for people experiencing low levels of gambling harm, while positive emotional messages resonated more strongly with those at high harm levels. This finding was based on participants’ responses to statements like “this message is relevant to me” and “this message makes me want to gamble less”.
Here, the three highest-rated messages came from existing sources, including, “The main purpose of gambling companies is to maximise profit, generated through customer losses” (from the Greater Manchester Combined Authority anti-gambling harms campaign), and the succinct “Gambling products are designed to be addictive” (from Gambling Understood).
Importantly, counter-industry messages began to appear relevant to participants at lower levels of gambling harm than the previous two categories.
The last category of messages is designed to help people to think about their own gambling differently and therefore change their behaviour. These are called self-appraisal messages: “Think. Is this a bet you really want to place?”, “What’s gambling really costing you?” and “What are you really gambling with?”
Self-appraisal messages have a long history in gambling research. These messages have been shown to reduce gambling when shown as pop-ups on slot machines. We are planning to test these in an upcoming study and compare the best performers to those in the other three categories.
Overall, we know that different warnings work better for different audiences. But even if there were truly one “best” gambling warning, policymakers should continue to create new messages.
But given the life-shattering toll that gambling addiction can take, any changes to the industry-backed messages are welcome.
Philip Newall was a member of the Advisory Board for Safer Gambling from 2022 to 2025 – an advisory group of the Gambling Commission in Great Britain. In the last three years, Philip has contributed to research projects funded by the Academic Forum for the Study of Gambling, Alberta Gambling Research Institute, BA/Leverhulme, Canadian Institute for Health Research, Clean Up Gambling, Gambling Research Australia, and the Victorian Responsible Gambling Foundation. Philip has received other funding from the Belgium Ministry of Justice, the Economic and Social Research Institute, the Academic Forum for the Study of Gambling and Greo Evidence Insights.
Jamie Torrance has received funding from Gambling Research Exchange Ontario, the Academic Forum for the Study of Gambling (AFSG), the International Centre for Responsible Gambling and the Economic and Social Research Council.
Leonardo Cohen received open-access funding from Gambling Research Exchange Ontario (GREO) and has received funding from British Academy/Leverhulme.
The government has announced that consultation will begin on a new vocational qualification for England: V-levels.
These are intended to replace a number of existing technical routes currently available to post-16 learners, and make it possible for students to combine academic and vocational courses. V-levels will, the government claims, streamline the options available to students and offer a clearer pathway to both higher education and the workplace.
Few would disagree that the vocational sector in England needs a shake-up. But is the new qualification really the solution the government promises?
V-levels are planned to begin in September 2027 as part of a gradual four-year rollout. Each V-level will equate to 360 guided learning hours, the same as one A-level. Possible subjects may include arts, craft and design, music and music performance, education and early years, legal services, and travel and tourism.
The equivalence with A-levels means that students should be able choose to take several V-levels in different subjects. They could even mix and match them with A-level subjects, rather than having to make a choice between an academic and a vocational route.
This contrasts with other vocational options available to young people after their GCSEs such as apprenticeships and T-levels, the latter of which are equivalent to three A-levels but focus on a single, specifically technical, subject.
In theory, students can currently mix A-levels with another type of work-related qualification, the BTEC, but in practice this option isn’t widely available. It is envisaged that the new V-levels will replace BTECs, which will be gradually de-funded.
The new qualifications are proposed as part of the government’s recent policy document on post-16 education and skills. They form part of Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s plans for two thirds of young people to either go to university or achieve a technical qualification by simplifying the “confusing” and “fragmented” landscape currently faced by 16-year-olds and their families.
If successful, the shift in focus away from Tony Blair’s aspirations for 50% of young people to go to university could be a significant step in promoting parity between academic and vocational pathways.
If students will indeed be able to mix A-levels and V-levels, the new initiative represents a significant step towards breaking down the perceived divide between academic and vocational qualifications. But this will only hold true if students are able and willing to combine them in the way the government suggests.
However, V-levels will involve more non-examination assessment than A-levels. This may mean that students continue to see A-levels as a more prestigious accreditation.
There is also the risk that some higher education institutions may not consider a V-level the same standard as an A-level when assessing entry requirements. Their smaller size may even mean that V-levels are seen as having less status than the BTECs they replace.
Many of the proposed V-level subjects are already available as a single-subject BTEC, but the new qualification will mean less commitment to choosing a specialist area at a young age.
In theory, young people might therefore be able to choose a V-level in, say, criminology alongside A-levels in subjects such as law and sociology. In practice, it remains to be seen how easy it will be for schools to offer such flexibility to their students.
Students wishing to specialise will be left with one option: a T-level in a single subject. The consultation papers state these have demonstrated a “strong performance” since their introduction in 2020, although this has been contested in some quarters.
While the de-funding of BTECs appears to reduce the options available, the government promises T-levels will “continue to grow”, with proposed new subjects including sports science, care services, music technology and performing arts. However, some of these will require the development of the appropriate occupational standards – a description of an occupation set by Skills England – first.
The proposals have been described as a “big step forward” in their ambition for “a more joined-up system” by the Association of Colleges. Others, including the Sixth Form Colleges Association, have sounded a note of caution over the “significant qualification gap that will open up when BTECs are scrapped”.
The intentions behind the new proposals seem positive. Previous vocational offerings after GCSEs have assumed students are ready to specialise at 16. The size of the qualifications available have made it difficult for students to combine academic and vocational qualifications in the way imagined here.
Elizabeth Gregory does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Morgane Dujmovic, Chargée de recherche CNRS, Géographe et politiste spécialiste des frontières et migrations, Centre national de la recherche scientifique (CNRS)
This is the third part of our series drawing on a year of research conducted on board the Ocean Viking, the civilian search-and-rescue ship operated in the central Mediterranean by the NGO SOS Méditerranée. It explores the perspectives of exiled people based on testimonies from 110 survivors who were picked up while attempting the crossing from North Africa, as well as crew members’ experiences and the researcher’s creative collaborations on board the ship.
Catch up on parts one and two, or explore an immersive French-language version of the series here.
‘The worst decision of my life’
The dangers of Libya are generally discovered only when people on the move enter that country with hopes of finding decent work and a better life. One survivor told me while they were on board the Ocean Viking (OV): “On my very first day in Tripoli, I realised I had made the worst decision of my life.”
Few people manage to transit through Libya in less than a month. As Koné explained when we met in Ancona, on the Adriatic coast of Italy: “In Libya, it’s not easy to get in, but it’s even harder to get out!”
Most of those we met on the OV (57.9%) had spent between one and six months in Libya. But some had been trapped there for over two years – and for one Sudanese participant, up to seven years in total.
Different migration routes and configurations emerged from the survey, with the longest forced stays in Libya mainly affecting people from the poorest and most war-torn countries.
Another significant finding was that women experienced longer periods of detention in Libya – those we met had spent an average of 15½ months there, compared with 8½ months for men. This reflects the mechanisms of coercion and violence that specifically affect women migrating through the Mediterranean, as was powerfully described by Camille Schmoll in her 2024 book, The Wretched of the Sea.
When maps tell stories of exile, with Morgane Dujmovic. French-language video by The Conversation France, 2025.
Mohamad’s experience of Libya
Under the conditions in Libya described to us, the decision to take to the sea despite the risks of a Mediterranean crossing could be summed up like this: better the risk of dying now than the certainty of a slow death.
On his map, Mohamad illustrated this well, depicting the cumulative violence he had encountered along the Libyan coast from east to west: captivity in Tobruk by a “human trafficker”, imprisonment and theft in Benghazi, racism and xenophobia in Ajdabiya, and mistreatment in Zuwara – where he finally managed to flee by sea.
Mohamad’s illustration shows, from right to left, the chain of events that led him from imprisonment to the boat:
Libyan experience #2: ‘Seven months’ by Mohamad. Translation: Amine Boudani & Rafik Arfaoui.
Mohamad. Fourni par l’auteur
To take to the sea, however, first one must gather a considerable sum of money. Participants mentioned borrowing from their families – US$2,000, $6,000, even $10,000 – to buy a place on a boat. This place was also sometimes obtained after doing forced labour in prison conditions, or in exchange for promising to be the person who steered the boat.
When attempts to cross the sea are thwarted by interceptions followed by forced returns to Libya, the original sum must be paid again. As one participant explained: “They scammed me first for US$2,000, then $3,000, and the third time I paid $5,000.”
Drawing of a ‘game house’ where people who have paid for their crossing wait for the signal to depart. Alisha Vaya/SOS Méditerranée, Fourni par l’auteur
Some participants also described their living conditions in so-called “game houses” – the buildings where people who had paid for their crossing wait for the signal to depart. These stays can last from several days to several weeks, with varying amounts of supplies and conditions depending on the network and the sum that has been paid to get there.
However, everyone shared the same realisation upon their first attempt to cross: the boats were unfit for navigation and dangerously overcrowded. But as Koné explained, at that stage it was generally too late to turn back:
We started from a beach near Tripoli at 4am. They made us run into the water: ‘Go, go!’ It was too late to change our minds.
The moment of rescue
Departures from Libyan beaches often happen at night, meaning it’s only in the morning that the vastness of the sea becomes visible. The on-board survey helped reveal how people on boats in distress often feel a sense of disorientation at the moment of rescue. One participant mentioned “the simple joy of having found something in the water”, when recalling his first impression of the Ocean Viking appearing on the horizon.
Others described how their perceptions were distorted by the navigation conditions, or the distressed nature of the boats they had travelled in. A Bangladeshi man who had boarded in the hold of a wooden boat recalled:
I was inside the boat; I couldn’t see or hear anything. I didn’t believe it was a rescue until I came out and saw it with my own eyes.
Charlie, the SAR team leader who coordinated that rescue, recalled his shock upon discovering 68 people aboard a vessel built for 20: “As we transferred them on to our RHIBs [rigid-hulled inflatable boats], more people kept coming out from under the deck, hidden.”
Jérôme, the deputy search-and-rescue coordinator on board the OV, confirmed the case of an “extremely overcrowded” boat, as was highlighted by the final rescue report: “They were really overcrowded! The alert had reported 55 people on board, but we actually found 68 because some were hidden under the deck.”
Wooden boat in distress, as seen by a rescued person (from the collective mapping project on the OV). Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
A distressed boat adrift
Drawing on the questionnaire, cartographic workshops, and targeted interviews, I attempted to reconstruct this rescue with both the rescued individuals and members of the crew.
In the OV’s bridge, using the monitoring screen as support, we retraced the positions of the boat in distress throughout its search. That morning, the alert had been given by Alarm Phone, a citizen hotline operating continuously from both shores of the Mediterranean to relay and monitor cases of boats in distress. Jérôme recalled the moment when the decision to launch the search-and-rescue operation was made:
We got a position at 6.19am. We tried calling Tripoli several times, no answer. We said: ‘We’re going anyway, we’re very worried.’ We sent the official email saying we were going.
In our reconstruction, the OV headed for the reported position in international waters off the Libyan city of Zuwara. Shortly after, our radios set to the watch channel crackled: “We generally wake everyone up when we’re within ten miles, because that’s the distance at which we can spot them with binoculars. And at 6am, the first light of dawn appears”. The search for the boat in distress, however, soon became complicated:
With the first data – the boat’s departure point and second position – we had an idea of their speed: we thought they were going five knots. So we thought we’d find them at this next position. But once we arrived, we started tearing our eyes out – they weren’t there!
Reconstruction of a maritime distress case. Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
The calculations made during this search phase integrate multiple factors: the different positions received (when there are any), the presence or absence of a functioning engine, and the weather and sea conditions, as Jérôme explained:
I think they must have gotten lost and gone off course. With the sea and the wind in their faces, I think they couldn’t see anything they were doing. They were just fighting against all that.
Confirming this hypothesis, many of the people rescued that day arrived on the OV’s deck suffering from dehydration and seasickness:
As we saw in the photos, they had really big swells and wind hitting them in the face. The further you go off shore, the more you’re battered by the sea … Plus, here the wind was enough to make them drift: they were heading straight back to Tripoli!
‘These boats shouldn’t even exist’
Despite the difficulties described during that rescue, it was considered a “low-risk” operation. Far more critical events are regularly reported, both by rescuing crews and rescued people. Over time, rescue teams have seen the quality of boats deteriorate, as Jérôme explained:“First there were wooden boats, then rubber boats. Now the worst are the iron boats.”
In 2023, hastily welded metal boats began appearing off the Tunisian coast. For seasoned sailors like Charlie who make up the rescue teams, the very existence of such boats on the open sea is scarcely conceivable:
These boats shouldn’t even exist. They have extremely weak structures. They’re handmade, badly and quickly put together; they’re just metal plates welded together. They have no stability – they’re like floating coffins.
For these maritime professionals, the concern is real: “We need to be prepared for this.” The sharp edges of these metal boats can damage the inflatable RHIBs, risking the entire rescue operation, as happened in September 2023 during a patrol on the Tunisian route, when the RHIBs had to be protected using whatever was available on board the OV – in that case, carpets.
Each new type of boat requires implementation of very specific techniques: the approach and positioning (known as the “dance”) of RHIBs around distressed boats; the communication methods needed to keep people calm; and the emergency care during their transfer to the mothership. All of this is meticulously studied to anticipate as many scenarios as possible.
Simulation of a ‘massive MOB’ event involving a metal boat. Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
In the crew’s daily meeting room, using a model built by SOS veterans to train for simulations, Charlie explained the techniques developed to approach each type of distressed boat, whether made of fibreglass, wood, rubber or metal.
In the latter case, he emphasised the critical implications of a rescue going wrong: “Iron boats can capsize at any moment and sink quite rapidly, straight down. In that case, the scene would be a massive MOB!” – a “man overboard” alert involving numerous people going into the water. This was illustrated by the small blue objects scattered across Charlie’s model.
Drowning rather than being captured
Another factor which has made rescue operations increasingly unmanageable is the activity of groups within the Libyan search-and-rescue region, created in 2018 with EU support. Two authorities are tasked with coastal surveillance in the this region: the Libyan Coast Guard under the Ministry of Defence, and the General Administration for Coastal Security under the Ministry of the Interior.
The numerous illegal and violent acts attributed to these Libyan groups at sea have justified the growing use of the term “so-called Libyan Coast Guard”. Yet these groups receive abundant support from the EU and several of its member states.
An explanation of funding sources for the ‘so-called Libyan coast guards’. Graphic by SOS Humanity, Fourni par l’auteur
On board the OV, testimonies abounded regarding the perilous manoeuvres of these Libyan actors at sea – explicitly aimed at thwarting the rescue operations. “I’ve seen them make crazy manoeuvres,” said Charlie the SAR team leader, “trying to make the rescue as hard as possible, to make it impossible for us to rescue people – shouting, screaming.”
Several micro-scenes of this kind were reconstructed during our workshops and survey, leading to similar observations and recollections from both the crew and rescued individuals:
They drive as close and as fast as possible to create waves. They get in the middle of our way or interfere near the mothership.
When Libyan actors are on scene, the surge of emotions linked to the arrival of rescuers can turn into panic and jeopardise the success of the rescue. Almost a third of our study participants expressed a negative perception at the sight of a ship on the horizon, associating it with the fear of being intercepted and pushed back by Libyan groups at sea:
In the distance, we didn’t know if it was a rescue boat or the Libyans. It was huge stress on board; people were screaming, children were crying. We were ready to jump.
The presence of Libyan authorities was often perceived as a greater danger than the risk of drowning. “For me,” said one participant, “the danger is not the sea, it’s the Libyan authorities.”
This fear is easily explained among people who have already experienced one or more interceptions. Some participants mentioned violence during their forced return to Libya, including beatings, armed threats, theft of money, deprivation of water and food, or even deadly acts:
My first-time sea crossing, the Libyans shot the engine, the fuel burned and exploded, the people next to me died.
Reconstruction of interference by Libyan actors (blue) near the mothership (red). Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
Moreover, the close ties between the “Libyan coast guards” and militias or mafia networks are notorious. One respondent said of the General Administration for Coastal Security (GACS): “There’s always a risk that the GACS, an armed group with masks, will take you to prison.”
Interceptions are generally followed by arbitrary detention in Libya (under inhumane conditions detailed in part two of this series). One participant told us: “I tried to cross four times but was caught and put in prison with my child; I suffered a lot.”
These reports, by both the OV crew and rescued people, are widely supported by international organisations, humanitarian groups and activist collectives monitoring the situation in the central Mediterranean. In its 2021 report, the UN Human Rights Council left little doubt about the chain of causality linking interceptions at sea to human trafficking in Libya:
The Libyan Coast Guard would … proceed with an interception that was violent or reckless, resulting at times in deaths … There are reports that, on board, the Libyan Coast Guard confiscates belongings from migrants. Once disembarked, migrants are either transferred to detention centres or go missing, with reports that people are sold to traffickers … Rather than investigating incidents and reforming practices, the Libyan authorities have continued with interception and detention of migrants.
By linking these maritime rescue scenes with the vast exploitation system organised from detention sites in Libya, it becomes clear that interceptions by the “Libyan coast guards” have become a strategy of capture. The central Mediterranean has thus turned into a battleground for protecting life and human dignity.
Morgane Dujmovic does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Morgane Dujmovic, Chargée de recherche CNRS, Géographe et politiste spécialiste des frontières et migrations, Centre national de la recherche scientifique (CNRS)
This series of articles draws on a year of research conducted on board the Ocean Viking, the civilian search-and-rescue ship operated in the central Mediterranean by the NGO SOS Méditerranée. It explores the perspectives of exiled people based on testimonies from 110 survivors who were picked up while attempting the crossing from North Africa, as well as crew members’ experiences and the researcher’s creative collaborations while onboard the ship.
This is the first of a four-part series. Read part two here, and explore an immersive French-language version of the series here.
‘The journey we’ve undertaken’
“We were ready to jump. We were so afraid the Libyans would arrive!” These words came from a young Syrian man, recorded in the data table as part of my year-long study aboard the Ocean Viking search-and-rescue ship, between the summers of 2023 and 2024.
His words did not reflect an isolated incident. Among the 110 rescued people who took part in the onboard survey, nearly a third described a similar fear at the sight of a ship on the horizon. Not fear of imminent shipwreck or drowning, but of being intercepted by Libyan forces and returned to that country.
Portrait of Shakir. Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
The words echo those of Shakir, a Bangladeshi man I met on the OV – as the Ocean Viking ship is commonly nicknamed. He told me: “You refreshed our minds with the workshops. Since Libya and the sea, we felt lost. Now, we understand the journey that we’ve undertaken.”
On the OV’s deck and in the containers serving as shelters until disembarkation in Italy, I offered participatory mapping workshops. Around 60 people took part, retracing the steps, places and timelines of their journeys through hand-drawn maps.
I developed this collaborative research method to encourage the expression of knowledge formed through migration. I had not anticipated that these gestures and drawings could also help reclaim points of reference and build valuable understanding about the journey undertaken.
Portrait of Koné. Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
The words also resonate with those I collected after a disembarkation in Ancona. There, I met Koné, an Ivorian man who had been rescued by another NGO vessel a week earlier. He told me:
“The worst is not the sea, believe me, it’s the desert! When you go out on the water, it’s at night and you don’t see what’s around you – it’s only when daylight comes that you see the waves. In the desert, they put 50 people on a pickup truck made for ten: if you fall, you’re left behind. At sea, you die instantly. In the desert, you die a slow death.”
All these words have led me to rethink my assumptions about borders and their dangers. Why take the risk of crossing the sea, with such uncertain outcomes? How is rescue perceived from a boat in distress? What is life like during the days spent onboard an NGO vessel? What hopes are projected on to arriving in Europe, and beyond?
While rescues and shipwrecks often make headlines, the perceptions of the rescued people themselves are rarely studied; they usually reach us filtered through authorities, journalists or NGOs. Collecting these lived experiences and allowing exiled people to tell their own stories – this was the core purpose of my onboard research mission.
When maps tell stories of exile, with Morgane Dujmovic. French-language video by The Conversation France, 2025.
An improvised, floating laboratory
Onboard the OV, I occupied the “25th seat”, which is usually reserved for special guests. This was the ship’s first search-and-rescue (SAR) mission to host an external researcher.
For SOS Méditerranée, it was an opportunity to open the NGO’s work up to objective observation by a social scientist and to refine its operational response, drawing on the priorities expressed by rescued individuals. Among the crew, several members suggested this work could enhance their practices and deepen their understanding of the migration journeys they had been witnessing for years.
The Ocean Viking docked in the Sicilian port of Syracuse. Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
This was the case for Charlie, one of the NGO veterans who have spent a decade refining their rescue techniques for boats in distress. As SAR team leader, he coordinates the RHIBs (rigid-hulled inflatable boats) launched from the OV to carry out rescues. “This work is really useful because we are constantly looking to improve,” he told me. “What I’m really curious about is what happens before [the rescue]. I talk with them sometimes, but I want to know more about them.”
As for me, while I have worked for 15 years with exiled people, this was the first time I have written about borders while being physically inside a border zone – a feeling of immersion heightened by the horizon of the sea and the confined daily life onboard the OV.
The study unfolded over the course of five rotations, each a six-week mission in the search-and-rescue zone. It was implemented with the support of the entire OV crew: rescue, medical, protection, logistics and communications teams – all of whom were trained in the survey methodology.
The questionnaire emerged from a dialogue between scientific and operational objectives. It was designed around three themes: the sea rescue itself; care onboard the mothership in the post-rescue phase; and migration projects and pathways – from the country of origin to the imagined destinations in Europe. My presence on board allowed me to refine the initial version as I received feedback from both rescued people and crew members.
A mapping workshop held on the deck of the OV. Morgane Dujmovic, Fourni par l’auteur
This was complemented by qualitative methods I have previously used on land, at the French-Italian and French-Spanish borders or in the Balkans, offering people who cross them participatory and emotional mapping tools to narrate their journeys.
To adapt these methods to the sea, I brought on board the OV maps previously drawn by other exiled people along with creative materials, and arranged a dedicated space. In this improvised, floating laboratory, I sought to create a space-time conducive to reflection, allowing silenced knowledge to emerge and be shared with the wider public – for those who wished to.
The invitation to participate was designed to be reassuring and encouraging. The workshop was guided and required no specific language or graphic skills; the aesthetic result mattered less than the interaction experienced during the mapping process.
When maps tell stories of exile, with Morgane Dujmovic. French-language video by The Conversation France, 2025.
These scientific and ethical concerns closely aligned with operational priorities – during the days of navigation before disembarking at an Italian port, there is a need to fill the waiting time and lift spirits.
On the OV’s deck, mapping gradually found its place among post-rescue activities, some of which had a psychosocial dimension aimed at restoring the dignity of rescued people and preparing them for the next stage of their journey in Europe. The collective mappings – where texts and drawings appeared – became a shared language and gesture, linking crew members and rescued people who joined the workshop.
Morgane Dujmovic does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
