THENEWYORKER,DECEMBER6, 2021 47
to embarrass Libya?” they asked. They
repeatedly told me, “You people killed
George Floyd.” Hoping to break out,
I took apart some of the toilet’s plumb-
ing and searched for a piece of metal
to unscrew the bars on the window. I
tapped on the wall of my cell and heard
Kattar, the photographer, tap back,
which I somehow found reassuring.
My wife had overheard the begin-
ning of my kidnapping and had alerted
the State Department. Along with the
Dutch foreign service, the agency began
lobbying the National Unity govern-
ment for our release. At one point, we
were taken from our cells to record a
“proof of life” video. Our jailers told
me to wash the blood and dirt off my
face, and we all sat around a table cov-
ered with sodas and pastries. “Smile,”
they said, and instructed us to say to
the camera that we were being treated
humanely. “Talk. Look normal.” We
were required to sign “confession” doc-
uments written in Arabic on letter-
head of the “Department for Combat-
ting Hostile Activity,” and bearing the
name of Major General Hussein Mu-
hammad al-A’ib. When I asked what
the documents said, our captors
laughed. They kept our computers,
phones, and cash, plus thirty thousand
dollars’ worth of filming equipment
and my wedding ring.
The experience—deeply frighten-
ing but mercifully short—offered a
glimpse into the world of indefinite
detention in Libya. I often thought of
Candé’s months-long incarceration,
and its terrible outcome. Soon after-
ward, my team and I were released
from our cells and escorted toward
the door. As we approached, an inter-
rogator put his hand on my chest.
“Guys, you can go,” he told the oth-
ers on my team. “Ian will be staying
here.” Everyone stared. Then he burst
out laughing, and said he was just kid-
ding. After a total of six days in cap-
tivity, we were taken to a plane and
flown to Tunisia—expelled from the
country, we were told, for “reporting
on migrants.”
A
fter the detainees in Cell No. 4
were released, word of Candé’s
death spread quickly through Tripoli,
eventually reaching a community
leader among migrants. The commu-
nity leader (who asked to remain anon-
ymous out of fear of retaliation in
Libya) went with Balde, Candé’s
great-uncle, to the police station, where
they were given a copy of the autopsy
report. It said that Candé’s name was
unknown, and wrongly stated that he
was from Guinea Conakry. The au-
thorities suggested that he had died
in a fight, which angered the commu-
nity leader. “It wasn’t a fight,” he told
me. “It was a bullet.” Later, the pair
went to the local hospital to identify
Candé’s body; he was wheeled out on
a metal gurney, wrapped in a gauzy
white cloth partially undone to reveal
his face. In the next several days, they
travelled around Tripoli paying off
Candé’s debts, all incurred after his
death: a hundred and eighty-nine dol-
lars for the hospital stay, nineteen for
the white shroud and burial clothes,
two hundred and twenty-two for the
coming burial.
Candé’s family learned of his death
two days after it occurred. Samba, his
father, told me that he could barely
sleep or eat: “Sadness weighs heavily
on me.” Hava had given birth to a
daughter named Cadjato, who is now
two, and told me that she would not
remarry until she finished mourning.
“My heart is broken,” she said. Jacaria
had little hope that the police would
arrest his brother’s killers. “So, he is
gone,” he said. “Gone in every way.”
Conditions on the farm have wors-ened, with heavy rainfall flooding the
fields. Bobo, Candé’s youngest brother,
will likely soon try to make the jour-
ney to Europe himself. “What else can
I do?” he said.
Ghreetly was suspended from Al
Mabani after Candé’s death, but was
later reinstated. For almost three
months, Doctors Without Borders,
which assists migrants in detention
centers, refused to enter the prison;
Beatrice Lau, its head of mission inLibya at the time, said, “The persistent
pattern of violent incidents and seri-
ous harm to refugees and migrants, as
well as the risk to the safety of our
staff, has reached a level that we are no
longer able to accept.” It resumed its
activities after receiving assurances that,
among other things, officials would
prevent further violence in the prison.
But in October Libyan authorities, in-
cluding members of the militia that
controls Al Mabani, rounded up more
than five thousand migrants in and
around Gargaresh and sent many to
the prison. Days later, guards opened
fire on prisoners attempting to escape,
killing at least six.
After Candé’s death, Sabadell, the
E.U. Ambassador, called for a formal
investigation, but it appears never to
have taken place. (An E.U. spokes-
person said, “The assurances from the
Libyan authorities that these events
will be investigated and that the ap-
propriate judicial action will be car-
ried out need to be translated into
practice. Perpetrators must be held
accountable. There can be no impu-
nity for such crimes.”) Europe’s com-
mitment to anti-migrant programs in
Libya remains unshaken. Last year,
Italy renewed its Memorandum of
Understanding with Libya. Since this
past May, with support from the E.U.,
it has spent at least $3.9 million on
the Coast Guard. The European
Commission recently committed to
building the Coast Guard a new and
improved “maritime rescue coördina-
tion center” and to buying it three
more ships.
On April 30th, shortly after 5 p.m.
prayers, Balde and some twenty other
men gathered at the Bir al-Osta Milad
cemetery for Candé’s funeral. The cem-
etery occupies an eight-acre plot be-
tween an electrical substation and two
large warehouses. Many of Libya’s dead
migrants are buried there, and it has
an estimated ten thousand graves,
many of them unmarked. The men
prayed aloud as Candé’s body was low-
ered into a hole dug in sand, no more
than a foot and a half deep. They
topped it with rectangular stones and
poured a layer of concrete. The men
said, in unison, “God is great.” Then
one of them, using a stick, scrawled
Candé’s name into the wet concrete.