The emotional cost of rescuing migrants at sea: "We absorb it until we burst"

PalmMaritime Rescue crew member Manuel Capa strolls through the port of Ibiza during a break from his shift. The sailor contemplates a spectacle of Ferraris and other luxury cars parading by to the applause of the crowd. Like the rest, he takes out his cell phone to record one, driven by a driver wearing a futuristic helmet. Minutes later, he's called to carry out a rescue: a boat with about fifteen men, frightened and without enough life jackets. The rescuers urge them to remain calm and not crowd together, otherwise the boat could capsize. "Great wealth is secure, and poverty risks life at the same time and in the same place," reflects Capa, who is a CGT union delegate. Emotionally integrating these two realities is difficult for him.

The dramatic scenes that the Maritime Rescue sailors live with day after day leave a different psychological impact on each of them. "We absorb it until we burst," he summarizes. They are the first recipients of the majority of immigrants arriving in Spain by sea: 5,827 in the Balearic Islands in 2025. Some – such as Capa, who in September was assigned to the sea guard Concepción Arenal, between Palma and Ibiza—are on the move. Others always work in the same place. The union representative celebrates the fact that a psychological support system for sailors has been implemented in recent years, with teams of three (on the salvamars) and eight people (on the guardamar, a larger vessel) per shift. They have to carry out rescues in minutes, without being able to establish a precise protocol: "It depends on each situation; we rely on our expertise and experience."

"When we rescue a boat, we often find dead bodies," says Capa, who has 14 years of experience in rescues. Most of them, he says, come from his interventions in the Canary Islands, because the route is longer and riskier. However, in the last year, 44 bodies have already been found in the waters of the Balearic Islands, according to sources from the Spanish government delegation. "You take them out, put them in a shroud, and take them to the ground," he summarizes. From there, the Civil Guard and the National Police take care of it. But each time it's an emotional blow. "Here in Ibiza, we rescued a man who the coroner said was African, although he'd been in the water for a month and didn't recognize himself, and well, his head fell off while we were pulling him out of the water. We lost him," he laments.

"It's very unpleasant to find dead bodies on the boats," he continues: "Sometimes you rescue everyone and suddenly you realize there are seven bodies underwater or inside the boat, which is blocked, and you pull one out, and another, and you think, 'My God!'" He recalls another intervention in which a man died on board the rescue vessel. "They're skin and bones, exhausted, in which case they'd been adrift for two weeks, and he died, there was no way to rescue him," he recalls: "We're so far away that the helicopter couldn't reach."

According to Maritime Rescue sources, on an uneventful journey from Algeria to the Balearic Islands, migrants can spend between 30 and 36 hours at sea. In winter, some may arrive with the beginnings of hypothermia, and in summer, with heat exhaustion. The first care the crew provides consists of giving them water and blankets. "Many diabetics come here, asking for juice, something with glucose, but we try not to give it to them just in case, because the distance to the Balearic Islands is short," he explains. "If they have any deeper wounds, we can look at them." There are 927 personnel deployed on the islands, 186 more than in 2018, due to the increase in arrivals. They are distributed across six lifeguards, a lifeguard, a tugboat, a helicopter, four rescue boats, and a coordination center. They are the first line of a chain that includes police forces, the justice system, NGOs, hospitals, and in many cases other countries, as the migrants continue their journey.

To manage the emotional impact of these arrivals, the sailors rely on a psychological clinic with 24-hour support. "You call them, they listen to you, they give you techniques to manage it, and they monitor you based on your condition," he summarizes. They also offer monthly workshops on mental health. Another way to cope with the situation is to "normalize" it among colleagues. "We try to take the edge off, add humor," Capa explains.

"I broke down."

The sailor compares the stress they suffer to that of a doctor attending an emergency room. "It affects each person differently," he notes, but warns that everyone has a limit. His arrived between three and four years ago in the Canary Islands, which remains the main gateway for migrants on small boats: more than 12,000 in the first half of the year. "The boat punctured and 20 people fell into the water," he recalls. "The first one to swim grabbed onto our boat, and the 19 who came behind them ran over them." Capa saw how, as he held on, he was accidentally drowned. "It happens in seconds: that image stayed with me and I broke down," he says. "I had a feeling of anxiety, of drowning, I wanted to cut my chest open with both hands to breathe," he says. He was on sick leave for a few months until he recovered.