I’m employed by SOS Méditerranée and Médecins Sans Frontières to document humanitarian rescue missions in the Mediterranean. But I’m also part of the team of sailor-rescuers – I received the same training, and learned the same drills and first aid techniques. As a photographer I’m a witness, but there’s always the possibility that I’ll need to put down the camera and be hands-on. It happens pretty often, in fact. For this particular moment on the rescue ship Aquarius in October 2017, I was able to just chronicle the rescue. In that one day, 588 survivors were brought aboard. The Aquarius can accommodate 600 people but we’ve had to bring 1,000 on before. The migrant boats often leave around the same time because they are all waiting for a window of good weather and a calm sea.

When we spot a boat in distress, we approach it in two small, rigid-hulled inflatable boats filled with lifejackets. If we arrived directly with an enormous ship it could risk damaging the migrants’ boat, or people might start jumping into the water. The priority is always to ensure people will be able to stay afloat if anything happens.

The rubber boats – this one is typical – tend to contain eight people for every square metre. The boats are very thin and are always overloaded and consequently very fragile. The people in this photo were fleeing Libya and had already spent 10 to 15 hours at sea, but their boat was in relatively good shape and was still completely inflated. The people were dehydrated, but thankfully no one was injured or had fallen overboard.

This is one of the few images I have where the rescued people are looking straight at me. I shot it from the vantage point of one of the rescue boats; someone next to me from the rescue team must have been giving instructions about how to get on the Aquarius. The framing is very tight, which heightens the claustrophobia of being on the migrant boat. The shot represents maybe a third of its total length. Several people have told me the reflections in the water remind them of blood or fire. The sea is hostile: when you’ve been on it for several hours, you burn, you dehydrate.

In the middle of the sea, you’re isolated. There’s nobody around. If you don’t photograph what’s happening, there will be no evidence of broken boats, of the deaths. But there’s an important ethic to respect: you don’t photograph the faces of the dead or those who drowned. The images have to be informative for the public, and maintain the dignity of the subjects, who are in incredibly vulnerable situations. They have only the clothes on their backs, squeezed against one another on the rubber boats. On board the Aquarius we have discussions, we distribute food, we stay on watch. There are stories that are unbearable to hear, but there are moments that are enriching, too. During my last mission I took a mini printer and printed photos for the survivors. It’s important that they have a record of this passage. It’s a piece of their journey. It bears witness to their experience.

Later, these survivors disembarked in the south of Italy, in Vibo Valentia, then the Red Cross took over. Maritime law states that we should be able to disembark at the nearest safe port to the rescue, but that has become challenging. On a recent mission, we rescued 58 people, but had to spend 10 days roaming the sea near Malta. Those days idling on the sea at the whim of the wind and the waves were hard, and we aren’t equipped to have so many people living aboard that long.

Since 2017 the situation has seriously deteriorated. Italy has closed itself off, and other European states are debating who should welcome survivors and when. But there are more migrant boats coming and it’s urgent that we continue the rescue missions. Last year saw more deaths on the Mediterranean than in 2017. Roughly one out of every five people who try to get to Europe in one of these boats dies. That’s enormous. It’s total chaos. But people would rather risk the sea – even if they don’t know how to swim – than staying in Libya.

The Aquarius has had to end its operations and they are looking for another boat, because the situation in Libya is not improving and the dangerous departures from there continue – yet testimonies of this are almost completely absent from the central Mediterranean. Let us hope that this new year gives rise to other decisions from the European states, and to a re-consideration of the richness of intercultural exchange.

• Maud Veith’s Ils arrivent pieds nus par la mer [They Arrive Barefoot from the Sea] is at Galerie de la MDA in Rennes, France until 10 January.

Maud Veith’s CV

Photograph: Lucie Lautredou

Born: Paris, France, 1983.

Studied: Université Paris 8 Saint-Denis and École des Gobelins, Paris.

Influences: Graciela Iturbide and Duane Michals for the poetry in their work; Seydou Keïta for his life’s work; Anita Conti for her relationship with the sea and being an adventurous woman; Anders Petersen and Diane Arbus for their access to very private worlds.

High point: “Founding the association Femmes PHOTOgraphes two years ago. The visibility and comfort of being with others brings us freedom and accuracy in our work.”

Low point: “Facing the rise of the extremes in the world, and being sometimes discouraged about the real power of the image.”

Top tip: “Take care of the people in front of the lens by offering them a photo print, so this moment can be a real exchange.”



