What do states owe people who die at a border, and the families still trying to find them? Dr Myriam Cherti , Senior Researcher at the Global Exchange on Migration at COMPAS , argues that Ceuta's numbered graves are a mark of care, but will only lead back to names with practical help for relatives who cannot cross over.
On the hillside of Ceuta's Sidi Embarek Muslim cemetery , the bodies lie buried on their right side, facing Mecca. From the new burial terrace there they also face the Mediterranean Sea and the Tarajal border where on 30 and 31 July tens of thousands of people tried to cross from Morocco into the Spanish exclave. By 28 August, 90 bodies recovered after the tragedy had been buried there. By late September, the cemetery's manager said , "of the ninety, only nine are identified."
On 13 October, Spain's King Felipe VI and Queen Letizia are due to visit Ceuta . Their programme reportedly includes a visit to Sidi Embarek to pay tribute to those who died. But with 81 graves still marked with numbers rather than names, the visit begs the question: what do states owe to people who die at a border and to the families still trying to find them?
A numbered grave is not an unmarked grave. At Sidi Embarek, the numbers preserve traceability, linking remains to forensic records so that a future DNA or fingerprint match can lead back to a specific body. Council of Europe Resolution 2569 (2024) recommends individual, permanently marked graves bearing names or unique numerical codes, together with respect for the deceased's religious beliefs. The care that was taken by cemetery workers in Ceuta to wash, shroud, pray over and bury the dead according to Muslim rites confers dignity.
"This is how a frontier can divide people even in death. In life, it determines who may enter a territory. After death, it can shape whether DNA reaches the right database, whether a parent attends a funeral, whether relatives can visit a grave and whether remains can return home."
The harder question is what happens after burial. A number can be a temporary bridge back to a name. But without active follow-up, it can become the last identity a person is given. That risk is especially stark in Ceuta, where the dead may lie just a few kilometres from their families but the administrative distance feels far greater. The Guardia Civil opened an office for relatives on 4 August and received 160 emails on its first day .
Yet most Moroccans need a visa to enter the city, and many parents waited in Fnideq for news, including the mother of Salma , the only woman among the 90 buried, who could not enter Ceuta for her daughter's funeral. Information capable of identifying a body may sit on one side of the frontier, while the family able to supply the match is on the other.
This is how a frontier can divide people even in death. In life, it determines who may enter a territory. After death, it can shape whether DNA reaches the right database, whether a parent attends a funeral, whether relatives can visit a grave and whether remains can return home. The nine people identified by late August were buried in Ceuta after repatriation did not take place amid disagreement over documentation and verification.
European human rights law does not require repatriation in every case. Identification must be reliable, and states have legitimate forensic and judicial duties. But Resolution 2569 calls on states to coordinate cross-border victim-identification work, expedite short-term visas for families and support procedures including repatriation. T he International Committee of the Red Cross likewise urges transnational mechanisms to identify the dead and give families access to information.
Families need answers about what happened, a way to contribute information for identification and, where a person is identified and return is possible, practical help to bring them home.
In Ceuta, the DNA and fingerprints from the dead have been preserved. But identification depends on matching those records with information held by families, many of whom are in Morocco. Researchers for IOM's Missing Migrants project found in Spain that ordinary missing-person systems were poorly adapted to irregular, transnational journeys, leaving relatives to navigate fragmented procedures. Ceuta epitomises that structural gap.
The symbolism of Sidi Embarek is not straightforward. It represents care: the dead were given individual graves and religious rites. It also represents forensic possibility: the numbers keep later identification within reach. Yet 81 people were buried before their names could be restored, and the same border that shaped the circumstances of their deaths can still shape how their families mourn them.
As politicians argue over responsibility for the July breach, Sidi Embarek points to an obligation that does not depend on resolving that argument. States count migration in numbers: arrivals, interceptions, returns, deaths. At Sidi Embarek, that abstraction is carved into headstones.
The best way to honour those who died would be practical: providing a point of contact that families in Morocco can reach without crossing the border; DNA collection through consulates or humanitarian organisations; expediting visas so relatives can visit a grave or accompany a body home; and maintaining records for as long as it takes.
A border may decide who can cross in life. In death, it should not divide them from their loved ones.
