They have nothing to do but sleep in sweltering heat
At a remote detention facility in Albania, built and funded by Italy to hold migrants intercepted at sea, a European Parliament delegation found itself turned away from the cells and denied even the most basic facts about who was being held inside. Six people have attempted to take their own lives there since May. The episode raises an older, persistent question about the distance between a government's stated intentions and the human reality it creates when it moves its policies beyond easy view.
- EU inspectors were blocked from entering cells and refused answers to elementary questions at the Italian-run Gjadër facility — a silence that MEPs called 'disgraceful.'
- Six suicide attempts and multiple acts of self-harm have been recorded since mid-May among a population of roughly 70 to 80 detainees, who describe days of heat, sedation, and purposelessness.
- Italy's government has not responded to press inquiries, while senators from the ruling party previously praised the same facility as modern and efficient — a contradiction that remains publicly unresolved.
- The scheme has already stumbled: Italian courts blocked many transfers on human rights grounds, and annual transfer targets have gone unmet despite costs of up to 140 million euros per year.
- With the European Parliament now advancing plans for broader offshore 'return hubs,' the Albanian model is under intensifying scrutiny — and may yet shape immigration policy across the continent.
When Cristina Guarda arrived at the Gjadër detention centre in Albania as part of a European Parliament inspection delegation, she found a facility that seemed designed to resist being seen. Staff declined to answer basic questions about how many people were held there. The MEPs were not allowed into the cells. From the limited conversations she managed, Guarda pieced together a picture she described as one of "limbo and alienation."
The human cost was not abstract. Since mid-May, an official register of critical incidents had recorded six suicide attempts at the centre, along with other acts of self-harm. Detainees described a daily existence defined by oppressive heat, routine use of psychotropic medication, and an almost total absence of activity. One man told the delegation he spent his days in pursuit of freedom — a phrase that said everything about the suspended quality of life inside.
Italy opened two facilities in Albania in 2024 under a five-year agreement, at a cost of between 130 and 140 million euros annually. The centres were intended to process asylum claims from adult men intercepted at sea and to hold those whose claims had been rejected. Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni had championed the arrangement as a model for the rest of Europe. But Italian courts had blocked many transfers on legal grounds, annual targets had gone unmet, and the facilities — built for up to 3,000 people — were holding only a fraction of that number.
Fellow delegation member Tineke Strik called the visit "very disappointing and disgraceful," arguing that the obstacles placed before the inspectors made it impossible to verify whether human rights were being respected. Cecilia Strada, of the centre-left Democratic Party, questioned why parliamentarians with the legal authority to inspect had been prevented from doing so. The government's prefect office and the cooperative managing the facilities did not respond to requests for comment.
The gap between official accounts and lived reality remained stark. Senators from Meloni's Brothers of Italy had visited Gjadër in April and described a modern, efficient facility in excellent condition. The detainees described something else entirely. As the European Parliament moves forward with plans for offshore return hubs that could extend this model across the continent, the question Guarda left unanswered — whether the government is actively concealing the truth — has taken on a significance that reaches well beyond Italy.
Cristina Guarda arrived at the detention centre in Gjadër, Albania, as part of a European Parliament delegation meant to inspect conditions. What she found instead was a facility that seemed determined not to be fully seen. Staff refused to answer basic questions—how many people were being held there, what their circumstances were. The MEPs were not permitted into the cells. When Guarda, a member of Italy's Greens and Left Alliance, tried to piece together what was happening from the few conversations she managed to have, a picture emerged of people living in what she called "limbo and alienation."
The numbers told part of the story. Since mid-May, according to an official register of critical incidents that Guarda cited, six people held at the centre had attempted to take their own lives. There were other acts of self-harm as well. The facility, which holds an estimated 70 to 80 people at any given time, was described by those detained there as a place where psychotropic drugs were used routinely, where the heat was oppressive, and where there was essentially nothing to do but sleep. One detainee told the delegation he spent his days in pursuit of freedom—a phrase that captured the suspended, purposeless quality of existence in the centre.
Italy opened two detention facilities in Albania—one in Gjadër, the other in Shëngjin—in 2024 as part of a five-year agreement with the Albanian government. The arrangement was designed to process asylum applications from adult men intercepted at sea by Italian vessels and to hold people whose asylum claims had been rejected while they awaited deportation. The cost to Italy was substantial: between 130 and 140 million euros annually. The facilities were built to hold roughly 1,000 people, with the original agreement allowing for up to 3,000 at any one time. Italy's government, particularly Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, had promoted the scheme as a model for other European Union states struggling with irregular migration.
But the system had not worked as intended. Italian courts, citing European law, had rejected many transfers on the grounds that the countries migrants would be sent back to were not safe. The government had also failed to meet its original target of sending 36,000 people annually to the centres. And now, with the European Parliament having just adopted a plan to create offshore "return hubs"—detention centres outside the EU where undocumented migrants could be held for unspecified periods—scrutiny of the Albanian facilities was intensifying.
Guarda's account of the delegation's visit raised uncomfortable questions about transparency. Why had staff refused to provide basic information? Why had the MEPs been kept out of the cells? Tineke Strik, a Dutch MEP who was part of the same delegation, called the visit "very disappointing and disgraceful." The obstacles placed in their way, she said, prevented them from genuinely verifying whether human rights were being respected. Cecilia Strada, an Italian politician from the centre-left Democratic Party, echoed the concern, asking why representatives of the European Parliament—who had the authority to enter and inspect—had been unable to conduct a proper assessment.
The Italian government's prefect office, which oversees the offshore centres, did not respond to requests for comment. Neither did Medihospes, the Italian cooperative managing the facilities. In April, senators from Meloni's Brothers of Italy party had visited Gjadër and described it as a "modern, efficient facility in excellent condition." But the accounts from those actually detained there told a different story—one of psychological distress, of days without purpose, of a system that seemed designed to process people rather than to care for them. The question Guarda posed—whether the government was trying to hide the truth—hung in the air unanswered.
Citações Notáveis
Whether they want to hide the truth about the conditions of life inside the detention centre, something is not clear— Cristina Guarda, Italian MEP
The staff really created a lot of obstacles for us. We didn't get any data, they didn't answer any questions, and we were not allowed to really go into the cells— Tineke Strik, Dutch MEP
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why would staff at a detention centre refuse to let elected officials see the cells?
Because what's happening inside doesn't match the official narrative. When you're running a facility that's supposed to be humane and modern, and six people have tried to kill themselves in two months, you don't want witnesses.
But surely the Italian government knew this delegation was coming?
They did. And they still chose to obstruct them. That's the telling part. It suggests the obstruction was deliberate policy, not an accident or miscommunication.
What about the people held there—what are they actually experiencing?
Psychological collapse, mostly. Psychotropic drugs as routine. Nothing to do but sleep. One man described his days as a pursuit of freedom. That's not detention; that's erasure.
Is this unique to Albania, or is this becoming standard EU practice?
It's becoming standard. The European Parliament just approved offshore detention hubs. Italy's model is being watched as a template. If it works—if it stays hidden—other countries will copy it.
And the Italian government is promoting this as a success?
They have to. They've spent 130 million euros a year on it. Admitting it's causing psychological harm would mean admitting the whole premise is broken.