Broken phone

This is a broken mobile phone. The screen is crossed by deep cracks, like fine fractures spreading through thin ice. It was smashed by a Croatian police officer during a violent pushback at the border with Bosnia.

For those travelling along this route, a phone is far more than a simple electronic device. It is a map, a compass, a flashlight. It is the essential tool for navigating through forests, checking paths via GPS, and translating words in an unfamiliar language. It is also the only link to the family left behind:  a single message sent after days of silence can reassure parents, siblings, or children thousands of kilometers away. When intercepted, migrants are often forcibly pushed back; accounts gathered along the route frequently tell of confiscated or destroyed phones, shoes taken away, and backpacks set on fire. Breaking these phones is a deliberate act to strip migrants of their ability to orient themselves and to document what happens to them.

This phone belonged to a young man who had set out from South Asia. During one crossing attempt, his group was stopped by border agents. After searches and threats, his device was thrown to the ground and struck repeatedly with a boot. The glass cracked, the screen went dark. Shortly after, the group was escorted back across the Bosnian border. The phone’s memory, however, remains intact — holding photographs, offline maps and voice messages: small fragments of a life in transit.