Beyond Migration: Assessing Libya's Smuggling Sector

A worker taking part in the clearing operation of a destroyed arms cache in the Jufra district (March 2013). Image via https://unsmil.unmissions.org/. A worker taking part in the clearing operation of a destroyed arms cache in the Jufra district (March 2013). Image via https://unsmil.unmissions.org/.

Beyond Migration: Assessing Libya's Smuggling Sector

By : Mattia Serra

Over the past years, Libya has hit the front pages of international media outlets with stories of migration, terrorism, and political instability. The ouster of Gaddafi and the call for the first elections in fifty years have given hope to all those who wished for a new era. A decade later, the country is the battleground of a civil war whose outcome is still difficult to forecast. With a broken political system, Libya has fallen into a quagmire made of violence and illegality. Exploiting this instability, transnational criminal networks have transformed the country into a hub for several illegal flows, impacting directly the rest of North Africa and various countries in the Mediterranean basin. Aside from migrant smuggling, a subject that has monopolized European policymaking in the region, these emergent transnational networks have received little attention from international political stakeholders. This essay, while not trying to be exhaustive, aims at introducing the reader to the topic and at shedding light on the complexity of the Libyan patchwork.

New Smuggling Dynamics


The evolution of Libya’s smuggling dynamics has been significantly influenced by the fall of the Gaddafi regime and the consequent collapse of the security sector. Already characterized by weak institutions, the Libyan state crumbled following the NATO intervention in 2011. Originally intended as a no-fly zone operation, the intervention ultimately engaged in regime change. With the death of Gaddafi, the newly established transitional government found itself incapable of controlling the entire territory of the state. Divided along geographic, political, and communal lines, Libya became the fertile ground for the expansion of armed groups, which since then have become key political stakeholders. The fragility of the constitutional process and the enduring fragmentation eventually led to the outbreak of a second civil war in 2014. Although the warring factions have recently agreed to a ceasefire, the resolution of the political deadlock is not necessarily going to solve Libya’s longstanding socioeconomic issues. A decade of crisis has severely damaged the national economy, contributing to the flourishment of a multilayered smuggling sector.

In the Gaddafi era, smuggling involved mainly subsidized goods such as fuel and flour that could easily be sold by peripheral communities in neighboring countries. In underdeveloped areas like the Fezzan, this illicit economy was tolerated by the regime because it created employment, reducing the risks of active political opposition. Other illegal flows were normally organized by families or tribes close to Gaddafi, and as such were directly under the control of the regime.[1] With the fall of Gaddafi, this form of “centralized” smuggling has ended, and since then, the illicit sector of the Libyan economy has grown considerably. Besides the ongoing contraband of subsidized goods, the smuggling of weapons and drugs has reached remarkable dimensions in the last decade. The reasons behind the expansion of these illicit trades are diverse. In the months after the 2011 civil war, the growth of arms smuggling was mainly dependent upon the fact that militias had seized control of national stockpiles. Weapons started to circulate uncontrolled within Libya and towards its neighbors, fueling armed insecurity in northern Mali, Niger, and Tunisia. However, these weapons often arrived far from Libya. For example, through eastern Egypt, rifles and man-portable missiles reached the Sinai and Gaza, while until 2014, light weapons were smuggled to the Syrian opposition.[2] As the conflict raged newly in Libya, the demand for light arms and ammunition rose steadily. In the past years, it seems that this rising demand has been only partially met by the existing supply.[3] Contrary to the arms trade, the growth of narcotics smuggling is more related to the regional dimensions of the phenomenon. Until the fall of the regime, Libya represented a transit point for small flows of drugs, mainly cannabis, in route to Europe and Egypt. Since 2011, drug trafficking dynamics have evolved radically, seeing the expansion of certain flows, the creation of different routes, and the involvement of new actors.[4] In the first years after the uprising, Libya became a transit point for a new flow of cocaine which reached the coast from the country's southwest. Transported in large quantities by heavily guarded convoys or in small quantities by migrants on their way to Libya, this flow reached large dimensions until the insecurity in Mali and Niger made the route too dangerous for smuggling.[5] Besides cannabis and cocaine, Libya has experienced a small revival of heroin and a significant expansion of smuggled pharmaceutical medicines. In the past few years, prescription painkillers such as Tramadol and Clonazepam have flooded the Libyan drug market and are now purchased regularly by a large segment of society, from middle-class youth in coastal towns to militiamen fighting on the front.[6] Often overlapping with other illegal flows, drug trafficking still constitutes an essential part of Libya's illicit economy.

The injection of arms in the Libyan political arena has pushed traffickers to arm themselves, making this activity riskier and driving some of the old actors out of business.

Compared to the Gaddafi era, smuggling in post-revolutionary Libya has been characterized by fierce competition over routes. The injection of arms in the Libyan political arena has pushed traffickers to arm themselves, making this activity riskier and driving some of the old actors out of business. Moreover, the uncontrolled circulation of weapons has caused the expansion of a particular market for private security, which has become pivotal for the survival of independent smugglers in the business.[7] These factors, along with the political fragmentation, have provided armed groups with the perfect environment for engaging in the smuggling business. For these militias, smuggling represents a way to make a profit out of the military control of stretches of territory, maintaining the local popularity which is often at the base of their power. Militias gain an income by directly controlling certain flows, or by imposing taxes on the commodities passing through their territories. Their involvement in smuggling has facilitated the development of more complex transnational networks but has also contributed to an increase in street violence. Already in 2013, the UN Panel of Experts on Libya underlined that control over trafficking routes had become necessary for the survival of armed groups.[8] Since then, the control over smuggling flows has produced localized conflicts all over the country, often exacerbating pre-existing political rivalries. State attempts to clamp down the phenomenon have produced a particular dynamic for which certain armed groups previously involved in illegal activities have started to collaborate in anti-smuggling operations to gain political legitimacy.[9] This volatility is likely to remain a challenge for any future Libyan government and the international community.

The Two-Way Route to Europe


In July 2018, an inspection of the Italian corvette “Caprera” by the port authorities in Brindisi revealed the presence of some 700,000 cigarettes and several boxes of Cialis on board, purchased by sailors in Libya and intended to be sold illegally in Italy. Stationed in Tripoli for several months, the crew of this warship was part of the force deployed by the Italian government in western Libya to train the GNA's coastguard and prevent the sailing of migrants to Europe. Envisioning the potential profit of this business, the sailors exploited their local contacts to purchase the cigarettes and the medicines, allegedly using the contingency fund of their unit to pay the traders and their intermediary.[10] As striking as this episode might be, the fact that a group of Italian sailors made an attempt at smuggling cigarettes is just evidence of the wider dynamics of smuggling in Libya. The collapse of the security sector has allowed international actors to gain a foothold in the country and exploit its instability. For the European organized crime, post-Gaddafi Libya has constituted a large market for the arms trade as well as a warehouse for legal and illegal goods to import to Europe. The extent of the connection between European criminal organizations and the militias is difficult to assess, but it is clear that their agency has contributed to shaping the Libyan trafficking sector.

One of the most evident examples of the capabilities of these transnational networks is the fuel smuggling ring that connected the Zawiya oil refinery to European markets via Malta and southern Italy. Based on an alliance between the notorious smuggler Fahmi Bin Khalifa and the chief of the Coast Guard of Zawiya, the network moved fuel from the Zawiya refinery to the coastal town of Zuwara. There, the fuel was moved via land to Tunisia and via sea to Maltese waters, where it was unloaded on a fleet of small ships and brought onshore. From Malta, smuggled fuel reached Italy, Spain, and France. The arrest of Bin Khalifa and other members of the ring in 2017 caused an involution of the phenomenon, which since has changed both in the methods and the actors involved.[11] However, its complexity and extensiveness have revealed the capabilities of the transnational smuggling networks based in Libya. Besides fuel, weapons and narcotics are the products most commonly moved to and from Europe. Cocaine and cannabis reach southern Europe sailing from Libyan ports.[12] On the other hand, Italian, Greek, and Maltese harbors often serve as a waypoint for the trafficking of prescription medicines from India reaching Libya.[13] In similar ways, southern Europe has been particularly present in Libya's weapons trafficking dynamics. For example, in the summer of 2017, a few months before HAF's conquest of Benghazi, the Shura Council controlling the city used a wide range of connections to purchase weapons. One of the middlemen that supplied mines and rocket launchers to the group was an Italian yacht businessman, who after the bankruptcy of his company, fled to Libya and used the remains of his fleet to smuggle weapons to Benghazi.[14] A more sophisticated smuggling ring was established by Abdurraouf Eshati, a Libyan arrested in the UK in November 2014. Being in contact with middlemen in Zintani, Eshati served as broker in a complex network that included Egyptians and Italians and whose main agent was a seventy-year-old Italian arms dealer already implicated in the trafficking of weapons to the Balkans in the 1990s.[15] In these and many other cases, Libya has provided an expanding weapons market to a transnational class of dealers and middlemen based in southern Europe and the eastern Mediterranean. Soviet-manufactured rifles, modified blank guns, and homemade ammunition contribute to the constant supply of weapons purchased by militias and private citizens in Libya.

Conclusion

The evolution of smuggling in Libya since 2011 is a story deeply connected with the failure of the post-Gaddafi reconstruction. The attempt at incorporating militias into the state has clashed with the continuity of their chains of command. Largely independent, these militias have assumed a particular position vis-à-vis state structures, at the same time within and outside them. With a security sector largely based on this ambiguity, it is not surprising that the line dividing smugglers from the anti-smuggling apparatus is often blurred. Furthermore, in many areas the trafficking sector has emerged as a substitute for the formal economy, representing the only relief for a battered civilian population. In the words of a Libyan professor interviewed by the International Crisis Group, “smuggling here is a job; it is not a crime."[16] The new interim government will have to address the issue concurrently with the political reunification of the country. However, the smuggling sector, along with its social and economic consequences, is likely to continue daunting Libya in the years to come.

____________________________________


[1] Mark Shaw and Fiona Mangan, “Illicit Trafficking and Libya's Transition: Profits and Losses” United States Institute of Peace, Peacework report no. 96 (February 2014), p. 7-8.


[2] Report by the UN Security Council Panel of Experts on Libya (2013), p. 33-35, (2014), p. 41-43, and (2015), p. 47-48.


[3] Mark Micallef, Raouf Farrah, Alexander Bish and Victor Tanner, “After the Storm: Organized crime across the Sahel-Sahara following upheaval in Libya and Mali” Global Initiative Against Organized Crime (2019), p. 53-55.


[4] For an overview on the evolution of drug trafficking in Libya after 2011: Fiona Mangan, “Illicit Drug Trafficking in Libya”, United States Institute of Peace, Peacework report no. 161 (May 2020).


[5] Mark Micallef, “Shifting sands: Libya's changing drug trafficking dynamics on the coastal and desert borders”, European Monitoring Centre for Drugs and Drug Addiction (2019), p. 23-25.


[6] Fiona Mangan, “Illicit Drug Trafficking”, p. 12-13 and 18-23.


[7] Mark Shaw and Fiona Mangan, “Illicit Trafficking”, p. 17-19.


[8] Report by the UN Security Council Panel of Experts on Libya (2013), p. 11.


[9] See for example the case of the Anas al-Dabbashi Brigade in Sabratha: Tim Eaton, “Libya's War Economy: Predation, Profiteering and State Weakness”, Chatham House (April 2018), p. 12-13.


[10] Patrick Kingsley and Sara Creta. “The Ship That Stopped 7,000 Migrants, and Smuggled 700,000 Cigarettes”, The New York Times (Sep. 28, 2020). Retrievable at: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/09/28/world/europe/italy-warship-migrants-libya-cigarettes-smuggling.html


[11] Report by the UN Security Council Panel of Experts on Libya (2018), p. 38-45.


[12] Mark Micallef, “Shifting sands” p. 13-17; Fiona Mangan, “Illicit Drug Trafficking”, p. 8-13.


[13] Italian, Greek, and Maltese coast guards regularly seize cargoes of painkillers en route to Libia. See for example: “Sequestrato carico di 'droga del combattente'” Corriere della Sera (November 4, 2017). Retrievable at: https://www.corriere.it/cronache/17_novembre_03/gioia-tauro-sequestrato-carico-droga-combattente-traffico-gestito-isis-bc235e58-c06a-11e7-8b75-0df914d10fe2.shtml


[14] “Libia. Terrorismo e traffico d'armi, Ros arresta imprenditore italiano” Rai News 24 (December 1, 2019). Retrievable at: https://www.rainews.it/dl/rainews/articoli/libia-terrorismo-e-traffico-armi-ros-arresta-imprenditore-bolognese-7638feaf-a897-412a-931b-458a56c8362a.html?refresh_ce


[15] Report by the UN Security Council Panel of Experts on Libya (2016), p. 30-31. See also: “Libia, estradato in Italia Franco Giorgi, intermediario accusato di traffico d'armi.” Il Fatto Quotidiano (April 1, 2019). Retrievable at: https://www.ilfattoquotidiano.it/2019/04/01/libia-bonafede-tripoli-rimanda-in-italia-il-trafficante-darmi-franco-giorgi/5078019/


[16] International Crisis Group, “How Libya's Fezzan Became Europe's New Border” (July 31, 2017), p. 5. 

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COVID-19 and Urban Marginalization in Saudi Arabia

Cities in the Arabian Peninsula, from Dubai to Mecca, often elicit images of cosmopolitanism, utopianism, and ambitious urban mega-development schemes. In recent years, with increased global interest in labor politics and the oppressive labor regimes within the Gulf states, these same cities have also become notorious for their enclaved urban structures, which segregate spaces not simply along class lines but based on ethnicity and nationality. Yet the less affluent urban geographies inhabited by low-wage expatriate workers remain marginalized in most journalistic and academic discussions. Highlighting the plight of these workers, who have borne the brunt of the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, has never been more urgent. It reveals how spatial and social structures of marginalization are a threat to urban welfare in contemporary neoliberal societies. Taking the form of a longstanding systematic exclusion from civil rights and basic infrastructure, this marginalization undermined expatriates' right to the city and placed them in a particularly vulnerable position. As the home of the third-largest migrant population in the world, and ranking among the top fifteen countries in terms of COVID-19 Cases, Saudi Arabia presents a critical case study to understand these spatial politics and advocate for a post-pandemic urban policy based on sustainability and inclusion.

Geographies of Infection


The spatial fragmentation at the heart of most of the peninsula’s cities is rooted in the social structure that draws boundaries between the indigenous and the foreigner or “stranger.” The stranger here is the expatriate worker who occupies a variety of jobs, whether in the rare skilled professions such as in medicine and engineering or in the more common domestic service and menial labor whose role is instrumental to the very building and functioning of cities. Labeled as "guest workers," their encounters with city life revolve around their work experience, which is considered temporary and lacks prospects of citizenship within the countries they build. This temporariness, along with the sponsorship system (kafala) that governs it, are the main ingredients of their marginalized existence.   

 In Saudi Arabian cities, as in other neighboring ones, nationality and social status govern geographies and typologies of living following a specific structure: many locals reside in detached units within suburban-like neighborhoods; middle and low-income Saudis along with some skilled migrant professionals live in apartments and flats; and the rest of the low-skilled migrant workers live in various accommodation types scattered around the city. The dwellings of the latter group, who are often single men, are restricted to their work locations and provided by their sponsor employers. In most cases, they do not have the option of moving elsewhere without violating their work visa.     

In the capital, Riyadh, migrants make up thirty-six percent of the city’s overall population. Low-skilled migrant workers occupy dwellings that range from designated camps on the city outskirt to rented shared units in mixed-use buildings along commercial corridors. The majority occupy cheap accommodations in the old city center within neighborhoods such as al-Dirah and al-Shemaysi, once vibrant commercial districts that declined as the city expanded to the north. These areas maintained a level of commercial activity for low-income residents along with affordable housing options for the most marginalized in the community, seventy-eight percent of whom are migrants.

Across the otherwise sprawling capital, accommodations for migrant workers were marked by overcrowding and unsanitary conditions. Where individual space in housing units across the country ranged between forty-two to sixty square meters per person, migrants had about four square meters per person, usually restricted to the area of their bunk bed. The barracks-style living facilities in particular became perfect breeding grounds for COVID-19. According to the Saudi Ministry of Health, around seventy percent of the infected cases in the country were registered among migrant groups during the first wave in March. As migrants’ accommodations became foci for the virus during the first surge of the pandemic, Saudi authorities announced them as “places of danger.” The pandemic has severely exacerbated the already poor conditions of low-wage migrant workers.

Neoliberalism, Crisis, and Political Inevitability 


In light of the pandemic, the very nature of the contemporary global neoliberal social structure was shaken. Local governments worldwide were forced to assume the frontlines of containing and combating the viral outbreak and mitigating its economic detriments. This was a problem that could not be solved through "individual entrepreneurialism." New forms of politics, therefore, emerged that unprecedentedly increased the role of local authorities in civic affairs. 

In Saudi Arabia, the situation was no different. Authorities had to make difficult decisions despite their severe economic consequences. In early March, as the first cases of infection were announced in the country, domestic and international travel were suspended. Authorities implemented lockdown measures that included a ban on gatherings and the closure of schools, businesses, and places of worship. Total and partial curfews were announced in all cities along with a system of stringent penalties in case of violation. This continued until June, when the authorities started gradually easing restrictions on economic activities. They also enhanced medical capacities by increasing the supply of workers and equipment, both within existing facilities and the recent pop-up clinics (Tetamman) for testing and triage, providing free care to everyone, including visa violators. The response also included the deployment of a number of digital platforms in various languages to raise awareness and deliver fact sheets, provide medical assessments, and manage movement permits during curfew. The efforts to combat the novel virus were a result of the mobilization of several state actors, including the Ministry of Health (MOH), Saudi Center for Disease Prevention and Control (Weqayah), and the General Commission for Survey, among others.      

The first infection cases among migrant communities in the country were detected in six slums in Mecca. The authorities subsequently isolated the neighborhoods of al-Nakkasah and Ajyad, preventing entry or exit. Days later, the entire city was under full curfew. The Ministry of Health sent medical teams to these areas to conduct mass testing and provide medical care. Similar field testing took place in all infected areas in large cities, typically inhabited by a majority of migrant workers. As the crisis deepened, the Ministry of Municipal and Rural Affairs (MOMRA) was deployed to address the outbreak among workers and, on 13 April, formed a committee to do so. The committee sought to temporarily house migrants in school buildings. Around 3,400 buildings were dedicated to this effort. 

MOMRA Also passed several regulations for a set of design standards for migrant dwellings to ensure healthy living arrangements. These regulations mandated durable safe structures for housing workers with adequate space of twelve square meters per person, proper lighting and ventilation, adequate sanitation and dining facilities, and the widespread availability of hygienic products and protective equipment. MOMRA inspection teams gave employers forty-eight hours to rectify the situation and relocate their employees to prevent overcrowding. To facilitate the relocation, MOMRA created an online platform allowing residents to register vacant property available either for rent or donation. Thousands of properties were quickly identified and thousands of workers were relocated there. By late May, infection rates among migrants decreased by fifty percent. However, a second wave of infection began as a result of easing lockdown measures, with total cases in the country doubling shortly thereafter.

Amidst the crisis of COVID-19, the “displacement of crisis” functions again through the expulsion of expatriate workers which became a legal mechanism to transfer health and economic burdens to other countries.

The sponsorship system, or kafala, which aimed to privatize the management of the migrant workforce to relieve authorities from such a responsibility, is one major cause of this health crisis. Under private sponsorship (either individual or institutional), and in the absence of regulations, workers were subjected to exploitative practices. The jail-like overcrowded living arrangements were one flagrant example. The kafala system restricts the movement of workers and does not permit them to change residence or employment without authorization from the sponsor, which prevented migrants from enhancing their living and working conditions. Deportation, or the threat thereof, is another tool that sponsors could deploy if they were to terminate employment contracts. The government, however, eased up these restrictions during the pandemic, thereby allowing legal migrants to accept other jobs. Nonetheless, on 22 April, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs offered voluntary repatriation (awdah) through an online application that facilitated departure after obtaining approval from migrants' home countries. This welcome move nonetheless placed the financial burden on workers themselves, who largely had to pay for the trip. By mid-July, over 47,500 people were repatriated. Large-scale deportations of illegal migrants were also reported during the pandemic, despite government assurances. Jadwa Investment estimated that around 1.2 million foreign migrants will leave the country in 2020.  

Such developments recall discussions of the social structure in Gulf cities, one that is based on the temporariness of expatriate workers and how it operates in times of adversity. Adam Hanieh argues that this spatial structuring of class has provided a "spatial fix" which enabled the "displacement of crisis" away from the Gulf to migrant-source countries. He uses the 2008 global financial crisis to demonstrate how Gulf states avoided much of the social consequences of unemployment when funding for real estate projects was suspended by expelling thousands of migrant workers. Amidst the COVID-19 pandemic, the “displacement of crisis” functions again through the expulsion of expatriate workers, which became a legal mechanism to transfer health and economic burdens to other countries.

The displacement of crisis took another form too. Saudi authorities attempted to mitigate the economic impacts of COVID-19 by passing several stimulus packages to safeguard private enterprises that had suffered financially as a result of the pandemic. The packages, however, only benefited national citizens who applied for assistance, altogether excluding expatriate workers who made up around eighty percent of employees in the private sector. These faced greater precarity and were left with few real options: unpaid leave, changing employment, or returning to their country of origin. The authorities defended these measures as continuations of the labor nationalization policies, known as Saudization, that started decades ago to replace foreign workers with Saudi nationals through a set of incentives for private enterprises. However, unpaid leave and job losses posed financial challenges for many low-income workers as well as some vulnerable Saudi communities. To assist both groups, the Ministry of Human Recourses and Social Development established a fund with twenty-five million SR in April. Partnering with several charities, the fund established the "our food is one" initiative to provide food baskets for those in need. It is unclear though if a wide range of low-income workers have benefited from such initiatives.

Saudi authorities’ marginalization of low-wage expatriate workers has led to the long disregard for their dismal living conditions. The authorities only intervened, as they did during the pandemic, when these workers posed a threat to the health of the “nation.” The ability to devise and enact housing regulations on such short notice, and during times of social and economic duress, only amplifies the fact that the decision not to do so in the past was a political one. Also, as migrant workers continue to bear the majority of the economic burden of the crisis, their financial security and overall wellbeing remains jeopardized. Unsurprisingly, state interventions were increased only to the necessary extent of protecting public health while shifting a great deal of risk to individual migrants who are treated as a national security threat that should be removed. This highlights how neoliberalism operates in migrant-destination countries and how it contributes to systematic structures of injustice.    

A Trajectory for Reform? 


The COVID-19 crisis highlighted where many cities went wrong, with most early responses calling for a capacity increase of healthcare infrastructure, including hospitals, testing, and tracing capacities. These calls were detached from health conditions in the urban environment and the underlying socio-economic inequalities which determined geographies of infection. Instead, sustainable housing infrastructures should be seen as the main defense mechanism against infectious diseases, forming the cornerstone of urban welfare. The pandemic has shown that the commodification of housing has especially hindered sustainable city-building initiatives. Adequate housing was recognized in the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights as part of the right to an adequate standard of living, and it was at the center of the New Urban Agenda announced during Habitat III in 2015.

In the case of Saudi Arabia, the commitment toward sustainable development was announced in 2014 through the Future Saudi Cities Program (FSCP), which aimed to align with the UN New Urban Agenda's call for the creation of inclusive and prosperous cities. The FSCP deployed different indices to determine prosperity levels in Saudi cities, including a social inclusion index. Yet, expatriate workers are not part of this index and are mentioned as mere numbers in demographic data. For a city to be truly inclusive, all social groups must be presented. To this end, reconciling concepts of temporariness and sustainable livelihoods based on the right to the city should be explored.

The post-pandemic Saudi city should place social equity at the center of urban living, paying more attention to those on the margins whose suffering was foregrounded by the COVID-19 crisis. A recent report by Amnesty International declares that "COVID-19 makes Gulf countries’ abuse of migrant workers impossible to ignore," pointing out that the pandemic poses an opportunity for reforms that entail all aspects of expatriate workers’ lives. Such reforms should consider adequate living conditions, fair pay, health care, and rights of domestic workers, among others. 

While the recent housing regulations issued by the Saudi authorities is a step in the right direction, some concerns can be raised as a result of these regulations being labeled as pandemic precautions. Such regulations should be a permanent practice providing the needed safety net to protect low-wage expatriate workers’ rights for adequate living conditions and should not be viewed as a crisis pop-up solution. Furthermore, the fact that many foreign workers will be in precarious conditions as long as they remain excluded from governmental financial support calls for immediate action to ensure the protection of their livelihoods in the long term.  

Disasters and global pandemics cause destruction and suffering, but they also present opportunities for change. The encounter with COVID-19 has revealed that sustainable political choices need to be made to challenge the old economic, environmental, and social models of city governance that are contributing to the creation of various inequalities and vulnerabilities that threaten urban welfare. This could be the wakeup call that cities need to initiate positive change that leaves no one behind.