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It is, without a doubt, not by “chance” that, at the end of his studies in literature, Francis Vallat wrote a thesis on “the meaning of sacrifice in Claudel and Montherlant.” He was a tough, yet vulnerable man whom we may describe as “genuine,” and who, after a glittering career in the maritime world, became the president of SOS Méditerranée, one of the most criticized NGOs due, paradoxically, to the fact that its objective is to save lives in the Central Mediterranean. . . Anyone who has never sent an SOS signal does not understand what “Save Our Souls” means. It is upon hearing the critical command “Save Our Souls” that an active conscience like that of Vallat responds without hesitation or deliberation. Our Mediterranean is no longer the vast expanse of blueness and brightness that, in the past, symbolized a beacon of hope, one that seafarers and the Phoenicians used to speak of using phrases such as “crossing the water is to already know.” It is now, rather, a sea that signifies fracture and mourning and where, since 2014, more than 17,000 human beings have sunk to the bottom of the black waters of indifference, in that space where our aquatic memories become diluted. All throughout his life, the New Testament served as a rough guide for Vallat, originally from the French Overseas Territories: “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” (Luke 10:36). A disturbing question indeed, which leaves no one unscathed.