In February 2015, a video surfaced from the Libyan coast that shocked the world. On a stretch of sand near Sirte, twenty-one men were lined up in orange jumpsuits, their captors dressed in black behind them. The men were migrant workers—twenty Egyptians and one man from Ghana—taken by ISIS. Their only “crime” was being Christian.
Most of them came from Egypt’s Minya province, men who had left their families to earn a living in Libya’s unstable economy. They were simple laborers, not soldiers or activists. But when ISIS militants captured them in late 2014 and early 2015, they were forced to make a choice: abandon their faith or die. Every one of them chose faith.
The militants made their decision public. On February 15, 2015, ISIS released a propaganda video showing the beheadings in horrifying detail. The men were seen kneeling on the beach as waves rolled in, whispering prayers to Jesus moments before death. One by one, they were executed. Their last words—“Lord Jesus Christ”—became a statement stronger than any weapon.
The video drew international outrage. Egypt’s president, Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, declared a week of national mourning and ordered airstrikes against ISIS positions in Libya. But in Egypt’s Coptic Christian community, grief turned into something sacred. The Coptic Orthodox Church declared the 21 as martyrs, recognizing their death as a testimony of faith.
A church was later built in their honor in their home village of Al-Aour. It was named the Church of the Martyrs of Faith and Homeland. Inside its walls, the faces of the men line the sanctuary—sons, brothers, fathers who refused to bow. Each story tells of ordinary people who stood firm when evil demanded surrender.
Their memory has endured far beyond Egypt. The 21 Coptic martyrs became symbols of courage, faith, and steadfastness in the face of death. Their story isn’t about politics or revenge—it’s about conviction. It reminds the world that belief, when truly lived, can withstand even the darkest acts of violence.
Ten years later, their voices still echo through the waves of that Libyan beach—men who died whispering the name they would not deny.