Winner of the Public Anthropologist Award 2022

We are pleased to announce that the winner of the Public Anthropologist Award 2022 is Catherine Besteman for her book Militarized Global Apartheid.

Catherine Besteman is Francis F. Bartlett and Ruth K. Bartlett Professor of Anthropology at Colby College. Throughout her career, she has worked on issues related to power dynamics that produce and maintain inequality, racism and violence, as well as collective efforts for social change.
Militarized Global Apartheid effectively addresses key instances of exploitation, inequality, and division in the contemporary world. The book is a lucid and nuanced exploration of the global hierarchies that, whether we are aware of it or not, have a devastating impact on the lives of many while creating privileges for a few others.

Read below to learn more about Catherine Besteman’s work.

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Antonio: Can you share with us your personal and professional trajectories that brought you to the publication of Militarized Global Apartheid?

Catherine: Militarized Global Apartheid is the culmination of several strands of research and praxis extending back to my first period of fieldwork in Somalia in the 1980s before the collapse of Somalia’s government and the eruption of civil war in 1991. My fieldwork was an interrogation of the impact of land tenure reform in the Jubba River Valley, which was really about the imposition of neoliberalism by Western aid agencies (Unraveling Somalia, 1999). As the war descended in the valley, the patterning of violence followed a neoliberal necropolitics of vulnerability. This latter question – how vulnerability to social abandonment and premature death is created and sustained – then also informed my next fieldwork in South Africa. That fieldwork engaged with the question of how a society consciously trying to address the legacy of apartheid can actually confront the history of intentionally structured inequalities and injustices in order to overcome them. South Africa’s inability to transform the history of racism and inequality in any overarching and significant way taught me a lot about how apartheid operates.

Concurrently, I was working with a group of anthropologists to form the Network of Concerned Anthropologists to oppose the use of anthropology by the U.S. military for counterinsurgency operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. This work helped me think about militarism, terrorism, security, insurgency, and counterinsurgency in new ways, some of which resulted in two collections I co-edited with Hugh Gusterson (The Insecure American, 2009, and Cultures of Militarism, 2019). The centrality of racial imperialism to the US-led occupation in Iraq and Afghanistan mirrored the imposition of neoliberal mandates I had tracked in Somalia and elsewhere, bringing into the same frame of analysis racial capitalism, imperialist militarism, and counterinsurgency broadly defined.

As I was finishing my book on South Africa (Transforming Cape Town, 2008), I learned that people from the small community in Somalia where I had lived in the 1980s were resettling to Maine as refugees. We began a decade of intensive community and ethnographic work together as they figured out how to survive in the U.S. while also supporting their family members in Somalia and in refugee camps.  This work, and writing Making Refuge (2016) about their experiences, added what Harsha Walia calls ‘border imperialism’ to my perspective.

Thinking through border imperialism in conjunction with my earlier work on neoliberalism, militarization, apartheid, and security brought a new focus to my understanding of how these structures operate together to create a set of global operations to manage labor and mobility for the benefit of capitalist and military objectives (which are often the same thing). Militarized Global Apartheid was my attempt to sketch out these operations as they iterate and support each other across the globe.

Antonio: How would you briefly explain the nexus of militarization and inequality in our world? 

Catherine: Nation-state, corporate, and parastatal militarism exists to maintain those inequalities against which people struggle who are labelled dissidents, revolutionaries, insurgents, irregular migrants, and/or terrorists. Militarism takes many forms, stretching from the creation of carceral institutions (prisons, jails, heavily policed migrant and refugee camps, detention centers, offshore holding facilities) to the maintenance of standing armies and military bases, and from the various forms of technosurveillance to the use of police in schools.  Military power is most often used to maintain unequal social orders and sustain an unequal and injust status quo.

Militarism begets militarism, so it is not surprising that revolutionaries or insurgents are also militarized in their efforts to overturn the state, overthrow imperialists, or reclaim resources lost to capitalist expropriation. That does not necessarily mean, of course, that revolutionaries or insurgents are always on the side of greater equality.

Antonio: How confident are you in the capacity of contemporary anthropology to effectively expose and face the profound hierarchies and injustices that affect individuals and collectivities?

Catherine: Well, I guess I would say that anthropology is one of the most powerful perspectives available in the academic world to expose the profound hierarchies and injustices of the world. Much contemporary anthropology seems, to me, to be fundamentally concerned with the operations of power, and the interest in what we now call public anthropology offers tools and methods for engaging others in these perspectives. I do believe this is our responsibility and purpose in anthropology. Anthropology itself is not a radical or revolutionary discipline but its insights can be critically valuable to radicals and revolutionaries. 

Antonio: What are your future plans?

Catherine: Researching Militarized Global Apartheid brought me to a much more nuanced and profound awareness of carcerality as a normative feature of contemporary life in the US. Contemporary carcerality, with its roots in settler colonialism, plantation slavery, and overseas imperialism, is an ongoing form of violence in the name of social control and securitization that operates, much like militarized global apartheid, to support the interests of white supremacy, racial capitalism, and militarization. I follow the lead of scholars like Ori Burton and Dylan Rodriguez who understand carcerality as war. It is war. After immersing myself in scholarship and activist work on carcerality and abolition over the past several years, last fall I built a statewide, collaborative public humanities initiative to promote abolitionist visioning for Maine called Freedom & Captivity. That project turned me toward efforts to expand educational opportunities for incarcerated students and to grow connections through education and the creative arts for incarcerated and nonincarcerated people to build community together. I expect to be thoroughly engaged in this work for the rest of my career.

Giudici e giustizia in Afghanistan

Una magistratura indipendente e competente e’ un elemento fondamentale di un apparato statale stabile e affidabile, in Afghanistan come altrove. Quando i talebani hanno ripreso in mano l’Afghanistan nell’agosto del 2021, molti giudici, in particolare giudici donne, hanno ritenuto che non ci fosse piu’ spazio per loro nel paese.

Nel giugno 2020 ho intervistato la giudice Anisa Rasooli, la prima donna nominata alla Corte Suprema nella storia dell’Afghanistan. Durante l’intervista, Rasooli ha dichiarato: “Credo che il sistema giudiziario afgano stia riacquistando una certa decenza. Ci sono ancora problemi, ma sono in corso notevoli progressi. Se la situazione attuale persiste, sono ottimista sul futuro della magistratura in Afghanistan. Tuttavia, se questa tendenza si dovesse interrompere a causa di conflitti o disordini politici e sociali, nessuno sa quale potrebbe essere il futuro del sistema giudiziario. Spero davvero che questo non accada” (De Lauri 2020). Un anno piu’ tardi, le paure della giudice Rasooli sono diventate realta’ e si e’ sentita costretta a lasciare il paese nel contesto delle caotiche evacuazioni seguite al ritorno dei talebani a Kabul.

La giudice Rasooli non è l’unica ad aver lasciato il paese. Di recente ho intervistato un’altra giudice, Tayeba Parsa (vedi intervista completa sotto), che ha deciso di fuggire in Europa. Molti altri hanno seguito lo stesso percorso o tentano di farlo. In una fase storica complicata come quella attuale, si mischiano i percorsi di coloro che sono realmente in pericolo con coloro che, piu’ semplicemente e legittimamente, desiderano cambiare vita o sentirsi piu’ sicuri.

Certo, occorre sottolineare che la magistratura afgana era ben lungi dall’essere perfetta e ben funzionante anche prima dell’agosto 2021. La massiccia ricostruzione giuridica promossa dalla comunità internazionale negli ultimi venti anni non ha avuto particolare successo, anche a causa dell’incapacità di comprendere la specificita’ del sistema della giustizia afgana in cui convergono diverse fonti del diritto, come il diritto statale, il diritto islamico e le norme consuetudinarie (De Lauri 2012).

Dal 2001 in poi, un ampio processo di ricostruzione dell’Afghanistan e’ stato promosso e attuato da una miriade di organizzazioni internazionali e diversi governi, i cui obiettivi umanitari e di sviluppo si intrecciavano a interessi politici nella regione, alle logiche dell’occupazione militare, agli interessi economici e alle contese geopolitiche. Durante tutto il processo di ricostruzione, si e’ imposto un approccio atto a legittimare tutti gli interventi esterni in nome della modernizzazione producendo allo stesso tempo un’immagine dell’Afghanistan come una società bloccata nelle proprie tradizioni e resistente ai “miglioramenti” imposti dall’esterno. Questo atteggiamento può spiegare perche’, nel 2004, e’ stato promulgato un codice di procedura penale provvisorio senza la necessaria competenza in diritto islamico e conoscienza della societa’ afgana, rendendone quindi molto difficile l’utilizzo: diversi pubblici ministeri di Kabul, ad esempio, mi hanno detto che spesso dovevano bypassarlo. Saber Marzai, procuratore dell’11° distretto di Kabul, mi ha riferito il 12 marzo 2008: “La collaborazione tra procuratori e polizia e’ molto difficile. Spesso abbiamo degli scontri duri. Il lavoro non è stato agevolato dal Codice di procedura penale del 2004, che non e’ adatto al nostro sistema. Nella maggior parte dei casi dobbiamo aggirarlo […]. Peccato pensare al lavoro inutile che viene fatto; unamaggiore conoscenza del contesto afgano e un po’ di pazienza avrebbero portato a un risultato diverso” (De Lauri 2012). (Alcuni anni dopo questa intervista, il codice del 2014 ha sostituito quello del 2004.) Nel complesso, l’opportunità di una riforma comprensiva e stratificata del sistema della giustizia e’ stata sprecata durante i venti anni di ricostruzione e, oggi ancor di piu’, persiste un diffuso senso di sfiducia da parte dei cittadini afgani nei confronti della magistratura.

Tra gravi problemi legati alla corruzione, al nepotismo, all’influenza politica e alla segregazione di genere, la presenza delle donne nella magistratura e’ aumentata nel ventannio dell’intervento umanitario. Prima del ritorno al potere da parte dei talebani, vi erano circa 250-300 giudici donne nel paese, la maggior parte a Kabul, che rappresentavano circa l’8-10 per cento della magistratura nel suo insieme. Le evacuazioni seguite all’agosto 2021 e il clima di insicurezza nel paese hanno lasciato una magistratura estremamente compromessa. Questo e’ stato in effetti un dilemma per coloro che sono partiti e indirettamente per coloro che hanno facilitato le evacuazioni, inclusi diplomatici, ricercatori, associazioni di magistrati, ONG e così via. Infatti, mentre l’obiettivo principale in caso di circostanze gravi come un’evacuazione è sempre quello di proteggere vite umane, non si può ignorare che, per pochissimi che riescono a partire, vi e’ una stragrande maggioranza che deve fare i conti con la realta’ di un paese che ora affronta in tutte le sue dimensioni lo spettacolare fallimento di venti anni di intervento militare e umanitario che hanno reso l’Afghanistan ancora più dipendente dagli aiuti esteri. Un fallimento culminato in una evacuazione frettolosa e non adeguatamente gestita dagli Stati Uniti e dai suoi alleati, letteralmete l’opposto di quello che Joe Biden ha affermato essere un “successo straordinario”. La caduta di Kabul era assolutamente prevedibile e una transizione di potere, se questa era l’intenzione implicita dei primi negoziati tra Stati Uniti e Talibani, avrebbe dovuto essere meglio preparata.

Nelle complicate negoziazioni che avranno luogo tra la leadership talebana, i governi stranieri e le organizzazioni internazionali, occorre ora prestare attenzione a quegli aspetti che sono cruciali per la vita quotidiana degli afgani, compresa l’organizzazione e l’amministrazione della giustizia (oltre, ovviamente, a questioni urgenti come lavoro e salari, cibo, ecc.). Molte competenze sono andate perse con la fuga di molti giudici dal paese per garantire la propria sicurezza e quella delle proprie famiglie. Molta preoccupazione rimane nell’immagine quale sara’ il futuro della magistratura e piu’ in generale della giustizia in Afghanistan.

Intervista del 29 novembre 2021

Antonio De Lauri: Vuoi condividere la tua traiettoria personale e le esperienze che ti hanno portata a diventare giudice?

Tayeba Parsa: Alla vigilia dell’invasione sovietica dell’Afghanistan, i miei genitori fuggirono in Iran temendo cosa sarebbe successo se fossero rimasti, e determinati a evitare che mio padre venisse chiamato alle armi. Io e i miei fratelli abbiamo imparato a cucire per aiutare a sostenere la famiglia. Come nuovi arrivati ​​in Iran, abbiamo potuto frequentare la scuola, ma l’accesso all’universita’ era limitato. Andavo cosi’ bene a scuola, tuttavia, che la mia famiglia edcise di tornare in Afghanistan per far si che potessi frequentare l’università. Quando si rivelo’ difficile per mio padre trovare lavoro a Kabul, decise di tornare in Iran e sostenere la famiglia da lontano, in modo che tutti noi potessimo continuare gli studi. Ho cinque sorelle e un fratello. Una famiglia composta in gran parte da donne è considerata debole in Afghanistan. Mio padre vedeva la possibilita’ di superare questa presunta debolezza dandoci la possibilita’ di studiare e rendendoci indipendenti, capaci di reggerci sulle proprie gambe.

Mi interessava il diritto e volevo diventare un avvocato per evitare che i diritti delle persone venissero violati, ma non volevo essere un giudice perche’ la mia immagine dei giudice era solo quella dei giudici che infliggono condanne. Il sistema giudiziario in Afghanistan era corrotto e la magistratura, cosi’ come il percorso per diventare giudici, erano inadeguati, pertanto non volevo essere un giudice penale e mettere in prigione persone senza avere la possibilita’ di valutare prove sufficienti. Ma dopo aver ricevuto il punteggio piu’ alto all’esame di ammissione alla magistratura, ho deciso di sfruttare quell’opportunità per acquisire maggiore familiarità con le leggi e i regolamenti dell’Afghanistan. Dopo la laurea abbiamo avuto l’opportunità di scegliere a quale settore giudiziario interessarci. Non volevo ancora diventare giudice in un tribunale penale, quindi ho scelto un tribunale commerciale per fare esperienza come giudice per pochi anni. Quando ho iniziato a lavorare come giudice, mi sono scontrato con il fatto che le leggi e i diritti delle persone venivano chiaramente violati a causa della corruzione e mi sono resa conto che avevo la capacita’ e persino l’autorita’ di fare qualcosa per proteggere le persone e applicare il diritto. Questa, in fondo, era la mia vera ambizione, quindi ho deciso di rimanere una giudice.

Antonio: Puoi descrivere la tua carriera di giudice?

Tayeba: Ero giudice nella divisione commerciale della corte d’appello della provincia di Kabul. Lavoravo sulle sentenze dei tribunali commerciali di primo grado della provincia di Kabul determinando se affermarle o revocarle. Le sentenze riguardavano, per esempio, contratti tra aziende e privati (​​nazionali ed esteri), casi di proprietà intellettuale, contratti di trasporto, controversie tra aziende e dipendenti. Nel tempo ho svolto diversi incarichi, tra cui quello di giudice della divisione civile della corte di primo grado della provincia di Kabul  (2019-2021), in cui mi occupavo della determinazione dei fatti e delle legge applicabili in materia di proprietà, illeciti civili, cause civili e azioni di risarcimento danni; giudice nella divisione per gli affari pubblici della corte di primo grado della provincia di Kabul (2017-2019), con mansioni legate all’analisi e alle sentenze di cause in cui una delle parti era il governo, per dispute sulla proprietà, casi di diritto amministrativo e controversie tra dipendenti e il governo in quanto datore di lavoro; giudice presso il tribunale commerciale di primo grado della provincia di Kabul (2012–2017), in cui mi occupavo dell’analisi e delle sentenze nei casi di prestito bancario, contratti tra società nazionali e straniere e persone fisiche, casi di proprietà intellettuale, ecc.; assistente giudice presso la Corte Suprema (2011-2012) con mansioni di studio dei fascicoli e stesura di sintesi per ciascuna decisione delle corti di primo grado e di appello in materia di diritto civile.

Ci tengo a dire che faccio parte dell’International Association of Women Judges (IAWJ) e ho collaborato affinche’ l’Afghanistan Women Judges Association (AWJA) divenisse membro dell’IAWJ. Circa 250 giudici donne afgane sono ora membri dell’IAWJ.

Sono anche in contatto con giudici donne nel Regno Unito e abbiamo istituito un programma di tutoraggio per dieci giudici donne afgane. Ognuna di loro ha una referente nel Regno Unito con la quale si incontra regolarmente online.

Inoltre, partecipo alla Alliance for International Women’s Rights (AIWR) che si dedica al rafforzamento dei diritti delle donne in Afghanistan. Ho cercato di includere piu’ giudici donne afgane nel programma di tutoraggio dell’AIWR e ho chiesto alla giudice Anisa Dhanji del Regno Unito di stabilire collegamenti per tutte le giudici donne afgane.

Ho anche lavorato come istruttrice nella formazione per i giudici in Afghanistan in quanto docente di diritto commerciale e diritto amministrativo.

Antonio: Quali considerereste i maggiori ostacoli e sfide per una donna giudice in Afghanistan?

Tayeba: Come sai, per i talebani, essere semplicemente un giudice che lavorava nella precendente amministrazione puo’ essere una ragione sufficiente per essere uccisi senza processo. Non molto tempo fa, due giudici uomini sono stati assassinati dai talebani. In molti casi, per le donne giudici il pericolo e’ persino maggiore che per gli uomini. I talebani credono che le donne non debbano essere giudici perche’ sarebbe contrario all’Islam. Per questo motivo, era per noi prassi comune ricevere lettere dall’agenzia della sicurezza nazionale che ci avvertiva di rischi imminenti alla nostra incolumita’. Le minacce contro le donne giudici erano frequenti e provenivano da coloro che si opponevano al fatto che le donne fossero giudici o, peggio ancora, da coloro che non volevano affatto che le donne lavorassero. Le minacce a volte andavano oltre le lettere e le telefonate. Nell’Afghanistan occidentale, un gruppo di aggressori ha preso il controllo di un tribunale e ha massacrato ogni singolo dipendente. In un attacco suicida davanti alla Corte Suprema di Kabul, due giudici donne neolaureate, Mina e Zarghoona, sono state uccise. Siamo ancora addolorate per la perdita di due nostre sorelle giudici, Zakia e Qadria, che sono state nel gennaio 2021. A un certo punto i talebani hanno iniziato a sparare direttamente contro i giudici e a mettere mine sotto le loro auto. Alcune donne giudici si sono licenziate. La maggior parte ha continuato, nonostante i timori per le proprie famiglie, sapendo che quando uscivano di casa ogni mattina, potevano non tornare. Alcune hanno iniziato a portare armi per proteggersi.

I problemi che ho incontrato personalmente potrebbero essere riconosciuti dalle donne giudici di tutto il mondo: non essere presa sul serio, essere umiliata. Molte giudici donne sono state esclusivamente inpiegate nella corte per l’eliminazione della violenza contro le donne. In una occasione in cui vi era una posizione aperta la mia candidature e’ stata ignorata ed e’ stato selezionato un collega maschio meno qualificato, tanto e’ vero che poi mi hanno chiesto di aiutarlo.  In un’altra occasione ho ricevuto pressioni per cambiare una sentenza e temevo che se non l’avessi fatto sarei stata trasferita come era successo ad altre mie colleghe. Nonostante mi sentissi intimidita, ho mantenuto la mia posizione. Come sai, in Afghanistan una giuria e’ composta da tre giudici. Una volta un giudice uomo mi insulto’ solamente perché non ero d’accordo con lui in una decisione del tribunale. Queste cose possono succedere, specialmente alle donne giudici.

Antonio: Quando i talebani sono tornati al potere nell’agosto 2021, hai deciso di lasciare il paese. Puoi descrivere quel momento e cosa ha significato per te?

Tayeba: Quando le province hanno cominciato a cadere una dopo l’altra, abbiamo deciso di scappare. Mia madre e mia sorella hanno ottenuto i visti per partire. Io e il mio fidanzato ci siamo sposati in fretta senza celebrazioni e il piano era di volare con mia madre una volta ricevuto il documento di matrimonio. Tuttavia non ci siamo riusciti. Proprio mentre guidavamo per incontrarci, abbiamo notato che tutte le strade venivano chiuse e ci siamo resi conto che i talebani avevano preso Kabul. Mio padre mi ha chiamata e mi ha detto di non tornare a casa perche’ c’erano molti posti di blocco. Mi ha detto che avrebbero potuto perquisire la mia macchina e scoprire la mia identita’. Ha detto di non guidare perché una donna alla guida potrebbe creare problemi. A quel punto ho detto a mia madre e mia sorella di partire senza di noi. Ho temuto che non le avrei piu’ riviste e ho pianto. Il loro volo è stato ritardato di 12 ore, ma alla fine sono riuscite a partire. Quella notte io e mio marito siamo rimasti in macchina fino a tardi. Ho visto che i soldati e la polizia buttavano le uniformi per non fari ricnoscere dai talebani. Mi sentivo in trappola e avevo paura, non solo dei talebani ma anche dei criminali che avrebbero potuto approfittare della situazione. Alla fine sia tornati a casa e non siamo usciti per tre giorni. Durante quei tre giorni sono stata in contatto con l’IAWJ e raccoglievo informazioni sulle giudici afgane per loro, perché stavano cercando di avviare un programma di evacuazione. Ho poi ricevuto una telefonata da uno studio di avvocati in Polonia in cui mi proponevano di evacuare, anche per un’intervista in cui mi ero espressa contro i talebani. Non avevo mai avuto intenzione di lasciare il mio paese o il mio lavoro. Ma ero una donna giudice di una minoranza etnica (hazara) e religiosa (sciita) ed ero stata in contatto con organizzazioni e istituzioni all’estero, cosa che alcuni talebani potrebbero considerare un crimine. Andarsene e’ stato doloroso. Sentivo di aver perso tutto cio’ che avevo ottenuto.

Non volevamo che i talebani scoprissero che stavamo partendo, quindi non abbiamo portato nessun bagaglio. Ho preso solo i miei documenti e alcuni libri che amo e che non potevo lasciare indietro. All’ingresso dell’aeroporto c’era un assembramento e i talebani picchiavano le persone. Sono rimasta di fronte all’ingresso senza cibo e senza dormire per 24 ore, poi finalmente sono riuscita a entrare. Mio padre e mio marito hanno aspettato altre 48 ore. Abbiamo lasciato l’Afghanistan con voli separati. Non hanno avuto niente da mangiare e nessun posto dove dormire per tre giorni. Poi ci siamo ricongiunti in Polonia.

Antonio: Qual è la situazione della magistratura ora in Afghanistan?

Tayeba: Per quanto ne so, la maggior parte dei giudici che hanno lavorato nell’amministrazione precedente sono stati licenziati e sono chiamati a rendere conto di quanto hanno fatto. La magistratura ha perso praticamente tutti i giudici competenti ed ora ci sono persino analfabeti, e la società in generale paghera’ il costo di questa situazione. Inoltre, le donne sono state eliminate dalla magistratura. Avere donne nella magistratura era un grande traguardo che è stato perso rapidamente.

Antonio: Quali sono i tuoi progetti personali adesso?

Tayeba: Credo che nessuno possa sopportare la crudelta’ dei talebani e la mancanza di democrazia e stato di diritto. Quindi, un giorno, gli afgani si riprenderanno il loro paese e di nuovo la democrazia regnerà. E voglio prepararmi per quel giorno imparando e studiando per ricostruire la nostra societa’. Credo che molte avversita’ in Afghanistan derivino dalla mancanza di conoscenza. Quindi spero di ottenere una borsa di studio e di poter studiare e acquisire esperienza internazionale che potrò utilizzare per il mio paese in futuro. Ho lavorato e studiato nel campo del diritto per 16 anni e non voglio abbandonare la mia carriera. Spero di sfruttare questa opportunita’ di vivere in Europa per migliorare le mie competenze e servire la comunità internazionale. Spero un giorno di poter tornare in Afghanistan e contribuire a migliorare lo stato di diritto e la democrazia per la mia nazione. Fino a quel giorno voglio continuare a sostenere lo stato di diritto attraverso entità internazionali e fare pressione sui talebani affinché applichino lo stato di diritto.

Poiche’ tutti i membri della mia famiglia sono dispersi (alcuni di loro sono scappati in Iran, altri in Polonia, e presto dovro’ lasciare i miei genitori e andare in un paese di lingua inglese, che non rilascera’ un visto per i miei genitori), la mia speranza e’ che un giorno potremo vivere di nuovo tutti insieme nello stesso paese.

Riferimenti bibliografici

De Lauri, A. 2012. Afghanistan. Ricostruzione, ingiustizia, diritti umani. Mondadori, Milano.

De Lauri, A. 2020. Women Judges in Afghanistan: An Interview with Anisa Rasooli. CMI Insight, https://www.cmi.no/publications/7268-women-judges-in-afghanistan-an-interview-with-anisa-rasooli

The Poland-Belarus Border: A Conversation with Marta Bivand Erdal

Saumya: Could you share a little about your research on migration?

Marta: I am a human geographer, and I am interested in emigration as well as immigration and transnational ties that result from people moving from one place to another, but who have family members and close people in other places around the world. An important part of my research is on migration, development and remittances. Regionally, I am very interested in South Asia and my PhD was about remittance sending to Pakistan. Currently, I’ve started working on a project focusing on the interactions between social mobility and spatial mobility. I am looking at middle classes in four Asian cities namely, Karachi, Mumbai, Hanoi and Manilla. I am interested to find out what kind of roles have migrations of different sorts played in families becoming middle classes today in these cities.

Another important part of my research is based on work which I have done with interviews, focus groups and survey data in Norway about immigration and migrant experiences of life in this society, on questions of social cohesion and migration related diversity, including the religious aspects of this, which often get subsumed within migration related diversity. Writ large, these are questions about nationhood and its plurality, and about what it means to be a citizen.

My research interests also include migration in the Polish case. The reason for that is a combination of several factors—I was born in Poland and moved to Norway when I was three years old, I speak Polish fluently, and after Poland joint the European Union in 2004 more emigration took place from Poland to other countries in the EU and in the European Economic Area, and Norway is part of that. So, suddenly there were more and more Polish people coming to Norway. There was also more societal and research interest in Polish migration, especially because these migrants mainly came to work, but as often is the case with migrants who work, they also have lives and often stay longer than perhaps even they themselves and the society they move to assumes at the beginning. After I completed my PhD I was part of a research project, which was looking at the possibilities and realities of return migration with a focus on migrants from Poland in Norway. Gradually, I also continued to work on different topics linked to migration from Poland, including external voting and diaspora political engagements. I appreciate being able to do research in Polish and reflect on the ways in which the insider-outsider roles as a migration researcher play out differently in different contexts. There are all sorts of questions about researcher positionality depending on identity and language and how these things are often less linear than we assume them to be.

Saumya: How would you describe the current Poland-Belarus border migrant “crisis” or the humanitarian crisis?

Marta: This is sadly, a relevant and timely question. First, I would like to take a step back—how we use the word crisis in relation to migration is something we need to think about. Like you say, this is a crisis at the border. It is interesting to reflect on how in different countries and close to different borders, the border crossing of people is frequently described as a crisis. When these events are described as a migrant crisis or immigration crisis, migrants are directly associated with this word. I am concerned about the ways in which the word provokes ideas of migrants somehow being responsible for the crisis and also that it suggests that it’s a state of exception.

Instead, what I’d say is that what we see, time and again, is that crises at borders are border management or control crises. So, there is a crisis and it’s about how the state is trying to control the border and that is what is being put to test. As you also said, this becomes a humanitarian crisis because there are people involved. In this particular context, there are people on the Poland-Belarus border who have been dying and many more suffering at the border, on both sides of it.

It is also worth mentioning that this is not unique. The scenes which have been unfolding along this particular border, are familiar, in the sense that we have been seeing walls and fences, and people trying to traverse them, with border guards trying to hinder that, in different places, over the past few decades. One might consider the border between the US and Mexico, the Channel between France and the UK, as well as of course the Mediterranean Sea with the many different countries which surround it. These are well-known contexts where people have been dying while trying to cross into states that have not wanted to accept these border crossings, and who have in different ways effectively been stopping people from crossing in. This has caused both deaths and human suffering.

I think it is important to reflect on how this came about. My perspective as a migration researcher is that the “crisis” is a symptom of a bigger problem concerning overall migration management. Here, a clear responsibility lies with those managing the provision of legal pathways of migration. The Global Compact for Migration, which came from the United Nations in 2018, and which was finally endorsed also by the US, in late 2021, emphasizes legal and safe pathways to migration. Simultaneously, there is a critical need for real options to seek asylum for the people who are fleeing a well-founded fear of persecution and who are entitled to protection as refugees, under the 1951 Refugee Convention, which as we know, is quite narrow and does not fit the reality of many people who we might in an everyday sense see as fleeing for their lives. But there are people who do fit the 1951 convention definition, and still even they do not have a safe way of accessing the opportunity to ask for international protection.

So, while it is possible to gain asylum in Europe, or to work here, and over time become regularized in some countries, when you have actually entered in an irregular fashion, it is hard to square that with the official position that irregular border crossing is both impossible and unwanted. Essentially, there is a degree of speaking with two tongues here, if you will, and I think in this sense it is fair to say that European states are engaging in the mismanagement of migration. That is what I would describe as the crisis in the European context. Not only do we have a legal and moral obligation to offer sanctuary to refugees, we also need the work effort of so many of those people who are at the moment risking their lives in order to come to European countries. Poland, for example, has been one of the top countries in the EU granting work permits to people coming from outside the EU, in recent years. While these legal migration pathways do exist, for those who die at Europe’s borders, it seems the approach to managing safe and legal pathways is developing too slowly, and for some people ultimately, too late.

Saumya: What do you think is the historical and geopolitical context of the Poland-Belarus border “crisis”?

Marta: We are now speaking in late January 2022, and this unfolding situation on the Poland-Belarus border has been going on since the summer of 2021. It’s interesting to look at some existing materials, for instance a double webinar with researchers offering analysis and commentary on this coming from journalists and scholars who are  based in Poland, not least at the Centre for Migration Research at the University of Warsaw. At the moment, in terms of the global political scene, the Poland-Belarus situation is not high up on the agenda. However, struggles for migrants persist: the NGOs that are working in the area are reporting that in the first three weeks of 2022 there are several hundred migrants in the border areas, on the Polish side, who have been asking for support and medical help, including at least 50 children who they have been offering support to. So, this situation at the Poland-Belarus border has not ended, and that is perhaps an important recognition, months on from when this issue first was in international news headlines.

From the Polish government’s perspective, a short-term goal is to build a wall along this border. Different types of fencing have been in place along this border, throughout the second half of 2021. However, now the Polish government is starting to build a wall, which is causing a lot of debate and concern in Poland, and for very different reasons. One dimension here is that this border region is in a part of Europe where the borders are really not naturally formed, but politically and historically constructed, which of course is not unique to this corner of the world at all. Many people who live in these border regions are communities that have been interconnected historically. It’s worth remembering that a border is in essence something that should be understood as a mechanism of both separation and connection, as an interface.

Another set of issues relates to how major constructions are expected to happen in a democratic society. Normally, there should be some kind of feasibility study, considering what kind of impacts a major infrastructure intervention, such as a huge wall along a border, would or might have on livelihoods, existing infrastructure, on the people who live there, nature and wildlife, and so on.

So, something that has come up is that this wall will in effect divide the vast and ancient Białowieża Forest, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site, with nature and wildlife that need protection. Imagine what constructing this huge wall might mean in this context? Since this has been projected as an exceptional “crisis” mode, things have not been properly investigated in this regard. That’s a huge concern and illustrates why these things are deeply problematic under the rubric of an exceptional frame.

Furthermore, there are serious concerns being raised by the political opposition in Poland about the ways in which the contracts to build these walls are being given to particular actors. Of course, we know that in countries where governments are democratically elected and accountable to the electorate, there is a requirement for transparency in terms of how public funds are used and there must be processes for these types of acquisitions. Now if these rules are not followed, due to “crisis” mode, where is the transparency and how can one trust the process through which this happens?

There are also protests around the wall being constructed in the villages in the border region, and a politicized debate around, not just the wall, but even about these protests: how many protestors were there, who funds them and why did they really want to protest. This degree of politicization illustrates not only how contentious this wall is but also reflects the polarized nature of Polish political debate and the public sphere, in many ways. However, the situation in Poland is also not just binary; within the government the Ombudsman for human rights has had access to the border areas which have been restricted for NGOs and the media, for instance. And there are indeed NGOs who have been trying to monitor the situation, and provide assistance, also legal activists and lawyers who are trying to mobilize and assist migrants in need of legal assistance. There is also independent media in Poland who are consistently reporting on the situation, even if the media is restricted from a prohibited area along the border itself.

To return to the point of departure of your question here, on the geopolitical aspects. While we may assume this is well-known, the bizarre way in which this crisis of border control was caused, it is worth reiterating. Much has been said about the weaponization of migrants – in this case, where migrants have been flying to Minsk, from various airports (such as from Bagdad, but also from airports in Turkey) with entry permission into Belarus. Paying a lot for their airfare and entry too. Thereafter people have been transported in various ways to the Belarus border, both with Lithuania and Poland. Clearly, the geopolitical backdrop here is particular, and deeply troubling, but as other researchers have pointed out, the focus on weaponization of migrants is at the same time also a convenient way of detracting attention from the fact that legal options for entering Europe in order to apply for asylum in reality are meagre.

Saumya: As a researcher where do you place yourself with respect to the method and positionality in understanding the current situation on the Poland-Belarus border?

Marta: So, I haven’t done research in Poland on the situation unfolding at the border, I have been following it as a migration researcher though and following it as also someone who speaks Polish and understands the Polish context quite well. I guess it’s also relevant that the lens through which I’ve been reading and listening to the reports here, is also as someone who is concerned about the political developments in Poland, but also often frustrated with what I perceive as frequently one-sided and quite superficial media coverage pertaining to Central and Eastern Europe, in Western media, including in Norway. I think it’s important to understand what people on ground have to say about what is happening in the border area, and the media reports that have included locals in the border area, for instance, really help shed light on the unfolding reality there. There are a couple of methodological and ethical reflections that come out of this, which I could share.

First, who do you listen to and whose voices do you have access to? In relation to situations where migrants are central, do we only speak to migrants, or to those who speak about migrants? There is an increasing acknowledgement that we need to include other voices that are present—relatives of migrants back home, state actors, civil society, or other people living in the border area. So, in this context, I’ve tried to follow news reports of journalists on radio who have been speaking with people in the border region. Of course, the border guards on the Polish side live in these same local areas, it is their friends and families who have also been among those who have been lighting lights to signal to migrants that its safe for them to come to their house for food or a shower. I think there is a methodological reflection in this which is quite basic: to care for nuances, subtleties and the very banal fact that humanity exists within these types of contexts. We need to understand that there are humans on the Belarus side too, and we may not know why they are doing what they are doing exactly, who is organizing or paying exactly, but we do know that Belarus is not a free country. So, we can use our imagination a little bit to understand that those human beings also have their stories, their families, and probably their own reflections about what it is they are being a part of here. The humanizing aspect can and often ought to be brought in to overcome simplistic binary narratives.

A second methodological point is related to proximity and distance. So, how does this border crisis compare to other situations described in similar terms? I am thinking about the US- Mexico border, and what is happening in the Channel between France and UK, and the measures and pushbacks implemented there and what kind of responses that have entailed. And around the Mediterranean, countries like Turkey, Libya, Greece, Italy and Spain have been part of similar situations. So, what kind of angle should we have as researchers in terms of proximity and distance?  When should one bring out the particularities or uniqueness of the context of a given situation, and when should one generalize? There is a balancing act here, in terms of exactly this sort of proximity and distance; about essentializing and generalizing, and when generalizing might slip into trying to make narratives fit a frame which we would like them to. I have this sort of slight worry about the ways in which we approach and write about these things, both when we are very close, and when we are perhaps too far away.

A third and last methodological point relates to the role we have as researchers. There have been these longstanding conversations within the field of humanitarianism, but also refugee studies and migration studies, about how research and activism do or do not go together, how they should or should not go together. I think this is about power, positionality, and questions of co-producing knowledge. In this particular context, there are many rich reflections on these issues from research colleagues in Poland, who have gone to the border areas and have tried to help. It then becomes a real and existential question of who you are, not just as a migration researcher, but also as a person. It brings home dilemmas and questions that for many migration scholars who are far away from the borders they might study most of the time, are not as present in their everyday lives, as has been the case in the past half year or so in the Polish context.

I do think there are a lot of dilemmas here, around which roles we take, how we take them and what we do. I also think there is an ethical responsibility for researchers to take those dilemmas seriously and make the choices that we have to make based on where we are, the values we hold, the type of research we engage in, and of course also knowing that as researchers, we are very differently positioned in terms of whether we have permanent contracts or not, seniority levels, gender, and many other aspects that define what we have the space and freedom to do. The way in which Polish researchers are engaging I think illustrates the dilemmas, but also offers lessons that perhaps we as researchers elsewhere might have much to learn from as well.

How Others See Us: Anthropologists, WikiLeaks, and the Vertical Slice

This essay draws on Laura Nader’s urging for anthropologists to study up, to consider how their work is used by those in power, and to consider where anthropological knowledge fits within a vertical slice connecting a scattering of anthropologists, research subjects, state actors, and nation states. Nader’s notion of the vertical slice—which focuses on how individual segments of society relate to each other in hierarchical power relations—helps us to consider how power structures shape social formations. The dataset used for this paper’s analysis comes from one of the most significant leaks of the Twenty First Century, the so-called Manning Cables (sometimes referred to as the “Cablegate” files) that were leaked to WikiLeaks in 2009 by Chelsea Manning, and which WikiLeaks began publishing in February 2010. These diplomatic communiques are as a body referred to as “cables,” though the more recent one were originally emails; this designation of “cables” refers to the earliest technology used to transmit these communication which were known as “diplomatic telegrams” (sometimes referred to as DipTel) or as embassy cables, which were confidential communications sent between diplomats stationed around the globe. Chelsea Manning was court martialed for various espionage related charges associated with the leaking of documents to WikiLeaks and was sentenced to 35 years in prison. Her sentence was later commuted to seven years by a presidential order issued by President Barack Obama, and she was released from confinement in May 2017—though she was later imprisoned again after refusing to testify before a grand jury investigating WikiLeaks.

This leak made public over 250,000 cables, dating from 1966–2010, coming from 274 United States’ consulates, embassies, and diplomatic missions located in 180 countries. These cables were a mix of unclassified and classified documents, and as such they provide an incredible sample of the larger universe of US Department of State cable traffic, a universe which is generally hidden from public scrutiny.

 While many of the more sensational documents from this massive leak made significant news headlines (such as those relating to US military activities in Afghanistan and Iraq) soon after Wikileaks published these documents, there remains a wealth of more mundane information worth studying; information that can help us understand a range of significant topics relating to the American empire. This paper draws on one of the thousands of subsets of data in this record cache: it examines what these documents reveal about how the US State Department views, interacts with, conceives of, and ignores anthropologists and the field of anthropology.

Seeing Like a State Department: WikiLeaks and the Anthropologists

While the Manning Cables reveal many shocking details of illegal and unethical behavior of US civilian and military actors around the globe, beyond these startling revelations, this dataset provides us was a unique view into what is essentially the mundane realism of state department functionaries daily work.

My interest in this collection draws on Laura Nader’s conception of the vertical slice—essentially a heuristic device to help contextualize various actors’ positions within extant power structures, a tool that can help us consider how anthropology and the work of anthropologists is consumed and viewed by others within the US international political apparatus focused on maintaining US global hegemony.

These Manning Cables provide a unique view of mostly non-public interactions between State Department employees in embassies, consulates and Washington, D.C., and with a scattering of anthropologists. Using the WikiLeaks search engine, searching the Manning Cables for the terms “anthropology,” “anthropologist,” and “anthropological,” I identified 122 cables containing the term “anthropology,” 82 for “anthropologist,” and 31 for “anthropological,” after checking for multiple listings of the same cables, I found these terms appear in 207 unique Manning Cables. The below discussion summarizes the contexts in which anthropology appears in these cables and excerpts passage and critically analyzes anthropology’s appearance in the Manning Cables.

The Manning Cables document no single type of anthropological interaction with the U. S. Department of State. These cables instead show a range of ways that State Department employees interact with anthropological knowledge, or perhaps more significantly they reveal how the State Department views anthropologists, and the emerging narrative finds anthropologists performing many different roles for this audience. These roles include, anthropologists speaking truth to power—sometimes with information that power appears unwilling or unable to understand; advisors appearing to adjust their views to better coalesce with State’s mindset; consultants at times apparently destined to have their work taken out of context and used in ways that would likely make little sense to them; and informing US Consulate or Embassy personnel of developments in remote regions away from the capital or urban centers.

These types of interactions are familiar to most anthropologists engaging with various power structures, though the particulars of these engagements have some unique elements.

Read the full article on Public Anthropologist journal

The Judiciary and the Evacuation: Interview with Afghan Judge Tayeba Parsa

Antonio: Would you like to share your personal trajectory and the experiences that led you to become a judge?

Tayeba: On the eve of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, my parents fled to Iran, fearing what would happen if they remained, and determined to avoid my father being conscripted. My siblings and I learned tailoring to help to support the family. As newcomers to Iran, we were able to attend school, but access to university was restricted. I did so well at school, however, that my family returned to Afghanistan so that I could attend university. When it proved difficult for my father to find work in Kabul, he returned to Iran and supported the family from there, so that I and my younger siblings at least could go to university. I have five sisters and one brother. A family made up largely of girls is regarded as weak in Afghanistan. My father saw the possibility of overcoming that weakness if the girls were educated and were able to stand on their own two feet.

I was interested in law and wanted to become a lawyer to prevent people’s rights being violated, but I did not want to be a judge because my image of being a judge was only as a criminal judge. The judicial system in Afghanistan was corrupt, and the judicial and educational systems were imperfect and not modernized, so I did not want to be a criminal judge and put people in jail without sufficient evidence. But after I received the highest score on the entrance examination for the judiciary, I decided to use the opportunity to become more familiar with the laws and regulations of Afghanistan. After graduation we had the opportunity to choose which court we were interested in. I still did not want to become a judge in a criminal court, so I chose commercial court in order to gain experience working as a judge for just a few years (because I did not want to remain a judge, I wanted to become a lawyer). When I started working as a judge, I observed that laws and people’s rights were clearly being violated as a result of corruption, and I realized that I had the ability and even the authority to prevent it, to protect people and implement the rule of law and justice. That was my ambition, so I decided to remain a judge.

Antonio: Can you describe your career as a judge?

Tayeba: I was a judge in the commercial division of the appeals court of Kabul province. I assessed the court decisions of the primary commercial courts of Kabul province, determining whether to affirm or reverse them. Cases included contracts between national and foreign companies and individuals, intellectual property cases, foreign exchange cases, transport contracts, disputes between companies and their employees, and others. I have worked in several different courts, including:

Judge in the Civil Division of the Primary Court of Kabul Province, Fourth District, June 2019–May 2021: Determining the applicable facts and law and issuing rulings on property, tort, and civil cases, and suits for damages.

Judge in the Public Rights Division of the Primary Court of Kabul Province, Fourth District, December 2017–June 2019: Analysing and ruling on lawsuits where one of the parties was the government, including property cases, administrative law cases, and disputes between employees and the government as employer.

Judge in the Primary Commercial Court of Kabul Province, June 2012–December 2017: Analysing and ruling on bank loan cases, contracts between national and foreign companies and individuals, intellectual property cases, foreign exchange cases, transport contracts, car businesses, and disputes between companies and their employees.

Judge Assistant in the Civil and Public Rights Division of the Supreme Court of Afghanistan, July 2011–June 2012: Studying the complete case files and drafting summaries for each primary and appellate court decision on property law and civil law cases for the judges.

I am a member of the International Association of Women Judges (IAWJ) and have been in touch with them for about a year. I have been collaborating with IAWJ judges and expanding the international relations and communication efforts of the Afghanistan Women Judges Association (AWJA). Thanks to my outreach efforts, the IAWJ has registered the AWJA as a member organization. As part of that effort, I provided and translated the AWJA’s founding documents for registration with the IAWJ and provided a list of Afghan women judges and their contact information so they could obtain IAWJ membership. As a result, about 250 Afghan women judges are now IAWJ members and their membership dues have been waived. I also arranged to bring approximately 30 Afghan women judges to the biennial conference of the IAWJ. I gave a speech at the regional meeting of the conference on the security problems and Taliban threats faced by Afghan women judges, detailing our concerns over the peace negotiations with the Taliban. 

I also translated the news about the assassination of two women judges by the Taliban in January in Kabul, as well as the judges’ biographies, for the IAWJ. The IAWJ then issued a statement about the problems faced by Afghan women judges and called on the international community to support us. I rendered the statement to the Chief Justice in person and he published it on the website of the Supreme Court at my request.

I am also in touch with women judges from the UK. Working with my UK colleagues, I established a mentoring programme for ten Afghan women judges. Each of them has a mentor from the UK with whom they meet regularly online. 

In addition, I am a participant in the Alliance for International Women’s Rights (AIWR), which is dedicated to enhancing women’s rights in Afghanistan. I have been trying to include more Afghan women judges in AIWR’s mentor programme, and I have asked Judge Anisa Dhanji from the UK to establish connections for all the Afghan women judges. 

I have worked as an instructor in the judicial training of the judiciary of Afghanistan, as a lecturer on Commercial Law and Administrative Law, and in courses with the Hamida Barmaki Institution (Max Planck).

Before becoming a judge, I worked for the Legal Aid Organization of Afghanistan (LAOA) as a legal counsellor and instructor in advocate courses. I prepared draft defense statements; advised clients in family, criminal, and juvenile law cases; and taught inheritance law, the defense lawyers’ code, juvenile law, evidence, and legal research.

I was Assistant Director of the Cultural Committee of the AWJA from 2012 to 2016. We conducted law seminars and training sessions for women judges in capacity building.

Antonio: What would you consider to be the major obstacles and challenges for a woman judge in Afghanistan?

Tayeba: As you know, for the Taliban, simply being a government judge is enough reason to be killed without trial. Recently two male judges were murdered by the Taliban the moment the Taliban discovered the men were judges. Often, for women judges the danger is even greater than for men. The Taliban believe that women are forbidden from being judges by the rules and regulations of Islam. So, it was common to receive multiple letters from the national security agency warning us about imminent risks, and also threatening phone calls from the parties themselves. Threats against women judges were always more acute and came from those who were opposed to women being judges, and even worse, from those not wanting women to be a part of the workforce at all.

The threats sometimes went beyond letters and calls. In western Afghanistan, a group of attackers took over the entire courthouse and massacred every single employee. In a suicide attack in front of the Supreme Court in Kabul, two newly graduated female Afghan judges, Mina and Zarghoona, were killed. We are still grieving the loss of two of our sister judges, Zakia and Qadria, who were killed in January. At one point the Taliban changed the forms of their attacks and started shooting directly at government judges and putting mines under their cars instead of using bomb attacks. Some women judges quit. Most continued, despite their families’ fears, knowing that when they left home each morning, they might not return. Some started to carry guns to protect themselves.

The problems I personally encountered might be recognized by women judges all over the world—of not being taken seriously, of being humiliated, and also, I was passed over when there was an opening for a new head of my court although I was clearly the best qualified. A young male judge was appointed instead, and then I was asked to help him. Women were symbolically appointed as the heads of family and the elimination of violence against women courts. On a more threatening level, I was once pressured by some corrupt judges to change a decision and feared that if I did not, I would be relocated to the provinces, as had happened to some of my colleagues. Despite feeling intimidated, I held my ground.

As you know, in Afghanistan a panel comprising three judges makes the decision in each case. Once there was a judge who shouted at me and insulted me only because I disagreed with him in a court decision. These things can happen, especially to women judges.

Antonio: When the Taliban took over in August 2021, you decided to leave the country. Can you describe that moment and what it meant for you?

Tayeba: When the provinces were falling one by one, we decided to escape. My mother and my sister secured visas. My fiancé and I got married, without a wedding party, and the plan was to fly with them after receiving our marriage document. However, while driving in the city we observed that all the roads were closed and realized that the Taliban had taken Kabul. My father called me and told me not to come home because there were Taliban members at the checkpoints. He told me they might search my car and discover my identity. He said do not drive yourself, because you driving may make them angry. I told my mother, do not miss the flight, at least you can save my sister. My mother and my sister ran to the airport. As I watched them running away, I thought it was the last time I would see my mother and it made me cry. Their flight was delayed by 12 hours, but finally they were able to depart. I stayed in the car until night. I saw that the soldiers and police had taken off their uniforms in order to disguise their identity. I felt I was trapped and I was afraid, not only of the Taliban but also of criminals and thieves who might take advantage of the situation. A judge from the IAWJ had called me and told me to be careful because the Taliban had opened the prisons and released all the prisoners. Finally, my husband drove me home. We did not leave the house for three days. During those three days I was in touch with the IAWJ and I was collecting information on Afghan women judges for them, because they were trying to start an evacuation programme.

After Kabul fell, as I said, I was at home for three days. I was gathering up documents in order to hide them and destroying case notes to hide my identity. I was the first judge to receive a call from a Polish lawyer about evacuation because of an interview in which I had spoken out against the Taliban. I had never wanted to leave the country or my job. But I was a female judge from the Hazara ethnic and religious (Shi’a) minority, and I had been in touch with foreigners, something the Taliban would consider an unforgivable crime. If I had remained, I am certain I would have been killed. But leaving was painful. I felt I had lost all I had achieved.

We did not want the Taliban to find out we were leaving so we did not carry any luggage. I only took my documents and some legal books that I love and could not leave behind. It was so crowded in front of the gate. The Taliban were shooting and beating people. I stood at the gate without food or sleep for 24 hours. Finally, I was able to enter the airport. My father and my husband waited a further 48 hours for their flights. We left Afghanistan on separate flights. They had nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep for three days. Then they joined me in Poland.

Antonio: What is the situation of the judiciary now in Afghanistan?

To my knowledge, most judges who worked in the previous government have been fired and are being called to account. The judiciary has lost all its professional judges and is now conducted by illiterate and inexperienced people, and the society at large will bear the cost. Moreover, women have been eliminated from the judiciary. Having women in the judiciary was a great achievement that was lost so quickly.

Antonio: What are your personal plans now?

I believe no one can endure the cruelty of the Taliban and the lack of democracy and rule of law. So, one day, Afghans will take back their country and again democracy will govern. And I want to prepare for that day by learning and studying to rebuild our society. I believe many adversities in Afghanistan come from lack of knowledge. So I hope to get a scholarship and be able to study and work in legal areas, and to gain international experience that I will be able to use for my country in the future. I have worked and studied in the field of law for 16 years and do not want to abandon my career. I hope to use this opportunity of living in Europe to improve my qualifications and serve the international community. I hope one day I can return to Afghanistan and help improve the rule of law and democracy for my nation. Until that day I want to continue to support the rule of law through international entities and to pressure the Taliban to uphold the rule of law.

I will probably try to stay in an English-speaking country because of the advantage of knowing the language. It would be difficult to become proficient in another language for use in the legal sector.

As all my family members are scattered (some of them escaped to Iran, some to Poland, and soon I will need to leave my parents and go to an English-speaking country, which will not issue a visa for my parents), my hope is that one day we will be able to live together in the same country again.

Photo: Tayeba Parsa in her courthouse.


Here you can read an interview with judge Anisa Rasooli.

Suggested by Public Anthropologist: Margaret Mead

Public Anthropologist‘s suggested reading today is Margaret Mead by Paul Shankman.

Mead is arguably one of the most prominent anthropological figures of the twentieth century, an influential scholar who loved her public role, as Robin Fox emphasized in 1978 on the New York Times. Shankman’s book revisits Mead’s professional and personal trajectory by offering an accessible and informative introduction for anyone interested in learning more about the work and life of one of the firsts public anthropologists.  

Public Anthropologist Award 2022

Public Anthropologist Award (PUAN-A) is awarded to a social and cultural anthropologist who has published an outstanding contribution that addresses – in innovative, engaging and compelling ways – key societal issues related to one or more of the following topics: violence, war, poverty, social movements, freedom, aid, rights, injustice, inequality, social exclusion, racism, health, and environmental challenges.

A contribution can be any published research output – for example a book, peer reviewed article, documentary, etc.

Application: submit your research output together with your CV (2 pages) to Public Anthropologist’s Editor-in-Chief, Antonio De Lauri: antonio.delauri@cmi.no

Write PUAN-A + “Title of the research output” in the subject heading.

Prize: A committee chaired by the Editor-in-Chief will select one research output for the Public Anthropologist Award. The author will receive a prize of 500 €.

Deadline for PUAN-A 2022: 15 January 2022 (for outputs published in 2020 and 2021).

For more information on the journal, please visit brill.com/puan.

Prize Winners

The 2021 winner of the Public Anthropologist Award was Ather Zia for her book Resisting Disappearance: Military Occupation and Women’s Activism in Kashmir (University of Washington Press, 2019 & Zubaan Publishing, 2020). Ather Zia is an Associate Professor in the Department of Anthropology and the Gender Studies Program at the University of Northern Colorado Greeley. She holds a doctorate in Anthropology from the University of California, Irvine. Her research examines the Indian military occupation, settler colonialism, and women’s collective political and social challenges in the disputed Indian-administered Kashmir. Resisting Disappearance is a powerful narration of the effects of oppression and political disputes on people’s everyday life. The book is engaging and shrewdly written. It effectively summarizes the broad and committed scholarship and research behind it. An excellent example of anthropology’s capacity to both inform and inspire.

Writing a history of the “long summer of migration”: Reflections on activist-academic practices

Abstract:

In this paper we reflect upon our work in camps along the so-called Balkan route in 2016, from a perspective that merges activism, academic insights, and political orientations. Our experiences, the materials we collected, and subsequent reflections led to the creation of the exhibition “Yallah!? Along the Balkan route,” which is located at the intersection of activism, art, and science. In this paper, we contemplate different areas of tension that emerged in our work as supporters of the struggles for open borders from an academic and activist perspective. We also reflect on how we gained specific knowledge through participation in that struggles.

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One day in March 2016 we are sitting in a semiformal refugee camp close to Idemoni, a village on the Greek side close to the Greek-Macedonian border. We are sitting in front of the border fence with a Syrian journalist and talking about the situation in Syria. He tells us about the divided city of Aleppo, one part belonging to Assad and the other to the rebels. It is not possible to cross the dividing line and visit family members on the other side. He talks about daily bombings, torn body parts, and how he has been working as a war journalist reporting on all this. He explains that journalists are the first to be killed because they inform about things that should not be too visible. He concludes: “Every day there was a massacre, everyday children died. But if I found a way back, I would go back. All this is better than here.We did not know what to say, realizing the great gulf between us while sitting next to each other and talking. (Personal notes, February 28, 2016)

This article reflects on the tensions existing at the nexus of scholarly and activist issues and practices. They are discussed regarding the experiences of the authors in Idomeni in March 2016 and in other refugee camps later that year too—ones in which the authors supported refugees’ fight for open borders. This article outlines an activist research approach, which we term “struggle as method” based on Lisa Riedner’s notion of “conflict as method” (2014, 2018).[1]

We draw empirically, and retrospectively, on our own activist-academic practices within the struggles for open borders along the so-called Balkan route. The practices discussed in this article derive from the experiences of a small team of four people (students, workers, and activists) who traveled to Greece and Serbia. We were based in a semiformal refugee camp[2] close to Idomeni, a village in Greece close to the Greek-Macedonian border, from February 21 to March 14, 2016. From July 14 to August 5, 2016, we were in northern Greece and visited refugee camps in Katsikas, Derveni, Softex, Nea Kavala, Lagkadikia, and Diavata. In March 2017, we visited Belgrade and spoke to people on the move in a park there as well as in a refugee camp close to the Serbian capital. During our time in Greece, we participated in leftist, self-organized structures providing infrastructural support to refugees. We accompanied refugees in their day to day lives and wrote blogs[3] about their ongoing struggles for open borders. We spoke to many people in these camps, and were able to record 32 audio and video statements from people on the move in English, Arabic, Farsi, and Kurdish.

We followed ongoing daily protests in Idomeni. We asked people protesting open questions: “What do you want people in Germany to know?” “What is going on here?” We recorded responses mostly in short statements close to the protest sites and sometimes longer, more or less political, talks in calmer settings. Our group documented the protests with video recordings and photographs.

The two authors of this article, together with a new team, later transformed the collected material into the exhibition “Yallah!? Along the Balkan route.”[4] This exhibition is located at the intersection of activism, art, and science, and was held in a number of German-speaking regions from fall 2017 to fall 2019.

The engagement at the borders we are reflecting on here started as solely an activist initiative. The two people writing this article only started to make use of their academic backgrounds later on in the project, when it came to creating the exhibition. When we entered the field, we did not discuss carrying out academic research. Nevertheless, we profited from academic insights into field research from Cultural Anthropology during our stay in the camps.

This article focuses on two areas of tension. The first is the breakdown of the Dublin Regulation in the “long summer of migration” (Kasparek and Speer, 2015), and the tensions arising within a humanitarian frame between control and agency. The second area of tension concerns activist-academic research approaches themselves. We will discuss problems of representation claims regarding participation in struggles (Riedner, 2015, 2018) seeking to produce a counter-knowledge “from below” against hegemonic governmental knowledge forms.

Acting in a Humanitarian Framework between Control and Agency

“What we witnessed in the long summer of migration in 2015 was and is not a refugee crisis, but a historical and structural defeat of the European border regime” (Hess et al., 2017, p. 6). The term “long summer of migration” expresses a situation in which “refugees had forced the Austrian and German governments to open their borders in a humanitarian gesture” (Hess and Karakayali, 2017, p. 26). In 2015 a corridor with complete infrastructure from Greece to Central Europe emerged through a series of formal and informal agreements and cooperation initiatives between states situated along the route, being fostered by the European Union. Within this corridor, agents of security as well as formal nongovernmental organizations and ad hoc volunteers were all involved. It can be understood as a humanitarian corridor (Moving Europe, 2016), one emerging as a humanitarian response to the open and visible brutality of state agents and to violent clashes between border guards and refugees along the Balkan route (Moving Europe, 2016).

The corridor arose as a special form of internal border (Hameršak et al., 2020), effectively a humanitarian border “holding together in an uneasy alliance a politics of alienation with a politics of care, and a tactic of abjection and one of reception” (Walters, 2010, p. 145). This humanitarian corridor was then later described as a “formalized corridor” (Beznek et al. 2016; Speer, 2017; Hameršak et al. 2020) so as to emphasize diverse and dynamic processes. From the perspective of the transit states, rational self-interest played its part, with formalization primarily an acceleration of the transit procedure (Speer, 2017), creating an extra-legal space of exception (Sperr, 2017; Kasparek, 2017) serving to bring back under control the dynamics of movement of thousands of migrants (Beznek et al., 2016; Moving Europe, 2016; Tošić, 2017; Kasparek 2017; Hameršak and Plese, 2018). The historical importance of the formalized corridor lies not, therefore, in its closure but in its “formation and its unexpectedly long existence” (Speer, 2017, p. 76).

When we set out on the route, the corridor was not yet closed—although how long it would remain open was contested. We observed several protests. Often, we heard the Arabic slogan of Syrian rebels: “Who does not participate has no courage.” We argue here that, of course, refugees are agents in their own struggles. They are not passive objects, they have agency, and they know how to act in difficult and violent situations. “When I decided to come, I knew it would be difficult. But I decided”—so one woman told us in Halle, Germany, in April 2017. We discuss the power of refugees in two respects. First, refugee “non-movement”—defined as collective actions by non-collective actors; practices carried out by a larger number of ordinary people. […] They contribute significantly to social change” (Bayat, 2012, p. 31). Refugees questioned the Dublin Regulations through everyday practices of collective disregard. The refugees crossed borders and fences repeatedly as part of collective movement in large numbers, a relevant and specific form of resistance and power of action (Moving Europe, 2016; Hess and Karakayali, 2017).

The second source of refugees’ power lies in their visibility within the humanitarian discourse. In Germany at the time, a “welcome culture” was staged and a “civil welcome society” arose (Karakayali and Kleist, 2015). Humanitarian narratives were at play in other countries along the route as well (Greenberg and Spasić, 2017; Jakešević, 2017; Sardelić, 2017; Bužinkić, 2018). Following William Walters, important is “knowledge which problematizes the border as a site of suffering, violence and death, and a political zone of injustice and oppression” (2010, p. 150). While critical theory and research has highlighted the governmental strategies and effects related to humanitarianism, we should not forget that there are other forms of humanitarianism too—notably ones emanating from grassroots activism and campaigns (Allegra, 2017; Brković, 2018, 2020). The established humanitarian regime has potential effects on migrants’ ability to cross borders. One form of agency from below lies in rendering visible brutality, harm, and human rights violations. Following Judith Butler et al., “vulnerability is part of the very meaning and practice of resistance […] characterized by interdependency and public action”(2016, p. 7).

People on the move were able to make use of a humanitarian approach by criticizing structures and people responsible for false humanity.” These individuals are able to adopt and adapt humanitarian arguments to demand unredeemed promises. In many interviews, then, people questioned European or German humanity; additionally We don‘t need false humanitycould be seen on a cardboard sign during protests in Idomeni. “Is this what your humanity looks like?” a person from Afghanistan asked in a camp near Belgrade in May 2017. Another young man told us in Idomeni in February 2016: “The European Union knows no mercy. They are watching us and make promises to us and nothing changes at all.” A woman in Nea Kavala, a refugee camp in Greece, summed up the situation there in July 2016 as follows: “We are only letters to them, nothing more.” Another person in Idomeni, speaking in February 2016, was more pointed besides: “They don’t give a shit!

Others contrasted their experiences in Europe with the situations they had faced in their home countries, challenging the Eurocentric view of the Old Continent as a place of human rights:We had our freedom. We were rebels and protesters in Syria. Here we are in jaila person in Idomeni told us after the border closure in March 2016. The judgment made by a person in a refugee camp in Nea Kavala in July 2016 catches Europe in its own misguided self-image meanwhile: We came here to Europe because people here are civilized and advanced. At least that’s what we thought.

Europe was criticized for making people vulnerable and for rendering false humanity visible, as articulated by a young man in Belgrade in May 2017: If you want to kill us, kill us directly. Finish, finish the game. We are playing a game. We’re the football, you know? One kicks us, the other side kicks us. On the border is the goalkeeper. And he kicks us; they catch us and send us back. So we are the football, and we don’t know when the game will be over. 

Activist-Academic Research Struggles

In this section we discuss engaged anthropology and reflect on our own academic-activist practices. We begin with a review of the main results of the “Writing Culture Debate” and the “Crisis of Representation” before moving on to activist-academic practices of social criticism, advocacy, and struggle as method.

Within cultural anthropology, reflections on power relations between the research field and researchers have become an increasingly important theme. The Writing Culture Debate in the 1970s and 1980s shifted the self-understanding of anthropological writings from the idea of objectively observing the truth, captured in texts, to the process of constructing knowledge and truth (Clifford and Marcus, 1986; Marcus and Fischer, 1986; Berg and Fuchs, 1993). The idea developed that academic writing creates the worlds it describes and that “ethnographic studies can legitimately be called fictions” (Clifford, 1993, p.110). Interwoven with findings from feminist academic criticism and postcolonial theory, power dimensions in the field, the subject position of the researcher, and the process of producing knowledge became central features of reflexive research practice. The relation between the subject and object of observation began to be questioned (Holmes and Marcus, 2005; Faubion and Marcus, 2009), along with the modes of representation of “the other” (Said, 1979; Stacey, 1988; Escobar and Restrepo, 2005; Browne and Nash, 2010; Fabian, 2014). The idea of “situated knowledge” (Haraway, 1988) became central, recognizing that our knowledge is always local, fragmented, and situated in a particular context.

Ethnographic research is based on participation and observation. It is precisely here that the production of knowledge passes through sensations, interpretations, and the researcher her or himself, who becomes the medium of knowledge production (Duden, 2004; Bendix, 2006). The central problems, ones that every researcher has to deal with, can be summarized in terms of questions of representation: Who speaks for whom? Who is heard, and who remains invisible? Which dimensions of power are reproduced or undermined? What kind of power relations are at stake, reproduced, and questioned through different kinds of research and knowledge production? Who profits from the research?

Through these debates, new forms of writings—ones more experimental and creative—were discussed that make the researcher and the context of the research visible. New fields of Anthropology such as Science and Technology Studies emerged, with the relationship between researcher and the researched no longer following the classical approach of studying down; studying through or studying up were now possible too (Nader, 1969; Wedel, 2004; Hannerz, 2006; Reinhold and Wright, 2011). Furthermore the simple exploration of locally fixed and locally ascertainable cultures was questioned (Abu-Lughood, 1996; Ferguson and Gupta, 1997; Welz, 1998), opening up the field to multi-sited ethnography (Marcus, 1995) able to follow the contours and networks between people, ideas, and objects (Welz, 1998; Burawoy et al., 2000; Hess, 2005).

Our main concern here is how the performativity of knowledge production can be used in the sense of consciously engaged research. Following John Law and John Urry, “social investigation makes worlds, then it can, in some measure, think about the worlds it wants to help to make” (2004, p. 391). If our writings and methods create the world and are never absolutely true, but depend rather on our individual point of view, we can discuss how to use “the power to bring new worlds into being [and] become open to possibility rather than limitations of the possible” (Gibson-Graham, 2008, p. 3). We understand our work as a productive interaction between academic and activist knowledge (König and Steffen, 2013), where the difference between the two “dissolves as soon as we look at the concrete ethnographic research practice” (Riedner and Weissmann, 2013, p. 196). However, “in such a situation, contradictions and tensions inevitably arise – a paradox that has to be endured” (König and Steffen, 2014, p. 272). While debates on engaged anthropology in Germany are still in their infancy, in the Anglo-Saxon context they are highly developed, differentiating between engaged anthropology, action anthropology, activist research, and public anthropology. Setha M. Low and Sally Engle Merry (2010) cluster these modes of engagement into six specific domains: sharing and support; teaching and public education; social critique; collaboration; advocacy; and, activism.

“Thank You for the Media!”

Thus far we have described a contested political situation along the so-called Balkan route between the control function of humanitarianism and the agency of people on the move themselves. We decided to focus on our accompaniment and support of the latter’s ongoing protests, which were directed at the politics of exclusivity, because the visibility of the perspective “from below”—or, better, migrants’ perspectives—seemed to be of great relevance. Methodologically we can situate our practices here under the research approaches of social critique and advocacy. In terms of social critique, we tried to understand the effects of policies on the people at the borders and highlight the “linkages between individual or group suffering and structural factors by examining harms in historical context and within relations of power” (Merry and Low, 2010, p. 208). One relevant aspect of social critique that we were able to grasp quickly during our stay in Idomeni concerns the depoliticizing humanitarianism described above, against which we tried to highlight the agency of people on the move themselves.

However, this humanitarian control function of the corridor was not the only prerequisite for the official closure of the route. In Idomeni in winter 2015/2016, having the right papers was the ticket to entering the corridor. Only people able to prove a certain citizenship were allowed to cross borders, thus creating a hierarchy. Many of those who were no longer allowed to pass borders were excluded and sent away from the official camps, saw food supplies cut, or were evicted by the police and brought to detention centers. Although some of the protesters continued to call for unity among the various status groups, this filtering by nationality had a number of effects on solidarity between refugees of different origins. “We’re all refugees here, why is there a difference?” a woman from Afghanistan told us in Idomeni in March 2016. We analyzed this as a policy of splitting up different groups of refugees in order to minimize their subversive power and to prevent them from challenging borders by passing across them collectively, in the sense of Asef Bayat’s (2012) “life as politics.” We described it as the old way of governance of “divide and rule.” A refugee we spoke to depicted documents and citizenship as follows: “The papers are like money, they are like gold now. It is more important than being human. Without papers, you are nothing, not a human being”(Interview in Idomeni, February 28, 2016).

We also tried to make the diverse critiques of refugees visible by sharing them on our blog. In an advocacy sense, therefore, we attempted hereby to “assist [local] communities in organizing efforts, giving testimony, [and] witnessing human rights violations”(Low and Merry, 2010, p. 210). In one case, we also encountered police violence in the form of brutal revenge after protests. People called us at night when they realized that some protest leaders were attacked and severely beaten by the border guards. We found the affected people in the hospital and in the camp, connected them with lawyers, discussed matters with them, and tried to support one person in bringing their case to court. We collected witness documents such as the following, which we published together with a larger report:[5]

And suddenly three men crossed the Macedonian border. They were the heads of the protest, which was here on the tracks. […] The Macedonian soldiers recognized them too and one told him to raise his hands, so he can search him. The police, the Macedonian soldier, punched him in the face. […] One of the soldiers starts to kick him at every point of his body – into his face, on his legs, in his side, on his back. […] They beat him up so violently – it was terrible. Then they started to stun him with stun guns. And then they brought him back to Greece – one of them. They have taken one of them with them, they did not send him back to Greece. I do not know what happened to him, if they have let him go or taken him with them. I do not know. But the other two were sent back to Greece. (Eyewitness report from March 6, 2016, in Idomeni)

Beyond this case, we aimed to provide space for people to express their respective demands and views. We asked people on the move what information and requests they wanted to convey to those from Northern European countries such as Germany. We collected many contemporary witness documents, in which these individuals described the situation faced or criticized the local and global politics of inequality. The situation worldwide or the influence of the West on the conflicts from which they had fled were cited here, such as in the statement “this president [of Afghanistan] was not elected by the people of Afghanistan” made by a woman from there in Idomeni in March 2016. In Diavata refugee camp, Greece, another woman from Afghanistan told us angrily, in July 2016, about the involvement of the West in her native country and how it avoided any responsibility for the refugees subsequently coming to Europe. Accordingly, these migration flows were produced precisely through these policies: “Bomb Afghanistan completely so that we are all destroyed at once.” A young man from Syria, meanwhile, argued in Idomeni in February 2016 that: “Every country sells weapons. Everyone supports any group while they fight.”

We discussed the political situation in Germany and Europe and the changing right-wing narratives with different people stuck at the borders. In the debates on the murders at the offices of the newspaper Charly Hebdo in Paris, France, in January 2015 or on the attack of Anis Amri on the Christmas market in Berlin, Germany, in December 2016, people from Muslim countries were described as a threat to security in general. From the perspective of people stuck at the border, the debates should be more nuanced and situated in their wider context: “Many people say that if they go back to Syria, they will have to fight for [Islamic State] or Al-Nusra. This is the only work in war in Syria” a man in Idomeni explained in February 2016. Another young person from Afghanistan noted in May 2017 in Belgrade: “Christian? Muslim? That means nothing. If you have a good heart, that’s all. You were born in a Christian country; I was born in a Muslim country. So this is my fault?”

Even though we sought to publish original statements and support people making violence visible, ultimately the power of representation remains with us. We cut the audio statements, we put them on our blog, we spoke with only a handful of people, we framed the statements with small explanatory texts, we contextualized them, and we published the material through our networks.

A fundamental dilemma of a lot of ethnological work becomes apparent here, namely, the focus on the perspective of disenfranchised, marginalized and discriminated people and groups, who, nevertheless, only have their say through the mediation of the researchers, with whom the power of representation ultimately remains. (Schramm, 2013, p. 222)

The relevant question here, one that we cannot definitively resolve, remains who benefits from the insights gained through participation—namely by receiving attention and acknowledgment. Activism on the Balkan route was, meanwhile, well recognized in Germany, both within leftist circles and wider society (Reflectionist collective, 2016). The enormous focus on policy negotiations regarding the Balkan route interlinked with the discourse of the welcome culture, and white Germans helping there had the effect of giving attention and recognition to refugee struggles in Germany. Resources for and recognition of solidarity work in Germany became noticeably less important and less visible, which had an impact on the self-organized struggles of refugees in Germany. The Lampedusa in Hamburg[6] or the Refugee Activists of Oranienplatz[7] in Berlin, for example, hardly got the chance to draw attention to their own claims during the long summer of migration. In the context of helping, “the mass media put white Germans without any refugee or migration background in the spotlight” (Danielzik and Bendix, 2017, p. 198). In our situation in Idomeni, it meant being in danger of speaking for people instead of supporting their attempts to build self-organized structures or to further realize existing ones capable of being heard.

Even if we could not overcome the problem of representation, our approach of recording voices to spread refugee perspectives was greatly welcomed. Many people in the refugee camps came to us and wanted to make a statement. We also found messages such as “Thank You for the Media!” written on banners or pieces of cardboard, which referred to the importance of increased visibility in the German and European discourses. The option of creating visibility and audibility, which we have, is a resource that we can use—one, of course, also appropriated and consciously used by people on the move themselves too. These individuals realized that they could make use of us and other media outlets to express their views on the ongoing contemporary debates and to produce a counternarrative to criminalizing and racist European tropes.

“Struggle as Method”—Going One Step Further

In the following section, we want to go one step further. In our stay at the borders we did not just record voices and spread views. We tried to go beyond just monitoring the protests. We thought about how we could make best use of our resources and privileges while attempting to build relations with people on the move. We also tried to connect with local people to acknowledge the diversity of struggles encountered. We hence now build on and expand Riedner’s aforementioned concept of “conflict as method,” which we frame here as “struggle as method.”

By reflecting on hierarchies, we tried to make use of our privileges and resources. We collected money by means of an appeal for donations; we were mobile (with a car available) and able to organize things and collect information; we had technical infrastructure support such as computers, cameras, and sound-recording equipment. In addition to such physical devices, we come from political movements possessing also specific knowledge and with access to particular networks and information.

We contacted some of the organizers and leading figures of the protests in Idomeni at that time. We tried to find out what they needed and, from time to time, bought materials people told us would be useful. We purchased shoes, which were really needed for long flight routes, when people needed to walk long distances over invisible routes, or the border guards took them away during an illegal pushback. We bought spray-paint cans and materials for banners. Sometimes, we had political discussions with people in front of the border fences about the situations in Syria, Kurdistan, Afghanistan, and Germany and how they were interlinked. We were asked our opinions regarding ongoing struggles in Germany and how the protests in Idomeni could be better heard there. We were asked about right-wing attacks on refugees or the political debate and changing laws in Germany. Within our team, we considered how to intensify contacts and spread these individuals’ writings or press releases—instead of our own—via our networks. We also discussed how to extend our shared political discussions on what kind of support and collaboration people might find useful.

Methodologically, we tried to understand the perspectives of people on the move themselves. These practices refer to the concept of collaboration with the researched. In such collaborative approaches, the researched became subjects of the research. Researchers hereby work together with people in organizations or social movements or share the leadership of the research concept with the researched (Low and Merry, 2010; Kollaborative Forschungsgruppe Racial Profiling, 2019). Holmes and Marcus (2007) identified the relevance of “para-ethnography” within research, defined as knowledge-making by those within different fields of expertise. This knowledge-making comprises much more than facts; of relevance here are feelings, intuition, anecdotes, and similar too. These two authors claim that: “The traditional informants of ethnography must be rethought as counterparts rather than ‘others’ – as both subjects and intellectual partners in inquiry” (Holmes and Marcus, 2007, p. 236). While they describe this para-ethnography as capturing the peculiarities of research conducted in fields with experts, we use feminist and postcolonial theory to argue that para-ethnography is also relevant in hierarchical fields—where the supposedly inferior can be understood as experts on their situations, in fact.

Taking feminist and postcolonial critiques into consideration, critical research thus claims not to reproduce existing categories but to find practices that elude, refuse, and exceed existing categorizations (Foucault, 1993; Butler, 2002; Lorey, 2014). The research approach of the “Autonomy of Migration” tries to refute existing categories through its attribution processes, focusing rather on the practices of migration “to investigate what goes through these conditions of current forms of socialization in order to point beyond” (Bojadžijev and Karakayali, 2007, p. 203). This rejects the hegemonic discourses problematizing (flight-)migration as such, analyzing instead precisely these forms of migration governance (Bojadžijev and Karakayali, 2007; Karakayali, 2008; Riedner, 2014). Adopting this Autonomy of Migration point of view does not mean that we left our own subject position void or abandoned our own positionality within a hierarchical system; rather, it shows how the theory of situated knowledge opens up “scope for alliances and criticism that goes far beyond the perspective of being affected” (Schramm, 2017, p. 223).

Moreover, Isabell Lorey (2014) criticizes a focus on subject positions linked to debates on intersectionality and calls for a focus on the transgression of categories—both practical and theoretical. For the purpose of exceeding existing categories, feminist theorist Rosi Braidotti (2011) goes beyond the description of a research view, outlining instead a utopian version of the European subject. In this philosophical and ethical construction, a new normative subject takes responsibility for previous productions of Europe such as Eurocentrism, racism, antisemitism, and fascism. In this utopian draft, the normative subject is based on the realities of the marginalized. Similar to the Autonomy of Migration, the perspective is turned upside down and consequently makes marginalized truth hegemonic and normal. Braidotti envisions a nomadic, multi-fragmented, hybrid post-European subject that becomes “minoritarian” in nature.

Starting from these theoretical reflections and utopian drafts on making research on an eye-to-eye level, how can we approach this in concrete situations? How can we collaborate and work together to become minor or to think with the idea of the Autonomy of Migration in mind? Without claiming to have found a perfect solution to all these problems regarding hierarchies, we have at least discovered beginnings and attempts to counter the effectiveness of ruling subjectifications. We had the possibility of joining in the perspectives “from below” by participating in the protests, talking to people, and asking how to support them with our resources. We can identify our practices on the one hand as collaboration, thereby understanding the refugees as experts on their own situations. On the other, we describe our methods as an analytical lens for the struggles encountered, which Riedner (2014) separates from the perspective on the struggles of those affected by power relations. The latter stresses the relevance of being a part of those struggles: “Concrete participation in negotiations seems to be very helpful in order to be able to adopt such a perspective and also to make a concrete contribution to emancipatory changes” (Riedner, 2014, p. 12). She called this approach, as noted, “conflict as method,” which we changed here into “struggle as method” given that we participated mainly in collective border struggles instead of various different conflicts. Following Riedner, we want to argue that it is vital to overcome the neutral position of the academic, to exchange with the field, and to change one’s own knowledge, view, and subjectification. Most relevant is to let the struggles have a subjective, physical, and material effect on oneself (Riedner, 2018).

From this involvement in the conflicts and struggles, a new perspective on the situation arose. However, Participation in such struggles and making use of privileges are not reducible to the production of situated knowledge. Involvement in the struggles and the gained knowledge were also key to developing forms of activism and solidarity transcending subject positions. Like Riedner suggested, involvement in the struggles had a subjective effect on our positions within the field. Some activists as well lose certain privileges in coming into contact with state repression. Nevertheless, what we have focused on here is how we acquired a special form of knowledge—which is itself part of the struggles occurring. These perspectives later resulted in the preparation of the exhibition “Yallah!? Along the Balkan route.” We benefited, therefore, from our multiple involvements as activists and academics, which cannot be easily separated within our practices on the Balkan route: drawing on our diverse involvement in (academic and activist) knowledge production, we could share a different narrative and different views from below on the ongoing processes at the borders. We were thereby able to analyze the ongoing situation as academics and activists, connect to refugees in discussing what to do exactly, and to reflect on our activist-academic practices as well as on our shared knowledge.

And the struggle goes on …

This article has explored how we dealt with the different areas of tension at the nexus of scholarly and activist discourses and practices, mostly consisting of questions of humanitarianism and representation in the field. We cannot claim that we avoided every pitfall, but we showed how we attempted to make use of our privileges by talking to the people involved and finding out what could be useful to them. We described how we were able to gain insights into the perspective of the struggles occurring, which led to an activist-academic production of knowledge. This knowledge about governance, repression, and agency was subsequently communicated to a wider audience through the exhibition “Yallah!? Along the Balkan route.”

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[1]      All quotations originally in German have been translated by the authors themselves.

[2]      The term “semiformal” expresses that the camp near Idomeni was initially self-organized and emerged spontaneously from among the people on the move themselves, but then over time various state and non-state infrastructures were added there.

[3]      http://travellingbureau.blogsport.eu/

[4]      http://yallah-balkanroute.eu

[5]      http://travellingbureau.blogsport.eu/2016/03/06/bericht-polizeigewalt-an-der-griechisch-mazedonischen-grenze/

[6]      http://lampedusa-in-hamburg.tk/

[7]      https://oplatz.net/

The Black Holes of Lesbos: Border Violence, Asylum and Racism at Moria Camp

Introduction  

Following the historic summer of 2015, when nearly 1 million people transited through Greece and overcame multiple border barriers within Europe, Lesbos was rapidly reconfigured as one of the main epicenters of a renewed violent phase of mobility control and militarization through the implementation of the “hotspot approach”.

Introduced by the European Agenda on Migration as an emergency response,[1] organizations such as the European Border and Coast Guard Agency (FRONTEX), the European Asylum Support Office (EASO) and Europol were deployed at the European Union’s external borders in order to assist, monitor and assist frontline states such as Greece to register and fingerprint migrants. A historical step toward the Europeanization of border regulations in the Aegean Islands, this hotspot approach has contributed to the proliferation of buffer spaces such as Lesbos, the reconfiguration of the recently destroyed Moria camp as a violent EU hotspot on October 2015 and the subsequent entry into force of the EU–Turkey deal of March 2016.[2] This deal, through the then new Greek asylum law 4375/2016, allowed for the detention, illegalization and deportation of migrants on the basis of nationality, thus denying them any chance for international protection in Europe.

This post is based on research conducted during a three-month period between September and December 2016 in Lesbos, where I participated in ethnography-volunteering with a small humanitarian organization in the Kara Tepe refugee camp, 5 kilometers from the former Moria camp. However, in seeking to determine why migrant populations of certain nationalities were living in Moria under conditions of prolonged detention, riots and frequent deaths, receiving no humanitarian aid and without access to the asylum process in Lesbos, I left the camp at Kara Tepe in order to meet with them in the streets, public squares and ports of Mytilene, the capital of Lesbos, and later in the depths of the Moria camp.

Asylum, migrant detention and the power of deportability in Lesbos

In October 2016, during one of several demonstrations in Mytilene against the EU’s border policies, I met Jack,[3] a young Algerian asylum seeker living in Moria. Jack, along with hundreds of Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Algerian and Cameroonian migrants, have been fishing, protesting and surviving in Moria camp because they belong to nationalities with an asylum recognition rate that is less than 25% of the EU average as calculated by the EUROSTAT database; thus, their cases are considered a priority and are not assessed for long periods by the Greek Asylum Office and EASO. As part of the EU–Turkey deal, Greece had to enact a new asylum law, 4375/2016, which includes key elements of European regulations (Hänsel and Kasparek, 2020). The Europeanization of the new asylum law became one of the most effective mechanisms of the EU border regime in recent years in the Mediterranean in that it created an exclusionary procedure in terms of nationality and racial discriminations under international law, as well as deepening Greece’s role as post-colony of the central economies of the EU. As a consequence, the Greek asylum process was separated into two parts: one for the mainland, and another exclusively for the Aegean Islands called a “fast-track border procedure”, reconfiguring Lesbos as a novel border laboratory with the aim of illegalizing and indefinitely immobilizing migrant populations under the threat of deportation.

I contend, therefore, that the restrictive and violent fast-track border procedure was based above all on the channeling of asylum seekers into different but similarly exclusive procedural routes based on asylum recognition rates (above and below 25%) measured by nationality and calculated based on EUROSTAT statistics. At the end of 2016, migrants from nationalities with high acceptance rates (above 25%) and potential refugees such as Syrians were subjected to the controversial admissibility interview—a filtering system prior to the asylum examination aimed at preventing people with a high probability of protection according to the Geneva Refugee Convention from applying for asylum in Greece on the grounds that Turkey is considered a safe third country for asylum seekers, as established by the EU–Turkey deal.   

Migrants of nationalities with low recognition rates (below 25%), however, were entered directly into the Greek asylum examination process. While this pathway was supposed to be fast due to their “expected rejection” (Hänsel and Kasparek, 2020) by the Greek Asylum Office and EASO, the detention experiences of Jack and dozens of others I met demonstrate how border procedures turned out to be even more violent, slow, opaque and confusing for these “economic migrants” than for potential refugees.

After entering Moria from Turkey in summer 2016, Jack was arrested on the beach by the Hellenic Coast Guard and placed in detention in the so-called pre-removal center, a high-security detention area within Moria with a capacity of up to 420 people. As an Algerian belonging to one of the nationalities of “bad Arabs”, as Jack described it, he was subjected to the racist “Pilot Project” of the Greek Police: a detention procedure launched after summer 2016 and exclusively targeting single men coming from certain “low profile” countries considered to constitute a danger to European security and the international public order, such as Algeria, Morocco, Tunisia, Pakistan and Bangladesh. While the ultimate goal of the program was the deportation of these economic migrants, the vast majority of people like Jack were released and left to fend for themselves in the Moria camp after three months of isolation, uncertainty and violence under arbitrary and illegal detention by the Greek state and the EU agencies (Saranti, 2019).

Although Syrian refugees, whose suffering and the conflicts they are fleeing at home have received international media coverage, are more likely to obtain international protection in Greece, migrants of nationalities with both high and low asylum recognition rates were placed in a position of deportability (De Genova, 2002) and legal uncertainty as soon as they arrived in Moria. Therefore, I assert that the fast-track border procedure under the new asylum law 4375/2016 is subjecting virtually all asylum seekers on Lesbos to processes of illegalization, immobility and the possibility of deportation based on nationality, with the aim to make them voluntarily renounce their right to asylum. This procedure is an attempt to establish a legally institutionalized process of refoulement, so that the power to deport or impose that possibility is the cornerstone of this procedure, which generates feelings of anxiety, worry, suffering and anger among migrants.

Black holes, racism and anti-Black policing in the ruins of empire 

At the end of November 2016, I entered Moria with Hiroshima, a Congolese friend of Jack who led me inside the camp through a small hole in the fence, allowing me to carry out a quick transgressive ethnography. Inside the African area, as some of the residents called it, Hiroshima introduced me to his fellow migrants from Cameroon, Congo, Senegal and Mali. Having been politically persecuted and completely ignored by the Greek state and the EU for more than eight months at the time we met, they lamented above all being racialized by the Greek Asylum Office and EASO because they were Black and seemingly not deserving of international protection as they were considered only “economic migrants”.

Visiting the African area under the guidance of Hiroshima and his friends helped me see how Moria, a militarized and prison-like camp, operated under a similarly concentrated organizational system instituted by the Greek state and the EU, and within the humanitarian framework. Inspired by Suárez (2015), I conceived of the African area as a black hole of Moria. What is a black hole? I propose that it can be understood as a fragmented border space (Hänsel, 2020) where displaced Black bodies from the former European colonies in Africa are racialized and dehumanized through practices such as policing, isolation and abandonment. These practices converge under the opaque, changing and illegible legal framework of the Greek asylum procedure, creating “grey zones” (Knudsen and Frederiksen, 2015) where the lines between legal and illegal are blurred so that many rights are restricted, physical violence is inflicted and humanitarian aid is abandoned, resulting in the exposure to social (Cacho, 2012) and physical death of those who enter into its gravitational field.

The black holes are those ruins of empire (Stoler, 2013) located in the limits of the Global North that could not be externalized outside the borders of Europe, so they are framed in a historical continuity of spatial re-actualization of specific violence against racialized bodies such as those of Blacks (Mbembe, 2003). Therefore, I believe that they are not exceptional and novel spaces in the context of the global securitization of borders, but rather constantly renewed practices that derive from the colonial system of white supremacy originating in the enslavement of non-Western societies.

In this vein, Wilderson (2003) asserts that the seizure and control of the Black body during slavery was achieved through gratuitous, non-contingent and instrumental violence in a foundational scenario of modernity. This powerful argument dismantles the humanist conception of Western violence as a contingent and defensive resource to locate it rather as an offensive and punitive methodology that has placed the Black body outside the category of the human since the very beginning of modernity, as proposed by Saucier and Woods (2014). Drawing on these authors, I therefore consider that asylum seekers such as Hiroshima and his fellow migrants were not violently abandoned and illegalized simply for having arrived irregularly in Europe in the wake of the EU–Turkey deal. Rather, their Black bodies, daring to be/being outside of Africa at the gates of the former empire, exposed them to the racist and gratuitous. Thus, black holes are specifically governed primarily by the motivation and duty of the “culture of anti-Black policing established by slavery” as codified through the fast-track border procedure, thus legalizing spatial confinement and humanitarian abandonment for the perpetuation of dehumanization (Ibid.:62).

While Jack was intensely illegalized, placed in the deportability zone (De Genova, 2002) by the Greek state and FRONTEX in the pre-removal center and forced to voluntarily renounce his right to asylum after being racialized as a “bad Arab” of an undesirable nationality, Hiroshima and his peers were situated under the specter of deportability because their bodies were illegalized and racialized centuries ago. They were rendered neglected, abandoned and dehumanized as a product of the most primordial racism based on biological classifications in the most hidden layers of Moria, until they were finally allowed to begin their asylum process as an effect of the recurring riots, fires and anti-racist demonstrations.

Jack and Hiroshima and his fellow migrants were differently illegalized and racialized but similarly subjected to degrading forms of violence without being allowed to apply for international protection. Their experiences reveal how the Greek asylum process, under the effects of the EU–Turkey statement, is based on a complex racialized and white supremacist structure that conceives, reproduces and perpetuates a clear and historical hierarchy of different types of humans based on both phenotypical and cultural differences, thus structuring them as threatening, dangerous or simply inferior and expendable.

Beyond the racial hierarchies based on both biological and cultural classifications for the selection of a reduced percentage of those deserving protection, I end by stating that, ultimately, all the migrants at Moria have been subjected to a process of indefinite immobility in Lesbos that prevents them from pursuing their life projects. Hence, the detention and deportability of Jack, and the abandonment and dehumanization of Congolese migrants such as Hiroshima, reflect the differentiated effects of racism, with anti-Black policing (Saucier and Woods, 2014) being the most visceral form of violence inflicted by the Greek state and the EU.

References

Cacho, Lisa Marie (2012) Social Death: Racialized Rightlessness and the Criminalization of the Unprotected, New York University Press.

De Genova, Nicholas (2002) “Migrant “Illegality” and Deportability in Everyday Life,” Annual Review of Anthropology 31, pp. 419–447.

Hänsel, Valeria (2020) “Returns Without Warranty: The Grey Zone of “Voluntary Return” in the Framework of the EU–Turkey Deal,” Les Cahiers de Tunisie 226–227, pp. 21–29.

Hänsel, Valeria and Kasparek, Bernd (2020) Hotspot-Lager als Blaupause für die Reform des Gemeinsamen Europäischen Asylsystems? Politikfolgenabschätzung des Hotspot-Ansatzes in Griechenland, Rat für Migration.

Knudsen, Ida and Frederiksen, Martin (2015) Ethnographies of Grey Zones in Eastern Europe: Relations, Borders and Invisibilities, Anthem Press.

Mbembe, Achile (2003) “Necropolitics,” Public Culture 15 (1), pp. 11–40.

Saranti, Elli (2019) Locked Up Without Rights: Nationality-Based Detention in the Moria Refugee Camp, HIAS Greece, Mytilene.

Saucier, Paul and Woods, Tryon (2014) “Ex Aqua: The Mediterranean Basin, Africans on the Move, and the Politics of Policing,” Theoria 61 (141), pp. 55–75.

Stoler, Ann Laura (Ed.) (2013) Imperial Debris: On Ruins and Ruination, Duke University Press.

Suárez, Liliana (2015) “Migration and Refuge in the Mediterranean, Beyond Borders,” Dialectología y tradiciones Populares, 70 (2), pp. 265–276.

Wilderson, Frank (2003) “Gramsci’s Black Marx: Whiter the Slave in Civil Society?” Social Identities 9 (2), pp. 225–240.


[1] A European Agenda on Migration, European Commission (2015), https://eur-lex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/?uri=CELEX:52015DC0240 (Accessed 21 February 2021).

[2] European Council, EU–Turkey statement, 18 March 2016, https://www.consilium.europa.eu/en/press/press-releases/2016/03/18/eu-turkey-statement/ (Accessed 23 February 2021).

[3] The names used in this article are pseudonyms chosen by the migrants themselves. Their real names do not appear here to protect their identities.

Suggested by Public Anthropologist: All I Eat Is Medicine

Public Anthropologist‘s suggested reading today is All I Eat Is Medicine. Going Hungry in Mozambique’s AIDS Economy.

In times of Covid-19, nuanced ethnographic accounts of therapeutic politics and implications are particularly welcome. In this new book, Ippolytos Kalofonos engages with the different ways in which the scaling up of HIV/AIDS treatment in Mozambique significantly altered the ordinary lives of many people. Although HIV/AIDS treatment arguably saved lives, Kalofonos shows that its forms of implementation also reproduced the exploitation and exclusion that characterized the escalation of the epidemic in the first place.

As the narrative guides the reader through the experiences of individuals and families, we clearly see the interconnection of epidemic, health intervention, hunger, and inequality.