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African agency in response to EU externalization efforts

Diplomatic pressures on countries in West Africa to cooperate on migration-related issues has been high, and growing, in recent years. Numerous policy initiatives underscore this, going back to the 1992 Declaration on Principles Governing External Aspects of Migration Policy, which included the idea of EU return agreements with countries of origin and transit. Most recently, the EU Pact on Migration and Asylum, adopted in 2024, underscores the importance of return as one of the cornerstones of their revised common approach, with a new returns directive proposed by the European Commission in March 2025. Over time, negative incentives linked to cooperation on migration issues have become increasingly prevalent. A revised visa code from 2020, allows the EU to use Visa access as leverage with third countries, including restrictive measures related to processing and fees if a country is not cooperating. Yet, the numbers of actual return to key countries with the highest number of migrants with an order to leave is still surprisingly low: between 2015 and 2019, the cumulative return rations of Senegal, Nigeria and The Gambia fluctuated between 14 % (in 2016) to 23% (in 2015). In 2019, the ratio was at 17% meaning that the EU was only able to return 17% of those with an order to leave to their respective countries.

In recent years, there has been a flurry of new research considering Global South perspectives in migration cooperation, including different formal and informal diplomatic tools available to them. In this blog, based on a previously published article, I focus on how agency of African states can work in the face of extreme pressure from the EU to cooperate on returns. The dilemma for states goes a little like this: there are huge incentives to comply with EU pressure (read development aid) and negative consequences if you don’t – general diplomatic fallout, to visa sanctions. And yet, states know that enforced returns will lead to a reduction in remittances, may push already frustrated people on to labour market that offer insufficient jobs, and can lead to conflict and tensions in families, communities and beyond. More than anything, deportations are undignified. In other words, allowing your own citizens to be deported means acquiescing to enacting violence upon them. In one interview conducted for this research, a civil society activist in Senegal noted, “They say that the state of Senegal has gone to repatriate, which is why Germany is giving funds. This is not normal, because human dignity should not be exchanged for money, and this is not normal at all” (Interview, Dakar, July 2019).

This blog post is based on over 100 semi-structured interviews with policymakers, politicians, civil society activists, and academic experts conducted (in collaboration with several colleagues) in Niger, Nigeria, The Gambia and Senegal. Focusing on the latter three countries as example, I argue that states develop subtle often very implicit ways of responding to EU pressures on return cooperation. Outright resistance is diplomatically difficult, but overlooking some of the quieter responses would undermine the agency of African states in a non-level playing field.

My research found that the way that states respond ranges from compliance to incompliance, both reactive and proactive. These are often used in combination with each other and can change over time. Here, I divide into three categories: reluctant compliance on return, reactive incompliance on return, and proactive incompliance on return.

Reluctant compliance on return

Development aid for migration-related purposes makes it potentially lucrative for governments to cooperate with the EU. Because of this, one possible response for governments in West Africa is to comply with return cooperation. Negative incentives imposed on governments, for instance through visa sanctions, are another reason to reluctantly comply on return cooperation. One interviewee in The Gambia, working for an international organization, explained “the economic might that they [the EU] bring into the discussion, [hence]…governments accept to sign these [return] contracts because these contracts are conditioned to other financial supports from the EU to the country” (Interview, Serrekunda, May 2019).

Yet, state actors do not just comply with cooperation pressures. Government officials may make an effort to distance themselves from cooperation efforts. At the very least, development projects with a strong tie to external migration interests can raise “unsaid insidious questions”, according to one of our Senegal-based interlocutors (Interview implementing partner, Dakar, 29 July 2019). As a result, those EU-funded projects implemented in Senegal, are ones that are based on previous Senegalese reiterations of projects that already existed. The idea being – whether factually true or not – that the government is not submitting to the pressure to the extent of implementing things that are not already part of their political vision of the country.

Another frequent way to side-step form and clear compliance is by attempting to cooperate under the radar. There has been a steady growth of informal agreements. In fact, in terms of formal agreements, there is only on Mobility Partnership with a Sub-Saharan African country, Cape Verde in 2007, and two less binding Common Agendas for Migration and Mobility, signed with Nigeria and Ethiopia in 2015. For the EU, informal agreements may be more realistic to achieve, and for their partner countries in West Africa, informality avoids public scrutiny and is therefore potentially less costly in terms of domestic legitimacy. One of our interviewees, a policy consultant in Abuja also noted that such informal agreements, including Memoranda of Understanding were useful for ‘testing the waters’ before signing a permanent agreement (Interview, March 2019). In The Gambia, a newly elected government tentatively began to improve cooperation with the EU on return matters after signing an informal agreement (a ‘good practice agreement’) in 2018. This ultimately backfired. The lack of transparency and miscommunication on the deal led to rumors of government officials “selling the backway people” (Interview, Gambian activist, Freiburg, May 2017, backway being the name of migrants taking irregular routes to Europe).

Reactive incompliance on return

There are several strategies used to avoid compliance with forced returns in a more reactive manner. This includes failing to adhere to technical steps or pointing to technical issues for justifying incompliance. One direct reactive form of incompliance is the non-engagement in identification missions. Migrants need to be identified by states as their own nationals and receive some form of identification papers in order to physically be able to fly home. Without IDs – both passports and laissez-passer documentation, deportations cannot be processed. State delegations are regularly invited to come and identify a number of migrants with no leave to remain as their own nationals. One form of incompliance we saw in the course of our research, was national missions that were delayed, never took place or didn’t identify supposed nationals for any other reasons. Such a reaction, is not saying we will not comply, but it is also not expending excessive energy in compliance either.

Beyond this, any number of technical reasons can justify non-compliance. Again, this is not an outright refusal to engage with deportation, but rather a temporary stay linked to procedural rules like the number of migrants that can be deported in a certain time span, how long in advance a deportation flight needs to be announced for etc. Reactive incompliance allows states to disavow their commitments through inaction, slowing down return operations without vocally speaking out against them. This is less costly in their diplomatic relations than outright disapproval but can also increase domestic legitimacy.

Proactive incompliance on return

Taking into consideration both the domestic and external pressures, some governments are deciding to resist return cooperation more overtly. This can be rather indirectly, like the long-standing active refusal to sign an EU agreement on returns from both Senegal and Nigeria. It can also take on very direct forms in some cases – like the moratorium on deportations in The Gambia.

Indirectly then, negotiations for a formal cooperation agreement on return can drag out, in various forms of ‘passive stalling’ as previous research has shown for EU-Senegal negotiations, under a French lead. Negotiations on a readmission agreement between Nigeria and the EU have infamously dragged on, despite the country signing a CAMM with the EU in 2015. A senior AU official stated:

‘Nigeria is tough to deal with. The EU can arm twist countries like Senegal, Mali; they can’t do that to Nigeria; with the Nigerian government no one really knows what is happening’ (Interview, Berlin, March 2019).

Similarly, a Nigerian academic stated in their interview: ‘I don’t think Nigeria is interested in the migration partnership with EU, at least not in the aspects that the EU is interested in’ (Interview, Nigerian academic, phone, February 2019). As such, the Nigerian government may be using the stalling tactic in order to get benefits (like improved legal migration pathways etc.). They are stalling on the negotiations, and remain proactively incompliant on large-scale return, though never openly and vocally dismissing return or an agreement at all either.

Perhaps given their geopolitical size and position on the continent, a certain diplomatic lenience is to be expected from Nigeria. But (country) size does not seem to matter. The most direct example of proactive incompliance comes from the moratorium on deportations from the tiny and diplomatically rather marginal country, The Gambia. The Gambian authorities claimed that the conditions of the 2018 agreement informal were not maintained, with one flight in February 2019 particularly contested. Issues included the number of police officers on the plane (60), the treatment of the deportees (handcuffed) and that the Gambian authorities had allegedly not been adequately informed of the incoming flight. A tense atmosphere, including a violent incident directly at the airport and protests in response, led to the government imposing a moratorium, stopping all deportation flights to the country. Only after months of anxious negotiations was the moratorium formally lifted in October 2019, though it took years for deportations to significantly increase again. The moratorium and the continuous delay of accepting higher return numbers amounts to proactive incompliance.

Internationally such a strategy can backfire: Visa sanctions for The Gambia were mentioned in passing back in 2019 by a European diplomat (‘that might be an option’, Interview, Serrekunda, May 2019), and in 2021 were adopted for The Gambia, with the press release stating, this ‘decision was taken due to the country’s lack of cooperation on readmission of third-country nationals illegally staying in the EU’ (European Council 2021). They were only lifted in 2024, after the number of returns were at an adequate number again. Adequate for the European partners.

Given the asymmetric power imbalances, an outright form of resistance is unlikely. States have to remain watchful of their political abilities in such a constrained environment. Given the asymmetric power relations of countries in the Global South, it is highly pertinent to give a more nuanced account of interactions between states in this situation and those in a more powerful position.

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IT’S TOO COMPLICATED, THEY SAY

A Reckoning in Seven Movements

I. To Begin With Fire

There are nights I wake with my hands curled into fists,
nights when I cannot unclench my teeth
because somewhere a child is drinking saltwater and dying anyway.
Somewhere a child is fed by moonlight and still starving.

I see the names of the dead in the lines of my palms.
They say there is no record of the missing,
but they are here, pressed into my hands like the bones of birds.

And yet—
the silence of the learned men,
the ones with degrees framed in oak and dust,
the ones who know what genocide means but fold their lips around the word
as if it were a seed they could swallow whole.

They say, It’s complicated.
They say, Let’s be nuanced.
They say, What about academic freedom?

What about the freedom to speak in the language of the dying?
What about the freedom to name the dead before they turn to mist?

I am making a list.
I am writing it carefully, line by line.
I will not cite you.
I will not walk beside you.
I will not carry your silence.

I will not walk the same halls as you,
where the air still holds the echoes of children—
droned, displaced, disappeared.

II. The Mouth is an Open Grave

Ernie A Stephens

You—who called me militant over a glass of wine,
You—who said I was too loud, too political,
who said that academic associations should remain impartial,
as if to study anthropology  is not to see its ghosts assembling.

You—who snarled at me after a boycott motion,

who spat my name like a bullet,

said you were sick of my pro-Palestine ‘shit’,
as if grief should wear clean clothes,
as if rage should come whispering
apologies at your door,
as if I could soften my sorrow
to spare you discomfort—
you, who mistake silence for peace,
politeness for justice.

You—who told her to shut up,
shut up, shut up,
while the bodies were still warm,
while the smoke still gathered in their throats.

What does it mean to shut up
when the silence is already swallowing a nation?

III. A Boy Killed at Dawn is a Lesson in Gravity

 Let’s talk about erasure.
Let’s talk about the way a boy’s body folds into the street
& disappears.

Let’s talk about the way you, an anthropologist,
call it policing when a human rights committee
dares to say another’s name—

as if a name is a wound that must stay closed,
as if speaking is the real offense,
as if the dead should remain unsaid
so they can vanish properly.

Let’s talk about how a name can be
erased by silence,
how a name can be
a place bombed flat,
how a name can be
a door you shut in the face of history
& still call it neutrality.

Let’s talk about the way your mouth
forms around the word complicated
like it is softer than rubble,
lighter than a child’s backpack
left in the street
where no child remains.

Let’s talk about the way a name
becomes a crime,
the way a crime
becomes an argument,
the way an argument
becomes a theory,
the way a theory
sits safely
in a syllabus
far from the fire.

Let’s talk about the way
you keep your hands clean.

Let’s talk about the weight of the sky on a body
that will never rise again.

How many dead before your equations balance?
How many ruins before you adjust the scale?

You say, But what about the hostages?
You say, But what about Hamas?

As if grief has a nationality.
As if mourning is a privilege reserved
for the ones whose homes
are not on fire.

IV. The Shape of Smoke is a Question No One Wants to Answer

They say, Don’t let it consume you.
As if I am not already made of ash.

They say, A boycott will only hurt individuals.
And I say, What of the boy who will never be a man?
What of the girl who still carries the sound of sirens in her teeth?

You say, This isn’t nuanced.
You say, You’re too militant.
You say, History is complicated.

I say, I have seen a mother fold over the body of her son.
I say, I have seen a city turned to dust.
I say, I have seen the way a child reaches for a hand that isn’t there.

I say, It’s not complicated.
I say, It’s not complicated.
I say, It’s not complicated.

V. The Ethics of a Kill List

Jakob Rubner

You make your lists, I make mine.
You draft conference papers,
shuffling citations like playing cards.

I draft names of the dead—
Mariam, age 4,
Ahmad, age 12,
Rima, age 9,
names stripped from the news
before they even reach your inbox.

I am making a list.
I am writing it carefully, line by line.
I will not cite you.
I will not walk beside you.
I will not carry your silence.

You—who bore witness to thousands of dead children
and called it complicated.
You—who turned from the photographs,
who scrolled past the videos of a father cradling
the severed halves of his son.

You—who call me militant for weeping.
You—who clutch your tenure tighter
than the girl clutches her father’s sleeve
as the building comes down.

You, the historians, the political scientists,
who sent letters to The Irish Times,
your signatures heavy—
“This is not genocide, no, it is not.”

VI. What Remains After the Fire

And what will you do when the dust settles?
When the air is no longer thick with the scent of burning?
When the buildings are gone and the bones have been buried?

Will you write a paper?
Will you say, It is a tragedy, truly, but complicated?
Will you teach your students about ethics,
about critical distance,
about the necessity of multiple perspectives?

Or will you look away,
as you always have,
as you always will,
as the history books are written
without the names of the dead?

Let me tell you something about history.
It does not forget the silent.
It does not absolve the quiet.
It does not ask for your approval.

And when the day comes,
when the sky clears,
when the last word is spoken—
it will not be yours.

VII. A Final Naming

I dreamed last night of a boy on a bicycle.
He was riding through the ruins of his neighbourhood,
a plastic bag tied to the handlebars, catching the wind.

He was laughing.

He did not know yet that the air was thick with phosphorus.
He did not know yet that the world had already signed his death certificate.

Somewhere, a man in a suit is rewording his obituary.
Somewhere, an academic is adjusting their syllabus.
Somewhere, a journalist is deciding which parts of the massacre to cut
to fit the word count.

And somewhere, a mother is sitting on the floor of an empty home,
repeating his name until morning.

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Episode 11: Effects of Externalisation: Considering EU Migration Management in Africa

In the 11th episode of the PUAN podcast, Anna Gopsill interviews Dr Cathrine Talleraas (CMI) and Onike Shorunkeh-Sawyerr (GIZ). Their conversations consider the effects of externalisation into Africa – and the challenges of working within and with multinational organisations in achieving common goals related to migration.

Effects of Externalisation: Considering EU Migration Management in Africa (spotify.com)

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Winner of the Public Anthropologist Award 2025

The winner of the Public Anthropologist Award 2025 is Elliott Prasse-Freeman for his book Rights Refused. Grassroots Activism and State Violence in Myanmar (Stanford University Press, 2023). Elliott Prasse-Freeman is an Assistant Professor of Sociology and Anthropology at the National University of Singapore. Rights Refused is the result of long-term ethnographic engagement, which brought Prasse-Freeman to investigate a variety of forms and contexts of activism, from protest camps to prisons. The book explores the gap between elite human rights cosmopolitans and subaltern Burmese subjects who work in situations of violent governance. Well documented and well written, Rights Refused is a must read for all those interested in how rights frameworks operate and change.

Antonio: Can you tell us more about your personal and academic journey, which eventually brought you to publish this book?

Elliott: The path that led me to this book might be germane to many PUAN readers, given that I started not in the academic domain but in the NGO / UN / policy world – specifically the development sector. This interest built off some of my mother’s work with organizations in northern Thailand and also emerged from my aversion to do the things that my university – the apotheosis of finishing school for the bourgeois American subject – prepared one for (think banking and management consulting). At the same time, academia was not on my radar – I had no idea how the professors that I learned from became themselves; I assumed they descended from on high or emerged fully formed from a lake or something, complete with flowing robes and such.

I moved to Myanmar in 2004, back in the depths of military rule (to which the country may currently be returning). The military-state’s combination of parasitic extractivism and malign neglect combined to create a fascinating series of subterranean social formations and coping strategies that I was able to access due to the enormous number of opportunities that opened up to me there – from teaching kindergarten to working for the UN to teaching politics to dissidents through a clandestine program sponsored by one of the foreign embassies.

This latter experience allowed me to get to know some really special people, and sparked an interest in questions around contentious politics and social mobilization in authoritarian contexts. But I left Burma in 2005 after a year for Thialand and did not expect I would return, given how entrenched the military was and how much it and the US Congress (particularly its sanctimonious sanctions scheme) restricted what could be done there. However, over the next few years I became quite disillusioned with the development sector – from the implementation, which felt piecemeal and unsustainable; to the policy approaches, which felt willfully myopic. And while I finished a master’s program in public policy and development economics, I felt a bit like I was going mad, screaming questions that were largely illegible to, or simply seen as unserious by, most of my professors and peers. Many of my complaints were epistemologically oriented – why do we assume humans are rational actors optimizing subject to identifiable constraints? How do we really know whether that project works, given that the evaluation stopped after a year (what if it all collapses next year)? Why do we pretend that questions regarding politics, violence, human decision-making, and such should not be asked merely because they cannot be measured elegantly with large-scale surveys?

It was for this reason I turned to anthropology. And given that my interest in Myanmar had persisted over those years (I had continued to learn the language, had worked on projects with Burmese migrants when I lived in Thailand, etc), it made sense to continue thinking with Burmese people as part of PhD research. And while my original PhD project proposed Thai-border and diaspora fieldwork, Burma’s much-lauded but ultimately ill-fated “political transition” began around the time I was preparing for field research. I therefore moved to Yangon, where – through more luck – I was able to fall in with a group of political / social activists who didn’t mind having me around as they traversed sites all over lowland Myanmar – from rural land uprisings to industrial zone labor actions.

I spent 2014 and 2015 in country and returned several times afterwards, especially after moving to the National University of Singapore in 2018 (although Covid lockdowns meant my last trip to Burma was in late 2019). The coup came in February 2021 and put the final coffin in a “transition” that had increasingly seemed moribund, in that its embrace of neoliberal quasi-authoritarianism – endorsed and deployed by the erstwhile democratic opposition of Aung San Suu Kyi, to be clear – served an upwardly-mobile middle class but largely excluded the masses. I tried to grapple with the ambivalences that emerged from that (people devastated by a return to military rule despite their deep frustrations with “democracy”) as I remained in touch with my activist friends, cataloguing their experiences on the streets, then in hiding, and ultimately in the underground where they remain today. 

Antonio: Can you share some of both the most rewarding and most challenging aspects of your ethnographic research in Myanmar?

Elliott: I tell anyone who will listen how lucky I was to meet the members of the activist group featured in the book. They were really good people – as I put it in the book’s acknowledgments, I often find myself contemplating one of my own (paltry) problems and then asking myself what I think they would do in the same situation. And as problem navigators, they did not allow the demand to consider everything (alternatives, unintended consequences, morality, etc) lead to paralysis, while they also staved off the temptation to be in perpetual reaction to ever-changing conditions on the ground. Central to this activism was a host of activity – which meant that I got access to many things I did not anticipate: not just court rooms, prisons, and protest camps, but I got to witness daily life of people living in peri-urban Yangon, how peasants in upper Burma tried to organize responses to land grabs, and how young factory workers imagined their futures. The book is of course not comprehensive in its account of lowland Burma during this era, but with the activists as matire d’s, I got to experience a movable feast of sorts.

In terms of the challenges, of course there’s always language. I simply never felt skilled enough to really get everything, especially when observing a heated conversation play out, for instance. As affect flooded the zone, I tended to focus on the interpersonal interactions (how were their bodies arranged – is he going to hit him right now?!) and my brain couldn’t keep up with the explicit content of the speech. Even if I could, I felt I was still missing much of the subtext (especially when conveyed through idioms or slang). I was lucky to have patient and interested friends who helped piece things together for me, which had the added dimension of allowing me to solicit their reflections.

Beyond language, another challenge was telling their stories without drifting into hagiography or romanticization. Ethnography is a weird method, in that you’re painting a picture with borrowed supplies – and so while you’re responsible for the ultimate product, you’re constrained by those materials, and need to respect them. At the same time, the thousands of other Burmese people I met and interacted with over the years were also stakeholders in this story; I wrote while imagining them all, to differing degrees, peeking over my shoulder, assessing the analysis and choices. I do not claim to have got this mix right, but one of the benefits of ethnography is that it can, when things go well, provide enough depth and detail to allow for others to interpret the same materials differently.

Antonio: Rights Refused focuses on subaltern Burmese struggles to conduct politics under violent governance, but Myanmar is not an exceptional case in this regard. As the case of Gaza also makes it evident, understanding how rights frameworks are used, abused and operate is of critical importance. What do you make of today’s international situation?

Elliott: The genocide in Gaza has been enabled by – couldn’t exist without – the USA’s so-called “progressive” political party. The same party that had been pushing “rule of law” reform and “human rights” trainings in Burma has been sending weapons to slaughter children by the thousands in Gaza, reminding us of Žižek’s famous line: “one is never sure what it will drop, bombs or food parcels.” Can rights frameworks provide any protection in these situations of super-sovereignty? To riff on Yeats, rights seem quaint when, in what we might call the imperial core, those who do not “lack all conviction” instead revel in sociopathic desire for vengeance and domination. Moreover, one argument advanced in the book – that the referent for “rights” in Burma is not stable, and evolves through material deployments and corresponding interpretations of the sign – is also relevant here. To wit, when the USA evokes human rights frameworks and a “rule-based order” only to then enact this carnage, the sign “human rights” is incapable of remaining uncontaminated. It should be seen instead as part of the language of empire, even as it may retain emancipatory or oppositional valences for others at the same time.

Gaza has also created a (relatively much milder, of course) crisis for scholars on the left. While many of us endorse radical politics, our material commitments and actions are largely subsumed within a (crypto)normative model of liberal persuasion (here meant in the Enlightenment-Humanist / “speaking truth to power” sense). For no other reason than we are not organizers or activists but scholars – devoted in part to knowledge production – we need to acknowledge this reality. And such a role seems hard to sustain when courageous Palestinian witnesses bring images of atrocity to our screens in a never-ending stream: the temporal deferral immanent to leftist knowledge production projects in general – the dialectical sublation of current failure into potential future transformation – seems to collapse in the face of genocide (and, we should say, the fact of genocides after Auschwitz, the supposed “never again” watermark). Things are made worse still when much of what we could write about Gaza seems destined to be incorporated into a broader symbolic machine that produces liberal pieties of humanitarian despair or anti-political “both-sides” equivocations.

There is no answer to this (relatively much milder) crisis. It seems that the only way to do some semblance of justice to Gaza is to incorporate the horrors of the last year and a half directly into on-going analysis. For example, Myanmar activists certainly perceive how their struggles are not contained within their country – their forgotten war is simultaneously a global one: the military regime is supported by Russia while Israel has supplied it weapons even after the coup; natural resource rents are valorized on external markets; China has been an unexpected (if inconsistent) ally to the revolution while somehow also a staunch supporter of the regime; and the West has been only present by its absence (for better or for worse). It seems important to retheorize those global linkages in terms of imperial formations while identifying anti-imperial ones. In the past, many Myanmar people – the activists I work with included – have viewed “the international community” as a strange kind of ally: capricious and often indifferent, but oriented towards justice, if one can only grab its attention. Gaza seems to have forced a reckoning, threatening the viability of this fantasy. Rather than being a third party simply failing to act in time to prevent genocides (as with the case of the Rohingya in 2017), here the “international community” (with Germany, Austria, Poland, and France in particular joining the USA as exponents) is the cause of the carnage. The same role had certainly been played earlier in this neighborhood (Vietnam in the 1960s and 1970s), but no time before has it been so glaring, so brazen, and so mediatized as with Gaza from October 7th until the ceasefire (one that came, apparently, via the deranged and self-interested Trump not Biden).

It remains to be seen, of course, whether Gaza will have a kind of lasting effect in which Myanmar, and related places in the Global South, forge a new kind of internationalism, a Non-Aligned Movement for the 21st century. I observed even before Gaza that Myanmar was already turning away from the international community, deciding that it would need to fight without reliance on that kind of fickle outside help. But outside help in general is necessary against a well-armed foe with its own external patrons. Ultimately, and this is obviously quite under-developed, but I discern a sort of elective affinity between the way that social movements operating within an imperial-capitalist milieu must mimic the expansionary nature of imperial capitalism (in which the capitalist imperial core necessarily looks outside of itself for extraction, new markets, new territories to control). If your enemy is constantly expanding, you must as well. And here the nascent signs of solidarity between Myanmar revolutionaries with Rojava and Gaza, respectively, are important to endorse and circulate.

Antonio: What are your future plans?  

Elliott: As alluded to above, while I was conducting research for Rights Refused, Myanmar’s military launched a genocidal attack on the Rohingya people of western Burma (in August 2017).  I incorporated this event and aspects of the Rohingya struggle for inclusion in Burma into the book (particularly chapter 6), but that discussion could obviously not do justice to the histories of the people, the dynamics of the conflict, and the questions of identity in the midst of mass violence. Even so, through that research I became aware of the significant gaps in knowledge about the Rohingya – basic understandings of social structure, marriage markets, migration routes, political economy, and so forth exist neither in journalistic nor academic accounts. I think this can be attributed in part to the imperative to tell the story in simple terms so as to mobilize humanitarian and political responses: to save the bodies under threat. But in so doing, Rohingya have been reduced to bodies, reproducing a now-classic irony of humanitarian logic, in which the dehumanization experienced at the hands of perpetrators is mimicked in reduced form when humanitarian discourse presents victims as mere life in need of saving. The corollary is that as these texts have circulated they have created a presumption that the oppressive violence long experienced by the Rohingya (particularly after the 1962 military coup and accelerating after the deployment of a new citizenship law in 1982) has been so great that all Rohingya experienced that violence equally and in such complete ways that their culture had been entirely erased – that there was nothing much worth studying.

Neither of these assumptions is quite true. First off, Rohingya experienced state oppression quite differently depending on where they resided in Arakan, and – more importantly – where they resided in a surprisingly class-differentiated social system. For example, when the military demanded that Rohingya conduct forced labor, wealthy Rohingya were able to pay bribes or purchase replacements from poor Rohingya families. The phenomenon of forced labor, heretofore a violation catalogued in human rights reports as describing an encompassing condition instead revealed the opposite – its partiality – and in doing so helped reveal a class schism. Clues such as these made me suspect that there was an entire universe for exploration beneath the one-dimensional descriptions, and that not all culture had been erased – that we could better understand the way Rohingya social systems functioned and continued to operate even as Myanmar’s military state encroached upon their previous lifeways and corrupted indigenous self-governance institutions.

In 2018, upon moving to NUS, I began to examine these and related questions more systematically – this has included several visits to the camps in Bangladesh. There I have been implementing an oral history project through a team of Rohingya researchers who previously worked with an international organization that has since been forced to scale back its work given humanitarian funding cuts and reallocations (to places such as Gaza). We are now in our fourth phase of the research, as we have adapted and expanded our questions as we learn more about the contours of Rohingya society. Further still, part of this has necessitated an inquiry into the foundations and material structures of Rakhine nationalism, which I am only beginning to scratch the surface of.

The project also includes an ethnographic component, which I conduct in Malaysia with Rohingya (and Myanmar Muslims) who have found a form of refuge there. Though these people are vaguely recognized as refugees (Malaysia permits the UNHCR to distribute identity cards), Malaysia has never signed the UN Convention on Refugees, meaning that Rohingya remain formally “illegal migrants” who receive no benefits and few opportunities. For example, the hundreds of thousands of refugees in Malaysia cannot work and their children cannot attend public school, leading to a situation in which marginalization and exclusion are reproduced across generations. My research there explores how Rohingya-ness is inflected by these forms of survival and how collective identity maintains or erodes in the wake of mass violence and expulsion. In response to that concern of erosion, some Rohingya actors with whom I work are attempting to address the crisis of potential cultural erasure by preserving key Rohingya artifacts on a virtual digital platform – one that could be accessible to anyone with an internet connection, and open to contributions from the Rohingya community itself. However, questions about what constitutes authentic Rohingya culture – not to mention how to narrativize it and represent it – persists as a challenge that this project continues to struggle with (especially given that so many Rohingya have been forced out of Myanmar for so long, and because so much violence has, from the perspective of Rohingya, prevented them from actively living their culture for decades as well).

Taken together, the book that will hopefully emerge from these various strands of research will illuminate the histories and potential futures of the Rohingya, ones that have been obscured thus far. It will also touch on issues of mass violence, racial capitalism, state formation, global regimes of biopolitical in/exclusion, and ethnogenesis that should make the Rohingya issue more relevant to comparative cases (such as Gaza, discussed above).

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Public/applied/professional anthropologists on gentrification. Reflections from Milan, Italy.

Milan, Italy’s economic capital, continues to experience notable growth, with a projected 1.1% increase in added value for 2024, according to Assolombarda – an association representing entrepreneurs in the metropolitan city and surrounding provinces of Lodi, Monza, Brianza, and Pavia. Despite these positive economic indicators, the city faces conflicting dynamics that disproportionately impact its most vulnerable populations. Processes of financialization, touristification, and urban regeneration have intensified both social and spatial polarisation, creating a stark contrast between the prosperous city centre and increasingly marginalised suburban areas and urban “voids.” These spaces are often subject to gentrification, further displacing low-income residents beyond the urban periphery.

In response to these developments, Milan’s public discourse has increasingly focused on previously neglected issues, such as the conditions of peripheral neighbourhoods, housing crises, and the future of public spaces. These topics have become central in media narratives and political agendas.

Amid this evolving landscape, social scientists face mounting pressure to articulate their perspectives, engage in critical analyses, and align with particular strategies of action. Cultural anthropology, in particular, has seen a rise in social visibility and relevance, evolving from a niche academic field to a dynamic and responsive domain of knowledge applied to pressing contemporary challenges. In Milan, anthropologists are employed both within and beyond academia, taking on roles as educators, social workers, urban planners, and community managers, among others. These roles often involve the application of anthropological insights, underscoring a convergence of public, applied, and professional anthropologies that frequently intersect rather than function as discrete domains.

As anthropologists involved in both research and education, we have often found ourselves drawn into public debates and grassroots social movements addressing issues such as gentrification in Milan. This involvement has required us to negotiate various and sometimes contradictory positions within a continuum that spans public engagement and activism. These experiences have prompted critical reflections on the public dimension of our discipline. In the following sections, we aim to narrate the outcomes of these negotiations, , showing how the liminality of our affiliations can highlight the situated and context-specific nature of anthropological knowledge.

The supposedly ‘expert’ anthropologist and the demand for solutions

In June 2022, following the publication of a monograph on one of Milan’s largest public housing districts (“Barrio San Siro”, Franco Angeli)[1], Paolo, an assistant professor at a Milanese university, was invited to participate in discussions as a specialist on “urban issues”. These invitations were extended by two collectives – one in Milan and the other in Bologna – organising debates on the consequences of gentrification and potential strategies to counter it.

In the book, Paolo does not directly address that issue, which is relatively concerned with the neighbourhood. Rather, the study moved from a relational conception of urban space to interpret the structural violence that affects a periphery of Lombardy’s capital city. However, the release of the book was partly included by some readers in the public debate on the “urban question” that was developing in Milan. Probably due to the lack of other similar products recently published, Paolo was involved in discussions that transcended his expertise, labelled as an “expert” anthropologist, able to bring back an informed point of view on what was happening in the Lombard capital. While this was certainly justified on the one hand (the book, after all, is the result of five years of ethnographic research), on the other hand it questioned the process of defining the figure of the “expert” and the actual possibility of standing in that specific debate as an anthropologist.

On other occasions, Paolo was contacted by local and national radio stations and newspapers to express opinions concerning the city of Milan as a whole. This leap in scale, albeit limited (from the neighbourhood to the city), constitutes another element to be problematised. Paolo’s ethnography expresses knowledge that is certainly not only related to the neighbourhood mentioned above but it is always circumstantial to specific places in the city. Anthropology frequently excels at examining how macro-social processes – such as gentrification – manifest at the micro-scale. However, it remains challenging to perform the reverse operation, translating micro-level findings to broader macro-scale analyses.

Public debates often demand this leap in scale, a transition that social scientists such as sociologists and urban planners are typically more adept at navigating. They are better positioned to address the question: how can a localised case study inform urban-scale dynamics and offer solutions to policymakers? The discomfort generated by these expectations perhaps underscores the unique nature of anthropology. Nevertheless, we contend that grappling with such demands is essential if anthropology is to be genuinely recognised as a “public” discipline.

Between feminist anthropology and political militancy

Sonia’s master’s thesis was an ethnographic study examining the intersections between gender, gentrification, and public spaces in the city of Monza. As a feminist anthropologist, Sonia approached her research field by drawing on personal experiences of navigating urban spaces. Gentrification emerged as one of the initial issues she sought to analyse from a political and activist perspective, given its profound connections to the displacement and exclusion of marginalised populations, including immigrants and economically disadvantaged groups, in urban centres.

When Sonia began studying gentrification through a gender lens, she recognised that its impact extended beyond immigrant and low-income communities to herself as a subject of analysis. As a woman crossing urban environments, she experienced first-hand how the perceived safety or danger of spaces is contingent upon how they are designed and perceived.

Sonia’s research aimed to explore how gentrification transforms women’s experiences of urban life and how it shapes new social habits. She argued that gentrification could function as a mechanism of exclusion but, conversely, might also inspire women to engage with urban spaces in new ways or organise collectively to reclaim their right to the city.

Her feminist political perspective naturally intertwined with her anthropological education, both in theoretical and practical terms. Viewing feminism as both a way of thinking and a set of practices, Sonia adopted feminist ethnography as her primary methodological approach for the thesis. Nonetheless, she sought to maintain a balance, resisting a purely activist research stance, even though many of her interlocutors were comrades from the same political collective.

Following feminist principles and ethnographic methodologies, Sonia aimed to create a safe space for her interlocutors to reflect on issues such as their relationship with public spaces and the challenges urban environments pose for women. She sought to minimise the traditional hierarchical gap between researcher and participant, instead fostering interactions akin to a feminist assembly.

Despite this approach, Sonia found it challenging to set aside her role as a political militant and fully embrace an anthropological perspective. Her preconceived views about gentrification and urban policies, which she initially viewed solely through a negative lens, were difficult to overcome. However, this intellectual struggle prompted her to engage more attentively with the perspectives of her interviewees. This analysis from below allowed her to consider people not only as victims of political and economic choices but also as protagonists in some urban processes.

One significant finding emerged from Sonia’s research on a gentrified area in Monza, colloquially known as the “movida street”. Interviews with middle-aged male residents revealed their perception of contributing positively to the street’s gentrification and beautification. Conversely, Sonia’s feminist comrades, primarily young women, critiqued the gentrification process while simultaneously acknowledging certain benefits, particularly for women and other marginalised individuals navigating the streets alone.

The realisation that gentrification might have positive aspects led Sonia to question whether her research was still aligned with her political activism and whether her comrades would value her findings, even if they diverged from collective political narratives. These reflections also raised broader questions: how can anthropology meaningfully engage with political militancy? Can anthropology itself be conceived as an inherently militant act?

The choice of not being identified as an “ethnographer”

Gabriele approached the issues related to housing and gentrification as a private citizen, through an informal group called “Abitare in Via Padova” (Living in Padova Street). This group brought together various civic associations from the Milanese suburbs to fight the rising rental and property prices in the neighbourhood. The association’s primary objective was to promote a political agenda focused on ensuring the right to decent housing for all residents of Milan.

During Gabriele’s first meeting with the group, after introducing himself, he was immediately asked: “Are you here as a researcher or as an activist?”. This question highlighted the persistent issue of “positioning” – a challenge not limited to ethnographic fieldwork but one that permeates various social contexts, networks, and moments in an individual’s life. Ethnographers, given their theoretical and professional training, are particularly attuned to these complexities of social engagement.

Gabriele positioned himself explicitly as an activist, asserting he had no academic intentions. This decision allowed him to avoid adopting an “identity” that would place him either “above” or “alongside” the people with whom he interacted. Framing his involvement outside conventional anthropological terms enabled him to bypass several methodological challenges associated with participant observation. He was also relieved from the obligation to produce academic findings, interpret social dynamics through the confines of disciplinary categories, or limit his interactions to committee members, residents, and politicians encountered during his experience with Abitare in Via Padova.

Nonetheless, a critical question lingered in the background: what is the added value of an anthropologist when they are not acting explicitly as an anthropologist? What specific skills can anthropologists bring to the social arena when their objectives are political rather than scholarly?

This question prompted Gabriele to explore pathways for transitioning from cultural analysis to cultural production. Drawing on his expertise in narrative studies, acquired through research on return migration from the Central Mediterranean to Senegal[2], Gabriele engaged not only in analysing the gentrification rhetoric perpetuated by real estate agencies – one of the primary drivers of rising housing costs in the neighbourhood – but also in crafting a counter-narrative through the development of a podcast.

The podcast itself[3] was developed using ethnographic techniques, including the recording of nineteen in-depth interviews. This endeavour demonstrated that even when anthropologists are not formally conducting research, they carry with them a set of professional skills adaptable to other social and political purposes.

However, this shift toward cultural production raises significant ethical questions, particularly when such projects begin to resemble ethnographic restitution. Anthropological scholarship from the 1980s and 1990s underscored the constructed nature of the “ethnographic field” as a temporally and spatially meaningful frame defined by the ethnographer within the continuum of social reality. As such, the social arena always holds the latent potential to be framed and interpreted as an ethnographic field.

Conclusions

Our experiences reveal the inherently fluid identity of the anthropologist who moves between the roles of expert, activist, and researcher. This fluidity is both a strength and a source of tension, often leaving anthropologists feeling “out of place” and prompting them to question their position and purpose in the contexts they engage with.

Our experiences illustrate how anthropological and ethnographic knowledge and skills can be applied in different ways and for different purposes, depending on the chosen positioning, even while addressing the same subject. Yet, a persistent sense of being “in-between” fosters critical reflection on their identity, raising questions about the boundaries of their expertise, the ethics of their engagement, and the expectations placed upon them.

However, it is not only the anthropologist who reflects on their positioning. Other actors in the field also engage with this fluidity. Paolo Grassi’s experience demonstrates how the ‘expert’ role often comes with expectations of providing solutions that extend beyond the researcher’s domain. Similarly, feminist comrades expected Sonia Imbrici to use her research as a tool for advancing a shared struggle. Gabriele Masi, on the other hand, was able to leverage his expertise – even as a “simple activist” – to gain credibility as a spokesperson for the ideas of Abitare in Via Padova through the podcast.

Whether contributing to public debates, engaging in activism, or conducting research, anthropologists must constantly navigate these shifting roles, adapting their methodologies and perspectives to the social and political demands of the moment.

Ultimately, this fluidity underscores the unique potential of anthropology to bridge diverse domains of knowledge and practice. It challenges anthropologists to embrace their liminal position not as a constraint but as a vantage point – one from which they can question, critique, and meaningfully contribute to the complex realities they seek to understand and transform. This continuous negotiation of roles highlights the discipline’s versatility, compelling anthropologists to redefine their place within society while pushing the boundaries of what anthropology can achieve.

[1] https://www.francoangeli.it/Libro/Barrio-San-Siro?Id=27366

[2] https://www.edizioniarcoiris.it/home/236-fallire-la-migrazione.html

[3] https://abitareinviapadova.org/noi-oltre-loreto/

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The inter-linkage between migration policies and irregular migration in the Global South: Evidence from Ethiopia

International migration is a controversial political and policy agenda, leading to the adoption of different policy measures in both sending and receiving countries. This blog takes the case of Ethiopia and examines the contexts and interplay between migration policy measures and international migration phenomena in sending countries. Particularly, the blog analyses the evolution of Ethiopia’s migration-related legal instruments and their contexts and assumptions on the one hand, and how human traffickers and employment agencies devise creative methods to circumvent and bypass the existing laws on the other. In short, I argue that despite the enactment of various polices and proclamations, irregular migration has been perpetuating, not declining in importance.

Currently, the international outward migration of Ethiopian youth is unfolding against the backdrop of a number of interrelated factors, including high level of population growth, youth unemployment, and rural-urban migration. International migration is a relatively recent phenomenon in Ethiopia and was shaped and facilitated by two main factors: first, the overthrow of the military regime in 1991 and the subsequent coming to power of a liberal government; and second, the demand for migrant labor in the oil rich Gulf countries and the immigrant (refugee) friendly policies that were pursued by the post-apartheid government of the Republic of South Africa during the 1990s.

The Evolution of Ethiopian Migration Policies

Ethiopians leave their country and try to reach their destination via regular routes, irregular routes, or a combination of both. Irregular migration is undertaken through three major routes: the Northern route (to Europe); the Eastern route (to Saudi Arabia and other Gulf countries); and the Southern route (to South Africa).

The Government of Ethiopia (GoE) has attempted to regulate international migration to other countries with the aim of maximizing the benefits that migration brings to the country and safeguard the wellbeing of migrant workers. To do this, the GoE implemented a number of different policies: The 1998 Private Employment Agency (PEA) Proclamation aimed to facilitate employment abroad and better protect the rights, safety and dignity of Ethiopians via private agencies – this was followed by The 2009 Employment Exchange Services Proclamation which addressed the limitations in the 1998 proclamation. In October 2013, overseas employment was banned in response to the massive deportation of “undocumented” migrant workers from Saudi Arabia. The Anti-trafficking and Smuggling Proclamation was adopted in 2015 to address irregular migration, and aim for the “Prevention and Suppression of Trafficking in Person and Smuggling of Migrants”. In 2016, the Overseas Employment Proclamation was adopted to safeguard the rights, safety, and dignity of Ethiopian workers abroad. Finally, the revised Anti-trafficking and smuggling Proclamation was adopted in 2020 to address the limitation of the 2015 Anti-Trafficking Law.

Loopholes in Ethiopia’s migration policies and the perpetuation of irregular migration

Despite Ethiopia’s enactment of migration policies and its proclamation to regulate the operation of international migration by both attempting to legalize overseas employment opportunities and fight against irregular migration and human trafficking and smuggling, individuals continue leaving the country in huge numbers. As demonstrated in figure one below, the number of Ethiopians arriving in Yemen rose between 2011 and 2012, before dropping in 2013. However, irregular migration increased again in the period to 2016 after Ethiopia introduced the ban on legal labor migration to the Middle East and the anti-trafficking and smuggling proclamation in 2015.

Figure 1: Estimated Number of Illegal Migrants in 2011-2016

Source: RMMS (Regional Mixed Migration Secretariat)

This increasing irregular migration is linked both to the “regulatory failure” of the state (like the weaknesses found in the formulation of the policies and to their implementation) (see, Castles 2004, cited in Fernandez, 2013:817); and to the agency of actors involved in the migration phenomenon, namely, individual migrants, employers, and such intermediaries as registered Private Employment Agencies (PEAs), unregistered brokers, and social networks. These actors attempt to exploit the existing regulating policies (or their lack) to their advantage.

For instance, PEAs failed to establish a legal representative in the receiving country. PEAs were found to be carrying out activities in clear violation of the 2009 proclamation, namely, receipt of payments and benefits, the claim to cover all expenses, the provision of insufficient protection to migrant workers in the employment, and collaboration with agencies and individuals in the destination that were known for human trafficking or were working closely with traffickers. Similarly, PEAs were not providing any assistance to migrants when they faced difficulties in the course of employment, rather they were part of the problem, as they were threatening migrants into continue working or return and face financial penalty.

However, these financial and administrative requirements have become sources of grievances and illegal conduct by private agencies. So much so that not many agencies were operating due to the high deposits they had to save as a guarantee for workers’ rights. The unattainable amount of deposit money has also forced many agencies to go underground. The October 2013 ban did not deter Ethiopians from trying to enter to Saudi Arabia and other Gulf states via alternative means. Migrants, with the help of traffickers and smugglers, travelled to Kenya and Tanzania as an alternative route. During the ban, agents and brokers were using business and tourist visas to move people from Ethiopia to the Gulf States – the Ethiopian government’s recognition of this ‘creative’ trend apparently facilitated the lifting of the ban in 2018. Although the revised overseas employment was issued in 2016, it took two more years before legal employment was granted and private employment agencies were allowed to once again.

Most importantly, migration policies were also shaped more by external factors than by internal factors; and as such, appeared to reflect the former’s universal norms and values. The Ethiopian PEA proclamation was introduced after the adoption of International Labor Organization’s (ILO) convention on Private Employment Agencies (No. 181/1997). The anti-trafficking and smuggling proclamation came out three years after Ethiopia ratified the two Protocols relevant to international migration that supplement the United Nations Convention against Transnational Organized Crime: the 2000 Protocol to Prevent, Suppress and Punish Trafficking in Persons, Especially Women and Children; and the 2000 Protocol against the Smuggling of Migrants by Land, Sea and Air. This proclamation was also supported by western powers as it is in line with their interest of stemming the flow of irregular migrants from reaching their shores.

Finally, the various proclamations issued by the government to regulate the legal migration of its nationals have not been backed up by the necessary financial, human and institutional arrangement and capacity. The management of migration in Ethiopia has not been treated and inculcated as an integral part of the country’s development endeavors.

In conclusion, although the laws and policies passed from the 1998 PEAs proclamation down to the recent 2020 Revised Anti-trafficking and smuggling Proclamation to manage migration appear to be progressive in nature, they also reveal important interplay between structure-agency. The formulation of laws and policies at structural level (with all their inherent limitations) have triggered the agency of non-state actors – like migrants, PEAs and human traffickers and smugglers – to devise ways of circumventing the constraints posed by the policies, inhabiting the implementation of the laws and policies put in place. 

This motivates the Ethiopian state to analyze its migration policies and systems critically, and in their entirety – including the implications, benefits and costs of proposed policies. The state also needs to assess its will and capacity, so that both the state and the other actors involved could benefit.

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Managing migration in Ethiopia: Complexities of externalisation

In this interview, Anna Gopsill asks Oliver Bakewell and Kiya Gezahegne about their research on Ethiopia. In it, they reflect on the motivation behind including Ethiopia in the project and highlight interesting findings from the EFFEXT project research. The EFFEXT project examined the effects of externalisation of EU borders into Africa and the Middle East, the project included six countries: Senegal, Ghana, Libya, Ethiopia, Jordan, and Lebanon.

Anna: Ethiopia was included in the EFFEXT project as one of the six case countries. What was the main motivation behind including Ethiopia as a comparison country?

Kiya and Oliver: Ethiopia is both an important origin and destination for migration in the Horn of Africa. With a large and young population, chronic political and economic instability, insecurity and conflict along with deteriorating environmental conditions, it is often seen as having all the ingredients for generating huge numbers of international migrants. There are three broad directions for those migrating from Ethiopia: the eastern route towards the Gulf, the southern route towards South Africa and the norther route towards Sudan, Libya and Europe. Many of the people moving along these different routes do so irregularly, without formal documentation and visas.

Anna: When considering these different routes, which is the most commonly used?

Kiya and Oliver: It is labour migration to the Gulf that is the largest of these, and the Ethiopian government has been particularly concerned about the situation of its citizens moving to find jobs in the Middle East, including many women taking on domestic work. Its approach has been to seek bilateral labour agreements with destination countries and to screen those hoping to ensure they have the right qualifications and training. This is accompanied by growing efforts to counter irregular migration, including human smuggling and trafficking, with measures to raise awareness, to train of border officials, prosecution of smugglers and traffickers and to support their victims.

Anna: Who are the main actors involved in migration management in Ethiopia?

Kiya and Oliver: The European Union has played an active role in supporting the Ethiopian government develop these policies. Ethiopia one of the largest recipients of funding from the European Union Emergency Trust Fund for stability and addressing root causes of irregular migration and displaced persons in Africa. In particular, EU has funded the Better Migration Programme to support the development of a coherent national migration policy, build the capacity of officials to implement policy, improve protection of those subject to trafficking, and awareness-raising on the dangers of irregular migration. Other initiatives have invested on employment and livelihood opportunities to reduce incentives for those who might consider irregular migration.

Anna: The research across the project has demonstrated that there are some synergies and some divisions between local/national, regional, and international migration management – especially when considering the contexts of different international organisations (such as the EU) and their involvement. Do you have any findings from your research in Ethiopia that speak to this?

Kiya and Oliver: While the Ethiopian government and EU may have different interests in promoting these initiatives to ‘manage migration’, they share a common concern with reducing irregular migration. However, our research in Ethiopia has highlighted some important gaps between these policy priorities and the practices on the ground.

For many stakeholders, including local official, local communities and people on the move, it is not clear what counts as irregular migration. At Metema, on the border with Sudan, there had long been a practice of seasonal labour migration that involves thousands of Ethiopians crossing to work on commercial farms in Eastern Sudan. Some would not even describe this as migration; they reserve that term for dangerous journeys undertaken with the help of smugglers or other intermediaries. Even if it is recognised as migration, because there are such close social, cultural and economic links with Sudan, such border crossing is seen locally as a perfectly legitimate regardless of any formal requirements for papers.

Anna: And what are the on-the-ground implications of this?

Kiya and Oliver: This has important implications, when new initiatives aim to prevent irregular migration and enforce more border controls. While central government and international actors design programmes around sharply defined categories of legal/illegal or regular/irregular migration, their implementations come unstuck in the face of the complex and fluid understanding of these terms on the ground. Moreover, given the fundamental importance of cross border movement for the livelihoods of seasonal labour migrants, any disruption of the flow may have significant negative consequences for large numbers of people.

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Framing climate change-induced displacement: Attributing disasters to natural causes

In the Horn of Africa, 2023 was characterised by numerous devastating extreme weather events, a trend that is expected to intensify in the coming years. The region continues to suffer from both rapid onset events such as floods and droughts and slow-onset climate change-related phenomena such as desertification. Although the countries of the region contribute only marginally to global greenhouse gas emissions, they bear the brunt of climate change-induced disasters that lead to the destruction of livelihoods and displacement from their homes. Research shows that climate-related disasters such as floods, droughts and desertification have a direct impact on the environment and livelihoods, forcing people in sub-Saharan Africa (SSA) to migrate. In line with this, recent evidence clearly shows that climate change is exacerbating extreme weather events and their impacts, especially in vulnerable regions such as Africa, and causing a large-scale displacement crisis. For example, temperature increases and droughts are important factors affecting agricultural production in African countries, with poorer countries experiencing more severe negative impacts. In addition, climate-related disasters can exacerbate ethnic tensions and increase the risk of armed conflict, especially in highly fragmented countries.

However, the countries that contribute significantly to global warming have engaged in migration policy discourses that are disconnected from the realities of poorer countries. As one expert, an advocate for grass-root engagement, noted: “The countries that contribute significantly to global warming and climate change are actively steering migration policy discussions. However, these discussions often overlook the fact that people in poorer countries bear the consequences and pay the price in order to maintain the lifestyles, industrialisation and economic growth in industrialised countries”.

Despite gradual progress in recognising the anthropogenic impacts of climate change and the emergence of initiatives such as Loss and Damage, which acknowledge the disproportionate impact of climate change on regions such as Africa, there remain significant gaps among international actors, including the EU, in explicitly identifying climate-induced disasters as a major cause of livelihood loss and displacement in affected regions (according to representatives from public institutions). Regardless of the positions of international actors from industrialised countries, African countries have taken a leading role in recognising the human contribution to climate change and its impact on migration. According to an interview with a representative from a German Development Cooperation, policy makers and regional policy organisations, such as the Intergovernmental Authority on Development (IGAD), have acknowledged climate-induced displacement and the need to address its causes. As one expert from an intergovernmental organisation noted, “It is increasingly recognised that many countries on the African continent have taken concrete steps to acknowledge the contribution of human-induced factors to phenomena such as droughts, floods, desertification and other impacts of slow-onset climate events”.

As far as international actors are concerned, our empirical analysis revealed a prevailing tendency in documents and media reports on climate change and migration to portray climate-related disasters — such as droughts, floods and desertification — as natural phenomena that occur independently of human action. This view emphasises the unpredictability and inevitability of such events and absolves the EU and other industrialised countries of responsibility for the resulting migration from Africa. Interviewees pointed out that many actors, including governments and non-governmental organisations (NGOs), perceive extreme weather events as natural disasters. A participant from civil society in the Horn of Africa explained: “Most stakeholders, including governments and NGOs, tend to view droughts and floods in the region as natural disasters and do not recognise that they are man-made or caused by climate change. This view makes it difficult to consider sustainable solutions”. In this context, a civil society expert in the region stated that:

“I think that the number of people affected by droughts and other extreme weather events has increased, with the severity and frequency escalating due to the increasing impact of climate change. There are gaps when it comes to explicitly recognising the displacement of people and destruction of livelihoods due to climate change-induced disasters and attributing them to human-induced activities in industrialised countries”

An expert working for one of the United Nations organisations expressed a similar view: “To be honest, not everyone agrees that the frequent and intense extreme weather events in the Horn of Africa, such as droughts and floods, are a consequence of climate change caused by human activity. Many, especially international actors, still see these as natural phenomena”. This natural view in policy documents and media coverage constructs a narrative that portrays these disasters as beyond human control, thus minimising the EU’s perceived responsibility for addressing the underlying causes of climate migration.

Conclusions
By framing these disasters as natural rather than man-made events, powerful actors can strategically distance themselves from the consequences of their actions, thereby evading accountability and responsibility for climate-induced displacement. The narrative of naturalisation has several far-reaching implications for policy, international cooperation, ethical considerations and public perception.
The naturalisation of climate-related disasters has significant empirical and theoretical implications for understanding the mechanisms by which developed countries evade responsibility for climate-induced displacement. This view shifts responsibility away from the main perpetrators of climate change, creates ethical challenges in international cooperation and shifts responsibility to the most vulnerable regions. It also reinforces a disproportionate focus on humanitarian aid and influences public perceptions in a way that undermines support for systemic change. A shift towards recognising the anthropogenic roots of these disasters is essential to promote accountability, support equitable policies and ensure that responses to climate change are just and inclusive.

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Externalisation in Senegal: Balancing competing interests

In this interview, Anna Gopsill asks Ida Marie Savio Vammen about her research on Senegal – reflecting on the interesting findings from the country and highlighting the importance of including Senegal in the project EFFEXT. The EFFEXT project examined the effects of externalisation of EU borders into Africa and the Middle East, the project included six countries: Senegal, Ghana, Libya, Ethiopia, Jordan, and Lebanon.

Anna: What made Senegal an interesting case to include in this project?

Ida: Senegal is a compelling case when examining the influence of European externalization initiatives on African partner countries. For nearly two decades, the European Union and individual member states—particularly Spain, France, and more recently Germany—have in different ways attempted to curb irregular migration, both overland and especially at sea. The initiatives were set in motion by the so-called ‘Cayuco crisis’ in 2006, where over 30.000 migrants, predominantly from Senegal, reached the Spanish Canary Islands by boat and were later spurred by the European refugee crisis and renewed activity on the dangerous Atlantic sea route since late 2019.

Migration and remittances play a vital socioeconomic and cultural role in the country which has a long tradition of cross-border mobility, both within the region and internationally, linked to colonial times but also predating them. In conjunction with economic difficulties and youth employment, this fact makes it difficult for the heavily funded externalization initiatives to meet their objective which is recognized by most of the European and Senegalese policy actors I have talked to during fieldwork.  

Over the years, the Senegalese government has simultaneously accommodated and resisted EU pressures. They have had to navigate donor interest that comes with access to development funding and funding to build the national security apparatus with sensitive issues such as forced return, which remains politically sensitive nationally and their interest in strengthening diaspora contributions.

Anna: When considering migration governance in Senegal, who are the main actors involved?

EU interest and funding for migration and security-related projects and the influence of international organizations, especially the International Organization for Migration (IOM), have fostered institutional fragmentation and competition for migration-related resources for institutional capacity building and funding. At the governmental level, key actors include the Ministry of the Interior, responsible for the police, including border control, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The latter is represented by the Directorate General for the Diaspora (DGSE), which manages diaspora relations and programs such as the BAOS, and the Directorate General for Consular Affairs, responsible for issuing travel documents and participating in return and repatriation processes. Other governmental ministries are involved as well, such as the Directorate General for Employment, which negotiates labor agreements with third countries, and the Ministry of Justice, particularly in relation to anti-trafficking efforts.

When attempting to draft the country’s National Migration Policy (NMP), the Ministry of Economy, Planning and Cooperation and the Directorate General of Human Capital Development led a policy process from 2015-2018 (funded by the IOM) that ultimately failed. More recently, IOM has again played a significant funding role in the adoption of Senegal’s new NMP. In this case, the Ministry of Finance, pressured by the EU, played a decisive role in pushing for the policy’s finalization, spearheaded by former Prime Minister Amadou Ba’s office.

Anna: Are there any specific ongoing challenges in the country?

It remains uncertain how the new government under President Bassirou Diomaye Faye and Prime Minister Ousmane Sonko will address migration issues and if they will adopt this policy or pursue a different path in line with their agenda to enhance Senegal’s sovereignty and reduce foreign dependencies and debt.

Anna: While the project findings are still being crystallised, has any one finding emerged from your research in Senegal?

My research in Senegal highlights the multifaceted ripple effects of EU and European actors’ externalization initiatives and discourses, particularly how they influence civil society actors’ and activists’ engagement with migration issues and policies. Civil society organizations (CSOs) often become key intermediaries in the migration industry, implementing EU-funded projects as they struggle for financial support. At the same time, other CSOs seek to challenge and subvert the European border regime and the Eurocentric narratives around migration.

Anna: Finally, what have you found to be interesting when researching Senegal?

One of the most intriguing aspects has been the contestation from below of European externalization efforts. For instance, while the EU has heavily invested in campaigns aimed at deterring migration from Senegal, it has been interesting to follow activist-led campaigns in Dakar that have emerged to provide counternarratives, challenging Eurocentric migration policies and the associated border violence.

Moreover, observing the role of CSOs in the recent migration policy process has been fascinating. On one hand, they advocate for a migration policy that prioritizes Senegal’s interests over those of the EU. On the other hand, there appears to be a recurring cycle of “performative inclusion” of these actors in policy-making, leading their initial critical engagement to evolve into more reluctant compliance with the broader European migration agenda. It will, therefore, be interesting to see whether some of these CSOs’ critical perspectives will resonate more with the new government ideals and find ways to disrupt the dominant European migration agenda, which seems to continue to overshadow Senegal’s interests. Should the EU truly seek a more equitable partnership with Senegal, it is vital to include and seriously consider the perspectives of local actors and CSOs on mobility and migration.

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Funding the Journey: How Western Aid Became a Ticket to the Gulf

In 2011, while conducting fieldwork for my master’s thesis in the South Wollo area of Ethiopia’s Amhara region, I came across a striking paradox that has continued to shape my research on migration governance. My focus was on understanding how rural Ethiopian households financed the journey to the Gulf countries, where the Kafala system – in which migrant workers are legally tied to their employers for entry, stay and return – governs labour migration It is a system where the responsibility for managing transnational labour recruitment is handed over to non-state actors, such as private citizens and recruitment agencies. This decentralized approach is based on sponsorship. While there have been efforts to reform the system recently, it remains highly restrictive and continues to enforce intersectional segregation.


To understand further the financial considerations for moving, I conducted a survey within which I asked “How do families pay for migration to the Gulf?” The answers were initially what I expected—selling livestock, savings from agriculture, or borrowing from family and friends. But as I delved deeper, an unexpected pattern began to emerge. Some respondents revealed that they had funded their migration using money from development programs like the Rural Productivity Safety Net Project and other cash transfer initiatives. These programs, funded by international donors, such as the European Union (EU), USAID, the UK Department for International Development (DFID), and the World Bank, were designed to stabilise rural economies and reduce migration pressures. They aimed to improve local livelihoods by boosting agricultural productivity and providing safety nets for vulnerable households. However, instead of curbing migration, these programs were indirectly enabling it. The funds intended to help families stay in their villages were being repurposed to pay brokers, recruitment agencies, and travel expenses for migration under the Kafala system in the Gulf.


Intrigued, I conducted follow-up focus group discussions. The participants explained how these development interventions had created financial capacity within households that allowed them to pursue migration. One respondent noted, “The cash transfer program helped us save enough to send my son to work in Saudi Arabia. Without it, we wouldn’t have been able to pay for the broker or his visa.” Another participant added that while they had initially used the funds to migrate to the Gulf, they were already planning to save for a future trip to Europe.


A Paradox of Migration Governance through Development Aid
This paradox highlights the unintended consequences of well-meaning development interventions. Programs, like the Rural Safety Net Project, were designed to address the root causes of migration by improving living standards and creating local opportunities. Yet, they inadvertently became tools for financing transnational labour migration. For many rural Ethiopian households, migration remains the most viable path to economic mobility despite the risks involved. This phenomenon underscores the complexity of migration governance in a globalised world, where policies and interventions often produce outcomes far removed from their original intentions. For example, while the EU has long invested in development aid to reduce irregular migration from Africa, the case of Ethiopia shows that this aid can also facilitate migration to regions with restrictive labour governance frameworks, like the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) countries.


Development Aid and the Kafala System
The Gulf’s Kafala system is notorious for its restrictive and exploitative practices. Under this system, migrant workers are tied to their employers, who have significant control over their legal status, mobility, and working conditions. Despite these challenges, the promise of better wages and employment opportunities drives thousands of Ethiopians, particularly women, to work as domestic workers in GCC countries every year. During my fieldwork in Ethiopia, I observed how development aid, primarily funded by Western institutions, inadvertently facilitated migration to the Gulf. The money from programs like the Rural Safety Net Project enabled families to cover the substantial costs associated with migration, including broker fees, visa applications, and airfare. In some cases, the funds were also used to repay loans taken out to finance earlier migration attempts. One woman I interviewed described how the safety net program transformed her family’s prospects: “We were able to send my daughter to Qatar to work as a housemaid. She sends money home every month, which has helped us build a new house and buy more land.” Her story illustrates the dual role of migration as both a survival strategy and a pathway to economic advancement for Ethiopian households.


From the Gulf to Europe: Migration as a Stepping Stone
Interestingly, some participants in my focus groups revealed that their ultimate goal was not to settle in the Gulf but to use it as a stepping stone for migration to Europe. For these migrants, the Gulf represented an intermediary destination where they could save money and gain the resources needed to pursue further migration. One young man explained, “My plan is to work in Saudi Arabia for a few years, save enough money, and then go to Europe through Libya.” This aspiration highlights the interconnectedness of global migration systems, where one region’s labour migration policies can influence migration flows to another. It also reveals the strategic agency of migrants, who navigate these systems to achieve their long-term goals.


Redirecting Migration Flows: A Latent Strategy?
The case of Ethiopia raises important questions about the role of external actors in shaping migration patterns. While the EU’s development aid aims to reduce migration pressures by improving local conditions, its focus on promoting “legal pathways for migration” has arguably diverted potential migrants to regions like the GCC, where the Kafala system governs labour migration. This dynamic reflects a latent strategy of migration redirection, where potential irregular migrants to Europe are encouraged—directly or indirectly—to pursue legal migration to the Gulf. In Ethiopia, the EU’s externalisation practices are evident in its support for capacity-building initiatives and migration management programs. These programs often prioritise the regulation of migration flows to destinations other than Europe, aligning with the EU’s broader goal of reducing irregular migration. However, this approach raises ethical questions about whether such policies genuinely serve the interests of migrants or primarily cater to the geopolitical priorities of receiving states.


A Broader Reflection
The intersection of development aid, migration governance, and labour migration under the Kafala system offers a compelling lens to examine the unintended consequences of external interventions. While programs like the Rural Safety Net Project are designed to stabilise communities and reduce migration pressures, they often end up facilitating the very migration they seek to prevent. This paradox underscores the need for more nuanced and holistic approaches to migration governance—approaches that consider the interconnectedness of global migration systems and the agency of migrants themselves. For policymakers, this means moving beyond narrowly defined objectives like curbing irregular migration to address the structural drivers of migration, including economic inequality and restrictive labour practices.
As the case of Ethiopia shows, migration is not merely a response to hardship, but a complex and strategic process shaped by a range of local and global factors. Understanding this complexity is crucial for designing policies that genuinely support the rights and aspirations of migrants while addressing the broader challenges of migration governance in an increasingly interconnected world. This narrative, rooted in my fieldwork, illustrates the intricate ways in which development aid and migration governance intersect, often in unexpected ways. It challenges us to rethink the assumptions underpinning external interventions and to consider how policies can be reimagined to create more equitable and sustainable outcomes for migrants and their communities.

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The Unseen Workforce: Formalizing Ethiopian Seasonal Labor Migration in Sudan

El-Gedaref: A Vital Agricultural Hub Shaped by Migration
Located in eastern Sudan, El-Gedaref State is an agricultural powerhouse serves as a critical crossroads for migration, particularly during regional conflict. Known for its fertile land and diverse range of crops, El-Gedaref faces unique challenges and opportunities that intertwine agriculture with human migration, both internal and cross-border, in ways that are central to understanding the dynamics of this part of the world.


The Agricultural Landscape
El-Gedaref is home to over 8.9 million acres of farmland , where farmers employ both mechanized and rain-fed farming techniques to cultivate a variety of cash and food crops, including sesame, sorghum, millet, and cotton. According to the Ministry of Production and Economic Resources in El-Gedarf state, the agriculture sector collectively supports a local population of around 2.3 million people, in addition to more than 1 million internally displaced persons (IDPs) and approximately 64,500 refugees who have fled ongoing conflicts.
Despite its agricultural wealth, the region faces a significant challenge: a labor shortage far exceeding the available workforce. Historically, Sudan has relied on seasonal labor migration, particularly from Ethiopia and South Sudan, to meet its agricultural labor needs. However, the landscape of labor migration has shifted in recent years, especially following South Sudan’s independence, which reduced the flow of workers from the south.


Ethiopian Seasonal Labor Migrants: A Vital Workforce
Ethiopian Seasonal Labor Migrants (SLMs) have increasingly filled the gap left by the declining number of South Sudanese laborers. Each year, approximately 80,000 individuals from the Amhara region cross the border into El-Gedaref in search of stable agricultural work. The primary border crossing at Galabat remains open, though others, such as Lukdi, have been closed due to security concerns related to Ethiopia’s Tigray conflict.
In 2014, an estimated 35,000 Ethiopian SLMs entered Sudan through formal channels, while over 70,000 crossed through informal routes. Moreover, farmers in El-Gedaref State used an average of 120 Sudanese and 215 Ethiopian laborers per season, underlining the vital role of Ethiopian migrants in agricultural processes. Despite these numbers, the total labor demand for the region is much higher—around 600,000 seasonal workers are needed annually, leaving a critical gap of approximately 400,000 workers. Ethiopian migrants are especially crucial for labor-intensive crops like cotton and sesame, with farmers relying on both Sudanese and Ethiopian laborers for tasks such as planting, harvesting, and land preparation.


Challenges Faced by Migrant Workers
While Ethiopian laborers are indispensable to El-Gedaref’s agricultural economy, they face numerous challenges. The lack of a formal legal framework for cross-border migration means many workers cross borders irregularly and work under informal agreements. This creates conditions where labor migrants are vulnerable to exploitation, abuse, and poor living conditions.
Moreover, many Ethiopian workers see their time in Sudan as a temporary stepping stone, with some aspiring to migrate further to Europe. However, most eventually return to Ethiopia, raising concerns about the sustainability of current labor migration patterns.


Improving Migration Management Frameworks
Sudan has made some attempts to manage the influx of Ethiopian SLMs through a system where farmers issue entry permits for seasonal laborers. While this system has facilitated migration flows in the past, it also has significant shortcomings—particularly the failure to ensure that workers return home after the harvest season and the substandard living conditions that many migrant workers endure.
To address these challenges, there is an urgent need for collaboration between local authorities, migration organizations, and farmers to establish more formalized frameworks that can protect migrant workers’ rights, reduce exploitation, and ensure fair treatment.

GIZ’s Role in Facilitating Bilateral Dialogue

The GIZ Better Migration Management (BMM) Programme played a crucial role in fostering bilateral dialogue between Sudan and Ethiopia on seasonal labor migration. In June 2018, GIZ facilitated a landmark cross-border workshop in Khartoum, marking the first official meeting between the two countries to address this pressing issue[1]. Building on this momentum, three additional workshops were organized in Gedaref (September 2018), Bahir Dar (January 2019), and Mekelle (March 2019), offering both nations a platform to deepen discussions and explore joint solutions to the challenges of seasonal labor migration.

However, despite GIZ’s proactive efforts to formalize a bilateral framework on seasonal labor migration, progress has been impeded by the ongoing political instability in Sudan. The subsequent conflicts have created a difficult environment for sustained diplomatic engagement and negotiations, hindering further advancements in the dialogue.


Migration Drivers: Conflict, Ethnic Tensions, and Economic Hardship
The migration patterns of Ethiopian SLMs are driven by a combination of factors, including ethnic tensions, economic hardship, and ongoing conflicts in both Ethiopia and Sudan. In particular, the Amhara and Tigray regions in Ethiopia have been affected by high levels of unemployment, land shortages, and internal conflicts, all of which contribute to the high number of people migrating in search of work.


The Impact of Conflict and Border Tensions
Migration flows between Sudan and Ethiopia have been significantly affected by a series of conflicts and rising tensions in both countries. The Tigray conflict, which began in 2020, was the initial catalyst, followed by escalating border tensions between Sudan and Ethiopia. In 2023, the outbreak of armed conflict in Sudan between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) further complicated the situation. Meanwhile, in Ethiopia, an armed conflict erupted in the Amhara region between the Ethiopian National Defense Forces (ENDF) and the Amhara Fano.
These overlapping conflicts have resulted in the closure of key border crossings, including Lukdi, Hamdayet, and the frequently closed Metema–Gallabat crossing, severely disrupting established migration routes. As a result, the once-predictable seasonal migration patterns have been deeply disrupted, causing a sharp decline in the number of Ethiopian workers entering Sudan. The closure of these critical crossing points, combined with the growing insecurity on both sides of the border, has made it increasingly difficult for labor migrants to safely reach Sudanese farms, further exacerbating the labor shortages in Sudan’s agricultural sector.
In early 2024, El-Gedaref authorities suspended the issuance of work permits for Ethiopian SLMs, citing security concerns. This has led to significant labor shortages, particularly in cotton farming, with some farmers opting not to plant cotton altogether due to the lack of available workers.
A farmer from Gedaref town, who primarily grows rain-fed cotton, was interviewed by the author. He shared his experience, remarking,
“Last season’s cotton crop suffered significant losses due to a shortage of Ethiopian workers. As a result, many farmers have decided against planting cotton this season.”


Informal Migration Pathways: Risks and Exploitation
As formal border crossings have become less accessible due to frequent closures and heightened security concerns, many Ethiopian SLMs have begun to resort to informal migration routes. These routes, while allowing workers to reach Sudanese farms, expose them to considerable risks, including human trafficking, exploitation, and unsafe working conditions.
Based on an interview conducted with a farmer at the Gallabat crossing point, he shared his view how the conflicts in the two countries have complicated the movement of Ethiopian SLM. He explained,
“Despite the ongoing conflicts, Ethiopian migrants continue to risk their lives to reach Sudanese farms through dangerous routes.” The reliance on informal migration further complicates the management of labor flows, leaving migrant workers vulnerable to abuse and exploitation.


Shifting Migration Patterns and Emerging Security Risks
In response to the volatile security environment, many Ethiopian workers have shifted away from the traditional practice of returning to Ethiopia after the harvest season. Instead, a growing number are opting to remain in Sudan to avoid the risks associated with border closures and road blockages. While this change provides some financial stability, it also comes with new challenges, including limited access to basic services and a heightened vulnerability to exploitation.
During a field visit to a large farm in Basunda Locality , an Ethiopian worker from a village near Bahir Dar in Ethiopia shared how he has adapted to the situation. He said,
“Due to the closed roads and border crossings, I can’t return to Ethiopia. I’ll stay in Sudan instead of risking the journey home.”


Sudan’s Internal Conflict and Its Impact on Migration
The management of Ethiopian Seasonal Labor Migrants (SLMs) in Sudan has long been shaped by events in Ethiopia, including ethnic tensions and security incidents such as the kidnapping of Sudanese farmers, herders, and traders by Ethiopian militias along the shared border. These incidents have occasionally led to border closures by Sudanese authorities in response to security concerns. However, the recent border closures have a different cause: the escalating conflict in Sudan itself.
The ongoing conflict in Khartoum has significantly disrupted the management of Ethiopian SLMs. As political and administrative priorities have shifted toward Port Sudan, this has further stretched Sudan’s already limited capacity to effectively regulate labor migration. With national attention diverted, Sudanese authorities have struggled to maintain clear migration policies, making it increasingly difficult to manage the movement of Ethiopian seasonal laborers. These disruptions have not only complicated the flow of migrant workers but have also increased uncertainty for farmers in El-Gedaref, who depend on this crucial workforce for the region’s agricultural production.


Moving Forward: A Two-Pronged Approach to Migration and Labor Management
To address the growing challenges posed by the influx of Ethiopian SLMs and ensure sustainable agricultural production in El-Gedaref, a comprehensive approach is needed:

1. Short-Term Legal Framework Enhancement: In the immediate term, Sudan must strengthen and formalize the legal framework governing seasonal labor migration. This could involve creating clearer policies for border crossing, issuing work permits, and ensuring better monitoring and protection of Ethiopian SLMs. Coordination between immigration authorities and local farmers is essential to better manage migration flows.

2. Long-Term Bilateral Labor Exchange Agreement: In the long term, Sudan and Ethiopia should consider negotiating a bilateral labor exchange agreement. Such an agreement would provide a framework for regulating labor migration, improving the rights and protections of Ethiopian workers, and fostering greater cooperation between the two countries. Additionally, a soft border mechanism allowing for free movement between Sudan and Ethiopia could reduce the reliance on dangerous informal routes.


Conclusion
El-Gedaref’s agricultural landscape is a microcosm of the complex relationship between agriculture and migration in the Horn of Africa. As the region grapples with ongoing conflict and economic challenges, the role of Ethiopian seasonal labor migrants becomes increasingly significant. By improving migration management, addressing migrant workers’ vulnerabilities, and fostering cooperation between Sudan and Ethiopia, there is an opportunity to enhance the agricultural sector, promote regional stability, and secure a better future for all involved.
In a world where agricultural production and human migration are ever more interconnected, El-Gedaref serves as a powerful reminder of both the challenges and opportunities that arise from these dynamics.

[1] Sudan and Ethiopia met for the first time to discuss improvements to seasonal labour migration – European Union

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Call for Papers for the Special Issue “Positioning, Militancy and Public engagement”

Journal: Public Anthropologist, https://brill.com/view/journals/puan/puan-overview.xml

Guest editor: Angela Biscaldi (University of Milan)

Format: We welcome both research articles (between 6000 and 9000 words) and shorter essays (between 3000 and 5000 words).

Abstracts submission: Please send your abstract to angela.biscaldi@unimi.it by September 9, 2024.

Full papers submission: If your abstract is accepted, you will be asked to submit your full paper by January 27, 2025.

Papers will be submitted through Editorial Manager:

https://www.editorialmanager.com/puan

Instructions for authors: https://brill.com/fileasset/downloads_products/Author_Instructions/PUAN.pdf

Thematic focus: In the past few decades, social and cultural anthropology has engaged in a critical debate on researcher’s positioning. There is a growing consensus on the necessity for researchers to be fully aware of the theoretical and methodological perspectives from which they conduct fieldwork, as well as the subjectivity involved, encompassing attitudes, experiences, expectations, and values.

In this context, we invite anthropologists to explore the relationship between positioning (understood as an exercise in reflexivity by the researcher on the perspectives, questions, and values they bring to the field) and two other concepts that are sometimes conflated with it: researcher’s militancy and public engagement. By militancy, we refer to the active participation of researchers in an organization, party, or social movement, as well as their intimate adherence to a worldview that they identify with and that informs their lifestyle. Public engagement, on the other hand, can be defined as the ability to consistently disseminate research outcomes in the public sphere, lead participatory approaches, inform more dialogic teaching methods, and engage at different levels with the multiplicity of research subjects and stakeholders.

We call for papers that will help clarify both the distinctions and interactions between these three “angles,” using field research examples. The questions we pose include, but are not limited to:

  • How does militancy interact with positioning? Is militancy (always) a resource, or does it risk undermining the researcher’s critical reflexivity on positioning? Can the researcher’s militancy compromise research outcomes and diminish scientific authority?
  • How does militancy interact with public engagement activities? If public engagement requires a certain degree of compromises and forms of mediation (linked to the need to address a wide audience an different stakeholders) is militancy always reconcilable with it?
  • Can strong critical positioning (and thus the ability to understand the relativity and partiality of one’s viewpoint) lead researchers to be skeptical of totalizing affiliations and the plausibility of public engagement as a neutral tool for scientific dissemination?

For questions regarding the special issue, contact angela.biscaldi@unimi.it

For questions regarding the journal, contact the Editor-in-Chief, Antonio De Lauri, antonio.delauri@cmi.no

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The Rise of a Lone Soldier Influencer: Radicalization and Daily Life in the Context of Israel War on Gaza, 2023-2024

This paper analyzes the depiction and promotion of the most recent escalation of the Israeli war waged on Gaza and the Occupied Palestinian Territory through social media by a specific “lone soldier influencer” and Israeli and pro-Israel non-profit organizations during a six-month time frame (October 7, 2023 – April 7, 2024). The research delves into the definition of a lone soldier, how they showcase the war, and their everyday experiences on the battlefield through social media.

Since October 7, advocates for Israel have swiftly utilized media channels and online platforms to voice their perspectives, aiming to defend and uphold the State of Israel in the digital realm. They are conducting a parallel battle on the Internet and are positioning themselves as a new alternative to traditional media sources with informal language and first-hand evidence. However, the web is not enough. These influencers aim at indoctrinating and inciting their audience to take matters into their own hands and move to action. For my research, I have chosen to focus on lone soldiers. Their unique nature places them outside the conventional framework, making them suitable for a new analysis of radicalization[1] within the information warfare surrounding the Israel-Hamas conflict.

Methodology

In this study, I examined the social media engagement of a prolific lone soldier influencer, Noy Leyb, by analyzing various social media platforms, such as Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, X, and YouTube. I also collected data from other accounts of organizations like Friends of the IDF, Nefesh B’Nefesh, Sar-El, and individuals like Daniel Judkowicz in order to contextualize Noy Leyb’s media behavior. The selection of these accounts was based on their social media engagement, with a focus on the frequency of posts, number of followers, content type, and outreach. I considered only accounts which posted a minimum of two conflict-related updates per week since October 7, 2023, aiming to influence audience opinions. Additionally, a threshold of ten thousand followers for organizations and one thousand for individual accounts was set, and engagement rates were classified as low (up to 2.9%), good (3% to 5.9%), and high (above 6%) based on data from AgencyAnalytics. Comments were not factored in due to content creators’ control over audience interaction on social media. Only two out of seven lone soldier accounts were included due to the difficulty in confirming other soldiers’ status and other limitations such as private accounts. Noy Leyb and Daniel Judkowicz have open-access accounts. It is important to note that all data was collected manually on April 22-23, 2024, without the use of digital tools like scrapers.

Lone soldier influencer

Lone soldiers are foreign volunteers who are unique to the State of Israel and they cannot be classified as foreign fighters. In accordance with the definition of lone soldier given by the Lone Soldier Center: “A ‘lone soldier’ is an IDF soldier with no family in Israel to support him or her. A lone soldier may be a new immigrant, a volunteer from abroad, an orphan or an individual from a broken home.” The soldiers are also entitled to a monthly stipend, as stated by the Center. Moreover, individuals of Jewish descent and their immediate non-Jewish family members have the opportunity to apply for Israeli citizenship, provided they meet specific criteria.

I considered two definitions, with the first definition coming from the paper “Islamic Foreign Fighters: Concept and Data” authored by Colgan and Hegghammer in 2011, where they articulate:

“I build on this formulation [Malet’s definition] and define a foreign fighter as an agent who (1) has joined, and operates within the confines of, an insurgency; (2) lacks citizenship of the conflict state or kinship links to its warring factions; (3) lacks affiliation to an official military organization; and (4) is unpaid.”

The second definition comes from the Geneva Academy of International Humanitarian Law and Human Rights (2014): “A foreign fighter is an individual who leaves his or her country of origin or habitual residence to join a non-state armed group in an armed conflict abroad and who is primarily motivated by ideology, religion, and/or kinship.”

Lone soldiers are not classified as foreign fighters as they do not meet the second and fourth requirements of Colgan and Heggammer’s definition, nor do they fit the Geneva Academy definition due to their association with the IDF, a state armed group.

The research does not exclusively focus on lone soldiers, but rather on lone soldiers who might also be considered “influencers.” When referring to influencers, I mean those who have gained popularity on social media platforms and use specialized and marketized content to influence their audience.[2] The unique status of a lone soldier influencer positions them in a new and powerful role, different from the traditional influencer, allowing them to exert influence not just through their military authority, but also through their popularity. Their content may be more inclined to propaganda and radicalization narratives compared to the average social media influencer. This new link allows for the direct dissemination of sensitive information between the military and the public, bypassing government and authorized media channels. In relation to this study, the analyzed lone soldier influencers showed a greater tendency towards radicalization.

An Active Content Creator

The most active lone soldier is the 32-year-old man, Noy Leyb.[3] He is a former Israeli soldier, now reservist, who flew to Israel on the first plane from New York after the October 7 attack and documented his experience. With 27.6 thousand followers, Leyb can be considered a mid-tier influencer.[4] He publishes an average of 49 posts a month, with 293 posts in total of which 219 were on Instagram.[5] On the latter, he received 721.288 likes (an average of 3.294 likes per post). After a revision of his posts, I categorized the content as follows: on the battlefield, critique and support, interview and storytelling, news update, companionship, celebration and rest, prayer, mourning, family, and others.[6] 71,6 percent of his posts on Instagram can be traced back to four categories: on the battlefield (67 posts), critique and support (36 posts), interview and storytelling (16 posts), and news update (15 posts).[7]

Throughout the six months and mainly through the four main categories, the influencer expressed his opinions about Hamas, the conflict, and external secondary effects caused by the war.

Views on Hamas

On Hamas, Leyb’s views alternated between personal perceptions and general statements parroting the stance of the IDF. Noy Leyb described Hamas as worse than ISIS and comprised of people who should not be considered human beings, since they carry on inhumane actions, for instance: they kill innocent people; they kidnap, rape, and behead women; they use children as shields; Hamas promotes misogyny and homophobia.[8] Evidence of the disastrous conditions in which the Gaza Strip finds itself today accompanied every post about Hamas. On January 5, 2024, Noy Leyb shared a post featuring an abandoned school with a tank in the playground, alleging that Hamas had been using schools for launching rockets and storing weapons. Considering the significant number of likes received on posts discussing Hamas (9.9% of 72,030 likes), it seems that his audience supported and agreed with the influencer’s strong opinions about those he referred to as “heartless savages.” His language is overall characterized by derogative generalizations about the enemy as well as dismissive and apologetic rhetoric about Israel’s destruction of Gaza. He reiterates a narrative – widely used by the Israeli government to justify the devastation brought to Gaza and the Palestinians – depicting Israelis as civilized heroes sacrificing their soldiers for the greater good, i.e. the liberation of Israel from Islamic terrorism.

The final point underscores the concerning polarization of his views on the enemy, revealing his adoption of beliefs that justify violence as a political tool, portraying a shift toward radicalization (Uzair Ahmed and Milan Obaidi, 2020). As worrisome as the radicalization is the high rate of appreciation from his audience.

Views of the October 7 War

His stance on the Israel-Hamas conflict suggests a potential Americanization[9] of the war. I define Americanization as the absorption and imitation of what is commonly seen as the “American way of doing things,” encompassing American-centric beliefs and exceptionalism. I am specifically alluding to the government’s efforts to win over global public opinion. In this case, I think this process occurs in two different manners: call for a war on terror legitimized at different levels, from the general public, to news agencies and state authorities; drawing parallels between a new 9/11 for the State of Israel and the patriotic sentiment which emerged from that event in the United States. The close relationship between Israel and the United States of America, which is home to the second largest Jewish population after Israel (6.3 million people in the USA compared to 7.2 million in Israel)[10], may have had an impact on the Americanization of the October 7 events. Encouraging the public to unite with the IDF in fighting Hamas included showing support during pro-Israel protests, being vocal on social media in favor of the Israeli cause, and not supporting pro-Palestine protests (because, allegedly, most of them end in violence and incite more support towards Hamas), covering (only) positive news about Israel. Two videos posted on Instagram helped me highlight these viewpoints. The first video, with 125,937 views, showed destroyed buildings in the Gaza Strip with the caption: “Gaza Roads, Take Me Home, To the Place, Where I Belong”. The caption refers to the song “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver. The song talks about the homesickness that the author feels since he is far from his native state. He is asking the roads to lead him to his origins. This post was just one of the many which displayed the State of Israel as an actor forced to intervene in the territory of Gaza to bring peace and eliminate the threat of terrorism.

The second video confirmed this ultimate and sole savior’s perspective. With 305,784 views, the video showed his military unit walking in the streets of Gaza, the caption stating:

“We walk these Gaza roads not because we want to – but because we have to. For the kidnapped. The injured. The dead. The living. And we will continue to walk these roads until we will destroy the heartless brutal killers who turned October 7th into one of the darkest days of our history. We, the Jewish people, will continue to defend ourselves and will never, ever, EVER, back down”.

Such a caption also relates to the generation of a new 9/11 for Israelis and Jews worldwide. The rhetoric used is similar to the news coverage after the terrorist attack in New York City, for instance: sharing of other people’s stories who lost a close relative or friend, reasons for signing up with the army, classification of the event as one of the darkest days in the country’s history, and enduring recollections of their activities at the time of the attack.

Noy Leyb went further claiming that Jews have been combating two wars, one in the frontline against Hamas and the other in the streets and social media against antisemitism.[11] By October 9, the idea of the “darkest” and “bloodiest” day in Jewish history since the end of the Holocaust had already spread through the Israeli population.[12] By October 18, Joe Biden emphasized: “But for a nation the size of Israel, [the attack] was like fifteen 9/11s. The scale may be different, but I’m sure those horrors have tapped into some kind of primal feeling in Israel, just like it did and felt in the United States.”[13]

The process of Americanization has dragged Israel’s position at two opposite ends, but still related, standpoints. It borrows another country’s humanitarian disaster, known to attract public sympathy worldwide, to be perceived and endorsed through the same sympathetic lenses. On the other side, the comparison between October 7 and 9/11 deprived Israel of the ability to characterize the event based on its political, social, and cultural connotations. More importantly, it overshadowed its historical context, namely the decades of occupation and violence suffered by the Palestinian people. The extremist ideology and violence committed through the IDF mutually reinforce each other, showcasing a high degree of radicalization that encompasses behavioral, religious, and political elements (Uzair Ahmed and Milan Obaidi, 2020).

Merely a Second Point of View

The second influencer, Daniel Judkowicz, is a younger man who had already established himself as a prominent TikTok figure when he started posting about the war. Reaching more than 167,000 followers, he posted only 4 posts, 3 of which could be categorized as “on the battlefield” and 1 as “companionship.” Based on the content available, he did not expose his opinions about the war and his account is less political than that of the first influencer profiled in this article. The captions contained the only illusion that approached a political message, half of which said the same phrase: “We only have one country… we must protect her”. Of the 25,454 viewers he reached, 6.9 % of them liked his posts. The same pattern could be stressed about Noy Leyb. Of 767,046 viewers, up to 7.1 % of them showed appreciation to the content.

Amid the controversial posts relating to the conflict and the considerable number of interviews by pro-Israel US American news agencies, only Leyb presented a complete depiction of the daily life of a lone soldier. Starting from an early morning with a quick breakfast, the soldiers spend the day between patrolling shifts and training sessions. Meanwhile, on the battlefield, they apply what they learned when training while their only sources of nutrition come from canned food and homemade meals that the soldiers brought with them.

War crime influencer

The emergence of a new type of influencers has been observed in connection with Putin’s aggression in Ukraine – they are referred to as “war crime influencers.”[14] These individuals are military influencers who actively promote and endorse warfare. According to a 2024 BBC article on War Influencers, these influencers tend to downplay the human suffering resulting from the conflict while showcasing the “frontlines and the trenches of war.” They adhere to a specific set of guidelines centered around the dissemination of information and often resort to “joke and devalue the plight” of the enemy (Shado Magazine, 2024). Even though Noy Leyb does not publish explicit content on the people murdered and humiliated by the IDF, his social media engagement checks on every other criterion for war crime influencers. He uses a pseudo-journalistic professionalism to narrate one ideological vision the war while antagonizing pro-Palestine supporters and justifying the Israeli “war on terror.”

Even considering a more generic definition for such influencers, given by Shoda Magazine – “Anyone who uses social media trends to taunt the Palestinians as they are being slaughtered can be deemed a war crime influencer, as they are building their own brand on crimes against humanity and the misery of others.” – I cannot classify the second content creator as a war crime influencer because of the lack of data needed for the assumption.

Non-profit Organizations’ Role

I learned from the online posts of pro-Israel non-profit organizations, including Sar-El, Nefesh B’Nefesh, and Friends of the IDF, that combatants are not confined to army camps and the frontlines. They also participate in recharge programs, such as SOULdier Recharge, BBQ4IDF, and Operation Hug, with SOULdier Recharge and Operation Hug being the longer-lasting programs that allow fighters to temporarily leave their camps for some rest. For instance, SOULdier spans a week and is designed to divert the combatants’ attention away from the war, assist them in managing mental health challenges, and equip them for the future ahead.[15] Hence, the aim of this program is to help Israeli soldiers process their traumatic experiences. As some Israeli troops rotate out for rest and rehabilitation, they are quickly replaced by others, leaving little time for internally displaced people in Gaza to seek medical attention and cope with their trauma. By engaging in activities to address their emotional responses to combat, Israeli soldiers should come to understand the significant impact of their actions on the majority of the population in Gaza, who are living in extremely dire conditions and on the verge of survival. This understanding should lead to a certain level of accountability for their actions and a greater recognition of the humanity of Palestinians, which is currently lacking.

Conclusion

In conclusion, it is concerning the power held by a single lone soldier influencer. His position, next to the work of algorithms, brought him closer to the masses, and the masses further away from traditional news outlets. The divisive content surrounding the conflict has drawn in an extreme audience, with the high levels of interaction indicating that tens of thousands of individuals on social media support an extremist narrative and actions. This conflict has escalated beyond online disagreements and spilled over into the streets of foreign lands.[16]

When it comes to lone soldiers, I identify two primary factors contributing to the radicalization of Israel’s backers: propaganda, which is the idea that the enemy is obstructing their ultimate goal, a strong Israeli state; group influence, meaning that, even when they should be resting, they are spending their time in the same circle of people, discussing the same topic, and within the same perspective. Additional elements pushed over the limits of the narrative of radicalization. The elements are the Americanization of October 7 and a savior complex condoned by a victimized position within the conflict. The victimization has allowed them to redefine self-defense and, simultaneously, to avoid any accountability related to the humanitarian disaster caused in Gaza by Israel.

References

“Influencer, N., Additional sense.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, July 2023, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/4737815373.

Grigor Atanesian. Ukraine War: Putin Influencers Profiting from War Propaganda. BBC. September 2, 2023. Ukraine war: Putin influencers profiting from war propaganda (bbc.com)

Hamas’ October 7 Attack: The Tactics, Targets, and Strategy of Terrorists. Center for Strategic and International Studies. November 7, 2023. Hamas’ October 7 Attack: The Tactics, Targets, and Strategy of Terrorists (csis.org)

He left NYC tech startup to rejoin Israel’s military. CNN. October 11, 2023. He left NYC tech startup to rejoin Israel’s military | CNN

Jen King. Guide to Influencer Marketing: Trends, Tactics, and KPIs. eMarketer. January 26, 2024. Influencer Marketing: Audiences, Platforms, Strategies, & KPIs (emarketer.com)

Jewish Population Rises to 15.7 Million Worldwide in 2023, The Jewish Agency for Israel, September 13, 2023. Jewish Population Rises to 15.7 Million Worldwide | The Jewish Agency

Meet two of the Canadians who’ve returned to Israel to join the war effort. The Canadian Jewish News. October 13, 2023. Meet two of the Canadians who’ve returned to Israel to join the war effort (thecjn.ca)

Nell Irvin Painter. The History of White People. W. W. Norton and Company. 2010. p. 300

Never Again Mean Now. The Algemeiner. October 10, 2023. Never Again Means Now – Algemeiner.com

Remarks by President Biden on the October 7 Terrorist Attacks and the Resilience of the State of Israel and its People – Tel Aviv, Israel. October 18, 2023. Remarks by President Biden on the October 7th Terrorist Attacks and the Resilience of the State of Israel and its People | Tel Aviv, Israel | The White House

SOULdier RECHARGE. Friends of the IDF. July 27, 2023. SOULdier RECHARGE – FIDF

The CBC’s Marianne Dimain speaks with Noy Leyb, a Canadian-Israeli Reservist. CBC. January 14, 2024. The CBC’s Marianne Dimain speaks with Noy Leyb, a Canadian-Israeli Reservist | CBC.ca

Uzair Ahmed and Milan Obaidi. What is Radicalization? C-REX – Center for Research on Extremism. September 7, 2020. What is radicalization? – C-REX – Center for Research on Extremism (uio.no)

Was Hama’s attack on Saturday the bloodiest day for Jews since the Holocaust? The Times of Israel. October 9th, 2023. Was Hamas’s attack on Saturday the bloodiest day for Jews since the Holocaust? | The Times of Israel

What must be done, no more excuses for the CIA. New York Post. September 12, 2001. WHAT MUST BE DONE ; NO MORE EXCUSES FOR THE CIA (nypost.com)

Witness to Apocalypse. The New York Times. September 8, 2011. The 9/11 Decade: Witness to Apocalypse. A Collective Diary. – The New York Times (nytimes.com)

[1] The definition I am using is taken from Uzair Ahmed and Milan Obaidi. What is Radicalization? C-REX – Center for Research on Extremism. September 7, 2020: “Behavioral radicalization, on the other hand, encompasses the behavioral outcome and refers to the process of participating in extreme activities, which could be either violent and illegal or non-violent and legal. Thus, behavioral radicalization can be defined as a ‘collectively defined, individually felt moral obligation to participate in direct action’. Consequently, radicalization can be seen as a social and psychological transformation whereby an individual increasingly adopts an extremist belief system, regardless if it ultimately results in actual violence or not.”

[2] According to the Oxford English Dictionary, an influencer is “A person who has become well-known through use of the internet and social media, and uses celebrity to endorse, promote, or generate interest in specific products, brands, etc., often for payment.”

[3] He left NYC tech startup to rejoin Israel’s military. CNN. October 11th, 2023; The CBC’s Marianne Dimain speaks with Noy Leyb, a Canadian-Israeli Reservist. CBC. January 2024; Meet two of the Canadians who’ve returned to Israel to join the war effort. The Canadian Jewish News. October 13th, 2023.

[4] According to Jen King. Guide to Influencer Marketing: Trends, Tactics, and KPIs. eMarketer. January 26, 2024. There are five types of influencers: nano-influencers (1000 to 4.999 followers); micro-influencers (5.000 to 19.999 followers); mid-tier influencers (20.000 to 99.999); macro-influencers (100.000 to 999.999); mega-influencers (over 1 million followers).

[5] Most of which is cross-posting.

[6] The categorization relates to the most prevalent topic covered by the post and its caption. Some posts deal with two or more topics but for simplicity it was decided to define them based on their most relevant theme. The category ‘other’ refers to every activity which is not military and war related and includes everything not indicated by the other categories, for example donations, social media collaborations, shoutouts to other influencers, and so on.

[7] The category ‘other’ was excluded from the count. It amounted to 32 posts on Instagram and 11 on TikTok.

[8] Video posted on January 11th, 2023, addressed to Western minority groups supporting Hamas.

[9] I am not referring to the traditional definition of Americanization which relates to foreigners residing in the USA and assimilating the so-called US American standards, values, and beliefs according to Nell Irvin Painter. The History of White People. W. W. Norton and Company. 2010. p. 300.

[10] Jewish Population Rises to 15.7 Million Worldwide in 2023, The Jewish Agency for Israel, September 13, 2023.

[11] For better reference: Never Again Mean Now. The Algemeiner. October 10, 2023. Witness to Apocalypse. The New York Times. September 8, 2011. What must be done, no more excuses for the CIA. New York Post. September 12, 2001.

[12] For references, see Was Hama’s attack on Saturday the bloodiest day for Jews since the Holocaust? The Times of Israel. October 9th, 2023; Hamas’ October 7 Attack: The Tactics, Targets, and Strategy of Terrorists. Center for Strategic and International Studies. November 7, 2023.

[13] Remarks by President Biden on the October 7 Terrorist Attacks and the Resilience of the State of Israel and its People – Tel Aviv, Israel. October 18, 2023.

[14] Grigor Atanesian. Ukraine War: Putin Influencers Profiting from War Propaganda. BBC. September 2, 2023.

[15] According to the website of Friends of the IDF: “SOULdier Recharge is a week-long educational program that takes soldiers out of their day-to-day operational activities and provides them with a chance to process their experiences and mentally prepare for what inevitably lies ahead”. The program is run by the IDF’s Education and Youth Corps.

[16] Noy Leyb shared some videos on Instagram documenting protesters’ clashes in the USA on March 31, 2024, April 01, 2024, and April 09, 2024.

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Episode 10: Fragile Instruments and Frontier-making Science in the Himalayas

In the 10th episode of PUAN podcast, co-host Saumya Pandey speaks with geoscientist Jakob Steiner and historian Lachlan Fleetwood on the 19th century imperialist traditions of remaking the Himalayas as geographical frontiers. We reflect on the genealogy of this Himalayan-frontier science. Jakob and Lachlan discuss the fragile instruments and modes of measurements that reveal the limits of science and imperial projects in making sense of the Himalayas. The conversation reflects most on the reproduction of inequalities and biases in the field sites towards the local communities, and the political implications of similar scientific projects, today.

Fragile instruments and frontier-making science in the Himalayas by Public Anthropologist Podcast (spotify.com)

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Winner of the Public Anthropologist Award 2024

The winner of the Public Anthropologist Award 2024 is Maria-Theres Schuler for her book Disability and Aid. An Ethnography of Logics and Practices of Distribution in a Ugandan Refugee Camp (Brill, 2023). Maria-Theres Schuler is a social anthropologist, journalist, and filmmaker with expertise in global inequality, corporate responsibility and social movements. Disability and Aid is an important book written with a commendable ethnographic sensibility. Of potential interest to experts and students of humanitarian, development and disability studies, as well as anthropology and African studies, the book provides a nuanced investigation of the dynamics of aid to disabled people in a Ugandan refugee camp.

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Antonio: Can you tell us something about your journey as an anthropologist within and outside of academia?

Maria-Theres: I still remember the very first lecture I attended as an anthropology student. My professor said at the time: “No matter what you do with it, anthropology will teach you something important for life.” To this day, I find it immensely valuable in everyday life how much this field of study has taught me to question my own values and world views. Very important moments in this process of understanding were my fieldwork experiences. During my studies, I was part of an exchange program with Ugandan students in which we explored the interplay between disability and technology, and the regular exchange in this intercultural learning setting was enormously valuable. The exchange program grew into a long-term research collaboration between Makerere University in Kampala and the University of Zurich, and I was able to learn from the intensive collaboration with stakeholders such as disability organizations as well as from the exchange with the Ugandan researchers during my PhD on refugees with disabilities, on which the book Disability and Aid is based.

While writing my dissertation, I discovered my love for narrating stories and so, after my PhD, I quickly found my way to journalism: this allowed me to combine what I was passionate about – asking questions, researching and discovering in detail – with writing engaging stories for a wider audience. In order to allow me to maintain some level of autonomy that I was used to as an academic, I joined a self-organized journalistic collective in Zurich. In our online magazine, we write from a leftist perspective on topics such as climate, inequality, feminism, social welfare, migration and tax policy. In this work, I continue to apply anthropological perspectives, although it was initially a big challenge for me to deal with topics in a shorter time and not spend a whole five years on them! Somewhat by coincidence I came across the medium of film: when I was in Goma in the Democratic Republic of Congo in March 2020 for a journalistic project, Covid-19 was spreading drastically, and horrific scenarios were expected for the African continent. Together with a friend who had already made films, we began to chronicle what we experienced on an everyday basis. The resulting documentary “Corona in Congo. A Diary of Uncertainties”, tries to show how the global Corona crisis has even reinforced existing inequalities. So meanwhile I am working more and more outside of academia, yet still with a strong relationship to science. For example, I recently started teaching as a guest lecturer in a CAS in Science Journalism.

Antonio: What’s the story of Disability and Aid? What motivated you to write this book and what hopes and goals did you have for it?

The story of Disability and Aid is, on the one hand, a rather familiar one: in the context of aid, different perspectives collide and good intentions often have unintended consequences. In the Ugandan refugee camp where I did my research, this was for example the case for an aid program focused specifically on access to water for refugees with disabilities. The project built boreholes that were accessible to a person in a wheelchair, for example, yet the people concerned did not start using them – because fetching water was usually the duty of children, and my research participants had no problems finding this help. Moreover, it was an important aspect of personhood to be able to count on this help. The aid project, however, assumed that the most desirable thing was for people to be autonomous. Their help was therefore more focused on the individual than on what was necessary or even desirable in this context.

On the other hand, the story of Disability and Aid is perhaps a little surprising. This concerns an overall shift from charity or emergency aid to sustainable development. That was the case for Uganda’s refugee policy, which pursues a self-reliance strategy by providing refugees with land to cultivate in order to become as independent as possible from aid. With regard to refugees with disabilities, this shift has been particularly relevant since the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities found its way into humanitarian aid. Refugees with disabilities were viewed less and less as helpless, vulnerable victims, but as actors with abilities who make important contributions. Participation, independence, and empowerment were important aspects of this rights-based approach, which seemed promising – not least because charity and dependency run counter to any goal of transformative development aid.

However, I found that this approach was neither very helpful nor very relevant in disabled people’s everyday lives in the refugee camp. My interlocutors did usually not use the language of rights when claiming help and support, but they understood their entitlement based on comparisons with aid given to other people, at other times or in other places. Such concrete everyday concerns and personal experiences were more readily available and meaningful for them than abstract human rights. Maybe more importantly, the aid delivered through this rights based approach – which preferred skills trainings and sensitization workshops over material and financial hand-outs – did not really help disabled refugees to build social relations, realize projects to make a living and invest sustainably in their futures – and thus did not support them in their pursuit of attaining personhood, which meant above all taking care of one’s children and family. Furthermore, I observed how my interlocutors experienced this shift towards a rights-based approach: in order to promote their inclusion, refugees with disabilities were increasingly asked to express their opinions on what would help them most and thus have a say in the services provided. What they repeatedly asked for were higher food rations, medication, support for their children’s education – preferably in the form of money so that they could decide on spending themselves. However, most of these demands could not be met, either because they were not in line with the criteria of the donors or with the project budgets. What’s more, from the perspective of my interlocutors, they fulfilled what was expected from them: they constantly provided the necessary information for the aid agencies’ reports and working procedures, allowed themselves to be photographed and filmed for their promotional material or played in a drama group that fought negative attitudes around disability when donor delegations visited – all things that helped the aid agencies acquire resources. This experience, whereby people with disabilities were recognized within the framework of universal rights, but in the end hardly benefitted in a manner that would have made them more equal, is what I call “disappointed recognition”.

I felt it was important to highlight these issues, especially now that disability is so high on the humanitarian agenda. By describing the different logics and practices of distribution at play in Kyangwali – one rather based on equality, wage labor or social welfare, the other one on hierarchy, social relationships and exchange – I also hope to contribute to a better understanding of the mutual mistrust so prevalent in this aid setting. Refugees felt the aid agencies were “eating their money” as they did not receive what they expected, while aid workers suspected the refugees of lying in order to receive more support. What the aid agencies perceived as excessive demands and unjustified complaints resulting from the “dependency syndrome” – the view that people remain dependent and do nothing for themselves when they receive help – could, however, be understood as rightful claims for resources and more equality. The book also shows how important it is for service providers to consider very different forms of dependency and to recognize how they are intertwined. Then one quickly can see which kind of aid strengthens other forms of important connectedness and which even reinforces problematic dependencies. Above all, direct aid enabled refugees with disabilities to invest in important and desired relationships of interdependence – and this was enormously important for them, as many had lost important relationships through war and migration.

Antonio: Thinking of your ethnographic fieldwork, what were the most rewarding aspects of it, and which ones the most challenging?

One of the rewarding aspects of my fieldwork was certainly when I felt that my interlocutors appreciated the relatively longer engagement over more than a year and not just a few days or weeks like many other researchers or visitors from abroad. However, this engagement was also a great challenge, especially in terms of what I hoped to achieve. I was aware from the start that refugees with disabilities saw me as a potential helper – be it to get a mobility appliance or to receive resettlement to a third country like the U.S. Therefore, I tried to distance my type of research as much as possible from the work of the aid organizations, for example by cycling or walking around the camp instead of driving a car like the aid workers, or by taking a lot of time to visit people outside office hours, helping them prepare cassava leaves for dinner or accompanying them to church. What unfolded spontaneously during such visits, often provided a different picture than what people were telling me initially in interviews, as I was for example introduced to relatives that I had not known about. Still, the closer my relationship grew with my interlocutors, the less I could escape the role of a potential helper, as I somehow intended. The claims for support towards me did not decrease, and this left me wondering as to whether I really had built rapport or if people were talking down the help they received.

So, I was often unsure how to react, when disabled people asked for things such as a small contribution for transport or to buy medicine, as I feared both enforcing the already asymmetrical relations and undermining the validity of my research findings. But then I took a closer look at these often uncomfortable experiences, and I tried to understand why I felt more at ease giving someone something without being asked, or when I felt it was reciprocated, for example when a recipient mended my broken sandal in return for helping out with money. Through these reflections I became increasingly aware that in many respects, my discomfort resulted from my unquestioned assumptions about what it is appropriate to ask for in which situations, or from my own expectations of how gratitude should be expressed or what equality meant. It was especially when I read James Ferguson’s book Give a Man a Fish, in which he demonstrates how people seek hierarchical connections to others and that this kind of dependency can also be productive and desirable, that I understood the importance of people’s claims for my research. These insights certainly did not resolve my concerns about reciprocity and research integrity. Yet they allowed me to understand the claims as a kind of sociality that was very important in this context.

Antonio: What are your plans for the future?

Maria-Theres: I intend to continue working at the interface between the social sciences and the public, and I can currently reconcile this very well with the kind of journalism I pursue: an ethnographically-oriented journalism that takes anthropological questions into account. In journalism, of course, there is a need to simplify very complex stories to a certain extent in order to reach a larger audience. Nevertheless, I always try to stay true to the very important nuances of how things work, which I think is particularly important in today’s reporting, which sometimes tends to oversimplify complex issues. I’m currently in the process of furthering my education in journalism and familiarizing myself with investigative journalism, for example by making inquiries to state institutions via the Freedom of Information Act. It’s often tedious work, but it gives you access to such important and exciting information, and there are so many stories lurking that should be told.

From an anthropological perspective, I am especially curious about human rights discourses and practices in connection with mining. There are so many initiatives to prevent human rights violations in this sector, which is of course very important. But what exactly do they mean on the ground? And are they enough to really bring about the necessary changes? During my journalistic work on mining, I came across similar mechanisms to those I experienced in the refugee camp, such as how communities are consulted when an industrial mining project is planned. There is a lot being done to ensure that human rights standards are met, and that, for example, schools and wells are being built and skills training is being offered to the communities. Yet, claims on the rightful share by these people seem to have no place in the current discourse and practice on human rights around mining.