The Atlas of Migration in Europe: A Critical Geography of Migration Policies 1138392847, 9781138392847

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THE ATLAS OF MIGRATION IN EUROPE

C\ Taylor & Francis �-

Taylor & Francis Group http://taylorandfrancis.com

THE ATLAS OF MIGRATION IN EUROPE

A CRITICAL GEOGRAPHY OF MIGRATION POLICIES MIGREUROP

First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 Migreurop Originally published in France as: Atlas des migrants en Europe. Géographie criƟque des poliƟques migratoires, by Réseau MIGREUROP © Armand Colin, 2017 for the third edi on, Malakoff © English transla on, Réseau Migreurop, Paris ARMAND COLIN is a trademark of DUNOD Editeur – 11, rue Paul Bert – 92240 MALAKOFF. The right of Migreurop to be iden fied as author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with sec ons 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or u lised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or herea er invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any informa on storage or retrieval system, without permission in wri ng from the publishers. Trademark noƟce: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for iden fica on and explana on without intent to infringe. BriƟsh Library Cataloguing-in-PublicaƟon Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the Bri sh Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-PublicaƟon Data Names: Migreurop (Associa on), author. Title: The atlas of migra on in Europe : a cri cal geography of migra on policies / Migreurop. Other tles: Atlas des migrants en Europe. English Descrip on: New York : Routledge, 2019. | Includes bibliographical references. Iden fiers: LCCN 2018060421| ISBN 9781138392847 (hardback) | ISBN 9781138392861 (pbk.) | ISBN 9780429402036 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Europe—Emigra on and immigra on. | Europe—Boundaries. | Refugees—Europe. Classifica on: LCC JV7590 .M55213 2019 | DDC 325.4—dc23 LC record available at h ps://lccn.loc.gov/2018060421 ISBN: 978-1-138-39284-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-138-39286-1 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-40203-6 (ebk) Typeset in Gill Sans Std & Avenir LT Std by Apex CoVantage, LLC

This book follows the journeys of those fleeing war, poverty or political crises, risking their lives as they attempt to find sanctuary in Europe. Over the past 25 years, almost 40,000 migrants have been reported missing or died due to drowning or exhaustion on the borders of Europe. 6,000 migrants died in 2016 alone, making it the deadliest year on record. Growing numbers of arrivals since 2015 have caused a wave of panic to sweep across the countries of the European Union, which has responded with an increasingly entrenched policy – the only one it considers appropriate – of fortifying its external borders. As a result, numerous walls and fences have sprung up to “regulate the flows”, new camps have been opened and reception infrastructures have been set up beyond the EU’s borders, all accompanied by the steady militarisation of surveillance and repression. The EU has thus been just as active in precipitating this “migrant crisis” as it has been in prolonging its effects. Indeed, this crisis calls into question the entire European system for border management and policies on immigration and reception. Deconstructing preconceptions, changing the way we see others, probing borders and mapping the nexus of control and detention, the collection of articles, maps, photographs and illustrations in this Atlas provide an important critical geography of migration policies. Perfect for journalists, activists, students of geopolitics at school or university, this Atlas seeks, above all, to give migrants a voice. Migreurop, founded in 2002, is a network of organisations, activists and researchers in 20 different countries in Europe, Africa and the Middle East. Our goal is to publicise and denounce policies which marginalise migrants, in particular through detention in camps, different forms of deportation, border closures, as well as the externalisation of migratory controls carried out by the European Union and its member states. We contribute to defending the fundamental rights of exiles (including the right to “leave any country, including his own”, article 13, Universal Declaration of Human Rights) and to promoting the freedom of movement and settlement. Migreurop’s members act on a daily basis to support exiles. The network raises awareness on migration issues through campaigns, cartographic and photographic work, as well as annual international meetings aimed at elaborating joint strategies to decode and fight policies and processes that violate migrants’ rights. Its efforts to promote synergies between actors from the North and the South in order to reach a shared vision and analysis of such processes makes the network’s contribution truly unique. To go beyond this Atlas, see the videos and documentaries available on our website, www.migreurop.org.

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C\ Taylor & Francis �-

Taylor & Francis Group http://taylorandfrancis.com

E D I T E D

B Y

O L I V I E R

C L O C H A R D

In collaboration with Karen Akoka, Emmanuel Blanchard, Alessandra Capodanno, Violaine Carrère, Claudia Charles, Brigitte Espuche, Filippo Furri, Bénédicte Michalon, Alain Morice, Isabelle Saint-Saëns and Anne-Sophie Wender. Cartography: Olivier Clochard, Nicolas Lambert and Olivier Pissoat (coord.), Sarah Bachellerie, Ahmed B., Lucie Bacon, Françoise Bahoken, Florence Boyer, Sophie Clair, Michala Clante Bendixen, Thibaud Duffey, Morgane Dujmovic, Mustafa Hadj Rasheed, Thomas Honoré, David Lagarde, Laurence Pillant, Philippe Rekacewicz, Louise Tassin and Ronan Ysebaert. We extend our heartfelt thanks to the Austerlitz collective, La Chapelle Debout! and CPSE-Paris d’Exil for the map shown on page 39. We also wish to thank Meriem Frikha, Lina Guarin, Pauline Pujole, Samantha Tumbarello, Cécile Martinier, Héloïse Nouhaud, Clémence Snyman and Pauline Goumain, students at the ENSA Paris Belleville, as well as their lecturers Cyrille Hanappe, Pascal Chombart de Lauwe, Albert Hassan, Marie Aquilino and Laurent Malone for the fine drawings on pages 41 and 143. Finally, we thank Charles Heller and Lorenzo Pezzani for the documents they devised and produced (pp. 103 and 133), and our graphist Guillaume Moitessier. Photography: Lucie Bacon and Sara Prestianni (coord.), Francis Bacon, Danilo Balducci, Françoise Beauguion, Omo Calvo, Francesco Malavolta, Mouna Saboni, Luca Salvatore Pistone, Olivier Sarrazin. Photographs of graffiti: Lucie Bacon (coord.), Françoise Beauguion, Olivier Clochard, Kamel Doraï, Morgane Dujmovic, Emmanuelle Hellio, Julie Lemoux, Stephanos Mangriotis, Alba Otero García, Antía Otero García, Laurence Pillant, Nausicaa Preiss, Milos Virijevic, Louise Tassin, Elsa Tyszler, Philippe Wannesson. English translation (texts and maps): Merav Pinchassoff Proof reading: Camille Bossé, Brigitte Espuche and Anna Sibley (coord.), Céline Cantat, Jasper Cooper, Louis Imbert, Marie Martin, Marta Pérez Viñas, Dian Turnheim.

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C O N T E N T S

Using the maps

CHAPTER 1

xiii

VISUALISING MIGRATION

1

PROBING THE HISTORY OF MIGRATION

2

WHEN EUROPE WAS A LAND OF EMIGRATION

4

PROBING CATEGORIES

6

REFUGEES AND MIGRANTS

8

PROBING BORDERS

10

STORIES FROM THE BORDERS

12

PROBING THE FIGURES ON IMMIGRATION

16

THE FIGURES ON THE “MIGRANT CRISIS”

18

PROBING THE MAPS: REASON AND AFFECTIVITY

20

MAPS AND MANIPULATION

22

PROBING LANGUAGE

24

THE “MOBILITY PARTNERSHIPS” – FROM METAPHOR TO EUPHEMISM

26

CHAPTER 2

CONFINEMENT(S)

29

FASTER PACED AND STREAMLINED DETENTION OF MIGRANTS

30

CHIOS: THE ISLAND TRAP

32

WHEN IT COMES TO ASYLUM SEEKERS, IS IT STILL ACCURATE TO TALK OF “RECEPTION”?

34

ITALY: EMERGENCY MANAGEMENT OF RECEPTION AS STANDARD

36

SLUMS, JUNGLES AND CAMPS

38

CALAIS: WHERE CAMPS RESIST REPRESSION AND ADAPT TO JOINT-MANAGEMENT

40

THE “ALTERNATIVES” – JUST ANOTHER FORM OF CONFINEMENT?

42 ix

x

Contents

RETURN HOUSES, THE ANTECHAMBERS OF CLOSED CENTRES

44

NORDIC COUNTRIES: LEVELLING DOWN

48

ARE REFUGEES REALLY WELCOME?

50

TRANSIT VIA THE BALKANS

52

HUMANITARIAN CORRIDORS: NEITHER OPEN NOR CLOSED

54

TO BOZA OR NOT TO BOZA? THE CONFINEMENT CONTINUUM EXTENDS FROM MOROCCO TO CEUTA AND MELILLA

56

NADOR: A TESTING GROUND FOR MIGRANT DETENTION

58

CHAPTER 3

OFF-SHORING, OUTSOURCING AND REMOTE INTERVENTION

61

FROM RABAT TO KHARTOUM, EXTERNALISATION IS UP AND RUNNING

62

THE EU’S LAISSEZ-PASSER TO DEPORTATION

64

THE SCHENGEN VISA AND THE POLICING OF FOREIGN PERSONS

66

OUTSOURCING CONSULAR FUNCTIONS

68

LIAISON OFFICERS: EUROPE’S INVISIBLE HAND

70

LIAISON OFFICERS ON THE FRENCH BORDER

72

BIOMETRICS: ORGANISING THE TRACEABILITY OF MIGRANTS

74

“DUBLINNED” IN BULGARIA

76

THE PROFITABLE SECTOR OF MIGRATORY SECURITY

80

MIGRANT DETENTION: A LUCRATIVE BUSINESS

82

FREEDOM OF MOVEMENT AND THE ECOWAS AREA IN PERIL

84

ACTION ON NIGER: CUTTING OFF ACCESS TO EUROPE’S SOUTHERN BORDER

86

REPRESSION ON THE BORDER BETWEEN GREECE AND TURKEY

88

TURKEY, AIRLOCK TO A GATED EUROPE

90

CHAPTER 4

MIGRANT ROUTES UNDER MILITARY AND POLICE SURVEILLANCE

93

SCHENGEN AREA: FREE MOVEMENT IN DANGER OF EXTINCTION

94

THE FRANCE–ITALY BORDER BETWEEN VENTIMIGLIA AND MENTON

96

FRONTEX: SHAPE-SHIFTING BORDERS GUARDED BY AN UNACCOUNTABLE BORDER FORCE

98

FRONTEX IN THE MEDITERRANEAN: APPEALING TO THE GODS TO WATCH OVER EU BORDERS

100

THE ARMED FORCES BROUGHT IN TO FIGHT ILLEGALISED IMMIGRATION

102

Contents

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THE GUARDIA CIVIL IN CEUTA AND MELILLA: IMPUNITY ON EUROPE’S SOUTHERN BORDER

104

BY HOOK OR BY CROOK, ILLEGALISED FOREIGNERS ARE TO BE REMOVED

108

PIECEMEAL GLOBAL GOVERNANCE AND THE ROLE OF THE IOM

110

POLICE BRUTALITY

112

ILLEGAL ARRESTS AND HUMILIATION AROUND CALAIS

114

DYING TO GET TO EUROPE

116

WHO WILL BE THERE FOR OUACIL?

118

HURDLES IN PLACE TO IMPEDE SYRIAN ENTRY ONTO EUROPEAN SOIL

120

THE USE OF TRANSIT VISAS AND SELECTIVE SOLIDARITY

122

CHAPTER 5

MOBILISATIONS AND STRUGGLES

125

MIGRANT MOBILISATIONS

126

FREED VOICES: VOICES OF MIGRANTS RELEASED FROM DETENTION

128

WHEN CITIZENS SEND THEIR SOLIDARITY OUT TO SEA

130

THE CASE OF THE “LEFT-TO-DIE BOAT” AND SUBSEQUENT LEGAL BATTLES

132

HOSPITALITY SMUGGLERS

134

WHEN FRIENDS AND FAMILY SUPPORT THEIR OWN

136

WHEN BEING HOSPITABLE GETS POLITICAL

140

THE HYBRID ARCHITECTURE OF THE CALAIS JUNGLE

142

HOSPITABLE TOWNS

144

SPAIN: REBEL CITIES

146

FREEDOM OF MOVEMENT FOR FOREIGN PERSONS: A REALISTIC UTOPIA?

148

FREE MOVEMENT OF PEOPLE AND GOODS: TAKING LIBERALISM AT FACE VALUE

150

PUTTING AN END TO DEGRADING MIGRATION POLICIES

152

Bibliography List of figures List of authors “Moving beyond borders”

154 158 160 163

A volunteer holds up his hands to indicate a better spot for disembarkation to the refugees travelling on board an inflatable boat. They are trying to reach the Greek island of Lesbos from Turkey, visible in the distance. Omo Calvo, Mytilene, Lesbos, Greece, 23 December 2015.

USING THE MAPS

The media abounds with debate on immigration and discussion of migrants. However, the people in question are generally spoken of by others and rarely given a chance to offer their own account or tell their own story, if it is not through the images – selected by others – depicting their odysseys. Indeed, odyssey is the term that best describes the perilous journeys upon which they embark. The overarching purpose of this third edition of The Atlas of Migration in Europe is to be found in the title itself. This work does not seek to provide an account of the “mechanisms underpinning migratory flows”, any more than it attempts to understand “migrations”. Rather, this work is intentionally set to a human scale, that of men and women caught in the syntactic, political and repressive rationale that has them enclosed; of those hiding behind unaccountable entities who would have us forget that boat people do not die because it is their inevitable fate but are killed by policies that have been pursued, extended and bolstered for decades; of the women and men who, since 2002, have embarked together on the international adventure that is the Migreurop network. When it comes to confronting the hegemonic narrative on the virtues of “border control”, there is evidently a need for the layering and juxtaposition of experiences and perspectives. BRINGING MIGRANTS INTO VIEW

In each of the five sections of the Atlas a different theme is explored across a four-page spread. The first two pages attempt to give an overview of the subject – a task that is, admittedly, extremely difficult (some might say impossible) – in order to summarise the intricacies of certain aspects of the implemented migration policy. It is for this reason that we have added two further pages per theme that focus in on a particular situation, zone or journey in order to illustrate how policies play out and to shine a light on migration as it is experienced on an individual level. No atlas would be complete without statistics, especially when tackling the dystopia of a gated world or reporting on the rationale embedded at the heart of the mechanisms that govern human mobility, which segregate people on the basis of social or racial categories. Some of the statistics used here have been produced by national and international bodies (Eurostat, OECD, UNHCR, etc.). Although they have, for the

most part, been generated with a view to “managing migratory flows ”, and even though they contribute to the persistence of categories that are poorly aligned with the realities of population movements, some of these statistics also reflect the harmful – if not deadly – consequences of such mechanisms of control. The data compiled by the Migreurop network (see www. closethecamps.org) also come from other sources, notably field surveys. The observations documented by the activists, associations and researchers in the network are of immense value in enabling new narratives to emerge that can erode the power of popular misconceptions and other stereotypes rooted in ideologies. The latter may be expressed through sheer xenophobic brutality but can also take the form of the measured, seemingly neutral and often arcane language of decision-makers and presumed “experts”. This Atlas thus seeks to counterpose knowledge acquired through engagement to convictions and rhetoric. This knowledge is drawn from the action of researchers who are driven by the need to witness at close quarters in order to understand; of activists of all genders, for whom there is no higher purpose than standing by those most affected and ensuring they are recognised as individuals and rights-holders. These intersections, bubbling up at encounters or humdrum meetings, that each contributor holds dear, are the hallmark of our collective, which shares both a workload and set of values. While the frame upon which this Atlas rests is composed of words, its substance consists of maps that tell of journeys like Ahmed’s (p. 7) and Morteza’s (p. 129), shining a light on the vagrancy of migrants in Paris (p. 39) or elsewhere, decoding the mechanisms of control in Niger (p. 87) or offering a glimpse of life of a seasonal worker from Morocco (p. 151). The various forms of iconographic representation displayed in this work denoting individuals or groups of people have been devised and produced by cartographers, artists, activists and migrants themselves. Although the maps constitute a very diverse corpus, all of the maps – to varying degrees – stem from a critical and experimental “indisciplinary” or participative approach. By combining various layers of geographic insight, the maps enable a deeper and fuller grasp of the issues and features that characterise European migration policies. xiii

xiv

Using the maps

Mouna Saboni, Le Fief, Boukhalef quarter, Tangiers, Morocco, April 2013

The (carto)graphic approach deployed here is the product of an intentionally subjective stance, the only vantage point that is capable of making way for the men and women who have been reduced to categories, flows or faceless silhouettes on surveillance monitors. Photography plays an important part in this new edition. The photographs serve not only to illustrate but actually document the evanescent traces, fleeting voices and stifled demands, such as those etched by migrants on the very walls that are intended to shut them in and prevent them from moving. Here, the photographer’s lens refuses to be bound by the grammar of legal enquiry, with its blurred faces and restrained bodies, choosing instead to restore movement and singular moments to their rightful place. Longer focal lengths have been used intentionally so as to broaden the range of emotions – those captured by the camera and, at the same time, induced by its presence – and to avoid evidence of their suffering from hiding from view what migrant men and women prize above all

else: their sense of agency and the potential to build a new life for themselves. ENDLESS CRIMINALISATION

Today’s migrants are the successors of a largely forgotten history of migration, lasting several centuries, which they are now inverting. The North–South division in terms of the rights to travel initially favoured emigration away from Europe, before gradually turning Europe into a fortress to be defended against “unbounded immigration” and “la misère du monde”1 (“the misery of the world”). These now dated expressions have been replaced by others (“mixed flows”, “external dimension of asylum policy”, “readmission agreements”, etc.) which, though less crude, are equally laden with violent consequences and denial of human rights. Thus, behind these abstruse acronyms and abbreviations there lies an increasing reliance on the deprivation of liberty and use of such places against migrants. New camps, such as

Using the maps

the “hotspots” in Greece and Italy, which have been established as administrative holding centres, are “streamlined”. The confinement and segregation of foreigners – within informal camps and in “reception and accommodation” sites – has become one of the pillars of European migration policies, deepening the inequalities around access to rights as well as the trauma of non-reception. The second pillar, which the European Commission and member states have ceaselessly promoted since the early 2000s, is the externalisation of migration control – effectively abdicating the responsibility to uphold international law (p. 19). This process occurs on a geographical level, through collaboration with countries located beyond the external borders of the EU, as well as on a functional level, through the outsourcing of more and more of their activities to private companies (p. 83). While the latter draw a part of their profits from state budgets, sums are often allocated without democratic debate to companies that concurrently spur governments to strengthen border monitoring. Borders, in turn, are marked by increasing militarisation: walls, automated surveillance, tracking, which is now extended to all migrants (p. 75), resorting to the armed forces (p. 102), agreements between member states and authoritarian or mafia-like regimes (Libya, Sudan (p. 63), Turkey (p. 89)). All mechanisms profoundly detrimental to the rights and lives of migrants. However, violence does not lie exclusively in the actions of the law enforcement agencies. It is also to be found in political discourse and legal decisions such as the ruling by the Court of Justice of the EU of 6 March 2017, which authorises European states to refuse to issue a humanitarian visa to persons wishing to request asylum. The prospect of having to overcome such hurdles necessarily drives many migrants into the arms of organised criminal gangs in order to try and get to Europe, while the existence of these impediments is a measure

xv

of how self-interested member states truly are and of their hostility to the creation of policies of European solidarity. In the face of these barriers, networks of resistance have formed at all levels. Some have sprung up illegally and temporarily along migrant routes. Networks of volunteer associations and activists are inventing new forms of hospitality (p. 134). From Athens (p. 147) to Calais (p. 141), through to the Roya Valley in southern France (p. 97) and across the Mediterranean (p. 130), citizens’ movements are reclaiming the right to come and go and the right to settle somewhere other than one’s place of birth. Migrants, men and women alike, are exposed to many dangers, individual and political, whose tragic consequences can be petrifying. By repressing “offences of solidarity” and their perpetrators, migration policies seek to paralyse our sense of humanity. The Atlas of Migration in Europe hopes to revive it, so that our maps may one day reflect open borders and upheld human rights.

Additional videos and documentaries are available on our website for those wishing to explore The Atlas of Migration in Europe in greater depth. www.migreurop.org NOTE 1 Translator’s note: the now (in)famous expression was used by French Prime Minister Michel Rocard in 1989 to justify limiting immigration, saying that France could not take in all of the world’s poorest migrants (but that the country did have a duty to accept its fair share).

xvi

CHAPTER 1

VISUALISING MIGRATION International migration has long been a subject of research and analysis in several disciplines of the social sciences, using a variety of methods and from a range of perspectives. Yet, despite this diversity in approaches, some conclusions are shared by the entire scientific community: no demographer, geographer, sociologist or political scientist – regardless of their political leanings – would claim that Europe is currently “inundated” with “waves” of new arrivals or would defend the idea that erecting more “barriers to entry” and “walls” would somehow make it possible to “regulate migrant flows”. Nevertheless, these beliefs underpin public discourse and policy at the EU and state level. Immigration, like climate change, is one of the challenges facing the world where “alternative facts” mask even the most well-established truths. Our aim here is to reinstate some of these facts and to deconstruct some simplistic misconceptions.

 A few kilometres outside Macedonia, a queue has formed. They are all waiting for the first welded-mesh and barbed-wire gate to be opened, the first stage of entry into the “corridor” located on what is known as the Balkan route. The only way to get through is as the holder of an identity card or a document issued by the Greek authorities establishing the bearer’s nationality. In some cases, procurement of false documents will allow the bearer to pass for a Syrian, an Iraqi or an Afghan and to continue on their journey. Olivier Sarrazin, Idomeni, Greece, December 2015.

1

PROBING THE HISTORY OF MIGRATION The expression “Fortress Europe” was initially popularised by advocates of freedom of movement in the late 1990s. The phrase marked a new chapter in migration policy, namely that it was increasingly becoming impossible to legally and safely enter the Schengen area, a geographic entity founded on the premise that those regions posing a so-called “migration risk” ought to be excluded. The European Union (EU) was indeed entering a new era of control over borders and over people’s rights to travel and settle. From the end of the Napoleonic Wars (1815) through to the First World War (1914–1918), the main areas of Western Europe together formed a space that was relatively open to cross-border travel, notably because right up until the 1880s the idea of identity defined as belonging to a particular nation-state was far from hegemonic and conferred relatively few rights or special protections. The main issue at the time was emigration and, more specifically, across the ocean (see p. 5). However, the right to movement did not apply to all in the same way and was already a constituent part of citizenship regimes so that even within national territories workers were tied to their employers and risked falling foul of vagrancy laws when they broke free of them without authorisation. After the First World War, it became more difficult to cross national borders, which had been redrawn following the disappearance of four empires (the German, Ottoman, Austro-Hungarian and Russian empires). Thus began the reign of passports and travel permits, with which Jews and other populations fleeing persecution in Germany were confronted in the late 1930s. The first few decades of the “age of extremes ” (from the 1910s to the 1950s), however, were also an “age of movement”, with the two world wars, genocidal projects and the provisions of peace treaties leading to mass movements of population. Tens of millions of men and women fled their home regions or were deported. The reception of refugees and “demographic engineering” – which sought to streamline or purify national groups – were, at that time, closely connected.

2

From the 1950s to the 1990s, policies of economic growth and the Cold War ushered in Europe’s “age of immigration”. But it was not until the very end of this period that countries in southern Europe started experiencing positive rates of net migration. In general, the question of refugees became secondary. Most importantly, migration was an answer to political considerations as part of the confrontation with the Eastern Bloc. Labour agreements (with European countries such as Yugoslavia and Portugal, amongst others, or countries outside Europe, such as Morocco, Turkey, etc.), combined with regularisation of the status of those people arriving by their own means, made it possible to meet the demand for unskilled labour. During this period, gradual decolonisation slowly reduced possibilities for travel between imperial metropoles and their former possessions. In the middle of the 1980s, the main countries of the EU extended their restrictions making visas mandatory for all nationals from developing countries. The fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the Soviet regime caused thousands of kilometres of new borderlines to spring up. This upheaval led to movements of people, in particular linked to the wars in the former Yugoslavia. The EU, henceforth in charge of controlling its external borders, set about continuously fortifying the separation with the “Global South”. Directives and measures – Schengen visas, movement tracking, controls in the countries of departure, etc. – followed in quick succession to protect Europe from migrants, which key member states were trying to keep away from their borders. With the exception of the brief reprieve opened by Germany at the end of the summer of 2015, Europe’s response to the mass displacement of people triggered by the recent wars in Syria offers a ruthlessly hyperbolic demonstration of the effects of these policies. EMMANUEL BLANCHARD

Visualising migration

Yesterday’s migrants . . . and today’s

3

WHEN EUROPE WAS A LAND OF EMIGRATION For many pundits and politicians, the notion that Europe is one of the most attractive destinations for migrants no longer needs to be demonstrated. However, actual observation of the demographics of the whole continent reveals a more nuanced picture. The majority of migrations have actually occurred within Europe (from Poland to Britain, from Greece or Croatia to Germany, etc.), whereas on a global scale, the primary asylum destinations (Kenya, Pakistan, Turkey, etc.) are, in fact, outside Europe. In addition, the EU is characterised by strong emigration, with only half of the 28 member countries of the EU having a significant positive rate of net migration. France, for example, has a positive figure for net migration, but from the mid-2000s onwards between 150,000 and 200,000 people born in France have moved away from the country every year. This is a relatively new nationwide phenomenon for a country that has not traditionally been a country of emigration. These departures, furthermore, find no parallels in the great waves of migration that Europe has known in the past. From the beginning of the nineteenth century until the 1950s, the principal states that currently make up the EU (Germany, Great Britain and Ireland, Poland, Italy, Spain, etc.), with the exception of France, were all countries of net emigration, and it was only much later that they became countries of immigration. Between 1840 and 1920, nearly 50 million people left the European continent for good and went to settle in the “New Worlds” of North America (United States and Canada), South America (Brazil, Argentina) and Oceania (Australia and New Zealand), and also in “settler colonies” as they were known. In general, there were few formal procedures and almost no restrictions. On the contrary, people were in fact encouraged to move there by public authorities. Throughout the nineteenth century, the effective exile of millions of sub-proletarians and landless peasants was seen as a “safety valve” and a step towards resolution of the “social question” and “the extinction of pauperism”. The measures adopted in the United States at the beginning of the 1920s marked the end of the period where, aside from the formalities of registration and medical checks carried out by the Bureau of Immigration on Ellis Island (the island in New York beside the one that is home to the

4

Statue of Liberty), immigrants arriving from Europe faced few obligations. From 1882 onwards, however, the Chinese Exclusion Act, banned entry to the United States for Chinese workers of whom there were many in California and along the Pacific coast. This text, with unashamedly racist overtones, was to have a bright future. After several revisions it remained in force until the mid-1960s and served as inspiration for a number of “reformers”. After the First World War, it was held up as a model by “experts” (jurists, economists, doctors, etc.) in France and Britain, who called for the establishment of a selective immigration policy and for the exclusion of “undesirables”. Thus, having benefited thoroughly from a regime of open borders during its industrial leap forward, Europe gradually shifted towards the establishment of restrictive immigration regimes. From the end of the 1920s, the ability to travel and immigrate was increasingly attached to economic criteria or nationality, only just dissembling a racialised hierarchy of potential immigrants. EMMANUEL BLANCHARD

Milos Virijevic, Belgrade, Serbia, May 2017

Visualising migration

5

Migration around the world in 1858

This map was drawn in 1862 by Charles Joseph Minard, a French civil engineer widely known for his graphic representations and of flows in particular. On a semantic level, this map reveals global migration movements thanks to two-pronged innovation: first, the representation of flows of people using arrows whose width is proportional to the value being represented and, second, the use of curved lines rather than straight ones. These curvilinear arrows, which recognise alternations between land masses and sea, show the intensity of maritime travel. The graphic semiology is part of a simplified geographical overview (schematised coastlines and removal of borders) and makes use of symbols: the variation in widths to visually represent proportion; the choice of highly evocative colours (pink for emigrants from northern Europe, black for some African emigrants, etc.) implying the direction of travel (emigration).

PROBING CATEGORIES The categories applied to migration appear self-evident. When the distinction between a “migrant”, “refugee”, “asylum seeker”, “expatriate” or “failed claimant” is difficult to determine, this is blamed on a lack of information. The specific features of each category are supposed to be clearly distinguishable in so far as they have been explicitly described. However, these taxonomies are in fact porous and highly fluid. First, this is because the classification of individuals with complex social backgrounds is complicated and therefore always to some extent arbitrary. After all, what is the meaning of putting people into categories if not the separation of what might have been grouped together or merging of what might have been separated? Second, because since the reinforcement of border closure policies in the 1980s, labels and other descriptors have proliferated. Quantification, fencing-in and separation have become high-stakes policy issues that made it possible to exclude and channel certain individuals (but not others). It thus becomes both an intellectual and a political necessity to question the methods used to categorise migrants. The distinction between legal and illegal – at the heart of what is represented here – seems particularly fragile. Most foreigners who are currently in an “irregular situation” in Europe entered Europe legally. It is the change in migration policy in the host countries and not their own migration that has led to them being regarded as “illegal”. Some research has suggested replacing the expression “illegal migrants” with “illegalised migrants” as a way of highlighting this shift. Equally political and unproductive is the distinction drawn between migrants from the South, often called “economic migrants” and seen as innumerable, and migrants from the North, frequently described as “expatriates” and perceived as being few in number. Yet the South–North trajectories make up only one-third of migration flows, the other two-thirds being made up of South–South trajectories and migration from the North (North–North and North–South) which generally goes unmentioned and unseen. And yet, the number of Europeans and North Americans who have gone to settle in Asia, Africa or South America and engage in economic activity there, often in the service

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industries (tourism, information technology, finance, etc.), is anything but marginal. There are more Portuguese nationals in Angola than Angolans in Portugal and more French and Spanish nationals than sub-Saharan Africans in Morocco. These economic migrants leaving the North in search of an “El Dorado” in the South are often called “expatriates”. The opposition between smugglers and migrants passing through is just as problematic. In the most common representations, the former grow rich and cruelly exploit the latter. But, aside from well-established networks of organised crime, migrant and smuggler are very often one and the same. In the Pas-de-Calais region, passing migrants are regularly arrested and imprisoned as smugglers for having closed the door of a lorry bound for England in exchange for a sum of money, which they ultimately would have used to pay for their own crossing. The distinction between migration for work (often thought of as male-dominated) and family reunification (generally associated with female migrants) is no longer accurate. While the majority of migrants are, in fact, women and have been for a long time, increasingly, these women are migrating as pioneers not as “trailing wives” joining a family member. Furthermore, they make a dual contribution to the economy of their host country: they take up the unfilled job vacancies (such as domestic workers) and they allow others (often women) to free themselves of these tasks and be gainfully employed. Alongside these portrayals based on categories that reinforce the notion of a world divided into “legitimate” migrants and “undesirables” or “needy” “scroungers”, it is in fact possible to categorise people in other ways. One such method that is rarely put forward by public authorities involves distinguishing between those who have the right to travel (populations of the North who enjoy visa waivers) and those who do not. Thinking about movement through this lens serves as a reminder that freedom of movement is far from being a utopian ideal and, in fact, a reality . . . but only for part of the planet’s population. KAREN AKOKA

Visualising migration

Ahmed’s dilemma: go without work or without documents

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REFUGEES AND MIGRANTS She did not express any kind of activism or political engagement. When I asked her why she had been raped, she said she didn’t know. I know from the clothes she is wearing that she is immediately identified as being Dioula and I can say this: she was raped by law enforcement officials who recognised her as Dioula. She is a refugee because she was persecuted on the basis of her ethnicity or because of political opinions attributed to her. My boss replied that a woman being raped in a public place is an everyday occurrence. This is an example that I still think about today. The final decision depends entirely on how you choose to see her circumstances. This extract from an interview carried out with an OFPRA (Office français de protection des réfugiés et apatrides) agent in 2008 shows just how difficult it can be to categorise people as either refugees or migrants. Categorisation on these grounds sends back migrants that have come of their own will, for clearly economic reasons, whom we have the right to turn away, and refugees who have migrated against their will for clearly political reasons fleeing individual persecutions and whom we have the duty to welcome. Yet, all of these dichotomies that underpin the opposition between refugees and migrants deserve to be interrogated: political motivations vs economic imperatives; individual fears vs collective risks; forced departure vs voluntary exile; duty to take in vs right to turn away. Few endeavours could be more misguided than believing it possible to structurally disentangle political considerations from economic ones in an individual’s motivations. Nothing could be further from the multilayered fabric of social existence than the idea of an individual’s trajectory being completely detached from the collective history of the group to which he or she belongs. Is there anything more fraught with uncertainty than the decision to leave everything behind? Potentially a choice freely made or, on the contrary, a course of action chosen because there was no other choice. What could be more contrived than a distinction between refugees and migrants founded on moral and apolitical considerations? In what sense is dying of hunger less serious than dying in prison? The ideology of liberal

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democracy, rooted in the Enlightenment, which places civil and individual rights above collective and socio-economic rights, goes a long way to explaining this hierarchy of values. Like the underlying principle, drawing a distinction between refugees and migrants has always been politically motivated. During the Cold War, in the United States, Cubans (who were fleeing a communist regime) were automatically categorised as “refugees” whereas Haitians (who were fleeing a pro-American dictatorship rather than a communist one) had to prove that they were personally facing a risk of persecution in order to obtain the same status. In Western Europe, in the early 1980s, Vietnamese, Cambodian and Laotian nationals fleeing the new communist regimes on the peninsula automatically received that status. At the same time, those leaving the states of sub-Saharan Africa, with whom the old colonial powers were trying to develop new political and commercial relationships, had to prove that they feared for individual persecution and were rejected en masse. From the 1990s onwards, as the Cold War ended and immigration started to be portrayed as a problem, the injunction for individual fear of persecution spread to all national groups, causing the attribution rates of a status henceforth considered politically useless or diplomatically damaging to plummet. In an era when asylum and immigration policies were more flexible, foreigners had a degree of flexibility in selecting the status they should seek (migrant or refugee) depending on their needs and constraints: whether or not to declare their opposition to a regime, whether or not to keep their passport, whether or not to plan on returning. At that time, the perviousness of the systems and that of the categories were evenly matched. However, three decades of restrictive policies leading to increasingly stringent requirements and closed mechanisms have forced migrants into inflexible categories that are wholly incompatible with their personal journeys and experiences. At the same time, the procedure legitimises their exclusion. KAREN AKOKA

Visualising migration

Asylum seekers, refugees, and displaced persons in Europe in 2016

Alba Otero Garcia, Belgrade, Serbia, March 2017

Emmanuelle Hellio, Marseille, France, 2010

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PROBING BORDERS There have been considerable advances in the monitoring of migration from the South to the North since the 1970s. Initially, this was achieved through visa requirements which, over the course of the 1980s, grew to encompass nationals of all developing countries. This process was bolstered in the early 2000s by the advent of automatic scanners for passports and visas or for recording biometric data, which are linked to databases and represent formidable networks for migrant control. The men and women who slip through the net then run the risk of being locked up in administrative detention centres for periods of variable length if intercepted. Although these devices have partly led to the delocalisation of borders and a shift towards virtual borders, the number of walls and barriers erected along state boundaries has considerably increased since the fall of the Berlin Wall. In the end, externalisation policies such as the Neighbourhood Policy (see p. 26) contribute to the extension of border controls far beyond the limits of the territories imposing the controls. All of these instruments delimit migratory borders that fluctuate according to cooperation agreements concluded over time or physical measures put in place: in addition to their physical form, borders now feature a protean quality. These instruments are aimed at a considerable proportion of our planet’s population, which – like wealth – is unevenly distributed, with the most populous parts of the world being located in the “South” and the wealth being concentrated in the “North”. One of the effects of these imbalances is precisely the development of such diverse forms of movement, be it of humans or of commercial goods. Imposing borders on migration seeks not only to impede these forms of redistribution but also to counteract regional forms of mobility founded on membership, trade systems and continuous

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expanses covering areas that go beyond the boundaries of nation-states. Demographic space behaves more like a continuum and forcing it into the discrete units that make up administrative space (see the maps opposite) often leads to the emergence of fault lines, which states are encouraged to maintain with barbedwire fencing. These boundaries crystallise tensions because they cut off continuity in regions where, more significantly, indices of living standards (human development index – HDI) and wealth (gross domestic product – GDP) are relatively low. In addition, although spatial segmentation upends societal drivers, it also leads to physical spaces becoming specialised and to forms of economic exploitation by wealthy countries, which in turn increase the need for mobility of the least well-off. Borders therefore constitute both the cause of mobility and the tool forged to try and prevent it. The proliferation of borders to migration seeks to achieve a number of other ends, aside from controlling people’s movement. The breaking-up and closing of certain areas reflects class dynamics, in so far as it is indeed the policymakers from the wealthiest states who restrict the movement of individuals from the poorest countries; in other words, those in possession of economic and social capital organise the rules of travel that enshrine a regime of differentiated rights, effectively placing entire swathes of the planet’s population (see pp. 66–67) under house arrest, or at least forcing them to put their lives in danger should they attempt to exercise their right to emigrate. This means that undoing the partitioning of geographic areas alone may not be enough to enable fulfilment of the objective of free movement for all humans. The matter of the democratic management of these partitions is just as important. OLIVIER CLOCHARD, NICOLAS LAMBERT

Visualising migration

Global population and the human development index

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STORIES FROM THE BORDERS People who live on the borders have plenty of stories to tell: of separation and reunification, of defiance and proximity, of obstacles and overcoming them, of control and circumventing it, and how hunting people down and being hospitable are concrete realities when living on these moving boundaries that sometimes get spectacularly redrawn.

which lies on the border with Serbia, entitled “message to illegal migrants”. It was broadcast in September 2015. Along with spectacular footage of the newly built Hungarian barbedwire wall, there is a static shot of the municipal councillor surrounded by soldiers, policeman and armed civilians, in an allusion to Heroes’ Square in Budapest, which celebrates the fighters who drove back the Ottomans in the fifteenth century.

WHERE IS THE BORDER? BORDERLINE THEATRES

7 August 2014 – 2 pm. We have just crossed the borderpoint from Bosnia-Herzegovina into Croatia. In the first cafe on the Croatian side, we have a chat with the owner, and I end up asking her where the border runs. She takes me outside to show it to me. “Before, here, this was Bosnia. In the 1990s, the Croatian Minister of Defence moved the border so that his friends from Herzegovina would be in Croatia and so our village became Croatian. But the real border is over there, you see?” She points to the mountain in the opposite direction. “Below the white house, that’s Bosnia. The border is the bora [pine forest].”

A MODERN STAGING OF THE ANTEMURALE MYTH: BULWARK 2.0

In the valley below, the river Cetina flows through the small Croatian town of Trilj. On one of its embankments in 2014 a panel from the Schengen Facility fund announced the construction of a “Transit centre for the reception of foreigners” destined for migrants intercepted on the border. Even though the only clandestine crossings reported by local farmers related to the smuggling of petrol or tobacco from Bosnia, the deputy mayor justified the building of the camp in his town by explaining how, since the Roman era, Cetina had been a “Croatian rampart of Christianity”, saying “We are still on the border with the Turks, but now we have entered [the EU], these are the borders of Europe.” In southern Hungary, this historic symbolism has been made into a film by the mayor of the village of Asotthlalom,

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In contrast to these fantastical visions of purportedly impenetrable fortified borders, echoing the limes of the Roman Empire, seemingly more run-of-the mill activities are testing or even defying these symbols of power. A case in point is the border where France meets Belgium and Italy and where the reinstatement of border checks inside the Schengen area (see pp. 94–97) has brought back memories of the Maginot Line to some local residents. In Flanders there seems to be less reverence for the authorities than for the foreigners, traffickers and smugglers who have had saloons, taverns inns and hotels named after them. The game of cat and mouse between these two groups continues to be celebrated with festivities marking the “Nuit des fraudeurs” (night of the smugglers) where mock customs guards and smugglers engage in a simulated hot pursuit. At the same time, along the Alpine border these scenes are being played out in earnest: in the name of the tradition of showing hospitality to strangers, residents are assisting the men and women fleeing crises and war, while gendarmes and police officers hunt them down to drive them out at all costs. Mere formality for some, critical juncture for others, crossing the border is a feature of many a tall tale but also features some repressive practices that are becoming increasingly dangerous. In the cafés, police stations and public squares, during village festivals, or in films, some of these old stories of border crossings may be amusing. Others, occurring in the present day, are contemporary tragedies. MORGANE DUJMOVIC

Visualising migration

The border: just a line?

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Françoise Beauguion, Beach of Kos, Greece, April 2015.

Women rescued 20 miles off the coast of Libya by the NGO Proactiva Open Arms rest on the deck of the boat Golfo Azurro. These women were travelling with a group of 120 people on an inflatable boat that was trying to get to Italy from the Libyan coast. Omo Calvo, Mediterranean Sea, 13 January 2017.

People crossing the border trying to enter Macedonia through the mountains. Danilo Balducci, Idomeni, Greece, 14 March 2016.

In 2015 and 2016 thousands of people tried to get onto trains bound for Hungary. Danilo Balducci, Tovarnik, Croatia, 20 September 2016.

PROBING THE FIGURES ON IMMIGRATION Numerical data on immigration is generally carefully selected before being circulated in order to paint immigration as a problem, from the point of view of both demographics and economics. The fact that these conclusions are not borne out in the vast majority of scientific studies seems, shockingly, to be of little consequence, having very little impact on either the terms of the debate or public policies themselves. In a general sense, talking about immigration in quantitative terms (and emphasising the associated costs and benefits) makes it possible to hold very restrictive positions because they appear to be legitimated by ostensibly technical considerations, whereas they in fact stem from political and moral choices. POLITICAL USES OF STATISTICS

Statistical data are instruments for communication that have very strong legitimating and institutionalising effects. The intense media coverage of the figures surrounding immigration could, for example, be used as much to support the feeling that there is a threat as to legitimise the action of repressive agencies or to discredit actions by political adversaries. By way of example, the Spanish daily, El Diario, revealed in May 2015 that the Spanish government had recorded what was merely a “guesstimate” of attempted crossings as the actual number of people who entered Ceuta. The relationship between states and quantification is ultimately rooted in the broader transformation of state administrations, for whom statistics are both the tools for evaluating policies that are implemented and, at the same time, the outcome of these activities. In this context, moving the goalposts so that as many foreign persons as possible become “irregular” and then doing everything possible to have them deported suddenly becomes an indicator of an efficient administration. WHAT THE STATES DON’T COUNT

Some phenomena are almost never recorded by public statistics and are therefore absent from official figures on

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immigration and also from public debate. This is the case of data on “exits” from the territory, which are far from negligible. The focus on migratory “flows”, or on interceptions on the border, which also mask these exits, conveys a skewed image of immigration by shifting the focus away from net migration (entries minus exits) and exclusively onto the number of entries. The victims of migration policies are also hidden in state statistics. The number of people who have died crossing the external borders of the EU has thus only recently become the subject of scrutiny by an intergovernmental organisation (the International Organization for Migration (IOM), since 2016). Figures for the numbers of migrant deaths had until that time been gathered thanks to research carried out by nongovernmental organisations (NGOs) or analysts. In addition, while the cost of immigration feeds interest in these figures, the cost of restrictive policies (border reinforcement, tracking technologies, the building and maintenance of places of detention) are very rarely mentioned by public authorities. Irregular immigration is something of a grey area in public statistics for a number of reasons. First of all, it is impossible to calculate exactly because it has by definition avoided administrative controls, even though it is also to some extent a product of these controls. Second, the matter is presented as a double-edged sword to be handled with caution by public bodies. The figures on irregular immigration reveal a clash between political reasoning in favour of control and divergent economic reasoning which supports deregulation. The figures can be mobilised to set immigration up as a threat as much as they can be used to condemn inefficient public action. Since statistics make things seem more “real”, the impact of hiding these figures and also of disseminating them – usually in isolation, without context – contributes to a general sense of being overwhelmed and to legitimising control as inevitable, as well as to justifying the policy decisions in the field of migration that have been doggedly pursued since the 1970s. SARA CASELLA COLOMBEAU

Visualising migration

Foreign populations

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THE FIGURES ON THE “MIGRANT CRISIS” In 2015 and 2016 statistical data were heavily mobilised as evidence of the “migrant crisis”. In order to portray this crisis as exceptional, the figures were generally cited as absolute (rather than relative) values, taken out of context and as incomplete statistics. In many cases, the figures for the previous years were only mentioned when they allowed an increase to be highlighted. Using figures in this way is one of the timehonoured methods of setting up the notion of being overrun (with migrants). USAGE OF FIGURES ON “CLANDESTINE” IMMIGRATION

Several supranational bodies produce data (Eurostat, IOM, UNHCR, etc.). For a number of years now, Frontex (the European border-control agency), which gathers data from all European police forces, has established itself as the “official provider” of figures relating to the arrival of migrants on the borders of the EU. Yet, more than anything else what these figures actually show is the activity of border guards. The increase in the number of “irregular arrivals” can also be explained by the increase in means allocated to administrations (Frontex’s budget tripled between 2014 and 2017, going from €98 million to €302 million) or by changes in national and European regulations which, by making it substantially more difficult to legally access the territory, led to an increase in the number of irregular entries. The conditions in which these figures are produced and the lack of transparency over how the figures are calculated at the time of their publication thus creates confusion between the phenomenon of migration itself and the activities of control that surround it (questioning, border checks, interceptions at sea, etc.). In October 2015, the agency Frontex was caught redhanded when it announced that 710,000 migrants had entered the EU “illegally” during the first five months of 2015. However, the figure cited in fact referred to the total number of crossings of the external borders of the EU and not to the number of individual people entering, as the same individual could be counted several times. For instance, after entering the EU for the first time via the border between Turkey and Greece, many migrants then follow a path that takes them out of the EU by way of Macedonia before re-entering via Croatia or Hungary (see pp. 44–45). Each migrant would have 18

contributed to the tally at each of these crossings. Despite the publication of a correction by Frontex explaining what the figures actually show, the erroneous statistics are regularly relayed in the media without these clarifications. USES OF FIGURES ON ASYLUM

The total number of requests for asylum in the EU can also be used to strengthen the notion of an unprecedented invasion. Yet, although arrivals of asylum seekers in the EU in 2015 (1,257,030) and 2016 (1,204,280) are indeed far higher than those for the year 2014 (562,700), they are very unevenly distributed across the member states. In 2016, 60 per cent of asylum applications were lodged in Germany. In addition, the total number of asylum seekers entering the EU that year represents just 0.24 per cent of the bloc’s 508.2 million inhabitants (see graph opposite). Furthermore, the total number of asylum applications submitted in the EU over the past 10 years represents less than 1 per cent of its population in 2016. Finally, the scaremongering about the overall increase in asylum requests in the EU over this past decade fails to mention that similar trends were recorded in the early 1990s. Above all, people are rarely reminded that this increase is also a reflection of the enlargement of the EU since 2004, from 15 to 28 member states. IMMIGRATION AS AN “ANOMALY”

Alongside the images disseminated by the media and in combination with political statements, the use of numerical data leads people to believe that what is happening on a local scale, for example on the Greek island of Lesbos (where there is a substantial number of migrants, compared with the island’s population), is somehow representative of the situation nationally, or even on a European scale. Beyond words and pictures, the idea implied in and given credence by the raw figures – presented as irrefutable evidence of the crisis – is that in “ordinary” circumstances the number ought to be “zero”. Immigration is thus perceived as not only excessive but an aberration in itself. SARA CASELLA COLOMBEAU, OLIVIER CLOCHARD

Visualising migration

Is the European Union facing a significant number of refugees?

Men: the main targets of the fight against “irregular” immigration

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PROBING THE MAPS: REASON AND AFFECTIVITY A map is a simplified visual representation of a given reality. It allows us to situate points (it’s here!), to describe what is there (it is a refugee camp) and offer insights or explanations (why here rather than somewhere else?). Maps allow us to view the world through different prisms: social (individual or collective), spatial (local, regional, global), temporal or in relation to a given topic (migration, for example). A map is a product of a social and intellectual endeavour and as such represents an “ideological” interpretation of the real world, where words are represented through shapes and symbols. It is a form of visual expression with direct cognitive repercussions; choosing to represent information in a particular way (the shape of the lines, nuances in shading, etc.) shapes the reader’s perception. Rather than showing us “what is going on in the world”, maps in fact offer a selection, a simplification, one interpretation from a particular perspective. Maps convey facts, results, values and, sometimes unintentionally, trigger affective responses by way of an immediate image that exerts a kind of power over the reader. MAPS AS INSTRUMENTS OF POWER, KNOWLEDGE AND DECISION-MAKING

The power of maps lies above all in being able to visually pull together complex socio-eco-geographic situations and mechanisms. For a long time, maps were the only way for rulers to govern their dominions and the state had an absolute monopoly over drawing them. In addition, map-making requires considerable scientific skill, from the gathering of statistical data to their portrayal in cartographic form in order to reveal a process. Maps give rise to knowledge and localised insight, which distinguishes them from many other forms of graphic production. Finally, maps can be used as a “decisionmaking tool” and are thus able to influence social choices made by individuals (location, travel and itineraries, migration plans, etc.) or groups of individuals (geopolitical groupings, municipal bodies, etc.).

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At a time when public authorities portray migrations as a singular threat, maps may constitute a form of resistance to apocalyptic predictions of “invasions” and “the destruction of civilisations”. THE FLOW MAP: A TEMPLATE ILL-SUITED TO DEPICTION OF MIGRATION

Mapping migratory flows uses arrows (of varying thicknesses) to describe the volume and direction of population movements between several places. A dynamic process is thus reduced to a simplified graphic shape in the form of an arrow, which symbolises a direct transfer from place of origin to destination. As such, flow maps cannot take into account individuals (gender, family, etc.), their plans or their progression in what they represent. As information about biographical trajectory is not accessible in the flow’s statistical definition, it cannot be represented. This is why the arrows – which are more or less straight – are drawn independently of the geography below them. They do not describe movement, either individual or collective, only the transfer of an aggregate population from one place to another. While this technique can give the impression of an “invasion”, or a “continuous cascade” of migrants into a Europe on the brink of overflowing, this impression is further amplified by some questionable methodological choices (see the Frontex map opposite). Such “sensational” maps of refugee flows into Europe transmit an exaggerated view of these migrations which, in fact, only represent a tiny fraction of the overall number. All too often, their only purpose or impact is to entrench a reactionary and xenophobic sense of anxiety. Statistical maps appeal to reason through their cognitive influence as well as to emotions through their highly evocative aesthetic features. Even when designed in the most rational way possible, maps are always vectors of a particular worldview. FRANÇOISE BAHOKEN, NICOLAS LAMBERT, PHILIPPE REKACEWICZ

Visualising migration

Wyem’s journey (2016)

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MAPS AND MANIPULATION This map, entitled “Most Syrian migrants . . . don’t go to Europe!”, shows the number of people of Syrian nationality recognised by the UN in each of the countries concerned for the year 2015. It reveals substantial geographical disparities across Europe: Sweden and Germany seem to be hospitable, receiving 52,000 and 70,000 Syrians, respectively; other European states seem less so. A coloured circle symbolising the number of migrants illustrates these disparities. From a methodological point of view, the map adheres to all the principles of cartography accepted by the scientific community. It is based on statistical data from a credible international body (the United Nations). The base map comes from an open cartography database (NaturalEarth). It is correctly geo-referenced; its projection system is adapted to the geographical space represented and the contours of the countries have been deliberately removed in order to avoid “graphic noise”. Point symbols (discs) representing migrants have been placed at the centroid of each country (at the geometrical centre of the polygons symbolising the countries); their semiology has been respected: the surface area of the discs is indeed strictly proportional to the number of Syrians recorded in each country, in strict adherence to the principle of using the size visual variable (the mode of representation best suited to absolute quantitative data). If this rigorously drawn map were limited to Europe and if the authors had decided to increase the size of the discs, choosing to represent the data in this way would have a direct impact on the message it conveys, i.e. that there is a massive presence of Syrian migrants in Europe. But is this really the case? By knowingly cutting off part of the information – by meticulously cropping the area of interest – the map is effectively silent on the geographical heart of Syrian migrations, which is located in the Middle East. By only telling part of the story, the map’s message is misleading. This can be rectified by a simple adjustment to the area covered by the map or its scope. According to the UNHCR, of the 5 million Syrian refugees generated by the conflict in June 2017 (to which one might add the 6.8–7 million internally displaced persons), Europe has only accepted 350,000 (or 7.2 per cent of the total). In contrast, 86 per cent of these refugees have gone to Syria’s neighbouring countries, Turkey (2.5 million, 52 per cent), Lebanon (1.06 million, 22 per cent) and Jordan (628,000, 13 per cent). 22

Extending the area covered by the left side of the map so that it meets that on the right makes it possible to visualise the discrepancy between the (statistical and geographic) reality in the data and the cartographer’s intentions as the message the map conveys. Including the countries of the Middle East, which is only logical, allows us to overturn a Euro-centric vision of Syrian migration, which is clearly inaccurate. The decision to use strictly comparable symbols in both maps (a circle whose area is twice as large as another’s represents twice as many Syrians) also radically alters the message: European countries are not nearly as welcoming as some would have us believe.

Most Syrian migrants . . . don’t go to Europe!

Visualising migration

Milos Virijevic, Belgrade, Serbia, May 2017.

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“No one leaves Home unless Home is the mouth of a shark”. Alba Otero Garcia, Belgrade, Serbia, March 2017.

All maps, whatever they represent, are an ex nihilo construct (sometimes entirely abstract). This is the case here because the statistical data is a measurement and not directly visible on the ground. Maps can therefore only give an incomplete and partial picture of reality. Despite adherence to scale, by definition, a miniaturised representation of geographic space cannot be entirely faithful. Above all, maps are a vehicle for the intentions of the cartographer (or their commissioner) and the information that he or she wishes to bring to light, distortions being inevitable. Critical thinking is therefore always required when reading maps, including those presented in this Atlas. FRANÇOISE BAHOKEN, NICOLAS LAMBERT

PROBING LANGUAGE Only rarely is the violence of the policies implemented in the area of immigration and asylum betrayed in the official discourse of European leaders and institutions. Technocratic language – a speciality of the European commission – is one of the registers of language mobilised to mask this violence. Combining striking use of metaphor – often deployed to convince the public – with euphemism, the purpose of official discourse is to coat repressive measures with a humanist gloss. Since the end of the 1990s, managerial expressions such as “burden sharing” (the burden being refugees) or “capacity building” (in other words, providing non-European countries with means to manage the movements of those migrants that the EU has no interest in receiving) have been used to serve “the external dimension of EU migration policy” (read the outsourcing of border control). The enigmatic “Migration Compact”, launched by the Italian government in 2016, draws inspiration from the same well. It ties the policies of development assistance granted to Europe’s allies to their collaboration in the area of immigration control, however high the cost in terms of human rights violations. Equally obscure is the concept of the “hotspot process”, presented in 2015 as an answer to the improperly named “migrant crisis”. By enabling the “handling of mixed migratory flows” (another way of saying that they are made up of both refugees and migrants) from the point of their arrival on the external borders of the EU, it quickly led to the establishment of a mechanism for sorting and identifying migrants whose main impact, since its creation in 2015, has been to create new forms of detention (in Greece) and violent coercion (in Italy) against the boat people arriving on the shores of these two countries. Metaphorical language is especially valuable when discussing “migratory flows”, with pride of place given to the terminology drawn from fluid mechanics. Thus, in order to justify the constant increase in the means allocated to his agency, the director of Frontex explained that his mission is to “staunch the flows” and “waves” of migrants. The Hungarian

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Prime Minister meanwhile does not hesitate to declare that Europe is “inundated” to ensure that a law is passed authorising the military and the police to open fire against these persons seeking protection or, in his eyes, invaders. Other hydraulic references are relayed by the press. When the agreement was signed between the EU and Turkey in March 2016, for example, global media wondered whether this would “stem the tide of illegal crossings”. Finally, euphemism is added to this lexical arsenal. The term “rescue” (of boat people) is one example, when attributed to the maritime intervention forces that monitor the Mediterranean border. This euphemism effectively masks the primary responsibility European states bear in endangering the lives of persons forced to take to the seas in horrific conditions, due to the absence of legal channels for immigration. Let us not forget that, according to the International Organization for Migration (IOM), Europe has become “the most dangerous destination in the world” for migrants. The creativity deployed in naming the places of administrative detention is similarly inspired. Where reference is made to “waiting areas” (France) or “centres of first reception” (Italy), “public care centres” (Romania) or “temporary settlement centres” (Spain), the effect is to conceal the grim reality of imprisonment of foreign persons in Europe. In fact, detention now plays an increasingly important role in the management of migration, even though it has been shown to be very ineffective at securing their “return” (from the name of the European directive from 2008 which in fact deals with deportation). In France, a number of brutal police crackdowns on camps established by migrants in public spaces have been described by the authorities as operations to “dismantle” (military terminology), “evacuate” or “place in shelter”, even when the “shelter” is a holding centre. CLAIRE RODIER, ISABELLE SAINT-SAËNS

Visualising migration

Concise glossary of commonly used terms

Alba Otero Garcia, Belgrade, Serbia, March 2017

Olivier Clochard, near the Paphos Gate, Nicosia, Cyprus, February 2013

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THE “MOBILITY PARTNERSHIPS” – FROM METAPHOR TO EUPHEMISM According to the European Commission, the “Global Approach to Migration”, which appeared in 2005, represents a paradigm shift in the management of migration. As part of the framework of external relations of the EU with so-called “third” countries, it supports an allegedly “balanced” strategy by considering mobility as a positive force for development. Through its operational instrument, the “mobility partnerships” (MPs), this approach is said to offer solutions that benefit all parties (destination countries, countries of origin and transit, and the migrants themselves). In 2017, nine mobility partnerships were signed by the EU (with Moldova, Cape Verde, Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Morocco, Tunisia, Jordan and Belarus). Moldova stands out as the “star pupil” as regards implementation of the partnership. The country has notably signed a readmission agreement with the EU and quickly collaborated with member states and Frontex on border security, modifying its legislation and imposing a biometric passport on all its citizens. Moldova’s engagement with the mobility partnership has thus been held up as a model for cooperation, destined to be replicated across the Eastern Neighbourhood. Analysis of the implementation of the mobility partnerships must nevertheless go deeper than the technocratic language and euphemistic discourse on the surface in order to elucidate a very specific understanding of “partnership” and “mobility” that is here being applied by the EU. HIGHLY ASYMMETRICAL “PARTNERSHIPS”

Closer scrutiny of the partnership in action reveals that, far from the harmonious approach declared at the outset, there is a persistent imbalance in the focus of the projects, namely that since the projects are developed thanks to financial and technical contributions from member states, they echo the political agendas of the latter.

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In this way, the principal function of the mobility partnerships is the allocation of means to measures geared to control of migration and borders. These come in the shape of readmission agreements (see pp. 62–63), analysis of “migratory risks”, training of staff for border agencies, legislative reform and even the opening of holding centres. Whereas the initial communications from the European Commission on this political instrument emphasised the need to offer circular migration schemes and new possibilities for legal migration for the nationals of partner countries, actual achievements in this area demonstrate the low level of engagement of EU member states in these aspects of the partnerships. A RESTRICTIVE UNDERSTANDING OF THE CONCEPT OF “MOBILITY”

In light of the projects already realised as part of the first generation of mobility partnerships (in Moldova and Georgia), it cannot be denied that there is little operational consistency in the concept of “mobility”. Most initiatives rely on measures of so-called “voluntary” return and dissemination of information on the risks associated with migration. The unbalanced structure of the partnerships seems particularly egregious given the minimal interest in measures for international protection. Between 2005 and 2016 a single initiative relating to the reinforcement of national asylum systems was set up across the entire region of the South Caucasus only to be discontinued. The implementation of the mobility partnerships thus prolongs a restrictive and uneven approach to migration, whose foremost priority is to deploy initiatives to curb migration in partner countries. MARTINE BROUILLETTE

Visualising migration

MPs made to order

Elsa Tyszler, Melilla, 2015

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CHAPTER 2

CONFINEMENT(S) With the growing numbers of migrants arriving since 2015, numerous “open” camps have formed in the capitals of the European Union and along its borders. These makeshift camps, structures for emergency reception and accommodation springing up about the place are hybrid formations. Either open or subject to controlled access, they are part of a combined approach providing shelter, exclusion, confinement and sorting migrants in the open air. Does this reflect a fall in the use of confinement? Is this a sign that the detention of migrants has become less systematic? Far from it. New sorting facilities have been set up on Europe’s borders, while on European soil, existing systems for administrative detention have been streamlined. More than ever before, policies seeking to round up and disperse migrants rely on their confinement – a mainstay of the European approach to migration management.

 Following the closure of the “corridor” on 8 March 2016, the former transit camp of Gevgelija – which saw thousands of people pass through it – has become a closed camp. These men, like a hundred or so others being held there, were getting ready to board a train for Serbia when the Slovenian, Croatian, Serbian and Macedonian authorities decided to “close the borders”. As the train goes by, these two Syrians with families of their own exclaim “Macedonia Germany!” “Germany express!” Francis Bacon, Gevgelija, Macedonia, July 2016.

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FASTER PACED AND STREAMLINED DETENTION OF MIGRANTS As a central pillar of European migration policies, places of deprivation of liberty have continued to proliferate since the early 1980s. Foreign persons without authorisation to reside (undocumented migrants) can be detained in these places for as long as it takes to organise either their admission into EU territory or their deportation. Places of confinement now dot the landscape surrounding the major airports and cities in the main regions of Europe. Although the number of camps fell from 420 to 360 between 2011 and 2016, this does not reflect a fall in the detention of migrants but rather a process of streamlining linked to targets, spending cuts set at state level and to the growing privatisation of the sector (see pp. 82–83). In fact, over the same period, the total known capacity of closed camps in the European Union (EU) and neighbouring states has in fact grown, from around 32,000 places to 47,000. Smaller sites have been replaced by vast facilities (Bulgaria, Cyprus, Great Britain, etc.) The holding capacity of the hotspots set up by the EU since 2015 range from 300 places to 2,700 (Lesbos). Finally, many sites are overcrowded, in particular in Greece and Italy, which has contributed to a deterioration in detention conditions. Furthermore, new forms of confinement have emerged. While the former communist states of Eastern Europe use old military barracks to detain migrants, the integration of the former Eastern Bloc into the EU has led to the construction The territorial expansion of camps in the European Union

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of new establishments. With growing numbers of migrants arriving since 2015, vast ad hoc camps have been erected as an emergency measure (communal tents in Croatia, unsuitable locations such as the Preševo factory in Serbia, see pp. 52–53). Germany has created semi-closed facilities to handle the deportation of nationals from the Balkans. Together with prisons, holding centres and border posts, these facilities constitute a spatial continuum (see pp. 50–51). In addition to the waiting areas and administrative holding centres (CRA), the French state plans to create emergency lodgings as part of its programme for the reception and accommodation of asylum seekers, intended to “hold” people under the Dublin procedure before transferring them to another European country. In southern Europe, the EU set up the “hotspot approach” to distinguish asylum seekers from what it calls “economic” migrants, with the aim of sending back the latter at all costs. In some places pre-existing sites for deprivation of liberty have been used for these purposes (Lampedusa, Trapani), while elsewhere existing holding sites have been converted into detention centres, notably on the Greek islands, following the signature of the agreement with Turkey in March 2016 (see pp. 32–33 and 88–89). Lastly, the role assigned to these detention centres has now been broadened to encompass a wide range of functions. Initially intended to hold persons awaiting

Confinement(s)

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The camps of the European Union

deportation procedures under secure control, closed camps are now frequently used to prevent migrants from gathering at a particular location or to delay their travel. The French CRA (administrative holding centres) have been used several times as part of migrant eviction operations in Calais: in 2002, 2009, 2015 or even 2016, to detain the men and women who refused to enter reception and orientation centres. In addition, while the purpose of hotspots in Greece and Italy is to sort migrants and contribute to the relocation of some of them in member states, hotspots are sometimes used to prevent the further movement of migrants readmitted from France or to confine asylum seekers.

In a similar vein, in March 2017, the Hungarian Parliament approved the systematic detention of those claiming refugee status, in violation of the European Convention on Human Rights. Detention is employed in this way to buttress a policy of “management of migratory flows”, which is used to not only gather, cloister and deport migrants but, also, to scatter them and keep them moving – two complementary functions that keep migrants out of sight of the general public. OLIVIER CLOCHARD, BÉNÉDICTE MICHALON, LOUISE TASSIN

Alba Otero García, Belgrade, Serbia, March 2017.

CHIOS: THE ISLAND TRAP In Vial, Greece, a hangar which, in 2003, housed an aluminium factory has since become a site for waste storage and triage prior to recycling. In autumn 2015, this storage depot, covering an area of almost 4,500 m2, was described as a “registration centre”. The centre, which is located 1 km away from the nearest village and 10 km from the capital of the Greek island of Chios, cannot be reached by public transport. It had already been used for several months in 2002 and 2003 for migrants from Africa, Asia and the Middle East disembarking on the island. Police held people there in appalling conditions for the duration of the identification procedure, with the only source of heating being iron barrels containing firewood. Although the site had been abandoned following the construction of a new camp on the island, the Greek and European authorities decided to reopen it. The Vial warehouse was thus elevated to the status of centre of first reception as of autumn 2015. Run by the army, it is now used for the identification and registration of asylum applications from migrants arriving on the island of Chios. It is one of the elements of the “hotspot approach” that was promoted during the same period. This approach, which is supposed to represent a new policy of “reception”, in fact consists of a reworking of the mechanisms of migration control: repression of migrants, uncertainty as to their handling by the institutions and a policy of “wilful negligence” by the authorities. In April 2016, just after the arrangement between the European Union and Turkey was signed in March 2016, the Greek Parliament adopted the transposed law, which notably provides for the sorting of migrants (see p. 71), the possibility of sending them back to Turkey and a maximum detention period of 25 days. Almost overnight, the islands of the Aegean Sea snapped shut on migrants, like a trap. When riots broke out in Vial, new arrivals were moved to other camps, like Souda, made out of tarpaulin sheeting and tents pitched on the bare ground, or the even more improbable camp on the square just in front of the town hall, known as Dipethe, where living conditions are extremely insecure. Migrants in Chios are all too familiar with the diverse range

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of confinement scenarios. In the Vial camp, entry and exit is controlled, access to administrative services is regulated, and the basic health and social support provided by NGOs is insufficient. In Souda, there are fewer checks, but state administration is absent and does not provide any food. In Dipethe, there are neither operators nor NGOs. In the Vial warehouse, migrants are questioned by Greek police and Frontex officers, who determine their nationality and collect their fingerprints. Following this, they may wait several months for an interview with the first reception service tasked with registering their asylum application and assessing their “vulnerability”, leaving the European Asylum Support Office (EASO) to carry out admissibility interviews. During this process, these individuals receive no legal assistance from the authorities. For migrants, their future is at stake: whether or not they will be authorised to submit an asylum application in Greece, and then be transferred to Athens depends on the outcome of this process. Most hope to continue their journey onwards through Europe. Otherwise, they face being sent back to Turkey, where insecurity and dire conditions await (see pp. 88–89). During this time, they are in limbo, held hostage by the immeasurably slow progress of the procedure, prisoners of arbitrary processes and a lack of information and trapped in the indecent and degrading conditions in which they are forced to live by the Greek and European authorities. Upon reaching the end of the maximum detention period, migrants are freed from the Vial camp but reaching mainland Greece is all but impossible. Indeed, thousands of people are not permitted to leave the island of Chios without authorisation and risk being sent back to Turkey if they do so. Confined to the island for the foreseeable future, migrants wait to be notified of what is to be done with them. While some still harbour hope of having their few remaining rights respected, others languish in despair (hunger strike, suicide). LAURENCE PILLANT, ÈVE SHAHSHAHANI

Confinement(s)

Plan of an identification site in 2016

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WHEN IT COMES TO ASYLUM SEEKERS, IS IT STILL ACCURATE TO TALK OF “RECEPTION”? Detention, now commonplace for “irregular” migrants and those awaiting deportation (see pp. 30–31), is increasingly being extended to asylum seekers. Confinement limits their access to rights that are – theoretically – guaranteed to them. “Concentrating” migrants in controlled areas impedes fulfilment of their administrative procedures and restricts interactions with the host society. Restrictive measures imposed on migrants demonstrate a will to keep them at a distance, as a preventive measure, which sets applicants on a path towards probable rejection of their request by keeping them in a situation of profound instability, immobility and marginalisation. The overall deterioration of the material conditions of reception reflects a gradual weakening of the status of asylum seeker and, consequently, the erosion of human rights within the European Union (EU). Since the 1990s, the attitude of EU member states has been one of growing mistrust towards people seeking protection. To varying degrees, EU states endorse depriving them of liberty, especially in transit zones along their borders. The detention of asylum seekers is currently permitted by European law under the Dublin procedure, for foreigners pending deportation who apply for asylum from a detention site; for people who have had their request rejected, on grounds of security or public order, to limit risk of absconding, or even, on the border as part of a request for access to the territory. Although the European Commission has a duty to undertake regular assessments of the impact of directives governing the detention of migrants, it is difficult to know exactly how many asylum seekers are detained. In 2014, there were 1,172 in Belgium, being 24 per cent of the total number of foreigners held in administrative detention (in 2016, there were 969, making up 15.5 per cent). In Hungary, in 2015, 27 per cent of persons detained were asylum seekers (2,393 out of the 8,562). Although the figures do not show a uniform increase, they do nevertheless reveal the increasingly widespread use of this practice which is spreading in many countries. Faced with a considerable increase in asylum applications in the EU (up 17 per cent in 2016), confinement together with actions to make it more difficult for migrants to access the procedure are increasingly used as deterrents. Officially recognising confinement as a method for handling applicants effectively means eschewing the very foundations of the right to asylum. Despite this apparent paradox, the EU’s recast “Reception conditions” directive of 2013 (2013/33/EU) 34

“We don’t need camps, we need homes.” Alba Otero García, Belgrade, Serbia, March 2017.

makes resorting to this “exceptional” measure standard practice. This has allowed the Hungarian government to make widespread use of the confinement of asylum seekers since 2015 and to propose, in February 2017, that this measure be applied systematically across the EU. The current draft reform of the Common European Asylum System provides for detention as punishment for “secondary movements”, i.e. from one EU member country to another. There is thus no place for the personal and subjective experience of the journey of exile in the official mechanisms that seek to isolate and exclude a population whose presence on European soil is seen as in excess. It also reveals the singularly machine-like processing that underpins the “hotspot approach”. The idea peddled by media rhetoric that this is an emergency situation that has evolved into a permanent crisis legitimates the use of exceptional measures. Population management by means of detention, for example, or through systematic isolation of asylum seekers, such as in orientation and reception centres (CAO) in France and in the Italian special reception centres (see pp. 36–37) becomes permissible. Administrative procedures weaken migrants’ rights and enable the gradual disengagement of states from the process of reception. All the while, the externalisation of controls, of confinement (to Turkey and Libya) and of asylum continues apace. The pressure exerted on Tunisia by the Italian and German governments since the start of 2017 to “relocate” the processing of asylum applications represents a further step towards the ideas advocated by various political leaders in Europe since the early 2000s. FILIPPO FURRI

Confinement(s)

The European Union: a place of refuge?

Changes in the numbers of asylum seekers inside the European Union

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ITALY: EMERGENCY MANAGEMENT OF RECEPTION AS STANDARD In Italy, the reception of people seeking protection is dominated by emergency management and by accounting principles. In the absence of an Italian framework law on asylum, many emergency decrees have been passed with a view to creating different types of centres: – Reception centres for asylum seekers (CARA), introduced in 2002, house asylum seekers during the first phase of the procedure, theoretically limited to 35 days. Their management is entrusted by the regional government to local public or private welfare organisations. Since 2015, the CARA have been gradually phased out and replaced by regional hubs intended to dispatch claimants to other reception sites, notably those maintained within the hotspots (see pp. 32–33 and 88–89). – The protection system for asylum seekers and refugees (SPRAR), is a network for “integrated reception” which local councils can choose to join. In this system, individual reception and support, most often entrusted to associations, is supposed to be guaranteed for all asylum seekers without resources of their own, from the beginning of the procedure, during the appeal process and, if necessary, for up to 6 months after protection has been granted. Nevertheless, since its creation in 2002, the capacity of the SPRAR (around 28,000 places in February 2017) has regularly proven to be insufficient. – In order to alleviate the overburdened SPRAR, specialised reception centres (CAS) were devised in 2014. They are established by the prefectures, through a convention with local councils, or sometimes cooperatives, associations or accommodation providers, upon request by the Italian Interior Ministry and on the basis of tenders. They are supposed to provide “material reception” to people prior to their transfer to a “secondary reception” facility, yet, at present the CAS constitute the de facto “standard” mechanism for managing the reception of asylum seekers and refugees (see map opposite). The rules governing the operation of hubs and CAS are very vague and their exact location is not always known. These establishments are the embodiment of the management of the reception of migrants as state of emergency. In 2015 the budget expenditure by the Italian authorities for the special network of CAS was €918 million, whereas the forecast budget for the SPRAR was €242 million. In order to really grasp the consequences, it is worth casting an eye over the inside of one of these centres. In Bresso, on the 36

outskirts of Milan, there lies an isolated industrial zone where, in 2014, the Italian Red Cross was charged with “urgently” opening a CAS whose dimensions and role in dispatching migrants were closer to those of regional hubs. Three years later, the centre housed around 600 asylum seekers in tents and containers for periods that go well beyond those provided for in law. This temporary centre of first reception has become a permanent facility. The very poor conditions (insufficient washrooms, lack of hot running water, provision of cursory legal information dispensed collectively, scant psychological support and difficulty registering an address) and isolation have a strong impact on the psychological well-being of the asylum seekers who suffer from social deprivation and alienation. “We eat, and we sleep, that’s it”, says one young Ivorian. “Even going out is a little difficult, we cannot go into town and spend time there because we would have to come straight back (for example, to eat!) and, anyway, we don’t have the money to get around”, continues a man from Mali. Another adds: “In the centre, there is nowhere for us to hang out. It’s difficult, there are no times when . . . For example, if there was a television, we could watch the match together and talk about it. Distractions like that would help people to get to know each other.” In this setting, personal resources are extremely limited, and it becomes very difficult to build a future. As this Guinean says: “I can’t imagine anything right now. When I have my documents, I’ll get out of here and then, maybe, I’ll be able to start imagining my future.” CATERINA GIACOMETTI

“Panier, land of asylum” Julie Lemoux, Panier quarter, Marseille, France, May 2014.

Confinement(s)

Reception centres in Italy

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SLUMS, JUNGLES AND CAMPS Since the early 2000s, the geography of cities and border areas located on the fringes of the main migrant routes across Europe and further afield has been transformed with the more or less voluntary movement of people who have left their homes. Abandoned buildings, parks, edges of forests or hillsides located in the hidden recesses of towns and suburbs are used for shelter by groups of individuals who have either been displaced or are travelling. These self-established and self-run camps – be they jungles, slums or squats – are generally situated close to strategic locations, especially border crossing points. In these camps, travel plans can be re-made, continued or interrupted. These sites are physical manifestations of the non-linear nature of migrant trajectories, having to put travel on hold, going one way and being forced to return. These camps pop up, disappear, reappear and move, as do the people who occupy them. In France (see opposite), as in Greece or Italy, Serbia or northern Morocco, these camps are characterised by varying levels of precarious conditions, instability and visibility. But wherever they may be, these places represent both living quarters and controlled spaces, a kind of hiatus in space and time where social bonds are formed. However, on occasion the authorities take advantage of the existence of such places to search and register the people living there and record their details in databases. For migrants who have nowhere else to live, these secluded spots are a kind of antechamber to detention. Informal and temporary confinement may be followed by more orderly official forms of segregation and exclusion, i.e. deprivation of liberty, as confirmed by the police raids and arbitrary arrests taking place nearby. The fact that the camps exist at all is a direct result of local, national and European policy agendas. The conflicts over jurisdiction between local authorities and government departments in Greece led to raids being carried out in the woods of Igoumenitsa in 2011 by local and national authorities, which received widespread media coverage. In France, the destruction of the Calais slum (see pp. 40–41) in autumn 2016 was associated with the then forthcoming presidential elections of May 2017. In the area around Ceuta and Melilla, visits from the EU institutions are often preceded by police sweep operations (see pp. 58–59). These same political agendas are behind the almost cyclical pattern of existence of these camps. They are cleared

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or dismantled only to re-emerge elsewhere in time and space. The Calais region is a good example of this. In Patras, Greece, the demolition of one large camp prompted the appearance of several smaller camps, scattered around and more isolated from the urban centre, and local residents and collectives providing support. In a world where camps whose express purpose is to confine, sort and log people electronically with a view to then deporting them are proliferating, the existence of camps set up by migrants themselves highlights the fact that the hope of escaping control still persists. These places are built or reappropriated by individuals so that they can stay out of sight and avoid procedures of forced registration, (re-)organise their onward journey and navigate a path forward avoiding barriers and obstacles. Ultimately, by inhabiting these places, migrants are claiming the rights to residency and freedom of movement that are denied them. It is no coincidence that these informal camps (re-)appear where migrants find they are fenced in: in Ventimiglia, Italy, near the port of Patras in Greece, or along borderlines and the “Balkan routes”. REGINA MANTANIKA

Philippe Wannesson, Calais, France, 31 March 2011.

Confinement(s)

Migrant camps and vagrancy in the streets of Paris

Since 2014, thousands of migrants have been living in the streets of Paris. They all (or almost all) gather together, designing makeshift camps and squats, to withstand hunger, thirst or fear. The camps are dismantled by local police and riot police (CRS) using their boots to kick down the camps with the aid of guard dogs and tear gas. Since July 2016, tents, sleeping bags, cardboard boxes and sometimes ID documents have been thrown into the rubbish trucks of the Paris city council, while fencing, rocks and urban road blocks prevent their resettlement.

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CALAIS: WHERE CAMPS RESIST REPRESSION AND ADAPT TO JOINT-MANAGEMENT The creation of squats and camps by migrants is a function of the way border crossings are organised and also linked to the “zoning” that has occurred: places for movement, for waiting, for guidance, for retreat. The situation in Calais, the main transit point between the continent and the United Kingdom – by ferry or via the Channel Tunnel – is in this sense linked to other way-stations for migrants on their journey: in the ports of Brittany, in the Netherlands, along motorways, as well as in Paris and Brussels. In all of these places, migrants hide on lorries in an attempt to reach England. Until the end of the 1990s, the French authorities didn’t really get involved and migrants with nowhere to call home found shelter in places like the ferry terminal, or were helped by associations, which sometimes looked to ordinary solutions available under the law of the land. As the situation grew tense, migrants were banned from staying in the terminal and were gradually excluded from accommodation available under the ordinary regime. With their presence becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, the prefecture opened temporary sites, in some cases managed by local volunteer associations from the Calais area, in others by government-selected operators. The Sangatte camp took over from them in 1999 and gathered all of the migrants together in a warehouse away from the city. The Red Cross was appointed by the state authorities to manage this centre which was established outside the scope of accommodation provisions under ordinary law. The closure of the Sangatte camp in 2002 marked the start of a period when no accommodation solutions were provided to migrants who then built their own shelters or occupied vacant buildings in the interstices of urban and suburban areas, from which they were eventually uprooted. Eviction is one way of making them invisible and exerting pressure so that their numbers don’t grow. When these places survive for long enough, the space itself and the activities taking place within it develop a structure and become differentiated: areas for sleeping, collective life, hygiene, worship, commercial interactions and so on . . . until some camps evolve into shantytowns. Residents of Calais also hosted migrants. Activists from the No Border movement did the same by renting

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accommodation and have lived in squats and camps created by migrants. With a view to furthering their political struggle, they have opened squats in their own name, allowing them to get a real insight into eviction procedures. In both cases, this meant that migrants were protected from police incursions – a daily occurrence in other squats and camps. Social life in these spaces was jointly organised. The increase in the number of migrants in 2014 and 2015 prompted a change of tack from the French state. The government decided to involve certain civil society organisations in its policy by agreeing to some of their demands, even if it meant distorting their real purpose, and with their help was able to concentrate migrants on an area of land far away from the city (see p. 141). Close by, a day services area and a shelter for some of the women and children were set up, then a container camp was built to house 1,500 people. One association, La Vie Active, was tasked with managing the whole site. Most migrants, however, lived in the neighbouring slum, where there was a lot of engagement by associations and many volunteer initiatives, mainly French and British. The government eventually imposed police checks on access to the shantytown and appointed the association ACTED (Agence d’aide à la coopération technique et au développement) to coordinate the work of the various associations. Faced with burgeoning numbers of migrants – over 10,000 by September 2016 – the state attempted to halt their accumulation in the area by ordering four partial demolitions of the shantytown, raids and the dispersal of migrants into accommodation centres (reception and orientation centres) all over France. In the end, the destruction of the Calais slum in October 2016 led to a situation very similar to the fallout of the closure of the Sangatte camp, with intense police pressure designed to prevent migrants from settling in Calais again. But these actions also had the unintended consequence of reactivating local solidarity initiatives, resulting in more offers of solidarity accommodation than in the past. PHILIPPE WANNESSON

Confinement(s)

View of the Calais slum

October 2015–March 2016: the authorities hem in children, women and men into an ever-smaller space

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THE “ALTERNATIVES” – JUST ANOTHER FORM OF CONFINEMENT? While the use of enclosed sites continues to be one of the preferred tools in policies for the control of foreigners, other forms of segregation and exclusion have gained traction over the past few years. Among them are the so-called “alternative” measures to confinement, deployed in various forms in national legislations. For about 10 years now, international organisations such as the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), Amnesty International, associations that work with migrants (Jesuit Refugee Service, France Terre d’Asile, l’Ordre de Malte) and different national and European bodies for the defence of human rights (European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights, the Council of Europe’s Commissioner for Human Rights) have promoted mechanisms that would make it possible to end the seclusion of migrants. Applied in an “open” setting, these “alternative” measures (see maps opposite) are far from being devoid of constraints. The arguments put forward in favour of these tools are the outcome of collusion between what at first glance appear to be contradictory rationales. Supporters claim that their aim is to end human rights abuses that have been observed in places of confinement, which are particularly egregious for certain categories of people. For this reason, these “alternatives” seek, primarily, to avoid confinement of asylum seekers, “vulnerable” persons, the elderly or infirm and minors. They are therefore rooted in a “humanitarian rationale”. Yet, purely managerial concerns are also part of the rhetoric employed to convince states to apply such solutions. The “alternatives” would allow detention centres – filled to capacity or beyond in many countries – to be unburdened. Economic savings would also be more likely. Finally, another key argument made in favour of these measures, which has raised concerns among some activist groups, is that they would be more effective at sending migrants away and keeping them out. The use of methods that

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rely on the involvement of migrants (in their own segregation and exclusion) would lead to greater acceptance of return and undermine resistance to deportation. In short, the “alternatives” do not seek to overturn the rationale of police control over migration. According to the provisions of the EU’s “Return” directive, detention should only be used as a last resort, while the directive on “Reception” states that governments must plan for “alternatives”. However, the way these measures are applied by the authorities is the materialisation of their inherent ambiguities. In France, placing individuals under house arrest – a practice bolstered by the law of March 2016 on the right of foreign persons, has been on the rise since 2014. People in various categories are affected by this: asylum seekers who fall under the Dublin regulation, people freed from detention or, indeed, any individual ordered to leave the territory. House arrest transforms the home into a kind of prison and recasts the issue of housing for foreign persons. In some places, a form of blackmail seems to be at work: homeless foreigners may be offered accommodation but are then placed under house arrest; some prefer to go back out on the street or live in squats. The French authorities, incidentally, intend to open special facilities for the detention of those under house arrest. Last but not least, having to sign in daily with law enforcement officers or at a police station and restrictions on the right to travel makes coping with daily life extremely difficult and, furthermore, impedes access to lawyers and associations who see the use of house arrest as a radical threat to the rights of foreigners. Despite being promoted as a tool for the defence of migrants and, notably, the most vulnerable, the “alternative” measures seem ultimately to contribute to extending the hold of the state over foreign persons. BÉNÉDICTE MICHALON

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Alternating modes of surveillance of migrants

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RETURN HOUSES, THE ANTECHAMBERS OF CLOSED CENTRES At the end of 2008, the Belgian authorities finally capitulated to calls from a considerable proportion of civil society demanding an end to the detention of foreign minors in closed facilities. However, this policy retreat did not lead to an absolute ban in law on the use of detention against all children. Only unaccompanied minors are protected by the law, while accompanied minors can still be detained with their parent(s) in accommodation that goes by the name of Maison de retour (Return House) or in a closed facility, provided that they are adapted to the needs of families with children and the duration of detention is as short as possible. Theo Francken, Secretary of State for Asylum and Migration, actually announced on 27 October 2016 that families with minors would once again be detained in family units set up on the site of the closed facility “127 bis” in 2017. He justified this decision by claiming that the rate of escape from the “Return Houses” was too high. The solution selected in 2008 had, in effect, consisted of no longer holding families who had not been granted leave to remain in closed facilities but, instead, placing them in specialised accommodation: enter the “Return Houses”. These houses or apartments, belonging to the state and for the most part reserved for gendarmes, were made available to the Office des étrangers (OE), which is the Belgian immigration service with jurisdiction over the areas of access to the territory, leave to remain and deportation. For the OE to be able to proceed to stop and question a family without authorisation to reside with a view to placing them in a Return House, it must abide by the same conditions as those applicable to the detention of foreigners in closed facilities. This system and the controls that families living in these buildings are subjected to, however, are very different (to those of closed facilities) because the residents still have a certain degree of freedom of movement, as these houses are open and not subject to surveillance. Nevertheless, when a family has two parents, one of them must always be in the property.

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This regime of confinement is also characterised by the appointment of a “support” agent by the OE whose role is to keep a close eye on the family. The agent, commonly known as a “coach”, serves as the intermediary between the Belgian authorities and other officials involved in the supervision and guidance of the members of the family. The agent is basically responsible for monitoring families as they prepare to be returned. He or she will explain their rights and duties, including the right to financial aid in the event of voluntary return and is also responsible for overseeing the Return Houses and their occupants; ensuring proper upkeep of the property; helping families enrol their children in school; and distributing shopping vouchers. In Belgium and elsewhere, the Return Houses are regularly presented as an exemplary “alternative” to detention. However, given how vulnerable the people placed in these structures are (stress, depression, limited access to education) and that the support made available is therefore likely to prove insufficient (absence of specialised staff or too few staff), this instrument fails to guarantee respect for the dignity of the families. The “coaches” are not always on duty (due to illness, leave, etc.), and their substitutes provide only the minimum level of support for the family (entry, administrative and practical information). Once it becomes apparent that the OE is in fact unable to repatriate many families, for example, due to being unable to obtain the travel documents required for all members of the family, the true purpose of this instrument begins to rouse suspicions. Difficulty obtaining travel documents notably occurs when one or several children born in Belgium have not had their births registered in the parents’ country of origin. Given the number and range of tasks that the support agents are responsible for, they are rarely in a position to provide the support required to develop a tenable plan for a family’s return, with real prospects for the future. CAROLINE INTRAND, BENOÎT DE BOECK

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Return Houses: hiding in plain sight

Almost ordinary accommodation for a less than ordinary aim!

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Hundreds of refugees sleep in tents at the Port of Piraeus in Athens.Thousands of refugees were left trapped in Greece, unable to leave the country after arriving from Turkey to Greek islands on inflatable boats. Omo Calvo, Athens, Greece, 25 March 2016.

The Molivos camp is overcrowded. Migrants have no choice but to sleep on pavements and roadsides. Danilo Balducci, Lesbos, Greece, October 2016.

Sara Prestianni, Calais, France, October 2016.

Hundreds of new migrants, including many children, sleep in the old station buildings of Belgrade train station, as temperatures fall below zero. At that point, almost 7,000 people were stuck in Serbia. Francesco Malavolta, Belgrade, Serbia, January 2017.

NORDIC COUNTRIES: LEVELLING DOWN There is a widely held view that the material conditions for asylum seekers living in Nordic countries mean they endure less hardship than elsewhere in Europe – for example, the notion that all migrants are housed, fed and cared for while their claim is processed. Although it is true that no asylum seeker is left to sleep rough, the accommodation centres regularly come under criticism. Migrants can, in principle, leave these open camps whenever they want. But more often than not, these sites are located far from urban centres and getting there involves paying transport fares migrants simply cannot afford. Asylum seekers thus find themselves terribly isolated. Asylum claims can take a very long time to process. In the total absence of any meaningful activity to occupy them, many migrants have developed symptoms associated with protracted periods of waiting and situations

Recognition rates of refugee status in European countries

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of uncertainty, similar to those observed in other places of confinement. Migrants who have their requests for protection rejected, and who cannot be deported, end up being held in these closed facilities or in penitentiaries run by the prison service. This trend is on the rise. DENMARK: A PIONEER OF DETERRENT PRACTICES

During the 2000s, successive Danish governments drew attention for their stridently unapologetic attempts to deter asylum seekers from coming to Denmark or settling in the country. The authorities widely publicised their new laws, some of which were highly symbolic. The sadly world-famous “jewellery law”, for example, allows for the confiscation of asylum seekers’ personal items beyond a certain value when

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they arrive in Denmark. Advertisements in Lebanese dailies outlined the tougher conditions on settlement in Denmark. And, in the middle of winter, the government opened a tent camp in the frozen fields of northern Denmark, despite the fact that the Red Cross had spaces that remained unoccupied in cheaper and more comfortable accommodation. Despite the cost, the Danish government’s approach continues to be focused on deterrence. TIGHTER BORDER CONTROLS BETWEEN NORDIC COUNTRIES

Furthermore, successive Danish governments have decided against acting in solidarity with their neighbours and chosen not to participate in joint efforts to care for migrants arriving in northern Europe. Thus, in 2016, when 16,000 people crossed the German–Danish border over a period of 20 days, Danish police received an order to let people cross through the country into Sweden. This incident was a contributing factor in the re-establishment and reinforcement of border controls between Nordic countries, even though an open-border policy had been in place long before the Schengen area instituted freedom of movement between them. Sweden and Finland, among the European countries that have taken in the highest number of asylum seekers per capita,

Between being protected, tolerated and rejected

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soon followed in the footsteps of their Danish neighbour. They established a system of temporary residence permits for asylum seekers for a period of one, three, or five years. They restricted the right to family reunification for statutory refugees and pared down conditions for reception. When 1,500 migrants crossed the Russian border in 2015, the Norwegian government summarily processed asylum applications and detained those whose requests it had rejected. All the while, Norway pressured the Russian authorities, who were refusing to let rejected asylum seekers back into the country. In the end, Norway granted asylum to some of the migrants, while other claims were still being processed. At a time when the governments of Nordic countries are toughening the rules and reception conditions awaiting migrants, the repressive measures are also having an impact on the countries’ own citizens. Many people provide help to foreign detainees in places of confinement, but a few hundred citizens have been prosecuted for facilitating unauthorised residence. Others have been subject to high-profile arrests for transporting migrants across the border. CAROLINA BOE, MICHALA CLANTE BENDIXEN

ARE REFUGEES REALLY WELCOME? Towards the end of the summer of 2015, the front pages of newspapers all over the world featured images of thousands of people welcoming refugees in stations and towns across Germany. “Wir schaffen das!” (“We can do it!”) exclaimed Chancellor Angela Merkel, as intense media coverage ensured the world grasped the true meaning of Willkommenskultur – a culture of hospitality, endorsed by a considerable proportion of German society. Efforts to welcome and assist the 890,000 asylum seekers who arrived in 2015 – setting a new record in German history – sprang up all over the country. The German government, however, still has some serious dilemmas to face. The Bundestag’s adoption of restrictive national laws on immigration between August 2015 and March 2016 confirmed the German Federal Parliament’s desire to counter the humanist approach endorsed by the Chancellor. Despite the policy of reception supported by Angela Merkel, immigration controls have been tightened over the course of the past three years citing a shortage of accommodation infrastructure available for new arrivals. Highly restrictive laws have been passed and implemented on a national level resulting in the criminalisation of migratory movements and leading to targeted exclusion of certain groups. CRIMINALISING MIGRATION AND PROLONGING DETENTION

In Germany, foreigners affected by administrative detention measures were frequently held in prisons until the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) banned this practice in 2014. This ruling, together with the ban by the German Federal Court on detaining migrants falling under the Dublin regulation, seemed to place a decisive and long-term restriction on the detention of foreigners. But then, in 2015, a new law was passed, extending the possible grounds for detention of asylum seekers, including those under the Dublin process. Human rights organisations and lawyers’ associations emphasised that this law would reinforce the criminalisation of migrants. Indeed, under these new provisions it would be possible to incarcerate most migrants, for example, for having financially assisted another migrant or for “identity fraud”. In addition, most migrants would be deprived of liberty without legal grounds, in order to deter them from staying in Germany. The government’s desire to intensify the detention of foreigners ultimately led to plans to open four new detention sites (Abschiebungshafteinrichtung) in 2017, even though the number of detention sites had actually fallen between 2012 and 2015. 50

TELL ME WHERE YOU’RE FROM AND I’LL TELL YOU WHAT YOUR RIGHTS ARE

By the end of 2015, German public discourse was increasingly focused on drawing distinctions between people who might have legitimate reasons to flee their home countries and those seeking to extend their stay in Germany without due cause. The laws governing asylum adopted in October 2015 and March 2016 (Asylpaket I and II) introduced a system of differentiated treatment for asylum seekers. Those originally from countries considered “safe” would be subject to fast-track procedures intended to deport failed claimants as soon as possible. A new type of accommodation, known as priority centres (Schwerpunkteinrichtungen) were established in several German Länder, including North Rhine-Westphalia. They emblematise the policy of sorting foreigners. These centres mainly house people from “safe” third countries. The residents receive reduced social welfare support and are not authorised to travel freely, work or study. Since October 2015, migrants may be held in such centres for more than six months. The real purpose of these facilities is, in fact, to prevent migrants from the aforementioned countries from settling in Germany while arrangements are made to have them deported. Alongside the upsurge of detention in Germany, less overt forms of confinement have emerged. Combined with measures on a European level, such as the “agreement” between the EU and Turkey (see pp. 88–89) and the closure of the Balkan routes in March 2016 (see pp. 52–53), the wholesale detention of migrants is putting an end to Willkommenskultur. In Germany, the hope that the culture of hospitality might lead to more humane and far-sighted migration policies has vanished. EVA SPIEKERMANN

“No Serbia, no Germany.” Milos Virijevic, Belgrade, Serbia, May 2017.

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Germany, land of deportation: the other side of a policy of reception

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TRANSIT VIA THE BALKANS Shunted suddenly into the media spotlight with the 2015 “crisis”, the Balkans have been a region of critical significance for European migration policies since the fall of communism and continue to present major challenges today. Seized on as a “transit zone” the Balkan states have been urged to play an active role in controlling migration towards the European Union (EU). THE BALKANS, THE EU’S BUFFER ZONE TO THE CONTINENT

For the four member states (Bulgaria, Croatia, Romania and Slovenia) and the six candidate countries or potential candidates for membership of the EU (Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, Albania, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Kosovo), joining the EU is subject to stringent conditions in the area of migration. The scope of accession negotiations is vast. The goal sought by these negotiations will, in a single stroke, “combat irregular migration” by means of deportation and refoulement, secure the borders, and ensure the legislative and institutional unification of asylum systems with a view to participation in the Dublin–Eurodac system. Cooperative countries are included on the “white list” of Schengen visas, which allows their citizens to travel more freely. Bargaining with people’s mobility in this way relies on EU funding, which is also intended for the establishment of various types of places of confinement: “detention facilities”, “transit centres” and “reception centres for asylum seekers” have been opened in the Balkans over the past 15 years. The border surveillance scheme in candidate countries wishing to join the Schengen area also comes with financial assistance from Europe. These contributions ensure migrants are sent back or confined to these regions, generally against the wishes and The proliferation of places of confinement in the Balkans

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plans of the migrants themselves. Should this be seen as part of an EU strategy aimed at shifting responsibilities onto others? THE CORRIDOR: A WELCOME DIGRESSION?

Spring 2015: the Balkans have become the main pathway for entering the EU. Human rights violations occurring on a daily basis are condemned by NGOs. In October 2015, the heads of state of Balkan countries and leaders of EU member states decide to subordinate the accession process to “tackling the migrant crisis”. The president of the European Commission announces a plan “to achieve the gradual, controlled, and orderly movement of persons along the Western Balkans route”. The idea of a corridor is born. Its purpose? To facilitate and accelerate the passage of people from the Greek–Macedonian border through to Germany, cover basic needs, but also register migrants so that they can be filtered and tracked.

“We break down the walls of war and nationalism.” “ Stop the militarisation of borders.” Alba Otero García, Belgrade, Serbia, March 2017.

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The gradual implementation of European migration policies

Until November 2015, the corridor is consolidated around 15 or so transit camps intended to channel migrants along signposted routes. Although it is the main official line of passage at that time, many secondary pathways appeared, especially following the decision to restrict the corridor to people of certain nationalities or in certain categories. THE “POST-CORRIDOR” SITUATION: WORST CASE SCENARIO

In March 2016, the EU announces the total closure of the “Balkan route”. The corridor is no longer active. Borders are sealed off once again. But migrants are still travelling along the Balkan route. The transit camps are being transformed into open-air prisons for hundreds of people trapped in a no man’s

land from which they can be deported, one by one. Serbia has become an enormous waiting area for thousands of migrants eager to cross into Hungary through transit gateways staffed by the military. Bottlenecks form in informal camps for people mired in appalling humanitarian conditions. In the meantime, member states have stepped up the return of migrants to the countries of the former corridor under the Dublin regulations. Since then, the sudden disappearance of migrants from the Balkans has confirmed the idea that the externalisation of migration control goes hand in hand with an arrant decline in the conditions in which migrants are forced to live, as “management” of the crisis is given priority over implementation of sustainable reception policies. BÉNÉDICTE MICHALON, LUCIE BACON, MORGANE DUJMOVIC

HUMANITARIAN CORRIDORS: NEITHER OPEN NOR CLOSED The corridor: before, after, inside, outside

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The migration corridor which was in place from September 2015 until March 2016 is shown at its peak (see map below). Neither homogeneous nor linear, it encompassed various different camps, modes of transport and rhythms of movement. Although the corridor initially appears to be an unavoidable and airtight conduit, some populations have been denied entry and distinct spaces have cropped up alongside the official routes. The smaller figures around the central map show a close-up of three sites on the fringes of the corridor, on either side of the Balkans – small cavities embedded along the border, and one urban area where migrants pass through and sometimes get trapped.

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In the post-corridor world depicted in the cartoon strip, travel conditions have deteriorated and migration policies across the region are tougher, with the Austrian “latch” bolted shut. Transit cramps have been transformed into places of confinement; informal camps are mushrooming; more and more obstacles line the borders to prevent people getting across. Since then, people who applied for asylum in the EU have been sent back to the Balkans under the European Dublin III regulations, despite having crossed the border legally. LUCIE BACON, MORGANE DUJMOVIC

TO BOZA OR NOT TO BOZA? THE CONFINEMENT CONTINUUM EXTENDS FROM MOROCCO TO CEUTA AND MELILLA Potential migrants to Europe face confinement both in transit countries and on the borders of the European Union (EU). In Morocco, although there are laws governing the use of administrative detention, the implementation decrees which would bring them into force have not yet been signed into law. As a result, places dedicated to the deprivation of liberty of foreigners who lack the right to remain operate outside of any legal framework. The Laayoune centre is one such facility, where are confined those people whose attempts to cross to the Canary Islands have been thwarted by the Moroccan authorities. Although an implementation decree is not required in order to be applied, the rule of law is not enforced in the “waiting areas” of airports either, notably in Casablanca airport where people who have been questioned upon disembarking from the plane are deprived of liberty, sometimes for over a month, without access to their basic rights. As in Algeria or Tunisia, the use of police stations and gendarmerie premises, scattered across the territory, continues to be the most widespread form of migrant detention in Morocco. In the regions of Tangiers and Nador, people rounded up by law enforcement officers in towns or in the zones on the border with Ceuta and Melilla are held in these locations for anything from a few hours to several days, often without charge, before being bussed out to points far from European borders. The region of Tangiers features less orthodox forms of confinement. Many foreigners describe having been locked up overnight in military trucks, before having their photograph taken the next day on the water’s edge to make it appear as though they had been arrested during an attempt at “irregular emigration”. The detention of these migrants, largely of Central and West African origin, is undoubtedly part of Morocco’s cooperation with efforts to prevent potential migrants from reaching Europe. Breaching the fences surrounding Ceuta and Melilla or crossing the sea are their only way out of this forced confinement. As one migrant explains: “I have to get out of this

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country. I have no choice, I have to cross. I have to ‘boza’” (the expression used in Morocco by Central and West Africans to refer to successfully getting across the border that separates Morocco and Spain). Ceuta and Melilla, the antechambers to the European continent, are two areas where detention is on the rise and its use hidden. The geographical specificity of the zones and Spain’s application of emergency legislation on migration in these enclaves facilitate a regime of physical confinement. Most migrants are placed in temporary accommodation centres for immigrants (CETI). “The CETI are open facilities where people are supposed to be free. But as there are no clear rules about how the CETI should operate or transfers to the Spanish mainland, the whole city is a prison for migrants,” explains one lawyer in Ceuta. The psychological effects are evident. The symptoms are familiar to staff working in the centres and come through in the words of those affected: “If you’re in prison, you get told: ‘look, after a year, you will be released.’ But it’s not like that here. You don’t know if you’re going to stay for a year, 10 days, or if you’re going to be taken to Algeria!” For migrants awaiting transfer to the Spanish mainland, detention also means social exclusion, as here they do not have the right to work. They find themselves in a situation of total isolation, with no clearly defined status, and scrape by without an income. Leading a “normal” life during this waiting period or maintaining contact with friends and family is even more difficult. The men and women who are denied entry to the CETI may be temporarily detained in police stations (up to 72 hours). Consequently, migrants in these enclaves are caught in a trap, and face a limited choice: repatriation to their country of origin or attempting to continue their journey to Europe along (ir)regular routes. ALBA OTERO GARCÍA, ELSA TYSZLER

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Increasingly fenced in as they approach Europe

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NADOR: A TESTING GROUND FOR MIGRANT DETENTION Nador is the main terrestrial gateway into the enclave of Melilla (under the authority of the Spanish government), and draws in many migrants from sub-Saharan Africa and Syria. Serious violations of migrants’ rights are committed on this border, including impediments to accessing offices to submit applications for asylum, “on the spot refoulement” along the fences surrounding Melilla, violence, raids and sweeps, destruction of camps and making it impossible for human rights organisations and journalists to freely go about their work. The Nador–Melilla zone represents a veritable testing ground for new practices in migrant detention, implementing the European and national policies outsourced to Morocco by the EU and its member states. Migrants here are subjected to various forms of deprivation of liberty, falling into three main categories. CAMPS: PLACES OF LIMITED FREEDOMS FOR MIGRANTS

The camps that lie farthest away from the major urban areas are situated in the forests to the south of Mount Gourougou, Joutia, Taouima (La Carrière camp), Boulingo-Selouane, Guechadia, Bekoya, Lakhmis Akdim and Beni Sidel. These are places of segregation where migrants live (subsist). The people living there, mostly men, cannot circulate freely. Whether travelling on foot, by bus or in taxis, they risk arrest by auxiliary forces on patrol (soldiers deployed by the Ministry of the Interior) as soon as they enter the town, hospital or even approach shopping centres. Ethnic profiling and the resulting arrests seem to have marked out zones forbidden to migrants, whose presence is tolerated only in the area surrounding the informal camps. TEMPORARY CENTRES

Ad hoc provisional centres, opened during major camp demolitions which were followed by mass arrests, constitute another example of sites for the deprivation of liberty. In Nador these centres have been set up in two public buildings,

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the Arkemane holiday camp, belonging to the Ministry of Youth and Sports, and the orphanage. These sites were used in February 2015 following the destruction of the camps of Gourougou and arrest of 1,250 migrants, marking the end of the first regularisation campaign in Morocco. Those rounded up were swiftly bussed to the south of Morocco to be detained in other places (training centres, sports complexes) outside of any legal framework, with detention periods here potentially lasting almost a month. PERMANENT STRUCTURES FOR GATHERING AND DETAINING MIGRANTS

There are also other permanent structures where arrested migrants can be detained in the province of Nador. These structures are often found inside the city police station or in the headquarters of the royal gendarmerie. A central courtyard leads onto these disused storage barns, with neither doors nor windows, covered in leaky zinc roofing. Here, confinement can last longer than in the two types of temporary facilities and migrants are regularly held for up to a week. Migrants are notified of an official report concerning them, with no formal legal procedure or judicial oversight; they have their photograph taken, along with their fingerprints, before being bussed out of Nador. Although activists from the Moroccan Association for Human Rights (AMDH) have repeatedly called for these unlawful detention sites to be closed, they continue to be used by the Moroccan authorities. Detention practices also affect unaccompanied minors in Melilla. Spanish authorities have on several occasions expressed their willingness to delegate responsibility for them to their Moroccan counterparts. As part of this process several local associations have requested European funding to build a facility in Beni Ensar specifically for minors sent back from Spain. It will no doubt become yet another site for the seclusion of minors to whom Europe continues to deny entry. OMAR NAJI

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Situations of apartheid around Nador and Melilla

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CHAPTER 3

OFF-SHORING, OUTSOURCING AND REMOTE INTERVENTION The EU is progressively shifting the burden of responsibility for the management of migration in its direction onto departure or transit countries. Commonly called the “external dimension” of European migration policy, this is achieved through various types of agreements (on cooperation, readmission), negotiation frameworks (regional, bilateral) and new tools such as the Migration Compacts, which seek to restrict the mobility of migrants with the help of “third” countries. These countries come under pressure to readmit migrants sent back from Europe and to control “migration flows” within their own territory, preferably by adopting laws against “illegal emigration”. A host of private companies involved in these mechanisms have been able to turn this policy to their advantage and make considerable profits from the delocalisation and closure of borders – a policy that is in breach of the rights and obligations that the EU is supposed to uphold.

 As of September 2015, entering into Hungary without a visa is considered a criminal act. In October 2015, Hungary completed construction of a barbed-wire fence along the border with Serbia. At the same time, four transit zones were created, including that of Horgoš/Röszke. These now constitute the only entry points into Hungary viewed as legal by the Hungarian authorities. Only around 15 people per day are allowed through. The others wait their turn in a makeshift camp which has formed at the foot of the enclosure. Olivier Sarrazin, Horgoš, Serbia, August 2016.

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FROM RABAT TO KHARTOUM, EXTERNALISATION IS UP AND RUNNING In October 2005, at Hampton Court, the heads of state of the European Union (EU) adopted a “global approach to migration” with the aim of reducing the flow of migrants by means of development projects in poorer countries, despite the fact that much research has shown that this is likely to be counterproductive. As a cornerstone of the “external dimension” of European policy on asylum and immigration, it embeds migration control into the scope of cooperation and development assistance, thus securing closer involvement of departure countries in the fight against “irregular” immigration and control of Europe’s borders. In July 2006, the first Euro-African summit on migration and development ushered in the Rabat process. Presented as a “partnership” between migrants’ countries of origin, transit and destination, its aim is to “offer a concrete and appropriate response to the fundamental issue of controlling migratory flows” (Rabat Declaration). In addition to poverty reduction measures, it includes a specific section dedicated to implementation of Article 13 of the Cotonou Agreement (between the EU and the countries of Africa, the Caribbean and the Pacific), on the identification of “irregular” migrants (without authorisation to remain in a country), readmission procedures and forced returns. Improving the socio-economic conditions in African countries is relegated to a secondorder goal to make way for the instrumentalisation of official development assistance which is used as a bargaining chip to be granted in exchange for the control of migrants. Other EU–African summits have followed, but important matters are dealt with on a bilateral basis between individual EU member states and African countries. In 2006, when Spain encountered significant numbers of arrivals on the Canary Islands, intense diplomatic efforts were deployed in order to secure deals on migration cooperation. Control over territorial waters and potential joint operations were also addressed. Over the years that followed, France signed about a dozen agreements on “joint management of migration flows and co-development”. One thing all of these agreements have in common is the systematic inclusion of readmission clauses.

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The EU has set up other policy frameworks for cooperation with “third” countries, such as the European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP) in 2004 or, from 2007 onwards, new tools like the mobility partnerships (MP, see map on p. 27). These “partnerships” feature the complete set of European tools for migration management, including temporary travel for work, links to development, the fight against “irregular” immigration and readmission clauses. The year 2014 saw a new addition to the various EU– African frameworks for negotiation with the Khartoum process, which specifically targets countries on the Horn of Africa and certain transit countries: South Sudan, Sudan, Kenya, Egypt and Tunisia. Once again, security dominated the agenda with plans for the creation of migrant camps and for the training of police forces tasked with border control. Following the Valletta summit of November 2015 and the launch of an Emergency Trust Fund worth €1.8 billion earmarked for development projects, in June 2016, the European Commission announced the establishment of a new model for bilateral negotiations which would now take the form of “compacts”. These are directly inspired by the so-called “EU–Turkey deal”. According to the Commission, the deal was an appropriate solution to the “migrant crisis”, with the immediate impact of reducing the arrivals of migrants in the Eastern Mediterranean (see pp. 88–91). The goal is now to apply these types of “partnerships” across the board, by giving priority to informal agreements based on offers of “à la carte” funding, according to each country’s needs, in exchange for their collaboration (see pp. 84–87). Henceforth, all commercial, economic and development assistance is conditional on the “cooperation” of the beneficiary country in the management of migration to Europe. Development assistance has thus become a tool used to blackmail third countries into playing the border guards of the EU. CLAUDIA CHARLES, LOLA SCHULMANN

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

EU–Africa cooperation: a layer cake of framework agreements to “manage” migration

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THE EU’S LAISSEZ-PASSER TO DEPORTATION In October 2016 the European Parliament adopted a “European travel document for the return of illegally staying third-country nationals”. In doing so the EU revealed its true purpose, which was to make it easier to deport migrants, even if this means bypassing the sovereignty of “third” countries and jettisoning international rules on identification and readmission. Deportation procedures ordinarily require prior identification of the individual and recognition of their identity by the country whose nationality they hold. Without this the return process is legally impossible. In the absence of a document certifying the nationality of the individual, the administration must request a laissez-passer from the consulate representing the country of which the individual is presumed to be a national. In order to circumvent what it views as a very time-consuming administrative burden, or, in some instances, even an obstacle to deportation due to a lack of cooperation from the consular authorities or from the individuals concerned, the EU has created its own laissez-passer or travel document, without setting out how it is to be issued and used, about which very little is known. The Council of the EU had in fact developed a template for this document as far back as 1994, based on the specimen readmission agreement drawn up at that time based on the principle of presumed nationality. Even though the limits of such a unilateral approach had already been clearly demonstrated by the fact that most countries refused to accept the use of this document, whose legal validity has been challenged, the 2016 regulation now provides for its use not only under the readmission agreements but also “in the context of return-related cooperation with third countries not covered by formal agreements” (Official Journal of the EU, 17.11.2016, L.311/13). Broadening the scope for use of the document reveals that the EU’s strategy is focused on developing operational collaboration with the target countries in order to avoid the long and costly process of negotiating formal readmission agreements whose outcomes cannot be guaranteed. Fifteen of the seventeen readmission agreements signed by the EU allow for the use of the document developed in 1994

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if a consular laissez-passer is not delivered within the set time frame. This applies both to nationals of the signatory country and also to foreign nationals and stateless persons who have transited through their territory. In practice, it has already been used outside of these agreements. Several member states have resorted to this document to implement returns to Kosovo, Afghanistan, Iran and Eritrea, due to the absence of consular representation of these countries in Europe. In December 2009, individuals presumed to be Afghan nationals were deported from France and England in a combined flight even though the Consul had refused to issue them with a laissez-passer in order to protect them from being removed by force and despite the fact that the Court of Appeal of Douai had invalidated the document produced by the French administration. In July 2015, in response to France’s proposal to systematically apply the European laissez-passer, the Malian authorities announced that they would not readmit any presumed Malian nationals; making good on their promise in December 2016, they attempted – not without difficulty – to reset the balance of power and reassert their sovereignty over this area. While this may seem to be merely a question of bureaucracy, the nub of the matter is nothing less than the externalisation of the process of identification. The consequences could lead to expedited “returns” of individuals to various countries (migrants being deported on arrival). Italy has in fact gone a step further. Presented as a simple working agreement aimed at reinforcing police cooperation with Sudan, the memorandum of understanding agreed in August 2016 between the Sudanese national police and the Italian Department of the Public Security allows individuals to be identified retrospectively, i.e. after they have been deported to Sudan. The EU knows no bounds when it comes to the removal of migrants . . . PASCALINE CHAPPART

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

Abdelkader, in the infernal desert crossing from Algeria to Mali

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THE SCHENGEN VISA AND THE POLICING OF FOREIGN PERSONS Since the Treaty of Amsterdam entered into force (on 1 May 1999), entry into, transit through and circulation within the Schengen area for a period of less than three months for individuals who do not hold European citizenship is subject to the EU’s common visa policy. This, in turn, is based on a joint list of “third” countries whose nationals require visas (regulation of the Council of the European Union (EU) of 15 March 2001) and on the harmonisation of procedures and conditions for issuing Schengen visas across all member states (the Community Code on Visas adopted on 13 July 2009). From a legislative point of view, the legal basis for harmonisation is clear. However, in practice there are enormous discrepancies in implementation. The Visa Code sets out a non-exhaustive list of supporting documents that every applicant must provide as evidence to support their application. In reality, the requirements imposed by member states vary not only from country to country, but also between consulates of the same country, thus exposing visa candidates to the discretionary practices of the consular authorities in a given country. While the harmonisation of the European visa policy is ostensibly about the alignment of consular practices of member states, its real aim is to collectively apply rules based on concerns and suspicions targeting specific populations or groups, which is why it is essentially directed at those considered to be the poorest and most politically unstable countries. While the Schengen visa can be seen as a consequence of the creation of an area of free movement without internal border checks, the European visa policy has in fact become the frontline of European border and migration controls. The Visa Code stipulates that when examining a visa request “particular consideration shall be given to assessing whether the applicant presents a risk of illegal immigration or a risk to the security of the Member States”. In this context, consulates demand various supporting documents regarding the applicant’s planned travel (letter of invitation, identity and address of the person or organisation receiving the candidates) as well as evidence of

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their socio-economic status (proof of resources and especially health insurance) during the application process. Didier Bigo and Elspeth Guild see the Schengen visa as a tool for “remote policing” of the movement of people: being geographically distant, insofar as controls are carried out even before departure; but also administratively remote, since it is the consular officers or, increasingly, staff subcontracted by private companies who examine the applications and effectively perform the tasks amounting to border and migration control (see pp. 68–69). This approach has been stepped up in recent years with the introduction of biometrics (see pp. 74–75) and electronic record-keeping. All visa applications are subject to checks in the Schengen Information System (SIS), which stores the identity of all individuals designated as persona non grata by member states. Applications are also recorded in the Visa Information System (VIS), regardless of whether the visa is actually issued or not. In addition to the information and supporting documents from a visa application, each file contained in the VIS includes biometric data on the individual (photograph and fingerprints), all of which is held for a period of five years. European visa policy is therefore much more than a system for authorising travel. Over the years, it has become a pivotal tool for electronically identifying and ensuring the future traceability of foreigners subject to these requirements. It is intended as a deterrent and allows consular authorities discretionary powers over the decision to grant a Schengen visa. It is also used as an inducement in EU negotiations with departure or transit countries regarding other aspects of European migration policy, as demonstrated by the systematic association of discussion on concluding readmission agreements with the promise of so-called visa facilitation (simplified procedures) or liberalisation (partial lifting) agreements. JULIEN JEANDESBOZ

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

Rich (visa) vs poor (no visa): worlds apart

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OUTSOURCING CONSULAR FUNCTIONS Control over state borders is one of the ways states assert their sovereignty. The EU’s visa policy contributes to this control by screening candidates for the right to enter before their arrival on European soil (see pp. 66–67). The Schengen visa is rather unique in that sense: it authorises access to a region made up of several states, but its issuance falls under the jurisdiction of national consulates. In India in the early 2000s, a number of Schengen agreement signatory countries decided to follow the UK’s example of working with an entirely new private service provider, the company VFS Global, owned by world leading tour operator Kuoni Travel Group, for the management of the visa application process. Although member states continue to hold dominion over the organisation of their own consulates, establishing contracts with private companies requires a European legal framework to specify procedures for doing so, as the granting of Schengen visas falls under the scope of common policy. As a result, when the first member states started working with VFS Global, they were called in by the European Commission and asked to justify and explain their reasons for outsourcing such services. These clarifications have since established a legal basis for subcontracting: the Visa Code now authorises the use of “external” service providers and the collection of service charges. According to Gerard Beaudu, former civil servant at the Commission, the justification given linked subcontracting to the achievement of certain objectives: improving public service and the handling of applicants, reducing opportunities for corruption and, above all, limiting the costs associated with implementation of the European visa policy. However, closer examination of the daily practices at consulates highlights other interests at stake with regard to this outsourcing. First of all, applicants pay the fees for a service that is provided to member states. In addition, those applying for a visa have no alternative: they automatically become involuntary customers of companies that have signed a contract with diplomatic representations. Visa applications must be submitted at visa request centres. In this way,

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states can subcontract the administrative relationship with visa candidates and, in so doing, “unburden” themselves of the tasks involved and, notably, the cultural or interpersonal challenges associated with them, from receiving visa applicants through to the most difficult interactions, such as notifying individuals that their request for a visa has been denied. In Casablanca, for example, the visa request centres managed by TLScontact and VFS Global are often called “consulates” because they essentially serve the same purpose, except that, here, it is employees of a private company who interact with the candidates on the other side of the counter. The private service provider provides information about the application process, verifies supporting documents, charges fees for the visa itself and a “handling” fee, records and enters the fingerprints in a database and then returns the passports either with a visa or with the denial notice. In short, even though the employees in the centres are not directly responsible for the decision as to whether or not to grant the visa, they do have frontline discretionary powers, because they decide how all of these daily activities are conducted. Neither neutral bystanders nor facilitators in the visa application process, the centres are in fact the main interlocutors of people applying for visas. Like VFS Global, TLScontact, an ambitious French-owned company, has set its sights on conquering the world market and has won the trust of a growing number of European states. Visa applicants find themselves confronted with the “border” at the counter of these privately run visa processing centres, rather than in consular representations. Out of sight and, therefore, out of mind, applicants are kept at a distance. Interaction with private service providers – who have no obligations towards the users and who have transformed what was formerly a public service into a profit-making enterprise – leaves little opportunity for negotiation or to challenge a decision. FEDERICA INFANTINO

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

Applying for a visa in Casablanca without going through the consulate

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LIAISON OFFICERS: EUROPE’S INVISIBLE HAND The member states of the EU deploy “immigration” liaison officers (ILOs) in “third” countries, especially in airports, in order to carry out upstream checks on people departing for Europe (i.e. before they board). These ILOs are part of the externalisation of European migration control, insofar as they have the capacity to prevent presumed migrants and asylum seekers from leaving their country of origin or transit. EU member states have resorted to using police officers as “immigration” liaison officers since the introduction of sanctions against carriers (transporters) in the mid-1990s. Airlines found to be carrying passengers who do not possess the required documents to Europe and whose entry to the territory is refused are fined under the Chicago Convention and must take passengers back to where they boarded. In order to avoid these deterrent fines, airlines verify travel documents prior to departure and often use private security companies (see pp. 80–81). ILOs play an important role in this process, both as advisers at the airport and providing guidance on detecting counterfeit documents. In addition, ILOs have a mandate to participate in the prevention and management of “illegal immigration” and in facilitating returns. EU regulation number 377/2004 on the creation of a network of ILOs makes no reference to the right to asylum. But in light of everyday practices, liaison officers seem to be effectively playing the role of border guards, as defined in the Schengen code. Strictly speaking, ILOs have no legal power to prevent people from boarding a plane. They are only supposed to be there as advisers to the airlines and private security staff who check travellers’ documents. Nevertheless, in practice, their advice is usually followed, because it is in the airline’s financial interest to reduce the risks of having anybody refused entry upon arrival at the borders of Schengen.

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Exchanges between ILOs and the border police at airports are often informal, and sometimes laid-back. ILOs know local staff well, on account of regular training on counterfeit documents in sending countries where they are posted. They often see themselves as providing expertise and assistance while they travel from one control station to another across airports. The direct involvement of ILOs in checks on departure from “third” countries also raises the question of the protection of passengers’ rights and, more specifically, the right of asylum and the principle of non-discrimination. Thus, members of the House of Lords felt that British ILOs had violated the right to equal treatment for Czech passengers guaranteed by the European Convention on Human Rights, by denying boarding only to Roma passengers on flights destined for Great Britain. According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), checks upon exiting the territory of a state where persecution is taking place is the equivalent of denial of entry at the border. The agency recommends authorising entry for the period required to process the asylum application. The deployment of ILOs will henceforth be coordinated at the European level. In January 2017, the European Commission hailed the fact that 13 European ILOs had been sent to Egypt, Ethiopia, Jordan, Lebanon, Mali, Niger, Nigeria, Pakistan, Senegal, Serbia, Sudan, Tunisia and Turkey. These measures further restrict migrants’ access to safe and regular passage as well as their right to asylum and, in fact, contribute to the exclusion of “third” country nationals from the European area. JILL ALPES

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

Relocation and resettlement: when the EU states are all talk!

Louise Tassin, Paris, France, November 2014.

Louise Tassin, Palais de Justice, Paris, France, November 2014.

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LIAISON OFFICERS ON THE FRENCH BORDER The waiting areas (Zones d’attente, ZA) on the borders of France serve as a gateway zone for detention and reveal that border control takes precedence over respect for human rights in the eyes of the state authorities. If the French border force (Police aux frontières, PAF) is of the opinion that the conditions for entry into France or into another member state of the Schengen area have not been met or that the individual presents a “migratory risk”, entry is denied, and the individual is placed in a ZA in order to be sent back to where they came from. People wishing to apply for asylum are also held in ZAs upon arrival. But the PAF may not be the only border force carrying out these entry checks. European “immigration” liaison officers (ILOs) are sent to “third” countries (see pp. 70–71), French officers are frequently seconded to other EU countries and liaison officers from other member states are regularly present at French ports and airports. The aim is to exchange information, verify documents, be present when the PAF questions travellers and also to identify migrant pathways. There are various reasons for these missions, such as investigating a potential migration “stream”, or monitoring the arrival of what are seen to be too many nationals from a particular country transiting through France to get to another European state. In June 2015, Spanish ILOs were thus sent to RoissyCharles de Gaulle airport for two weeks due to increased arrivals of nationals from certain countries in Central America, notably Hondurans, on their way to Spain. According to the French Interior Minister, Hondurans were the third largest group by nationality among those held in a ZA. The Spanish police officers had come to reinforce the obstacles already put in place by the PAF in order to ensure that these nationals, believed to present a “serious migratory risk”, did not enter Spain. They were operating under the mandate

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of the agency Frontex (see pp. 98–99), whose explicit aim is to “reinforce and facilitate controls on persons arriving from these states” of Central America, and from Honduras in particular. Indeed, arrivals of Hondurans to Roissy fell significantly in the months following this mission. During the legal support drop-in sessions regularly held by Anafé (French National Association for assistance for foreigners at the borders) in the ZA at Roissy, people from Latin America and the Caribbean explained how doubt was cast over their reason for travel in order to then reject them. Some people – mostly women – described a set of “tactics” intended to make their reason incoherent. During interviews with the PAF, they said they came for tourism. They were then asked what their reaction would be if they were offered a job during their stay. If they considered this to be a conceivable scenario, entry to the territory was denied because of “incoherent reason for the visit”. Others reported that they had been “advised” by the PAF to say that they had come to Spain for work or else face “immediate deportation to Panama”. Some even said they suffered verbal or physical abuse. Once they had answered as advised they were denied entry. Several of these accounts mention the presence of Spanish liaison officers during interrogations carried out by the PAF. The presence of French border liaison officers is thus part of an approach that seeks to tighten migration controls upstream, in order to prevent certain foreigners from reaching their destination country, in this case Spain. It is also part of the normalisation of the notion of “migratory risk” – a key concept in border control – outside of any meaningful legal framework, which necessarily leads to discriminatory and sometimes arbitrary decisions. LAURE BLONDEL, LAURE PALUN

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

For many states, travel can amount to a criminal activity

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BIOMETRICS: ORGANISING THE TRACEABILITY OF MIGRANTS The term biometrics covers a series of techniques for identifying individuals based on certain physical or physiological characteristics (finger and palm prints, facial features, iris or retina, or DNA are the most commonly used). This type of identification has a long history. It initially spread with the use of anthropometry at the end of the nineteenth century as a tool for police investigation and as a technique for “tagging” certain categories of the population considered to represent a “threat” because they were non-sedentary, poor or perhaps politically suspect. In France, the law of 16 July 1912 made it compulsory for travellers/nomadic populations to carry a carnet anthropometrique (anthropometric identity document). The use of biometrics in the context of European asylum migration and border control policies became compulsory as of the year 2000. Initially, Eurodac, the dactylographic (i.e. fingerprint) database, made scanning and recording the fingerprints of asylum seekers systematic as part of the measures required to implement the Dublin convention but, above all, in order to store them in digital format in a computerised system for data collection and exchange. After 9/11, biometric measurements became embedded in travel documents, and migration and border control tools were equipped with biometric scanners. Against the backdrop of an ongoing terrorist threat, the inclusion of these biometric data was a result of the considerable pressure exercised to that effect from both the American and European authorities, with the support of the United Nations and the International Civil Aviation Organization. In 2004, a regulation of the Council of the European Union made the inclusion of biometric data (facial image and fingerprints) compulsory in the passports of European citizens. At the same time, discussions over the Visa Information System (VIS) reaffirmed the principle of systematic collection of the same information for applicants for transit visas or short-stay visas in the Schengen area, in place since 2011. The “second generation” Schengen Information System (SIS) also enabled the gathering and exchange of such data. Finally, in 2016, the legislative proposal known as the “smart borders” package from the European Commission seeks to make collection of these data compulsory for all foreigners crossing the external borders of the EU for a short stay, including those under a visa-waiver scheme. 74

The current trend is therefore geared to expansion of the systematic collection of as much biometric data as possible on people wishing to enter Europe, especially if they are not European citizens. It also involves sharing these data. Since 2015, national police services and Europol can access the fingerprints stored in Eurodac and all other data stored in the VIS as far back 2008. The “smart borders” package, which proposes systematic biometric registration of all foreigners upon entry to the EU, contains similar provisions. This trend marks a turning point in the rationale that has hitherto underpinned the use of biometrics. Indeed, it is no longer only about applying these techniques to identify individuals suspected of wrongful deeds, as the criminal investigation police forces continue to do, or “flagging” specific groups. It is also about making sure every single individual can be identified in the event that this information might one day be needed. Thus, while the creation of a system to ensure the traceability of individuals based on characteristics embedded in their physical bodies may not be limited to foreigners alone, it is part of a broader impetus specifically geared to guaranteeing their “deportability” – a concept developed by Nicholas De Genova to describe the precarious status of foreigners under Western liberal regimes, where they are subject to deportation at any moment. JULIEN JEANDESBOZ

Emmanuelle Hellio, Granada, Spain, 2006.

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

Towards widespread biometricisation?

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“DUBLINNED” IN BULGARIA Since 2012 and the increase in the number of arrivals of migrants to Europe, Bulgaria is said to have been one of the most difficult routes for migrants: depressed economic situation; deplorable reception conditions for asylum seekers and refugees; low likelihood of non-Syrians being granted protection; police violence at the borders; quasi-systematic detention of all those who arrive (see pp. 52–53). Draconian application of the Dublin and Eurodac regulations is yet another factor that deters asylum seekers from crossing Bulgaria. Any individual who has either requested international protection in the country or been intercepted during transit must provide their fingerprints. Thus, if this person requests asylum or is stopped in another member state, the individual is likely to be sent back to Bulgaria, the first country responsible for examining their request, in line with the Dublin regulation. The number of requests for Dublin “transfers” from other European countries to Bulgaria has increased rapidly, going from 446 in 2012 to 10,377 in 2016, according to statistics of the state agency for refugees (SAR). Nevertheless, a low percentage of these are actually sent back to Bulgaria (624 in 2016, being just 6 per cent of all transfer requests). People who are “Dublinned” and have already had their request for protection rejected in Bulgaria are generally detained on arrival at Sofia airport before being deported back to their country of origin. In theory, these individuals can submit a new request for asylum, but the legislative reform of December 2016 has reduced this to a very brief window (two weeks), with examination based only on new elements provided with evidence in writing. If the applicants leave Bulgaria while their request is being examined, the procedure is reactivated when they return, and they may be placed in a reception centre for asylum seekers. Chances of success, however, are slim. Bulgaria has a very low rate of granting protection for non-Syrians (9.5 per cent for the period 2009 to 2015), and the Bulgarian authorities feel that “Dublinned” migrants do not deserve protection because they left the country while their procedure was ongoing.

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That was the case for Thomas K., a Congolese minor who arrived in 2013. After having his request for asylum rejected by the Bulgarian authorities, the Court of First Instance returned his file to the SAR seeking a new decision, on account of breaches of procedure that had been revealed; the state had failed in its duty to grant the guarantees due to an unaccompanied minor, such as legal assistance, nor had it evaluated his psychological well-being. The SAR appealed this decision at the Higher Administrative Court, before which Thomas declared in 2014 that he wanted to remain, fearing that he would be returned to his country. The judges ruled in his favour and ordered the SAR to begin a new procedure. Meanwhile, Thomas, disheartened, decided to leave Bulgaria and crossed several borders before making it to Belgium, where the authorities did not take long to discover – thanks to his fingerprints recorded in the Eurodac database – that he had applied for asylum in Bulgaria. Thomas was therefore promptly sent back and, upon arrival at Sofia airport in May 2015, he was abandoned to his fate, with neither lodging nor any information being provided. In the end he was given a place in a reception centre for asylum seekers while he awaited a decision on his new application, which the Court had ordered in 2014. The decision to reject the application, in March 2016, was then upheld by the administrative tribunal. The case was brought before the Supreme Court which was due to issue a ruling in 2017. If denial of asylum is confirmed – which is very likely – he will return to his country of origin, which he left more than five years ago, while still a minor; or, he will remain in Bulgaria, where a life with neither rights nor official status awaits him. He might also attempt to make a life for himself again somewhere else in Europe, at the risk of being sent back again and becoming one of the “circular” Dublin returnees whose number continues to increase. RADOSTINA PAVLOVA

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

Dublin, capital of Bulgaria?

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In front of the temporary reception centre for immigrants. Françoise Beauguion, Melilla, Spain, December 2015.

Sara Prestianni, Ganfouda Camp, Libya, June 2012.

Luca Salvatore Pistone, IOM Transit Centre, Agadez, Niger, November 2015.

Luca Salvatore Pistone, bus station in Niamey, Niger, November 2015.

THE PROFITABLE SECTOR OF MIGRATORY SECURITY Much has been said about the “clandestine crossing economy” and the profits made from smuggling human beings who have no option but to turn to these “irregular” channels to cross borders. Yet, this economy is largely driven by tougher border control measures. In fact, closing borders is not only profitable to “smugglers” and other traffickers. Another form of exploitation of migration exists, one that might be described as “legal profiteering” and which serves the tools put in place by states in order to “manage migration flows”. In Europe, the growth of this industry dates back to the early 2000s and coincides with the decision by member states of the EU to equip themselves with a common policy in the fields of immigration, asylum and border surveillance. Private companies have rushed in to fill this migration security market and, when they have not directly influenced it themselves, they managed to turn the direction taken by the EU in the area of border surveillance into a profit-making enterprise. The “smart borders” and Eurosur programmes, launched in 2013, which require the use of radars, sensors, drones, satellites and other sophisticated equipment, are a boon for the military and the aeronautics industries, which specialise in developing such cutting-edge technologies. This sector has a strong presence in the EU’s decision-making fora, for example among the panels of experts that the European Commission surrounds itself with in order to define the priority projects (or “axes”) of the “Horizon 2020” programme devoted to research and innovation. One such technical committee on security matters brings together representatives from the likes of Airbus, Sagem, Finmeccanica and Siemens. Unsurprisingly, their recommendations are for increasingly automated security protection systems on the borders of the EU, as their industry stands to gain the most from such a move. To those rare voices who dare to express concerns over potential conflicts of interest (or even collusion) between industry and certain holders of political office, the European Commission replies that this alliance is indispensable in order

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to transform theoretical analysis of security needs into practical operating procedures, adding that the EU has a legal obligation to support its industry. Beyond the industrial lobby for surveillance, a slew of opportunistic economic activities now feed off the policy of closed borders. One example is the management of visa applications, a market now divvied up between a handful of agencies. This reduces the cost of hiring staff for consular administrations while at the same time lining the pockets of the service providers. Another example is the business of escorting deportees, which is often entrusted to guards contracted by private security companies – incidentally the same ones to which management of detention centres is outsourced in several countries, including in the United Kingdom. Sometimes, profitable “niches” can arise out of the needs of migration control. The Spanish company that manufactures the barbed-wire fencing spiked with razor-sharp blades for the barriers that surround the enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla exports its know-how to more than 20 countries. Insurance companies offer protection from “migratory risk” in exchange for high premiums; shipping companies incur heavy penalties if they are found to carry any individual on board their vessels who may be refused entry to the territory. On the island of Lesbos, in Greece, the European Asylum Support Office (EASO) – an EU agency – called on private security guards in 2016 in order to ensure the security of its employees deployed at the Moria hotspot after they felt threatened by the sometimes violent outbursts of migrants exasperated after being held there for weeks and waiting in vain for an answer to their request for asylum. Combining commercial interests and indecency, the EU spends public funds propping up private security firms (that make substantial profits) in order to defend itself against the men and women who have come to Europe for protection. CLAIRE RODIER

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

The growing budgets of migration control policies

Olivier Clochard, Gemayzé district, Beirut, Lebanon, May 2015.

“God is with those who are patient.” Stephanos Mangriotis, Samos, Greece, 2014.

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MIGRANT DETENTION: A LUCRATIVE BUSINESS Running administrative detention facilities has become a lucrative business for a number of economic actors. While these tenders take different forms across the EU, the United Kingdom and France are two of the most emblematic cases. While the UK has outsourced the operational management of migration detention almost entirely, France frequently delegates specific services to private companies on an ad hoc basis. Since 1970, the United Kingdom has subcontracted management of migrant detention facilities to private security firms. The sector is currently dominated by a handful of multinationals, including G4S, GEO Group, Mitie, Serco and Tascor, whose long years of experience have allowed them to acquire expertise in this area. Driven by the imperative to keep costs as low as possible, public tenders launched by the state tend to drive down the budget allocated to the management of these facilities, leading to the deterioration of the living conditions for detainees. In 2016, the contract agreed with Serco for the management of the Yarl’s Wood centre promised to cut running costs by £42 million, to be achieved through the installation of “self-service kiosks” (for example for ordering meals) instead of human agents, further dehumanising detention conditions. Furthermore, by delegating management of the camps to private entities, the British authorities cannot be blamed for any ill-treatment migrants may suffer during their detention and expulsion, thus creating conditions in which abuses can occur with impunity (see map opposite). Although there have been reports of acts of intimidation, sexual violence and even homicides, only superficial measures have been taken (disciplinary proceedings against employees or non-renewal of contracts) without any sign of real concern by either the state or the companies involved. The situation is slightly different in France. The administrative detention sites (CRA), which numbered 24 in 2017, fall under the responsibility of the Ministry of the Interior. Only construction, maintenance and logistics (catering, cleaning and, in some cases, reception of detainees) is delegated to private companies (see map opposite). Little is known about

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the outsourcing of migration detention in France, with the exception of a few events drawing media attention, such as the hiring of undocumented workers on the construction site of a CRA in 2010. Nevertheless, the involvement of private companies is far greater than it may at first appear. Having built their wealth upon the opportunities to move goods and capital freely through their subsidiaries, many multinational companies such as Bouygues, Engie and Vinci have invested in the detention sector and now turn substantial profits from preventing the movement of persons. One noteworthy fact among many: public tenders for detention services are structured in a way that gives rise to a long chain of outsourcing and subcontracting that culminates in the hiring of workers in very insecure conditions, many of them migrants themselves and sometimes even former undocumented migrants. These employees are subject to extremely harsh working conditions that may in turn have a detrimental effect on how detainees are treated. In the CRA of Paris-Vincennes, for example, private agents act as intermediaries between foreign inmates and the staff: they informally fulfil the role of mediators, which is essential to the smooth running of the centre. However, they are not always given the means to properly perform their duties, especially when hired externally through subcontractors (staff shortages, vague instructions, precarious contracts). Their reactions to such arduous working conditions (low-level of engagement, late arrival, aggressiveness) has a knock-on effect that primarily impacts the detainees, at the expense of their rights. In both countries, the disengagement of the state through the outsourcing of these functions has not weakened central power but actually serves to reinforce it. The central state can at the same time gain legitimacy by proudly displaying its efforts to reduce national spending, while guarding itself against the rights violations occuring on a regular basis in migration detention sites. LYDIE ARBOGAST, LOUISE TASSIN

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

Ignominy and the privatisation of Immigration Removal Centres (IRC)

Embedded in the kinks in the economy lie administrative holding centres

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FREEDOM OF MOVEMENT AND THE ECOWAS AREA IN PERIL The widely held aspiration for African unity expressed since the era of decolonisation has ultimately been embodied in the regional groupings of African nations, of which the most successful example is the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS). For the founding fathers, freedom of movement across this region has been a cornerstone of their ambitious project of regional integration, ever since its creation in May 1975. The constitutive treaty of the ECOWAS clearly states the need to remove obstacles to freedom of movement for people, services and capital between party states. Different protocols were thus adopted regarding the right to reside and settle, community citizenship and the creation of a common passport shared by all member states. Freedom of movement became a sign of progress in the sub-region and was held up as an example on the African continent. The visa requirement between ECOWAS countries was lifted. Nevertheless, the obligation to carry an ID card or a passport in response to security challenges and the desire to protect the national job market continue to hinder this freedom to travel. Despite the persistence of the arbitrary practices of certain immigration and police officers posted on the borders

What the EU asks of Africa

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(racketeering, violence, etc.), in 2012 the ECOWAS states began a review of the protocol on freedom of movement in order to enable smoother movement of people. Progress in this area, however, has been beset by the externalisation of European borders to West Africa. After the creation of the Schengen area, the Common European Visa System effectively brought free movement between Europe and its former colonies to an end. The consequences of the economic policies imposed on Africa, conflicts linked to the advent of democracy and climate have left impoverished Africans wishing to reach Europe with no other choice but to take ever greater risks on their journeys of migration. From 2005 onwards, significant numbers of migrants arriving in the Canary Islands led to the deployment of the agency known as Frontex and to tighter collaboration between the Senegalese and Mauritanian authorities and the EU in order to strengthen control over African coasts. What these actions actually achieved, however, was merely to divert migrant routes, of which the main consequence has been a continuous increase in the number of deaths in the desert and at sea. These tragedies are nevertheless a convenient cover for the EU to push for further agreements

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

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Main routes taken by migrants in West and Central Africa

with transit and departure countries and to look to Africa to shoulder responsibility for keeping migrants where they are and impeding their attempts to reach Europe. As a result, new laws have been passed criminalising the transportation of migrants in the name of the fight against human trafficking. There is a great deal at stake for the African countries: only if they “manage the flows” will they be eligible to receive funds from the emergency trust fund, created during the Euro-African summit in Valletta, in November 2015 (see pp. 62–63). According to an EU declaration of 20 April 2017, under this scheme Niger stands to receive €108 million to transform the city of Agadez into the new border of the EU in West Africa (see pp. 86–87). Technical and financial assistance from the EU to strengthen border management is entirely antithetical to the long-standing and well-articulated goal of creating an area of free movement across the ECOWAS. It even risks leading to

the emergence of frictions between those countries of the Sahel considered “priority countries” for the EU – and therefore the intended beneficiaries of the trust fund – and those who do not enjoy this status. Among the former, Mali, Senegal and Niger have begun negotiations with the EU towards concluding “pacts” with the aim of reducing migration. Using the same means of persuasion and inducements as those brought to bear in negotiations on economic partnership, European institutions have engaged in bilateral negotiations with each of these countries, whose eagerness to please the EU has jeopardised negotiations at a regional level within the ECOWAS. In short, in order to protect their own scheme for freedom of movement within the Schengen area, the EU and its member states are prepared to undermine and imperil free movement in the ECOWAS area. SAMIR ABI

ACTION ON NIGER: CUTTING OFF ACCESS TO EUROPE’S SOUTHERN BORDER The year 2015 was a turning point for migration in Niger. Aside from the Euro-African Valletta summit, a series of European policy initiatives followed in quick succession and were echoed by the Nigerien authorities. Over the course of just a few months Niger had adopted a strongly security-centred approach. A country of emigration to West and North Africa, Niger has since the 1980s and 1990s also been a transit country for people from West and Central Africa travelling to Libya and, in some instances, to Europe. The fall of the Gaddafi regime in 2011 led to changes in migration patterns and represented an opportunity for actors such as the International Organization for Migration (IOM) to assert themselves. Established in Niger since 2006, its stated mission is to strengthen the capacity of the state and to carry out information campaigns about the “risks” linked to migration. In 2010, the IOM opened branches in Arlit and Dirkou, where migrants sent back by Algeria and Libya are received. Then, in 2015, it opened a “reception and transit centre” with capacity for 400 to 800 places in Agadez. The Libyan crisis, which drove tens of thousands of people to flee especially into Niger, was an opportunity for the IOM to bolster its presence in this country by facilitating the allegedly “voluntary” returns of migrants (Nigeriens and non-nationals alike), who receive assistance for transport and sometimes for reintegration. This policy of “voluntary” return is still in place and part of a security-based approach dominated by control and punishment. The shift towards this approach has been brought about by the convergence of the interests of Niger and the EU around control of borders and movement. This change of tack has been accompanied by the emergence of a new lexicon (e.g. the public debate now focuses on “irregular migration” in lieu of “transit migration” which has fallen out of use) and, following pressure from the EU, by the adoption in May 2015 of a law on the illicit trafficking of migrants. As a result, providing accommodation and transport for migrants in exchange for payment is now punishable by law. This shift was further consolidated with the establishment of EUCAP–Sahel (European civilian and police cooperation mission) in Niamey, in 2012, and then in Agadez in 2016, with the creation of a department specialising in “irregular migration”. 86

By mid-2016, European interference had intensified further with the allocation of the emergency trust fund announced at La Valletta in 2015 and enforcement of the law on the illicit trafficking of migrants. In northern Niger, “suspect” vehicles have been towed and people accused of transporting or housing migrants have been imprisoned one after another. Thousands of people who had been prevented from continuing their journeys and repatriated to Agadez were handed over to the IOM or left to fend for themselves. The allocation of European funds denotes a degree of collusion between development agencies and the security sector. These EU-funded projects involve the IOM, bilateral cooperation agencies and private companies specialising in security. Their mandate is to “combat irregular migration” and ensure cooperation towards the establishment of a police force dedicated to migration control. The European police presence in Niger has thus become more pronounced, adding to the EUCAP–Sahel forces already present and those of Frontex that were soon to arrive. Development actions are aimed exclusively at “fixing” populations where they are. The IOM’s mandate is couched in a degree of ambiguity, specifically with regard to the notion of “voluntary” return. Indeed, even though people sent back to Agadez following the immobilisation of vehicles travelling to Libya may not have intended to return to Niger, the IOM’s handling of the process inevitably leads to that end. Thus, in exchange for increased financial support – which Niger is hardly in a position to refuse – the EU has imposed its rhetoric of security imperatives and mechanisms for border control in the space of just a few months. Several consequences are already visible: the “clandestinisation” of the crossing of the Sahara makes the journey towards Libya even more dangerous; the free movement of Nigeriens across their own territory is under threat, as is that of ECOWAS nationals (see pp. 84–85), some of whom are now prevented from entering Niger. FLORENCE BOYER

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

Mechanism for control and clandestinisation of the Niger crossing

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REPRESSION ON THE BORDER BETWEEN GREECE AND TURKEY Migratory movements from Greece to other member states of the EU, which had risen in early 2015 with the arrival of people across the Aegean Sea, fell dramatically with the closure of the Balkan borders in the autumn of the same year. Unable to leave Greece, some asylum seekers were supposed to be relocated to other member states according to the newly instituted European distribution mechanism. This measure, designed to “relieve” Greece by transferring 63,302 people to other member states, has proven a failure: according to the European Commission, only 20 per cent of them had left the country by May 2017 (see map on p. 71). In January 2016, the country was still receiving more than 2,000 arrivals every day. The arrangement between Turkey and the EU, signed in March 2016, finally drove the figure down to 120 arrivals per day. A new Greek law was adopted on 3 April 2016, allowing asylum requests to be rejected when the applicant has transited through a country where they “have been recognised as a refugee in that country and can still enjoy of that protection or enjoy other effective protection in that country, including benefiting from the principle of nonrefoulement” (article 54 of the Greek law number 4375/2016). Despite the shift towards authoritarianism and the serious and repeated rights violations taking place in Turkey, the EU considers that Turkey meets its criteria. Readmission procedures from Greece to Turkey could thus begin (see pp. 90–91). From a migratory perspective, this means that people who arrived before 20 March 2016 would be stranded in Greek refugee camps guarded by the army and run by the state or international organisations that benefit from European funding in exchange for restraining their movement. Others would remain detained in the five hotspots located on islands in the Aegean Sea under permanent threat of being sent back to Turkey. The only way to escape this fate is to prove that Turkey would be unable to offer effective protection, and thus avoid being among the “selected individuals”. From a policy perspective, these measures are aimed at limiting the arrivals of undesirables and are part of a string of targeted European migration policies, whose tools include detention, deportation and the filtering of individuals by means of the asylum application. Application of these measures in a country experiencing a crisis is not without consequence. Over the course of eight years (2008–2016), Greece has seen five successive 88

governments, nine austerity plans, the arrival of a neo-Nazi party in Parliament (2012), its holding capacity multiplied threefold, the construction of a wall along the land border between Greece and Turkey (2012) and operations to conduct mass arrests in public spaces (since 2012). In this situation, European pressure and the current migration situation hold sway over the plan to close all migrant detention facilities, which was part of Syriza’s manifesto prior to its victory in the 2015 elections. From a geopolitical perspective, what is at stake in these policies reaches far beyond the issue of migration. The cooperation required for the implementation of mechanisms for returns between Greece and Turkey is not easily achieved, given the tensions carried over from the Ottoman era in demarcating the Aegean border and the conflict over Cyprus. A readmission agreement was already in place since 2001 but functioned poorly and was hardly used. A second agreement, in 2012, placed greater emphasis on the detention of migrants in Greece with a view to deporting them to Turkey and made crossing the border between the two countries more dangerous due to practices of “pushback” or refoulement. While migration has existed for decades, in this context both states were drawn into a game of ping-pong. This shuttling of migrants may now be regarded as legal and legitimate in the eyes of the EU; however, it nevertheless remains incompatible with respect for international law. LAURENCE PILLANT

Laurence Pillant, Samos, Greece, 2012.

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

A geological metaphor to illustrate politics: the Greco-Turkish rift, a century of history

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TURKEY, AIRLOCK TO A GATED EUROPE Frank T., from Central Africa, was picked up by the Turkish police towards the end of 2015 while trying to cross the Greek border. He was detained for several weeks in the Return Centre of Ankara, where he slept on the floor with 60 other men. He was not able to find out whether his asylum application had been lodged. He was threatened by the police because he refused to sign a document for voluntary return. His only source of assistance was a phone call from an association for the defence of migrant rights. Frank’s is far from an isolated case. Iraqis, Iranians, Nepalese, Algerians, Afghans, Syrians and other foreigners in Turkey are locked up for up to 12 months because they don’t have documents authorising their stay in Turkey; because they are accused of belonging to so-called “terrorist” groups; or because they left the city of residence assigned to them by the authorities without permission. Turkey signed the Geneva Convention relating to the status of refugees but limits its scope to European nationals only. Syrians registered with the Turkish authorities therefore receive temporary protection, which is supposed to protect them from being deported. In practice, it is extremely difficult for them to leave the country (see map opposite), where they are still at risk of being deported back to Syria. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) determines the status of non-European nationals, which is non-binding for the Turkish authorities. The situation of individuals officially recognised as refugees by the UNHCR is assessed with a view to their resettlement in a “third” country (Canada, United States, northern European country), which rarely comes to pass. Up until March 2016, shipwrecks and deaths at sea made the headlines in Turkish newspapers several times a week (see pp. 116–117). Intercepted migrants and survivors of shipwrecks are sometimes freed with an order to leave the territory and sometimes locked up in return centres or police stations in the name of the fight against “smugglers”. In the face of such arbitrary practices, people offering assistance

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struggle to keep up with the situation of migrants, even as the number of operations and repressive measures against them has been growing since the start of 2016. These hurdles placed in the way of migrants are also to be found beyond Turkey’s borders. In Beirut, 400 Syrians destined for Turkey were sent back to Syria at the very last moment on 8 January 2016 – the day a law came into force making visas compulsory for Syrians to gain access to Turkish territory by air or sea. Following the bombing of Aleppo, the land border was also closed off to Syrians fleeing to Turkey. Tens of thousands of migrants stuck on the Syrian side of the border have described being shot at by Turkish law enforcement officers. In February 2016, NATO vessels arrived in the Aegean Sea to monitor migratory movements. On 18 March, an arrangement was signed between the European Union and Turkey. In exchange for a €6 billion investment in humanitarian projects and the promise of legal pathways for entry into the EU, Turkey agreed for people who had travelled to Greece to be sent back to its territory (see pp. 88–89). In January 2017, the agency Frontex was thus able to report that 908 people had been sent back by virtue of this arrangement and announced the arrival of three charter vessels to facilitate their return from Greece. At the same time, Turkey refused to allow lawyers access to 326 people sent back in April 2016 and locked up in return centres. UNHCR also reports frequent refusals by the Turkish authorities to allow it access to people detained following their return. In the aftermath of the constitutional reform that has strengthened the powers of the Turkish president and legalised his authoritarian bent, an already uncertain outlook for migrants there has now taken a turn for the worse. Despite this dire rights situation, an attempt to make deportation to Turkey from the EU systematic is well under way in the name of defending Europe’s borders. NAUSICAA PREISS

Off-shoring, outsourcing, remote intervention

Mustapha’s journey

Mustafa Hadj Rasheed 38 ans Kurde syrien, né à Afrin, fleuriste, quitte la Syrie en 2013

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Athènes City Plaza

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Map produced in Athens at City Plaza in December 2016 by Mustafa Hadj Rasheed, Sarah Bachellerie and Sophie Clair. Additional information is available on the blog https://derootees.wordpress.com

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CHAPTER 4

MIGRANT ROUTES UNDER MILITARY AND POLICE SURVEILLANCE As a result of free movement for people inside the European Union and of a war waged against certain types of migration rendered illegal, the militarisation of checkpoints on the external borders of the EU has continued unabated since the turn of the century. In 2015, as the “migrant crisis” triggered a stampede to lock down national borders, it also provided a convenient excuse for yet another substantial increase in the budget and means allocated to this area with naval interventions, Frontex cooperation with NATO, migrant sweeps, refoulements and forced returns, cutting off potential migrants at their point of origin. These operations are not only costly for the European Union, but come, above all, at the expense of the human rights of individuals who perish in growing numbers or bear lasting physical and psychological scars, as a result of these practices.

 On the other side of the fence lies the first transit camp of the “corridor”. Under the control of the army, the border police and the Ministry of the Interior, movement within the camp is highly regimented. At the entrance, several officers check that documents are genuine. After letting about one hundred people through into Macedonia, the wire mesh gates are closed again. Olivier Sarrazin, Gevgelija, Macedonia, January 2016.

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SCHENGEN AREA: FREE MOVEMENT IN DANGER OF EXTINCTION Signed in 1995 by five countries (France, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg), the Schengen agreement was intended to liberalise the rules governing border crossings by people, a reflection of the intensification of trade within the European Economic Community or EEC, as it was known at the time, a forerunner of the EU. FREE INTERNAL MOVEMENT AT THE HEART OF THE EUROPEAN PROJECT

Negotiated by the government departments of the signatory countries with jurisdiction over home affairs and justice, the Convention Implementing the Schengen Agreement (CISA) came into force in 1995 and was to incorporate a growing number of states (26 in total, including 22 of the 28 EU member states in 2017). Freedom of movement inside what thus came to be known as the “Schengen area” for nationals of states that are

parties to the Convention and legally staying “third-country” nationals quickly came to be seen as a threat. “Compensatory measures” (which make up the bulk of the CISA) were adopted, such as more thorough checks on the external borders of this area and judicial and police cooperation between parties to the Convention. With the Treaty of Amsterdam in 1997, all new member states of the EU are automatically bound by the terms of this Convention. THE LIMITS OF FREE MOVEMENT UNDER “SCHENGEN”

The CISA provides an ideal framework for the expansion of measures that draw a link between immigration and security risks, thus contributing to the criminalisation of migrants in general. In addition, internal border controls never really disappeared. In several member states “Schengen zones” were carved out to facilitate border checks and legitimise

Poorer states were excluded from the European project, against a backdrop of fear of migration

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Migrant routes under surveillance

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The borders of Europe (2016)

their sometimes discriminatory nature. Furthermore, rather than being an even, steady process, incorporation into the geographic scope of the Schengen area appears to be adjustable at will. It is for this reason that despite 10 years of negotiations and favourable opinions from the European Commission, the inclusion of Bulgaria (see pp. 76–77) and Romania was still pending in 2017.

THE 2015 “MIGRANT CRISIS”: THE END OF SCHENGEN?

One of the political repercussions of the intensification of so-called “illegal” immigration in the summer of 2015 was that the very principle of freedom of movement was called into question by member states and by the European institutions. Reinstatement of border controls – which had been provided for in the rulebook and actually implemented by certain states during the “Arab Spring” of 2011 – was more widely used than ever before. In September 2015, almost as a chain reaction, several countries decided to do the same along their own borders. By June 2015 France had reinforced measures to lock down its border with Italy, allegedly on grounds of internal security.

These practices were rubber-stamped by the European Commission. Then, in May 2016, the Council for the first time sought to regulate and coordinate these practices, even though the number of migrants arriving had fallen considerably as a result of the EU–Turkey “agreement” (see pp. 88–91). Without prejudice to what may yet come, the reintroduction of border checks has not really jeopardised travel for European citizens, nor has it hindered economic activity in the European market (least of all the transport/ shipping sector). The “crisis” mainly affected the travel of migrants inside the Schengen area, notably transforming Greece, and especially its islands in the Aegean Sea, into a fish trap where migrants are to be confined or relegated (see pp. 32–33). As a result of these repressive measures on the borders, largely closed camps have been established, where people are brought with a view to being sorted, deported and in general segregated – as corroborated by numerous witness accounts of the border areas. As ever, this has not discouraged the migrants; it has simply made their journey costlier and more perilous (see pp. 116–117). The “crisis” has ultimately led to a deepening of the divide, and of the inequalities inherent in freedom of movement as defined within the Schengen area. SARA CASELLA COLOMBEAU

THE FRANCE–ITALY BORDER BETWEEN VENTIMIGLIA AND MENTON BORDER CHECKS

The border between Ventimiglia, also known as Vintimille, and Menton is located on an ancient migrant route that runs across Italy, into France and then on to northern Europe. Here, the 1990 Schengen Convention was implemented in 1998. The border posts were emptied and, for the most part, destroyed. But even though the border police left its former duty stations, it continues to operate what are technically mobile checkpoints (in fact it does so in places – often indistinguishable from one another – where vehicles can be made to slow down) and limited to the 20 km of the “Schengen zone” where such checks are authorised. Trains also undergo inspections subject to the limits inherent to this mode of transport and must be carried out quickly. Controls consequently seek to “target” certain passengers according to physical attributes indicating their presumed foreign origin and are therefore discriminatory. After the inspection, officers filter out people whom it is not possible to deport (in general due to the situation in their country of origin) and request their readmission to Italy, under the agreement signed between France and Italy in Chambéry in 1997. The Italian authorities then simply register them in their files before releasing them a few kilometres from the border. So continues the absurd dance whereby migrants try to cross again and are once again stopped and sent back, and so on and so forth, time and again. On the French side, this is routine work for police officers who hope in this way to curb the flow of migrants towards Calais or Paris.

2011 AND 2015: TWO CRISES THAT BROUGHT FREE MOVEMENT TO A HALT

In 2011 and in 2015, increases in migrant arrivals sent shockwaves through the worlds of media and politics. The upheaval was largely precipitated by the decision of the French authorities to carry out more stringent border checks. In 2011, following the fall of the Ben Ali regime in January, 23,000 Tunisians boarded vessels heading for the Italian coastline. In order to ensure that they would not remain in Italy, Italian president Silvio Berlusconi had them issued with temporary permits allowing them to remain

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and – crucially – to travel within the Schengen area for three months. Several thousand of them chose to cross into France via the border between Ventimiglia and Menton. Some 2,000 people were arrested in Menton in March of that year (by way of comparison, the total number of arrests in 2013 was 4,500). In June 2015, against the backdrop of what had been labelled a “migrant crisis”, border checks were officially reintroduced following a meeting of the Group of Seven (G7) in Germany. However, the number of people arriving on the Italian coasts continued to rise and migrants headed towards northern Europe: 27,000 of them were thus subject to checks in 2015. In both instances, all trains passing through were subject to systematic inspections, and roadblocks sprang up for roadside checks. Additional police officers and gendarmerie were deployed; transport was diverted and re-routed and all individuals identified as being “migrants” by the law enforcement officers were stopped. These largely local tensions were exploited for political ends. In 2011, it led to a formal standoff between presidents Berlusconi and Sarkozy, even though in reality they were both in favour of reform of the Schengen Borders Code, in order to facilitate the exceptional reintroduction of internal border controls (officially formalised in 2013). For the duration of 2015 the management of migrants stuck on the border and not wishing to settle in Italy was delegated to the Italian authorities who fluctuated between offering temporary humanitarian reception and rejecting these individuals. On the French side, the attacks of November 2015 and subsequent State of Emergency was sufficient justification for the controls to still be in place in spring 2016. Italy then decided to institute a new system as of May that year: local readmissions were to be replaced by bus transfers to reception or detention centres in the south of the country. People attempting to migrate through Ventimiglia have thus found they are unable to continue their journey, and reaching their destination becomes an even more remote prospect. SARA CASELLA COLOMBEAU

Migrant routes under surveillance

From Ventimiglia to the Roya Valley

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FRONTEX: SHAPE-SHIFTING BORDERS GUARDED BY AN UNACCOUNTABLE BORDER FORCE Founded in 2004, Frontex is the most heavily funded of all European agencies, to the tune of €200 million in 2016. The agency is responsible for coordinating the management of the external borders of the European Union (EU) and limiting their “vulnerability” to “migratory risk”. EVER GREATER POWERS

The latest review of the agency’s mandate, in October 2016, once again gave effect to the further broadening of its remit. It now has the power to intercept, deport, mobilise up to 1,500 border guards to the perimeter of a member state within five days at any time, purchase equipment, gather personal data and transmit this to Europol, and operate in “third” countries outside the EU. Over the past 10 years, the range of equipment at its disposal has grown (to encompass helicopters, heat sensors, radars, ships) in order to enhance detection methods and extend information collection as far upstream of migration routes as possible. In addition, the agency has collaborated in civil and military operations in the Mediterranean (e.g. from 2015 onwards in operation EUNAVFOR MED, later renamed Operation Sophia) and in the campaign of arrests targeting migrants without authorisation to remain in Europe (Operation Mos Maiorum, in 2014). The agency has thus had control over the “pre-border” area, since 2013, by administrating the EUROSUR satellite system. External action covers a vast array of scenarios. It is based on “cooperation” which can be either bilateral (for example between Spain and Senegal) or multilateral (agreements signed by the EU) and can also be based on the agreements signed directly by Frontex with “third” countries – numbering 18 at the start of 2017 – thus allowing the agency to deploy its own staff (in Turkey, Niger and Serbia, for example), train border guards (Libya, Jordan, Tunisia) and broaden its data collection network (see pp. 62–63). UNACCOUNTABLE BUT NOT UNIMPEACHABLE

Having come under fire – notably from Frontexit, a group of 21 NGOs – the agency has tried to clean up its image. Nevertheless, it continues to offer only piecemeal communications about its activities which remain shrouded and inscrutable. Frontex’s language regarding its maritime interventions is also couched in ambiguity: it offers a reminder that the 98

obligation to give assistance does not make Frontex a rescue agency. Saving lives is not part of its mission. In fact, most lives are saved by national naval forces, merchant or fishing vessels and private initiatives (see pp. 130–132). In addition, there has never been any assessment of the impact of the agency’s activities on fundamental rights, even though its actions are an impediment to the internationally recognised right to leave any country; risks of refoulement are a direct consequence of its mandate; cases of violence have been documented (Frontex records them as “incidents”); and mechanisms for data protection are still insufficient. External cooperation is subject to no scrutiny whatsoever – not even by the European Parliament – despite the fact that this cooperation implies exchanging data with, to date, more than 43 countries. As an entity with legal liability, Frontex has power of initiative to launch operations at sea and on land, but it has so far proven impossible to hold the agency directly accountable in cases of rights violations. Only the host state of an operation and its border guards and coastguards on secondment to the agency can be held to account. The executive director of the agency has the authority to suspend any operation that breaches fundamental rights, but this prerogative seems never to have been used. The complaint mechanism adopted very late in 2016 is rather toothless and muted, as it only provides for disciplinary action or sanctions according to an internal administrative procedure. SIGNS OF A DANGEROUS OBSESSION WITH SECURITY

Frontex included, the EU deploys more than 100,000 border guards and dedicates unprecedented means to hampering mobility far beyond the limits of its own territory, in full cognisance of the rights violations that occur as a direct result of these measures. Far beyond the exorbitant financial cost, it is, above all, the human cost of this policy that is so shocking, even as the number of deaths on the borders reaches new levels (see pp. 116–117). By strengthening Frontex’s mandate, the EU has effectively locked in “security blinkers” in a “Europe at war against an imaginary enemy”, to use the slogan coined by Frontexit. MARIE MARTIN

Migrant routes under surveillance

Alba Otero García, Melilla, Spain, April 2016.

Frontex operates far beyond the borders of the European Union

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FRONTEX IN THE MEDITERRANEAN: APPEALING TO THE GODS TO WATCH OVER EU BORDERS Saturn, Minerva, Hera, Triton and Poseidon are some of the gods invoked by Frontex since 2006. They scour land and sea and quickly seal any cracks in the external borders of the European Union. From the goddess of fertility to the ocean messenger, by way of the lord of earthquakes, Frontex names its operations after characters from ancient mythology, summoning a belligerent collective imaginary to defend against the threat it calls “the foreigner”. An imaginary used to promote concrete operations, leaving little room for meeting these foreigners’ actual needs, namely protection. Frontex has a mandate to prevent irregular crossings of the borders of the EU, especially its maritime borders. While the bulk of its actions are carried out in the Mediterranean basin, in 2006 Operation Hera was launched off the coasts of the Canary Islands and West Africa. The purpose was to prevent dugout canoes getting across from the African continent, by means of patrols that were deployed in the territorial waters of Spain and African states, the latter being invited to contribute to the operation. It also included hastily organised deportations, only just within the law. The presence of Frontex patrolling these waters thus drove people to take other routes adding to the crossings through the central Mediterranean or through the Ionian Sea to Italy or, to a lesser extent, by way of the river Evros and then on through the Aegean Sea that separates Greece and Turkey. Frontex’s activity in the eastern Mediterranean began in 2007, mainly along the borders of Greece and Bulgaria, in order to contain people arriving along the eastern route via Turkey. The agency’s presence there is another example of how the response to the growing humanitarian and protection needs has come in the form of security forces and intensified controls. Frontex coordinates Operation Poseidon across the region, deployed by way of terrestrial, maritime and airborne patrols. The budget of this operation alone has multiplied 19-fold since it was launched in 2014 and was set to reach almost €43 million in 2016 (covering expenditure for surveillance and patrol equipment on loan from member states and field coordination). The EU–Turkey “agreement”,

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which enables the forced return of failed refugees in Greece, has bolstered Frontex agents in their role on the Greek islands (pp. 32–33 and 88–89), where they feel entirely at ease to do as they please. Over in Italian waters, the same ramping up of its actions can be seen: first deployed in the central Mediterranean in 2006, Frontex’s interventions have proliferated since then before ultimately becoming centralised in a single maritime operation, dubbed Operation Triton, which came with a budget of up to €40 million in 2016 (see pp. 102–103). Frontex’s activity has never really made it possible to prevent irregular arrivals from across the Atlantic and Mediterranean. All it does is make the routes longer and more dangerous for the people concerned (see pp. 116–117). Not only has the agency failed to achieve its declared objectives, but the sea has become the theatre for rights violations – despite surveillance of European and international waters on an unprecedented scale that is unable to ensure basic protection for people. Since 2014, Frontex’s interventions at sea fall under a European regulation that allows the principle of non-refoulement to be violated (by preventing those who would do so from applying for asylum at the European border) and which legitimises collective deportations (by diverting vessels from their planned route and forcing entire groups of passengers to disembark at the nearest port of “safety”), at the risk of exposing individuals to rights violations in the countries to which they are sent back, notably outside of Europe. In 2015, the EU official in charge of fundamental rights within Frontex in fact expressed concerns as to the content of and methods used to carry out risk assessments for disembarking passengers outside of the EU. The agency cannot protect people and at the same time keep them from reaching the European border at all costs, thereby putting them in danger. “Keeping a lookout does not mean looking out for”, to use Frontex’s apt rejoinder. EVA OTTAVY

Migrant routes under surveillance

Homer and Frontex

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THE ARMED FORCES BROUGHT IN TO FIGHT ILLEGALISED IMMIGRATION The sea is not an area of lawlessness or absolute freedom. The sea is a frontier-space, not so much a line as an expanse that separates all coastal states. As regards the “high seas” – which do not fall under the jurisdiction of any one state – they are perceived as a constant threat, rife with terrorism, trafficking and other misdeeds and, of course, migration. Military and police control is thus a structural component of its existence and is exerted through sovereignty that is shared amongst the states, who each establish a kind of peripatetic governance, allowing them both to extend their reach to suit their patrols and dodge their responsibilities. In response to the eagerness of migrants branded “illegal” to reach the southern coast of the European Union, the Mediterranean has gradually become a militarised zone. It initially fell to coastal states to deploy ships, helicopters, planes and other surveillance technologies to intercept migrants at sea in order to monitor their movements, send them back or have them deported. These states have received limited assistance from NATO since 2001 as part of its anti-terrorist operation Active Endeavour and also from Frontex since 2006 (see pp. 98–101). While it remained marginal for some time, the involvement of the armed forces in the control of migrations has gradually become more prominent. This shift

When Triton doesn’t try hard enough to save migrants 102

was hastened by the Arab uprisings of 2011 that led to the reopening of routes through the central Mediterranean, which had up until then been sealed off. In spring 2011, a coalition of states took military action against Gaddafi and, under NATO coordination, deployed a large number of vessels off the coast of Libya, while foreign nationals fled the country. But the naval forces avoided getting involved in saving these people at all costs, at best offering basic assistance allowing them to advance just far enough for neighbouring states to bear responsibility for their rescue. At worst, they ignored them altogether as in the case of the “left-todie boat” of March 2011 (see pp. 132–133). The date 3 October 2013 marked a watershed: a boat capsized off the coast of Lampedusa, resulting in 366 dead and missing. For the first time, a “military and humanitarian” operation led by Italy – Mare Nostrum – was deployed, a short distance from the Libyan shore, thus giving the Italian Navy a leading role in the rescue of migrants at sea. It also made it possible for presumed smugglers to be arrested and for migrants’ fingerprints to be registered. Within the EU, however, the operation soon came under attack for providing a pull-factor and “ferrying” illegalised migrants into the bloc, where they would then be able to

Antía Otero García, Belgrade, Serbia, March 2017.

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The zoning of search and rescue operations in the Mediterranean Sea

circulate throughout Europe in contravention of the Dublin regulations (see pp. 76–77), while Italy complained about having to bear the cost on its own. After running for one year, the operation was axed at the end of 2014. It was replaced by Frontex’s Operation Triton, which ran on a far smaller scale and was, above all, centred on the repression of “Illegal” migrants (see pp. 98–101). As predicted, the vacuum left by the withdrawal of Mare Nostrum was transformed into an abyss to be filled with the bodies of the dead. The number of drownings hit a peak at the start of 2015 prompting the EU to ramp up Triton and, in June 2015, launch a new military operation, EUNAVFOR MED (later renamed Sophia). By no means a rescue mission, EUNAVFOR MED is a “police operation with military means”, to use the words of the Deputy Operation Commander. Its chief objective is to undermine the modus operandi of “traffickers”, who are accused of being the principal cause of

these deaths at sea, conveniently providing a humanitarian gloss over the militarisation of borders, which has been the structural cause behind the massive migrant death toll in the Mediterranean, thus shifting responsibility away from the closed-door policy of the EU. Yet, the goal of deterring additional arrivals of migrants has still not been achieved: in 2016, an even greater number of people attempted to cross the sea. But, thanks to Sophia, which allows boats and engines to be seized and destroyed, the boats attempting the crossing are now even less seaworthy and more overcrowded. Over 5,000 deaths were recorded in 2016. Far from ending the crossings, by taking a leading role in the control of the border area that is the Mediterranean Sea, military intervention has actually made migrants’ journeys across the sea even more perilous (see pp. 116–117). CHARLES HELLER

THE GUARDIA CIVIL IN CEUTA AND MELILLA: IMPUNITY ON EUROPE’S SOUTHERN BORDER The Spanish enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla together constitute the only land border between Europe and Africa. Since the 1990s and the widespread introduction of visa requirements, individuals, notably from Central and West Africa, have been trying to enter the enclaves as a way of gaining access to continental Europe. Without the possibility of travelling there legally, many of them attempt to scale the physical barriers that run along the boundaries of these enclaves or to get across the sea, sometimes risking their lives in the process (see pp. 56–59). MILITARY PERSONNEL DEPLOYED TO “SAFEGUARD” A BORDER

“The purpose of the Guardia Civil is to safeguard the Spanish border and that of Europe. We must prevent unauthorised entries”, explained Commander in Chief of the Guardia Civil (or Civil Guard) in Melilla in June 2015. Its mission of surveillance to combat so-called irregular migration is carried out in close collaboration with the Moroccan authorities. In the city of Melilla alone, the Guardia Civil has a permanent staff of 600 in addition to a 180-strong anti-riot squad, in case of attempts to breach the border en masse. These military police are routinely asked to hand over all the men and women they intercept to the Moroccan authorities – a transfer that, until April 2015, would have been unlawful. “In four years, I entered Melilla five times. But each time, we were captured and thrown back over to Morocco, it was very violent”, recounts one of the migrants or “warriors”, as they call one another. This practice of “on-the-spot refoulements” (devoluciones en caliente) has been decried by various organisations and even by the Civil Guard themselves, as one officer recalls: “I’m standing over a migrant covered in blood and the chief tells me to ‘deport him’. I say, ‘but he is injured’ to which he replies, ‘he’s pretending, he’s playing dead. Deport him. ’” ARBITRARY AND DEADLY PRACTICES

“If you were to search that area over there, on the edge of the barrier, you would find lots of buried bodies”, says one refugee in Rabat, who has been granted refugee status and who refused to attempt the crossing after losing several friends. Despite the 104

condemnation, on-the-spot refoulements were authorised on 1 April 2015 by an amendment to the law on foreign persons, tailored to the enclaves. Nevertheless, this practice remains completely illegal, both from the point of view of the Spanish constitution and that of international texts and constitutes an infringement of the principle of non-refoulement, as set out in the Geneva Convention on Refugees, since no request for protection may be formulated at the barrier, and since authorised crossing points have been rendered inaccessible by Moroccan forces. These removals also contravene the European Convention on Human Rights, in that these are collective expulsions which are prohibited on two counts, first because their individual situations have not been assessed and, second, because there is no guarantee that the individuals will not suffer harm as a result. Violence dominates on either side of the border. “For those who don’t manage to make it across, a beating awaits on the Moroccan side. For those who do, if they don’t run far enough, the Guardia will beat them up; they will get their jaws or legs broken. It sounds like a war film, but these things are really happening, and people are dying”, says another. USING FIGMENTS OF A RACIST IMAGINATION AS POLITICAL JUSTIFICATION

Over the fence, it is indeed the language of war that is being used. Justifying its actions to ward off an “invasion of Ceuta and Melilla by Africans”, the Guardia Civil explains: “when there is a mass assault on the barrier, with migrants who are one metre away from achieving their dream and we have a duty to arrest them, the situation necessarily gets very violent.” According to a high-ranking official in Ceuta, “Europe should be going to Africa – not Africa coming to Europe. They need to be taught democracy, education – almost by force, if necessary. The fence is a symbol of the failures of many African countries. It is a necessity in today’s world.” To date, no one has been held to account for any of the rights violations and abuses – sometimes with fatal consequences – committed by military personnel on the borders of Ceuta and Melilla. ELSA TYSZLER

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The tragedy of Tarajal

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Hungarian soldiers and police officers are setting up a fence between Hungary and Serbia in a neighbourhood known as Röszke. Omo Calvo, Röszke, Hungary, 14 September 2015.

Sara Prestianni, Idomeni, Greece, November 2015.

Dozens of refugees trying to get from Turkey to the Greek island of Lesbos on board an inflatable boat intercepted by Frontex. Omo Calvo, Mytilene, Lesbos, Greece, 2 March 2016.

Over 1000 migrants wait, in the rain, to re-enter Macedonia, searched and sometimes struck by the police. Danilo Balducci, Idomeni, Greece, 10 September 2015.

BY HOOK OR BY CROOK, ILLEGALISED FOREIGNERS ARE TO BE REMOVED In 2008, through the “Return Directive” the European Union laid the foundations for a common deportation policy predicated on control of external borders, mutual recognition of decisions of removal from the territory, detention and return of “irregular” or non-admitted foreigners. Since then, whether forced, strongly encouraged or presented as “voluntary”, “return” has been a part of a strategy with the singular advantage of mentioning neither “deportation” nor “expulsion”. The creation of a regime to incentivise departures aims to mobilise foreigners by having them play an active part in their own deportation (see pp. 44–45). Through this method of subjectification, “voluntary return” is presented as a form of self-emancipation where the deportee becomes an accountable interlocutor and “agent in the development” of his or her country of origin. It is worth noting that the European deportation regime is not limited to the transfer of undocumented migrants to “third” countries. It includes a range of forced travel, such as intra-European transfer of asylum seekers under the Dublin regulation, for example, and generally involves a period of confinement prior to being implemented – whether or not it is called detention is immaterial (see pp. 42–43). Although deportation has been the cornerstone of EU migration policy since it came into existence, the improperly named “migrant crisis” of 2015 turned the systematic return of illegalised foreigners into an even more pressing priority. Yet, the member states of the EU, which for a long time had been far more amenable to agreeing on terms for eviction than they had been to reaching consensus on a policy for reception, produce more deportees (individuals eligible for removal) than they are actually able to remove. Across the EU as a whole, just 40 per cent of removal orders were put into effect in 2015. Although such a low rate of efficacy is not unheard of, the politicisation of this underperformance (often hidden in the past) has led to considerable legislative, financial and human resources being marshalled in order to recalibrate the working methods of national authorities, European agencies and, ultimately, third countries, called on to readmit their nationals. By citing an emergency situation on its borders as a way of justifying the use of fast-tracked “return” procedures, the EU has effectively endorsed “on-the-spot refoulement”, a practice 108

already observed in the Spanish enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla and condemned by the European Court of Human Rights (see pp. 104–105). Across Europe, this “crisis” has led to a resurgence of long since forgotten xenophobic tendencies, extenuated by reference to security. First of all, the increase in the number of sorting depots (aka hotspots) on the borders of the EU (see pp. 32–33) is paving the way for large-scale deportation campaigns of those people who have had their asylum applications rejected, as provided for in the “agreements” of March and June 2016 with Turkey with a view to reducing the influx of migrants to the Greek islands (see pp. 88–91), or by an arrangement made in October 2016 with Afghanistan, intended to facilitate the deportation of more than 80,000 Afghan nationals. In the same vein, the policy of externalisation is pursued unabated. Redefined in July 2016, Frontex’s mandate now allows the agency to oversee missions for the identification of individuals subject to return proceedings and, among other things, to arrange “return operations by collection” – which basically means getting consenting neighbours of the EU, such as Georgia and Albania, to provide the aircraft and escort staff for the forced removal of their own citizens themselves (see pp. 98–99). Finally, from the stacks of biometric data used to track the movements of foreigners, to permanently mobilised departments for returns, through to the normalisation of waivers, the arsenal of measures recommended by the European Commission in May 2017 with a view to increasing the number of returns reveals a “Banopticon” at work (to use the expression coined by Didier Bigo, based on Michel Foucault’s application of the “Panopticon”, to describe the European project). The real purpose is surveillance and control of individuals both inside the EU and at some distance from it, in pursuance of their eventual removal. Over and above the discourse and the measures intended to curb migration inside and into the EU, member states continue to delude themselves in the belief that wholesale return is possible, resulting in a policy whose futility is matched only by the violence it engenders. PASCALINE CHAPPART

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Voluntary returns, deportations and refoulement from European countries

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PIECEMEAL GLOBAL GOVERNANCE AND THE ROLE OF THE IOM For a long time, global migration did not feature on the agenda of multilateral fora or in the mandate of intergovernmental organisations. While there is general agreement on principles and a United Nations agency responsible for refugees (UNHCR), no such entity exists for migrants. With the exception of the safeguards represented by human rights, the states hold sovereignty over the matter of admission and treatment of migrants. Efforts in this area by international organisations are obsolescent and very limited. The United Nations Convention on the Rights of Migrant Workers is a case in point. Adopted in 1990, it has only been ratified by around 50 countries, none of them Western countries of immigration. In the absence of a UN agency responsible for migratory issues, these matters are dealt with in a piecemeal fashion by various organisations such as the International Labour Organization or the Office of the High Commissioner for Refugees. But this situation is starting to change. In September 2016, the International Organization for Migration (IOM) joined the United Nations as a “related” organisation. Founded in 1951, the IOM had hitherto remained outside the UN system. On its website, however, it now presents itself as “the UN migration agency”. The organisation currently has 166 member countries with almost 500 offices across all five continents where it is poised to take a leading role in drafting and implementing migration policies around

the world. Its new status as a partner organisation puts it in a pivotal position. There is, however, a significant difference between the IOM and the other organisations that operate as part of the UN family. Throughout its long existence outside of the United Nations system, it had a very limited normative mandate and migrant rights have never been a key concern for this organisation. It is also characterised by a very close relationship with developed countries (in particular the United States). In practice, this means that its political agenda is very closely aligned with the priorities of destination countries and thus focused on border control, anti-migration information campaigns and returns. The IOM also stands out on account of its operating procedures, which are not unlike those of a private company. In fact, rather than drawing its budget from overall funding from member states its budget is allocated “on a project basis” with “earmarked” funds linked to specific projects. It is therefore not surprising to find that the IOM might struggle to refuse certain projects, even when they involve doing the “dirty work” it is appointed to by governments. This set-up has also led it to venture into areas that on the face of it have little to do with migrants (such as humanitarian interventions following natural disasters). The IOM thus has an almost commercial interest in identifying migratory “problems” which it is then in a

Emmanuelle Hellio, Berlin, Germany, 2011.

Emmanuelle Hellio, Marseille, France, 2010.

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The IOM plays a key role in deportations

position to “resolve” by providing its services to the state. It thus tends to offer governments almost identical solutions, regardless of the context and region being addressed. As demonstrated by the programmes for assistance to so-called “voluntary” returns (see pp. 108–109), this leads to situations where the IOM itself defines what states ought to do, according to its own interests. This entrepreneurial attitude goes hand in hand with an ideology rooted in free market economics and a managerial style: while the IOM certainly views human mobility as an unavoidable reality, it also believes that it must be controlled in order to serve the interests of states and markets (be it the needs for labour in destination countries or for development

funding in the regions of departure). Its policies in this field therefore have less to do with principles, rights or values than a vested interest in optimising the transfer of migrants. According to the lawyers, international organisations have a positive influence on government policies by promoting moral or legal principles and fostering cooperation between states rather than rivalries or confrontation. However, it is not clear that the geopolitical, organisational and utilitarian leanings of the IOM allow it to fulfil such a role, despite the undeniable need for reform that characterises modern-day migration policies. ANTOINE PÉCOUD

POLICE BRUTALITY The migration policies currently in place tend to make the presence of individuals outside of the spaces where they are supposed to have their family ties illegal. Yet, many of these migrants have left their countries in order to assert their fundamental rights, in particular those recognised by international conventions, for example on the protection of asylum seekers, minors or migrant workers. Now, it is claimed that police intervention shall overcome the hollowness of the law and anomalies in legislative texts, which make it impossible for certain national territories to be reached, impeding the effective implementation of the aforementioned conventions. Public order forces are thus tasked with ensuring that order prevails as laid out in inhospitable migration policies, even if this means acting outside the margins of the law. Police forces have a range of means at their disposal, including violence, which is supposedly legitimate because deployed with the assent of the state. This violence is limitless, and even mortal violence is permissible, provided that it is presented as “proportionate” and reputed to have been applied “judiciously”. The legal status of foreign persons – who are still treated as second-class citizens or “beneath the law” (infra-droit) – and the negative stereotypes associated with them make migrants “police property” or even “game” to be hunted by police. The living conditions migrants endure depend largely on the decisions of the police force, whose agents may sometimes turn a blind eye or serve as facilitators (for example, in getting across a border, be it for personal gain or not) or, on the contrary, make even the most basic activities of daily life such as sleeping, washing, eating and seeking treatment impossible, sometimes with no apparent reason for doing so (see pp. 114–115). Migrants are rarely in a position to make their voice heard and assert their rights. Their powerlessness is even

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more acute when their attempts to be heard are repressed under anti-terror legislation. This is notably the case in Hungary, the country which in 2017 applied the heaviest criminal convictions for illegally crossing a border. When the mobilisation of migrants finds support in local establishments and the media bring police brutality to light, the authorities may try to contain the latter (see pp. 134–135). However, regardless of whether or not the abuses they endure are made known to the public, migrants continue to be preyed upon and their fate depends, amongst other things, on the means available to police, as well as on personal attitudes and the working conditions of these officers. Aside from the most widely recognised forms of abuse (beatings, destruction of personal and material belongings, confinement and unlawful returns), other forms of violence have emerged in the spaces where this law enforcement is absent. On the outskirts of transit zones, migrants are frequently driven out of many sites to the extent that they become hemmed in and segregated to informally delimited zones that fall outside of any official oversight. These spaces may offer respite and an opportunity to self-organise, but they are vulnerable to being taken over by vigilante groups or individuals who punish any resistance to their self-appointed authority (see pp. 40–41 and 58–59). In such camps devoid of institutional regulation, those with the least financial means and least able to defend themselves – notably women and minors – are frequently subjected to various forms of harassment and exploitation, especially sexual. In these instances, contrary to what is commonly reported, lawlessness reigns not where the police cannot enter but, in fact, in those places that the police itself and other institutions have wilfully abandoned, even if civil society has not done so. EMMANUEL BLANCHARD

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Words can be violent . . . in spite of international conventions

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ILLEGAL ARRESTS AND HUMILIATION AROUND CALAIS In the late 1990s, migrants travelling to Great Britain set up makeshift (un)settlements in northern France, close to motorway service areas on the A26, A16 and A25 (leading to Calais) in an effort to get onto lorries bound for England (see pp. 40–41). The camps of Steenvoorde, Grande-Synthe, Angres, Norrent-Fontes and Tatinghem are relatively well protected from police violence when the local authorities are feeling hospitable. Other camps are more exposed to violence, notably if the camp is not or is no longer tolerated by the local council and there are orders to prevent any resettlement. Amongst other forms of harassment, one of the habitual forms of abuse migrants endure is being kicked awake in the middle of the night and having the tarpaulin sheeting ripped off their shelters. The accounts that follow were gathered in Norrent-Fontes, where around 90 people have struggled to survive in shacks located halfway between the town and a service station on the A26, which is under surveillance day and night. They go there several times a day and try to board a lorry. But, in Calais, the surveillance measures are such that the few who manage it often end up returning to Norrent-Fontes. In order to get back there they must take a first and then a second train, before walking 7 km out to the camp. Most of the violence occurs in Calais. What happened to Johnny is a typical example: on 9 November 2016 Johnny was taken to the border police (PAF) duty station for the first time together with three companions, after being detected in a lorry. The officer asked for their nationality and date and place of birth before releasing them. The small group then walked back to Calais rail station through the rain where they were stopped by gendarmes who forbade them from travelling towards the centre of town, forcing them to turn around and walk before following them in a vehicle. Half an hour later, soaking wet and exhausted the migrants were on their knees: “I said to them that we were human beings, that I had done nothing wrong, that I’m not a criminal or a killer, that I wanted peace in my life, that my body was drenched, that

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I was hungry. My friends asked them if they were human, if they had a heart, or children. We told them to kill us or to put us in prison, that we would not move from that spot, we would not take another step anywhere. They didn’t hit us. They told us to be quiet. Not knowing what to do, they called their boss”, says Johnny. In the end, the gendarmes left them there and went away. The migrants walked through the rain until they reached the station of Fontinettes where gendarmes on guard duty searched them and took them to the police station without checking to see that they had in fact already been arrested that same morning, despite Johnny and his friends’ pleas that they do so. On arrival at the police station another officer recognised them and released them immediately. They would then have to endure a second search in front of passengers at the central station followed by a third arrest before finally being able to get a train back. Another account tells of Ruth’s ordeal: with seven other people, on 16 November 2016, she got off a lorry not far from Calais. On the road to the station, a police car stopped them and called for backup. Four other vehicles arrived and remained in position around them for an hour and a half, before taking them down to the station. “It was very humiliating because they were laughing at us and because we stayed there in the street surrounded by five police cars as though we were dangerous criminals whereas in fact we were just exhausted. We had no idea what was going to happen.” After 30 minutes in the police station, they were all released and managed to get back to the station and then board a train. The gendarmes followed them and forced them off the train at the next station before letting them get the next train, with no explanation. Ruth sums up this absurd game of gratuitous humiliation as follows: “I don’t understand why the gendarmes first arrested us only to let us get the next train without a ticket. I think they are playing with us, they are fed up with us, so they do silly things.” NAN SUEL

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Johnny, 12 hours in the rain

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DYING TO GET TO EUROPE Over a period spanning some 30 years, European border policies have led to the deaths of almost 40,000 people fleeing wars, dictatorships or authoritarian regimes and their economies mired in corruption and cronyism with the complicity of the most powerful countries. October 2015: an Afghan migrant is shot dead after police officers open fire on a group of people trying to cross the border between Turkey and Bulgaria. January 2016: three people from Central and West Africa drown after trying to cross the border to the Spanish city of Ceuta by sea. July 2016: over a two-week period in Calais three migrants are killed in quick succession after being hit by a car as they tried to slip onto the trailer of a lorry headed for England. Throughout the European Union, migrants find themselves dicing with death every time they attempt to cross a border in search of protection. While the Mediterranean has throughout the ages represented a crossroads for peoples and cultures, it has in recent years been gradually transformed into a fault line separating the South from the North and a watery grave for the women, men and children dying in their thousands. On 18 April 2015 the Mediterranean was the theatre for the greatest single loss of life in the recent history of migration. During the night, a trawler filled beyond capacity with almost 800 people on board capsized as a Portuguese cargo ship arrived on the scene. Only 28 people could be rescued. The same week, two other shipwrecks resulted in the deaths of

The red mound of migration

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nearly 450 migrants. At sea the number of victims is never more than an estimate. The number of missing migrants must be taken in conjunction with and set against the significant number of unidentified bodies. On 1 July 2016, the Italian office of the Special Commissioner for Missing Persons (CSPS in its Italian acronym) listed 1,045 unidentified bodies in Sicily (including the victims of 18 April 2015), despite a protocol on identification procedures signed by the CSPS with the Labanov laboratory of the University of Milan in 2014. Against a backdrop of major geopolitical upheaval across the Mediterranean basin, migrants struggling to find legal paths are frequently driven into the arms of smugglers and resort to crossing borders through illegal means. At the same time, since the establishment of the Schengen area and the relentless militarisation of border areas, the journeys of people seeking sanctuary have become increasingly perilous (see pp. 96–97). Meanwhile, the humanitarian actors who are trying to save lives in the Mediterranean (see pp. 96–97) have the finger pointed at them, notably being accused by Frontex (see pp. 98–99) of colluding with smugglers. Of course, when disasters unfold, European authorities cannot voice their indignation strongly enough, yet their discourse rapidly changes tone and returns to its main concern, i.e. “securing the external borders” of the EU, the overarching imperative when it comes to migration.

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The sea-damned

But do the measures taken to lock down borders really deter potential migrants? On the contrary, migrants are impelled by these measures to divert their itineraries and contemplate increasingly dangerous methods. Between 1993 and 2010, 20,000 migrant deaths were recorded, for the most part located on the arc that runs from the Canary Islands to the Libyan side of the Sahara desert via the Strait of Gibraltar. The gradual closure of the Canary Islands “route” has shifted migrant itineraries to the Strait of Sicily with crossings now being attempted from the Egyptian coast. Furthermore, the extreme conditions of the shortlived “Balkan corridor”, which was open from the summer

to the autumn of 2015, led to the deaths of many migrants, especially those fleeing the wars in Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan. The death toll for the period spanning less than seven years between 2010 and 2016 was equivalent to the total number of deaths in the previous 17 years combined. With over 6,400 people dead or reported missing and numbers of arrivals in Europe down two-thirds compared to the previous year, 2016 is the deadliest year on record. FILIPPO FURRI, MAËL GALISSON, NICOLAS LAMBERT

WHO WILL BE THERE FOR OUACIL? In spring 2015, the lifeless body of a young man was found by two people out walking near the lighthouse of Melilla, the Spanish enclave located north-east of Morocco. The walkers alerted the police and the body was sent to the morgue. A fingerprint search yielded no results; identity testing using DNA samples was not performed. In fact, no protocol exists either nationally or on a European scale for handling deceased migrants found on the borders. Most of them are buried without a formal identification procedure. The day after the body was found a member of a local association receives a phone call. The association Prodein has been defending the rights of unaccompanied minors from Morocco living on the streets of Melilla since the late 1990s and a piece of paper with the member’s name on it has been found by the coroner in one of the pockets of the deceased. Together with a colleague, she goes to the local headquarters of the Guardia Civil and learns that the young man probably died falling off the cliff. New metal fencing had just been erected along the cliff edge to prevent young people from jumping off and onto boats that would then carry them across to the Iberian peninsula; this practice, known as riski, is quite common amongst young Moroccans. The agents show the two women pictures of the deceased; they prefer not to show them the body, which is too badly damaged. The coroners believe that the young person must have died around 72 hours earlier. “I look at the young boy’s lips; there was something unique about them, I had seen them before. They were Ouacil’s lips. I get out my phone because we had taken lots of photos at the concert on Friday and looking at these we realise that he was wearing the same clothes as in the police images.” Based on a number of other details they confirm that the body is that of Ouacil. As they leave the police station, they hope to be able to locate the boy’s family. They don’t know Ouacil’s family name, but they know that Mounsif, another young man living on the streets of Melilla, comes from the same neighbourhood in Fez. They go out in search of him, find him and tell him of the death of his friend. Mounsif calls his family and asks them to tell Ouacil’s father of his son’s death. Later, the two women would pass on the contact details of the deceased’s family to the authorities. A public demonstration is quickly organised: “we wanted to say goodbye to Ouacil and help the children through

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bereavement; they are alone, have no family and they were very troubled by the incident”, recalls one of the activists who organised the event. The gathering takes place close to the lighthouse where Ouacil died. With large white bedsheets as a canvas, the youths paint pictures and write messages in his memory. “There were more than 50 people, the news spread, and children kept coming”, recounts Hamza, a young lad who knew Ouacil well. The artwork is hung up on the fences. They hold a minute’s silence. A few days later, Ouacil’s father arrives in Melilla together with an uncle and one of the boy’s older brothers. The police authorities are waiting for them at the border post. At no point during their visit will they be allowed to spend the night in Melilla. They must sleep on the Moroccan side. During the day, they are only permitted to travel around the enclave when accompanied by a police officer. The activists want to give them a sum of money they have collected to cover the cost of repatriating the body to Fez, having first sought information on the conditions for repatriations from the Islamic Commission of Melilla. In the end, the money is returned to the donors as they were unable to meet with the family in person. Three days after their arrival the father, uncle and brother leave the region only to return a week later with other

“Have fun swimming in bloody waters this summer.” Nausicaa Preiss, Athens, Greece, April 2016.

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members of the family who have come to attend the burial in the Muslim cemetery of Melilla. The city does not pay for repatriation and the family cannot afford it. Since then, from time to time, young people gather around Ouacil’s grave; he sometimes “pays them a visit” in their dreams. This body’s journey reveals the contours of a policy of imposing ever greater impediments to free movement, driving Ouacil, like so many others (see opposite “A grave for Samrawit”) to take ever greater risks to try and reach Europe. Moreover, the policy fails to respect the memory of the dead and, more often than not, disregards their right to be identified (see below “Via Acquicella cemetery”). CAROLINA KOBELINSKY

Via Acquicella cemetery (Catania, Italy)

A grave for Samrawit

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HURDLES IN PLACE TO IMPEDE SYRIAN ENTRY ONTO EUROPEAN SOIL Often the only scheme to be mentioned from among the emblematic measures intended to curb the arrival of refugees on European soil is the EU–Turkey “agreement”. In effect as of 18 March 2016 the “agreement” between Turkey and the EU was in reality nothing more than a joint declaration with no legal force (see pp. 88–89), although it has been no less effectual since being combined with interceptions in the Aegean Sea by military forces operating in conjunction with Frontex and NATO (see pp. 98–99 and 102–103). In the few months since the agreement came into existence, arrivals in Greece from across the sea have been cut by two-thirds; when it has been so far mostly Syrians travelling by sea. Records indicate that over the same period the increasingly deadly attempts at crossing shifted across to the central Mediterranean. But there are also three other measures in place to impede Syrians’ journeys to Europe: the EU is trying to encourage states “of first reception” to keep them; EU member states hardly issue any visas (see pp. 66–67); finally, only small numbers of Syrians are admitted through the resettlement process under the aegis of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). On 3 February 2016, 70 heads of state gathered in London with various UN agencies, NGOs and businesses for a conference entitled “Supporting Syria and the Region” in order to “pledge their support in the face of the growing needs of the Syrian people”, and thus help Syria’s neighbouring countries, where the majority of refugees are located. On the agenda is a support package of more than $10 billion for, amongst other things, investment to enable the creation of more than 1 million jobs for these refugees. The tacit objective is to keep the refugees in the country of “first reception”. Thus, since June 2016, Jordan has made it easier for Syrians to obtain work permits and, in exchange, Jordanian products enjoy preferential access to the European market. Yet by the end of 2016, just 37,000 people had been granted this permit. The Lebanese government, for its part, rather than adopting a similar policy opted for development

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plans (following the initiative of the International Labour Office) to encourage the employment of Syrians locally. Outwardly it may seem that nothing prevents Syrians from applying for “humanitarian” visas from member states of the EU while in a country of “first reception” (such as Lebanon or Jordan) just like other foreign nationals do, with a view to then travelling to that country to claim asylum. However, EU countries have no obligation to issue such visas, which is an area that falls under the scope of national law and is subject to the sole discretion of member states, a fact underscored by the Court of Justice of the EU in its ruling of March 2017. In France, the procedure is so little-known and the obstacles to accessing it so great that this in effect inhibits the number of applications received and, consequently, the number of claimants arriving on French soil (see pp. 122–123). This mechanism, which has the potential to be a very useful addition to the asylum policy, has in practice proven to be a way of confining refugees to the region of “first reception”. According to data published by the French Interior Ministry in January 2017, France issued 2,745 asylum visas to Syrian nationals and 1,369 to Iraqi nationals in 2016. In 2015, Belgium granted 843 visas out of a total number of 38,990 requests. The UNHCR resettlement mechanism also operates on a very small scale and represents a drop in the ocean in comparison with the number of refugees (totalling almost 5 million in the countries that share a border with Syria). Since 2013, the countries participating in this scheme have pledged to resettle around 130,000 Syrian refugees, but the lengthy procedures mean that the figures for Syrians that have actually been resettled remain very low. According to official statistics, between 2013 and 2016 just over 22,000 refugees were effectively resettled. In 2015 European countries received 10 per cent of the total number of refugees resettled across the globe, trailing far behind North America. CÉLINE CANTAT, KAMEL DORAÏ

Migrant routes under surveillance

The arc of refugees

“Revolution 70 km.” Kamel Doraï, Sodeco district, Beirut, Lebanon, May 2015.

“May the President doctor Bachar Hafez al Assad fall.” Kamel Doraï, Hamra district, Beirut, Lebanon, December 2013.

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THE USE OF TRANSIT VISAS AND SELECTIVE SOLIDARITY Since 2011, several million Syrian refugees and Palestinian refugees from Syria have been forced to move and tried to flee to Europe. While most are quickly afforded protection once on the territory of the European Union, getting across the border and into Europe represents the greatest challenge (see pp. 66–67). Another of the measures put in place to curtail the number of arrivals is the airport transit visa (ATV). In France and ten other EU countries (Belgium, Czech Republic, Denmark, Germany, Greece, Spain, Italy, Luxembourg, Netherlands and Austria) as well as in Switzerland, Syrians are subject to the ATV, which is required simply to transit through an airport in these countries in order to get to a “third” country. Without this visa refugees will be sent back to the country of departure (which could in turn send them back to Syria) on arrival at European airports. France has expressed solidarity with the Syrian people. But this sentiment is not borne out in its deeds. Although Syria was taken off the list of countries subject to the ATV in 2010, the ATV requirement was re-established in January 2013. The Community Code on Visas, which allows member states of

ATV: Asylum Transgression Visa

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the EU to adopt ATVs “in urgent cases of mass influx of illegal immigrants”, provides a convenient cover. To date, however, there is nothing to suggest that a mass influx on the French border is in any way a reality (66 Syrians – among them 45 asylum seekers – were placed in a waiting area in 2011, and 264 in 2012 – of whom 167 were asylum seekers – were detained in this way). Furthermore, asylum seekers are not “illegal immigrants”. For the French authorities, the real purpose behind this requirement is to prevent Syrians from either submitting an asylum application while in transit or travelling through France in order to claim asylum in another European country. It is in fact exceptionally difficult to obtain an ATV. In order to be eligible applicants are notably required to be legal residents in the countries they are physically in at the time of applying (whereas the issuance of residence permits remains marginal and is subject to discriminatory practices in Lebanon, Turkey and Jordan, which host the vast majority of Syrian refugees). The ATV thus represents an infringement of the right to asylum by preventing individuals from fleeing threats to their life and liberty and by making it possible for those who do not hold the visa to be sent back. Syrians are hemmed in and prevented

Migrant routes under surveillance

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ATV: a police tool for limiting the number of Syrian asylum applications on the border

from travelling beyond the neighbouring countries where their legal status is insecure and they endure extremely difficult, sometimes indecent, living conditions. But this is nothing new. The ATV has been in use since the 1990s as one of a range of instruments to deter the arrival of asylum seekers. Control over their borders continues to be the priority for European states, regardless of the lives at stake. The “asylum visa” is another tool in the arsenal. Ostensibly a positive measure, the reality is not as clear-cut. While there are no provisions governing this visa in the legislative texts, an asylum visa can be requested from a French consular authority, for example by an individual needing protection (in this case, a Syrian or a Palestinian refugee in Syria). It represents a selective measure, largely implemented in regions in a crisis situation and could be considered a way of facilitating the departure of

Asylum visa: different points of view

asylum seekers. What it actually does, however, is create an upstream filter for potential asylum seekers in the departure countries, by off-shoring examination of the application to the place where the applicant is located. There is no mention of this visa on the French consular websites. Indeed, by restricting the availability of information about the application procedure the number of visa requests likely to be submitted is effectively reduced. The visa assessment procedure includes a face-to-face interview with the consular authorities in order to establish the reasons for the request. It generally takes several months for a decision to be taken by the Ministries of the Interior and Foreign Affairs, which basically means that the procedure is illsuited to individuals fleeing war. LAURE BLONDEL

CHAPTER 5

MOBILISATIONS AND STRUGGLES Migration involves a series of struggles: to get across borders, to cross the sea, to reach Europe, to obtain asylum or a residence permit, to find accommodation and a job, to avoid confinement, to resist deportation, to access rights that have been denied and to assert other rights. While EU member states talk about “illegal migration”, develop dehumanised systems for “flow management” and make solidarity an offence, migrants’ struggles, often supported by activists, associations and local residents, continue their uphill march from Lampedusa to Lesbos, from Melilla to the Balkans route and from Ventimiglia to Calais. Movement across borders creates a complex and multilayered tapestry of experiences, with its relay stations, firm or fleeting friendships formed along the way and departures, either planned or prompted by others. Migration itself is a form of struggle, a way of laying claim to the right to movement, to explore new spaces and devise new temporalities.

 Exasperated by the wait, the travellers try to get explanations from the Greek police. Tensions rise, and they are forced back on their bus. The bus drivers end up going on strike and abandon their passengers. The few NGOs on site set up shelters and deliver firewood for heating over the next few nights. During the night around a dozen buses would end up leaving for Idomeni, on the threshold of the “corridor”. Olivier Sarrazin, Evzoni, Greece, December 2015.

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MIGRANT MOBILISATIONS Over recent years, the mobilisations of migrants, refugees, undocumented persons or asylum seekers have grown in number, taken on new forms and adopted new strategies. They cover the full gamut of contemporary migrations, and reflect a broad range of trajectories and situations, across variable timescales and distances, with different objectives and degrees of visibility. Breaking free of the mould of traditional mobilisations, they introduce entirely new forms of action that transcend existing structures. These struggles challenge the physical barriers that prevent the movement of people, while at the same time questioning the “smart” borders that regulate access to various rights, social spaces and political practices within the European area. Whether they are physically detained in holding centres, in an “irregular situation”, or held pending long drawn-out asylum or regularisation procedures, the migrants involved in these struggles become trapped and find themselves caught up in mechanisms designed to marginalise them, and which therefore tend to neutralise their potential to take action to assert certain rights or claim others. Yet it is from this very condition of marginality, invisibility and limited freedom that these new forms of engagement are rising up and have burst into the political sphere, prompting new forms of solidarity and collaboration that can intersect with a broader political landscape, composed of groups of activists and volunteers, associations and NGOs. In these situations, forms of resistance and protest (against forced deportations or detention conditions) sometimes go as far as self-mutilation (burning fingertips to avoid fingerprint scanning, sewing their lips shut, hunger strike), as individuals turn their flesh into a battleground. As they gather support and grow in size, these forms of resistance can sometimes develop into organised revolts (Cona, Italy, 2016) against the structures that detain them (fires in the facilities in Vincennes, Gradisca d’Isonzo and Lampedusa). In border areas, individual transit strategies, themselves founded on the informal mechanisms for knowledge transfer

and techniques, can take on “spectacular” dimensions, such as collective assaults to storm the walls and barbed-wire fencing in Ceuta. The ability to self-organise, evidenced in many informal camps (Ventimiglia, Calais), is also a form of “long-haul” mobilisation, by occupying public spaces and claiming the right to freedom of movement, often enjoying support from other solidarity activists. In other places, where changes to legislation have made the presence of some migrants illegal (“clandestinisation”) and administratively “irregular”, activists have resorted to demonstrations and sit-ins (Saint-Bernard church in 1996). This is a way of demanding effective access to their rights (to housing, healthcare, work, education), of condemning restrictive regulations and discriminatory practices, and of supporting the dynamics of solidarity-based schemes and reciprocal assistance (Calais 1999–2017; in Germany the “Lampedusa in Hamburg” mobilisations, in 2014, and “Lampedusa in Berlin”, in 2015). These collectively organised public demonstrations intersect with less visible strategies for organisation and collaboration outside of the media spotlight, such as informal networks to facilitate access to housing and employment for people whose situation has been deemed “irregular”. In situations where migrants are exploited, mobilisations against working conditions have led to collective movements (Rosarno, 2010) or strikes being organised (Nardo Lecce in 2011, Rungis just outside Paris in 2017) with the support of trade union organisations (CGT, CGIL) and activists. Since the 1990s, the various forms of migrant mobilisations, while all experiencing differing degrees of external pressure, have consistently highlighted the crux of the “migration economy” and the battlegrounds for access to rights. Today, the scale of the phenomenon suggests that embarking on the path of migration itself represents a new and radical form of action, one that is both a personal journey and part of a broader collective movement at the same time. CÉLINE CANTAT

1. Anne-Sophie Wender, Rabat, Morocco, June 2013. 2. Anne-Sophie Wender, Lampedusa, Italy, October 2014. 3. Anne-Sophie Wender, Rabat, Morocco, June 2013.  4. Marie Martin, Copenhagen, Denmark, December 2014. 5. Calais Migrant Solidarity, Calais, France, August 2015. 6. Regina Mantanika, Patras, Greece, April 2008. 7. Marie Martin, Copenhagen, Denmark, December 2014. 8. Bill MacKeith, Campsfield, United Kingdom, March 1994. 9. Louise Tassin, Lampedusa, Italy, July 2013. 10. Calais Migrant Solidarity, Calais, France, September 2014. 11. Calais Migrant Solidarity, Calais, France, August 2015. 12. Elsa Tyszler, Ceuta, Spain, 2015. 13. Calais Migrant Solidarity, Calais, France, August 2015. 14. Emmanuelle Hellio, Seville, Spain, 2008. 15. Calais Migrant Solidarity, Calais, France, December 2015. 16. Olivier Clochard, Nicosia, Cyprus, January 2014. 17. Calais Migrant Solidarity, Calais, France, March 2016. 18. Elsa Tyszler, Ceuta, Spain, 2015. 19. Calais Migrant Solidarity, Calais, France, September 2014. 20. Elsa Tyszler, Rabat, Morocco, 2016. 21. Elsa Tyszler, Rabat, Morocco, 2016. 22. AMDH, Alarm Phone, Bouarfa, Morocco, May 2017. 23. Elsa Tyszler, Rabat, Morocco, 2016. 24. Nan Thomas, Calais, France, February 2014. 25. AMDH, Alarm Phone, Bouarfa, Morocco, May 2017. 26. Nan Thomas, Calais, France, February 2014. 27. Ligue des droits de l’Homme Belgique, Brussels, Belgium, May 2017. 28. Bill MacKeith, Campsfield, United Kingdom, March 1994. 126

Mobilisations and struggles

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FREED VOICES: VOICES OF MIGRANTS RELEASED FROM DETENTION There have been many times when I’ve been in a room with decision-makers or with MPs or ‘authorities on detention policy’ and I am always amazed by how little they actually understand about the reality of detention in the UK and its impacts. It is alarming. These are the people who are actually making the detention policy?! It’s like a group of old men making policies about abortion. It is a policy built on ignorance. This means detention policy will always be more open to the influence of institutionalised racism, xenophobia and politics. And this is also why it does not work.

How camps cope with revolt and protest

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The words of Michaël, at a meeting in January 2017 with the Global Detention Strategy Team of the UNHCR, get to the heart of what Freed Voices is about: changing the British detention system by speaking out not as victims telling of their suffering but as “experts-by-experience” having endured its effects first-hand. As Fred explains, “Going to detention is like getting a degree from a university you didn’t enrol in. You are an expert in this issue whether you like it or not.” In 2013, around 15 migrants created Freed Voices upon their release from prison or closed facilities and in doing so hoped

Mobilisations and struggles

to draw attention to indefinite detention and put an end to this denial of civil and human rights. They met once or twice a month to develop their skills, get training in public speaking and articulating their messages, evaluate past actions and plan new ones while offering mutual support to one another. Across the group as a whole, its members have spent a total of 20 years of their life in the British prison system. Their action centres around articles, taking part in consultations, lobbying policy-makers, broadcasting and training volunteers. Each member has their own voice, for their own reasons, intervening at their own pace. Herein lies the power of Freed Voices: its members are fighting for change based on their lived experience. They only examine the past as a way of preparing a better future: What are you asking for? What changes? Why? How? Gabriel: “I don’t want to give a speech where all the audience is left crying and feeling sorry for me. I want them to get up at the end and go straight to their MP, to get themselves ready for the next protest, to join me in the fight.” Calling for change also means challenging the way migrants are represented by authority as objects of interest or study, that do not and cannot have a point of view and whose claims can therefore be easily ignored. For Justice, “Detention is designed to make you feel small, voiceless. The Home Office like it best that way – when you are silent: it is a lot easier to

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cast you as monsters, criminals, and ‘illegal’. That is why we are speaking out: if we don’t control the narrative about detention then the Home Office and the right-wing will. And then we are reduced to political bargaining chips.” Activists from Freed Voices have spoken at hundreds of public meetings, but has this changed anything? We think so. Not only have they brought detention to the fore as a civil liberties and human rights issue, they have also demolished the view that migrants in detention are one of two things: either weak powerless victims or dangerous foreign criminals. Their expertise proved crucial in bringing down the infamous Detained Fast Track, which made it possible to hold certain asylum seekers locked up, generally on the basis of their country of origin, while their application was processed. It was also decisive in prompting the very first parliamentary inquiry into detention, leading to a ban on prolonged detention of pregnant women and the introduction of automatic judicial oversight of detention facilities. Ultimately, it has contributed to shaping and growing the genuine grassroots anti-detention movement that is emerging in Britain and calling for the walls to fall.

Detained in Cyprus, Morteza between resignation and resistance

The situation described by Ben Du Preez also exists in other European countries such as Cyprus where activists from associations (Kisa, etc.) and migrants try to put an end to the inhumane situations in which many exiles live and who, like Morteza, have spent almost four years locked in police stations or in prison (Block Ten).

BEN DU PREEZ

WHEN CITIZENS SEND THEIR SOLIDARITY OUT TO SEA The transformation of the sea borders of the EU into a death zone for migrants under the effect of European policies of closure and militarisation has long been condemned by civil society. Nevertheless, it remains difficult to hold states to account for their (in)action and demand their intervention in aid of migrants at sea. But in the wake of the Arab uprisings of 2011, which saw an unprecedented number of crossings and fatalities, a new momentum emerged even amid increased state surveillance. In this paroxysmal environment, alongside and in support of the struggles led by migrants through their movements across borders, civil society representatives have taken to intervening directly at sea, making the Mediterranean an arena for the clash of ideals. In 2011, Boats4People organised a broader campaign for mobilisation against the deaths at sea, uniting civil society actors around the crossing of a sailing boat from one shore of the Mediterranean to the other. Immediately after the revolution in Tunisia, causing many to flee, the families of missing migrants took to the streets to hold the government of their own country to account together with the Italian government. Researchers developed new means of documenting rights violations at sea, notably issuing a report which allowed a coalition of associations to file cases with courts of several member states involved in the case of the “left-to-die boat” (see p. 132). These tools have been made available to civil society through the platform WatchTheMed. When two boats sank on 3 and 11 October 2013 leading to a death toll of over 500 in under a week, activist associations sought to intervene directly at sea in order to prevent deaths rather than condemning them after the fact. Inspired by the tireless efforts of individuals such as Father Zerai, who for years has been responding to distress calls from migrants at sea, the members of WatchTheMed created Alarm Phone, a citizens’ alert telephone hotline, open 24 hours a day. Since its creation in 2014, Alarm Phone has helped to rescue more than 1,800 boats. Through this network, civil society has pioneered the means for a right to scrutiny over what is happening in the Mediterranean – which, perhaps implausibly, is exercised over the phone, by listening. But in order for Alarm Phone to make its contribution to saving lives, it relied on means of rescue being present at sea, which they could then pressure into providing assistance 130

to migrants in distress. Yet, the end of the Italian operation Mare Nostrum (see p. 103) had specifically downgraded that presence. It was at this point that a full citizens’ flotilla project was launched to come to the rescue of migrants and condemn the policy of non-assistance by states. In 2014 it had one vessel, growing to a handful in 2015; despite having just 10 vessels in 2016, that year the citizens’ flotilla accounted for 28 per cent of all rescue missions. All of these initiatives have transformed the border area that is the Mediterranean Sea into a testing ground for new transnational political practices. Nevertheless, although they are exemplary, these citizens’ interventions are no match for the violence that is perpetrated on and by borders. More than 13,000 people died at sea between 2014 and 2016. In addition, as on dry land (see p. 134), solidarity at sea is increasingly coming under attack, either physically by the Libyan coastguard, or politically by the discourse of Frontex which accuses citizens’ rescues of being a pull factor, and in the courts with charges being brought against them in Italy. The message could not be clearer: for the EU, the best way of deterring migrants is to let them die at sea. CHARLES HELLER

Françoise Beauguion, Tarifa, Spain, June 2016.

Mobilisations and struggles

NGO rescues at sea

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THE CASE OF THE “LEFT-TO-DIE BOAT ” AND SUBSEQUENT LEGAL BATTLES One boat among many others filled with African migrants making their way to Europe, whose singular fate earned it the name of the “left-to-die boat”, has led to unprecedented legal repercussions. In March 2011, following resolutions 1970 and 1973 of the Security Council of the United Nations, France, Belgium, Canada, Spain, the United States, Italy and the United Kingdom unilaterally deployed significant naval forces under NATO command off the coast of Libya, which was then in thrall to an armed conflict, making it one of the most heavily surveilled zones on the planet. At the end of the month, 72 migrants left Libya aboard a Zodiac inflatable raft headed for Lampedusa. Very quickly, running short of fuel, they lost control of the vessel and sent out a distress call. The call was received in Rome by a priest, Father Mussie Zerai, whose telephone number was already known to the passengers. He relayed the message to the Italian coastguard, who regularly transfer distress calls to NATO and to military installations present, indicating the exact location of the Zodiac craft. Despite these actions, and the fact that several civil and military vessels and aircraft had crossed the path of the boat, nobody came to the rescue of its passengers, who quickly ran out of food and water. After 15 days adrift, the macabre wreckage of the Zodiac craft finally washed up on the Libyan shore with just 11 survivors on board, two of whom died shortly after disembarking. A total of 63 people, including 20 women and 3 children, perished at sea because nobody came to their rescue. Activists went out to meet the survivors and recorded their testimony of the events. Based on these accounts researchers in forensic oceanography were able to reconstruct the boat’s itinerary as well as the position of all vessels located in the zone at the time of their distress call. Based on the detailed report (see p. 155), several suits were filed

simultaneously by the survivors. A group of lawyers and NGOs (AEDH, Agenzia Habeshia, ARCI, Boats4People, CIRÉ, FIDH, Gisti, LDH-France, LDH-Belgique, Migreurop, Progress Lawyers Network, REMDH) was established to take legal action in the Belgian, Spanish, French and Italian courts. In all cases, the choice was made to file claims before the criminal courts, sometimes with the constitution of a civil party against X, signifying the military staff present in the zone, for failure to provide assistance to individuals in danger and violation of the obligation to provide rescue at sea. In those places where legal proceedings did not seem feasible (Canada, United States, United Kingdom), requests for information have been filed. Alongside these initiatives, a 2012 inquest of the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe concluded that “The flag States of vessels close to the boat also failed [in their duty]1 to rescue the people in distress”. Brought several years ago now, these lawsuits are progressing through the courts. The national courts do not seem in any hurry for the truth to emerge: some took no action; others have dismissed the claims with rulings that are subject to appeal proceedings that are still under way. The International Humanitarian Fact-Finding Commission (IHFFC) has, for its part, refused to intervene to investigate on the (questionable) basis that national procedures are still in progress. Faced with the rulings or inaction of national courts, the victims, associations, universities and lawyers involved are preparing to take their case to the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR). The states concerned must answer for their failure to guarantee the prohibition of torture and inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment, as well as the right to life. JEAN MATRINGE

1 Translator’s note: Comparison of the English and French versions of the summary of the report reveals an intriguing discrepancy between the French, which refers to a failure of the “obligation” or “duty” to rescue people in distress, while the reference to a “duty” is omitted in the English version. 132

Mobilisations and struggles

Visual proof

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HOSPITALITY SMUGGLERS In order to overcome the many obstacles on their paths to Europe, people hoping to find sanctuary in Europe must, at times, rely on other individuals who may not always have the best of intentions. When they reach the European continent, migrants are faced with profoundly insecure living conditions or even the total absence of mechanisms to accommodate and protect them; citizens with a sense of solidarity have stepped into the breach. MIGRATION POLICIES CREATE THE SMUGGLERS

The long road to Europe often involves resorting to organised groups who profit directly from border closures by turning clandestine crossing into a very lucrative business. The accounts of migrants abandoned mid-journey, who have fallen victim to extortion, been held hostage or subjected to mortal dangers, are held up by the authorities as a way of justifying the militarisation and surveillance state on the borders of Europe. Yet it is precisely this policy that in fact drives the flourishing smuggler economy, by forcing migrants to take ever-greater risks to reach Europe, which in turn leads to higher prices and more unsafe modes of transport being used. By relentlessly pursuing this policy, European institutions have contributed to bolstering the “channels” that they claim to be combating and have further jeopardised the safety of the migrants they should be protecting.

“WHY I RESCUED REFUGEES”

Given the failures of the authorities, fit and moral persons are intervening to offer a lifeline to irregularly staying foreign persons. Those coming to their aid may be friends and family, individuals involved in migratory issues, or those acting “by happenstance”: friends, family members, other migrants, activists, volunteers acting independently or as part of associations, sea rescue workers or indeed local professionals or residents of border regions. The assistance they provide often involves helping migrants get over an obstacle safely or supplying basic conditions for survival and dignity. The level of commitment from individuals who act in solidarity varies. Actions are sometimes spontaneous, sometimes politically motivated and organised or, at times, undertaken out of self-interest: some ask to be compensated for services rendered or risks run, often in order to continue a journey of their own. Others are moved to action by friendship or affection. Finally, many describe their actions 134

Milos Virijevic, Belgrade, Serbia, May 2017.

as a “normal”, “ordinary” and “human” response to finding people in distress on their doorstep.

HOW TO TRANSFORM HELPERS INTO DELINQUENTS: A USER GUIDE

Rather than welcoming such initiatives, European states are criminalising them. The first step towards this manufacture of new-fangled offences is the justification for police and military crackdowns by reference to a “crisis” and “terrorist threat”. This creates fertile ground for all migratory matters to be likened to criminal activities rather than a need for shelter or protection. In the same way that migrants have gone from being “heroes” to “terrorists” in the rhetoric of Europe’s political leaders, the figure of the smuggler is no longer associated with the righteous quest of free-traders but with “traffickers”. This process has been accompanied by legal mechanisms which yet again pave the way for people in Europe to be sent down for “crimes of solidarity”. From Calais to Nice and right across France, more and more individuals are being tried for such crimes. In Switzerland, hundreds of fines have been meted out in recent years. In Ventimiglia, a municipal decree has banned the distribution of any food or drink in the street. In the Balkans, the laws criminalising the provision of assistance or even the “attempt” to assist unauthorised entry, transit and residence are based on a European directive from 2002, the so-called “facilitation directive”, which nevertheless stipulates that “any

Mobilisations and struggles

Member State may decide not to impose sanctions” when the purpose is to “provide humanitarian assistance”. Caught in between this deterrent strategy enforced by member states, on the one hand, and the moral imperative to offer assistance to people in danger, on the other, individuals and collectives standing in solidarity with migrants are pushing

Mathilde’s letter to Ahmed

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back and organising in order to preserve the principles of hospitality that once made Europe a safe haven, and will, if necessary, disobey the policies and laws that trample on the most basic rights of migrants. MORGANE DUJMOVIC

WHEN FRIENDS AND FAMILY SUPPORT THEIR OWN In July 2012, the Jordanian authorities responded to the growing numbers of refugees arriving in the country by opening the Zaatari refugee camp. This decision was the first in a string of measures aimed at restricting the entry of Syrians into the Kingdom’s territory. Over the weeks that followed, thousands of refugees found that they were refused entry at the official border stations, forcing them to enter the country “irregularly” before then being transferred to Zaatari. In September, Mahmoud, a Syrian from the Wadi Barada region, was able to enter regularly despite these measures. Barely two months later, he took advantage of a lull in the violence to re-enter Syria and marry his fiancée who was still in Syria. At the end of December, he set off on his journey back to Jordan, taking the same route that he had travelled along a few weeks earlier except, this time, the border guards refused to let him through, forcing him to turn back. He tried again the following week and failed, again. Mahmoud therefore decided to appeal to his cousin Faysal, who had already settled in Jordan. His cousin was in contact with a customs official at the Jaber border post who had already let several potential migrants through in exchange for a baksheesh. This time, Mahmoud pays and gets through without a hitch. His wife and in-laws would join him a few weeks later using the same method. In October 2014, as the fighting intensified in Wadi Barada, the danger drives Yasmin, Faysal’s wife, to join her husband in Jordan, where the government has for several months been of the view that the country had reached maximum reception capacity. All of the official border stations with Syria, as well as the informal crossing points – through which most Syrians entered in 2012 and 2013 – have therefore been closed until further notice. In order to get around these impediments, Faysal calls in a favour from a Syrian friend whose son, still in Syria, puts Yasmin in contact with smugglers. What follows is a long and winding journey lasting more than 20 days to reach the displaced persons camp of Hadalat, where Yasmin and her four children would have to wait for 58 days before being authorised to enter Jordan.

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From there, the authorities take them to Azraq camp, intended for the “reception” of the very small number of refugees permitted to enter, and henceforward forced to reside in this enclosed location until their eventual return to Syria or resettlement abroad. Faysal once again draws on his contacts and calls a Jordanian friend who knows one of the officials in the camp. In exchange for a baksheesh, the latter agrees to grant a temporary exit permit to Yasmin and her children who leave the camp determined never to return. Even so, in the event of identity checks, the fact that their administrative situation is “irregular” (i.e. they have no official authorisation to remain in the country) means that they could potentially be sent back to Azraq or even deported to Syria. These circumstances force the couple to leave for Europe, where they hope to find more hospitable conditions. In April 2015, Yasmin leaves Jordan with her two youngest sons. Her brother, exiled in Lebanon, decides to accompany them. When one of their friends based in Istanbul offers to put them in contact with smugglers from Izmir who can get them across to Greece, the group travels to this coastal city. After several fruitless attempts at the crossing foiled by Turkish border guards, Yasmin and her family finally manage to get to the island of Chios on board a ramshackle craft, in exchange for a fee of $900 per person. After travelling for a month and a half, they finally reach Bavaria, where Faysal and their two eldest sons are due to join them in September. We are in Amman, the date is 30 October 2015. Tomorrow morning, Mahmoud, his wife and their daughter, born in exile, will also travel to Germany, where they hope to join Faysal and Yasmin: “my father-in-law arranged our journey as far as Greece. He contacted the person who directed Yasmin and Faysal on to Turkish smugglers and who is supposed to pick us up at Istanbul airport, then take us into town, where we will meet with the smugglers. I am quite optimistic, but I’m worried about the crossing because none of us knows how to swim. But, Insha’Allah, everything will be all right . . .” DAVID LAGARDE

Mobilisations and struggles

Itineraries to get from Damascus (Syria) to Irbid (Jordan) keep getting longer

Sources: Interviews in Jordan (2014), by video-telephony (2015), Germany (2016).

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During the clashes with Macedonian police in April 2016, a man holds up his hands as though hand-cuffed to symbolise his detention by the Greek authorities. Danilo Balducci, Idomeni, Greece, April 2016.

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Sara Prestianni, Idomeni, Greece, November 2015.

Volunteers from the NGO Proactiva Open Arms help a migrant get on the rescue vessel Golfo Azurro. She was rescued 20 miles off the coast of Libya. The woman was travelling with a group of about 120 people trying to get to Italy from the Libyan coast. Omo Calvo, Mediterranean Sea, 12 January 2017.

Dozens of refugees try to take clothes from a volunteer distributing them in a makeshift refugee camp in Idomeni. Omo Calvo, Idomeni, Greece, 6 March 2016.

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WHEN BEING HOSPITABLE GETS POLITICAL On 4 January 2017, Cédric Herrou, a farmer in the Roya Valley, located in France close to the Italian border, was brought before a court for having assisted irregularly staying migrants. In his statement he declared that this was a “political act” and that it was “an honour” for him to assist them. Two days later, the very same court, the Palais de justice de Nice, cleared university lecturer and researcher Pierre-Alain Mannoni, who was also being tried for “facilitating the residence and travel of unauthorised persons”. Over the same month of January, four other people in the region were arrested for this same reason. The context in which these events unfolded are a far cry from the social settings and rituals typically associated with hospitality, namely ties of family or community – structured relationships which set a framework for cycles of social exchange where such hospitality is but one of the conventions. In this framework, the “laws of hospitality” govern how “outsiders are made to feel welcome”. In La Roya and northern Paris, as elsewhere in Europe since 2015, it is more a game of cat and mouse with the police or hide and seek with less hospitable neighbours, media firestorms, and demonstrations by some members of the “host” societies who feel ashamed and indignant at the attitude of their fellow citizens. The fact that acts of hospitality are construed as transgressions by the state, whose failings are increasingly condemned, is turning society against it. This politicisation of the practices and language of hospitality serves as a reminder to contemporary societies, giving new meaning to ethical codes. On 18 February 2017, 160,000 people marched through the streets of Barcelona together with their mayor Ada Colau, in support of “welcoming migrants and refugees” and against the Spanish government, which had pledged in mid-2015 to accommodate 16,000 people and had, a year and a half later, resettled just 1,000. In northern France, following the

dismantlement of the camp-cum-slum in Calais (see map opposite) or, in Paris, following the evacuation of the migrant camps, people were mobilising to welcome asylum seekers in their own homes for short periods as a way of putting pressure on the state which was not fulfilling its legal obligation to provide shelter for asylum seekers. In most European countries, a gulf now separates citizens from their national governments. The latter, seeking to portray themselves as “protectors”, paint migrants as threats to the country’s security and identity, echoing the symbolic model of what Wendy Brown calls the strong state (masculinist) protecting the weak nation (feminine). This model is based on the widely held view that nationalist identity stands in opposition to cosmopolitanism, supposedly a hallmark of the elites. The unwillingness and/or ineptitude on the part of the government authorities when it comes to accommodating migrants and refugees in a dignified manner is seen as a response to the populist anxiety expressed very openly by parties on the far right. However, this attitude has drawn a reaction from another segment of the population, one that is concerned about the state of the world and, rather than stand idly by, is keen to act and take a stand in solidarity with peoples and individuals who are in danger, firmly embracing “cosmopolitanism”. There has thus been a revival of individual acts of hospitality (welcoming people in their own homes, usually with the broader support of an association providing social and legal guarantees). Such actions are an extension of the sense of collective solidarity (provision of food, clothes, language lessons, etc. in the streets or on the premises of charitable organisations), which is largely determined by the way each individual relates to the nation-state

Antía Otero García, Belgrade, Serbia, March 2017.

Milos Virijevic, Belgrade, Serbia, May 2017.

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MICHEL AGIER

Mobilisations and struggles

Calais: 20 years of (in)hospitality

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THE HYBRID ARCHITECTURE OF THE CALAIS JUNGLE When it comes to informal settlements, architects can provide three services: technical expertise to help reduce the risks that people may be exposed to; the perspective of an external surveyor to offer an architectural appraisal of the specificities – both flaws and qualities – in this environment, to qualify it and give an identity; and, finally, the ability to map and chart how the space is likely to evolve over time, based on their knowledge of how commons and city spaces are constituted among residents. The Calais Jungle thus represents a unique testing ground for the construction of a hybrid environment in which its residents tend not to mix. The very first building blocks were laid by migrants themselves in the first few days of April 2015, with shops springing up almost immediately amid the huts made of wooden branches and tarp sheeting, followed by a mosque and an Eritrean church (the first and last public building in the Jungle); the shacks were at that time ensconced among rural footpaths through the Lande region. Very quickly, the Calais collective Boule Eud’Pue got involved in the construction of enhanced huts, with more rational structural components, flooring, an actual roof, insulated and waterproof facades, equipped with doors and windows sometimes even with a stove. Encouraged by a “tolerant” approach from local government and the council authorities regarding the maintenance of these sites, more established NGOs gradually got involved in the project. First came Secours Catholique offering 250 shelters, then L’Auberge des Migrants which built 1,500 at €260 in conjunction with Help Refugees, before Doctors Without Borders finally built more expensive (€1,200) but more durable structures, all of which would later be subsumed into the Grande Synthe camp. The cost of all of these structures stands in stark contrast to the €14,000 per single-person unit in the official container camp. These living quarters gradually came to occupy a larger area and play a more significant role in shaping the camp itself, having the advantage of being able to be adapted and transformed according to the needs of their inhabitants. The self-built dwellings continued to exist alongside them. Very

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quickly, they formed a complex set of overlapping structures, blending purpose-built prefabricated housing, shelters and shacks grouped around a yard area that was more or less enclosed by the habitats. These groups of dwellings formed an organic continuum alongside restaurants, Afghan shops and common-use buildings built by volunteers, such as the Zimaco Jones secular school of Chemin des Dunes together with the Good Chance Theatre (l’École Laïque du Chemin des Dunes de Zimako Jones); the schools Darfur and Oromo; the library Jungle Books; the art school; the Legal Centre and le centre juridique; the youth centre; the different cultural centres and places of worship and the vast communal kitchens, essential for the operation of the camp . . . Mutual denial of the other’s existence allowed the shantytown and the container camp to share the same physical space. However, following a court ruling requiring the state to ensure better sanitary conditions in the shantytown, ACTED – an association that keeps a low profile despite being the second largest French NGO – was tasked with setting up infrastructure services. Initially, this included management of sanitation facilities, water supply networks and rubbish, but later on was expanded to also cover the creation of roads and certain land-clearing operations, upon request by representatives of the communities . . . Calais thus represents a vindication of the potential of joint management, beginning with the migrants themselves together with the involvement of charities and volunteers and, at a later stage, certain state actors as well. The result was thus a hybrid architecture, ramshackle and rudimentary but, also, ecological, economical and social. Whereas all examples of prefabricated camps have proven to be failures, architects interested in these phenomena can do no less than applaud the way a living environment for “undesirables” has been summoned into existence at the initiative of the primary beneficiaries, before evolving into a jointly managed entity. CYRILLE HANAPPE

Mobilisations and struggles

Calais, March 2016: where children, women and men live

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HOSPITABLE TOWNS Can the City stand in isolation from the State and assume a new status on its own initiative [. . .] that would authorise its enfranchisement from the ordinary rules of national sovereignty? (Jacques Derrida, 1997) Cities of refuge, sanctuary or hospitality is a notion that dates back to antiquity. Following in the footsteps of the Sanctuary Movement, which appeared in the United States in 1985, the City of Sanctuary network started to be active in England from 2005 and in France from 2007. A volunteer collective that originated in Marseille, it lists local reception initiatives and puts them in contact with one another in order to raise the profile of “a panoply of civil-society led” endeavours. On 13 September 2015, Ada Colau (Barcelona), Giusi Nicolini (Lampedusa), Spyros Galinos (Lesbos) and Anne Hidalgo (Paris) declared their cities places of refuge, proclaiming “We, the cities of Europe, want to welcome these refugees. It may be states that grant asylum, but it is cities that provide shelter.” As “rebel councils” across Spain took up the torch, the call sparked different forms of reception on a local scale, combining the action of municipalities themselves and residents’ initiatives (see p. 146). This type of approach can be seen all over Europe. Berne, in Switzerland, has become a “safe haven”, thanks to a vote by its parliament. Some 1,500 refugees are hosted both in purpose-built installations and also in the homes of volunteers. Until the arrival of its new mayor in June 2015, Venice had known two decades of a singular experiment in city-wide hospitality through the Fondego project, combining quality first reception, pathways for reintegration and fostering the establishment of ties with local communities. Alongside these initiatives led by municipal authorities, in recent years, many movements have been launched by citizens, with or without the support of their town councillors. Since April 2016, the formerly derelict City Plaza hotel in Athens (see p. 147) has been occupied and transformed into a self-run centre by and with refugees. “Our decision does not absolve the Greek government or any other government of their responsibilities”, stated the project’s founders, declaring “we will stand by refugees”. Accommodating migrants, which is really a matter of choice, can sometimes prove to be an economic boon. The film Paese di Calabria shows how Riace, a village in southern Italy, was transformed when its residents opted to welcome 144

refugees. In 1998, a boat carrying 300 Kurds washed up on its shores. With support from the project Citta Futura, around 50 of the survivors stayed in the town, breathing new life into abandoned homes and revitalising crafts and the tourist trade, bringing the small town back to life. More recently, during the evacuation of the shantytown of Calais, the French government decided to open “reception and orientation centres” in 200 of the surrounding towns. While some concerned mayors made no bones about their hostility to foreigners being resettled in their locales – even temporarily – others welcomed the arrival of pupils to fill their village schools, formerly threatened with closure on account of falling demographics, or refugees who were qualified doctors in areas deserted by medical professionals . . . There are also cases where providing shelter offers a convenient cover for practices that, far from representing a desire to accommodate migrants unconditionally, are actually part and parcel of the state’s apparatus of migration control. The “Lampedusa model” is a case in point. This small island in the Strait of Sicily has seen migrants washing up on its shores for decades and seems now to be confusing provision of “first reception” with identification procedures and sorting people into categories. When the Mayor of Paris signed the appeal “We, the cities of Europe” in early September 2015, informal migrant camps were being targeted with violent evictions. The “humanitarian camp”, which only opened its doors a year later, in October 2016, provided a strict framework for reception: accommodation, for a few days only, is offered on the condition that those needing shelter give their consent to having their fingerprints taken and registered, allowing the authorities to implement the Dublin III regulations, whereby migrants are sent back. VIOLAINE CARRÈRE

Morgane Dujmovic, tunnel of the Roya Valley, France, 7 March 2017.

Mobilisations and struggles

It is possible to find money for welcoming refugees

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SPAIN: REBEL CITIES While Spain has shown that it is possible to apply a different policy of reception, it also highlights the limits of such an approach. On 28 August 2015, Ada Colau, Mayor of Barcelona, launched a proposal to create a network of city-sanctuaries which Spain’s main cities (including Madrid and several regional governments, such as La Coruña) joined almost immediately, a sign of the broad consensus among institutions not under the dominion of central government. The innovation behind this “refuge cities network” was investment by local and regional bodies in areas that were the exclusive bailiwick of central government. It also involved investing greater financial and human resources, working closely with host families, listening to their needs and thrashing out the matter of reception in public debate. Government, having little inclination to honour their commitment to the reception of refugees, were called out by the mayors of these cities. Significant civil society mobilisation in support of welcoming refugees soon emerged. Offers of support from organisations and individuals wishing to make a material contribution to the reception of refugees flooded in, forcing the hand of local institutions in many cities. Unlike what has been observed in other European societies, this landscape did not give rise to a backlash of xenophobic rhetoric. The case of Spain thus gives the lie to the strategy adopted by most European political forces and governments, which consists of gradually acquiescing to the demands of the extreme right in order to quell the opposition, with the all-too-familiar result being the sudden ascendency of xenophobic parties. The public’s attitude of openness has endured, despite the frustration arising from very limited results. The mobilisation in Barcelona around the

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“Casa Nostra, Casa Vostra” campaign (“Our House is Your House”) is one example. On 18 February 2017, 160,000 people marched to the slogan “Enough talk, reception now!” It was the culmination of a series of civil society initiatives inaugurated with a major festival that drew 15,000 people to the Palau Sant Jordi and brought together more than 50 artists. However, implementing solutions that respect the rights of migrants and refugees means that a number of obstacles must be overcome, if these efforts are to avoid quickly finding themselves at an impasse. The first of these obstacles is the need for a change of policy on a national level, as it is central government that holds all of the powers over matters of immigration and asylum, and also on a European level, where current policies that violate the rights of migrants and refugees must be jettisoned. The second obstacle is the deliberate conflation of asylum and immigration, sometimes used to justify infringements of refugees’ rights to international protection, describing them as “economic migrants”, and sometimes to legitimise the deportation of migrants on the grounds that they are not refugees. A clear definition, that can rally a coalition broader than the institutions involved in the refuge cities network and uphold respect for the right to asylum and defence of migrants’ rights, is urgently needed. The third is the lack of a coordinated strategy that these local initiatives can feed into so that the willingness of thousands of citizens to show their hospitality can amount to something more than just symbolic gestures. PEIO AIERBE

Mobilisations and struggles

City Plaza Hotel: an emblematic example of solidarity in Athens

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FREEDOM OF MOVEMENT FOR FOREIGN PERSONS: A REALISTIC UTOPIA? For about 25 years, the subject of freedom of movement and settlement for foreigners – initially very ill-regarded by both politicians and the media, in academic circles and even by civil society – has gradually come to be seen as worthy of closer attention. In France, for example, it was only after undocumented persons took to the streets and when the state was confronted with the deadlock of regularisation on a “case-by-case basis” and deportation measures that were impossible to implement, that people really started thinking about this idea. “Freedom of movement is the only solution that is both respectful of human rights and rational, because nothing else works.” Although they were initially recalcitrant, associations for the defence of foreigners devoted more and more meetings to the idea, while the sectors hungry for foreign undeclared labour (agriculture, construction, the hotel and catering industry, domestic services, etc.) were either silent on the matter or lobbied the authorities to show greater leniency over who was allowed to enter the country. On the EU level, however, the discussion was complicated, firstly on account of the economic options and the fact that public policies on the subject differed considerably from one member state to the next and, secondly, because the countries on the frontline of the “migrant flows” (notably Italy and Greece) were reaching saturation point. Nevertheless, a common obsession seems to have held sway, namely, being able to import labour according to need, while stopping short of allowing these workers to settle in their countries. Freedom of movement was first instituted by the Treaty of Rome (1957) for workers inside what was then the European Economic Area (EEA), which at that time included six countries, and later enshrined in the Maastricht treaty (1992) for nationals of the geographical area defined in the Schengen agreement (1985). Very quickly, the matter of control over movement across the external borders came to the fore, with the following caveat: freedom of movement in the Schengen area was to be offset by prevention of the freedom of movement of migrants or refugees from “third countries”. Indeed, from the early 1970s, legal impediments were established to forestall the entry and settlement of foreigners in various countries of immigration like Germany and France. This protectionism was later enshrined across the EU through the 1997 Treaty of Amsterdam.

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Later, in 2002, the European Council in Seville made the fight against irregular immigration a priority, incentivising collaboration of the sending countries in this effort as a core necessity. It popularised the dubious notion of “illegal emigration”, in breach of international conventions which since 1948 have safeguarded the “right [of all persons] to leave any country, including his own”. Thus, an illusory freedom of movement that is not being matched by a duty of hospitality. Overall, at present, the law of many member states is opposed to freedom of movement and pragmatic governments let foreigners in according to the needs of the economy, all the while wielding the threat of deportation. The issue of freedom of movement can thus be seen from two different angles. Either, it is viewed in a basic sense as the application of the lawful right to come and go around a planet that we all share, regardless of our place of birth, but nowadays nevertheless subject to discrimination because this right is largely bestowed reciprocally only upon nationals of dominant countries; or, freedom of movement can be viewed from a utilitarian perspective as being beneficial, in the eyes of some, while others see it as harmful to the social and economic equilibrium of the host countries: the burden of unemployment, combined with the rolling back of social welfare policies and, more recently, the threat of terrorism has fuelled a fear of invasion or of losing the national identity. However, simply recognising that the dogmatic closure of borders has failed (at least in the case of democratic

Morgane Dujmovic, tunnel of the Roya Valley, France, 7 March 2017.

Mobilisations and struggles

Free movements

countries), and noting the enormous cost this has entailed, not only in financial terms but above all in human lives, is causing the idea of freedom of movement to gain traction. Certain economists have pointed out that everything is allowed to travel (goods, capital, information) except people. But this argument should not cloud the fact that human beings are not goods to be bought and sold and thorough reflection and foresight is necessary to avoid open borders being used to trigger social dumping on a massive scale or further deregulation of labour laws. Freedom of movement only makes sense and is only desirable if it is realised in adherence to strict equality of treatment between foreigners and nationals, thus making an epic struggle against all forms of discrimination and racism a prerequisite for its emergence. ALAIN MORICE

Emmanuelle Hellio, Berlin, Germany, 2011.

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FREE MOVEMENT OF PEOPLE AND GOODS: TAKING LIBERALISM AT FACE VALUE When supporters of freedom of movement express their opinions on migration, they often lament a singular exception: that capital and goods can circulate freely, and only migrant flows are restricted. But things are not quite as simple as that. If we take the example of Morocco, with whom the European Union is said to have a “special relationship” involving, amongst other things, a “mobility partnership” (MP), there is little point in denying the facts: tomatoes from the Alawite Kingdom travel no more freely than people from one side to the other of the Strait of Gibraltar. Supported by structural adjustment policies and then by the Green Morocco Plan, the expansion of industrial modes of production in greenhouses has led this water-poor country to export strawberries and tomatoes to the EU via the limited slots left open to it by EU regulations, while retaining a very small portion of the value that is produced, as investors are often European. Whether the example is people or fruits and vegetables, what we are seeing is not freedom of movement but rather an imbalance of power characterised by the subordinated integration of the South according to terms dictated by the North. These days, Moroccan seasonal workers – men and women – are brought over to Spain or France to gather the harvest while the tariffs on the export of fruits produced in their own country are so great that it ceases to be profitable. Despite liberal overtures, the borderlines currently running through the Mediterranean have been established to suit the vested interests of its northern shore: those who determine their path extend their influence through these channels, which look more like peripheral offshoots of a central system than conduits for free movement. The gulf separating words and deeds can also be found in the discourse of the EU or other international organisations, and even in certain academic publications on programmes for temporary migration. Couched behind a theory of “circular migration” – which migrants apparently believe to be an attractive prospect – lies one of the most tightly regulated

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forms of migration and least protective in terms of rights, namely that governing seasonal workers in the agricultural sector. Liberal discourse presents this channelling of workers from the perspective of openness and free movement of workers. It highlights the individual and his or her agency, thus masking the restrictions under a veil of superficial freedom. The example of seasonal contracts or agricultural exports offers a glimpse of how skewed the systems is. On the one hand, free movement for workers is effectively denied in the name of a disingenuously liberating ideology and, on the other, genuine and complete freedom to come and go for individuals is defended. Controlled mobility has more in common with “bridled wage labour” (salariat bridé), to use the expression coined by Yann Mouilier Boutang. Even when texts which appear to be defiantly liberal on the surface facilitate travel (such as the European Directive of December 1996 on workers posted to the territory of member states, or “mode 4” of the General Agreement on Trade in Services (GATS) on cross-border travel of physical persons), there are often loopholes: the many safeguards put in place by states who use waged labour keep migrant workers under the yoke of legal subordination and insecurity and in specific and unskilled segments of the labour market. The fact that workers are allowed to enter and leave the country is sometimes highlighted as contributing to the relaxation of labour laws, supposedly as a result of the distribution of income and wealth from one country to another. This argument, naturally, overlooks the injustice of responding to this reality by locking down borders to permanent workers. But logic seems to have been turned on its head, as though channelling the migratory flows of an insecure workforce that can be exploited at will were somehow not, in and of itself, a major contributing factor to this social decline. EMMANUELLE HELLIO

Mobilisations and struggles

Off-shoring and globalisation

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PUTTING AN END TO DEGRADING MIGRATION POLICIES In 2002, a handful of activists and researchers committed to defending the rights of migrants together built what would later become the Migreurop network. Their priority at that time was to highlight a reality that no national or European statistics had made it possible to grasp, namely, that administrative detention and all other forms of the confinement of foreigners had come to play an increasingly dominant role in the migration policy of the European Union (EU) and its member states, with the corollaries of rights violations, physical and mental abuse engendered in its tow. First issued in 2003, the “map of camps in Europe” – the present Atlas being its sixth edition – gave tangible form to the impetus to reveal the hidden face of the “management of migratory flows”. Publication of this map coincided with the appearance of plans to establish off-shore camps in various countries and institutions, in order to process asylum applications from people seeking protection before they even reached EU territory. But, as pointed out by Migreurop, this externalisation of asylum and immigration policies was, first and foremost, a means for member states to circumvent their duties towards refugees. Becoming the official direction of EU policy as of 2004 under a hypocritical and unfair philosophy dubbed “burden sharing”, it has since evolved into a central axis of the EU’s policies on asylum and immigration. In real terms, the policy led to agreements being signed between European states and neighbouring countries, with the immediate consequence of a fierce crackdown on the border areas of Europe’s southern frontier. This is how 2004 and 2005 saw mass deportations to Libya of boat-people who had only just arrived on Italy’s shores, in violation of European law; at the same time, Moroccan soldiers’ violent repression of migrants attempting to reach Spain by way of its enclaves in Africa, Ceuta and Melilla, led to the death of at least 20 people. The expression “war on migrants”, used at one time by some activists, was intended as a form of provocation to shock people into action. Sadly, events since then have revealed it to be an ominous foretelling of what was to come. Over the years, the unenviable task of listing the deaths on Europe’s borders has served only to corroborate the devastating accuracy of this prognosis. The first operations by Frontex, in 2005, confirmed that it was guided by a 152

policy deliberately designed to unflinchingly mobilise military means and technologies with the purpose of keeping men and women that member states were not inclined to accommodate out of the EU’s territory – a policy that reveals not only a disregard for their rights, but contempt for their lives. It has not wavered in this respect. The reaction of the EU to what has been called the “migrant crisis” in the years 2015–2016 demonstrates this quite clearly. Despite a growing list of measures and action plans aimed at ending “migrant tragedies”, the number of deaths in the Mediterranean – already very high in 2014 (around 3,000) – was to almost double over the following three years. This increase should come as no surprise. The measures implemented in 2015 by the EU to stem the “migrant crisis” (which is no less than a “crisis” of the EU’s own migration and asylum policies) are in line with the direction the EU has taken since the turn of the century, whose dangers Migreurop has tirelessly sought to highlight. The “European Agenda on Migration”, presented by the European Commission in May 2015 as a response to the successive wrecks bearing boatpeople washing up on European shores, is composed of the same constituent parts: on one hand, the confinement of migrants to hotspots set up in southern Italy and on the Greek islands; on the other, externalisation of anti-migration measures coming in a variety of shapes and sizes. The agreement signed between the EU and Turkey in March 2016 comes to mind. The purpose of the agreement was to ensure that Turkey, now designated a “safe country”, despite all evidence to the contrary, would, in exchange for funding, agree to the readmission of all individuals who had transited through its territory before arriving in Greece. In the same vein, negotiations with the main departure or transit countries, notably those in the Horn of Africa, where many migrants are originally from, seek to secure their agreement to “retain” or “take back” migrants, regardless of the human and financial costs of this horse-trading, and are part of this policy aimed at keeping migrants at a distance. The militarisation of borders, ultimately, constitutes yet another layer in the arsenal of legislative fortifications: sophisticated surveillance equipment, the deployment of the Armed Forces of European countries off the coast of Libya since 2015, even the intervention of NATO in

Mobilisations and struggles

the Mediterranean, since 2016, all in order to combat irregular immigration. The conclusion drawn by most analysts, researchers and NGOs, as borne out by Europe’s history over the past 15 years, is that none of these measures has been effective in sustainably impacting migration, a phenomenon that is historically and inherently linked to global changes. What is clear, however, is that these policies give rise to numerous rights violations – as this Atlas has attempted to document – to which migrants are subjected on a daily basis. Foremost among these, the right to free movement for all persons is enshrined

Olivier Sarrazin, Šid, Serbia, January 2016.

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in international law; yet, nowhere do the texts stipulate that this right is only to be enjoyed by some according to their nationality. As with other works of reference such as dictionaries, consulting this Atlas is liable to open minds to new perspectives. It is our hope that reading The Atlas of Migration in Europe will inspire readers to imagine worlds that differ from those presented here, so tragically blinkered and hemmed in by contemporary migration policies; perhaps, a world beyond borders, of horizons accessible to one and all.

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RYGIEL Ph. (dir.), 2010, Le temps des migrations blanches. Migrer en Occident (1840–1940), Paris, Publibook.

GLOBAL DETENTION PROJECT, 2017, Global Detention Project Annual Report, 34 p. [online].

SAYAD A., 1986, “‘Coûts’ et ‘profits’ de l’immigration [les présupposés politiques d’un débat économique]”, Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, vol. 61, pp. 79–82 [online].

INTERNATIONAL DETENTION COALITION, 2015, There Are Alternatives. A Handbook for Preventing Unnecessary Immigration Detention, 116 p. [online].

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MICHALON B., 2015, “L’espace intérieur de la rétention. Policiers et retenus: travailler et habiter dans un lieu d’enfermement des étrangers en Roumanie”, Annales de géographie, Paris, Armand Colin, pp. 208–230 [online]. OPEN ACCESS NOW, 2014, The Hidden Face of Immigration Detention Camps in Europe, 31 p. [online]. PILLANT L., TASSIN L., 2015, “Lesbos, l’île aux grillages. Migrations et enfermement à la frontière gréco-turque”, Cultures & Conflits, n° 99–100, pp. 25–55.

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GISTI, 2014, “Le business de la migration” (dossier), Plein Droit, n° 101. GISTI, 2016, Accord UE–Turquie: la grande imposture. Rapport de mission dans les ‘hotspots’ grecs de Lesbos et Chios, 60 p. [online]. GLOBAL DETENTION PROJECT, 2009, The Privatization of Immigration Detention: Towards a Global View, 25 p. INTERNATIONAL STRATEGIC RESEARCH ORGANIZATION AND BROOKINGS INSTITUTE, 2013, Turkey and Syrian Refugees: The Limits of Hospitality, Washington, DC, 44 p. [online].

PLATE-FORME MINEURS EN EXIL, 2015, Détention des enfants en famille en Belgique: analyse de la théorie et de la pratique, 104 p. [online].

JEANDESBOZ J., 2016, “Smartening Border Security in the European Union: An Associational Inquiry”, Security Dialogue, vol. 47, n° 4, pp. 292–309.

RODIER C., TEULE C., 2005, “Enfermement des étrangers: l’Europe sous la menace du syndrome maltais”, Cultures & Conflits, n° 57, pp. 119–155 [online].

MCNAMARA F., 2013, “Member State Responsibility for Migration Control within Third States – Externalisation Revisited”, European Journal of Migration and Law, n° 15, pp. 319–335.

SCHOCKAERT L., 2013, “Alternatives à la détention: des ‘unités familiales ouvertes’ en Belgique”, Revue Migrations forcées, n° 44, pp. 52–54 [online].

MIGREUROP, 2016, La détention des migrants dans l’Union européenne: un business florissant, coord. par ARBOGAST L., 63 p.

TASSIN L., 2017, “Les centres de rétention, angles morts du spectacle de la frontière”, entretien par FLORENTIN D., Urbanités, n° 8 [online].

PILLANT L., 2015, “Les conséquences socio-spatiales des nouvelles modalités du contrôle migratoire à la frontière gréco-turque”, L’Espace politique [online].

CHAPTER THREE: OFF-SHORING, OUTSOURCING AND REMOTE INTERVENTION

ROBIN N., 2009, “La CEDEAO, un espace de libre circulation, poste avancé de l’espace Schengen. Les enjeux régionaux des migrations ouest-africaines”, Cahiers de l’Afrique de l’Ouest, Paris, OECD, pp. 130–149 [online].

ANAFÉ, 2016, Voyage au centre des zones d’attente, 150 p. [online]. ANDERSSON R., 2014, Illegality, Inc: Clandestine Migration and the Business of Bordering Europe, Oakland, University of California Press. ARCI, 2016, Les étapes du processus d’externalisation du contrôle des frontières en Afrique, du Sommet de la Valette à aujourd’hui, 19 p. [online]. BEAUDU G., 2007, “L’externalisation dans le domaine des visas Schengen”, Cultures & Conflits, n° 68, pp. 85–109 [online]. BIGO D., GUILD E. (dir.), 2003, “La mise à l’écart des étrangers: la logique du visa Schengen”, Cultures & Conflits, n° 49–50. BOYER F., MOUNKAILA H., 2017, “Européanisation des politiques migratoires au Sahel: le Niger dans l’imbroglio sécuritaire”, in GRÉGOIRE E., KOBIANÉ J.-F., LANGE M.-F. (dir.), Les politiques publiques en Afrique de l’Ouest et du Centre, Paris, Éditions de l’IRD. CASSARINO J.-P., 2016, “Réadmission des migrants: Les fauxsemblants des partenariats euro-africains”, Politique étrangère 2016, n° 1, pp. 25–37 [online]. CRETTIEZ X., PIAZZA P. (dir.), 2006, Du papier à la biométrie: identifier les individus, Paris, Presses de Sciences Po. DE GENOVA N., 2002, “Migrant ‘Illegality’ and Deportability in Everyday Life”, Annual Review of Anthropology, vol. 31, n° 1, pp. 419–447. GABRIELLI L., 2016, “Multilevel Inter-Regional Governance of Mobility between Africa and Europe. Towards a Deeper and Broader Externalisation”, GRITIM Working Paper Series, n° 30 [online]. GAMMELTOFT-HANSEN Th., NYBERG SORENSEN N., 2013, The Migration Industry and the Commercialization of International Migration, London, Routledge.

RODIER C., 2012, Xénophobie business: à quoi servent les contrôles migratoires? Paris, La Découverte. WA KABWE-SEGATTI A., 2009, “Dimension extérieure de la politique d’immigration de l’Union européenne”, Hommes et migrations, n° 1279 [online].

CHAPTER FOUR: MIGRANT ROUTES UNDER MILITARY AND POLICE SURVEILLANCE ALBAHARI M., 2015, Crimes of Peace. Mediterranean Migrations at the World’s Deadliest Border, Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press. ANAFÉ, 2017, Les visas de transit aéroportuaire imposés par la France: état des lieux et enjeux, 13 p. [online]. BIGO D., 1996, Polices en réseaux. L’expérience européenne, Paris, Presses de Sciences Po. BIGO D., 2009, “Du panoptisme au Ban-optisme. Les microslogiques du contrôle dans la mondialisation”, in CHARDELAND P.-A., ROCKHILL G. (dir), Technologies de contrôle dans la mondialisation: enjeux politiques, éthiques et esthétiques, Paris, Éditions Kimé, pp. 59–80 [online]. BLANC-CHALÉARD M.-Cl. (dir.), 2001, Police et migrants. France 1667–1939, Rennes, PUR. BLANCHARD E., 2009, “Ce que rafler veut dire”, Plein Droit, n° 81, pp. 3–6 [online]. CASELLA COLOMBEAU S., 2017, “Policing the Internal Schengen Borders – Managing the Double Bind between Free Movement and

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Migration Control”, Policing and Society: An International Journal of Research and Policy, vol. 27, n° 5, pp. 480–493 [online]. CHAPPART P., 2015, Retours volontaires, retours forcés hors d’Europe. Une socio-anthropologie de l’éloignement des étrangers. Le cas de la France, Université de Poitiers, 677 p. [online]. CLOCHARD O., LAMBERT N., 2015, L’évolution d’un régime frontalier en mer Méditerranée, in SCHMOLL C., THIOLLET H., WIHTOL DE WENDEN C., Migrations en Méditerranée, Paris, CNRS Éditions, pp. 145–156. FRONTEXIT, 2017, Feu vert pour la violation des droits fondamentaux? 10 p. [online]. GADEM, MIGREUROP, CIMADE, APDHA, 2015, Ceuta et Melilla, centres de tri à ciel ouvert aux portes de l’Afrique, coord. par TYSZLER E., 33 p. [online]. GEIGER M., PÉCOUD A. (dir.), 2010, The Politics of International Migration Management, Basingstoke, Palgrave. GISTI, 2016, “Homicides aux frontières” (dossier), Plein Droit, n° 109. HELLER C., PEZZANI L., 2016, “Assistance and Bordering in a Time of Crisis”, in “‘Ebbing’ and Flowing: The EU’s Shifting Practices of (Non-)Assistance and Bordering in a Time of Crisis”, Near Futures Online, n° 1 [online].

BROWN W., 2009, Murs, Paris, Les Prairies ordinaires. CAVALIE J.-P., 2016, “Droits fondamentaux et hospitalité”, Multitudes, vol. 3, n° 64, pp. 115–119. CFDA, 2008, La loi des ‘jungles’: La situation des exilés sur le littoral de la Manche et de la mer du Nord, 156 p. [online]. COLLECTIF CETTE FRANCE-LÀ, 2010, Cette France-là, vol. 2, Paris, La Découverte. DERRIDA J., 1997, Cosmopolites de tous les pays, encore un effort, Paris, Galilée. Trans. M. Dooley, “On Cosmopolitanism”, in On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness, New York, Routledge, 2001. (On the politics and ethics of hospitality.) GISTI, 2011, Liberté de circulation: un droit, quelles politiques? 162 p. [online]. GOTMAN A., 2001, Le sens de l’hospitalité: Essai sur les fondements sociaux de l’accueil de l’autre, Paris, PUF. HELLER C., PEZZANI L., 2014, “Traces liquides: Enquête sur la mort de migrants dans la zone-frontière maritime de l’Union européenne”, Revue européenne des Migrations internationales, n° 30, pp. 71–107 [online]. HELLIO E., 2013, “Saisonnières à la carte: Flexibilité du travail et canalisation des flux migratoires dans la culture des fraises andalouses”, Cahiers de l’Urmis, n° 14 [online].

HELLER C., PEZZANI L., 2016, Death by Rescue. The Lethal Effects of the EU’s Policies of Non-Assistance [online].

LAMANT L., 2016, Squatter le pouvoir. Les mairies rebelles d’Espagne, Montréal, Lux éditeur.

JOBARD F., 2010, “Le gibier de police. Immuable ou changeant?”, Archives de politique criminelle, vol. 32, pp. 95–105.

MOULIER BOUTANG Y., 1998, De l’esclavage au salariat. Économie historique du salariat bridé, Paris, PUF.

LANTERO C., 2013, “Consécration du visa de transit aéroportuaire (VTA) comme instrument de police de mise à distance des demandes d’asile”, in Lettre “Actualité Droits-Libertés” from CREDOF dated 3 March 2013 [online].

TUCCI I., 2016, “L’accueil et l’intégration des migrants en Allemagne: les limites de l’hospitalité et de la solidarité”, Migrations Société, vol. 166, n° 4, pp. 15–35.

LECADET C., 2016, Le manifeste des expulsés. Errance, survie et politique au Mali, Tours, Presses universitaires François-Rabelais.

WEBLIOGRAPHY

PÉCOUD A., 2010, “Contrôle des frontières, campagnes d’information et crédibilité des politiques d’immigration”, Asylon(s), n° 8 [online].

Alarm Phone, A hotline for migrants in distress in the Mediterranean and Aegean Seas: alarmphone.org

PIÇARRAN N., 2016, “Frontières de l’Union: chronique d’une ‘recommandation’ annoncée ou la flétrissure”, Actualités du GDR [online].

Anafe, National association for border assistance for foreigners (Association nationale d’assistance aux frontières pour les étrangers): anafe.org

ZACH C., 2016, “Shoot First: Coast Guard Fired at Migrant Boats, European Border Agency Documents Show”, The Intercept [online].

Asylum in Europe, Database on asylum: asylumineurope.org Boats4people, International coalition for the defence of the rights of migrants at sea: boats4people.org

CHAPTER FIVE: MOBILISATIONS AND STRUGGLES AGIER M., 2016, Les migrants et nous, Paris, CNRS Éditions. ATAÇ I., KRON S., SCHILLIGER S., SCHWIERTZ H., STIERL M., 2015, “Struggles of Migration as In-/Visible Politics”, Movements [online]. BARRON P., BORY A., TOURETTE L., CHAUVIN S., JOUNIN N., On bosse ici, on reste ici! La grève des sans-papiers. Une aventure inédite, Paris, La Découverte. BESSONE M., 2015, “Le vocabulaire de l’hospitalité est-il républicain?”, Éthique publique, vol. 17, n° 1, [online]. BOATS4PEOPLE, 2016, La Méditerranée, une mer devenue frontière, 13 p. [online].

Calais Migrant Solidarity, Support for migrants in Calais: calaismigrantsolidarity.wordpress.com Close the camps, Mapping the migrant camps: closethecamps.org Freed Voices, Collective of former detainees in the United Kingdom: detentionaction.org.uk/freed-voices Frontexit, International and inter-associational collective for the defence of migrants’ rights on the external borders of the European Union: frontexit.org Gisti, Group providing information and support for immigrants: gisti.org Global Detention Project, Database on the imprisonment of foreign persons: globaldetentionproject.org

Bibliography

Passeurs d’Hospitalités, Support for migrants in Calais: passeursdhospitalites.wordpress.com

GENEVESE A., EU013, The Last Frontier, Italy, Zabbara, 62 minutes, 2013.

Statewatch, Archive of official documents and working documents from the European institutions: statewatch.org

LOJKINE B., Hope, France, Zadig Films, 1 h 31, 2014.

Watch the Med, Interactive map of migrant shipwrecks and violations of their rights in the Mediterranean: watchthemed.net

On the Migreurop website (www.migreurop.org), you will find the addresses of other member organisations of the network who also provide a lot of information on the contemporary reality surrounding migration.

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LOUBEYRE N., LABAT J., No Comment, France, Froggie Production, 52 minutes, 2008. LOUBEYRE N., À contre-courant, France, Pays des Miroirs Productions, Tell Me Films, Boats4people, 52 minutes, 2014. LOUBEYRE N., La mécanique des flux, France, Juste Production, 1 h 24, 2016. MANGRIOTIS S., Blue Sky from Pain, France, Dekadrage, 15 minutes, 2016. MELGAR F., Vol spécial, Switzerland, Dissidenz Films, 1 h 40, 2011.

FILMOGRAPHY

MELGAR F., L’abri, Switzerland, Dissidenz Films, 1 h 41, 2014.

AIELLO S., CATELLA C., Un Paese di Calabria, France, Switzerland, Italy, Les Productions JMH, Tita Productions, BO Film, Marmitafilms, 90 minutes, 2016.

MILLET J., RECHI L., Ceuta, Douce prison, France, Zaradoc, 1 h 30, 2014.

BAKHTIARI K., L’escale, Switzerland, France, Épicentre Films, 1 h 40, 2013.

MINISSALE M., Le printemps en exil, France, House on Fire, Mediapart, Blumenlab, 58 minutes, 2013.

CHEONG CHI MO J., De l’autre côté, France, Association Osons savoir, 1 h 16, 2012.

MOGRABI A., Entre les frontières, Israel, France, Les Films d’ici, 1 h 24, 2016.

CROUZILLAT H., TURA L., Les messagers, France, Primaluce Distribution, 1 h 10, 2014.

SIDIBE A. B., Les sauteurs, the Netherlands, Denmark, Mali, Final Cut For Real, 1 h 20, 2017.

EMPTAZ E., CHÂTEL J., Les réfugiés de la nuit polaire, France, Les films de l’air, Vosges Television, 60 minutes, 2014.

VIALA N., Contre les murs, France, Le-LoKal Production, Cultures et Communication, TLT-Télé-Toulouse, 52 minutes, 2013.

FEDELE D., The Land Between, Australia, France, David Fedele, PIW! (Progress in Work), 78 minutes, 2014.

WOOD A. L., How Long Is Indefinite? United Kingdom, Glocal Films, 23 minutes, 2011.

FIGURES

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 1.5 1.6 1.7 1.8 1.9 1.10 1.11 1.12 1.13 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4a 2.4b 2.5 2.6 2.7a 2.7b

2.8 2.9a 2.9b 2.10 2.11 2.12 2.13

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Yesterday’s migrants . . . and today’s Migration around the world in 1858 Ahmed’s dilemma: go without work or without documents Asylum seekers, refugees and displaced persons in Europe in 2016 Global population and the human development index The border: just a line ? Foreign populations Is the European Union facing a significant number of refugees? Men: the main target of the fight against “irregular” immigration Wyem’s journey (2016) Most Syrian migrants . . . don’t go to Europe! Concise glossary of commonly used terms MP made to order The territorial expansion of camps in the European Union The camps of the European Union Plan of an identification site in 2016 The European Union: a place of refuge? Changes in the numbers of asylum seekers inside the European Union Reception centres in Italy Migrant camps and vagrancy in the streets of Paris View of the Calais slum October 2015–March 2016: the authorities hem in children, women and men into an ever-smaller space Alternating modes of surveillance of migrants Return Houses: hiding in plain sight Almost ordinary accommodation for a less than ordinary aim! Recognition rates of refugee status in European countries Between being protected, tolerated and rejected Germany, land of deportation: the other side of a policy of reception The proliferation of places of confinement in the Balkans

3 5 7 9 11 13 17 19 19 21 22 25 27 30 31 33 35 35 37 39 41

41 43 45 45 48 49 51 52

2.14 The gradual implementation of European migration policies 2.15 The corridor: before, after, inside, outside 2.16 Increasingly fenced in as they approach Europe 2.17 Situations of apartheid around Nador and Melilla 3.1 EU–Africa cooperation: a layer cake of framework agreements to “manage” migration 3.2 Abdelkader, in the infernal desert crossing from Algeria to Mali 3.3 Rich (visa) vs poor (no visa): worlds apart 3.4 Applying for a visa in Casablanca without going through the consulate 3.5 Relocation and resettlement: when the EU states are all talk! 3.6 For many states, travel can amount to a criminal activity 3.7 Towards widespread biometricisation? 3.8 Dublin, capital of Bulgaria? 3.9 The growing budgets of migration control policies 3.10a Ignominy and the privatisation of Immigration Removal Centres (IRC) 3.10b Embedded in the kinks in the economy lie administrative holding centres 3.11 What the EU asks of Africa 3.12 Main routes taken by migrants in West and Central Africa 3.13 Mechanism for control and clandestinisation of the Niger crossing 3.14 A geological metaphor to illustrate politics: the Greco-Turkish rift, a century of history 3.15 Mustapha’s journey 4.1 Poorer states were excluded from the European project, against a backdrop of fear of migration 4.2 The borders of Europe (2016) 4.3 From Ventimiglia to the Roya Valley 4.4 Frontex operates far beyond the borders of the European Union 4.5 Homer and Frontex 4.6 When Triton doesn’t try hard enough to save migrants

53 54 57 59 63 65 67 69 71 73 75 77 81 83 83 84 85 87 89 91

94 95 97 99 101 102

Figures

4.7 4.8 4.9 4.10 4.11 4.12 4.13 4.14 4.15a 4.15b 4.16 4.17 4.18

The zoning of search and rescue operations in the Mediterranean Sea The tragedy of Tarajal Voluntary returns, deportations and refoulement from European countries The IOM plays a key role in deportations Words can be violent . . . in spite of international conventions Johnny, 12 hours in the rain The red mound of migration The sea-damned A grave for Samrawit Via Acquicella cemetery (Catania, Italy) The arc of refugees ATV: Asylum Transgression Visa ATV: a police tool for limiting the number of Syrian asylum applications on the border

103 105 109 111 113 115 116 117 119 119 121 122 123

4.19 Asylum visa: different points of view 5.1 How camps cope with revolt and protest 5.2 Detained in Cyprus, Morteza between resignation and resistance 5.3 NGO rescues at sea 5.4 Visual proof 5.5 Mathilde’s letter to Ahmed 5.6 Itineraries to get from Damascus (Syria) to Irbid (Jordan) keep getting longer 5.7 Calais: 20 years of (in)hospitality 5.8 Calais, March 2016: where children, women and men live 5.9 It is possible to find money for welcoming refugees 5.10 City Plaza Hotel : an emblematic example of solidarity in Athens 5.11 Free movements 5.12 Off-shoring and globalisation

159

123 128 129 131 133 135 137 141 143 145 147 149 151

AUTHORS

Samir Abi Visions Solidaires, Migreurop

Kamel Doraï geographer, IFPO (Institut français du Proche-Orient)

Michel Agier anthropologist, IRD (Institut de recherche pour le développement), EHESS (École des hautes études en sciences sociales)

Thibaud Duffey cartographer, mountain guide

Peio Aierbe Editor, Mugak-SOS Racismo, Migreurop Karen Akoka sociologist, Université Paris Ouest-Nanterre-La Défense, ISP (Institut des sciences sociales du politique)

Morgane Dujmovic cartographer, geographer, Telemme, Migreurop Ben Du Preez campaign coordinator, Detention action Brigitte Espuche coordinator, Migreurop Filippo Furri anthropologist, University of Montréal, Migreurop Maël Galisson activist, Gisti

Jill Alpes anthropologist, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, Utrecht University

Caterina Giacometti sociologist, Migrinter, NASP

Lydie Arbogast sociologist, Migreurop

Anne Gorouben artist, visual artist, painter

Sarah Bachellerie cartographer, geographer

Cyrille Hanappe architect, Actes & Cités, ENSA Paris Belleville, AIR Architectures

Francis Bacon photographer Lucie Bacon geographer, Migrinter, Telemme

Charles Heller research fellow, Forensic Oceanography, Goldsmiths University of London

Françoise Bahoken cartographer, geographer, IFSTTAR (Institut français des sciences et technologies des transports, de l’aménagement et des réseaux), Géographie-Cités

Emmanuelle Hellio sociologist, Urmis, LEST (Laboratoire d’économie et de sociologie du travail)

Danilo Balducci photographer Françoise Beauguion photographer, Agence Hans Lucas Emmanuel Blanchard historian, president of Migreurop Laure Blondel lawyer, Anafé (Association nationale d’Assistance aux Frontières pour les Étrangers) Carolina Boe anthropologist and sociologist, University of Aalborg Florence Boyer geographer, Urmis, IRD Martine Brouillette political scientist, Migrinter Omo Calvo photographer Céline Cantat researcher Refugees Studies, Central European University Alessandra Capodanno coordinator, Migreurop Violaine Carrère research analyst, Gisti, Migreurop Sara Casella Colombeau political scientist, University of Edinburgh, Migreurop Pascaline Chappart sociologist, Urmis, IRD, Gisti Claudia Charles lawyer, Gisti, Migreurop Sophie Clair cartographer, geographer Michala Clante Bendixen managing editor, Refugees Welcome Denmark

Thomas Honoré cartographer Federica Infantino political scientist, FNRS (Fonds de la recherche scientifique)/Université Libre de Bruxelles Caroline Intrand lawyer, Ciré, Migreurop Julien Jeandesboz political scientist, Université Libre de Bruxelles, REPI (Recherche et Enseignement en Politique internationale) Carolina Kobelinsky anthropologist, LESC (Laboratoire d’ethnologie et de sociologie comparative), CNRS David Lagarde cartographer, geographer, LISST (Laboratoire interdisciplinaire Solidarités, Sociétés, Territoires), IFPO, Migreurop Nicolas Lambert cartographer, Riate (Réseau interdisciplinaire pour l’Aménagement et la Cohésion des Territoires de l’Europe et de ses voisinages), CNRS Francesco Malavolta photographer Regina Mantanika anthropologist, CSPRP (Centre de sociologie des pratiques et des représentations politiques) Marie Martin Migreurop Jean Matringe lawyer, Université Paris 1-Panthéon-Sorbonne Bénédicte Michalon geographer, Passages, CNRS, Migreurop Alain Morice anthropologist, Urmis, CNRS, Migreurop

Olivier Clochard cartographer, geographer, Migrinter, CNRS (Centre national de la recherche scientifique), Migreurop

Omar Naji president of AMDH Nador (Association marocaine des Droits de l’Homme)

Benoît De Boeck lawyer, Ciré (Coordination et initiative pour réfugiés et étrangers), Migreurop

Alba Otero García journalist

160

Eva Ottavy manager, Solidarités internationales, La Cimade

Authors

Laure Palun lawyer, Anafé Radostina Pavlova lawyer, Center for Legal Aid

Olivier Sarrazin photographer, Agence Hans Lucas, Collectif VOST

Antoine Pécoud sociologist, Université Paris 13

Lola Schulmann Migreurop

Laurence Pillant cartographer, geographer, Telemme, Harokopio University

Ève Shahshahani Gisti

161

Olivier Pissoat cartographer, Passages, CNRS

Eva Spiekermann sociologist, Flüchtlingsrat Nordrhein-Westfalen, Migreurop

Luca Salvatore Pistone photographer

Nan Suel activist, Terre d’errance

Nausicaa Preiss volunteer, Migreurop

Louise Tassin sociologist, Urmis, Migreurop

Sara Prestianni photographer, Arci, Migreurop

Elsa Tyszler sociologist, Université Paris 8, Migreurop

Philippe Rekacewicz cartographer, geographer, Visionscarto

Philippe Wannesson Migreurop

Claire Rodier lawyer, Gisti, Migreurop

Anne-Sophie Wender project manager, Solidarités internationales, La Cimade

Mouna Saboni photographer Isabelle Saint-Saëns Gisti, Migreurop

Ronan Ysebaert cartographer, Riate, CNRS

“MOVING BEYOND BORDERS ”

Interactive, multimedia and accessible to people of all ages and backgrounds, the exhibition Moving Beyond Borders (MBB) seeks to combat preconceptions and stereotypes about migrants and at the same time to condemn the policies that isolate foreign persons deemed undesirable on European territory. The set design for this exhibition, created by Étrange Miroir (www.etrangemiroir.org/), examines migrants’ trajectories and highlights the mechanisms behind their perilous crossings of the Sahara, the Mediterranean Sea and/or the Eastern borders of the European Union. MBB is a tool for raising awareness amongst the “general public” and forms part of an activist and artistic approach. It aims to share the findings of ten years’ worth of observation of and research into the hurdles, injustices and rights violations

afflicting migrants. It also seeks to promote another view of the world where freedom of movement guaranteed to all, without discrimination, could be a driving force behind a shift towards social justice and a more equitable society. The itinerant exhibition MBB uses multimedia to offer an insight into the realities of migration. Maps chart individuals’ journeys and how border controls are moved and externalised. Photographs illustrate the consequences of managing migration as a security threat, as is the case in Europe and further afield. Soundscapes accompany and add emphasis to the visual materials. The exhibit is composed of five interactive modules, the first three address contemporary realities while the last two explore two contrasting potential scenarios for how European migration policies might evolve in future.

163

“The man with the bouquet.” Lucile Boiron, Jardin d’Éole, Paris, France, March 2016.