The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone: Hate Speech and its Social Consequences (Latin American Societies) 3030681602, 9783030681609

Table of contents :
Acknowledgments
Contents
List of Figures
List of Tables
Contributors
Part I: The Production of the Crisis
Chapter 1: The Migration Crisis and the Ecstasies of Hatred
1.1 Stitch-and-Anchoring Stitch
1.2 Crises and Hatred
1.3 Horizons, Compasses and Axes
1.4 The Book
References
Chapter 2: Transnational Heterogeneities: Migration Configurations in the American Southern Cone (1970–2020)
2.1 Introduction
2.2 The So-Called Age of Migration (1970–2000)
2.3 The “De-Globalizing Impulse” (2001–2015)
2.4 The Age of the So-Called Migration Crisis
2.5 Situating Heterogeneity
References
Chapter 3: On Feminisms and Mobilities: Critical Debates on Migration and Gender in Latin America (1970–2020)
3.1 Introduction
3.2 The Gender Shift in Migration Studies
3.3 Migrant Women in Transnationalism
3.3.1 The Role of Female Agency
3.3.2 Intersectionality in a Transnational Perspective
3.3.3 (Re)defining Families
3.4 Migration and the Political Economy of Care and Affection
3.5 Challenges of the Present Century
References
Part II: Hate Speech and Its Social Consequences
Chapter 4: Hate Speech as a Moral Narrative
References
Chapter 5: The Back and Forth Between National Security and Human Rights: Migration Policies in Argentina Under the Cambiemos Administration (2015–2019)
5.1 Introduction
5.2 The Sociopolitical Context: Ruptures and Continuities
5.3 Policies Old and New: Actors, Resources, Arguments
5.4 From Security to Human Rights and Back Again
5.5 Response of Civil Society Organizations
5.6 In Conclusion: Migration Policies in Argentina, New and Old
References
Chapter 6: The Strategic Production of Hate: Anti-migrant Discourse and Xenophobic Practices in Foz de Iguazú, Brazil
6.1 Introduction
6.2 The Case Study
6.3 Bolsonaro: The Media Production of Hatred of Migrants
6.4 The Context: The Tri-Border Area, Foz de Iguazú, and the UNILA Project
6.5 The Hate Campaign
6.6 The UNILA: Exception and Contradiction
6.6.1 A Space of Exception
6.6.2 A Space of Contradiction
6.7 Closing Remarks
Appendices
References
Chapter 7: When Data Undermine Discourse: Migration and Post-Globalization in Chile
7.1 Introduction
7.2 “Putting the House in Order”
7.3 Migration Outlook in Chile
7.4 Migrants in Chile: Nationalities, Gender, and Geographical Distribution by Regions
7.5 Visas Issued and Removal Processes
7.6 Conclusions
References
Chapter 8: Closing Remarks and Opening Insights – From Uruguay
8.1 Introduction
8.2 Situationality
8.3 Adjustments
8.4 Modulations
8.5 Withdrawal
References
Index

Citation preview

Latin American Societies Current Challenges in Social Sciences

Menara Guizardi  Editor

The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone Hate Speech and its Social Consequences

Latin American Societies Current Challenges in Social Sciences

Series Editors Adrian Albala Instituto de Ciências Políticas (IPOL) University of Brasília Brasilia, Brasília, Brazil Maria Jose Álvarez Rivadulla Edificio Franco, Oficina GB 620 Universidad de los Andes Bogota, Colombia Alejandro Natal Department of Social Processes Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana Lerma de Villada, Estado de México, Mexico

This series aims at presenting to the international community original contributions by scholars working on Latin America. Such contributions will address the challenges that Latin American societies currently face as well as the ways they deal with these challenges. The series will be methodologically agnostic, that is: it welcomes case studies, small-N comparative studies or studies covering the whole region, as well as studies using qualitative or quantitative data (or a mix of both), as long as they are empirically rigorous and based on high-quality research. Besides exploring Latin American challenges, the series attempts to provide concepts, findings and theories that may shed light on other regions. The series will focus on seven axes of challenges: 1) Classes and inequalities 2) Crime, security and violence 3) Environmental threats 4) Collective action 5) Cultural change and resistance 6) Migrations 7) Political inclusion and representation Both solicited and unsolicited proposals will be considered for publication in the series. More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/16592

Menara Guizardi Editor

The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone Hate Speech and its Social Consequences

Editor Menara Guizardi National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET) Buenos Aires, Argentina National University of San Martín Buenos Aires, Argentina University of Tarapacá Arica, Chile

ISSN 2730-5538     ISSN 2730-5546 (electronic) Latin American Societies ISBN 978-3-030-68160-9    ISBN 978-3-030-68161-6 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-68161-6 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Acknowledgments

This book’s production was a sustained transnational process thanks to the support of institutions and public research agencies from various countries of the American Southern Cone. Many of the chapters come from research carried out with State resources at a time of crisis in which said resources are very necessary and, simultaneously, very scarce. Having them is a privilege and a huge social responsibility. Therefore, I would like to mention and thank the public institutions that have allowed us to carry out our research, providing resources for the authors’ teamwork. In Chile, I thank the National Research and Development Agency (ANID, in its Spanish acronym) that financed our research through two projects. The first, is Project Fondecyt 1190056, “The Boundaries of Gender Violence: Migrant Women’s Experiences in South American Border Territories,” which I direct together with Herminia Gonzálvez, Carolina Stefoni, and Pablo Mardones. The second is Project Fondecyt 1201130, “Routes and trajectories of Venezuelan migrants throughout South America,” directed by Carolina Stefoni and in which Herminia Gonzálvez and I participated as co-directors. In Argentina, we are grateful to the National Agency for Scientific and Technological Promotion for the financing of two projects. On the one hand, the PICT 2017-1767, “Emerging middle classes in Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay,” directed by Alejandro Grimson and in which, together with Silvina Merenson, we participated as researchers. On the other hand, the project PICT 201-0102, “Migrations and transformations in medium and small agglomerations of Argentina from a comparative perspective,” directed by Gabriel Noel and in which Natalia Gavazzo, Lucila Nejamkis, and I participate. We are also grateful for the funding from the International Development Research Center of Canada and the National University of San Martín for project IDRC 108977-001, “Socio-environmental strategies to strengthen the resilience of female migrant workers in the Reconquista Area, Buenos Aires, Argentina,” directed by Natalia Gavazzo and Lucila Nejamkis. The debates addressed in Chap. 5 provide a general framework to answer some of the questions posed by this project about the adaptation capacities of migrant communities in the Metropolitan Area of Buenos Aires.

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Acknowledgments

Several of the chapters’ drafts were discussed at events organized by the Southern Cone headquarters of the María Sibylla Merian Center for Advanced Latin American Studies in Humanities and Social Sciences (CALAS), throughout 2019 in Germany and Argentina. The thematic axes proposed by CALAS on the Latin American crises and the role of hate speech in them were decisive for this book. At CALAS international seminars, our writings could be read and discussed by various colleagues who helped us improve ideas and arguments. For these opportunities, I am particularly grateful to Claudia Hammerschmidt and Luciana Anapios (current directors of CALAS-Cono Sur), Claudia Tomadoni (coordinator), and Catalina Kramer (former assistant director). Likewise, I am grateful to Alejandro Grimson, former director of CALAS-Cono Sur, for his encouragement to prepare this book and for his advice and critical views on several of the debates that we develop in this volume. In Brazil, our study had the support of the Federal University of Latin American Integration (UNILA, in its Portuguese acronym), from Rodrigo de Medeiros da Silva (Vice-Rector for International and Institutional Relations of said university) and Professor Silvia Lilian Ferro (of the Institute for Latin American Economy, Society, and Politics, UNILA). Thanks to UNILA’s authorities, professors, and students, Pablo Mardones, Carolina Stefoni, Herminia Gonzálvez, and I were able to carry out our qualitative studies with international migrants in Foz de Iguazú, the Brazilian city in the Paraná Tri-Border-Area (between Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay). We are especially grateful to these students who, with enormous generosity, gave us their testimonies about their experiences on the border. In addition to the institutions and networks, a team of professionals contributed to this book. I would like to thank especially Edison Pérez, who reviewed the grammar, style, and formal aspects of the Spanish version of the manuscript. His meticulousness saved us from misunderstandings and improved the entire volume. Esteban Nazal has assisted us in the edition of the images: it is thanks to his professionalism and well-established aesthetic sense that we have been able to make the most of the incredible images taken by Claudio Casparrino and Pablo Mardones. I would like to express my deepest gratitude for Claudio and Pablo’s generosity, for giving us amazing images, the result of decades of photo-documentary work in South America. I also thank Wendy Gosselin and Jane Brodie for their work on translating some chapters of the book and, especially, Christine Ann Hills, for the meticulous proofreading of the entire English manuscript, a task she tackled with incredible speed, patience, and professionalism. Finally, I would like to thank Bruno Fiuza, Springer’s Latin America Acquisition Editor, for his professionalism and cordiality. The same goes for the directors of the Springer series Latin American Societies: Current Challenges in Social Sciences, especially Dr. María José Álvarez Rivadulla, who provided careful support in this book’s editorial process. Likewise, I also thank the external reviewers of the manuscript: their comments and suggestions allowed us to improve this book in many ways. We have finished this volume in the midst of the COVIC-19 pandemic, at a time when the continuity of our vital and professional processes was disrupted in ways

Acknowledgments

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that no one could have imagined. It is hard to express in words my gratitude to the book’s authors for their commitment to carry this project forward in such a challenging context. But I comfort myself by imagining that I will express it with a hug when all this is over, and we can finally meet in person again.

Contents

Part I The Production of the Crisis 1 The Migration Crisis and the Ecstasies of Hatred��������������������������������    3 Menara Guizardi 2 Transnational Heterogeneities: Migration Configurations in the American Southern Cone (1970–2020)����������������������������������������   21 Menara Guizardi, Carolina Stefoni, Herminia Gonzálvez, and Pablo Mardones 3 On Feminisms and Mobilities: Critical Debates on Migration and Gender in Latin America (1970–2020) ������������������������������������������   53 Menara Guizardi, Herminia Gonzálvez, and Carolina Stefoni Part II Hate Speech and Its Social Consequences 4 Hate Speech as a Moral Narrative���������������������������������������������������������   87 Gabriel D. Noel 5 The Back and Forth Between National Security and Human Rights: Migration Policies in Argentina Under the Cambiemos Administration (2015–2019)����������������������������������������   97 Brenda Canelo, Natalia Gavazzo, and Lucila Nejamkis 6 The Strategic Production of Hate: Anti-­migrant Discourse and Xenophobic Practices in Foz de Iguazú, Brazil ����������������������������  127 Menara Guizardi and Pablo Mardones

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Contents

7 When Data Undermine Discourse: Migration and Post-Globalization in Chile��������������������������������������������������������������  159 Menara Guizardi and Pablo Mardones 8 Closing Remarks and Opening Insights – From Uruguay������������������  185 Silvina Merenson Index������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  205

List of Figures

Fig. 1.1 A daughter of migrants on the march against the installation of a Detention Center for Foreigners holds a sign stating: “I am Argentine, and I do not want a jail for my parents”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)������������������������������������������������������������ 8 Fig. 1.2 A son of Bolivian migrants playing the tarka (Andean instrument used by Aymara groups) at the “Bolivian carnival” in the working-class neighborhood of Lugano. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2014). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)���������������������������������������������������������� 11 Fig. 1.3 A fisherman observes the horizon before preparing his boat for fishing on Copacabana beach. Rio de Janeiro Brazil. (2017). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)���������� 14 Fig. 1.4 Boys and girls of Haitian origin (some of them born in Chile), play in a square in the district of Quilicura. The presence of African-descendant migrants in these public spaces has provoked outright re jection from the Chilean population. Santiago, Chile. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)����������������������������������� 15 Fig. 2.1 Aymara and Quechua migrant musicians at the Sikuris Mathapi-Apthapi-Tinku Encounter (traditional festival of these ethnicities). Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2013). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)���������������������������� 23 Fig. 2.2 Remains of the Berlin Wall almost twenty years after its fall. Berlin, Germany (2018). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)������ 25 Fig. 2.3 Peruvian Aymara migrant farmer working for wages in the Azapa Valley. Arica, Chile. (2019). (Photographer: Claudio Casparrino)����������������������������������������������������� 27 Fig. 2.4 Women of the Movimento Sem Terra [Movement of Landless People] in a settlement founded xi

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Fig. 2.5

Fig. 2.6 Fig. 2.7 Fig. 2.8

List of Figures

on an old farm in the district of Pontal do Paranapanema. Sao Paulo, Brazil. (1997). (Photographer: Claudio Casparrino)���������� 28 A Bolivian Aymara migrant woman carries vegetables for street selling in her aguayo, a handmade llama wool woven bag used to transport children and goods. Arica, Chile. (2019). (Photographer: Claudio Casparrino)������������������� 29 The 9/II Memorial & Museum. New York, USA (2015). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)���������������������������������������������������������� 33 The border between Tijuana (Mexico) and San Diego (USA) (2015). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)��������� 36 Smallholder tobacco farmer in the border area between Argentina and Brazil, district of El Soberbio. Misiones, Argentina. (2010). (Photographer: Claudio Casparrino)���������������������� 37

Fig. 3.1 At the International Women’s Day March, protesters show four posters that state, from left to right: “Happy will be the day when no woman is missing”; “We are not all here; those murdered are missing”; “We want to live, not survive”; “Handkerchief in hand to remember every missing woman”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2020). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)�������������������������� 54 Fig. 3.2 Women leaders of the Network of Migrants of Argentina march in the protest against gender violence called by the movement “Ni una menos” [“Not one woman less”]. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2017). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)��������������������������������������������������������� 55 Fig. 3.3 Young women from the “Las Rojas” [The Female Reds] movement at the International Women’s Day March protest in favor of legal and free abortion, carrying posters that say: “Girls, not mothers”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2020). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)�������������������������� 57 Fig. 3.4 Women from the Socialist Workers Movement (MST in its Spanish acronym) protested against gender violence on International Women’s Day. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2020). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)�������������������������� 58 Fig. 3.5 Women from the Patria Grande [Great Homeland] movement at the International Women’s Day March, carrying a poster saying: “Popular Feminism against Neoliberalism”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)��������������������������������������������������������� 64 Fig. 3.6 Members of the working-class assembly “La Poderosa” [The Powerful Female] (with “Popular Feminism” printed on their T-shirts) protesting on International Women’s Day for equality in the social distribution

List of Figures

Fig. 3.7 Fig. 3.8

Fig. 3.9

Fig. 3.10 Fig. 3.11

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of care work. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)��������������������������������������������������������� 66 Bolivian migrant women protest for equal rights on International Women’s Day. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2020). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)�������������������������� 67 At the International Women’s Day March, a protester uses their body to convey a message in defense of the transvestite and transsexual feminist perspective. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)��������������������������������������������������������� 72 At the International Women’s Day March, members of the “Las Putas” [The Whores] movement protest with a poster demanding “Respect and Right for Sex Workers”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)��������������������������������������������������������� 73 Indigenous and migrant women protest against gender violence in the International Women’s Day March. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)�������������������������� 74 Young Argentine and migrant women protest against gender violence at the International Women’s Day March. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)���������������� 75

Fig. 4.1 Women protesting against Mauricio Macri’s government’s neoliberal reforms (2015–2019) and the G20 meeting. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2018). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)��������������������������������������������������������� 89 Fig. 4.2 In the march for the legalization of abortion, a young woman holds a poster saying: “If God is patriarchal, homophobic and anti-abortion, maybe the Devil is not so bad”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2020). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)��������������������������������������������������������� 92 Fig. 4.3 In a protest against the visit of the Brazilian president, Jair Bolsonaro (a representative a Southern Cone militarist rhetoric), a man holds a poster stating: “Bolsonaro, get out of Argentina”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)�������������������������� 93 Fig. 5.1 Migrants waiting at the doors of the National Migration Department of Argentina to process their residence documents. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2009). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)�������������������������������������������������������� 102 Fig. 5.2 Migrants march against the installation of a Detention Center for Foreigners. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)�������������������������������������������������������� 112 Fig. 5.3 A migrant woman on the march against the installation of a Detention Center for Foreigners holds a sign stating:

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List of Figures

“migration is a right”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)�������������������������������������������������������� 113 Fig. 5.4 Meeting of the Migrant Leaders’ Network of Argentina [Red de Líderes Migrantes] at the Angelieli Community Center in Florencio Varela district. Greater Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)�������������������������� 113 Fig. 6.1 Protesters in the March against homophobia. Sao Paulo, Brazil. (2013). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)�������������������������������������������������������� 133 Fig. 6.2 Tourist bridge in the Iguazú Falls National Park. Puerto Iguazú, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)�������������������������� 135 Fig. 6.3 The Friendship Bridge between Ciudad del Este, Paraguay, and Foz de Iguazú, Brazil. 2019. (2019). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)�������������������������������������������������������� 135 Fig. 6.4 Protective bars on the pedestrian sidewalk of the Friendship Bridge between Ciudad del Este. Paraguay, and Foz de Iguazú, Brazil. (2019). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)�������������������������������������������������������� 136 Fig. 6.5 Itaipú hydroelectric dam. Foz de Iguazú, Brazil. (2019). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)�������������������������������������������������������� 137 Fig. 6.6 Focus group. Foz de Iguazú, Brazil. (2019). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)�������������������������������������������������������� 146 Fig. 7.1 Percentage of Migrant Stock in Comparison to Chile’s Total Population (Chilean censuses, 1865–2017). (Source: Drafted by Isidora Palma, using data from the Chilean censuses (1865–2017) and the Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE-Chile))����������������� 164 Fig. 7.2 Percentage of Migrant Stock in Chile (1865–2017) and Worldwide (1970–2017). (Source: Drafted by Isidora Palma and Menara Guizardi, using data from the Chilean censuses (1865–2017), the Chilean National Statistics Institute, INE), and the International Organization for Migration (IOM))������������������ 165 Fig. 7.3 The ten countries with the highest migrant stocks in comparison to Argentina and Chile. (Source: Drafted by Isidora Palma with data from the International Organization for Migration (IOM 2018), the Argentine National Institute of Statistics and Censuses (INDEC 2010), and the Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE-Chile 2017))�������� 166 Fig. 7.4 Immigrants in Chile vs. Chilean Emigrants (1982–2017) (as a percentage of the total Chilean population). (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma with data from the Chilean censuses (1982–2017), National Statistics Institute of Chile and records of the Bureau of Chilean Communities Abroad (DICOEX), part of the Chilean Foreign Relations Ministry (2005 and 2016))������������������������������������ 167

List of Figures

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Fig. 7.5 Main Receiving Countries for Chilean Migrants Worldwide (2005 and 2016): Absolute Values. (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma with data from records of the Bureau of Chilean Communities Abroad (DICOEX), part of the Chilean Foreign Relations Ministry (2005 and 2016))������������������������������������ 168 Fig. 7.6 The Six Most Numerous National Groups as a Percentage of Total Migrant Stock in Chile. (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma, using data from the Chilean censuses (1854–2017) and the Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE 2017). Censuses 1854–2017))������������������������������������������������������������������������ 169 Fig. 7.7 Migrant Groups by Nationality as a Function of Chile’s Total Migrant Stock According to the 2017 Census. (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma and Menara Guizardi, using data from the Chilean census 2017, Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE))���������������������������������������� 171 Fig. 7.8 Percentage of Migrant Stock in Chile by Region, according to the 2017 Census. (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma and Menara Guizardi, using data from the Chilean census 2017, Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE))�������������������������������������������������������������������� 172 Fig. 7.9 Temporary Residency Visas issued by the Chilean Government for the Six Most Numerous Migrant Groups in the Country by Nationality (2005–2018). (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma, using data from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Migration (DEM), part of the Ministry of the Interior of Chile)��������������������������������������� 175 Fig. 7.10 Permanent Residency Visas Issued by the Chilean Government by Nationality (2017). (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma, using data from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Migration (DEM), part of the Ministry of the Interior of Chile)���������������������������������������������� 176 Fig. 7.11 Annual Removals of Three Migrant Groups in Chile by Nationality (2013–2018). (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma, with data from the Chilean Investigative Police (PDI))������������������������������������������������������������������ 177 Fig. 7.12 Total Annual Removals of Foreigners from Chile (2013–2018). (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma, with data from the Ministry of the Interior and Public Security of Chile and the Chilean Investigative Police (PDI))���������������������������������������� 177 Fig. 8.1 A carnival Murga presents on the stage of the Sayago neighborhood. Montevideo, Uruguay. (2012). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)���������������������������� 186

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List of Figures

Fig. 8.2 A carnival Murga presents at the Summer Theater. Montevideo, Uruguay. (2017). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)���������������������������� 187 Fig. 8.3 Carnival Presentation of the Murga “Curtidores de Hongos” (Mushroom Tanners), at the Summer Theater. Montevideo, Uruguay. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)���������������������������� 188 Fig. 8.4 Ramírez Beach, located on the shores of the Río de la Plata. Montevideo, Uruguay. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)������ 200 Fig. 8.5 Presentation of the Murga “La Gran Muñeca” (The Great Doll). Municipal Velodrome of Montevideo. Montevideo, Uruguay. (2014). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)������ 201

List of Tables

Table 6.1 Brief description of the interviewees quoted. Foz de Iguazú (Brazil) July 2019����������������������������������������������������� 153 Table 6.2 Participants in the focus group held at the Universidad Federal de la Integración Latinoamericana (UNILA). Foz de Iguazú (Brazil). July 2019���������������������������������������������������� 154

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Contributors

Brenda  Canelo  Adjunct Researcher at the Nati onal Council for Technological and Scientific Research of Argentina and member of the teaching staff of the Anthropological and Communication Sciences BAs at the University of Buenos Aires (Argentina) Claudio Casparrino  Photo-documentalist and Economist. Member of the National Institute of Industrial Technology (INTI, Argentina) and teacher of the Common Basic Cycle at the University of Buenos Aires (Argentina) Natalia  Gavazzo  Adjunct Researcher at the National Council for Scientific and Technological Research and member of the teaching staff at the Institute of High Social Studies of the National University of San Martín (Argentina) Herminia Gonzálvez  Academic and Researcher at the Research and Postgraduate Institute, Faculty of Law and Humanities of the Central University of Chile (Chile) Menara Guizardi  Adjunct Researcher at the National Council for Scientific and Technological Research at the Institute of High Social Studies of the National University of San Martín (Argentina) and Associate Researcher at the University of Tarapacá (Chile) Pablo Mardones  Postdoctoral Researcher at the Institute of International Studies of the Arturo Prat University (Chile) and Director of the ethnographic documentary production company Alpaca Producciones (Chile) Silvina Merenson  Adjunct Researcher at the National Council for Scientific and Technological Research and member of the teaching staff at the Institute of High Social Studies of the National University of San Martín (Argentina)

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Contributors

Lucila Nejamkis  Assistant Researcher of the National Council for Scientific and Technological Research and member of the teaching staff at the National University Arturo Jauretche and the National University of San Martín (Argentina) Gabriel  D.  Noel  Adjunct Researcher at the National Council for Technological and Scientific Research of Argentina and Professor at the Institute of High Social Studies of the National University of San Martín (Argentina) Carolina  Stefoni  Academic and Researcher at the University Mayor of Chile (Chile) and Associate Researcher at the Center for the Study of Conflict and Social Cohesion (Chile)

Part I

The Production of the Crisis

Chapter 1

The Migration Crisis and the Ecstasies of Hatred Menara Guizardi

1.1  Stitch-and-Anchoring Stitch Antón Chekhov (1860–1904) was a Russian writer and doctor obsessed with narrating those interaction details that subjects chose not to express directly and that therefore end up omitted from the gestures or statements they direct at their communication counterparts. He envisioned two sides of human interaction; direct and indirect actions. According to his interpretive framework, it is impossible to comprehend what subjects state or do without simultaneously understanding their silences and omissions. Thus, each explicit action would be delicately interwoven with an endless number of indirect actions. Correlating these ideas with my grandmother’s embroidery terms used so vehemently when trying (unsuccessfully) to teach me this art fascinates me: “For each stitch, an anchoring stitch”, said granny María. Although I was never able to develop her skill in these tasks, her words stayed with me. My grandmother alluded to the fact that each piece of thread that we embroidered onto the front side of the fabric had to be supported by a firmer and less polished stitch, hidden on the back. While the visible front displayed its delicate and placid little flowers in an orderly fashion, the invisible one – the reverse – could be a tangled mess of threads and knots. To my grandmother’s despair and frustration, this second side seemed much more interesting to me than the neat surface (which led her to give up on me as an embroidery student). Little did she imagine that, years later, the search to make visible the tangled backside would serve as the navigational rudder of this book on migration and M. Guizardi (*) National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET), Buenos Aires, Argentina National University of San Martín, Buenos Aires, Argentina University of Tarapacá, Arica, Chile © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Guizardi (ed.), The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone, Latin American Societies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-68161-6_1

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the political production of the migratory crisis in the American Southern Cone. In order to explain this particularity, let us go back to our Russian author. Although probably oblivious to the maxims of the needle and thread, Chekhov developed his entire narrative, using the same logic that guided my grandmother; that is, seeking to elucidate the invisible reverse side anchoring stitches, entangled and given to disorder, that sustain each visible mark of social life. By doing so, he ended up creating a new dramatic technique that he entitled “the method of indirect action”, which, as Chekhov proposed, was best expressed in short stories, designed to introduce readers to the microclimate of social relationships. This stitches-and-­ anchoring stitches exercise predisposed him to a very particular sensitivity: an ability to unravel the correlation between those feelings that we want to present on the surface of our social interactions – as their most representative face – and the entanglement of meanings and intentions that we prefer to hide behind the scenes. It also predisposed him to understand both as part of the same plot of senses and experiences. From this sensitivity Chekhov’s literature generates an interpretive framework for the social relationship between belonging and rejection that is still incredibly valid. Through a delicate portrayal of Russian life at the end of the nineteenth century, Chekhov observed that, contrary to what the moralism in vogue at that time generally assumed, shared hatred constituted a community catalyst that was politically more powerful than love, friendship, or respect. Curious as it may seem, his technique “of indirect action” led him towards a theory of the relationship between hatred, morality, and ordinary life (or community bounds). Many of his short stories show, precisely, the place hatred has in the most everyday social life relationships. His characters are, frequently, traversed by this feeling and turn it into action: they either hate or provoke (and so are recipients of) the hatred of others. Thus, as a constant theme of the dialogues (re)constructed by Chekhov, hatred became another of his narrative obsessions. From one of his characters’ mouths we hear two questions that inspired this book’s research perspective. I would like to redirect them to the readers: “Has any of you, fellows, been hated passionately, furiously hated? Has any of you watched the ecstasies of hatred? Eh?” (Chekhov 2015 [1887], n.p.). In the story, these questions are asked by Petya, a military man that Chekhov describes as a “plump” General Staff Officer. They are addressed to his hunting companions one evening at a get-together. The story is called “Zinotchka”, the name of Petya’s governess who was charged with giving him a basic education in his childhood, and who also became (dialectically, I would say) his brother Sacha’s first love, and the first person to hate Petya with a passion. In this short story, Petya describes himself as a naive child who had no notion of love or hate. At the same time, he describes Zinotchka as a pretty girl, a pleasant and poetic creature, full of enthusiasm for knowledge, given she had just finished her studies and was confident about the possibilities teaching could offer. Since Petya was more concerned with the yard – or rather, with going out to play in it, wandering the fields and forests and chasing animals, his governess’s job was not an easy one. As she struggled with Petya’s distraction, his older brother caught Zinotchka’s eye; he was suffering

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toothache and therefore had withdrawn to his parent’s home for some time. Petya became aware of the blossoming romance between them, of the swapped notes, of the blush on his governess’s cheeks. One day he surprised them in a furtive encounter and, spying on them secretly, witnessed their first kiss. Petya began to hound his governess, threatening to tell his mother about the affair. So, he resorted to blackmail to get out of his student responsibilities. While these intrigues carried on, Zinotchka’s health began to suffer. She started to sleep badly, to wake up with increasingly darker circles under her eyes, to lose her appetite. She was constantly worried. This anguish turned into a persistent hatred for Petya, which grew inversely proportional to the love she felt for his brother, Sacha. Petya ended up telling his mother everything, who discreetly fired Zinotchka a few months later to avoid a scandal. Shortly after, Zinotachka and Sacha got married, but she would never forgive her little student Petya’s behavior. This conflict between love and hate planted the seed of an everlasting memory for both Petya and Zinotchka. Chekhov thus establishes a direct relationship between two contradictions: memory and oblivion, and love and hate. What is curious about the story is that, in the end, the military man reflects on how, as Zinotchka’s love for Sacha grew stronger and stronger (they got married and lived together), her hatred towards Petya intensified. Neither of them could ever escape this hateful connection. The conclusion seems simple and, at the same time, sociologically powerful: even if we pretend otherwise, hate builds such a strong bond, with as much lasting capacity, as love. Thus, in its most explicit vision – visible face of the embroidery, hatred signifies or represents a desire for rejection, separation, and rupture between those who share it. However, the scribblings that this feeling produces on the back of the fabric completely contradict these claims: hatred establishes a lasting and stable bond between those who practice it and those considered to be its recipients. Throughout the first two decades of the twenty-first century, these questions from Chekhov’s Petya and the reflections they allow us to weave have gained renewed validity: we can draw an analogy between the moral of this short story and the construction of current political imaginary and narratives. Hatred has re-emerged in the right, and the extreme right’s political discourses around the world with an unusual legitimacy and has been used as one of the main resources for the construction of borders and for the invention of communities (whether national or not). It has been used, in the last two decades, as a mechanism for accommodating the transformations “within-boundaries” (internal to groups or social collectives) and “cross-­ boundaries” (between these groups) (Tilly 2004, p. 213). Throughout the world, and with suspicious generality, hatred has been aimed at international migrant communities, establishing, precisely, the new configurations of these “boundaries”.1 Contradictorily, we live in a world where migrants are necessary, fundamental 1  This is of great relevance, since “social boundaries interrupt, divide, circumscribe, or segregate distributions of population or activity within social fields. Such fields certainly include spatial distributions of population or activity, but they also include temporal distributions and webs of interpersonal connections” (Tilly 2004, p.214).

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pieces2 in our societies, and yet they are rejected by the populations who identify as part of the community that is being invaded. In general, creating a sense of community belonging – or, to put it in anthropological terms, the process of identifying a group as an imagined community – involves conflicting interactions of explicit and implicit negotiation of the claims and interests of social actors. Endorsed by asymmetries of power, these tensions are a dynamic part of the configuration of the border between those who are inside and outside the collectives, establishing at one end of the dividing line: […] the “good citizens”, the “people like oneself”, the members of the establishment, who, by managing to monopolize with relative success the place of “moral entrepreneurs” (Becker 2008) and in their double character of judge and party, are usually admitted without major difficulties as full members of the community with which they identify. Correlatively, and at the other extreme, we find the actors whose claims of full membership of the collective are routinely challenged by the implacable tribunal of the “good society” since they lack certain attributes that are supposed to be inherent to the identity to which they aspire, or by virtue of possessing other negatively valued attributes, incompatible with those. (Noel 2011, pp. 100-101. Our translation).

The curious thing about the "boundaries and borders that are being built between “good citizens” from various national contexts and “migrants” (represented as negative, uninvited, unwanted identities) is that they seem to respond to two interconnected aspects of which migrants are not, in fact, responsible for: (1) the global worsening of living conditions due to the agonistic crises of the neoliberal capitalist model (an aspect that I will address later) (Castañeda and Shemesh 2020); and (2) the persistence of racial/ethnocentric ideologies juxtaposed to the notion of national identity. To a large extent, the perception of displacement, of the loss of some form of right, privilege, or benefit, incites collective feelings of insecurity, fear, and deprivation in populations exposed to the twenty-first century’s neoliberalism. These feelings respond to diffuse processes that are difficult to explain given, among other things, the pulverized, delocalized nature of the economic and political powers (or forces) that cause this situation on a planetary scale. In the midst of this uncertainty, being able to channel frustrations, fears, and rages and attribute them to a subject – or group of subjects – that can be easily identified (that is, a defined target) constitutes an escape valve: a cathartic mechanism for regulating tensions that, without this specific expression of hatred, could cause major social disruptions. Migrants have been fulfilling, precisely, this cathartic function in global imaginaries: when everything else seems to fall apart, the hatred directed at these subjects – at their position as “the imagined others” – recomposes a sense of community that can no longer be found elsewhere. Thus, the need for migrants is forgotten, and their foreignness is vehemently remembered. Countries that have emitted massive migratory populations in recent historical periods erase these events from their memory and set out – with war technologies as expensive as 2  For example, as stabilizing elements of the labor markets of the core countries of capitalism, where low birth rates cause severe demographic limitations in the reproduction of the economically active population (in particular, in the reproduction of low-skilled labor).

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they are inefficient for this purpose – to close their “doors” to migration. This type of contradiction between forgetting and remembering structures, legitimizes, and allows those defined by their foreign origin to be hated with such conviction. Stitch and Anchoring Stitch. Although the hatred directed to those imagined as “from another national community” has been an important constituent factor in the history of the world system since the invention of Nation-states (from the French Revolution of 1789 onwards), our current experiences of migratory hatred have sui generis contours and respond to a particular historical context. This topic will be discussed in detail in Chap. 2, but some aspects of this debate should be advanced. In the core countries of capitalism, the use of hatred as a moral resource that prevents migrants’ access to community membership rights has been repeated at various moments of the twentieth century. However, this use became gradually more visible after the attacks on the Twin Towers in New  York (September 11, 2001), and it radicalized after the economic crisis that impacted the Global North from 2008 onwards. Its Latin American expression appeared from 2015 onwards. As we will see in the chapters of the second part of this work, these new uses of hate acquired contextually rooted versions in the Southern Cone. They are part of the dispute between the circulatory ideals that have characterized the governance of globalization since the nineties, and the consolidation of a renationalizing and sovereign mentality that marked a new phase in the governance of international migration. If the eighties and the nineties were called “the era of migration” (Castles and Miller 1993), we are now living in “the era of the migratory crisis” (Guizardi 2019). The transition between these “eras” is part of a North-centric narrative (produced in the countries of the Global North and supported by their own political mythologies). Also, it is accompanied by a change in the production of globally shared imaginaries about migration: we went from a discourse that celebrated (very contradictorily, as will be explained in Chap. 2) cross-border and transnational mobility to one that speaks of it, openly, as an evil to be persecuted and eradicated. Although this transition has been underway for almost two decades, its imprint has really set in over the last four years, consolidating a conservative, xenophobic and racist turn in international migration governance. However, this shift is not a tacit political innovation. Rather, it presents ruptures and continuities with previous processes, being dialectically connected with the political formulations on migration and cultural diversity developed in the twentieth century. For want of a better name, different authors have referred to this set of transformations as “post-globalization” (Guizardi 2019; Sanahuja 2017). Post-globalization’s most general characteristics acquire specific configurations in the different regions of the world (varying in each country’s internal context). This production of discourses and political imaginaries blames migration for the disastrous characteristics of the economic model (for example, unemployment, rising prices, inflation, the destruction of public health and social protection services) and associates it to crime (Bauman 2016) (Fig. 1.1). In the American Southern Cone, Mauricio Macri (who presided over Argentina between 2015 and 2019), Jair Bolsonaro (president of Brazil since 2019), and

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Fig. 1.1  A daughter of migrants on the march against the installation of a Detention Center for Foreigners holds a sign stating: “I am Argentine, and I do not want a jail for my parents”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

Sebastián Piñera (president of Chile since 2018) adhered to this criminalization of migration, aligning themselves with Donald Trump’s (who has presided over the United States between 2017 and 2020) speech. Nevertheless, the three South American leaders did so (each in their own way) by picking up elements of the “National Security Doctrine” that characterized the policies of internal and border control in South America during the military dictatorships that ruled between the sixties and the nineties (Grimson and Renoldi 2019, p. 80). All three countries coincided by strongly attacking existing migration legal frameworks that had a focus on human rights, on the one hand, and in the implementation of increasingly restrictive measures for migratory regularization, on the other (Canelo et al. 2018). This volume addresses precisely this phenomenon. Alluding to Chekhov’s hunter’s questions, the chapters that follow seek to “watch the ecstasies of hatred” that make up the migratory crisis in the American Southern Cone. In order to convey our crusade in the pages that follow, it is necessary to specify the link between the two central categories of this chapter’s title: “crises” and “hatred”.

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1.2  Crises and Hatred In his latest text, Bauman (2016) draws attention to the formation at the beginning of the twenty-first century of a specific form of intersubjectivity and perception of differences (of class, ethnicity, gender, nationality, and generation). He states that it constitutes a hegemonic model on a planetary scale, despite the fact that it is produced according to the political (cultural and semiotic) keys operated from the Global North. He points out, thus, the generalization of the public perception that we are advancing globally towards a process of “collapse and demise of the way of life that we know, practice and cherish” (Bauman 2016, p. 9). Even recognizing the constitutive heterogeneity of the various ways of life – and the contextual character of their experience in different parts of the planet, Bauman asserts the global character of the feelings of rupture and disarticulation of those “shared frames” that endow subjects with the capacity to read social processes. His argument indicates, then, that the politically strategic use of fear has become a hegemonic mechanism that impacts localized forms of life, enhancing what Grimson (2015) calls the emergence of new “homogeneity producing strategies” (p. 142. Our translation). However, Bauman also warns that this transformation must be read through specific economic and political keys. On the one hand, it should be associated with a turn in shaping the global neoliberal economy, with the emergence of a new model for managing cumulative cyclical breaks. On the other, with the growing inability of democratic regimes to reconcile the structural principles of the Rule of Law with the intensification of this economic model (Appadurai 2017). On this point, his reflections coincide with those of Harvey (2008): the neoliberalism of the twenty-first century has become an accelerated logic of “creative destruction” (p. 15. Our translation), based on the prolonged and concatenated support of different crisis processes. The ultimate goal was to feed the continuity of accumulation (limited to specific and increasingly reduced social sectors) through a process of generalization and massification of dispossession. Following these debates, twenty-first-century capitalism could be characterized as “the age of sequential crises”. Bauman and Harvey write in dialogue with Marx’s argument (1996, p.  134) about the structuring character of crises in the capitalist mode of production.3 But both emphasize that globalization has implied a semantic and semiotic transformation of these crises. The neoliberal hegemony transformed them from being recurring isolated incidents (coinciding with the end of each accumulation cycle) to being constitutive elements of the continuous economic process. In short: the 3  In the Marxist argument, crises are part of the contradictory ontology of capitalist accumulation, which is infinitely oriented towards expansion, but constantly colliding with certain limits (since both the resources and the planet from which these resources come are finite). According to Marx (1996, pp. 134-140), crises foster a necessary deceleration of the cumulative process. Therefore, they facilitate the destruction of the mode of production’s historical-contextual forms of operation, opening a path for its creative reconstruction. The argument characterizes the crisis as part of a theologically predictive reproduction and, at the same time, as a key component of the mode of production’s contradictions.

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maintenance, reproduction, and concatenation of crises became both the semantic core and the way through which neoliberal capitalism of the twenty-first century operates. As we will discuss in Chap. 2, various analysts endorse these arguments from other perspectives, affirming that these changes compose a symbolic-cultural framework articulated by the lack (or active destruction) of alternative models and by the consolidation of capitalist realism that disavows the humanist values and counter-­ hegemonic worldviews (Fisher 2009). The closing of borders, the recent military interventions by the great powers of the North, the persecution of refugees and migrants with high-tech weapons of war, the criminalization of workers (and their organized movements), the increase in femicides (and the ongoing impunity regarding them) are expressions of this realism in concrete modes of political action. The conformation of (post)globalized political imaginaries seems to give rise to two specific outcomes. First, a general feeling of discredit in the political institutions of the most varied spectra – political parties, unions, States (and their agencies), as well as supra-State organizations. According to Segato (2007, p. 16), this process leads to an “emptying of politics and its reduction to the terms of a redistributive fight” based on the polarization of identities and ethnic phobias (our translation).4 Second, the devastating collective impression that we have no alternatives to this progressive dehumanization fuels cynicism, which is presented as the only viable option for survival in the face of this agonizing picture. This last aspect consolidates the sedimentation of an imagination and political discourse rooted in what political scientists have called “post-truth”.5 Extrapolating these arguments, it is possible to argue that this victory of cynicism over convictions is linked to the radicalization of neoliberal mechanisms of domination, with the capitalist realism of Fisher (2009). That is to say: to the extent that capitalism acts in a growingly realistic way, the constitution of political opinions on the globe is increasingly sedimented in post-truth, endorsing the political victory of those who manage to make the masses and pressure groups believe in clearly distorted versions of social processes. Versions that, nonetheless, fulfill expectations and respond with calming illusions to the anxieties of broad segments

4  Zizek (2008, p. 31) calls this form of neoliberal hegemony “post-political”: “today, however, we are witnessing a new form of negation of the political: the post-political postmodern, which not only ‘represses’ the political, trying to contain it and pacify the ‘reemergence of the repressed’, but rather more effectively ‘excludes’ it, so that postmodern forms of ethnic violence, with their excessive ‘irrational’ character, are not just simple ‘returns of the repressed’, but suppose an exclusion (of the Symbolic) that, as we know from Lacan, ends up returning to the Real” (Our translation). 5  It was Ralph Keyes (2004) who constituted a meaning that links this term to a style of discourse production and political ideology. According to this author, the concept of post-truth refers to the extreme naturalization of dishonesty in contemporary life (Keyes 2004, p. 5), fostered by the constitution of a global public sphere in which credibility becomes more important than the truth (Daniel Boorstin in Keyes 2004, p. 3). Keyes attributes the triumph of dishonesty to ethical decline: to the loss of collectively constituted senses about right and wrong; as well as active destruction of political convictions (since the fall of the Berlin wall) that progressively lost space for socially validated cynicism (Keyes 2004, p. 10).

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Fig. 1.2  A son of Bolivian migrants playing the tarka (Andean instrument used by Aymara groups) at the “Bolivian carnival” in the working-class neighborhood of Lugano. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2014). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

of the population (Bauman 2016, p. 9). Hate speech is framed precisely in this type of enunciation that, as Chekhov said more than a century ago, has the power to congregate and unite that is even stronger than those sentiments considered noble, such as love and respect. For this reason, hatred has immediate political uses, although with dire impacts of medium- and long-term duration. Contemplating the systemic nature of the crisis scenario contributes to understanding various ongoing processes in the American Southern Cone, where we observe a contradiction between political-social imaginaries, consumer expectations, and the new aesthetics of the popular sectors (Fig. 1.2). These elements are stressed by the availability of representation and effective political dialogue amongst different social sectors; and between them and governments, parties, unions, or political associations. The dynamics and conformations of these crises in the different countries – and in the different regions in each country – require the contextual configuration of these processes to be looked at much more carefully. Even responding dialectically to global logics, crises “could only occur in a context” that operates, at the same time, as their framework and configuration” (Grimson 2016, p. 140. Our translation). For this reason, understanding how this globalized crisis scenario thrives in – impacts on or alters – specific contexts in the American Southern Cone, and their specific relationship with the migratory phenomenon presents challenges for social research. The social sciences have been making progress

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in recent years, recognizing the constitutive social, economic, political, and cultural heterogeneities of the region. They have also recognized that different countries occupy “relatively equivalent positions in the unequal process of globalization” (Grimson 2016, p. 141. Our translation).6 From our perspective, crises can be defined, precisely, as those processes that cause some destabilization (and the degrees of instability can vary) of the existing articulation between homogeneity and heterogeneity in a given context (Grimson 2015, p. 141). Although their effects are multiscale and multifaceted – for example, they may involve political, economic, symbolic, or religious aspects – crises have the effect of disrupting (or at least destabilizing) the identifications and alterizations that frame social relations and practices in a given context. For this reason, we can speak of them as “cultural” phenomena. A cultural crisis starts precisely “when the automatism of everyday life is interrupted in some crucial dimension. Among these crucial dimensions can be urban life, economic life, political life, and community feelings of belonging” (Grimson 2015, p. 149. Our translation). In this book, the use of the expression “migratory crisis” applied to the Southern Cone refers precisely to the fact that migration has become an element that, from the perspective of various subjects or groups (in Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and Uruguay), “interrupts crucial dimensions” of their lives, threatens their “community feelings of belonging” and mobilizes moral resources that reorder the boundaries between those who belong or not to the social spaces. In general, this crisis has also been characterized by the fact that the moral resources applied to creating these new boundaries (and borders) appear as justifications for the violence used by different social, media, and State actors towards the migrant population. Among the various forms of violence that operate on the migratory populations of the Southern Cone, we identify (especially in the chapters of the second part of the book) that which Bourgois (2001) calls “structural”, alluding to the conditions of inequality faced by the subjects that result from the asymmetries of rights institutionalized by the political and economic organization of society. This form of expressing violence is reproduced by the State when it does not take care of certain social needs and demands, causing the amplification of the violations to which some groups are exposed (in this case, migrants). But, following Noel and Garriga’s arguments (2010, pp.  108–113), we also assume that violence operates dialectically in the construction and deconstruction of social ties. Its production as a shared social reality articulates specific forms of meaning and symbolism. Thus, we consider that this structural violence that States articulate on migrant populations can only be carried out when – supported by symbolic mechanisms that allow their (re)production in all corners of the social field – they succeed in permeating the persons’ bodily and spatial experience. Complementing this aspect, we also rely on the reflection of Bourdieu and Passeron 6  This implies considering the fundamental role of States in re-registering asymmetries, differences, and inequalities (Kearney 2003, p. 49); either as intermediaries of the globalizing process (Fábregas 2012, p. 11) or as arbiters “of control, violence, order, and organization for those whose identity is being transformed by world forces” (Grimson 2005, p. 93. Our translation).

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(1977, p. 44), for whom the power configurations demand forms of symbolic violence through which some meanings are imposed as legitimate, disguising the relations of force. Over the last two decades, this symbolic violence, as we will see in many passages of this book, has relied on a huge media production that has succeeded in fueling public opinion fears and raising anti-immigration alarms. To a large extent, these political and media discourses and practices have an enabling effect: they create a communicational and interactional framework in which both the blaming of migrants and the expression of rejection towards people identified by this condition is being consented and validated. The consequent enablement of these practices and narratives paves the way for their intensification and violent expression in everyday relationships. In other words, we are facing the production and empowerment of transversal social uses of hate speech towards migrant populations and, in increasingly frequent cases, the adoption of explicit physical violence against these populations.

1.3  Horizons, Compasses and Axes Using this debate on crises as a starting point, the following chapters share a common perspective: the notion that the tensions related to the migratory phenomenon in the American Southern Cone are configured in a particular way in different contexts and involve forces, institutions, and multiscale interests (Merenson 2012, p. 405). This idea is the book’s horizon and its compass (Fig. 1.3). Therefore, the analyzes developed are intended not as monolithic definitions of the migratory phenomenon in the subregion but as openings to elements that should be considered and problematized in order to understand the particular manifestations of said phenomenon. We consider that these concrete incarnations of hate are traversed by historical senses and experiences, while they constitute a form of construction of history. Thus, each chapter opens a range of interpretations. They point to the heterogeneity of the configurations of the migratory phenomenon and the impossibility of subsuming this diversity in a closed narrative, in an interpretation that does not contemplate, simultaneously, the front and the back of the embroidered fabric. Two specific hypotheses served us as compasses. First, the assumption that the migration crisis, as we have been experiencing it in the Southern Cone since 2015, is not only given by the transformation of migration scenarios and experiences in the region but also from a change in how these elements are symbolically represented. Consequently, the crisis should not be taken as a fact but rather as a social process of production deeply linked how political hegemonies are configured in the region. Second, we assume that the political production of the crisis is sustained by the symbolic use of hate speech against migrant populations. But we also observe that the effectiveness of these narratives of anti-immigrant hatred in Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and Uruguay respond to the fact that they are being “interwoven” with the

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Fig. 1.3  A fisherman observes the horizon before preparing his boat for fishing on Copacabana beach. Rio de Janeiro Brazil. (2017). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

racist symbolic elaborations proper to these Southern Cone countries, reviving some foundational imageries of their Nation-states (Canelo 2018). In other words, they are narratives that mobilize long-term imaginaries and ethnic-racial markers that dialogue with national mythologies about “we and the others” (Tijoux 2016) (Fig. 1.4). The analysis that we develop through these two hypotheses combines four perspectives. First, we rely on an interdisciplinary reading that “weaves together” – to continue the reference to my grandmother’s embroidery – methodologies and interpretations of history, anthropology, sociology, and demography. With this interdisciplinarity, we have built up, in various chapters, the comparative analysis of qualitative and quantitative information, which constitutes one of the methodological contributions of the volume. Second, we seek to situate the Global South’s view, and, mainly, from the American Southern Cone. We intend to produce interpretations that compute the specific processes and contexts of this part of the planet, contemplating its regional specificities and, at the same time, overcoming readings excessively focused on the theoretical interpretation from the Global North. Third, our works are developed with a critical gender perspective that is central to the analyzes carried out. This perspective appears transversally in each of the chapters, accounting for the changes in social perception regarding gender violence,

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Fig. 1.4  Boys and girls of Haitian origin (some of them born in Chile), play in a square in the district of Quilicura. The presence of African-descendant migrants in these public spaces has provoked outright rejection from the Chilean population. Santiago, Chile. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

the rights of women and non-masculine genders in South America. These changes lead us towards the social resignification of migrant women and their experiences. Fourth, transnationality and cross-borderness constitute both the migratory phenomena that we address, and the modus operandi of the research carried out. The authors of the volume are connected through transnational and cross-border research networks, giving our arguments a multiscale comparative dimension: we contrast specific contexts in Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and Uruguay, as well as the application of South American migratory policies. Therefore, the case studies that we chose to represent the Southern Cone focus on these countries because our transnational experiences as researchers have been developed among them. Consequently, the selection of our perspective, far from constituting a neutral choice as positivism once supposed possible, responds to the authors’ social and political experience.

1.4  The Book The volume is divided into two parts. The first is called “The Production of the Crisis” and is composed of this chapter and the two that follow it. Their purpose is to provide theoretical, empirical, and historical data which locate (while

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questioning) the meanings of the migratory crisis experienced in the American Southern Cone. Carolina Stefoni, Herminia Gonzálvez and Pablo Mardones accompanied me writing Chap. 2, “Transnational Heterogeneities”, which discusses the regularities and contradictions of the various forms of transnational migration in, from and to Latin America, focusing particularly on the Southern Cone. To achieve the above, we draw on our research experiences in Argentina, Brazil, and Chile, contrasting them with the review of the state-of-the-art on Latin American transnational migration. In this exercise, we analyze the period between 1970 and 2001, characterized by the tensions of the end of the Cold War, globalization and the emergence of a “multicultural euphoria” linked to the neoliberalism of the end of the century. Second, we address the “de-globalizing impulses” that characterize the transition between 2001 and 2015. Third, we discuss the “post-globalization” scenario and the “migratory crisis” in Latin America since 2015. We end up with some analytical reflections on the uses of migrant transnationalism in South America. Chapter 3, “On Feminisms and Mobilities”, written by Herminia Gonzálvez, Carolina Stefoni, and I, discusses the relationship between gender and migration in Latin American social research, linking it with the socio-economic and political processes of the last three decades in the region. We approach the gender turn in international migration studies (1970–1990), discussing the approaches on reproduction, social change, and remittances. We also make a synthetic genealogy of feminist critiques on these issues (developed between 1990–2005). Furthermore, we address the emergence of works on care and affection in migration studies (2005–2018). As we move forward in these discussions, we will take up the contributions produced from Latin America, establishing our reflections on the current context of feminist political struggles, showing how the “uncovering” of gender issues has made it possible to advance towards a new understanding of women’s role in this context of migration crisis. The second part of the book, “Hate Speech and its Social Consequences”, comprises of an introduction and three more chapters. The introduction, Chap. 4, is entitled “Hate Speech as a Moral Narrative”. Through its pages, Gabriel Noel frames the moral production of hate discourses, showing its centrality to the invention of communities – be they national or not. Threading finely among the relationships between representations, practices, and moralities, the chapter presents us questions and debates that will guide the reading of the case studies of the second part of the book. In Chap. 5, “The Back and Forth between National Security and Human Rights”, Brenda Canelo, Natalia Gavazzo, and Lucila Nejamkis show the paradigm shift regarding migration in Argentina during the presidential mandate of Mauricio Macri (from the electoral coalition Cambiemos), from 2015 to 2019. The policies implemented by Macri consolidated a passage from what was considered a “rights paradigm” to a “securitization” one. To show how this turn was carried out, the authors reconstruct the social and political process that framed this “paradigm shift” and the “new” approach to migration in Argentina. Tracking the speeches and actions of political representatives and voices active in the media, they identify their main

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promoters and the resources or arguments employed. They conclude by describing and investigating the responses deployed by migrants and the social organizations that accompany them in their resistance to the new policies. In Chap. 6, “The Strategic Production of Hate”, Pablo Mardones and I analyze the social impacts of hate speech against migrant and cross-border populations in Brazil – specifically, in the Brazilian city of Foz de Iguazu, in the Paraná Tri-border Area. We will start by describing the methodology applied to the case study and analyzing the current Brazilian president Jair Bolsonaro’s antimigration discourse. We will also contextualize the identity configurations of Foz, detailing the creation of the Federal University of Latin American Integration (UNILA, in its Portuguese acronym) and its link with the Latin American regionalist projects promoted by the governments of the Partido dos Trabalhadores (Workers’ Party) in Brazil. Likewise, we will ethnographically describe the increase in the rejection of the leftwing worldview ​​in Foz during the 2018 presidential elections, addressing the debates on these issues held in the qualitative interviews and a focus group with UNILA’s migrant students and workers. Through these stories, we will analyze the emergence of new ways to legitimize hate practices in territories where national identity frictions constitute everyday situations. In Chap. 7, “When Data Undermine Discourse”, also written with Pablo Mardones, we analyze the relationship between the political narrative that criminalizes migration in Chile and the general panorama of the phenomenon shown by official data. We will begin by synthesizing the features of speeches given by the Chilean government led by President Sebastián Piñera (since 2018) on the migration issue, contrasting these statements with demographic data and information provided by qualitative research on the subject. We will also deal with data on migration in the country’s regions and on the Chilean population abroad, showing the heterogeneity of both phenomena. We end with reflections on the post-globalized configurations of migration in Chile, analyzing the gaps between the government’s narratives and the official State data available. The book’s close, in Chap. 8, is done by Silvina Merenson. In the tension between what can or cannot be included in the representation of the Southern Cone that we develop here, we have Merenson’s view, which brings up new questions. With extensive research experience on migrant transnationalism in Uruguay, she expands our reflections by contrasting them with this fourth country of the American Southern Cone. *** Before inviting you to read the following chapters, let us briefly return to the reflections that Chekhov introduces through Petya’s voice when analyzing the hatred directed at him by Zinotchka, who later became his older brother’s wife. Extrapolating the reflections that emerged in this short story, we could risk saying that anti-immigrant hatred builds a lasting bond between those who express it and the recipients of their discourses and practices. If the result of the social and political production of this hatred is an inevitable enduring (albeit unusual and unwanted)

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bond, would it not be more productive to devote our energies to producing a less inhuman connection for those people involved in this interaction? Acknowledgments  This chapter was translated from Spanish to English by Menara Guizardi and Christine Ann Hills. The author thank the National Research and Development Agency of Chile (ANID) for funding the studies that gave rise to this chapter through the Projects Fondecyt 1190056, “The Boundaries of Gender Violence: Migrant Women’s Experiences in South American Border Territories” (2019–2023) and Fondecyt 1201130, “Routes and trajectories of Venezuelan migrants throughout South America” (2020–2024).

References Appadurai, A. (2017). Democracy fatigue. In H.  Geiselberger (Ed.), The great regression (pp. 1–13). Oxford: Polity. Bauman, Z. (2016). Extraños llamando a la puerta. Barcelona: Paidós. Becker, H. (2008). Outsiders. Buenos Aires: Siglo XXI. Bourdieu, P., & Passeron, J. C. (1977). La reproducción. Elementos para una teoría del sistema de enseñanza. Barcelona: Laia. Bourgois, P. (2001). The power of violence in war and peace: Post-cold war lessons from El Salvador. Ethnography, 2(1), 5–34. Canelo, B. (2018). La producción espacial de fronteras nosotros/otros. Sobre migrantes, agentes estatales y legitimidad pública en Ciudad de Buenos Aires. Antípoda, (31), 3–24. Canelo, B., Gavazzo, N., & Nejamkis, L. (2018). Nuevas (viejas) políticas migratorias en la Argentina del cambio. Si Somos Americanos, 18(1), 150–182. Castañeda, E., & Shemesh, A. (2020). Overselling globalization: The misleading conflation of economic globalization and immigration, and the subsequent backlash. Social Sciences, 9(5), 1–31. Castles, S., & Miller, M. J. (1993). The age of migration: International population movements in the modern world. New York: Palgrave. Chekhov, A. (2015). Short stories (Vol. 3). Classic Russia literature. New York: VM Ebooks. Fábregas, A. (2012). Frontera y colonialismo: una reflexión desde la frontera México-Guatemala. The Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Anthropology, 17(1), 6–23. Fisher, M. (2009). Capitalist realism: Is there no alternative? Obe [online]: Zero Book. Grimson, A. (2005). Fronteras, Estados e identificaciones en el cono sur. In D. Mato (Ed.), Cultura, Política y Sociedad. Perspectivas Latinoamericanas (pp. 89–101). Buenos Aires: CLACSO. Grimson, A. (2015). Crisis y alteridad en las configuraciones culturales. Etnografías Contemporáneas, 1(1), 140–161. Grimson, A. (2016). Desafíos para las antropologías desde el sur. Intervenciones en Estudios Culturales, 2(3), 139–153. Grimson, A., & Renoldi, B. (2019). Borderization and public security in Argentina. In Spaces of security: Ethnographies of Securityscapes, surveillance and control (pp. 78–98). New York: New York University Press. Guizardi, M. L. (2019). The age of migration crisis. Tempo, 25(3), 577–598. Harvey, D. (2008). El neoliberalismo como destrucción creativa. Revista Apuntes CENE, 27(45), n.p. Kearney, M. (2003). Fronteras y límites del Estado y el yo al final del imperio. Alteridades, 13, 47–62. Keyes, R. (2004). The post-truth era: Dishonesty and Deception in Contemporary Life. New York: St Martin’s Press. Marx, K. (1996). O Capital. Crítica da economia política. São Paulo: Editora Nova Cultural.

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Merenson, S. (2012). Tras el “voto Buquebus”. Políticas, prácticas e interdependencias en la producción de la ciudadanía transnacional. Desarrollo Económico, 52(205–206), 405–425. Noel, G. (2011). Cuestiones disputadas. Repertorios morales y procesos de delimitación de una comunidad imaginada en la costa atlántica bonaerense. Publica, 9(11), 99–126. Noel, G., & Garriga, J. (2010). Notas para una definición antropológica de la violencia: Un debate en curso. Publica, IX(8), 97–121. Sanahuja, J. A. (2017). Posglobalización y ascenso de la extrema derecha: crisis de hegemonía y riesgos sistémicos. In M. Mesa (Ed.), Seguridad internacional y democracia: guerras, militarización y fronteras. Anuario 2016–2017 (pp. 41–78). Madrid: Fundación Cultura de Paz. Segato, R. (2007). La Nación y sus otros. In Raza, etnicidad y diversidad religiosa en tiempos de políticas de la identidad. Buenos Aires: Prometeo. Tijoux, M. E. (2016). Racismo en Chile: la piel como marca de la inmigración. Santiago: Editorial Universitaria. Tilly, C. (2004). Social boundaries mechanisms. Philosophy of the Social Sciences, 34(2), 211–236. Zizek, S. (2008). En defensa de la intolerancia. Buenos Aires: Sequitur.

Chapter 2

Transnational Heterogeneities: Migration Configurations in the American Southern Cone (1970–2020) Menara Guizardi, Carolina Stefoni, Herminia Gonzálvez, and Pablo Mardones

2.1  Introduction In 2007, Gonzálvez was studying transnational Colombian families and Guizardi African-Brazilian migration networks in Madrid. In those years, experts argued that transnational relations characterized most of the large Latin American community in Spain, confirming the variety, visibility, and importance of the ties migrants cultivate to connect them to their places of origin (Bettio et al. 2006; Cavalcanti and Parella 2006; Paerregaard 2006; Parella 2007). Gonzálvez and Guizardi considered that the popularity of transnationalism among researchers led to fetishistic uses of the category.1 However, as they advanced in their research, they observed that the word transnationalism indeed described faithfully the migration processes revealed

1  By “fetishistic”, we mean assuming the term to be valid a priori, without delving any deeper into the social processes that enable subjects and collectives to be constituted as transnational entities.

M. Guizardi (*) National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET), Buenos Aires, Argentina National University of San Martín, Buenos Aires, Argentina University of Tarapacá, Arica, Chile C. Stefoni University Mayor of Chile, Santiago, Chile Center for the Study of Conflict and Social Cohesion, Santiago, Chile H. Gonzálvez Central University of Chile, Santiago, Chile P. Mardones Arturo Prat University, Iquique, Chile © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Guizardi (ed.), The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone, Latin American Societies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-68161-6_2

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by their ethnographic research in the Spanish capital (Gonzálvez 2007; Guizardi 2017; Rivas and Gonzálvez Torralbo 2010). Meanwhile, in Chile, Stefoni was investigating the Latin American intra-regional migration found in Santiago, which had been increasing in the national capital since 1995 (Martínez 2003a; Navarrete 2007; Schiappacasse 2008). This phenomenon prompted the attention of researchers and gained media notoriety given the political use of the discourse of an alleged “invasion” of Peruvians (Póo 2009). That intra-­ regional migration has left transnational marks on Santiago (Stefoni 2002), bringing into the city center Peruvian habits regarding food, clothing, rest, and care (Stefoni 2002, 2005). Peruvian-run restaurants, grocery stores, and locutorios (call shops), proliferated. Migrant communities revitalized public spaces with their gatherings, products, religious processions, and dances. Transnational employment niches were defined by gender, with men working in construction (Stefoni 2016) and women in domestic and care professions (Stefoni 2009). While the term “transnationalism” had been in use to describe these phenomena in English-language studies since the early nineties (Glick-Schiller et al. 1992), it was novel for Chilean social sciences; few researchers thought in terms of transnationalism until the end of the first decade of the new century. By 2015, the category “transnationalism” had been fully incorporated into studies carried out in Chile. Indeed, a criticism of its explanatory limits had been developed (Garcés 2014, 2015; Grimson and Guizardi 2015; Imilan 2014). During the same period, Mardones began studying the migration of Indigenous people, born in Bolivia and Peru, to Buenos Aires. The first decade of the twenty first century saw the study of migrant transnationalism in Argentina trigger discussions among several different researchers (Benencia 2005; Magliano 2007). The numerous Bolivian migrations to the Argentine capital prompted a questioning of some classical theories (Courtis et al. 2010; Sassone 2009). A new generation of researchers began to investigate how communities linked (socially, culturally, politically and economically) their places of origin to their migratory destinations (Cerrutti et al. 2010; Gavazzo and Canevarro 2009), thus producing novel narratives of difference and sameness which connected both locations (Grimson 1999).2 At the same time, community articulation dynamics began emerging in Aymara and Quechua migrant communities in Buenos Aires. Their collectives appropriated public spaces with artistic-cultural practices that reinforced their political identities (Mardones 2016, 2020) (Fig. 2.1). Some of the research on this topic assumed that those migrant communities cohered around their respective Nation-state identities (Mardones 2015). These emerging Indigenous identities reconfigured those

2  As Noel (2011) explains, these debates agreed on the anthropological assessment that “the chance of success at claiming membership to a social collective is tied to, among other things, a person’s ability to demonstrate certain moral qualities valued by and considered innate to the ‘group identity’ as conceived (and monitored) by members whose belonging to that group is not subject to dispute” (p. 11. Our translation). Migrant communities are, then, constituted as imagined communities (just as the communities of Nation-states are imagined). At stake in that process of social imagination are incessant conflicts that lead to the invention of traditions and of senses of belonging (elements of endless dispute).

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Fig. 2.1  Aymara and Quechua migrant musicians at the Sikuris Mathapi-Apthapi-Tinku Encounter (traditional festival of these ethnicities). Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2013). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

assumptions regarding the centrality of Nation-state transnationalisms, producing ethnic specificities that had not been considered by the researchers in Argentina before (Mardones and Fernández Droguett 2017). By 2016, when Guizardi began studying cross-border migration in Argentina, researchers had already accepted that auto-criticism, and assumed the heterogeneous identities inherent to migrant transnationalisms (see Merenson 2012). The concern at that time was to understand the emergence and development of a “new” political narrative (Canelo 2016). Early in his administration, Mauricio Macri, president of Argentina from 2015 to 2019, conveyed a pessimistic image of migration bringing back racist imaginaries from the country’s past that the media helped spread (Canelo 2018; Canelo et al. 2018). He also supported the questioning of the people’s right to transnational mobility in the Southern Cone (Domenech and Pereira 2017). In this context, social sciences began to analyze the role that the post-­ globalization rhetoric (Grimson 2018) played in criminalizing migration and in justifying the deployment of war technology to control human mobility (Grimson and Renoldi 2019). These cases situate the central argument of this chapter, which, in turn, threads through the book as a whole. They show how the forms of transnationality developed by Latin American migrant communities have spread to various regions of the globe since the end of the twentieth century; they are dynamic, they vary with context, and their transformation is linked to political, social, and economic processes

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of different scales (Merenson 2012). For that very reason, theories of migrant transnationalism in Latin America constitute pluralistic fields of debate. Relying on a historical analytical framework, this chapter aims to discuss the patterns and contradictions at play in different forms of transnational migration within, from, and to Latin America, focusing on South America in particular. We seek, with this exercise, to contextualize the political production of hate speech directed against migrants over the last 5 years on the part of the political right in the region as a whole, but more specifically, in the Southern Cone. To that end, we will draw on our research experience in Argentina, Brazil, and Chile, contrasting it with a state-of-the-art review on Latin American transnational migration. Our argument is divided into three parts. In the first, we analize the period that spans from 1970 to 2001, characterized by the tensions of the end of the Cold War, globalization, and an emerging “multicultural euphoria” bound to late-twentieth-century neoliberalism. Second, we will focus on the “de-globalizing impulses” that characterize the transition period from 2001 to 2015. Third, we will discuss “post-globalization” and the “migration crisis” in Latin America from 2015 onwards. In closing, we will offer some analytic reflections on the uses of migrant transnationalism in South America.

2.2  The So-Called Age of Migration (1970–2000) The eighties and nineties configured a transformation in the control regimes of planetary flows and a geopolitical reorganization. The fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 triggered a reconfiguration of the political blocs and the hegemony of neoliberal economic conceptions that led to the visibility of international migration (Fig. 2.2). During this period, a logic that reduced Nation-states to their bare minimum was endorsed. That logic included areas such as the regulation of flows, both commercial and human, territorial sovereignty, and border control (Grimson 2018). This process was due, to a large extent, to the austerity measures championed by the Washington Consensus and promulgated by the World Bank and the Inter-American Development Bank in the seventies.3 The transformation underway gained speed in the nineties with the mass-media revolution and dropping transportation costs, both of which caused a shuffling of international production processes, the global redistribution of the labor force, and a growing circulation around the planet of heterogeneous cultural elements. This context sparked a debate on the concept of culture, forcing the social sciences – anthropology in particular (Noel 2013) – to rethink its classic definitions and to observe to what extent those conceptualizations had reproduced the power asymmetries between countries and hemispheres. During this period, often referred to as globalization, the importance acquired by migration in international imaginaries is inseparable from its strategic use as a

3  This process was by no means specific to Latin America; other banking institutions played a similar role in other regions around the world.

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Fig. 2.2  Remains of the Berlin Wall almost twenty years after its fall. Berlin, Germany (2018). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

“semantic core” of the new governance regime on planetary flows. Those flows now moved from South to North, thus rearranging the East-West polarization of the Cold War era (Bauman 2016). From 1990 to 2000  in particular, migrants were represented “as harbingers of a new multicultural and postnational world, in which the national fixity of identity, rights, and organizational capacity had dissolved” (Joppke and Morawska 2003, p. 1). That led to the expansion of policies for the management of cultural diversity, which, despite their enormous limitations and deep controversies, legitimized growing heterogeneity within countries (Brubaker 2001, p. 532; Kymlicka 1995, p. 9).4

 Two paradigms were behind those policies. The first, multiculturalism, gained visibility in the eighties. In general terms, it argued that cultural diversity was a constituent characteristic of migrant-receiving countries, considering all liberal democracies to be multinational and/or polyethnic (Kymlicka 1995, p. 18). Its political and juridical proposal entailed a consensual combination of individual and minority rights (Kymlicka 1995 p.  181), which were hegemonic in the Global North countries until 2001 (Brubaker 2001, p. 532). Interculturalism, the second paradigm, took shape in the nineties as a critical response to multiculturalism’s flaws (Dietz and Cortés 2009). This second framework reformulates the notion of integration. It advocates multilateral integration, in which the hegemonic society transforms as it dialogues with and incorporates diversity. Both models were widespread in Latin America from 1990 to 2000, when most of the region’s countries were migrant-sending States. By that time, the importance of both paradigms was waning in public policies in the Global North (Brubaker 2001; Joppke and Morawska 2003). In Latin America, those concepts were adopted, not without tension, in the struggles of Indigenous peoples 4

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English-speaking social scientists assumed that humanity had entered an “age of migration” (Castles and Miller 1993). However, a close look at Latin American migratory dynamics over the last centuries might cause us to question such a categorization. There are other periods, when migration was a more important factor in Latin America’s demographic, social, political, and economic life. For instance, at the pass of the nineteenth to the twentieth century, the region received the largest flow of transcontinental migrants since the onset of mercantile capitalism in the sixteenth century (Moch 1996). From 1814 to 1914, 64,000,000 Europeans arrived in the Americas (Sutcliffe 1998, p.  64), fleeing the starvation brought on by the Industrial Revolution, ethnic-religious persecution and policies stemming from the formation of Nation-states, wars, and crackdowns against workers’ movements (McKeown 2004).5 While the United States of America was the primary destination of these migrant flows, Argentina and Brazil were in second and third place respectively (Moch 1996). The demographic impact of this phenomenon on certain Latin American countries was without parallel. From 1856 to 1932, some 6,400,000 migrants reached Argentina; 4,400,000 arrived in Brazil from 1821 to 1932. Uruguay, meanwhile, received 713,000 from 1836 to 1932; Mexico 226,000 from 1911 to 1932; and Cuba 857,000 from 1901 to 1932 (Margulis 1977, p. 283). Various South American countries – in addition to Mexico, in North America – had percentages of international migrant population that have never since been exceeded. In 1908, 17% of Uruguay’s population was foreign-born (Nahum 2007); 29.9% of Argentina’s total population were migrants, in 1914 – this percentage was 6.8% in the eighties, 5% in the nineties, and is 4.8% today (DNM 2019). In Chile, the record high for the international migrant population was, for many years, the 1907 figure of just above 4% (Martínez 2005, p.  115). That rate was not surpassed until 2017, when it reached 4.35% (Instituto Nacional de Estadisticas de Chile [INE-Chile], 2017). Migrants from outside the region usually made up the bulk of the migrant contingents, though that would change towards the close of the last century and the beginning of the current one. At the same time, in the second half of the twentieth century Latin America had the largest flow of migrants from the countryside to the city on the planet (United Nations [UN] 2015a) (Fig. 2.3). The rural exodus thoroughly transformed the territorial, demographic, economic, and urban structure of Latin America between 1950 and 1990. The region went from being predominantly rural, with 42% of the population living in cities (Da Cunha 2002, p. 21), to being 80% urban, making it, currently, the second most urbanized

and those of African descent (Bello 2004; Walsh 2009). For an excellent critical discussion of the limitations and flaws of multiculturalism and interculturality in Latin America, see Zapata (2019). 5  This wave of migration was part and parcel of a logic of international capital accumulation. In 1914, 40% of all European investment in countries in the Global South (Asia, Africa, Oceania, and Latin America) went to Latin America. It should come as no surprise, then, that from 1880 to 1914, 50% of all European immigrants headed to Latin America (Ferrer 1998, p. 157).

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Fig. 2.3  Peruvian Aymara migrant farmer working for wages in the Azapa Valley. Arica, Chile. (2019). (Photographer: Claudio Casparrino)

region on the planet.6 In Brazil, the rural exodus displaced some 54,000,000 persons between 1950 and 1995 (Caramano and Abramovay 1999, p. 3). In Mexico, 68% of the population was rural in 1920; by the end of the twentieth century, that figure had plummeted to less than 25% (Carton de Grammont 2009, p. 17). In Peru, the urban population climbed from 35% to 70% between 1950 and 2000 (Da Cunha 2002, p. 24). From 1940 to 1981, the population of Lima, the capital of Peru, soared from 645,000 to 4,600,000 (Golte and Adams 1990, p. 38). In 1947, 62% of Argentina’s population was urban, a figure that had reached 89.9% by the year 2000 (Da Cunha 2002). In light of the multifaceted impact of the movement from the countryside to the city in Latin America, those four decades should also be recognized as an “age of migration”. The end of the twentieth century was marked by expulsion dynamics that saw a part of the region’s economically active population leave for the Global North. That flow began in the seventies with the 1973 oil crisis and intensified in the eighties (a time of hyperinflation referred to in the Southern Cone as “the lost decade”) (CEPAL 2006, p. 91). Furthermore, hundreds of thousands of Latin Americans left the region, driven into exile by political persecution under dictatorships. The neoliberal reforms implemented in several countries worsened and spread poverty; social gaps

 Less than North America, where the figure stands at 82%, and more than Europe, where it is 73% (UN 2015a, pp. 1–7). 6

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widened, industry was largely dismantled, and the region was opened up to imports. Together, those factors drove Latin American emigration to the Global North, especially the United States. Taking these aspects into account, we believe a more accurate name for globalization in the Latin American context would be the “age of transnational emigration”. This regional phenomenon was characterized by gender inequality, as we will examine in greater detail in Chap. 3. It is worth bringing forward some of these debates to synthetically explain that an increasing number of adult males abandoning their homes in poorer and lower-middle classes led to women taking on the productive and reproductive tasks alone. That male absence in the middle  – and low – income social strata has historically characterized many countries in Latin America (Guizardi et al. 2018, p. 50). For decades, women in the region have dealt with this hardship by migrating from the countryside to the city (from 1950 to 1990), or to neighboring countries or further-flung destinations, to seek better employment opportunities (starting in the nineties) (Figs. 2.4 and 2.5). International migration became more feminized the world over from 1990 to 2000. In Latin America, this feminization was demographic evidence of how women dealt with the effects of neoliberal policies (Martínez 2003b). One of the most striking characteristics of this female and international migration is the way in which migrants built ties between their places of origin and their new places of residence

Fig. 2.4  Women of the Movimento Sem Terra [Movement of Landless People] in a settlement founded on an old farm in the district of Pontal do Paranapanema. Sao Paulo, Brazil. (1997). (Photographer: Claudio Casparrino)

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Fig. 2.5  A Bolivian Aymara migrant woman carries vegetables for street selling in her aguayo, a handmade llama wool woven bag used to transport children and goods. Arica, Chile. (2019). (Photographer: Claudio Casparrino)

(as transnational strategies to manage family life and motherhood) (Gonzálvez 2007; Rivas and Gonzálvez Torralbo 2010). These approaches structured the emerging transnational perspective in the social sciences, which became crucial to international debates on the topic (this is dealt with in detail in Chap. 3). What that perspective addresses, in general terms, is how migrants began to establish transnational contact between distant places in real-time thanks to the technological revolution in transportation and communication (Glick-­ Schiller et al. 1992). This allowed migrant subjects and communities to constitute their migratory experiences by establishing bi-national or multinational

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relationships, taking decisions and measures, constituting their action, interests, and affections between distant localities (Levitt and Glick-Schiller 2004).7 Migrant transnationalism would act, then, as a “globalization from below” (Portes 2003; Portes et al. 1999), a product of the economic, political, and sociocultural agency of groups and subjects that, on a daily basis, undermine the Euclidean concept of the border between nations (Merenson 2015, p. 52). Some authors advocated working on transnational migration, with particular emphasis on how migrants coordinate both social capital (identified as migrant networks) and cultural capital (Massey et al. 1993, 1994; Portes et al. 2002). Others have set out to represent the new spatialities of the communities and subjects (Besserer 2004, 2019). Still others have looked to the cultural projects of the Nation-states (Kearney 1995, p.  548), arguing that, due to their transnationalism, the migrants challenge State policies and the notion of citizen rights (Bloemradd et al. 2008). All of these reflections exert pressure on the social sciences to reexamine the concept of society and social institutions (family, citizenship, Nation-state) (Levitt and Glick-Schiller 2004, p. 61). Most of those studies were developed precisely to explain the experience of the new and increasingly numerous Latin American communities in large cities in the United States.8 Glick-Schiller et al. (1992) based their theories of transnationalism on studies of Caribbean migrants in New York; Massey et al. (1993, 1994) focused on Mexican communities in the United States; for Itzigsohn et al. (1999), it was Dominicans in Providence, Rhode Island; and for Portes et  al. (1999, 2002) the Cuban, Dominican, and Mexican communities in the diaspora. Transnationalism arose, it could be argued, as a model to explain a specific kind of migration: an often feminized flow originating from a number of Latin American countries, destined for large urban centers and characterized by maintaining ties to places of origin. But if we turn our attention to these transnational connections from within Latin America, there are other aspects to take into consideration. First, demographic data shed light on the nature of this Latin American transnational migration. Until the early nineties, the destination of that migration was almost exclusively the United States. But the average annual growth rate dropped from 3.9% (1990–2000) to 2.4% the following decade (CEPAL/OIT 2017, p. 15). At the same time, intra-regional migration remained important  – largely to Argentina, Costa Rica, the Dominican Republic, and Venezuela  – and increased substantially (CEPAL/OIT 2017, p. 15). In the year 2000, immigrants represented 1% of Latin America’s population, and emigrants represented 4%. The region accounted for 10% of the international migrants on the planet (Martínez 2003b, p. 21). Seventy-five percent of those migrants, or 20,500,000 persons, were in the United States; only 2,800,000 resided in other countries around the globe 7  In the twenty-first century, these debates have expanded to the field of history. Several authors have asserted that transnational ties were fundamental to the social processes of earlier centuries. Transnationalism thus also provides a vantage point from which to critically reread the historical explanation of capitalism and its processes. See Castañeda (2017), Morawska (2001), and Sinatti (2008). 8  This debate would extend to other parts of the world in the following decades.

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(principally Spain, Canada, the United Kingdom, and Japan) (Martínez 2003b, pp. 27–33). While the places receiving migrants increased in number and diversity, “Argentina, Costa Rica, and Venezuela have continued to be the region’s preferred destinations” (Martínez 2009, p. 2. Our translation). Other countries in the region, meanwhile, were becoming migrant-sending, migrant-receiving, or transitory countries. By the end of the twentieth century, the intra and extra-regional characteristics of Latin American transnationalism had become significantly more diverse. Second, the networks at play in these migrations are heterogeneous, as is the composition of migrants’ social capitals (Massey et al. 1993). In each country of the region, the formation of transnational communities and groups operated in a particular way. In Mexico in the eighties, communities became transnational as rural towns sent labor first to rural cities on the U.S. border (Kearney 1995; Massey et al. 1994) and then to the precarious labor market in cities far from the border (Besserer 2004). Starting in the nineties, Mexicans also left large cities in Mexico to migrate transnationally (Massey et  al. 2006). Over the last thirty years, Argentines have migrated in the face of the cyclical economic crises that the country has faced, particularly the one in 2001 (Novick 2007). However, they often head to the countries from which their migrant families emigrated (Cacopardo et al. 2007) or to neighboring countries (Bolivia, Paraguay, Uruguay, and Chile) with whom there are strong two-way migration networks. Brazilian migration to the state of Massachusetts in the U.S. started in Governador Valadares, a town in the Brazilian state of Minas Gerais that accounted for a larger proportion of Brazil’s transnational migration than large cities did (Fusco 2000). Transnational dynamics in Latin America, then, vary widely due to how migration networks between countries are constituted as well as to factors specific to regions within each country. The principle migration corridors today are between neighboring countries (for example, Mexicans into the U.S., Haitians into the Dominican Republic, Nicaraguans into Costa Rica, Peruvians into Chile, Bolivians into Argentina). Such specificities make it impossible to speak of Latin American transnational migration in the singular. Third, the effect of these transnationalisms has been contradictory. It consolidated an array of practices (dietary, religious, economic, and social) from different locations in Latin America beyond national territories and into countries in the Global North. This promoted a globalization of various cultural aspects of the region and their diffusion to audiences and consumers who previously did not have access to this knowledge. Peruvian migrants updated the Lord of Miracles (patron saint of Peru), organizing their processions in Madrid (Merino 2002), Santiago (Ducci and Rojas Symmes 2010), and Buenos Aires (Lacarrieu 2006). Mexican migrants celebrate the Day of the Dead in several cities in the United States (Massey et al. 2006). Masters of capoeira, an African-Brazilian complex bodily genre, direct their “wheels” in city parks across Europe, the United States, and South America (Guizardi 2017). This process generates important contradictions: the critics have observed its utilitarian character, which encourages the diffusion of the various cultural practices and materialities as if they were commodities, as goods of global circulation at the service of a supposed “free choice” of identities. In that circulation, those items are dissociated from the rights of the subjects who produce them;

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they are stripped of their context and rendered ahistorical and apolitical (Comaroff and Comaroff 2009). The effects of transnationalism in migration, then, have been extremely contradictory in terms of Latin American identities. It has favored empowerment as well as subordination, essentialism as well as relativism. Identities circulated globally through the market have found themselves trapped, at least in part, by that very logic of circulation (that does not always benefit the migrants). Fourth, macroeconomic characteristics of the global labor market assembled at the intersection of race, class, and gender discrimination have shaped this transnationalism. Latin American women around the world work mainly in care services and tasks associated with social reproduction. They are usually paid less than native-­ born workers (Parreñas 2001). Latin American men generally hold lesser positions in the labor market of migrant-receiving countries in the Global North. Both male and female Latin American migrants are key actors in the increasing labor precarity and informality in economies of developed and developing countries alike. Latin American migrants have their assignment and their possibilities in these labor markets designated by ethnic-racial markers that dialogue with the racist historical mythologies about the relation between “us and the others” of each receiving country (Pizarro 2011; Tijoux 2016). Argentina has been a major receiving nation of migrants from South America from the seventies to date (IOM 2018). It was precisely here that, for the first time since the region’s countries return to democracy (at the end of the eighties), hate speech and the racialization of migrants were used openly to create a sense of “Argentineness”. In the presidential governments of Carlos Menem (1989–1999), a political discourse was set up that blamed the growing intra-regional migration (particularly Bolivian, Peruvian and Paraguayan) for all national evils. These narratives of otherness were mixed with arguments that justified the application of neoliberal reforms (Grimson 1999). That discourse would be publicly discredited with the corralito, the local name for the Argentinian economic crisis of 2001, when the public opinion rejected that logic of a “scapegoat” on a massive scale, holding the country’s political class responsible for the devastating national situation (Mardones 2009). As we will see in the coming sections, these uses of hate speech and racism against migrants has a long-term history in the Global North, but they became increasingly popular from 2001 onwards. Significantly, as early as the nineties and the first decade of the new century, South America offered a precedent for these uses but also for their academic and public criticism. Fifth, the supposed opportunity represented by remittances (social, economic, cultural and symbolic) sent back by Latin American migrants (men and women alike, though more often women) to their countries of origin is tangible. However, on the other hand, migration is considered a drain on human capital to the detriment of innovation in the migrant-sending countries (Delgado Wise and Márquez 2005, p. 13) and is accompanied by the rights of migrants being increasingly put at risk of violation worldwide. Dependence on monetary remittances (Canales 2013) leads to a delicate situation. For many countries in the region between 1990 and 2010, remittances were a significant component of the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) (Martínez 2003b, p. 7).

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Sixth, the period from the nineties onwards is highly contradictory in terms of the formation of transnational political processes (Merenson 2012, 2018). Latin American migrant activism around the world has had a major impact on attaining basic rights in migrant-receiving countries, but that impact makes itself felt in their countries of origin as well. In this period, in South America, particularly in Argentina, Ecuador, Brazil, and Uruguay the public agenda pushed for a reexamination of migration law (reforms carried out with varying degrees of success depending on the countries). This review points to the questioning of the current legal frameworks that maintained their dictatorial character – inspired by the ideology of “National Security” (Grimson and Renoldi 2019, p. 80) – even after democratic transitions.

2.3  The “De-Globalizing Impulse” (2001–2015) After the terrorist attacks on the Twin Towers in New York on September 11, 2001, migration governance in the Global North changed course9 (Fig. 2.6). A cycle of policies aimed at controlling the mobility of persons and goods was introduced,

Fig. 2.6  The 9/II Memorial & Museum. New York, USA (2015). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

9  For Domenech (2013), the instilling of logics of control began far earlier. In the past, however, they had conserved at least some humanitarian dimensions, since global governance was based on human rights and the protection of persons.

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progressively dethroning globalization’s aspiration to free circulation. This new logic was slow to take hold; it was not firmly instilled until fifteen years later. We will outline what we consider the five primary characteristics of this new policy regime. First, in the United States and later in Europe, State and supra-State violence against migrant, cross-border, refugee, and displaced populations was radicalized and naturalized. A new market for the weapon industry opened as border patrols began using war technologies to hunt down and capture migrants (Sørensen and Gammeltoft-Hansen 2013). That logic made its way to the Global South. Second, the implementation of both the technologies and the logic have resulted in a rise of organized crime and the number of migrants who die crossing borders. Third, in an emerging global imaginary, this violence and the hate that accompanies it (Appadurai 2006), is justified and banalized and made increasingly acceptable to the population at large. Expressions of terror and hate embedded in notions of nationalistic communities are naturalized. This mindset enables the criminalization of migrants and migration, now associated – on a symbolic level – with terrorism (Bauman 2016). A fourth characteristic is the gradual dismantling of the minimal rights that had been extended to migrant populations in different countries between 1990 and 2000, and the radicalization of a discourse that denies even the possibility of the sociocultural coexistence of heterogeneous subjects and communities. In the social sciences, the work of conservative thinkers like Sartori (2000) in Europe and Huntington (1996) in the United States foreshadowed that turn. The resurgence of this mindset gradually discredited multicultural and intercultural positions on the relationship between diversity and rights in democratic governments, whether in Europe (Vertovec and Wessendorf 2010) or the United States (Hollinger 2006). This turn brought setbacks in the application of legal concepts tied to human rights as well as tougher laws on migrations and borders. Fifth, not all forms of migration have been criminalized to the same extent. Populations that move from the Global South to the Global North are the ones most affected. This selective closure grew more intense, starting with the economic crisis in the United States and Europe in 2008. During that crisis, conservative parties promised to solve the problems of the times by means of neoliberal reforms that only served to aggravate instability. In the media and in policy, those neoliberal forces held international migrants responsible for the troubles besetting the population. Harsher and harsher measures and increasing restrictions on the part of receiving States were accompanied by explosions of racist rejection. There is one significant exception to this tendency. In response to the closing of the U.S. border, Spain became one of the major receiving countries of immigrants from Peru, Colombia, the Dominican Republic, Bolivia, and Argentina in particular from 2000 to the 2008 crisis (Bettio et al. 2006; Gonzálvez 2007; Paerregaard 2006;

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Parella 2007; Rivas and Gonzálvez Torralbo 2010).10 A number of studies on transnational migrants from Latin America were carried out during this period, and the concept of transnationalism was expanded to encompass migrant experiences in Madrid, Barcelona, and Valencia, the cities that received the largest number of Latin American workers. This European reading of Latin American transnationalism impacted on debates underway in South America, as research circulated globally in Spanish and as Latin American researchers went to Spain to pursue postgraduate studies (Cavalcanti and Parella 2006; Guizardi 2017; Thayer 2011). Furthermore, Spanish researchers themselves emigrated due to the 2008 crisis, which furthered this exchange. Other factors are also important to understand the impact that these global changes had on Latin American migration contexts, whether into or out of the region. Because of their proximity to the U.S. border, Mexico and Central American countries were particularly affected by these changes (Fig. 2.7). They experienced earlier and with greater intensity the harsher border controls and the interventionist pressures that became characteristic of U.S. policy and politics from 2001 onwards. What was underway in Southern Cone countries during this period was unique, however. Most experienced significant economic growth from 2008 to 2014 (with some punctual exceptions); their position in the global economy improved thanks to the high value of the primary products they exported to the global market (Fig. 2.8). Governments in the region enacted policies to redistribute income by developing the labor market and domestic consumption (Svampa 2013). In 2009, Brazil was the sixth largest economy on the planet, a position it obtained (at least at some extent) thanks to commercial-industrial ties to other countries in the region. While that economic model was in place in Brazil, its laws increasingly facilitated circulation in and out of Argentina, Uruguay, Paraguay, and even as far as Bolivia, Chile, Peru, Colombia, and Venezuela. Those countries embraced a model to position themselves favorably in the flexible economy with high levels of circulation characteristic of the early twenty-first century. Regionalized globalization meant establishing treaties with countries geographically closer without the disadvantages of agreements with countries in the Global North. A discourse of increased circulation was key to the treaties between South American nations, such as the Southern Common Market (MERCOSUR, in Spanish acronym), the Union of South American Nations (UNASUR, in Spanish acronym), the Pacific Alliance.11  South Americans began a return migration from Southern European countries like Spain, Portugal, and Italy from 2011 onwards (IOM 2018, p. 81), framed by increasingly harsh laws in Europe on migration flows, coupled with the criminalization of the undocumented and the establishment of internment camps for migrants. Notwithstanding, Spain is still the main European destination for South American migrants (IOM 2018, p. 81). 11  The primary instrument in South America to facilitate the mobility of workers is the MERCOSUR Residence Agreement enacted at this time. According to the agreement, nationals of the member States and of “friendly nations” can obtain temporary residence in the country in the sub-region to which they emigrate, whether or not they have an employment contract. Both UNASUR and the South American Conference on Migration expressed their support for this agreement and the will to work toward regional integration. That said, there were substantial differences in how the 10

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Fig. 2.7  The border between Tijuana (Mexico) and San Diego (USA) (2015). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

During that same period, census information indicates that South American countries were among those with the lowest net migration stock – the proportion of immigrants from a country minus its emigrants – in Latin America (Martínez and Orrego 2016). Regionalized globalization meant the opening of the economies in MERCOSUR countries, which required, among other things, workers to be able to cross borders to quickly meet the flexible labor-market demands (Stefoni 2018). Migration, facilitated by residence agreements, and the opening of borders were among the policy strategies implemented to support specific economic dynamics.12 At that juncture, several South American countries began reexamining their immigration laws (Texidó and Gurrieri 2012); to a greater and greater extent, a human MERCOSUR Residence Agreement was implemented in the region’s countries (Novick 2010). Argentina, for instance, included the principle of residence in its constitution, and that principle is still applied. Chile is the only country that does not apply the agreement according to its convention but through bilateral agreements with four countries. 12  The most striking example was when, in 2005, Argentina enacted the Plan Patria Grande (“Plan for the Great Homeland”, a national program to document South American migrants). With that measure, the country unilaterally granted permanent residence status to all the citizens of MERCOSUR countries and greater MERCOSUR – that is, citizens of all South American countries except for the Guianas. The Argentine government hoped that the other States in the region would follow suit, but instead they only applied the principle of reciprocity to Argentine nationals in their countries. The benefits afforded other South Americans were minor, and obstacles – sometimes excessive obstacles – were even put up to those not from South America.

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Fig. 2.8  Smallholder tobacco farmer in the border area between Argentina and Brazil, district of El Soberbio. Misiones, Argentina. (2010). (Photographer: Claudio Casparrino)

rights perspective was brought into the debate on legal regulation of human mobilities. Argentina and Ecuador enacted major reforms after a decade of debate in each country (Nejamkis 2016). They set an example with growing influence on the region’s other countries, as the logics and semantics of rights shaped, albeit in an asymmetrical and unequal fashion, political actions, and imaginaries across South America. The impact of the reforms in Argentina and Ecuador on the region was heightened by migrant communities themselves and transnational activism (Merenson 2012). This process seemed a little out of step: while countries in the Global North were criminalizing migration, countries in the Southern Cone were increasingly embracing migrants’ transnationalism. At the same time, changes were underway in migration flows from countries in Latin America and the Caribbean. In demographic terms, the period between 2000 and 2010 consolidated a reordering and reintegration of Latin American intra-­ regional migration which grew by 32% during that decade (Martínez et al. 2014).13 Nevertheless, Latin America continued to send migrants out of the region (the United States was by far the main recipient of these flows). By the year 2000, there were almost 26,000,000 migrants from Latin America and the Caribbean

 Indeed, the increase in intra-regional migration had set in four decades earlier. In the seventies, only 24% of resident migrants in Latin America were from other countries in the region. That figure grew to 37% in the eighties, 49% in the nineties, 57% in 2000, and 63% in 2010. 13

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worldwide. By 2010, this figure was already around 30,000,000, or 4% of the region’s entire population), in contrast to the 7,600,000 foreign nationals from other regions resident in Latin America (1.1% of the region’s population) (Martínez et al. 2014, p. 11).14 The shape of these South American migration flows varied with some particularities from 2010 to 2015. While, like Mexico, countries in Central America and the Caribbean continued to send migrants to the United States15 – indeed, they did so at a growing rate  – South America had more marked trends in intra-regional migration. During those 5  years, migration in South America grew by 11%, and 70% of those flows were from within the region itself (IOM 2018, p. 80). In 2015, the countries in South America with the largest proportion of migrants were French Guiana, Suriname, Argentina, Venezuela, and Chile (Rojas and Silva 2016, pp. 10–11). In absolute terms, the country with the most migrants was Argentina (with 2,086,000 migrants), followed by Venezuela (with 1,404,400), Brazil (713,600), Chile (469,400), and Ecuador (387,500) (UN 2015b, p. 1).16 In short, for the period, South America consolidated a marked trend towards an intra-regional pattern of migratory transnationalism that, in addition, is characterized by feminization (IOM 2018, p. 80). Beyond its demographic implications, this reorientation of South American intra-regional migration had major sociocultural and legal effects. One example is Haitian migration. The 2010 earthquake and the cholera outbreak that followed, plus the two hurricanes that did away with what remained of the country’s infrastructure and economy were what drove the first turn in the historical migration flows out of the country, which at this point had mostly been towards the Dominican Republic and the United States. The desperation and displacement of thousands of people as a result of the critical environmental and economic situation, together with the closing of the border in the United States, and rising hopes of employment opportunities in Brazil, which had begun investing in sports complexes, led many Haitians to the Southern Cone.17 The influx of Haitians to countries like Brazil and

 According to Martínez et  al., “Mexico accounts for a large portion (practically 40%) of the region’s emigrants, with some 12,000,000 of its citizens living abroad, the overwhelming majority of them in the United States. Distant seconds are Colombia and El Salvador, with approximately 2,000,000 and 1,300,000 respectively […] According to the OECD (2012), the number of emigrants from Ecuador, Bolivia, Paraguay, and Uruguay in its member States and region as a whole grew significantly – indeed, it almost doubled – from 2000 to 2005. The primary receiving countries in absolute terms were Argentina, Venezuela, Mexico, and Brazil” (2014, p.  14. Our translation). 15  According to the U.S. census, that country’s Hispanic population was 57,600,000  in 2016 or 17.8% of the total population. 16  The sizable number of migrants into Venezuela and Ecuador during this period were, as we shall see, the result of the forced displacement of Colombians. 17  In 2011, Brazil implemented a “humanitarian visa” that recognized the structural vulnerability of Haiti (Feldman-Bianco et  al. 2018) as sufficient grounds for legal migration. An initial annual quota of 1200 visas was established, but pressure led to abolishing any quota in 2012 (Da Silva 2017). Peru began requiring a tourist visa issued at its consulate in Port-au-Prince in 2012. A report 14

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Chile put a strain on national imaginaries, prompting processes of exclusion, xenophobia, aporophobia, and racism that soon gained ground in the public sphere. The conflicts unleashed intensified starting in 2015.18 In this period, violence between guerrilla groups, the army, and paramilitary forces in different regions of Colombia led to the forced migration of numerous Colombians to bordering countries, like Venezuela and Ecuador (IOM 2018, p. 78), but also Argentina (Melella 2014) and Chile (Stang and Stefoni 2016). In those last two countries, the influx of Colombians also stirred up racist imaginaries based on the supposed homogeneity of those nations’ makeup (Tijoux 2016). Migrants of African descent were firmly rejected, and there was a widespread – and wholly fictitious – belief that all Colombians were involved in the drug trade. In border territories – such as between Chile, Peru, and Bolivia – migration has also undergone feminization as well as an increase in the percentage of the migrant population who identifies as Indigenous (Guizardi et  al. 2017; Tapia 2015). This phenomenon reflects new transnational survival strategies deployed by poor and ethnically marked women from rural regions. Their ancestral lands have been increasingly occupied by extractive megaprojects that have a dire environmental impact. Cross-border migration is a way for them to deal with their production and reproduction overload (Guizardi et al. 2019; Tapia and Ramos 2013). This period also witnessed both transnationalization and localized identities. One example would be the ethnogenic processes of Aymara and Quechua migrants from Chile, Peru, and Bolivia living in large cities like Buenos Aires and Santiago (Mardones 2016, 2020; Mardones and Fernández Droguett 2017). Identity performances (dance, music, food, local celebrations) are central to the construction of social networks and migrant cultural capital (Gavazzo and Canevarro 2009). These aspects are also related to new migration economies formed by organizing labor markets, ethnic enclaves (or “ethnic centralities”), and cross-border networks (Garcés 2015; Imilan 2014). The social sciences produced in Latin America have delved into the intensification of transnationalization, studying the experiences of migration and circulation between countries in the region. This research has led to a critical revision of migrant transnationalism in large Latin American cities and border territories (Guizardi 2018). These critiques argue that there must be a reassessment of the experiences and definitions of transnationalism (Grimson 2018); its categories must be adapted to reflect the scenarios, phenomena, and processes observed in the region (Besserer 2018; Feldman-Bianco 2018; Merenson 2018).

prepared by the Peruvian Studies Institute (IEP, in Spanish acronym) in Lima found that few applied for the visa due to its high cost and bureaucratic obstacles (Vázquez et al. 2014). 18  For the Brazilian case, see Da Silva (2017), Feldman-Bianco et al. (2018), and Fernandes and de Faria (2017); for the Chilean, see Rojas et al. (2015), Tijoux and Córdova Rivera (2015).

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2.4  The Age of the So-Called Migration Crisis In historical terms, it is difficult  – if not impossible  – to establish the precise moments of transition between political, economic, and social models. In the earlier sections, we referred to the fall of the Berlin Wall (1989) as the dawn of a globalized phase of migration flows, and the attack on the Twin Towers (2001) as the beginning of its demise. While deglobalization was at the forefront of international political debate for many years, by 2015, the transition was over, and post-globalization had set in (Sanahuja 2017). In addition to a palpable “fatigue on the part of democratic institutions” (Appadurai 2017), we note the worsening of the processes described in the previous section. With its rapid capacity to topple or absorb alternative models, the contradictory global triumph of neoliberalism, has driven countries in the Global North and South alike to reproduce inequalities with increasingly harsher mechanisms. The lack of counter-models to check capitalist exploitation led to a radical increase in accumulation capacity and myriad forms of violence (Bauman 2016). On the one hand, this led to a widespread and new form of “capitalist realism” that took on an array of political forms, all of which worked against the humanizing side of economic processes (Fisher 2009). On the other hand, it also unleashed a profound crisis determined by the difficulty of restoring the accumulation model after each of its increasingly intense cyclical crises and, second, to the democratic regimes’ inability to reconcile these developments with the principles that structure the Rule of Law. Some authors have called this period “the age of the great regression” in reference to the poor health of democratic States around the world (Geiselberger 2017).19 This situation helps explain the support gained by those political representatives whose discourse appeals to emotions and personal beliefs. A global public sphere was thus constituted in which credibility matters more than truth. The election of Trump in the United States and the referendum in favor of Brexit in Great Britain are crucial moments in consolidating these political configurations. They express the nationalism at play in hegemonic powers, as well as the triumph of an anti-­ globalization discourse that calls for reinforced borders of Nation-states (the wall between Mexico and the United States is a prime example). A highly unfeasible deglobalization of national economies is advocated through pro-sovereignty measures (Domenech and Pereira 2017; Kretsedemas and Brotherton 2018; Sanahuja 2017).20 This new hegemony makes strategic use of hate speech that proliferates despite the minimal moral and legal safeguards that, with great effort  – and varying

 Democracy seems to be an obstacle to ultra-neoliberalism’s new forms of exploitation, and international elites support political models that undermine real participatory democracy (Appadurai 2017). 20  This rhetoric is selective, however. The circulation of the Global North’s capitals and goods is considered positive, while the equivalent freedom of circulation for people and goods from the Global South is categorically rejected. 19

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measures of success – were agreed upon with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948). Thus, human rights were discredited and gradually written out of the regulatory frameworks in different countries. Meanwhile, racism, xenophobia, aporophobia, homophobia, sexism, and misogyny were legitimized as social practices and forms of public expression internationally. We have witnessed the global triumph of a discourse that attacks sociocultural heterogeneity, which it perceives as a threat to “national community life”. Hate speech and similar discourses were by no means unheard of during the second half of the twentieth century to the first fifteen years of the twenty-first. Fear of diversity tied to the utopia of a homogeneous nation persisted and was what drove many of the genocides that took place in the second half of the twentieth century (Appadurai 2006). Those discourses circulated constantly in the Global North or South, with significant political and social impact (Appadurai 2017). What changed in 2015, was the legitimization of their expression. They are now at the heart of public opinion and its formation, and of political decision-making in more and more places around the world. This has aided an international conservative turn and the advance of the extreme right over democracy, which started in Europe in 2008 and South America since 2015. At stake is a new configuration of fascist movements the world over. When read from the perspective of human mobilities, this period could be called “the age of migration crisis” and “the punishment of cross-border mobilities” (Kretsedemas and Brotherton 2018). The closing of borders and recent military interventions on the part of major powers in the Global North and the persecution of refugees and migrants with high-tech weapons of war – elements that we saw consolidated between 2001 and 2015 – are now modes of political action adopted more and more generally. Europe, a region that sent so many migrants and refugees into the world in the last century, closed itself off to the contingents of citizens displaced by wars. “Capitalist realism” gathers its most immediate “fruits” in the Mediterranean Sea, registering in its water’s deaths of migrants on a scale never seen before in the history of mankind. In South America, the economic boom driven by high commodity prices came to an end in 2013. The economic instability and slowdown that followed would be exploited by conservative sectors to oppose the region’s left-leaning governments. In their discourses, the migrant question took on a new importance; the rhetoric used in the Global North was imitated. However, the production of this hatred of heterogeneity in South America is based on its own symbolic and racist political elaborations, linked to the construction of the region’s national projects and their historical alterities (thus mobilizing long-standing imaginary). In Argentina  – a case that will be examined in detail in Chap. 5  – President Mauricio Macri (in office from 2015 to 2019) signed the National Decree of Emergency number 70 in 2017, thus changing the human-rights orientation of the immigration regulation laid out in Law 25,871.21 At the same time, the creation of

21

 The Argentinean courts declared the decree illegal in March 2018.

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migrant detention centers in the European mold was announced. Without any empirical basis, cabinet members and senators justified those measures by blaming migrants for unemployment, the drug trade, crime, and failing public services (Canelo 2016, 2018; Canelo et al. 2018). After taking office in 2018, Chilean President Sebastián Piñera began an intense media campaign that tied the control of migration to law and order. Members of his cabinet made more and more demagogical and unsubstantiated declarations against migrant populations. In February 2019, Minister of Health Emilio Santelices blamed migrants for an increase in HIV/AIDS in Chile (experts from different sectors and public organisms contradicted him). Repeating parts of Trump’s speeches, Piñera asserted that control of human mobility was a top priority: “we must treat borders as if they were our homes” he stated, in a patrimonialist and androcentric reading of the Nation-state. Expulsions of Bolivian, Colombian, and Peruvian migrants were mediated under a covert deportation plan (which is now being deployed against Haitian migrants). Jair Bolsonaro would repeat Piñera’s statement many times during his presidential campaign in 2018, and then as president. Indeed, the crimination against Latin American and African migrants is on the rise in Brazil. Michel Temer (president from 2016 to 2018) sought to interrupt the debate on immigration reform, even though that reform would remedy one of the main flaws in the Brazilian constitution enacted in 1988, after the country returned to democratic rule.22 The revised version of the law was ultimately signed by Temer in 2017, but the text had been changed, cutting out several articles that protected human rights. During the 2018 election campaign, Bolsonaro, the far-right candidate, invoked a nationalist logic that refuted the right to mobility established by MERCOSUR. On Facebook, Twitter and other social media, Bolsonaro supporters called for, among other things, a return to “the old passport of sovereign Brazil” to replace the MERCOSUR passport (the MERCOSUR logo was ultimately removed from the Brazilian passport). One of the first measures Bolsonaro took after taking over office in 2019 was to announce Brazil’s withdrawal from the United Nations Compact for Migration, which Temer had signed 2 months earlier. Sebastián Piñera announced the same in late 2018. In Argentina, Brazil, and Chile, a certain sector of public opinion has embraced these discourses, using them to endorse acts of violence. Xenophobic demonstrations in Chile have grown on social media, with videos showing Chilean citizens insulting and assailing migrants from 2016 onwards. In October 2018, locals burned down a settlement of Venezuelan migrants in Pacaraima, on the Brazilian side of the Amazon, forcing over a thousand Venezuelans to cross the border back into their country. The Brazilian federal government militarized the incident, sending in the armed forces to “keep order at the border.” In Antofagasta, in Northern Chile, in 2013, a march was held against Colombian migrants, particularly those of African descent. In that same region in 2017, as the result of a labor dispute, Chileans set fire

 In drafting the 1988 constitution legislators decided not to address immigration, but rather to keep the regulations introduced under the military dictatorship.

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to two Peruvian fishermen. In 2018, xenophobic outbreaks against Haitian migration gained extensive and intense coverage in the media, which were used as a pillar by Sebastián Piñera’s presidency. Within a framework of legal actions used to reduce the Haitian presence in Chile, Piñera decreed a “humanitarian return” program. That program has repatriated Haitian citizens systematically and on a mass scale. Airplanes full of Haitian migrants are chartered by the Chilean government to take them back to Port-au-Prince. No economic, psychological, or legal aid is extended to the Haitians in the program. If they sign up for the program, the migrants are barred from returning to Chile for 9 years.23 All of this, meanwhile, was accompanied by a worsening of extreme migratory processes in South America between 2016 and 2019. People were displaced by famine, failing economic models, gender inequality, or the violence resulting from the hegemony on the part of drug-trafficking cartels controlling vast swaths of territory. In the case of Colombia, 7,200,000 people were internally displaced in 2016 due to military and paramilitary violence. This number was, at that time, the largest contingent of refugees in the world (IOM 2018, p. 82). In this same year, 300,000 Colombians requested refuge in other countries; about 1,200,000 already lived in Venezuela and Ecuador (IOM 2018, p. 82). The situation of Colombians in Venezuela would change dramatically from 2017 to 2019. The extractive economic model, high levels of violence, and political instability created the conditions for a Venezuelan emigration process that today constitutes a humanitarian crisis (Freier 2018). An IOM report from 2018 states that of the 1,622,109 Venezuelan emigrants found worldwide (a conservative estimate, according to other reports), 885,891 were in a South American country (IOM 2018). The number of Venezuelans in Peru almost quadrupled from March to July 2018, climbing from 100,000 to 350,000 persons (Freier 2018). In 2018, Ecuador declared its northern border an emergency zone due to the 4000 persons crossing daily into the country. Venezuelan migration also skyrocketed in Chile in 2017 (Rojas and Silva 2016). Venezuelans became the largest migrant community in this country in the space of a few years. But we must also add here the records referring to the request for political asylum. While the number of Venezuelans seeking asylum in the United States went up by 168% between 2015 and 2016, those applying for asylum worldwide grew from 27,000 in 2016 to 50,000 in mid-2017 (IOM 2018, p. 82). The South American countries have responded to this situation in different ways. Argentina and Uruguay have been the most welcoming of Venezuelans, applying the norms established by the MERCOSUR residence visa, even though Venezuela’s membership to MERCOSUR has been suspended. From January 2017 onwards, Peru started issuing temporary residence visas specifically for Venezuelans. But the number of visas issued does not even come close to meeting demand (35,000 visas  This measure usually applies only to foreign nationals who have committed a crime in Chile. Thus, the “humanitarian return” legally equates Haitians with criminal defendants, in a clear criminalization of the migratory contingent that has suffered the most racist violence in the country in recent years. Similar processes of racialization and criminalization have also been applied towards Colombian migration in northern Chile (Stang and Stefoni 2016).

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issued for 350,000 applicants, or just 10%). Colombia also began issuing temporary residence visas to those who entered the country between July 2017 and February 2018. It enacted a border-mobility order whereby Venezuelans could move back and forth between Colombia and Venezuela. In February 2018, both measures were suspended. In April 2018, Sebastián Piñera in Chile approved a “democracy visa” for Venezuelan citizens; applications must be processed in one of the two Chilean consulates in Venezuela. According to media reports, over 35,000 people applied from April to June 2018, but only 4000 visas were issued (Stefoni 2018). As these examples show, the framework that stimulated transnational and cross-­ border migration afforded by the multilateral agreements implemented in the region from 2001 to 2015 is waning. Governments have decided to re-establish limits on human circulation, however, without carrying out the corresponding changes to the legal framework. What they do is apply procedural changes that, in practice, invalidate the rights guaranteed by laws and treaties.24 The impact that these measures will have on migrant laborers – those who circulate through the region in pursuit of work rather than fleeing political persecution – has yet to be seen. One thing is clear: transnational migration has become a target of criminalizing and punishing political discourses. The studies on transnational migrant communities in South America presented in the second part of this book address precisely the configurations of these new realities.

2.5  Situating Heterogeneity The debates carried out through this chapter suggest that Latin American transnational migrations are heterogeneous processes: their configurations vary with the specificities of domestic contexts and with the external relations between the countries in the region. This heterogeneity means that any analysis must take certain precautions. The first (and most obvious) is to recognize the impossibility of a totalizing vision or of a “great narrative” of the phenomenon in the region (Grimson 2018, p. 100). The second is to explicitly embrace a specifically situated analysis that grasps the historical transformation of migration and its processes. We adhere to De Beauvoir’s notion (2018 [1958], p. 161) that only the idea of situation, “which alone allows one to make some concrete definition of human groups without enslaving them to a tireless and deterministic pattern” (Our translation). The concept of “situation” (and of situationality) captures the inevitable tensions between the

 All of this, in the cases of Brazil and Argentina, in the context of harsh economic reforms that overturned the “regionalized globalization” model in favor of a resumed emphasis on primary products and the privileging of foreign speculative capital over secondary sectors (the industries, por example), with the resulting quick destruction of the domestic consumer market and destructuralization of the labor market. In this growing anti-globalization rhetoric, then, the fluidity of certain financial sectors is embraced while productive economies are faced with a set of new – and largely insurmountable – obstacles.

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impositions placed on subjects and their ability to maneuver through them in order to position themselves, take action, and survive. This partial “liberty” constitutes. the very model of existence, which, willy-nilly, in one way or another, subsumes to itself all external influences […]. On the other hand, actual concrete possibilities vary from one person to the next. Some can attain only a small part of those opportunities that are available to mankind at large (De Beauvoir 2018, p. 518. Our translation).

Various post-Marxist and poststructuralist authors assume the centrality of this notion of “situation” in achieving diachronic readings of social processes, thereby seeking to capture the dialectic between subjective determination capacity and structural constraints (Kapferer 2006). These statements lead us to various theoretical-­explanatory axes. First, we look to socio-anthropological reflections on the relationship between space and identity under globalization. Grappling with transnational migrations in Latin America requires considering what the social sciences at the end of the twentieth century called the spatial turn. That notion refers to the spatially multisituated character of social experience. Said migrations constitute a Latin American phenomenon and the active construction of “Latin Americanity” in the world without necessarily occurring in what, according to a Euclidean geographical vision, we call “Latin America”. At the same time, the proliferation of forms and experiences of Latin Americanity is articulated with patterns to assign an economic, legal, social, and political locus to Latin American migrants. Those patterns operate through racial/ethnic, class, and gender discrimination and reflect the historical construction, through Braudel’s longue durée, that assembles the place of Latin America in the world system. Second, these forms of transnationalism have changed over time. A whole range of historic contingencies informs migration dynamics and their transformations in each migrant-sending country in the region: changes in economic production, accumulation, and circulation systems; tensions and alliances between different governments and State-nations; geopolitical and trade blocs; varied political turns and conflicts; and cultural, symbolic, and generational transformations (Merenson 2015). A careful look at historical transformations cannot help but show that the understanding and social experience of transnationalism has changed in the last three decades for migrant-sending and migrant-receiving countries alike. We are currently witnessing the emergence of new patterns of transnationalism thanks to the performative use of social media. Facebook, WhatsApp, Twitter, Instagram, and others play a role in the decision on how, from where, with whom, and when to migrate, as well as the path to take and destinations to choose. Users themselves are the ones who feed information into these networks “live”, thus influencing the decisions made by other migrants. If there is a problem at a certain border crossing, many find out about it immediately and choose an alternative route. With this previously unimaginable interactivity, migrants deal with the restrictive policies they come up against. Though it did not become widespread in the region until recently, hyperconnectivity has transformed intra-regional migration. Its dynamics have changed, meaning that migrants can now make informed decisions. What is interesting is how participation and the use of this information is itself the

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source of new migration opportunities. Thus, a new field has opened up in transnational studies. Rather than communities constituted simultaneously “here and there”, what we have is a sort of collective transnational construction of opportunities to migrate, ways to travel, and mechanisms by which to settle. All of this constitutes both a response to and a means of agency in the face of border control policies and the criminalization of migration. Third, the transnational experience of Latin American migrants is an embodied reality for those of us who study it: we too migrate and live transnationally. The social research we do is constituted in transnational relationships with colleagues, funding bodies, publishing houses, and so forth. These transnational visions of migration inevitably have an epistemological dimension. At stake is a way of life, not only a field of study, and that brings us back to the intersubjective and political dimension of these debates. The production of hegemonies and logics of border control and planetary mobility are factors in the social experience of Latin American migrants as well as of social researchers. Transnationalism in this part of the globe requires a situated reading of the intersectionality between social thought and political positioning. We have shown how, since 2015, hegemonic political uses have, in the South American case, produced an imaginary of migration crisis in the region. The problem is not only more intense extreme migration but also how States have handled it. The current conservative turn in politics has fomented fascist tendencies in the region regarding border control in particular. The human tragedy of more and more migrants in the region is juxtaposed with anti-transnational-migrant rhetoric. Cross-­ border living is considered negative in international imaginaries, and South American voters seem to support politics and policies that oppose that form of migration (and that is the case even in migrant-sending countries). The mass media insist we are experiencing a “migration crisis”, when in reality, the simple use of that term is part of the problem: the result of the process is mistaken for its cause. The combination of ultra-neoliberal accumulation, border closings, the use of military technology at borders, and hate speech is precisely what is producing, with more and more violence, migration crises around the planet. South America has become steeped in this logic in the last 5 years. In such contexts, we believe that migrant transnationalism in the region requires a politically situated analytic perspective. In the next chapter, we will show that this political perspective must necessarily include a critique of gender, informed by the policy agenda of the region’s feminist movements. Acknowledgments  This chapter was translated from Spanish to English by Jane Brodie and Wendy Gosselin and reviewed by Christine Ann Hills and Menara Guizardi. The authors thank the National Research and Development Agency of Chile (ANID) for funding the studies that gave rise to this chapter through the Projects Fondecyt 1190056, “The Boundaries of Gender Violence: Migrant Women’s Experiences in South American Border Territories” (2019–2023), and Fondecyt 1201130, “Routes and trajectories of Venezuelan migrants throughout South America” (2020–2024).

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Chapter 3

On Feminisms and Mobilities: Critical Debates on Migration and Gender in Latin America (1970–2020) Menara Guizardi, Herminia Gonzálvez, and Carolina Stefoni

3.1  Introduction In the previous chapter, we offered a historical contextualization of Latin American migratory flows, showing the relationship between policies, economic processes, and the changes in the social representations regarding migrant populations in the American Southern Cone. This chapter brings other contextual and historical information that is crucial to understand the current migration processes in this subregion. In the following pages, we will address the relationship between gender and migrations in Latin America (and, particularly, in South America) linking it with some key social, economic, and political processes that took place in the region between 1970 and 2020. From the eighties onwards, migration studies have represented very fertile ground for research in the social sciences worldwide. In this period, the effort to understand the interpellation between the processes of human mobility and gender inequalities has powerfully re-oxygenated anthropological, sociological, and political sciences debates. Thus, it contributed to the questioning of categories considered “classic” in these fields of knowledge (Gregorio 1997; Provansal 2008). M. Guizardi (*) National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET), Buenos Aires, Argentina National University of San Martín, Buenos Aires, Argentina University of Tarapacá, Arica, Chile H. Gonzálvez Central University of Chile, Santiago, Chile C. Stefoni University Mayor of Chile, Santiago, Chile Center for the Study of Conflict and Social Cohesion, Santiago, Chile © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Guizardi (ed.), The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone, Latin American Societies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-68161-6_3

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Fig. 3.1  At the International Women’s Day March, protesters show four posters that state, from left to right: “Happy will be the day when no woman is missing”; “We are not all here; those murdered are missing”; “We want to live, not survive”; “Handkerchief in hand to remember every missing woman”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2020). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

However, the conceptualization of these phenomena has required more effort in the first two decades of the twenty-first century, due to the radicalization of two correlated processes. The first is an increase in the levels of violence suffered by Latin American women in general (Fig.  3.1) (Segato 2016, p.  25). Second, the particular intensification of rapes, mutilations, murders and kidnappings of international migrant women, women who seek political asylum and refuge, who choose a circular cross-border life, or seek to cross international frontiers and territories (Fig. 3.2) (Anitha et al. 2018; Nolin 2017; Peña et al. 2017). This reality explains why the relationship between human mobilities and gender has become a pressing issue on the international research agenda. The production that correlates these two elements, which can only be described as immense, has been articulated with feminist approaches. The latter were fundamental for the development of narratives that break “with the discursive hegemony that imposes a single possible world and a single way of reading it” (Pérez-Orozco 2014, p. 43. Our translation), although orthodox academia initially rejected them. With “orthodox academia” we refer to those institutions and professionals that reproduce gender inequalities in the exercise of professional research and university teaching. The allusion to an “orthodoxy” is justifiable because, as various studies on the history of science argue, the academic world has naturalized from its origins,

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Fig. 3.2  Women leaders of the Network of Migrants of Argentina march in the protest against gender violence called by the movement “Ni una menos” [“Not one woman less”]. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2017). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

assumptions on values that endorse gender asymmetries, which are remarkably resistant in universities worldwide (Des Chenes 1997; Kuklick 1997; Rosaldo 1980; Weston 1997).1 Since the seventies, the work of feminist thinkers has been able to denounce the reproduction of these sexist and androcentric distortions in the shaping of social research (Clifford 1997, p. 199). This feminist debate constitutes, for many analysts, a heterodox reading of the sciences that also implies an epistemological critique of positivism.2 But what we want to underline here is that, as far as

1  Thanks to international research, we know that, in the twenty-first century, universities worldwide still constitute spaces of strong reproduction of gender violence. Female researchers are exposed to that from the very beginning of their training (that is, in their learning experience) (Castro and García 2008; Hernández and Rodríguez 2015; Mingo and Moreno 2015; Valls et al. 2007). These issues persist and are magnified in these women’s professional lives, acquiring multidimensional manifestations. For example, the income inequality indices between men and women in academic institutions in various countries are frequently higher than the averages verified in the general labor market (León and Mora 2010, p. 400). 2  In the words of Hanson and Richards (2017): “Identifying a number of androcentric norms and masculinist biases that structure positivist social inquiry, feminist scholars have critiqued the concepts of objectivity and neutrality as first excluding and then marginalizing forms of knowledge that do not correspond with those of elite white males. Feminist scholars have highlighted the exclusion of certain spaces and actors from study (Kanter 1977; Milkman 1982), the selection and definition of problems for inquiry (Harding 1992), and the delegitimization of the experiences of

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migration studies are concerned, an original Latin American critical perspective on women’s experiences was delineated very early on, in the studies about the intensive rural exodus experienced throughout the region between the fifties and the nineties (Herrera 2012, p. 35). By deepening these reflections, the debate carried out in the following pages aims to serve three objectives. First, to offer a synthetic overview of how migrant women were thematized in the social sciences internationally. Second, to underline the correlation between these debates and the reflections raised from feminism, showing the confluence and conflicts among these fields of knowledge. Third, to point out how these issues were addressed by social scientists working in Latin America and, particularly, in South American countries. The purpose of doing so is to emphasize the reflective imprint and critical positioning of researchers from and in the region in their exercise of rethinking the ethnocentric biases of some hegemonic arguments of migration studies. Our focus on the period from the seventies onwards is especially relevant for these goals, since these five decades represent the moment in which the interpellation between migration studies and feminist debates took place. Our review seeks to address the impact this theoretical connection had in the constitution of the transnational perspective on migration (Guizardi et al. 2017a, pp. 30–31).3 In this period, Latin America experienced a transition between two demographic macro-­ models of migration (Martínez 2003). It went from rural-urban displacements (predominant between the fifties and the eighties) to international migration (characteristic of the transition between the twentieth and twenty-first centuries) (Martínez 2009). It is worth emphasizing that our discussion is directed towards a specific analytical framework. It concentrates on those debates that proved to be transcendent: on the theorizations that currently influence the research on women’s transnational, cross-border, and circular migration. In the next section, we will start by placing the gender shift in international migration studies (1970–1990), discussing the emergence of reflections on social reproduction, change, and remittances. Then, we will follow the development of the transnational approach to migration. Unlike the previous chapter, we will cover it from a critical feminist perspective, which was crucial for the field’s theoretical development (between 1990 and 2005). We will also discuss the emergence of studies on care and affection in migration studies (from 2005 to the beginning of 2020). As we move forward in these discussions, we will dialogue with the contributions produced in South America, where many researchers have theorized about migration from the reflective (and political) condition of women and migrants. This will allow us to draw on a mosaic of research on migrant communities in the region, but this time supporting it with a feminist intersubjective perspective. women and the validation of those of men as legitimate ‘knowledge’ (Smith 1975) as evidence of androcentric norms that structure all aspects of the research process” (Hanson and Richards 2017, p. 4). 3  As we explained in Chap. 2, and as we will detail in the following pages, this analytical perspective became hegemonic in migration studies (Guizardi and Nazal 2017; Stefoni 2014).

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Fig. 3.3  Young women from the “Las Rojas” [The Female Reds] movement at the International Women’s Day March protest in favor of legal and free abortion, carrying posters that say: “Girls, not mothers”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2020). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

We conclude by offering our reflections on the current context of feminist political struggles in the Southern Cone, highlighting the impact that the debate on women’s rights is having on the re-semantization of gender relations (between social actors, as well as among them and State institutions) (Figs. 3.3 and 3.4). Therefore, we will discuss the role of the feminist interpretation of migratory processes – in this interpellation between political movements and social research – in promoting heterogeneous forms of autonomy that can emanate from migrant women and communities. The latter is an attempt to make structuring violence and inequalities visible and to advocate on the need to move towards the critical perspective that Segato (2016, p. 25) calls a “feminist domestication of politics” (Our translation).

3.2  The Gender Shift in Migration Studies Until 1980, the role played by migrant women both in migrant networks and in the processes of social reproduction of their families and economies had been made invisible by the androcentrism and eurocentrism of the hegemonic approaches in the social sciences (Magliano 2007; Martínez 2003; Provansal 2008). In the research published between 1880 and 1980, migrant women were usually portrayed as

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Fig. 3.4  Women from the Socialist Workers Movement (MST in its Spanish acronym) protested against gender violence on International Women’s Day. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2020). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

circumscribed to a (fictitious) domestic space, isolated from public life (Herrera 2012). Since Raveinstein (1889) affirmed in his classic text – founding of the field of migration studies – that the male migrant pre-eminence constituted a “Law” (De Oliveira and García 1984, p. 79), women have repeatedly appeared as “accessory elements” in research on migratory processes. In these works, the capacity of agency was often understood as a male characteristic (Bryceson and Vuorela 2002; Gonzálvez 2007; Gregorio 1998). Overcoming these analytical distortions has implied a long journey of many years, in which the interpellation of the feminist debate was crucial in questioning the inseparability of the production and reproduction circuit of social life (Gregorio 2011). The concept of social reproduction comes from Marxist debates that were reinterpreted by feminism in the seventies (Ferguson 2008, p. 43). The Marxist argument states that the continuity of the capitalist mode of production demands not only the generation of its current conditions of existence but also their persistence in time (Laslett and Brenner 1989). Thus, it implies the reproduction of the divisions, inequalities, and asymmetries between different classes and among their internal groups (Bourdieu 2011). Consequently, there is a strong link between the continuity of the system and its immanent reproduction: “social change” depends on the possibility of breaking this cycle, so it demands the reconfiguration of social reproduction strategies (Gregorio 2011).

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Extrapolating Althusser’s (1988) debate, for whom certain social institutions such as the family, the State, the Church and the school are central in maintaining the reproduction of inequality, the feminist argument takes a critical perspective on the gender subalternization that underlies these strategies (Ferguson 2008). In doing so, it denounces that the continuity of the capitalist mode of production rests on women’s shoulders, who are responsible for most of the effort to “reproduce” the new generations. Close to these reflections, and with an important avant-garde character, we find the works of Latin American women such as García et al. (1982, 1983) on rural-­ urban migration in Mexico, Argentina, and Brazil; and Noordam and Arriagada (1980) for the Chilean context. Driven by these reflections, the critique of “development” through a gender perspective had already appeared in Latin American migration studies in the early eighties, promoted by critical debates on the Dependency Theory (Feijoó 1980; Orlansky 1980). This is also the case in the South-South comparative studies by De Oliveira and García (1984), crossing the analysis of gender inequalities between migrant groups from Buenos Aires and Mexico City, with Asian and African metropolises. Studies on the movements of the women who led shantytown occupations in Latin American big cities had a decisive influence in constructing this perspective, particularly in the “lost decade” of the eighties. Researchers such as Teresa Valdés (1993), in Chile, and Larissa Lomnitz (1980), in Mexico, raised, with great originality, a connection between migration studies and the research on the transformations that were taking place in the poor urban spaces. Thus, they analyzed a scenario of economic adjustments in which the women’s strategies played a fundamental role, especially in lower-income sectors. Their writings developed ideas about solidarity, communities, and families that appeared in international studies on migration and gender a decade later, from the nineties onwards. This example illustrates one of the central arguments of this chapter. These conceptual tools used by Latin American researchers to analyze rural-urban displacements were put into use years later in globalization, as a background and a starting point from which to theorize the feminization of the region’s international migration flows (Herrera 2012, p. 38). These previous studies helped in understanding that this feminization process was heterogeneous, manifesting itself in a particular way (regarding its magnitude and qualitative characteristics) in many Latin American countries. Likewise, they also highlighted that, within each country, some regions acted as emigrant issuers, while others as immigrant receivers. Therefore, these earlier Latin American perspectives on gender and migration situated internal heterogeneity inside national contexts. The diverse cultural configurations of these countries and their internal regions were (and are still) crucial elements in promoting or reducing female migration. Consequently, comparing the Latin American debates with those produced in the Global North in the eighties, we can observe that the former were marked earlier by an inclination to reveal the female migrant agency and its multiscale contextualization as part of the profound changes in the region’s urban spaces.

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Furthermore: these studies also investigated, in a vanguard fashion, the link between the insertion of rural women into the urban labor market and the constitution of a burdensome female overload regarding productive and reproductive tasks. Through this perspective, they argued, long before anything was done in the Global North’s research, that the precariousness of female labor was intersectionally crossed by gender and the women’s migratory condition (Herrera 2012, p.  38). Domestic work, being both persistently precarious (Stefoni 2009; Stefoni and Fernández 2011) and the main job opportunity for the intranational migrant women in various cities in Latin America (Szasz-Pianta 1995, p. 181), accounted for the social reproduction of their exploitation in the region (De Oliveira and García 1984, p.  80). While they made this exploitative character visible, these studies also registered the women’s capacity to adapt and resist when facing the advance of neoliberal policies implemented massively since the eighties (Mora 2008). However, despite their advances and originalities, these works also had certain limitations. For example, they were characterized by a somewhat limited vision of gender relations, frequently reducing them to the experience of “women” (Herrera 2012, p. 36). Inspired by the feminist and Marxist debate, the analytical insights in the eighties on Latin American migrant women were basically focused on questions about social change (see Margulis 1980). In these initial studies, scholars wondered if migration would allow gender relations to become more egalitarian or, on the contrary, if the unequal and subordinate relationships that women used to face in their rural places of origin would worsen in the urban receiving localities. It was interpreted that migration articulated the transition from one gender system (that of the localities of origin) to another (that of the receiving localities), attributing a certain transformative potential to women. Gregorio (2011, p.  55) calls this approach “dual-gender systems” (Our translation). With an acute perception of the dialectic between the reproduction of the subordination and labor empowerment of migrant women, these works drew attention to, with remarkable clarity, the gender distortions of the social changes promoted by migration. Domestic service and its centrality in the urbanization process became important analytical axes: The impact of female migration on women’s status in urban and rural areas should be studied in greater depth. On the one hand, it has been proven that the displacement of women who are engaged in domestic service contributes to raising the level of female participation in urban areas, not only directly but also indirectly, by allowing women from the middle sectors to incorporate themselves into extra-domestic activity. However, the women’s condition as unskilled workers makes improving their social status difficult, especially if they migrate under pressure from their husband, father, or family of origin, as has been documented for Mexico City (De Oliveira and García 1984, p. 80. Our translation).

In the nineties, these ideas regarding the Latin American migrant communities in the Global North began to appear in English-speaking studies. Nonetheless, many of these studies tended to reproduce national hierarchies between places of origin and destination. They assumed without criticism that the receiving countries enjoyed more egalitarian social relations than the migrant women’s societies of origin. The latter were described as predominantly structured through asymmetrical gender systems. The influence of the Modernization Theory and developmentalism was

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still being felt in the new inquiries and investigations that were beginning to develop in those years. During the eighties and nineties – although with nuances specific to each national context – the international literature on migrant women grew rapidly, particularly in fields such as history (Gabaccia 1992), sociology (Kofman 2004; Pedraza 1991), and anthropology (Biujs 1996; Brettell and Deberjois 1992; Mahler and Pessar 2001). Whether through disruptive arguments or not, studies produced from various disciplines showed that gender ascription influenced the decision to migrate, as well as the settlement processes in the host society. An example of the above is the study by Szasz-Pianta (1994), which crossed anthropological and demographic perspectives to inquire about Mexican female migrations. In a similar vein the book by Borrero and Ugalde (1995) brought together various disciplines in the debate on the phenomenon in different Ecuadorian contexts. In Santiago (Chile), Szasz-Pianta (1995) pointed out how, since the end of the twentieth century, the labor market differentiated the possibilities of social mobility, whether upwards or downwards for migrant women. This influenced their decision-making processes on migration and, simultaneously, encouraged their intensive adaptation to survive (and, at times, overcome) these market limitations. The curious thing about this period is that Latin American and South American studies continued to be focused, mainly, on intranational migrations. Meanwhile, the research carried out in the Global North’s big cities started to thematize the experience of Latin American migrants who had become increasingly numerous in these metropolises, especially in the United States (Alicea 1997; Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila 1997; Mortimer and Bryce-Laporte 1981). It is worth highlighting that studies on Mexican migrant women were predominant in this growing focus on Latin American migrations in the United States (US). They were crucial for opening up the research field since they made it visible that these women’s rural-urban migrations frequently entailed cross-border dynamics between Mexico and the US (Mummert 1990). This same phenomenon would be observed, years later – with different proportions and qualitative impacts – in the study of the transnationalization of Bolivian migrant families to Argentina (Benencia 2005). As we explained in the previous chapter, these works coincided with migrant remittances becoming an object of study: they gained prominence in academic debates and development policies promoted by international agencies and banks. The question raised was whether these remittances contributed to the development of the migrant’s families, localities, or countries of origin (Cavalcanti and Parella 2006). This was due, at least in part, to the monetary increase in remittances from migrants born in the Global South who worked and lived in Global North countries. Between 1990 and 2000, these remittances multiplied exponentially, exceeding for the first time, for example, the so-called developed countries’ economic contribution to international cooperation with countries considered underdeveloped (Martínez 2003). All of this fostered the consolidation of the gender perspective in the studies on migration from Latin American countries, given that, in the nineties, these migratory flows have shown a strong trend towards feminization. Latin American women have

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become protagonists, issuing international remittances from Global North to Global South (Cavalcanti and Parella 2006). This vision, despite its tendency towards an economic bias, had the effect of supporting the enormous centrality and prominence of migrant women in their effort to reconcile their processes of capitalization with their responsibilities for sustaining their families or communities (Alicea 1997; Aranda 2003; Bryceson and Vuorela 2002; Coe 2011; Hondagneu-Sotelo 2000; Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila 1997; Sørensen 2008; Sørensen and Vammen 2014). Attention to the nuances and contradictions of this tension in the female migrant agency will be one of the axes of the transnational perspective of migration.

3.3  Migrant Women in Transnationalism In the previous chapter, we explained that women became visible in migration studies as subjects endowed with agency, at the beginning of the troubled globalizing transition to the present century (Herrera 2012). Part of this analytical change was due to the actions of social scientists who share the feminine condition with the women they studied and have family histories of migration (or even are migrants themselves). They promoted an epistemic turn and placed the gender approach as an inescapable, central, and articulating axis in the study of migrant communities. This transformation structured the emergence of the transnational perspective, which has become a preponderant approach in the international debates on migration.4 Returning to the definition of transnationalism that we provided in the previous chapter, Glick-Schiller et  al. (1992) are the authors who reinvented the term, transferring it from economics to migration studies (Gonzálvez 2007, p.  11). According to them, migrants began to experience globalization contexts that have made it possible for them to establish real-time contact between distant locations since the end of the twentieth century. These changes allowed subjects and collectivities to constitute their migratory experiences according to innovative patterns, full of unpredictable links: establishing binational or multinational (family, economic, social, organizational, religious) relationships; taking decisions and

4  In the nineties, the debate on migrant transnationalism was started by female researchers with a migratory background. Some of them, like Nina Glick-Schiller, and Peggy Levitt, are American and wrote from universities in their country, but they came from migrant families. Others, such as Cristina Szanton-Blanc, Nina Nyberg Sørensen and Bela Feldman-Bianco, were themselves migrants in the United States. The second and third generations of researchers adhering to the debates of transnationalism (in the first decade of the twenty-first century) include migrants from the Global South, but who work in universities in the Global North –especially the “Chicanas”, who also contributed to the emergence of the field on cross-border female migration between Mexico and the United States–. The work of Latin American migrants oxygenated the gender debate and contributed to its decolonization, offering elements to rethink the structuring of analytical disjunctions between the migrant identities and the ones considered hegemonic in their receiving countries.

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measures, constituting their actions and affections and living interests that led to an experience of connection between distant locations (Levitt and Glick-Schiller 2004). These definitions put analytical pressure on reformulating the concept of society (Levitt and Glick-Schiller 2004, p.  61). They made it clear that the way social scientists had thought about communities, practices, and institutions – for example, the family, citizenship, and the Nation-state – required a careful review (Gonzálvez and Acosta 2015, pp. 126–128; Levitt and Glick-Schiller 2004, p. 61). This pressure is materialized in three analytical axes inspired by the critical gender perspective supported by the feminist thought and political movements of the nineties.

3.3.1  The Role of Female Agency The first point refers to the call to give analytical centrality to women’s role in the processes of transnationalism as lived by migrant subjects, families, groups, and institutions. The transnational perspective on migratory processes helped to elucidate that the invisibility of migrant women’s agency was especially controversial in South American contexts. In the nineties, women became protagonists of the migratory networks in most of the continent’s countries (Martínez 2003, 2009). In general, it was women who initiated the process of international displacement spread through their communities of origin. In doing so, they acted as the nodal points of social networks that tend to progressively transnationalize (Alicea 1997). Although it stilled discreet in the first decade of the twenty-first century, between 1990 and 2000 the feminization of migration had been general in Latin America (and not only South America), and was associated with global economic and political dynamics (Mora 2008). Since the eighties, neoliberal reforms have caused massive unemployment in the region, linked to the precariousness of general working conditions. Due to the persistence of patriarchal behavior patterns, an androcentric social division of labor was reproduced. It was based on the archetypical notion that the men should be the breadwinners (acting in the productive market), while women should be devoted to family care and domestic work (Sørensen and Vammen 2014). With the increase in unemployment, men’s inability to respond to these archetypical demands regarding their families grew. At the same time, the States’ neoliberal adjustments, and withdrawal from social policies, reduced the assistance available to families in these situations of crisis and instability. The above resulted in family breakdown (with the male figure leaving the home). This reality, more prevalent among the poorest social sectors and the lower middle class, caused women to take on productive and reproductive tasks alone. In order words, women assumed the responsibilities that neither men nor the States were willing to respond to (Fig. 3.5). In different Latin American countries, this double productive-reproductive responsibility constituted a central incentive for international female migration. This is how women became the heads of Latin American migrant networks, articulating families, groups, and organized communities in different national territories (Sørensen 2008). They ended up

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Fig. 3.5  Women from the Patria Grande [Great Homeland] movement at the International Women’s Day March, carrying a poster saying: “Popular Feminism against Neoliberalism”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

globalizing their localities of origin (Freeman 2001) and reinventing their children and family care processes (Aranda 2003; Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila 1997). All this is not only confirmed but recorded as being even more intense in the case of women living in Latin American border territories (Guizardi et al. 2018b, Tapia and Ramos 2013). Female leadership in these mobilities also implies that they assume the management of economic activities (Hondagneu-Sotelo 2000). This impacted the way families and marital relationships were constituted and the social role attributed to grandparents, uncles, aunties, and friends. In general, women’s socio-economic insertion in the globalized (and post-globalized) world reordered exploitation systems and gender hierarchies on planetary scales (Mills 2003). Research on different national groups carried out in the countries of origin, and those of destination began to provide empirical sediments to think and problematize this female protagonism. This had a meta-theoretical effect: it implied a transnationalization of the debate in migration studies. Regarding Peruvian migrant women, for example, studies in different countries of the world have confirmed this trend towards the feminization of the migratory chain. They also confirmed the women’s importance in creating or maintaining

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transnational ties and networks.5 According to Paerregaard (2006, p. 64), “female participation in Peruvian emigration is not a new phenomenon. On the contrary, women have spearheaded Peruvian emigration to countries such as the United States, Spain, Italy, Argentina, and Chile for many years” (Our translation). In Chile, the cross-border dimension of the experience of Peruvian and Bolivian women who migrate circularly between the Northern Chilean, the Peruvian South and the Bolivian Northwest borders has been a recurring theme of research (Guizardi et  al. 2017b, c; Guizardi and Garcés 2012, 2013; Tapia and Ramos 2013). In a similar vein, studies carried out in Argentina (a country that remains the main destination of intraregional South American migration) also proliferated, emphasizing the gender dimension of the booming Bolivian cross-border mobilities to the country (Cerrutti et al. 2010; Magliano 2007, 2009, 2013). However, we should also establish critical reflections on the visibility that transnationalism granted to migrant women. The increase in female migration and the incorporation of the family as an analytical axis (as we will see later) determined that an important part of the discussions on transnationalism focused on the women’s practices as mothers and wives. Despite the advances that these perspectives offered, they also caused analytical biases. The first refers to the reification of transnationalized motherhood, which was taken up as a sort of family migration management model in globalization. This resulted in the naturalization of the concept of the biological family (especially in the nineties) and contributed to obscuring other niches of presence and articulation of female migrants in transnational and cross-border experiences. The second refers to a hyper-focusing of the topics of analysis and research linked to a limited profile of women. This made the participation of migrant women in other spaces invisible, including political struggles, which, as we have clearly observed in recent years in South American contexts, are strongly driven by female activity (of migrants and non-migrants). In countries such as Argentina and Brazil, the nineties’ neoliberal reforms have resulted in the “active destruction” (Harvey 2008) of trade union networks. These organizations had constituted a vehicle for the working-class struggle and representation in the twentieth century, although historically led by men. With this disarticulation, the spaces of political representation were gradually replaced by closely territorialized organizations  – associations, neighborhood movements, cooperatives – located in the families’ housing sectors (usually in urban shantytowns) and firmly led by female figures. The women who assumed this leadership were also their household’s breadwinner. Thus, the women’s leading role in the care and the social reproduction of their families fostered their political protagonism as “community caregivers”. So, women led the struggles to promote and develop social networks that, broadly speaking,

5  For the Spanish case, see Escrivá (2005) and Parella (2007); for Argentina, Gerbaudo et  al. (2010), Paerregaard (2005); for Chile, Godoy (2007), Núñez and Holper (2005), Núñez and Torres (2007), Stefoni (2002, 2005); for Italy, Tamagno (2005).

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Fig. 3.6  Members of the working-class assembly “La Poderosa” [The Powerful Female] (with “Popular Feminism” printed on their T-shirts) protesting on International Women’s Day for equality in the social distribution of care work. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

and with greater or lesser efficiency, tried to cover the multiple deficiencies resulting from cutbacks in health, educational, cultural, and leisure public services. In cities like Buenos Aires, this female leadership in marginalized urban sectors is also, in many cases, a migrant one. Thus, when we look at the distention of migrant networks in Argentina (and particularly in the Greater Buenos Aires area) from the nineties to the present, we note that female migrant struggles are an inexorable part of the lower-income sector’s processes of territorialization and political representation (Figs. 3.6 and 3.7). Simultaneously, this leadership is an unexpected result of the attacks neoliberal reforms had on the oldest political representation institutions among the Southern Cone’s working class (especially, as mentioned before, trade unionism and the labor movements).

3.3.2  Intersectionality in a Transnational Perspective The second novel analytical point this transnational perspective established relates to the assumption that the imaginaries that racialize and marginalize international migrants frequently have a stronger impact on women. This insight has brought attention to and focused thinking on the violations experienced by migrant women

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Fig. 3.7  Bolivian migrant women protest for equal rights on International Women’s Day. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2020). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

as an intersectional phenomenon that is still hugely influenced by the colonial and Nation-state constructions of racism. In the debates promoted by Black feminism, Crenshaw (1991) stated that some women experience the intersectionality of exclusion factors. Their subalternity would thus respond to processes of superimposed marginalization, linked to the condensation of class, race, and gender constructions. The connection between the intersectionality and the vital experience of migrant women resulted, therefore, from the interpellation between the discussions of Black feminism and migratory studies in the social sciences. An example of this type of analysis is provided by studies on Brazilian migrant women in different contexts of the Global North (Guizardi 2013). These works have revealed the transnational reproduction of a racist stereotype of hypersexuality strongly associated with the imaginary of “tropicalism”. The identity of female Brazilian migrants’ is defined through this imaginary in different parts of the globe (Lins-Ribeiro 1998; Piscitelli 2007, 2008; Zubaran 2008). According to Beserra (2007), who has researched the social experiences of Brazilian women living in Los Angeles (California, United States): All the Brazilian women with whom I talked to about the subject were aware of the stereotype. Some believed that it restricted their movements, promoted the idea of prostitution, and, consequently, had a negative impact on Brazilian women, particularly those who live abroad. Others, however, considered that the image is advantageously ambiguous and that

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This construction is intrinsically related to the connection, in the international imaginary, of a Black or African-descendant identity associated with these migrants (MacDonell and Lourenço 2009). Therefore, they are not categories that tacitly reflect the way Brazilian migrant women understand themselves or develop their identity. These imageries, supported by European and North American representations, link the Brazilian national identity to skin color, on the one hand, and to a particular embodiment  – a skill in dance, music, and various other performances associated with this “tropicalism”  – on the other (Machado 2004, 2005). In a violent and perverse way, these characteristics seem to legitimize the exercise of the white man’s (the colonizer) power over Brazilian migrant women, as a way to control and subdue their supposed savagery, to keep them docile (Beserra 2007, p. 316). These arguments about racism in the reproduction of violence against Black migrants have been debated from 2015 onwards in Chile. Various studies have observed its impact on the insertion of Black women of Colombian, Dominican, Venezuelan, and Haitian origin (Barton 2017; Echeverri 2016; Liberona 2015; Pavez 2016; Tijoux 2016, 2017).

3.3.3  (Re)defining Families The third aspect in which we observe the interpellation between the feminist debates and the transnational perspective of migration refers to reconceptualizing the role of families in human mobility. As Parreñas (2005, p. 317) has pointed out, globalization caused fundamental changes in the experience of time and space, and the role of women in the framework of migrant families. Transnational studies, drawing on these ideas, represented a conceptual revolution. Until then, the social sciences had reproduced the idea that the family could be delimited in the same way a country’s borders were supposedly designed. That is, through a Euclidean geometrical demarcation that identifies the social space where all daily relationships between its members, their economic activities, affective ties, and symbolic practices are carried out (Guizardi et al. 2018a, b). The family was, thus, conceived as a “single-site” reality. Transnationalism proposes that families (like nations), beyond any construction of the biological bond, are imagined (Bryceson and Vuorela 2002, p. 10) and chosen communities (Gonzálvez 2015, 2016). Thus, advocating the need to break with the biological definitions of the family (Gonzálvez and Acosta 2015, p. 131), – and also with those that circumscribe its experiences to the contingency of shared physical presence – the debates on transnational families emphasize the spatially decentered character of kinship networks (Bryceson and Vuorela 2002, p.  3). The argument assumes that kinship networks and transnational households operate as central

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elements of the globalization and migration processes, constituting themselves as analytical axes and not as accessory realities (Parella 2007, p. 159). Another important key that characterizes the concept refers to the assumption, generally received between 1990 and 2000, that the transnational family operates as a vehicle of “human development” (Sørensen and Vammen 2014, p. 93). A certain euphoria appeared among researchers working on the gender dimension in transnational migration, given the possibility that the mothers by their displacement, within the framework of transnationalized families, could facilitate their economic empowerment and the breakdown of gender inequalities. After the first decade of the twenty-first century, these utopias were deconstructed by the realization that transnational motherhood in fact sometimes increases the burden on migrant women, and also represents emotional pressures that are quite difficult to balance (Aranda 2003; Gregorio and Gonzálvez 2012; Rivas and Gonzálvez 2010). Still within the critical reading framework, we need to clarify the argument, especially when relating the women’s overload in transnational families with single parenthood (as we discussed in earlier pages). The breakdown of families has proven to be a constant at different times of economic crisis in Latin America. That men act, in these situations, by detaching themselves from their obligations of social reproduction of families, is also a historical reality (Anitha et al. 2018; Borrero and Ugalde 1995; Bryceson and Vuorela 2002; Gabaccia 1992; Gonzálvez 2007, 2013, 2015; Herrera 2012; Magliano 2009). Although these two phenomena are more frequent in the lower-income sectors, they are observed in almost all social stratifications: they are transversal processes in class and historical terms. Consequently, as Helen Safa (1995) proposed, the “male provider” is, for many (and heterogeneous) Latin American families, a myth. In various countries of the region, female protagonism in migration was a gender strategy to solve the male absence long before the nineties: it has been a structural element since the fifties in the rural-urban migration movements. In short, this strategy was first used by women in Latin America, in their internal rural-urban migration (as rural life became impoverished), at a time when the demand for urban domestic workers increased, as labor markets transformed (as we explained in the second section of this chapter). In this sense, we can establish a clear continuity, regarding gender strategies on the reproduction of family nuclei and networks, between intranational and international migration in Latin America. To summarize, the novelty of female protagonism in transnational family mobilities can be summed up in three elements when observed from a Latin American perspective. First, the leap from internal to international migration. Second, the incorporation of middle-class women into these transnational mobilities, while the rural-urban flows were mainly composed of women from socially disadvantaged sectors (impoverished by structural adjustments). Third, women in intranational migration were incorporated into the new demands of their own countries’ urban labor markets. Now Latin American women are incorporated into a global labor marked by strong gender, racial, ethnic, and national asymmetries. Hard-hitting examples of these most critical perspectives on gender inequalities in studies of family transnationalization come from research regarding Colombian

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migratory communities worldwide (Buriticá 2014; Puyana et al. 2009; Rivas and Gonzálvez 2011; Tapia and Gonzálvez 2013), on Ecuadorian communities (Cavalcanti and Parella 2006; Herrera 2004, 2008; Pedone 2006, 2008), Bolivian (Benencia 2005; Leiva 2017; Leiva et al. 2017; Leiva and Ross 2016; Pedone et al. 2012; Peñaloza et al. 2015) and Peruvian (Guizardi et al. 2018a, b).

3.4  M  igration and the Political Economy of Care and Affection In the first decade of the twenty-first century, research on Latin American women’s discourse on their migrations began to reveal how their responsibility as mothers, sisters, or daughters occupied a central place for them, as well as for the other members of their family and kinship networks. These studies showed how the circulation of goods, care, and affection between women that shared kinship ties sustained family life in the transnational social fields (Gregorio 1998, 2012; Gregorio and Gonzálvez 2012). Thus, migration studies advanced in a critical theorization on the asymmetries of power and subordination that the transnational management of family gender relations implied for women (Leiva 2017; Leiva et al. 2017; Leiva and Ross 2016). How interpretations regarding transnational social reproduction were influenced by conceptions based on ideas regarding the exclusivity of biological ties could be problematized thanks to the analytical concern on kinship as an axis of social differentiation (Gonzálvez 2015). This led researchers working on migrations to consider that gender and kinship constitute relations of power and inequality strong enough to cross international borders. This inflection prompted researchers to contrast the social organization of families with the social reproduction of transnational life. The practices of caring and being cared for began to be compared through a transnational perspective on kinship relationships. Therefore, the category “care” emerged as a “hotspot” of migration studies. The concept refers to changes in the management of family well-­ being (Gonzálvez 2013). The debate states that the social organization of care is how each society establishes a correlation between its specific care needs and the way it responds to them (Arriagada 2010). With the intensification of Latin American women’s migration to the Global North from the nineties onwards, the social organization of care in the region gained a challenging transnational dimension. This female migration was motivated, to a large extent, by the increased demand for domestic care workers in countries of the Global North and South (Gonzálvez and Acosta 2015, p. 127; Pérez-Orozco 2009, p. 10). The foregoing produces care drain (Bettio et al. 2006), “a model in which the female and flexible workforce (usually immigrant, indigenous and African-­ descendant women) replaces unpaid domestic and care work that used to be done by

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women in developed countries” (Gonzálvez and Acosta 2015, p.  127. Our translation). The backdrop to this reality is a care crisis, linked to the female population of the receiving countries’ massive insertion into the productive labor market (Hochschild 2002). Thus, female international migrants end up doing the domestic and care work no longer provided by the women of the receiving societies. This situation leads to the emergence of new protagonists, circumstances, and new ways of practicing and understanding care (Benería 2011). Until the beginning of the twenty-first century, the predominant approaches in social sciences conceived care as a task that should be performed by the women of each family, usually supposed to share blood ties with those who “received” the care. But in the first decade of the current century, feminist criticism once again pointed out the diversity of transnational families’ arrangements, highlighting the heterogeneity of the transnational mothering practices (Gregorio and Gonzálvez 2012). Thus, the reproduction of intensive motherhood practices in transnational families was one of the most critically analyzed and problematized issues: the political dimension of affect was deeply questioned (Abramowski and Canevaro 2017, p. 9). Researchers began to investigate the circulation of affect in these transnational chains of care, and the complex relationships between migrant women’s autonomy and subordination, both in their family and labor experiences (Rossi and Canevaro 2017). Once again, feminist critics made visible the reproduction of inequality (based on the practices of caring and being cared for) as principles of social organization that are central to understanding the causes and impacts of transnational migration. Situating care as a political category has allowed migration studies to focus, on the one hand, on the “care crisis” and, on the other, on the “commodification of affections”: an effect of the articulation between economic practices and affective or sexual relationships in intimacy.

3.5  Challenges of the Present Century Over the last 4  years, Latin America has been experiencing a powerful political transformation linked to the distention and amplification of feminist social movements (Bidaseca 2017). The struggles of these movements acquired varied nuances, responding to heterogeneous national contexts, particularly in the Southern Cone, where they were vigorously driven. In Argentina, where the social and working-class community networks have witnessed the emergence of female leadership since the nineties, and the feminist debate has permeated a wide range of socio-economic sectors, the struggle moves and includes various social actors while becoming a nation-wide cause. In Chile, given the importance of student organizations and movements, younger women have picked up the feminist struggle as one of the central elements of their

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demands for non-sexist education and an end to the violence and gender harassment experienced in public and private educational spaces in different regions of the country. In Brazil, the struggles have reflected the voice of Black women. These women suffer the most pressing social inequalities in the country with increasing violence and greater intensity. They have also had their political voice silenced (even through summary murder, as in the case of the political leader Marielle Franco, assassinated at the beginning of 2018, in Rio de Janeiro). Notwithstanding these contextual peculiarities, we can see several common points related to demands to influence the definition of space, voice, action, and representation of women’s rights in these various struggles. We also observe the transnationalization of the recognition by feminist movements in different Latin American countries that women are facing a period of radicalization of violence towards them and towards all gendered identities that are seen as being on “the margin” of the prototypical patriarchy (gays, lesbians, queers, bisexuals, undefined, among others) (Figs. 3.8 and 3.9) (Segato 2015, pp. 71–72). This radicalization of multidimensional violence towards “the other genders” is part of the conservative and anti-democratic turn that we can observe spreading globally, from the Global North to South. As it does so, it gains its own contours, closely inspired by the trajectories and historical alterities of each Latin American country (Segato 2016, pp. 15–17).

Fig. 3.8  At the International Women’s Day March, a protester uses their body to convey a message in defense of the transvestite and transsexual feminist perspective. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

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Fig. 3.9  At the International Women’s Day March, members of the “Las Putas” [The Whores] movement protest with a poster demanding “Respect and Right for Sex Workers”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

Thus, we are going through an agonizing moment of the neoliberal model in its macroeconomic and political structuring. The reproduction of the forms of accumulation and political hegemonies seems to push towards the excessive and radical reinstallation of the principles of social inequalities. Patriarchy, a sort of founding model that guides other forms of hierarchy and violence  – an ancient structure of exploitation in human societies (Segato 2010, p.  10)  – seems to guarantee and, simultaneously, require this violence and its current increase (Segato 2016, p. 19). This context of regional feminist struggles has shown us a number of reflections that influence (or should influence) the way in which, in the social sciences, we think about the migratory, cross-border, and transnational women’s experiences. The task is urgent because, as several researchers are arguing, migrant women of various generations are assuming a central role in these struggles for rights in Latin America (Figs. 3.10 and 3.11) (Carmona 2018; Gavazzo 2018; Pizano et al. 2017). Through the teachings that the slogans of the migrant women’s struggles give us, we are, on the one hand, summoned to think about the ideological character of the Cartesian conceptual dichotomy between public and private. The latter urges us to question how much of this “theoretical” structuring allows the reproduction of the subordination of the domestic space (prototypically thought of as feminine) to the public space (dominated by men).

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Fig. 3.10  Indigenous and migrant women protest against gender violence in the International Women’s Day March. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

Likewise, we are challenged to question whether we can or should continue to understand politics as a space guided by a (fictional) ascetic rationality (understood as devoid of affections). Contrary to these heteronormative ideas, Latin American feminist struggles in the twenty-first century have returned to some feminist enunciations from the seventies, which assumed “the personal is political” (Segato 2016, p. 25. Our translation). They propose not to translate the domestic in public terms, provoking “its digestion by public grammar to reach some degree of politicality, but to do the opposite: ‘domesticate politics’, de-bureaucratize it, humanize it in a domestic key, of a domesticity re-politicized” (Segato 2016, p. 25. Our translation). All of this implies the re-semantization of the political dimension of affections and care; and, thus, of the women’s importance in the (re)production of social life. It is time to devote our research energies to understanding the relationship between care, affection, migration, and gender as a political expression and, simultaneously, as a source of knowledge and proposals for new political constructions. This approach urges going forward in the theorization of female agency, resistance, and displacement capacities along this wide and heterogeneous region that we call Latin America. These inferences allow us to end this chapter by pointing to some aspects and perspectives that, as we understand, could constitute new areas of inquiry (or, at least, some paths to follow) in migration and gender studies in the region.

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Fig. 3.11  Young Argentine and migrant women protest against gender violence at the International Women’s Day March. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

The first is related to an epistemological dimension of studies of female migration. The debate on phenomena such as the relationship between gender and the migrant experience  – which implies asymmetric constitutions of identity and power – requires a redoubled epistemological care on the definition of the perspective and categories assumed by the researchers. Our experience as researchers and as migrants has led us to understand that what we face are not mere coincidences. Most of the researchers studying female migrant experiences in Latin American are women. There is an interpellation between us and the conditions of subjectivity of the migrant women whose lives we are seeking to understand. This interpellation structures a form of political production of knowledge since it moves the dialogue between different positions of power and hierarchy among women. This aspect becomes central since it constitutes and facilitates the links of interpretation, empathy, and analysis from which we produce our studies. From our perspective, studies on gender and migration should move more decisively towards this critical reflection: both in the sense of assuming the positionality of female researchers in the social field and their condition of intersubjectivity and reflexivity with the migrant women whose lives they address. The second point refers to the need to reinforce this critical stance in the studies of female migrations in other directions: in the search to break analytical dichotomies that, from a certain androcentric epistemic position, have contributed to reproducing biased views on the role of women in social processes as a whole (and in migratory

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ones in particular). These dichotomies are expressed in the social sciences by focusing on antagonistic categorical pairs such as biological/cultural, synchronic/ diachronic, agency/structure, material/symbolic, and public/private, to name just a few (Gonzálvez and Acosta 2015). Our third reflection refers to the need to deepen the understanding that a specific form of subalternity traverses migrant women. Although this subalternity is context-­ dependent (it is lived and constructed in heterogeneous ways in different social spaces and by each woman), it is also a globalized reality (since women are generally subordinated in the world) (Mills 2003). This implies considering, as the Black feminists did, that the female condition is a liminal experience, but that some women live this liminality more deeply due to the juxtaposition of various subalternization factors. Our fourth point refers to our own understanding of the scope of gender as a category. The debates regarding the relationship between migration and the social organization of care led to some academic consensus with significant adherence among scholars of international migration. One of them addresses that, in current globalized and post-globalized contexts, the gender boundaries produced by separating the reproductive sphere (understood as domestic) and the productive sphere (understood as the mainstream labor market) – the most up-to-date versions of the “sexual contract”  – have become more complex, unfolding new logics of domination. However, these new logics continue to be supported by mechanisms that “engender” the production of new bodies, corporeality, and subjectivities. In doing so, they constitute conflicts, crises, and inequities through “metaphorical” and “metonymic” forms of production of the boundaries (and in some cases also borders) between different gender identities. We have advanced very timidly in these reflections in research on migration in Latin America, and this is a debt that we should promptly address. Finally, our last appreciation is directed to the universalist nature of gender violence (Segato 2010, 2016). The transversality of the subalternization of women in different cultures, societies, and social subgroups reflects, from our perspective, a crystallization of the legitimacy that male dominance. For this reason, in contemporary societies, it is impossible to understand the articulation of subalternities, hierarchies, and processes of domination without understanding the foundational role of gender as a factor of differentiation. We female researchers, share this existential, social, and referential condition with the migrant women whose lives we study. Hence, the future of social research on migration and gender is an eminently political one. In this outcome, there is no room for perspectives which defend the supposed “neutral” objectivist character of science. Acknowledgments  This chapter was translated from Spanish to English by Menara Guizardi and Christine Ann Hills. A previous version of this chapter was published by the journal Rumbos TS (Santiago, Chile) in December 2018 (see Guizardi et  al. 2018a). We thank the journal’s editor, Jorge Moraga, for authorizing the inclusion of these discussions in this book. The authors also thank the National Research and Development Agency of Chile (ANID) for funding the studies

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that gave rise to this chapter through the Projects Fondecyt 1190056, “The Boundaries of Gender Violence: Migrant Women’s Experiences in South American Border Territories” (2019–2023), and Fondecyt 1201130, “Routes and trajectories of Venezuelan migrants throughout South America” (2020–2024).

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Stefoni, C., & Fernández, R. (2011). Mujeres inmigrantes en el trabajo doméstico: entre el servilismo y los derechos. In C. Stefoni (Ed.), Mujeres inmigrantes en Chile ¿Mano de obra o trabajadoras con derecho? (pp. 43–72). Santiago: Ediciones UAH. Szasz-Pianta, I. (1994). Migración y relaciones sociales de género: aportes de la perspectiva antropológica. Estudios Demográficos y Urbanos, 9(1), 129–150. Szasz-Pianta, I. (1995). Mujeres y migrantes: desigualdades en el mercado laboral de Santiago de Chile. Revista de la CEPAL, (56), 179–190. Tamagno, C. (2005). Entre celulinos y cholulares: prácticas comunicativas y la construcción de vidas transnacionales entre Perú e Italia. In U. Berg & K. Paerregaard (Eds.), El quinto suyo. Transnacionalidad y formación diaspórica en la migración peruana (pp. 173–204). Lima: IEP. Tapia, M., & Gonzálvez, T. H. (2013). “Me voy a España a trabajar”: familias migrantes colombianas, remesas económicas y relaciones de género en un contexto transnacional. Chungara. Revista de Antropología Chilena, 45(2), 333–347. Tapia, M., & Ramos, R. (2013). Mujeres migrantes fronterizas en Tarapacá a principio del siglo XXI. El cruce de las fronteras y las redes de apoyo. Polis, 12(35), 229–257. Tijoux, M. E. (Ed.). (2016). Racismo en Chile: la piel como marca de la inmigración. Santiago: Editorial Universitaria. Tijoux, M. E. (2017). Racismo en Chile. La piel como marca de la inmigración. Enfoques: Ciencia Política y Administración Pública, 15(26), 167–180. Valdés, T. (1993). Mujeres que sueñan: Las organizaciones de pobladoras 1973–1989. Santiago: FLACSO. Valls, R., Oliver, E., Sánchez-Aroca, M., Ruiz-Eugenio, L., & Melgar, P. (2007). ¿Violencia de género también en las universidades? Investigaciones al respecto. Revista de investigación educativa, 25(1), 219–231. Weston, K. (1997). The virtual anthropologist. In A. Gupta & J. Ferguson (Eds.), Anthropological locations. Boundaries and grounds of a field science (pp. 163–184). Berkeley: University of California Press. Zubaran, C. (2008). The quest for recognition: Brazilian immigrants in the United States. Tran scultural Psychiatry, 45(4), 590–610.

Part II

Hate Speech and Its Social Consequences

Chapter 4

Hate Speech as a Moral Narrative Gabriel D. Noel

As is well known, a constituent element of social sciences and indeed a central reason for their emergence is a concern for the tensions raised by collective life, in particular its most dramatic and exasperated conjunctures (De Ípola 1998). This concern unfolds along two dimensions. The first is political-moral: social scientists are also actors and participants of social life; we have stakes in, interests in, and concerns regarding it. The second, but more important is intellectual, because, as researchers, we want to, in fact, we must understand and explain to others and ourselves the reasons why things look the way they do. The first dimension is shared, to a greater or lesser extent, with all our contemporaries. They not only produce their own explanations and political-moral diagnoses for social life – which we usually refer to as “native theories”, but they also tend to read the results of our own productions using the same key. The second, however  – the search for rigorous, reflective, critical, and empirically robust knowledge – is considered the specificity of our profession. And not only as a reasonable deontological imperative but also because these are the criteria on which we are evaluated, published, awarded grants and recognition in our scientific fields and their institutions. Therefore, academic texts produced by the social sciences almost always seem tensioned by this double demand that they have inherited from their founding agendas. On the one hand, there is the scientific community’s leitmotiv to contribute in a rigorous way to the knowledge of social life and its processes. On the other hand, this is juxtaposed with a more generalized demand – regardless of whether or not the researchers set out to attend to these concerns – to provide some kind of response to one or more political-moral conjunctures lived and experienced as pressing, urgent or disruptive. G. D. Noel (*) National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET), Buenos Aires, Argentina National University of San Martín, Buenos Aires, Argentina © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Guizardi (ed.), The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone, Latin American Societies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-68161-6_4

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Beyond the pretensions supposed by the imperative of this implicit duality, the truth is that the circumstance in which a text meets this twofold demand – to show itself both scientifically rigorous and publicly relevant – is usually as rare as it is delightful. Especially since, too often, we are witnesses – or even protagonists – of the temptation to put our moral and political impatience ahead of the laborious work of rigorously substantiating our conclusions and findings. The chapters in the second part of this book successfully rise to this challenge. Indeed, by following in the footsteps of this same social science tradition to which I have been referring, these chapters question some of the most critical contemporary modulations of the social bonds in the Nation-states of the American Southern Cone. Simultaneously, they allow a rigorous and deep understanding of not only their configuration and characteristics but also their main effects. In addition, they present an urgent and responsible intervention on a set of representations, behaviors, and policies that have a massive, radical, and harmful effect on the lives of hundreds of thousands of people engaged in migratory trajectories in and towards the region. Hence, my task here – if you will pardon the self-indulgence – is not easy. This introduction runs a real risk of appearing redundant or unnecessary considering the sufficiency with which the whole book (and each of its contributions, in particular) responds to this double challenge. Therefore, I will content myself with highlighting some of the following chapters’ greatest successes, their most provocative aspects (in the good sense of the word), and the most intriguing questions that they propose for their future readers’ consideration. All the above will inevitably be skewed by my own competencies, biases, interests, and research trajectory. So, let us get started. Undoubtedly, one of the main threads of the various arguments put forward in the second part of the book refers to the place of fear and hatred as producers of social ties. Indeed, as Mary Douglas (1986) persuasively argued over more than two decades of ethnographic work, both elements allow the construction and subsequent legitimation of strong and practically instantaneous moral ties in groups characterized by a fragile, threatened, or incipient sociability. This is achieved by mobilizing a collective identification that enunciates a “we” surrounded by threats against which it is necessary to mobilize in a radical, drastic, and inflexible way to ensure self-preservation (Noel 2011). These “ecstasies of hatred” – to go back to Chekhov’s useful expression evoked in Chap. 1  – become increasingly central in a world in which, as John and Jean Comaroff (2003) have shown, the “inside” and the “outside” are tensioned in an unsolvable paradox. A world in which States reveal themselves incapable of regulating the flows of that which should not enter their boundary but does; and that which should remain within but moves away. The latter is framed by a neoliberal “order” that asks the States, simultaneously and in a contradictory way, to open and close themselves (Fig. 4.1). In the face of such an unattainable coexistence  – the claims for authenticity, purity, and identity, on the one hand; and for connection, flow, and openness on the other, the discourses and practices articulated around hatred and fear become central as tools of putative State, parastatal and infra-State regulation of collective life.

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Fig. 4.1  Women protesting against Mauricio Macri’s government’s neoliberal reforms (2015– 2019) and the G20 meeting. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2018). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

Especially in border regions that – as several of the following chapters show – have become spaces where these paradoxes and their consequences take on particularly clear contours for governments and populations. Likewise, and for these same reasons, migrants assume an emblematic danger not only linked to their well-known liminal and ambiguous character (Douglas 2007 [1966]) but also because they embody this dual nature of the economic and social regime encouraged and required by neoliberalism. At the same time, this duality finds expression in two repertoires in opposition that – as the subsequent chapters explore – alternate and occur in the public scene and speeches. They constitute two groups of recognizable topics: one articulated around metaphors of flow  – “globalization”, “hybridization”, “circulation”  – and another that mobilizes univocal and identitary tropes  – focused on “shutdown”, “purity” and “closure”. Both constitute long-standing socially available repertoires (Noel 2013) that are activated or deactivated in response to various conjunctures, with local and transnational dimensions.1 In other words, they have a selective memory. Furthermore, they rely on the hypervisibilization of phenomena that, albeit statistically insignificant,

1  The modifications in its dominant, residual, or emergent character (Williams 1977) are articulated on various sociological concomitants (such as those referred to in the various chapters of this book), by virtue of which they gain or lose persuasiveness and, therefore, legitimacy.

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contract or expand the chronology of representations about migrations and migrants in metropolitan and local settings, both inside and outside academia. It is clear from our anthropological gaze that these stigmatizing repertoires on migrants and migrations constitute and are increasingly articulated as a native theory of neoliberalism (or, at least, of some of its effects). This accounts for the relative legitimacy and validity of these repertoires, and their huge political and sociological potential as governance devices. Furthermore, the uses of this native theory – quickly and enthusiastically – let it slip towards the form of a moral narrative. That is, rather than questioning causes and effects, this narrative focuses on responsibilities and guilt. As I have found time and again in my own research, whenever etiologies of this kind work, they do so by providing an easy-to-read response and a sense of control over processes that people find uncertain, inexplicable, urgent, and distressing, and that appear largely outside their effective agency capacities (Noel 2020). Thus, these discourses produce society – that is, social bonds – because they produce a moral narrative that is claimed to be shared and persuasive. This narrative is quick to assign unequivocal responsibilities to certain actors. It clearly prescribes what to do and against whom in order to continue to be “who we always were” or, if the latter is no longer possible, “who we should never have stopped being”. Understanding this productivity and positivity of moral narratives in collective life is crucial. When social scientists do not pay attention to it, the most common consequence is that we miss the key reasons why, for large sectors of the population, these narratives are persuasive – and therefore effective. We insist on overcomplicating the issue (us alone) that – in addition to being condescending – is theoretically unjustifiable and epistemologically naive. Certainly, the neoliberalism crisis – or better, its permanent and recurring state of crisis – is real and pressing. The impacts of various global processes and conjunctures trigger local consequences that are difficult to ignore. Under the banner of “risk society”, European sociologists have reminded us since the nineties that our contemporary and everyday world has become increasingly illegible. This includes our own (im)possibility of understanding the predictability of the consequences of our actions. In terms of social actors’ moral behavior, these crises introduce what Jarret Zigon (2007, p. 133) has called “moral breakdowns”, that is, disruptions or interpellations in the routine course of life that drive people to try to shortening of the break by means of a reflective intervention that allows a return to everyday life’s “business as usual”. However, both the urgency and the high moral and subjective cost supposed by the constant irruption of “crisis” in the neoliberal “order” – if you will permit the oxymoron  – as well as the availability, omnipresence, and ubiquity of the social repertoires of fear and hatred (of which the following chapters offer ample ­evidence), conspire to block out the reflective dimensions of what Zigon (2007, p. 138) calls the “ethical demand”. Together, these elements push people to hastily fence off this ethical demand by using a series of available resources that (re)appear legitimized and enabled by various central mediators in public discourses in the worlds of media

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or politics. Some current examples of these resources are “punitiveness” (Garland 1991, p. 139), “neighbor-democracy” and “legitimate defense” (Rodríguez Alzueta 2019, n.p.). Or, as the next chapters will show, all the tropes that construct migrants as the new “dangerous classes”, almost always deploy medical or war metaphors. Hate speech provides a narrative that gives intelligibility to the crisis process with variable combinations of these different resources assembled in repertoires (Noel 2013). This narrative’s contours are familiar to me: I have found them repeatedly in my own fieldwork. In previous writings, I have called this narrative “the end of the Gemeinschaft” [community]. I define it as a master story that reconstructs contemporary crises – in general, not only “migratory” ones – as the history of a decline and deterioration whose spurce and origin would have been the rupture of a “homogeneity” and virtuous sociability among those considered members of the “Us”, of the imagined community. Needless to say, these elements – homogeneity and virtuous sociability – never existed. Despite the above, the maximalist proclamation of this narrative states that the only viable society would be a community organized by the imperative to be identical to itself, seek unison, and a perfect identitary and moral consensus (Noel 2020). In correlation, difference and heterogeneity would produce contamination, corruption, and decadence (Douglas 2007). This diagnosis finds embodiment and response in the processes of moral panic (Cohen 2002), which simultaneously evokes and demands a purified community. The latter refers to the imperative to “put things in order”, to put everything in “its right place”, solving by that means – preferably once and for all – the lack of control, chaos, and disorder. On this basis – as the residents of Foz de Iguazu (Brazil) constantly remind us in Chap. 6 – any discourse about difference is itself suspect, dissolving, and subversive. All the spaces and institutions that host or encourage them – especially when they are also liminal and heterogeneous, such as border territories – are potentially polluting and corrupting: a tumor, cancer, or cyst that must be monitored, isolated, or removed. Consequently, as I have also argued on other occasions, what this class of narrative proposes is a sleight of hand in which the space of politics – understood as the plural and public management of differences  – is replaced and subsumed by a morality predicated in identity terms. It operates through a series of two-sided repertoires, which permanently slide and hide the moral in the political and the political in the moral. Therefore, it seeks to close the ranks of the imagined “Us” through a strict and inflexible answer to the question of “who we are” or “who we should be” as a virtuous community (Noel 2020). It is in the frame of these purifying endeavors that exasperated resources derived from long-standing successful repertoires are now being recovered. Examples of the latter are racism, androcentrism, xenophobia, aporophobia, familism, chauvinistic nationalism, militarism, patrimonialism (Fig. 4.2). The following chapters discuss other examples, such as development or progress epic applied in the narratives about the mythical “golden ages” of Brazil and Argentina, and the characterization of Chile as “a world power”. These resources have now been reactivated to face what Rosana Reguillo (2003) calls “the unfulfilled promises of modernity”.

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Fig. 4.2  In the march for the legalization of abortion, a young woman holds a poster saying: “If God is patriarchal, homophobic and anti-abortion, maybe the Devil is not so bad”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2020). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

But they are being evoked particularly – and this is not surprising or paradoxical – by those who have never enjoyed their benefits. Or perhaps more precisely, by those who were about to do so when they were stopped in their tracks and thrown into outer shadows by the consequences of the social and economic crises stirred up in South America with the rise of neoliberalism in the eighties and nineties. As the chapters of the second part of this book underline, when these repertoires serve to stigmatize migrant populations – and it could not be otherwise, they constitute local and situated (re)constructions, combining transnational resources of interpellation with others that are locally produced and rooted. The case studies carried out in Argentina, Brazil, and Chile show that among the main and most fatigued tropes of these repertoires is a frequent and spurious association between Latin America’s economic crisis of the last third of the twentieth century and its countries’ processes of democratization (particularly in Brazil, as shown in Chap. 6) (Fig. 4.3). These tropes are especially framed by a hegemonic vocation articulated by international or State institutions or even by cultural industries. There is also an equally fallacious criminalization and stigmatization of migrants, which mobilizes the language, devices, and institutions of the judicial, criminal, and police apparatuses (as Chap. 5 illustrates). All these factors are entailed in the periodic reactivation and reformulation of racialized and xenophobic discourses by supposedly “white” and “European” societies when regarding their ethnically marked migrants (as Chaps. 5 and 7 demonstrate, for the cases of Argentina and Chile, respectively).

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Fig. 4.3  In a protest against the visit of the Brazilian president, Jair Bolsonaro (a representative a Southern Cone militarist rhetoric), a man holds a poster stating: “Bolsonaro, get out of Argentina”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Menara Guizardi)

In this sense, this second part of the book shows as a whole – as well as in each chapter – that predictive (or rather retrodictive) and universalizing writing of essays is of little use when it comes to addressing and understanding phenomena of this kind. What is required is an ethnographic and sociological analysis that pays close attention to the specific and situated ways in which these diverse resources and repertoires are assembled. An analysis that pays attention to how “local” and “extra-­ local” resources are combined, mobilized, legitimized, challenged, and kept in circulation. Nevertheless, to avoid the irritating but persistent culturalist tautology often reproduced by anthropological research (Noel 2013), it is also necessary to carry out an analysis framed by a genealogical and processual perspective. The latter demands, above all, a historical perspective; one that shows the social processes in their real contingency, and not as an all-encompassing updated series of vices (or virtues) inscribed in some sort of collective destiny. Perhaps it is also worth remembering that historicizing implies paying attention to at least two things. On the one hand, the continuities, to avoid a chronocentricism that tends to label any social process under analysis as revolutionary, absolute, and unprecedented. On the other hand, the discontinuities, to escape that symmetrical prejudice that flattens details and specificities to conclude unwisely that there is nothing new under the sun. By doing so, we can escape those teleological and universalizing visions so frequent in metropolitan perspectives, and avoid school-like and “stagist” periodization, that as a relay race, see each previous social phenomenon seemingly obliterated and replaced suddenly and definitely by

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the new emerging one. Furthermore, only by combining careful ethnographic observation and conscious historicization can we understand  – as the chapters below show  – how and to what extent the central intersectional dimensions and attributes of the social phenomena addressed here – such as “race”, “gender”, or “class”, to mention just the most prominent ones – are not transcendental, abstract, and generic but are instead produced, reproduced, and transformed locally in a processual and continuous way.2 As the authors of this book insistently point out, the production of rigorous knowledge about our region implies renouncing the convenient and prestigious import of traveling theory. It requires the situated reconstruction of theoretical categories that – far from constituting an autochthonous, irredentist and purist claim on the part of the world’s periphery  – it enables an interpellation of the theoretical production of the world’s centers “from the South” or “from the margins” (Ribeiro and Escobar 2008). It is no secret, after all, that our categories of analysis are dynamic and must be reviewed and kept up to date if we are to give them any explanatory power. As Marc Bloch (in Giddens 1995) has said, this refers not only to the fact that people rarely have the gentleness to change language when they modify their customs. It also alludes to the fact, following the principle of double hermeneutics, that our categories enter the language and the debate of our “natives”. They are constantly modified and questioned by them. As argued and exemplified extensively throughout the book, the objects preconstructed by metropolitan academia (based on suspicious chronologies and selective visibility processes), as well as their uncritical and enthusiastic circulation through centers and peripheries, constitute an endemic problem in the field of transnational migration studies. Particularly considering the construction of migration as a public problem by the media, politicians, institutions, and thinktanks, as well as by the States with whom these actors interact. As Durkheim taught us – in a lesson that the authors of this book have taken due note – these preconstructed objects should be part of our analysis and not a ready-­ made starting point for it. Therefore, their uncritical and “by default” assumption – mounted largely on the prestige of the institutions and devices from which they arise and through which they circulate – should be replaced by an interpellation on a plane of epistemic, theoretical, and critical equality (Ribeiro and Escobar 2008). Finally, to conclude an introduction that is already too long and avoid distracting the readers from plunging the second part of the book any longer, let me insist without reservation that the following chapters have sought and managed to produce rigorous knowledge. By the latter, I mean empirically supported, as well as relevant for public intervention theory. 2  Mutatis mutandis, this is valid for their mutual relationships and overlaps, which are also always and inevitably configured and articulated locally, in the same way as their “components” (as can be seen in the case of gender in relation to dimensions such as “affect”, “care”, “kinship” or “domesticity” in Chap. 3).

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As I mentioned in my initial considerations, the challenge of producing knowledge in the social sciences – particularly in critical and urgent fields and subjects, such as those addressed here – constitutes a great feat. It raises a double ethical-­ methodological demand sustained by a tense equilibrium. First, it requires avoiding that impatient and inflamed moralization that lurks in many essays disguised as research. Second, it demands producing an intervention founded in a patiently constructed work and a rigorous analysis of the best available evidence. Attention to these criteria of scientific rigor does not mean shunning an ethical and political commitment, where reflexivity occupies a central place, as several of the chapters of this book show. Nevertheless, the above is impossible without considerable methodological discipline. The case studies make use of several of the best resources of ethnographic strategy, including a extended processual analysis that finds its inspiration in the tradition of the Manchester School (Evens and Handelman 2006). They understand reflexivity as part of a process of epistemic objectification (and not, as it is often the case, as narcissistic confessionalism wrapped in a melodramatic and imposed lyricism). These case studies succeed in paying attention to historicization on various scales and temporalities (both short and long-term) through a series of methodological operations used to escape the fallacy that I have formerly called “insularization” (Noel 2017). The result is a careful construction of the analytical object through the imperative of “following the actors” or through the crucial methodological use of social networks. Both are done within the transnational perspective framework, which, as noted in Chap. 3, involves real-time contact between distant locations. On this basis, once again, the endeavor and completion of the following chapters must be recognized and highlighted. They analytically construct the Southern Cone as more than a simple geographical designation of a series of processes (regarding which it would be largely irrelevant). It is approached as a genuine, multiscale, processual, and relational unit of analysis. Therefore, tension and mutual interaction are inescapable elements of the various dynamics under study. Last but not least, the various texts included in the second part display a sociologically sensible vision of the agency, adaptation, and resistance of migrants. But this does not prevent them from considering the “structural” dimensions and the “objective constraints” that configure the limits of their individual and collective action. Therefore, the authors avoid the epic tone of so many populist or triumphalist narratives (Grignon and Passeron 1991) that are more interested in showing their political and moral sympathies than in producing knowledge. The following case studies reveal and take due note of those multiple and fruitful spaces of productivity and possibility that the migrants produce while embraced by strongly unequal relationships. And they do so in a world in which, increasingly, individual and collective actors try to label them as the carriers of a polluting disease that would lay ambush to the community’s threatened identity and, consequently, its prosperity and destiny. Acknowledgments  This chapter was translated from Spanish to English by Menara Guizardi and Christine Ann Hills.

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References Cohen, S. (2002 [1972]). Folk Devils and Moral Panics. The Creation of the Mods and Rockers. London: Routledge. Comaroff, J., & Comaroff, J. (2003). Ethnography on an awkward scale. Postcolonial anthropology and the violence of abstraction. Ethnography, 4(2), 147–179. De Ípola, E. (Comp.) (1998). La Crisis del Lazo Social: Durkheim, cien años después. Buenos Aires: Eudeba. Douglas, M. (1986). Como Piensan las Instituciones. Madrid: Alianza. Douglas, M. (2007 [1966]). Pureza y Peligro: Un análisis de los conceptos de Contaminación y Tabú. Buenos Aires: Nueva Visión. Evens, T. M. S., & Handelman, D. (Eds.). (2006). The Manchester School. Practice and ethnographic praxis in anthropology. New York: Berghahn Books. Garland, D. (1991). Social perspectives on punishment. Crime and Justice, 14, 115–165. Giddens, A. (1995). La Constitución de la Sociedad. Bases para la Teoría de la Estructuración. Buenos Aires: Amorrortu. Grignon, C., & Passeron, J.  L. (1991). Lo Culto y lo Popular. Miserabilismo y Populismo en Sociología y en Literatura. Buenos Aires: Nueva Visión. Noel, G.  D. (2011). Guardianes del Paraíso. Génesis y Genealogía de una Identidad Colectiva en Mar de las Pampas, Provincia de Buenos Aires. Revista del Museo de Antropología, IV, 211–226. Noel, G. D. (2013). De los Códigos a los Repertorios: Algunos Atavismos Persistentes Acerca de la Cultura y una Propuesta de Reformulación. Revista Latinoamericana de Metodología de las Ciencias Sociales, 3(2), n.p. Noel, G.  D. (2017). Ni lo uno ni lo otro sino todo lo contrario. Las limitaciones del Dualismo Rural-Urbano en el Abordaje de la Región Costera del Río de la Plata y algunas propuestas de reconceptualización. Tessituras. Revista de Antropologia e Arqueologia, 5(1), 129–170. Noel, G.  D. (2020). A la Sombra de los Bárbaros. Transformaciones Sociales y Procesos de Delimitación Moral en una Ciudad de la Costa Atlántica Bonaerense (Villa Gesell 2007– 2014). Buenos Aires: Teseo. Reguillo, R. (2003). Los Miedos: Sus Laberintos, Sus Monstruos, Sus Conjuros. Una Lectura Socioantropológica. Etnografías Contemporáneas, 2(2), 45–72. Ribeiro, G. L., & Escobar, A. (2008). Antropologías del Mundo: Transformaciones Disciplinarias dentro de Sistemas de Poder. In G. L. Ribeiro & A. Escobar (Eds.), Antropologías del Mundo. Transformaciones Disciplinarias dentro de Sistemas de Poder (pp. 25–56). Federal District of Mexico: Envión Editores. Rodríguez Alzueta, E. (2019). Vecinocracia. Olfato Social y Linchamientos. Buenos Aires: EME. Williams, R. (2009 [1977]). Marxismo y Literatura. Buenos Aires: Las Cuarenta. Zigon, J. (2007). Moral breakdown and the ethical demand. A theoretical framework for an anthropology of moralities. Anthropological Theory, 7(2), 131–150.

Chapter 5

The Back and Forth Between National Security and Human Rights: Migration Policies in Argentina Under the Cambiemos Administration (2015–2019) Brenda Canelo, Natalia Gavazzo, and Lucila Nejamkis

5.1  Introduction Migration policies can be understood as a set of legal and administrative mechanisms articulated not only by the State “but also by other supranational institutions that regulate access to a territory, temporary stays and settlement, the socioeconomic and civic integration of the immigrants, their enjoyment of civil rights, and their inclusion in the political community” (López-Sala 2005, p.  28. Our translation). Our overarching questions here are the following: how is migration policy shaped in Argentina today? Who are the actors involved in “migration issues” and how do they operate in the field? Do all the relevant actors have ties to the State, or do some come from other spheres and backgrounds? What alliances do they forge, and what conflicts do they face? What resources and arguments do they deploy? What scenarios do they create, and how do they take advantage of them? What are the repercussions of their practices?

B. Canelo (*) National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET), Buenos Aires, Argentina University of Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, Argentina N. Gavazzo National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET), Buenos Aires, Argentina National University of San Martín, San Martín, Buenos Aires, Argentina L. Nejamkis National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET), Buenos Aires, Argentina National University of San Martín, San Martín, Buenos Aires, Argentina National University Arturo Jauretche, Florencio Varela, Buenos Aires, Argentina © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Guizardi (ed.), The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone, Latin American Societies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-68161-6_5

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These questions are framed within a conceptualization of not only migration policies but of public policies in general as a “set of actions and omissions that evidence a certain approach toward State intervention in relation to an issue that interests, engages, or mobilizes other civil society actors” (Oszlak and O’Donnell 1981, pp. 112–113. Our translation). This definition begs the question of who are these actors that participate in the construction of certain phenomena as “issues” or “social problems”? How do they characterize such phenomena? What responses do they understand as appropriate to these problems? And who do they hold accountable for their implementation? (Frigerio 2006; Oszlak and O’Donnell 1981). This will depend on the alliances between and the relative power of the players (be they politicians, NGOs, the media, scholars, international agencies, or others) who push the problematization of cultural issues of interest of any given society, and the political inclinations of a given administration, among others (Frigerio 2006). An analysis of this sort requires studying the actors, processes, and contexts that enable or prevent specific policies (Canelo 2016). However, these contexts are not only local; global trends also influence them. Since the end of the twentieth century, neoliberal ideas and practices have replaced the welfare state. Therefore, the way policies are used as instruments to shape individuals must be examined in conjunction with changing patterns of governance around the world (Shore and Wright 1997). And policies have become increasingly important organizing principles to contemporary societies, shaping how we act and think. That is particularly clear in the case of Argentina’s migration policies (Gavazzo 2005, 2009; Shore and Wright 1997). In this framework, one especially relevant question from the perspective of anthropology is: what do these policies produce, either intentionally or otherwise? (Shore 2010). The effects of policies are tied to the identities and classifications they instill, the power relations they reinforce or challenge, and the type of social organization they promote (Canelo 2016; Shore 2010). Through policies, individuals are categorized with a certain status and a role not only as “subjects”, but also as “citizens”, “professionals”, “nationals”, “criminals”, “deviants”, and so forth (Gavazzo 2011). But who exactly builds the public policies that target migrants in Argentina? How do they draft those policies? And what responses do they elicit from groups of migrants and the organizations that represent them? Our interest arose from observing that, starting at the change of the presidential government in Argentina at the end of 2015, migrant and human rights organizations and scholars sensed that a paradigm shift was imminent.1 They argued that, 1  Initially, public officials were the ones to speak of modifications in migration policy as a “paradigm shift,” specifically in relation to amendments to Law 25,871 (the Migrations Act). Those officials argued that, due to that Act, the focus of Argentina’s migration policy had shifted from a securitization approach to a human rights approach (Courtis and Pacecca 2007; Domenech 2012). Scholars, migrants, and human rights activists later adhered to that conceptualization, though they denounced the ongoing securitization practices and the abuse of various migrant rights (ANDHES et al. 2016; Courtis and Pacecca 2007; Domenech 2012; Monclús Masó and García 2012; Nejamkis 2016; Novick 2004). In both native and analytical terms, the notion of a paradigm shift refers to “a rupture between systems of thought and action” (Domenech 2012, p. 224), e.g., one wholly focused on strengthening securitization and the other grounded in the defense of human rights. This perspective agrees with Thomas Kuhn’s arguments, (2005) who, in his analysis of the history of science, used the term “paradigmatic shifts” to refer to a revolutionary moment that alters how we see and act in the world.

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since the enactment of the National Migration Act in 2003, under the previous government (a coalition of parties called Frente para la Victoria), a human rights and regional integration approach had prevailed. However, the declarations and the actions implemented by the new president (Mauricio Macri) when he was head of government of the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires (between 2007 and 2011, in his first term, and between 2011 and 2015 in the second) raised concerns that the migrant experience in Argentina would become much more difficult under his presidency. Those early suspicions were confirmed by small government actions, as well as larger announcements that began shaping a “paradigm shift”, which marked the management of Cambiemos, Macri’s electoral coalition, which held the Executive Power of the Nation (2015–2019). This, as shall be seen, prompted actions by some sectors of civil society that sought to defend the Migration Act from within the existing “opportunity structure” (Koopmans and Statham 2000).2 That structure included both institutional dimensions and cultural foundations – codes, identities, discourses, markers, and symbols – that influence the political debate. From these perspectives, in this chapter we propose to (i) Reconstruct the social and political process that served as a framework for the “paradigm shift” in migration issues in Argentina and the “new” approach to this social “problem” during the Cambiemos administration. (ii) Present and analyze the features of the policy modifications and the actors who promoted them, as well as the resources utilized, and the arguments deployed. (iii) Describe and explore the main responses from migrants and the organizations representing them that reveal the tensions those changes in migration policy sparked in certain sectors of “civil society”. To these ends, the findings from three ongoing investigations that use a socio-­ anthropological approach will be examined. These studies focus on the perspectives and political practices of actors in partisan, organizational and militant environments involved with the migratory field in the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires or that have links to them from the local State (Canelo 2013, 2016; Gavazzo 2009, 2011; Nejamkis 2016). The material that we investigate here (legislation, news articles, speeches, interviews, and ethnographic research) is all drawn from these studies. We selected these sources because they expose the features of the main changes to migration policy implemented by the Argentine national government, the justifications given for such changes, and the centrality that this material acquired in the public debate on migration. We gathered this material from the urgency to reconstruct a historical and political process that was taking place while we were writing, a process that radically changed the lives of migrants and their families. Despite the latter, we analyze the material from a perspective that exceeds the conjuncture, and that is made possible by the research on migratory phenomena in Argentina that we have been developing for more than a decade. Like many Argentine scholars, we

2  “Opportunity structures” refer to “aspects of the political environment that provide incentives for people to undertake collective actions by affecting their expectations for success or failure” (Koopmans and Statham 2000, p. 33).

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have participated in the processes described here in an effort to accompany with our own bodies and knowledge, the migrants, and the organizations that have supported them during these dramatic years.

5.2  The Sociopolitical Context: Ruptures and Continuities After 12 years of government under the Kirchners (first Néstor Kirchner, then his wife Cristina Fernández), their political coalition, Frente para la Victoria, was defeated at the ballot box in December 2015 by Cambiemos, a center-right coalition. The new president, Mauricio Macri, had just finished two terms as mayor of the city of Buenos Aires (2007–2011 and 2011–2015). Macri won with 51.24% of the votes after a close runoff against Daniel Scioli, the candidate for Frente para la Victoria. That election was a watershed moment for Argentina. The Kirchner administrations that had pushed redistribution policies that expanded civil and cultural rights, protected the domestic market, and maintained an anti-corporate discourse were replaced by another that wielded an allegedly liberal-republican vision of how to run the State. The new administration’s focus and political project would revolve around fighting the “corruption” and “populism” of the previous government while reorienting the economy toward a market-centered export model (Vommaro and Gené 2017). The measures introduced by the Cambiemos administration led to an even higher concentration of income, a rise in foreign debt, and capital flight (Basualdo 2017). Simultaneously, social protest was criminalized and subjected to a level of repression unknown since democracy had been reinstated in 1983 (CELS 2017). In terms of migration policy, Frente para la Victoria’s management had stood out, offering a framework under which the National Migrations Act could be enacted (Law 25,871, 2003) and implemented (2010). That law inaugurated a regional perspective and defined migration as a human right. It also established the State’s obligation to grant legal status to foreigners and mandated a court review of any removal or detention order. It guaranteed the right to family reunification and equal access to health care, education, and welfare for all inhabitants, regardless of migration status (Nejamkis 2016). A historical overview of migration legislation in Argentina shows just how important this 2003 law was. It was the first law on immigration Congress had voted on since 1876 when the Immigration and Colonization Act 817 (widely known as the “Avellaneda Act”) was passed. Given the law was aimed at attracting European immigrants, it granted newcomers from Europe the same rights as Argentine citizens; they could exercise any trade or profession, worship freely, and so forth. The immigration incentive provided by the Avellaneda Act was limited by the Foreign Residency Act of 1902, and later by the Social Defense Act of 1910, both of which aimed to remove from the “national body” immigrants with anarchist, communist, or socialist leanings, or anyone engaged in organizing labor. This punitive and repressive vision of immigrants was broadened and consolidated in the sixties, reaching its climax after the 1976 civic-military coup d’état

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and the enactment, in 1981, of the Migration Stimulus Act (Law 22,439). Known as the “Videla Act”,3 this law was drafted in accordance with a national security doctrine in which “a State apparatus was designed to identify enemies both domestic and foreign, including subversives, the undocumented, and those living under an assumed identity and engaging in criminal activities” (Domenech 2012, p. 166. Our Translation, italics in the original). The criminalization of migration by the “Videla Act” obliged teachers, doctors, notary publics, public servants, merchants, businesspeople, and others to report anyone undocumented to the authorities. Migrants residing in Argentina were also denied economic, social, and civil rights, rendering them even more vulnerable (Pacecca and Courtis 2008). The criminalization of migrants reappeared with particular force in the public sphere in the nineties (Courtis 2006). Then, the government authorities and the media once again began blaming foreign residents for crime, unemployment, falling wages, illnesses such as cholera, and the collapse of the public health system. Xenophobic discourses saw a decline among the political authorities and the media at the beginning of 2000. The structural nature of the social, economic, and political crisis that Argentina was going through was so evident that it was implausible to blame it on immigrants (Grimson 2006). The passage (2003) and implementation (2010) of Law 25,871, the Migrations Act, which remains in effect today, marked a turning point for the public image of migrants (Fig. 5.1). While that law underscored the Kirchner administration’s intended direction, against the current of a global context characterized by the increasing of the securitization paradigm (Sassen 2004), it was also the fruit of years of struggle on the part of religious and human rights organizations, scholars, and migrant associations (Correa 2004; Novick 2004).4 Different international agencies that work in migration (Ceriani 2017) consider Law 25,871 a model for several reasons. For example, it establishes migration as a human right; it incorporates the premise of equal treatment; and it lays out a series of fundamental rights for migrants (the right to work; the right to social security, health care, and education; the right to be informed about those rights and others and their obligations; the right to participate or be consulted in decisions regarding their lives and the administration of the communities where they reside; and the right to family reunification). Bringing foreigners into the Argentine social body as equals is one of the objectives laid out in the law (Nejamkis 2012). Law 25,871, however, was not devoid of the securitization perspective (Courtis and Pacecca 2007; Domenech 2012). Since its implementation, there continue to be cases of violation of migrants’ rights (ANDHES et  al. 2016). That, coupled with the 7-year delay in the law’s implementation, attests to how conflictive the issue of migration continues to be in Argentina. Nonetheless, political leadership, 3  Translator’s note: Army commander Jorge Rafael Videla was a member of the first military junta to rule the country after the 1976 coup and one of the most notorious figures from that period. 4  The bill was introduced to the House in 2001 then debated at a public hearing before being resubmitted with amendments in 2003. The final text includes certain modifications – the result of consensus-building with the executive branch (Courtis and Pacecca 2007) – that are indicative of the power struggles between the bill’s advocates (Domenech 2012).

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Fig. 5.1  Migrants waiting at the doors of the National Migration Department of Argentina to process their residence documents. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2009). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

on the whole, was successful at navigating those tensions during the first decade of the twentieth century as part of a broader political platform focused on human rights, including those of migrants. For several years after the passage of Law 25,871, officials from the executive branch made virtually no xenophobic statements, marking a pivotal change in the State’s treatment of migrants. But while the “rhetoric of inclusion” (Domenech 2012) promoted by the national government during the first decade of the twentieth century blocked anti-immigrant public expressions (in contrast to the xenophobic framework that prevailed in the nineties), it did not manage to resolve the tensions related to the issue. These tensions are key to explaining the sudden change in attitudes toward migration when the new administration took power in December 2015. As Castles (2006) has noted, conflicts of interest in receiving countries – which the author associated with the workings of the political system and the persistence of nationalist, xenophobic ideologies, among other aspects5 – can undermine migration policy. Those conflicts of interest surfaced in 2010 were a turning point in the public debate on migration (Canelo 2013; Monclús Masó and García 2012). That year, nearly 6000 people demanding permanent housing began squatting in Parque 5  Castles also points to the dynamics of the migration process and of globalization/transnationalism as two other undermining factors. In our view, the events surrounding migration in Argentina in recent years are tied to unresolved social and political tensions surrounding this issue.

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Indoamericano, a public park in Buenos Aires. The local authorities decided to forcefully remove the squatters; three immigrants were killed during the police crackdown (the circumstances surrounding their deaths have never been elucidated). This conflict brought to the fore existing tensions between the city authorities, which demanded that the national government provide security forces to clear the park and set an example, and the national government, which refused to get involved and encouraged the city to find a negotiated solution (Cravino 2014; Canelo 2011). In that framework, the now ex-president and then mayor Mauricio Macri blamed the immigrants for the unlawful “seizure” and accused them of criminal activities. In a press conference, he stated: As a society, we can no longer be so exposed to unfettered migration and the onslaught of drug trafficking and crime […]. Argentina is at the mercy of a migration policy run amok, and the State refuses to take responsibility […]. Every day, between one and two hundred people arrive to Buenos Aires. We do not know who they are because they enter irregularly. Again, they are coming in as part of drug trafficking and criminal gangs. (Todo Noticias, 9 December 2010, n.p. Our translation)

Migrant and human rights organizations, consulates, and scholars spoke out against those bewildering statements. For other sectors, though, the fact that the highest local authority had voiced an anti-migrant discourse opened the floodgates for public expression of resentment. The mass media widely echoed the mayor’s perspective, as did members of his cabinet, leading to an increasing criminalization and public stigmatization of migrants.6 This perspective gained ground a few years later when national officials belonging to the political coalition that sanctioned and regulated the National Migration Law (members of the coalition Frente para la Victoria) began to express themselves publicly in a manner that echoed that of the authorities of the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires. Those authorities belonged to the political alliance known as Propuesta Republicana (Republican Proposal), which would promote the Cambiemos coalition shortly after. Specifically, Argentina’s former secretary of security, Sergio Berni (a well-known member of Frente para la Victoria), baselessly connected crime and migration and proposed tougher migration policies in 2012 (Todo Noticias, 13 September 2012), and Senator Miguel Ángel Pichetto who made a similar appeal in 2014 (Diafar TV, 9 November 2014), sparking controversy and disputes among national government officials. Martín Arias Duval, director of the National Department of Migration (DNM in its Spanish acronyms) at the time, responded by creating the Migration Dialogue Board (established through Regulation 3028/2014). The board provided for “institutional dialogue” to “formalize mechanisms for inclusive, transparent, and democratic participation with civil society organizations in discussions on migration policies […]” (Article 1, p. 1. Our translation).

6  Mauricio Macri himself is the son of an Italian immigrant who came to Argentina in the twentieth century. This shows that the rejection of immigration is directed at regional cross-border migrants, reflecting a high degree of racism and xenophobia.

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Tensions within the national government on the issue of migration were also evidenced when the Criminal Procedure Code was replaced by Law 27,063 (2014); Article 35 authorizes the removal of any undocumented foreigner caught in the act of committing a crime (in flagrante delicto), with no need for a trial. Arias Duval came out against this change, emphasizing that “according to the Constitution, a person is innocent until a court rules to the contrary” (Infobae, 29 October 2014, n.p. Our translation). He also pointed out the danger “of leaving it up to law enforcement to decide what constitutes in flagrante and what does not, without giving an individual the chance to stand trial” (Infobae, 29 October 2014, n.p. Our translation). So, sometime before Macri became president in 2015, national officials had been voicing quite different opinions on the role of migrants in Argentine society, as well as the State’s role in formulating migration policy. The contradictions existed even within the same government agency, such as the National Department of Migration (DNM). In fact, just a few months after the National Department of Migration came out in defense of migrant rights, it issued Regulation 4362/2014 on “phony tourists”. Customs officials could now turn away foreigners trying to enter the country as tourists based on discriminatory grounds. Measures like that, along with “institutional racism, police violence, and a lack of access to justice” (ANDHES et al. 2016, p. 4. Our translation) revealed the sore need for additional political efforts to combat discrimination against migrants in Argentina. Although xenophobia and anti-migrant racism had returned to the public arena before the Cambiemos political coalition took office in December 2015, it was only after the change of administration that the hostility became largely public and unexpectedly legitimized.

5.3  Policies Old and New: Actors, Resources, Arguments When Mauricio Macri was sworn in as president in 2015, few harbored much hope for the expansion of the rights-based migration policies, which, albeit with contradictions and shortcomings, had been passed by the previous administrations. The way in which Macri positioned himself as mayor during the Parque Indoamericano conflict in 2010 endorsed the assumption that he would also exercise his anti-­ migrant stance at a national level.7 This was important given the social and media backing his statements stigmatizing and criminalizing migrants received and considering the statements of the national officials who also echoed those ideas. These fears began to gain ground as different measures were implemented throughout 2016. For example, the new administration suspended the Territorial Approach Program, a project introduced by the DNM in 2013 to provide migrants with information and aid on how to obtain the documents they needed to be granted 7  Far from an isolated incident, Parque Indoamericano was the first in a series of acts of persecution at the hand of municipal agencies in Buenos Aires that targeted migrant communities (see Pacecca et al. 2017, among others).

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legal status. Several of the department’s offices in the province of Buenos Aires were closed, and the number of “overstay operatives”8 and removals increased, as did migration fees. In August 2016, the national government announced a much more severe measure: a “detention center for offenders of the Migrations Act” would be created “in the city of Buenos Aires” (Télam, 26 August 2016, n.p. Our translation). The center would hold any individual “detained” for “illegally entering the territory” or who had “an outstanding removal order” (Télam, 26 August 2016, n.p. Our translation).9 According to the document signed by National Security Minister Patricia Bullrich, city Security Minister Fernando Ocampo, and National Migrations Director Horacio García, detainees would be held “incommunicado” in the building “at the disposal of the National Department of Migration”. Right around this time, Miguel Ángel Pichetto, a member of the political opposition well known for his anti-migrant stance, backed the national government’s new measures. The then head of the Frente para la Victoria’s Senate bloc attacked the immigrant population with xenophobic expressions.10 In a televised interview (Canal 26, 31 October 2016), the senator asked insidiously, “How much misery can Argentina put up with, receiving poor immigrants?” He also mentioned the “lack of reciprocity” regarding how Paraguayan citizens took advantage of public Argentine health care and Colombians of the free public university. “We have to deal with Bolivia’s social problem and Peru’s criminal ones”, he went on, and then described “criminal profiles” based on nationality: “The drug-trafficking Colombians know how to jiffy a lock […] the Peruvians deal drugs in the slums, and the Paraguayans smuggle in marijuana” (Todo Noticias, 4 November 2016, n.p. Our translation). In the same vein, “Argentina takes in all that scum and has no control of its border” (Canal 26, 31 October 2016, n.p. Our translation). Pichetto demanded, “a security policy that addresses these facts” (Todo Noticias, 4 November 2016, n.p. Our translation). Thus, the Senate floor leader for Frente para la Victoria opened the floodgates for other officials  – and journalists  – to spread anti-migrant discourse and clamor for public policies that would infringe on migrant rights. A few days later, Claudio Avruj, the National Secretary of Human Rights, announced that he concurred with Senator Pichetto on the need for “stronger border control” in Argentina, pointing out how “in recent years, due to decisions by the former administrations, border control procedures were not enforced” (Infobae, 6 November 2016, n.p. Our translation). National officials continued to fuel anti-­ migrant sentiment in the following months. This empowered lower-ranking offi-

8  Besides the increased number of such actions, a new level of violence was added through police raids that could now target “places with a high concentration of migrants, including workplaces such as garment factories, construction sites, Chinese community markets, brick factories, the street, and long-distance bus stations” (ANDHES et al. 2016, p. 5. Our translation). 9  Thanks to an immediate outcry of migrant and human rights organizations, consulates, and scholars, the National Department of Migration amended the language of its notice several times in an attempt to cover up how extreme the measure actually was (see Vv.Aa. 2016). 10  Back in 1999, Pichetto had presented a migration reform bill that aimed to increase police power in dealing with undocumented migrants (Courtis 2006).

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cials and public servants to introduce increasingly hostile, discriminatory,11 and even violent measures against migrants in the realms of education and health care, for example.12 By the same token, print and audiovisual media backed xenophobic stereotyping (Meccia 2017). In January 2017, Security Minister Patricia Bullrich publicly blamed Peruvians, Paraguayans, and Bolivians for drug trafficking, announcing that the national government would step up border controls targeting foreigners with criminal records seeking entry and speed up the removal process (Perfil, 24 January 2017). The same week the minister made those statements, the executive branch issued a National Emergency Decree (DNU 70/2017, in Spanish acronyms) that introduced substantial modifications to Law 25,871 (the National Migrations Act) and Law 346 (the Nationality and Citizenship Act). The new decree presented misleading data to establish a connection between migration and organized crime and drug trafficking, which led to increased stigmatization and xenophobia. It erroneously referred to irregular immigration status being a crime. It expedited banning the entry of a migrant, ending the right to remain, and revoking immigration residency in cases of criminal charges (even in the absence of a sentence, thus forgoing the presumption of innocence). It also facilitated deportation, regardless of how many years a migrant had lived in Argentina or the risk of separating families, among other aspects (CELS 2017; Galoppo 2017). Rather than seeking to guarantee migrants’ rights and foster their integration on an equal footing with nationals  – the aim of the migration law in effect  – DNU 70 restricted those rights and cast suspicion on migrants. The latent threat of deportation “(effective as an available repressive and punitive option) instills fear in a population often viewed with suspicion and vilified because foreign while limiting that population’s ability to file a report, take legal action, or seek defense” (Vv.Aa. 2017, p. 4. Our translation). Law 25,871 and DNU 70/2017 clearly have different conceptions of migrants and their rights. It is no coincidence that the law was the outcome of years of debate and consensus-building among diverse political actors, while the decree was a unilateral decision on the part of the executive branch. In fact, migrant organizations learned of the decree only days before it came into effect. The attack on migrants did not end with DNU 70/2017. On the contrary, throughout the Cambiemos administration, migrant rights were undermined, and the national government’s discourses and practices – along with those of some provincial and local administrations – grew increasingly racist and xenophobic. In early 2018, the administration announced that it “looked favorably” on the possibility of Congress holding a “mature debate” to establish “reciprocity norms” with neighboring countries in order to limit non-resident foreigners’ access to free 11  In this regard, since December 2015, “baseless detentions whose sole aim is to establish a person’s identity have had a major impact on the migrant trans community and migrants from Senegal and the Dominican Republic” (ANDHES et al. 2016, p. 18. Our translation). 12  Among the actions that took place during those years, there is the murder of Senegalese community leader Massar Ba in March 2016 (the circumstances surrounding his death remain unclear), and growing police harassment and repression of streets vendors, that particularly affected the population of foreign origin throughout the period under study in this chapter.

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health care. Congressman Luis Petri (Cambiemos) presented a bill to amend the National Migrations Act, restricting not only migrants’ access to health care but also to free university education. Due to disagreements within the Cambiemos coalition, the bill never made it to the floor, but a proliferation of similar bills is still being considered by Congress. In February 2019, the legislature of the province of Jujuy passed Law 6116 to create a provincial health insurance system for foreigners; it requires foreigners who need medical care and have never paid taxes in the province to pay for coverage. The law, which had the backing of Governor Gerardo Morales (Cambiemos), was passed in just a few hours during an extraordinary session. No public hearing or congressional debate was held (Nodal 2018). Though backward and unconstitutional, and a breach of national and international law, and migrants’ rights, the law was backed publicly by Minister of the Interior Rogelio Frigerio. That same year, the national government announced the launch of a cellphone app so health care and law enforcement workers (including the federal and provincial police, and border patrol) could check any foreigner’s migration status. The goal of the app, which was announced in August 2018, was not only to identify anyone with a criminal record in Argentina or abroad and to proceed with removal, but also to oblige anyone with an irregular immigration status to get their papers in order within 30 days (La Nación, 19 August 2018). The app would have given public servants (including health care workers) extraordinary powers; migrants would be criminalized for administrative shortcomings (i.e. in cases of irregular migration status). If the app showed that a person had a criminal record, removal/ deportation proceedings would begin regardless of the severity of the crime or whether the person had been found guilty in a court of law, thus enabling expedited mass deportations. Although the app was never actually launched, the government’s announcement was further evidence of the intent to criminalize migrants, instilling fear in the migrant community. Furthermore, overstay operatives, deportations, and migration fees all skyrocketed during the Cambiemos administration. Overstay operatives went from 8445 in 2015 to 27,425 in 2018 (DNM 2018, p. 2). Residency revocations accompanied by removal orders went from 90  in 2015 to 527  in 2017 (there were another 347 between January and September 2018); while the number of actual deportations climbed from four in 2015 to 75 in 2017 (and another 150 between January and October 2018).13 Finally, the fees for migrant visas rose 1000% in 3 years, taking the cost of permanent or temporary residence for nationals from MERCOSUR or its associate states from AR$300 in 2015 to AR$1000 in 2016 and AR$3000 in 2018; for migrants from non-MERCOSUR countries, the fees doubled in the same period. The astronomical increase in migration fees was not the only new obstacle for migrants seeking legal status. In November 2018, the DNM launched the Distance  Data obtained pursuant to a request presented to the DNM by the Migration and Asylum Program at Universidad Nacional de Lanús in the province of Buenos Aires. The request was filed as part of the research for project 80020170500012LA, “A Step Backward in Human Rights? Emergency Decree 70/2017 and its Impact on Access to Justice among Migrants facing Detention and Removal Proceedings” (the head researcher is Pablo Ceriani and the assistants are Verónica Jaramillo, Luis Campos, Daiana Yovana, and Jeremías Pérez).

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Residency System (RADEX, in its Spanish acronym), which requires migrants to fill out an application online, send scanned copies of their documentation via the Internet, and pay their migration fees before scheduling an in-person appointment at the department. Since its launch, RADEX has become an obstacle to obtaining legal status: the complex system and its technically worded instructions are often incomprehensible to people with little experience using digital media and/or speakers of languages other than Spanish. Furthermore, the system excludes applicants who are unable to pay the migration fees as it offers no chance to apply for a fee waiver. The system has done little to streamline the DMN’s procedures: of 63,500 applications filed online after RADEX was launched in November 2018, only 17% (11,013) had been processed 5 months later. As a result, If this level of processing continues (some 3,000 applications per month), a total of 40,000 applications will have been processed by the end of 2019—substantially fewer than the 221,000 permanent and temporary residency permits that the DNM processed in 2018: a kind of forced irregularity promoted by the State itself. (Gabriela Liguori quoted by Observatorio Universitario de Buenos Aires 2019)

In February 2019, the arbitrary and irregular removal14 of Vanessa Gómez Cueva, a Peruvian migrant who had lived in the country for 15 years and had three Argentine children, brought public attention to the Cambiemos migration policy. Gómez Cueva had served time for selling drugs in 2013 and then remade her life in Argentina, earning a nursing degree and getting a job. When she and her youngest son were deported, she was given no real chance to defend herself; the fact that she would be leaving behind her other two children, both minors, was not taken into consideration. As shall be seen in the next section, after an intensive national and international campaign, Migrations Director Horacio García was forced to allow Vanessa and her young son to return to Argentina for humanitarian reasons, 7 months after she was originally deported. Miguel Ángel Pichetto – the former member of the opposition who would be on the Cambiemos ticket as the vice-­presidential candidate for 2019 – made use of the Gómez Cueva case to continue broadcasting xenophobic discourse, one of the core tenets of the coalition’s platform. During the campaign, Pichetto stated, Argentina has a pathological problem: a Peruvian drug dealer was sentenced to four years in prison and, after doing time, a deportation order was issued. She sold drugs and tore families apart. But now, since we are humanitarian, we will just let her come back in to be with her two older children. Unbelievable. (Página 12, 5 September 2019, n.p. Our translation)

 On 1 February 2019, police visited Gómez Cueva at her home and asked her to accompany them to sign a notification. Gómez Cueva took her 2-year-old son with her, leaving her 5-year-old and 14-year-old at home. The police locked her in a cell where she was held in the dark for 2 days without water before being forced to board a flight to Peru; she was told that if she refused, the child would be put on the plane without her.

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5.4  From Security to Human Rights and Back Again It is difficult to determine who exactly in the national government was behind the regressive and multidimensional migration reform. The experts consulted consider that the historical positions taken on migration by the former Minister of Security, Patricia Bullrich, and the former Minister of Justice and Human Rights, Germán Garavano, make it likely and consistent that they would have promoted the decree; but there is no certainty about it. In any case, support for the policy changes was rooted in opinions prevalent in Argentina in the nineties. It was claimed that large numbers of migrants were entering the country illegally to steal jobs from locals, use the health care and public education systems without contributing to them, and commit crimes. Academic research and a critical review of public information show these arguments are false. First, according to the last National Census (INDEC 2010), migrants represent 4.5% of Argentina’s total population, while in 1914 – the peak of European immigration to Argentina – 29.9% of the population was foreign-born. In other words, there is no “uncontrolled immigration” but rather a thematization of it based on specific contexts and interests. In addition, the Migrations Act does not allow free entry of immigrants into the country. They must present documentation that proves their identity, the absence of a criminal record in Argentina and the country of residence for the last 3 years, and legal entry to the country in order to apply for a resident status (Article 26). Other requirements include no prior convictions for trafficking weapons, humans, or drugs; money laundering; or terrorist activities or promoting prostitution, among others (Article 29). In other words, according to the law currently in effect, the refusal to regularize those who commit or have committed crimes is covered. Second, migrant workers help meet the demand for unskilled and semi-skilled labor; they do not contribute to unemployment or affect the working conditions of nationals (Maguid 1995; Montoya and Perticará 1995; Perera 2010), except in times of sluggish growth, economic slowdown, or recession (Cortés and Groisman 2004). In any case, migrants are not responsible for the state of the economy. Moreover, migrant workers generate a significant amount of wealth. For example, from 2007 to 2011, they contributed between US$3.9 and US$5 billion per year to the formal sector alone (Lavergne 2015 cited in Mármora 2015). Migrants also pay a good deal of tax: their contribution to value-added tax (VAT) is between US$1 and US$1.5 billion per year (Lavergne 2015 cited in Mármora 2015). These data provide hard evidence that migrants do not, in fact, pilfer national resources. The idea that migrants abuse the public education system does not hold up either. According to the most recent national census, foreign students make up just 1.33% of all students in K-12 at public schools (including GED programs) (Lépore 2015 cited in Mármora 2015); in terms of graduate degrees, foreigners and Argentines pay tuition, even at public universities.15 As for health, the National 15

 As part of this anti-migrant campaign, TV host Jorge Lanata did a story on an alleged “boom of

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Survey on Social Security and Protection 201116 has demonstrated that South American migrants received 4% of all health care services in 2010, i.e., their impact on the health system is minimal (OIT 2015). Another recent study of public hospitals in Greater Buenos Aires, where a large percentage of the migrant population lives, found that migrant use of public health care services is “moderate, varying between 10 and 16% of spontaneous demand” (Calvelo et  al. 2015 cited in Mármora 2015). The National Population Department also noted a low relative demand for services on the part of South American migrants in Greater Buenos Aires hospitals (Vega 2013). Similarly, the percentage of social welfare expenditures (GPSN) earmarked for migrants17 is in keeping with their percentage of the population. In 2015, for example, social expenditures for migrants totaled 4.9% of the GPSN, while according to the 2010 Census, migrants made up 4.5% of all inhabitants that year (OIM 2018). Significantly, 79% of GPSN spending earmarked for migrants was contributory; in other words, beneficiaries had to have contributed to access the benefit (in some cases – like social security – for many years) (OIM 2018). Finally, regarding immigration and crime, the most recent data from the National System on Sentence Enforcement Statistics (SNEEP 2017, 2018) show that from 2002 to 2015, between 4.9% and 6% of all prisoners in Argentina were foreign-­ born. In other words, the abrupt rise that had been used to justify an emergency decree was nonexistent. Of 1,805,957 resident foreigners reported in the 2010 Census, only 0.34% are incarcerated (6204 foreigners were detained in 2018). In federal prisons, the proportion of foreigners is higher, 20.2%, because drug traffickers – most of whom are foreigners, though not necessarily migrants – are always sent to federal prisons. In provincial prisons, which house 84% of all prisoners in the country, foreigners represent just 4.3% of inmates (Ministry of Justice and Human Rights 2019). Although the current state of affairs harks back to the nineties, there is one major difference: migrant and human rights organizations, scholars, and activists now have years of experience and have forged alliances to defend migrants’ rights and uphold Law 25,871, a model piece of legislation. What, then, are the resources and foreign students” on his television program Periodismo Para Todos in October 2016. Lanata underscored that foreign-born students made up 4% of all students at Universidad de Buenos Aires. Spokespeople from the university explained that it hosted approximately 13,000 foreign students in 2016 (or 4.4% of the student body), not much compared to other countries, and in keeping with the overall percentage of migrants in Argentina. 16  The Labor, Employment and Social Security Ministry conducted this survey in the six most populated jurisdictions in Argentina, thus covering 74% of the population in urban centers with 5000 inhabitants or more: the city of Buenos Aires and the provinces of Buenos Aires, Córdoba, Mendoza, Santa Fe, and Tucumán. 17  “The largest component of public spending, representing nearly 60% of the total executed budget in 2015. The GPSN covers eight areas […]: health care, social welfare and advancement, social security, education and culture, science and technology, labor, housing and urbanism, and potable water and sewage” (OIM 2018, p. 23. Our translation).

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strategies they have deployed in this new context, and what outcomes have they produced?

5.5  Response of Civil Society Organizations Soon after it became clear that the Cambiemos administration would take a different approach to migration, several organizations involved in drafting Law 25,871 began getting organized.18 They not only exchanged information but also joined forces to fight back against the restrictions of migrant rights and the criminalization and xenophobia built into the new government’s initiatives. The plan to open a detention center for those who violated the National Migrations Act, announced in August 2016, was the first measure to attract media attention, and it sparked interesting forms of mobilization. Amnesty International noted that “all persons, including migrants and asylum seekers, have the right to freedom and free circulation, and protection against detention and arbitrary confinement” (Télam, 26 August 2016, n.p. Our translation). The Migrant and Refugee Network of Argentina (Red de Migrantes y Refugiados de Argentina) also issued a statement: “anyone who commits a crime must be judged and sentenced in a court of law, but associating migrants with crime is an enormous step backward for the country and the region, where Argentina has been a trailblazer in migration policies” (Télam, 26 August 2016, n.p. Our translation). Representatives of the Migration and Asylum program at the Universidad Nacional de Lanús and of the United Nations Committee on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and their families stated that “having an ‘irregular’ migration status in Argentina is not a crime but an administrative infraction to be settled by the state” (Télam, 26 August 2016, n.p. Our translation). The Legal and Social Studies Center (Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales, or CELS) issued a press release asserting that “deportation as a form of sanctioning migrants with an irregular immigration status must be the state’s last resource […] implemented only after a well-grounded court decision” (Télam, 26 August 2016, n.p. Our translation). The announced plans for “the first jail for immigrants in Argentina” also caused concern among Bolivia’s diplomatic corps in Argentina. Furthermore, over 500 scholars, activists, and migrants signed a petition on Change.org against the detention center. Bluntly worded, it reads, We have rapidly moved from a paradigm focused on migrants’ human rights to one based on their deportation at the hands of a State that conceives migrants as a national security problem and a threat to public order. (Vv.Aa. 2016. n.p. Our translation)

 Correa (2004) and Gavazzo (2009, 2011) both provide overviews of how this alliance came together.

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Fig. 5.2  Migrants march against the installation of a Detention Center for Foreigners. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

In addition to public expressions such as these, migrants joined civil society organizations in protesting against the new detention center in front of the proposed site in downtown Buenos Aires (Figs. 5.2 and 5.3). Those organizations concurred that these government measures would exacerbate the vulnerability of groups like Dominican women who enter the country as victims of human smuggling or trafficking, or the Senegalese, whom the State should be assisting with their legal status rather than criminalizing them.19 The organizations also took a stand on document checks, dubious raids, and waning State interest in granting legal status to migrants (Fig. 5.4). In response to the protests surrounding the new detention center, sources from the Ministry of Public Security stated that its intention was not to criminalize migration but to create a suitable place to accommodate those awaiting deportation for different reasons, thus avoiding detention at law-enforcement facilities at ports, airports, and border outposts. Deportation is the last in a series of actions taken when people enter the country illegally. (Page 12, 26 August 2016, n.p. Our translation)

While officials stated that “migrating is not a crime”, emphasis was placed on cases where people with an irregular migratory status were deported “in keeping with the law” (Télam, 26 August 2016, n.p. Our translation), revealing the legal gaps and the securitizaion were still pervasive in this regulatory “hybrid” model (Courtis  Significantly, Law 25,871 prioritizes the right to legal status for citizens of MERCOSUR members and associate states; citizens of other countries continue to face difficulties in this regard. In 2013, two special documentation processes were created for Dominican and Senegalese citizens.

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Fig. 5.3  A migrant woman on the march against the installation of a Detention Center for Foreigners holds a sign stating: “migration is a right”. Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

Fig. 5.4  Meeting of the Migrant Leaders’ Network of Argentina [Red de Líderes Migrantes] at the Angelieli Community Center in Florencio Varela district. Greater Buenos Aires, Argentina. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

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2006). The Diversity Collective (Colectivo por la Diversidad, or COPADI), Professionals for Peoples (Movimiento de Profesionales para los Pueblos), and the president of the Human Rights Commission of the Buenos Aires legislature asked for an injunction against the creation of the detention center. At the time of writing (October 2019), it still has not been opened. There has, however, been a notable change in the political attitude and media coverage of crimes and court cases involving migrants. Both policymakers and others who sought to blame migrants for citizen insecurity seized such cases to back their arguments. The measure that sparked the largest outcry was DNU 70, which President Macri signed in January 2017 during a legislative recess. In response, the Legal and Social Studies Center (CELS), the Argentine Commission for Migrants and Refugees (Comisión Argentina para los Refugiados y Migrantes, or CAREF), and the Diversity Collective filed for another injunction seeking its “full repeal” on the grounds that the measure represented “an irremediable infringement on a foundational set of constitutional guarantees”.20 According to the court filing, the DNU constituted “a new mechanism for migrant removal”21 and modified the general administrative process for migration, both of which ran contrary to Law 25,871.22 In late 2017, a lower court judge refused to grant an injunction; the plaintiffs appealed (Galoppo 2017). In March 2018, Chamber V of the Federal Administrative Court found decree 70/2017 to be “constitutionally invalid” for two violations of the Constitution: first, the unjustified use of an emergency decree on the part of the executive branch, and second, the violations of migrants’ human rights.23 Regarding the government’s argument that “a public-safety emergency” justified the measure, the judges found that “due to faulty statistical analysis, the decree does not present any valid arguments to justify forgoing Congress and ordinary legislative procedure to immediately amend the law” (CELS 2018, n.p, Our translation). The judges also held that the decree’s intended amendments to the Migrations Act infringed on due  These are “(1) minimum guarantee of due process (Art. 8 of the ACHR, Art. 18 of the Constitution); (2) the right to judicial protection of the law and access to justice (Art. 8 and 25 of the ACHR); (3) the right to equal protection before the law and protection from discrimination (Art. 16 and 75 Section 23 of the Constitution, and Art. 24 of the ACHR); and (4) the right to physical liberty (Art. 7 de la CADH)” (CELS et al. 2017, p. 1. Our Translation). 21  The DNU would amend the Migrations Act by “(1) altering the administrative recourses available in the case of removal orders, making the process illusive or ineffective; (2) limiting migrants’ ability to mount a legal challenge or access justice in the face of removal orders; (3) expanding the cases in which preventative detention can be ordered as part of administrative procedure” (CELS et al. 2017, p. 37. Our translation). 22  The administrative procedure for migration outlined in Law 25,871 would be amended by “(1) establishing a new and cumbersome notification system for migrants; (2) limiting access to free legal counsel; and (3) increasing the lengths and grounds for migration-related detentions” (CELS et al. 2017, p. 2. Our translation). 23  The judges held that the decree “not only appropriates the powers of the legislature without any constitutional merit but also presents measures incompatible with human rights as outlined in Argentina’s Constitution and international human rights instruments.” The full ruling is available in CELS (2018). 20

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process and a migrant’s right to a defense.24 The judges underscored how restricting those rights would affect an already vulnerable population group.25 The Cambiemos administration appealed to the Supreme Court, which as of writing (November 2019), has yet to rule on the case. In another critique of the decree, the vice-president of the United Nations Committee on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and their families pointed out that there was no “emergency” to justify the legislative reform, let alone the xenophobia and stigmatization it promoted. The decree incorporated no democratic mechanisms, infringed on constitutional rights, and criminalized undocumented migrants while also failing to guarantee justice when a crime had, in fact, been committed (Ceriani 2017). Some of these arguments drew from a petition signed by more than 1000 social scientists calling on Congress to come out against the executive decree (Vv.Aa. 2017).26 In that petition, the DNU was compared to the 1902 Foreigner Residency Act,27 insofar as it: it violates the principle of legal equality; raises suspicion and fosters hatred of migrants; promotes discrimination, xenophobia, and racism; and contributes to generating a more unequal and unjust society, which is equivalent to an increasingly violent society. (Vv.Aa. 2017, n.p. Our translation)

A short time later, several human rights organizations joined forces with representatives of migrant organizations to request a hearing at the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR) to present several of the problematic aspects of the DNU. Held in Washington D.C. on 20 March 2017, the hearing was attended by representatives from CELS, CAREF, the Union of Immigrant Groups (Unión de Colectividades de Inmigrantes) from Córdoba, and the Argentine Institute for Equality, Diversity, and Integration (Instituto Argentino para la Igualdad, Diversidad e Integración, or IARPIDI). Argentine Human Rights Secretary Claudio Avruj, National Migrations Director Horacio García, and other government officials were also present. Along with the legal arguments against the emergency decree, the civil society representatives emphasized its violation of the right to family unity insofar as deportations would be reduced to a mere administrative procedure. The DNU would also enable institutional racism in the form of discrimination in hospitals and schools, as well as police violence (IACHR, 20 March 2017). After the hearing, the commissioner and vice-president of the IACHR noted that the regula The ruling refers specifically to expedited or express deportations, the preventative detention of migrants and the risk of said detentions becoming arbitrary, and the fact that the decree imperils the right to family unity. 25  The judges further noted that “the group of people affected by these amendments to migration law are vulnerable and already at a disadvantage when it comes to the true and full exercise of their rights. The decree perpetuates the oppression of all migrants, not only those with a criminal record of any sort or those with a record of, for example, drug-trafficking convictions” (CELS 2018). 26  An emergency decree is a type of norm sanctioned only by the executive branch that requires subsequent ratification by the legislative branch, although in the meantime, it is in force. 27  In effect until its repeal in 1958, this law was used by a number of different administrations to stifle unionization by deporting anarchist and socialist workers. 24

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tions provided for in the decree “are regressive regarding migrant rights”. She asserted that “Argentina once set an example on the treatment of migrants, but now it seems to be taking a step backward”. The entire commission, she went on, was concerned about “statements by high-ranking (Argentine) authorities that associate migrants with crime” (Telesur, 23 March 2017, n.p. Our translation). Migrant and human rights organizations, scholars, and union leaders formed a multi-sectoral committee to come up with actions that might dissuade Congress from ratifying the DNU. Congress, however, avoided taking a vote on the decree, thus allowing it to remain in effect. Argentina’s neighboring countries reacted quickly, with both Paraguay and Bolivia voicing concern. The Bolivian President Evo Morales had particularly harsh words when he took to Twitter in a message to other South American leaders: “My fellow Latin American presidents: let us remain a Patria Grande [great homeland]. We must not replicate the migration policies of the North. Together we stand for sovereignty and dignity”. Later, he asked two of his top-ranking officials, Foreign Minister Huanacuni and Bolivian Senate majority leader José Alberto Gonzales,28 to travel to Argentina and meet with a group of Bolivian nationals. In a novel response to the DNU organizations led by young migrants or migrants’ children planned the first Paro Migrante [migrants’ strike]. A conflictive relationship with traditional migrant associations like those who worked for the passage of Law 25,871 (Gavazzo 2011) led these youth organizations to come together. Their aim was to draw attention to the risks posed by the DNU and carve out a discourse of their own on the right to migrate and live decently in Argentina. Slogans like “migrant trabajadorxs [workers] here”,29 “not one less female migrant”30 and “repeal the xenophobic decree” made reference to human rights, dictatorship, and democracy in the countries of origin of the young Bolivians, Colombians, Mexicans, Peruvians, Paraguayans, Brazilians, and Chileans who marched alongside diverse Argentine political actors. Organized on social media and the Internet, the first migrants’ strike was held on 31 March 2017.31 The event not only brought together groups of diverse nationalities and class origin but also caught the attention of the media, which covered the concerns and demands of the migrants without depicting them as victims.32

 That same week, Gonzales had irked the Cambiemos administration when he pointed out that Cheeky, a clothing brand owned by Argentine First Lady Juliana Awada, was accused of subjecting foreign-born workers to slave-like working conditions. 29  Translator’s note: The use of the letter x in Spanish nouns highlights the inclusion of people of other genders and gender identities. 30  Translator’s note: A reference to a local feminist slogan that has been widely used in recent years, ni una menos (“not one woman less”) is a rallying cry against the murder of women at the hands of a partner. 31  The date was chosen in commemoration of 30 March 2006, when six Bolivian nationals (including five minors) died in a fire in a sweatshop in the city of Buenos Aires. 32  The mass and alternative media outlets ran at least 35 stories about the strike, an unprecedented level of coverage for a migrant protest action in Argentina. 28

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Over the course of 2017, the strike organizers attracted more supporters. They joined forces with other groups to increase awareness of the risks of the DNU and created local committees in the neighborhoods and slums where many migrants live and offered talks to ensure they knew their rights. In conjunction with actions to support migrants worldwide, diverse organizations came together to launch the campaign Migrar no es delito (Migrating is not a crime). In March and April 2018, two festivals called Migrantazos33 were organized. Each one consisted of a festival and live radio broadcasts, which were organized in front of the capitol, followed by a march through downtown Buenos Aires. As part of the Migrar no es delito campaign, a public congressional hearing took place in August 2018 thanks to the support of several progressive political parties. There, speakers discussed how the decree infringed on a series of migrant rights, including health care, work, and education. After the public hearing, several media outlets published or broadcast the information provided. A few days later, on September 4  – when Argentina celebrates Migrants’ Day – a second migrants’ strike was held. This time a “political and cultural rally” took place on the plaza outside the federal courthouse, again with live radio where speakers declared the decree unconstitutional. Participants then marched to the capitol, where an arts festival was held. In March 2019, a third Migrantazo was organized. This time, participants marched from the National Migrations Department to the seat of the executive branch on Plaza de Mayo in downtown Buenos Aires. The aim was to protest the increase in removals, police persecution of migrants, and the obstacles the RADEX system (introduced in December 2018) posed for migrants. These actions not only aired “the voice of migrants” in the media but also conveyed the migrant community’s dogged resistance to the criminalization of its existence and especially, its protests. Significantly, figures from both longstanding and emerging organizations made statements about the faulty arguments behind the decree not only in alternative news outlets but in the mainstream media as well. In some cases, community media outlets were revived as part of migrants’ survival strategies. The newspaper Renacer de Bolivia en Argentina (Rebirth of Bolivia in Argentina), for example, began publishing again in early 2017 to keep Bolivian migrants informed of their rights. Radio and television programs with diverse audiences and varying levels of influence invited activists to speak. Thanks to a far-reaching campaign organized by civil society and social organizations, news of the case of Vanessa Gómez Cueva reached the body that oversees compliance with the Convention on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and their families. United Nations authorities requested that Vanessa be allowed to return to Argentina, noting that the executive decree violated its convention, which Argentina had ratified in 2007. The United Nations committee also insisted that Argentina review all pending migrant removals as well as the ones carried out since the decree went into effect. In response to this pressure, the national

33

 Translator’s note: Loosely translated, a migrant rally.

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Migrations director announced that the government had lifted the ban on Gómez Cueva’s re-entry in Argentina. Despite that victory, the national Migrar no es delito campaign continued their global action for Vanessa in conjunction with the group Not one less migrant (Ni un migrante menos, or NUMM).34 On Wednesday, 4 September 2017, Migrants’ Day, a rally was held in front of the Obelisco, an emblematic Buenos Aires monument. In parallel, a social media campaign encouraged users to upload a video or a picture of themselves holding a sign with several hashtags.35 The initiative aimed to raise awareness in Argentina and the world of the repercussions of indifference, xenophobia, and injustice. The group that organized the event, NUMM, reconfigures certain “inherited” ideas regarding what it means to “be a migrant woman” through a strategy of “unity” in the disputes over the definition of Argentine political and immigration culture. Unity does not mean the erasure of internal differences, but rather attenuating them in pursuit of a much larger common objective. At stake in this movement is a historic intergenerational convergence of women. As Gavazzo (2018) has pointed out, gender has played a considerable role in the workings of migrant organizations, in determining who leads them, and in distinguishing between leaders.36 Migrant activism has thus proven strong and vital in the stances it takes against regressive migratory policies.

5.6  I n Conclusion: Migration Policies in Argentina, New and Old The analysis of what happened around the amendments to Law 25,871, the National Migrations Act, during the Cambiemos administration reveals that a wide range of actors, resources, and alliances are involved in shaping migration policy in the Global South. It involves officials at different levels and in different government

 Their call to action states, “A handful of judges and DNM officials have indiscriminately deported and separated working families, with no regard for the principle of family unity or the situation of accused migrants, as children and adolescents are unfairly separated from their migrant parents. This is the case of Jhony Quiroz, a construction worker whose youngest son stood at the police department’s doors begging them not to deport his father, and the cases of Paola Alegre and Liz Moreta. They are calling on the Supreme Court to uphold family unity and halt these deportations. DNU 70/17 is only one of the many policies grounded in hatred of migrants; it was preceded by the ‘phony tourist’ regulation used since 2014 to indiscriminately turn poor migrants away at the borders. That was followed by measures like Radex, which left many migrants undocumented and thus, unprotected”. The full statement is available in Migrar no es Delito (2017). 35   #Vannesadebevolver, #AcciónglobalporVanessa, #Bastadesepararfamilias, #Niunamigrantemenos. 36  In addition to participating in the women’s march on 8 March, NUMM protested numerous cases in 2017 and 2018 of young women from poor neighborhoods who disappeared without a trace. The organization assisted the families, monitored the cases’ progress, and helped spread the word to demand justice (for more on this topic, see Gavazzo 2019). 34

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branches, political activists, members of migrant and human rights organizations, trade unions, scholars, media spokespeople, and representatives of international bodies. In their attempts to support the aforementioned amendments, some of those actors omitted or manipulated statistical data and academic research that refuted their arguments. In response to these strategies, those opposed to the amendment went to media outlets to provide accurate information and challenge the reasoning behind the proposed amendments. They knew, however, that information alone would not suffice to prevent the measures from being introduced. So, they forged alliances with different like-minded sectors and launched novel initiatives that helped them achieve their political goals. Their actions reveal the media’s central role in the region, though this is not the focus of our analysis. At the same time, new technologies – specifically, social media and the Internet – have proven to be essential resources for political action on the part of both the State and actors opposed to its policies. State actors and civil society formed alliances and designed initiatives based on prior political experiences. When a particular action proved successful, it became a valuable resource to be replicated, albeit with modifications. However, the analysis shows that it is possible to add specific “social problems” to the political agenda and defend specific “solutions” to these problems. This depends on an array of factors: the relative power of the actors, the alliances they form, the cultural topics of interest at a given time, the political trends of each administration, and local and global contexts. For that reason, political changes like the ones described here not only imply legislative amendments but also require actors to draw on and reformulate existing political tensions and cultures. In the cases discussed here, policy transformation alone could not modify the social and cultural factors underlying the political action. In other words, legal guarantees alone cannot prevent unresolved conflicts from resurfacing when the sociopolitical context shifts. Investigating how policies are produced in the Global South requires, therefore, reconstructing the history of each national formation to avoid interpreting the “changes” as mere “imitations” or “copies” of the core central of world system. Although global neoconservative trends support certain political discourses in Latin America, those discourses have their own history that enables (or prevents) the emergence of regressive policies that strip people of their rights. Specifically, migration policymaking in Argentina requires dialogue and confrontations between different actors as well as the use of existing institutional spaces and the production of new ones. This includes working with those designated as part of the “opposition”. The analysis carried out in this chapter contributes to rethinking the approaches to migration throughout Argentine history while also challenging the idea that the 2001 crisis brought about a total renewal of the main political actors. In fact, many players involved in the formation of migration policy in Argentina are part of long-standing party structures, individuals who also held public office in the past. Senator Miguel Ángel Pichetto, for example, who is mentioned several times in this chapter, may have changed parties, but he has consistently worked to defend the government’s xenophobic and racist policies as part

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of the opposition. After deciding to run for a second term, Mauricio Macri chose Pichetto as his vice-president candidate in June 2019 in recognition of the opposition senator’s support for the administration’s initiatives in Congress (not only in the area of migration). The arguments for the “new” migration policies show that they are not new at all, but updated versions of government discourses (especially from the executive branch) from the nineties. There are differences, however. While the State and government officials of that decade claimed migrants were “dangerous”, “illegal”, and competing with Argentines for jobs, the Cambiemos administration blamed them for crime, especially drug trafficking. Oversights in Law 25,871, as well as its “hybrid” nature (Courtis 2006), facilitated the return to the securitization paradigm under DNU 70/2017; the law itself was the result of consensus-building with conservative political sectors like those that formed part of the Cambiemos alliance. Despite this, the context was not the same: both government and civil society figures had accumulated experience they could bring to bear on the new context, whose outcomes are yet uncertain. In any case, “doing politics” from the State is still key because vast sectors of the population continue to view government not only as the legitimate authority that guarantees civil rights but also as responsible for determining who belongs (and who could never belong) to the nation. Nevertheless, civil society organizations have carved out an important place for themselves, supporting policies that assure respect for basic rights and creating obstacles for those posing a threat to those rights. And although their participation is still limited, migrants, among others, can also express their opposition to the xenophobic and racist policies described here at the ballot boxes.37 In the 2019 primaries, only 21% of foreigners living in the city of Buenos Aires voted for the Cambiemos candidate for mayor, while 28.5% of those residing in the province of Buenos Aires voted for that coalition’s candidate for governor (La Nación, 2 September 2019). The effects of the migration policies, whether old or new, go beyond the deportations, the turning away of migrants at the border, and the revocations of residency that DNU 70/2017 enabled. Anti-migration discourses have been legitimized, which affects the lives of thousands of migrants and their families and limits their access to rights. As Ceriani affirms, “The DNU (in its recitals and the speeches around its signing) took the xenophobia that lay beneath the surface of our society and turned it into state policy. And that is indeed serious in terms of tolerance, integration, and social cohesion” (Ceriani 2017, p. 2. Our translation). The framework that allowed for the change the DNU occasioned involved ways of “doing politics” both old and

37  Migrant residents in Argentina cannot vote for national posts like president and vice-president, but – at least in some districts – they can vote in provincial and municipal elections. Three years of residency are required to register to vote in the city of Buenos Aires. In the province of Buenos Aires, 2 years are required, and migrant residents are automatically registered. In any case, foreigners vote in relatively small numbers: in the city of Buenos Aires, only 38.7% of registered migrant residents voted in the last election, while in the province of Buenos Aires, just 27.5% did.

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new; it is an ongoing process whose mid- and long-term consequences must be closely monitored. Acknowledgments  This chapter was translated from Spanish to English by Jane Brodie and Wendy Gosselin and reviewed by Christine Ann Hills and Menara Guizardi. This case study was updated in October 2019. It is based on an earlier article by the authors entitled “Nuevas (viejas) políticas migratorias en la Argentina del cambio” published in Si Somos Americanos. Revista de Estudios Transfronterizos. We would like to thank the editors of this journal for granting us permission to use a re-edited version of that work here. See Canelo et al. (2018).

References Abogados y Abogadas del Noroeste Argentino en Derechos Humanos y Estudios Sociales [ANDHES]; Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales [CELS] & Comisión Argentina para Refugiados y Migrantes [CAREF]. (2016). Situación de los derechos humanos de las personas migrantes. In Informe sobre la Argentina. Mimeo: Buenos Aires. Basualdo, E. (Ed.). (2017). Endeudar y fugar. Un análisis de la historia económica argentina de Martínez de Hoz a Macri. Buenos Aires: Siglo XXI. Calvelo, L., Couto, D., & Osorio, M. (2015). Migración internacional y salud en Argentina. El impacto de las migraciones en el sistema de salud. In L. Marmora (Ed.), Impacto de las migraciones actuales en la estructura económica y sociocultural de la Argentina (pp.  225–290). UNTREF Editorial: Buenos Aires. Canal 26 (Productor). (2016, October 31). Pichetto atribuyó la inseguridad a los inmigrantes peruanos. Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8t245P3h3lQ (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Canelo, B. (2011). El Parque Indoamericano en diciembre de 2010: otras tramas, otras miradas. Revista Temas de Antropología y Migración, 1, 13–25. Canelo, B. (2013). Fronteras internas. Migración y disputas espaciales en la Ciudad de Buenos Aires. Buenos Aires: Antropofagia. Canelo, B. (2016). Migración y políticas públicas desde el margen. Acciones y omisiones estatales en un parque de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires. Migraciones Internacionales, 8(3), 125–153. Canelo, B., Gavazzo, N., & Nejamkis, L. (2018). Nuevas (viejas) políticas migratorias en la Argentina del cambio. Si Somos Americanos, 18(1), 150–182. Castles, S. (2006). Factores que hacen y deshacen las políticas migratorias. In A.  Portes & J.  DeWind (Eds.), Repensando las migraciones. Nuevas perspectivas teóricas y empíricas (pp. 33–65). Zacatecas: Universidad Autónoma de Zacatecas. Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales [CELS]. (2017). Derechos humanos en la Argentina. Informe Anual 2017. Buenos Aires: Siglo XXI. Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales [CELS]. (2018). Fallo Judicial del Juez de Cámara Dr. Jorge Federico Alemany sobre Expediente 3061/2017. Cámara Contencioso Administrativo Federal  – Sala V. Retrieved from: https://www.cels.org.ar/web/wp-­content/uploads/2018/03/ fallo-­camara-­migrantes.pdf (Consulted in: 2020, January 30). Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales [CELS] & Comisión Argentina para Refugiados y Migrantes [CAREF] & Colectivo por la Diversidad [COPADI]. (2017). Amparo Colectivo contra Decreto de Necesidad y Urgencia (DNU) 70/2017. Solicita medida cautelar urgente. Solicita medida cautelar interina. Retrieved from: https://classactionsargentina.files.wordpress. com/2017/03/2017-­02-­14-­jncafed-­1-­caba_cels-­y-­ots-­c-­ena-­dnu-­70-­17-­migrantes-­escrito-­de-­ demanda.pdf (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Ceriani, P. (2017). Dictamen técnico sobre DNU 70/2017 que reformó la Ley de Migraciones 25.871. Unpublished manuscript.

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Comisión Interamericana de Derechos Humanos [CIDH]. (2017, marzo 20). Argentina: Cambios normativa migratoria. Audiencia Pública del 161 Período de Sesiones de la CIDH. Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yMPoC03fn7o (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Correa, V. (2004). La Nueva Ley de Migraciones y la participación de las organizaciones de la sociedad civil. In R. Giustiniani (Ed.), Migración: Un Derecho Humano, Ley de migraciones 25.871 (pp. 173–177). Buenos Aires: Prometeo. Cortés, R., & Groisman, F. (2004). Migraciones, mercados de trabajo y pobreza en el Gran Buenos Aires. Revista de la CEPAL, 2004(82), 173–191. Courtis, C. (2006). Hacia la derogación de la Ley Videla: la migración como tema de labor parlamentaria en la Argentina de la década de 1990. In A. Grimson & E. Jelin (Eds.), Migraciones regionales hacia la Argentina. Diferencia, desigualdad y derechos (pp.  169–205). Buenos Aires: Prometeo. Courtis, C., & Pacecca, M. I. (2007). Migración y Derechos Humanos: una aproximación crítica al “nuevo paradigma” para el tratamiento de la cuestión migratoria en Argentina. Revista Jurídica de Buenos Aires, 22(1), 183–200. Cravino, M. C. (Ed.). (2014). Derecho a la ciudad y conflictos urbanos. La ocupación del Parque Indoamericano. Buenos Aires: UNGS. Diafar TV (Productor). (2014, November 9). Senador Nacional Miguel A.  Pichetto. Dichos sobre los senegaleses (entrevista en el programa GETAP, Radio Vorterix (2014, mayo 8). Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Am_STQ91wU8 (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Dirección Nacional de Migraciones [DNM]. (2014a). Disposición 3028. Buenos Aires: Ministerio del Interior y Transporte de la República Argentina. Dirección Nacional de Migraciones [DNM]. (2014b). Disposición 4362. Buenos Aires: Ministerio del Interior y Transporte de la República Argentina. Dirección Nacional de Migraciones [DNM]. (2018). Operativos de control de permanencia. Buenos Aires: Ministerio del Interior y Transporte de la República Argentina. Domenech, E. (2012). Estado, escuela e inmigración boliviana en la Argentina contemporánea (PhD thesis). Universidad de Salamanca, España. Frigerio, A. (2006). La construcción de los problemas sociales. Cultura, política y movilización. Boletín de lecturas sociales y económicas, 6, 12–17. Galoppo, L. (2017). Necesidad y urgencia en la protección de los derechos de las personas migrantes El amparo presentado por organizaciones de la sociedad civil ante el DNU 70/2017. Temas de Antropología y Migración, 9, 143–153. Gavazzo, N. (2005). El patrimonio cultural boliviano en Buenos Aires: usos de la cultura e integración. In A. Martin (Ed.), Folklore en las grandes ciudades. Arte popular, identidad y cultura (pp. 37–76). Buenos Aires: Libros del Zorzal. Gavazzo, N. (2009). “Para todos los hombres del mundo”: diversidad cultural y nación en algunos discursos públicos sobre la inmigración en Argentina. In A. Viana Garcés (Ed.), Repensar la Pluralidad (pp. 137–164). Madrid: Editorial Tirant Lo Blanch. Gavazzo, N. (2011). Oportunidades políticas para la participación de los migrantes. El caso de las organizaciones de latinoamericanos en la Argentina. In A.  Malamud & F.  Carrillo Flórez (Eds.), Migrações, coesão social e governação. Perspectivas euro-latino-americanas (pp. 33–54). Lisboa: Imprensa de Ciências Sociais. Gavazzo, N. (2018). “Ni una migrante menos”: generación y género entre las mujeres migrantes organizadas en Buenos Aires. In M. Gaviria Mejía (Ed.), Migrações e Directos Humanos (pp. 27–52). Lajeado: Univates. Gavazzo, N. (2019). Boliviantinos y argenguayos: una nueva generación de jóvenes migrantes e hijos de inmigrantes en Buenos Aires. Buenos Aires: Grupo Editorial Universitario. Grimson, A. (2006). Nuevas xenofobias, nuevas políticas étnicas en la Argentina. In A. Grimson & E. Jelin (Eds.), Migraciones regionales hacia la Argentina. Diferencia, desigualdad y derechos (pp. 69–97). Buenos Aires: Prometeo.

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Infobae. (2014, October 29). Crecen las críticas contra Berni dentro del Gobierno: “No nos suma generar alarma”. Retrieved from: http://www.infobae.com/2014/10/29/1605028-­crecen-­las-­ criticas-­contra-­berni-­dentro-­del-­gobierno-­no-­nos-­suma-­generar-­alarma/ (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Infobae. (2016, November 6). Claudio Avruj: “Estamos de acuerdo con las declaraciones de Pichetto sobre la inmigración”. Retrieved from: http://www.infobae.com/politica/2016/11/06/ claudio-­avruj-­estamos-­de-­acuerdo-­con-­las-­declaraciones-­de-­pichetto-­sobre-­la-­inmigracion/ (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Censos [INDEC]. (2010). Censo Nacional de Población, Hogares y Viviendas. Buenos Aires. Koopmans, R., & Statham, P. (2000). Challenging immigration and ethnic relations politics: Comparative European perspectives. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kuhn, T. (2005). La estructura de las revoluciones científicas. Madrid: FCE. La Nación. (2018, August 19). Macri lanza un plan para reforzar el control de los inmigrantes. La Nación. Retrieved from: https://www.lanacion.com.ar/politica/macri-­lanza-­plan-­reforzar-­ control-­inmigrantes-­nid2163790 (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). La Nación. (2019, September 2). Los votantes extranjeros prefirieron a Kicillof y Lammens en las PASO.  La Nación. Retrieved from: https://www.lanacion.com.ar/politica/los-­votantes-­ extranjeros-­prefirieron-­a-­kicillof-­y-­lammens-­en-­las-­paso-­nid2283623 (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Lavergne, N. (2015). Inmigración y Economía Argentina: 1993–2011. In L.  Marmora (Ed.), Impacto de las migraciones actuales en la estructura económica y sociocultural de la Argentina (pp. 31–148). UNTREF Editorial: Buenos Aires. Lepore, S. (2015). El impacto de los alumnos extranjeros en el sistema educativo argentino. In L. Marmora (Ed.), Impacto de las migraciones actuales en la estructura económica y sociocultural de la Argentina (pp. 149–224). UNTREF Editorial: Buenos Aires. López-Sala, A. (2005). El control de la inmigración. Política fronteriza, selección del acceso e inmigración irregular. Arbor Ciencia pensamiento y cultura, 171(713), 27–39. Maguid, A. (1995). Migrantes limítrofes en la Argentina: su inserción e impacto en el mercado de trabajo. Estudios del Trabajo, 10, 47–76. Mármora, L. (Ed.). (2015). Impacto de las migraciones actuales: en la estructura económica y sociocultural de la Argentina. Buenos Aires: UNTREF. Meccia, E. (2017). No me discuta. Migración reciente en Argentina y medios de comunicación desde el análisis sociológico-lingüístico del discurso. Revista Latinoamericana de Metodología de las Ciencias Sociales, 7(1), 1–24. Migrar no es Delito. (2017). Acción Global: Vanessa y su hijo deben volver. Retrieved from: https://www.facebook.com/notes/migrar-­n o-­e s-­d elito/acción-­g lobal-­vanessa-­y -­s u-­h ijo-­ deben-­volver-­basta-­de-­separar-­familias-­por-­vanes/547679002440342 (Consulted in: 2020, January 30). Ministerio de Justicia y Derechos Humanos. (2019). Estadísticas de política criminal. Filtrado interactivo SNEEP. Retrieved from: https://www2.jus.gov.ar/dnpc/ (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Monclús Masó, M., & García, M. B. (2012). El impacto de las migraciones en la criminalidad en la Argentina: mitos y realidades. Cuadernos Migratorios, 2, 323–369. Montoya, S., & Perticará, M. (1995). Los migrantes de países limítrofes en los mercados de trabajo urbanos. Estudios, 18(75), 140–153. Nejamkis, L. (2012). Políticas migratorias en tiempos kirchneristas (2003–2010) ¿Un cambio de paradigma? In S. Novick (Ed.), Migración y políticas públicas. Nuevos escenarios y desafíos (pp. 89–115). Buenos Aires: Catálogos. Nejamkis, L. (2016). Políticas migratorias en Argentina 1976–2010: de la “Doctrina de Seguridad Nacional” a la consolidación del Derecho Humano a la migración. Buenos Aires: Prometeo. Nodal. (2018, February 28). Argentina apoya un Proyecto de ley para que los extranjeros paguen por salud y educación. Retrieved from: https://www.nodal.am/2018/02/argentina-­impulsa-­un-­

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proyecto-­de-­ley-­para-­que-­los-­extranjeros-­paguen-­por-­salud-­y-­educacion/ (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Novick, S. (2004). Una nueva ley para un nuevo modelo de desarrollo en un contexto de crisis y consenso. In R.  Giustiniani (Ed.), Migración: Un Derecho Humano, Ley de migraciones 25.871 (pp. 67–86). Buenos Aires: Prometeo. Observatorio Universitario de Buenos Aires. (2019, May 7). Patria chica. Retroceso en las políticas migratorias. Retrieved from: http://novedades.filo.uba.ar/sites/novedades.filo.uba.ar/files/ Informe%20Migraciones%20%281%29.pdf (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Organización Internacional del Trabajo [OIT]. (2015). Migraciones laborales en Argentina: protección social, informalidad y heterogeneidades sectoriales. Buenos Aires: OIT. Organización Internacional para las Migraciones [OIM]. (2018). Escenario base para el seguimiento de los Objetivos de Desarrollo Sostenible vinculados a las condiciones de vida de los migrantes a través del Gasto Público Social Nacional. Buenos Aires: OIM. Oszlak, O., & O’Donnell, G. (1981). Estado y políticas estatales en América Latina: hacia una estrategia de investigación. Documento CLACSO, 4, 98–128. Pacecca, M. I., & Courtis, C. (2008). Inmigración contemporánea en Argentina: dinámicas y políticas. Población y Desarrollo, 84, 1–72. Pacecca, M. I., Canelo, B., & Belcic, S. (2017). Culpar a los negros y a los pobres. Los “manteros” senegaleses ante los allanamientos en el barrio de Once. In M. Pita & M. I. Pacecca (Eds.), Territorios de control policial. Gestión de ilegalismos en la Ciudad de Buenos Aires (pp. 199–219). UBA: Buenos Aires. Página 12. (2016, August 26). Una cárcel para extranjeros. Página 12. Retrieved from: https:// www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/elpais/1-­307814-­2016-­08-­26.html (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Página 12. (2019, September 5). Picchetto saco a pasear toda su xenofobia. Página 12. Retrieved from: https://www.pagina12.com.ar/216547-­pichetto-­saco-­a-­pasear-­toda-­su-­xenofobia (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Perera, M. (2010). La movilidad del factor trabajo en el MERCOSUR. Montevideo: CINVE. Perfil. (2017, January 24). Bullrich apuntó contra “peruanos, paraguayos y bolivianos” por el narcotráfico. Perfil. Retrieved from: http://www.perfil.com/politica/bullrich-­culpo-­a-­peruanos-­ paraguayos-­y-­bolivianos-­por-­el-­aumento-­del-­narco.phtml (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Sassen, S. (2004). Los espectros de la globalización. Buenos Aires: FCE. Shore, C. (2010). La antropología y el estudio de la política pública: reflexiones sobre la “formulación” de las políticas. Antípoda, (10), 21–49. Shore, C., & Wright, S. (1997). Anthropology of policy. Critical perspective on governance and power. London: Routledge. Sistema Nacional de Estadísticas sobre Ejecución de la Pena [SNEEP]. (2017). Informe Ejecutivo SNEEP 2017. Buenos Aires: Ministerio de Justicia y Derechos Humanos de Argentina. Sistema Nacional de Estadísticas sobre Ejecución de la Pena [SNEEP]. (2018). Informe Ejecutivo SNEEP 2018. Buenos Aires: Ministerio de Justicia y Derechos Humanos de Argentina. TELAM [Agencia Nacional de Noticias de Argentina]. (2016, August 26). La apertura de un centro para alojar a infractores a la Ley de Migraciones causa polémica. Retrieved from: http:// www.telam.com.ar/notas/201608/160694-­la-­apertura-­de-­un-­centro-­para-­alojar-­a-­infractores-­ a-­la-­ley-­de-­migraciones-­causa-­polemica.html (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Telesur [La Nueva televisión del Sur]. (2017, March 23). CIDH preocupada por decreto migratorio argentino. Retrieved from: https://www.telesurtv.net/news/CIDH-­preocupada-­por-­decreto-­ migratorio-­argentino-­20170323-­0068.html (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Todo Noticias. (2010, December 9). Mauricio Macri: hay una inmigración descontrolada con mafias que aprovechan. Retrieved from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__sUAktmCZA (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Todo Noticias. (2012, September 13). Berni vinculó el delito y la inseguridad con la inmigración. Retrieved from: http://tn.com.ar/politica/berni-­vinculo-­el-­delito-­y-­la-­inseguridad-­a-­los-­ sectores-­inmigrantes_270981 (Consulted in: 2020, January 27).

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Todo Noticias. (2016, November 4). Pichetto polémico: El Hospital Rivadavia lo ocupan los paraguayos. Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mx36eq7_K5w (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Vega, Y. (2013). La incidencia de las migraciones en los servicios de salud. In Proceedings of the workshop: Conocimientos disciplinarios, reflexiones sociales y regulación pública de las migraciones. Buenos Aires: UNTREF. Vommaro, G., & Gené, M. (2017). Argentina: el año de Cambiemos. Revista de Ciencia Política, 37(2), 231–253. Vv.Aa. (2016). No a la creación de centros de detención de personas migrantes en Argentina. Retrieved from: https://www.change.org/p/patobullrich-­migraciones-­ar-­no-­a-­la-­creaci%C3% B3n-­de-­centros-­de-­detenci%C3%B3n-­de-­personas-­migrantes-­en-­argentina (Consulted in: 2020, January 27). Vv.Aa. (2017). Cientistas sociales convocan al Poder Legislativo a rechazar el DNU 70/2017 que modifica las Leyes de Migraciones (N° 25.871) y de Nacionalidad y Ciudadanía (N° 346). Retrieved from: https://pescadofrescoblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/01/cientistas-­ sociales-­convocan-­al-­poder-­legislativo-­a-­rechazar-­el-­dnu-­702017-­que-­modifica-­las-­leyes-­ de-­migraciones-­no-­25-­871-­y-­de-­nacionalidad-­y-­ciudadania-­no-­346/ (Consulted in: 2020, January 27).

Chapter 6

The Strategic Production of Hate: Anti-­ migrant Discourse and Xenophobic Practices in Foz de Iguazú, Brazil Menara Guizardi and Pablo Mardones

6.1  Introduction This chapter discusses the political uses and social consequences of hate speech aimed at migrant and cross-border populations, which has characterized the new reactionary turn in Brazil. This discourse reproduces the symbolic logics that have become hegemonic in the Global North, turning particularly intense from 2008 onwards. As discussed in Chap. 2, they have rallied public support at key moments like the Brexit referendum in 2015 and Trump’s election in 2016 (Guizardi 2019, p.  591). In South America, the mainstream mass media have spread this same discourse (Matossian et  al. 2019, p.  31), albeit with local nuances. In the region, hate speech harks back to the racism, androcentrism, and xenophobia underlying the formation of the Nation-States in the region and the borderization models used by them (Canelo et al. 2018, pp. 150–153). This discourse, then, articulates long-­standing imaginaries and myths capable of rallying the public (Aquino 2019, p. 180). The primary aim of these pages is to examine how hate speech acts in specific contexts, shaping relations and border identities in the daily lives of persons and groups labeled “migrants”. The context chosen is the city of Foz de Iguazú on the Brazilian side of the Paraná Tri-Border Area (between Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay) on the confluence of the Paraná and Iguazú rivers. This territory is M. Guizardi (*) National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET), Buenos Aires, Argentina National University of San Martín, Buenos Aires, Argentina University of Tarapacá, Arica, Chile P. Mardones Arturo Prat University, Iquique, Chile © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Guizardi (ed.), The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone, Latin American Societies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-68161-6_6

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c­ haracterized by an intense transnational circulation of persons, services, and goods (Agulló 2017, p. 59; Cardin 2012, p. 208; Renoldi 2014, p. 2). Before addressing the experiences of migrants in Foz and their context, we will engage in two analytical exercises that shed light on our intentions. In the second section, we will describe the methodology applied to our case study, specifying how qualitative data were collected and analyzed. In the third section, we will explore the discourse used by Jair Bolsonaro, current president of Brazil, against migrant populations and how it is strategically deployed to fuel rejection of sociocultural diversity by the local population. In order to contextualize, in the fourth section, we will describe Foz de Iguazú’s urban and identity configurations, detailing the city’s role in structuring Brazil’s visions of development and militarism during the country’s most recent military dictatorship (1964–1986). We will discuss the creation of the Universidad Federal de Integración Latinoamericana (Federal University of Latin American Integration, or UNILA in its Portuguese and Spanish acronyms) using interviews with students and faculty staff there and ethnographic scenes recorded in our fieldwork. The UNILA formed part of the regionalist-Latin Americanist project upheld by the Workers’ Party (Partido dos Trabalhadores, henceforth, the PT), which held the presidency in Brazil from 2002 to 2015. We will show how the popularity of the PT’s regional integration mission has declined in Foz, particularly after 2013. In the fifth section, we will recount two scenes – the first ethnographic, experienced by Guizardi, and the other narrated by one of our interviewees – that evidence the radicalization of public expressions of hate in Foz during the 2018 presidential elections. The sixth section will discuss the topics that came up in the focus group of international migrant students and workers at UNILA (known locally in Foz as unileros) (Alarcón Mejía 2019). Their testimonies shed light on how new forms of legitimizing hate practices – such as discrimination and aggression – have emerged in territories where friction around national identity is part of daily life. In closing, we will present the conclusions drawn from the case study.

6.2  The Case Study Guizardi has been traveling periodically to Foz to make ethnographic observations on the experience of cross-border women since 2017.1 Mardones joined her research effort in 2019  in the framework of a comparative-ethnographic study on South American Tri-border Areas (that is directed by Guizardi). A team 1  Guizardi’s project was funded by the National Scientific and Technical Research Council of Argentina (Consejo Nacional de Investigaciones Científicas y Técnicas de Argentina, or CONICET) as part of a postdoctoral project “Gender Conflicts in Border Territories: Paraguayan Migrant Women at the South American Tri-Border Area (Brazil, Paraguay, Argentina).

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of 12 researchers from various disciplines (anthropology, sociology, history) are working on the project.2 Guizardi and Mardones along with four members of the team3 did fieldwork in Foz in July and August 2019, documenting the interactions and experiences of migrant and cross-border populations in fieldnotes, photographs, and video recordings.4 A total of 60 in-depth interviews were carried out, four with Catholic missionaries who work assisting the migrant population, two with consular officials, two with Argentine women, 14 with Brazilian women, 31 with Paraguayan women, one with a Peruvian migrant woman, and 5 with Brazilian and Paraguayan men.5 The research team also carried out a focus group with 11 participants that included international migrant students and staff members from the Universidad Federal de Integración Latinoamericana.6 The latter took place on July 20, 2019 in Room 109 of the UNILA’s Jardim Universitário campus (1000 Av. Tarquínio Joslin dos Santos, Foz de Iguazú). The session, which lasted 3 hours (from 3 to 6 p.m.), was filmed in its entirety, as were the interviews.7 After the fieldwork had been finalized, the interviews and focus-group session were transcribed and then categorized using the discourse-analysis software MaxQDA. We constructed an analytic matrix of six macro-categories in order to codify in accordance with our study’s aims: (1) Constructions of the border, (2) Cross-border migrant trajectories, (3) Insertion of cross-border migrants, (4) Configuration of border controls, (5) Episodes of violence, and (6) Andean and Paraná River Tri-Border Areas connections. Each of these macro-categories was subdivided into micro-categories to yield a total of 130 codes. In this chapter, we will discuss the topics in the macro-category “Constructions of the border” which led to the MaxQDA identification of the following subcodes: (i) Political strategies in cross-border ties, (ii) Identity strategies in cross-border ties, (iii) Discourse of 2  The authors thank the National Research and Development Agency of Chile (ANID) for funding the study that gave rise to this chapter through Project Fondecyt 1190056, “The Boundaries of Gender Violence: Migrant Women’s Experiences in South American Border Territories” (2019–2023)”. 3  The authors would like to thank Carolina Stefoni, Herminia Gonzálvez, Eleonora López, and Esteban Nazal, members of the fieldwork team. 4  Some of the audiovisual material produced by the fieldwork is available on the project’s website. See Proyecto Mujeres y Fronteras (2019). 5  In keeping with the bylaws of our funding agencies and our own ethical and political stance on research, the names used in this chapter are the ones that those interviewed chose to protect their identity (some made up names, others used their initials). In all cases, their requests regarding which information to disclose and which to keep confidential have been heeded. Tables 6.1 and 6.2 in the appendix summarize the information about interviewees whose words are quoted in this text. 6  The focus group was possible thanks to the support of Rodrigo de Medeiros da Silva (vice-dean of International and Institutional Relations at UNILA) and professor Silvia Lilian Ferro (Latin American Insitute of Economy, Society and Politics, UNILA). The authors thank them for their help. Appendix Table 6.2 provides an overview of data on participants in the focus groups. 7  The UNILA is a bilingual (Spanish/Portuguese) university; everyone has the right to speak in the language they feel most comfortable with, and it is common for people to converse in at least two languages. Our focus group adhered to that practice: participants chose which language to use.

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otherness and difference, (iv) Hate speech, (v) Practices of otherizing/differentiation, (vi) Nationalism, (vii) Xenophobia, and (viii) Racism. The ethnographic descriptions, together with the stories derived from the interviews carried out and the focus group, will constitute the empirical resources through which we will trace the configurations of the anti-immigration discourse in Foz and its impact on the daily experience of migrants.

6.3  Bolsonaro: The Media Production of Hatred of Migrants In this section, we will analyze Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro’s statements on migration and migrants. Bolsonaro and his administration, which took office in January 2019, has been characterized by their contempt for migration. Before assuming the presidency in December 2018, Bolsonaro stated that he would withdraw Brazil from the United Nations (UN) Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration,8 which his predecessor, Michel Temer,9 had signed and ratified. He justified that move with a xenophobic description of what, in his view, was happening in France, a country he deemed “overly permissive toward migrants”: Parts of France have become outright unlivable, and intolerance is on the rise. The [French] people took in the newcomers as best they could, but you know what those folks are like; they have something inside that prevents them from giving up their roots. They want their culture to take over and to have all the rights and privileges they had before. (El Periódico 2018, n.p. Our translation)

This baseless comparison of Brazil and France  – a country that does, in fact, receive a great number of migrants – evidences in no uncertain terms that the president does not believe foreigners should enjoy the same rights as Brazilian nationals. In his view they must forego their cultural practices and uses in order to assimilate.10 Bolsonaro stood by those statements despite harsh criticism and, on January 9, 2019 – just over a week after taking office – he confirmed via Twitter that Brazil would withdraw from the UN pact. Brazil thus joined Chile (a country that, as we will see in the next chapter, never even signed the pact), the United States, Hungary, 8  This instrument is a non-binding treaty that recommends that countries adopt mechanisms to find integral solutions to international migration. It contains 23 points to discourage undocumented migration, to protect migrants, and to integrate them into the receiving society, or to facilitate their return to their home countries. 9  Michel Temer, Brazil’s vice president under Dilma Roussef, assumed the presidency in 2016 after a controversial impeachment process removed Rousseaf from office during her second term, which had began in 2015. He served until 2018. 10  This position runs counter to articles 22 and 27 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, signed and ratified by Brazil. Article 22 of the Declaration establishes that all persons must be guaranteed “the social and cultural rights indispensable for his dignity and the free development of his personality”; article 27 “the right to freely participate in the cultural life of the community” (UNDHR 1948, n.p.).

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Israel, Poland, and the Czech Republic11 as one of the most anti-migrant Nation-­ states in the world. These countries have waged a powerful campaign against the UN agreement. However, Brazil is a curious case in this group: unlike these countries, it has more emigrants (3 million) than immigrants (800,000) (La Nación 2019). This peculiarity allows us to assume the demagogic nature of the measure taken by Bolsonaro: adhering to the pact would, in fact, protect more Brazilians abroad than foreigners in Brazil. By withdrawing from the agreement, the government left its own citizens living as migrants in other countries unprotected. This decision disconcerted  – and outraged  – Brazilian voters abroad; particularly, the more than one million who live in the United States, who had overwhelming come out for Bolsonaro: he won 81% of the votes of Brazilian residents in the United States in the runoff (Migramundo 2019). Although the UN pact did not require any specific action on migration policy, Bolsonaro justified withdrawing from it because “Brazil is a sovereign nation that can decide for itself whether or not to take in migrants” (Cooperativa 2018, n.p. Our translation). Thus, he once again used a baseless argument to sway public opinion that staying in the international agreement meant compromising Brazilian sovereignty. In other words, he equated the figure of migrants with a loss of sovereignty and a threat to the local population. Like Trump, he spoke of the “need” for tighter border controls to keep migrants out, comparing Brazil to his own home. Chilean President Sebastián Piñera adopted a similar discourse on April 1, 2018, when, as we will see in the next chapter, he spoke of his restrictive migration control policy as “putting the house in order” (Cooperativa 2018, n.p. Our translation). That discourse has a great deal in common with the statements of high-ranking members of Mauricio Macri’s administration in Argentina (2015–2019) described in the previous chapter. Bolsonaro, like the political right in South America in general, adopted Trump’s discourse, stating, for instance, “We don’t let just anyone into our home, so we won’t let just anyone into Brazil on the basis of a pact with third parties” (France24 2019, n.p. Our translation). Brazilian Foreign Minister Ernesto Araújo added, “Brazil can’t leave its doors wide open so that anyone who wants to can come right on in” (El País 2019, n.p. Our translation). Brazil here is represented as analogous to the “home” of the country’s rulers, all of them white men. They are the ones who decide when to open and close its doors. The country, then, is seen as the property of men who decide what happens in it, regardless of established legal frameworks. Since taking office, Bolsonaro has reproduced almost verbatim Trump’s anti-­ migration discourse – and his rhetoric in general, for that matter – associating drug trafficking, crime, and migration. There is no empirical basis for that claim; it is backed by neither government statistics nor by research on migration in either country. Regardless, Bolsonaro cites false information to insist that those links do, in

 The governments of all those countries are currently in the hands of right-wing or extreme rightwing parties with a strong anti-migrant discourse.

11

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fact, exist (Cunha et al. 2019). With similar nonchalance, he compares Brazil, with only 0.4% of its population migrants, to the United States, where migrants account for 14% of the total population (IOM 2018, p. 69). In March 2019, at a meeting with Trump in Washington, Bolsonaro expressed his support for building or expanding the wall between Mexico and the United States as a major step to stopping immigration. He also announced the suspension of visa requirements for citizens of Australia, Canada, the United States, and Japan to bolster tourism (La Voz 2019).12 Thus, both through his speech and actions, Bolsonaro supports measures that restrict the migration of Latin American citizens while favoring the circulation of citizens from the Global North. After that meeting with Trump, Bolsonaro gave an interview with Fox News, known as a conservative pro-­ Trump outlet, stating that “most potential migrants do not have good intentions” (Huffington Post 2019, n.p.). Hours later, after an outcry from the Brazilian migrant community in different locations around the world, he amended his statement. Or, rather, he made a U-turn: “most migrants have good intentions” (Soares 2019, n.p. Our translation). On that occasion, Eduardo Bolsonaro, the president’s son and a national congressman, stated that “we are ashamed of undocumented Brazilian migrants” (La Voz 2019, n.p. Our translation). In response, the Brazilian Women’s Group (Grupo Mulher Brasileira), a women’s organization in the Brazilian community of Massachusetts (United States), affirmed that: The Brazilian Women’s Group is accustomed to defending our community from the persecution, discrimination, and xenophobia of the US government. We never thought we would need to defend Brazilians from the Brazilian government. We demand a statement from the Brazilian Congress. The shame is that Brazilians prefer to live undocumented in the United States because Brazil does not create conditions for them to live in dignity in their own country. (Migramundo 2019, n.p. Our translation)

Since late 2018, Bolsonaro has been using Venezuelan migration and its impact on Brazil as the basis for a media strategy. As a result of the humanitarian crisis in Venezuela, millions of its citizens have left, mostly heading to Colombia, Peru, and Chile. Though the numbers in Brazil are far smaller than in those countries, Bolsonaro and his cabinet call the Venezuelan presence an “invasion”. Almost 130,000 Venezuelans entering via a land border crossing into the northern state of Roraima was covered widely in the media. This served as a cornerstone of the Bolsonaro administration’s anti-leftist discourse, which ties the migration crisis to the failure of Nicolás Maduro’s socialist government in Venezuela (La Nación 2019). In statements made in August 2019, after the primaries in Argentina, Bolsonaro once again made the connection between leftist governments in the region and migration flows in South America. He claimed that if the Peronist candidate, Alberto Fernández, won the election that year, mass immigration of Argentines to Brazil would ensue:

 Thus far, none of these countries has reciprocated and expressed the intention to withdraw the requirement that Brazilians obtain a travel visa.

12

6  The Strategic Production of Hate: Anti-migrant Discourse and Xenophobic Practices… 133 If those lefties come back in Argentina, we could well have a second Roraima in Río Grande do Sul [a Brazilian state that borders with Argentina]. And we do not want our Argentine brothers fleeing here if something bad happens and yesterday’s results are repeated in October. (Telam 2018, n.p. Our translation)

Argentina has faced several economic and political crises throughout its history, but Brazil has never been a preferred destination for its citizens  – evidence that Bolsonaro’s true intention was political. He sought to establish a parallel between Argentina and Venezuela, thus linking repudiation of left-leaning administrations and intolerance of migrants. As we have seen, Jair Bolsonaro’s discursive uses of migration are not based on data from public institutions, reports from international agencies, or scientific research. Be that as it may, they mobilize deep feelings in Brazilian voters. In the midst of a major crisis of trust in institutions and contradictory information in the mass media, voters choose to place their trust in political leaders who blame migrants for the country’s problems and, as we shall see in one of the ethnographic accounts in the fifth section of this chapter, advocate their punishment with “summary justice”. Bolsonaro’s statements form part of a semantics of fear that acts on the worldviews of many sectors of the Brazilian population. They bolster discriminatory rhetoric that targets any so-called minority: Brazilians of African descent, Indigenous peoples, women, LBGTQI, and so forth (Fig. 6.1). In the sections that follow, we will see how those notions are experienced on the ground in Brazil.

Fig. 6.1  Protesters in the March against homophobia. Sao Paulo, Brazil. (2013). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

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6.4  T  he Context: The Tri-Border Area, Foz de Iguazú, and the UNILA Project The Paraná TBA is one of the most famous border zones in Latin America (Agulló 2017, p.  59). Hollywood films have even been made about it.13 This notoriety is because it is the site of the biggest flow of humans (Albuquerque 2008) and goods (Sausi and Oddone 2010) in South America.14 Both tourism (Cury and Fraga 2013) and criminality (Cardin 2012, p. 208) abound in the area. Its terrain consists of three cities (Albuquerque 2012) with a total population of over 600,000 persons (Renoldi 2014, p. 2). Puerto Iguazú, on the Argentine side, is the smallest of those three cities. Founded in 1902, it is part of the province of Misiones (Renoldi 2013). In Argentina’s most recent census (2010), its total population was reported as 42,849 persons (Dachary and Arnaiz 2012). Its primary economic activity is tourism, mostly around the Iguazú Falls (Fig. 6.2). It is connected to the Brazilian side by the Fraternity Bridge (Puente de la Fraternidad) (Giménez 2011, p. 8), which opened in 1985. Ciudad del Este, on the Paraguayan side, was founded in 1957 by an executive decree (Lynn 2008) to link the territories of Paraguay and Brazil. It was renamed under the Stroessner dictatorship (1954–1989), first as Flor de Lis Port and then as Presidente Stroessner Port, in honor of the dictator. It was not until 1989 that, following a referendum, it was given its current name. In the eighties, it became a free-trade zone, which turned it into a major international commerce center (Cardin 2012). The most recent Paraguayan census (2012) reported the population at 312,652. The Brazilian Foz de Iguazú, meanwhile, is the oldest of the three cities. It was founded in the nineteenth century as a small military outpost (Catta 2010; Renoldi 2013). Its population and economy began growing in 1965 when, as part of the developmentalism that took hold in the region at the time, the Friendship Bridge (Puente de la Amistad) (Figs. 6.3 and 6.4), connecting Brazil and Paraguay was built (Lynn 2008). At the time of the most recent Brazilian census (2010), Foz had 256,081 inhabitants (Albuquerque 2012, p. 191). As Albuquerque (2012), Cardin (2012), and Renoldi (2013) argue, the peculiar dynamism of this TBA is characterized by circuits of mobility and economic, social and cultural relationships in which legality and illegality, belonging and uprooting 13  The most recent being the feature-length action film Triple Frontier (125  minutes), a Netflix production released in March 2019 directed by J.C. Chandor and starring Ben Affleck. The plot revolves around five veterans who travel to the Triple Frontier to steal the fortune of a major drug trafficker. The film portrays the area as a scantly populated jungle region dominated by organized crime – an imaginary that could not be more different from the United States government’s vision of the region in the early twenty-first century. Pentagon documents from those years described the border zone as a frenzied human cauldron likely to house cells of international terrorism (see Hudson 2003). 14  Particularly the trafficking of drugs and merchandise (Cardin 2012), organized crime (Costa and Schulmeister 2007; Hudson 2003), and human trafficking of women and minors for sex exploitation (OIT 2002; Zsögön 2013).

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Fig. 6.2  Tourist bridge in the Iguazú Falls National Park. Puerto Iguazú, Argentina. (2019). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

Fig. 6.3  The Friendship Bridge between Ciudad del Este, Paraguay, and Foz de Iguazú, Brazil. 2019. (2019). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

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Fig. 6.4  Protective bars on the pedestrian sidewalk of the Friendship Bridge between Ciudad del Este. Paraguay, and Foz de Iguazú, Brazil. (2019). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

are not constituted as antagonistic pairs (Lima and Cardin 2019, p. 10). Thus, daily life for those who live in this territory entails the constant crossing between borders, and between cities.15 To understand how this territory came to be configured in this way, we have to go back in time. A quick historical review shows us the fundamental role militarism has played in the three cities, given that their ascription to the sovereignties of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay comes from warlike processes that have not ceased to influence the social and political organization of the territory. This region was scantly populated after the Paraguayan War (1864–1870).16 It did not become a strategic zone for the Southern Cone until the seventies and  This mobility is particularly intense between the Brazilian and Paraguayan sides. Locals refer to the border between those countries as an “open” one because of the lax attitude of the border’s authorities. That does not mean that the crossing between Brazil and Argentina, and between the former and Paraguay is not intense. However, it is much more tightly controlled by the Argentine authorities, which is why locals call that border a “closed” one. 16  In the conflict, the Triple Alliance (Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay, with British support) clashed with the Paraguayan army. The war was set off by disputes over economic interests and the determination of territories, sovereignty, and borders (Reber 1988). The Alliance’s victory bolstered with military and racial symbolisms the idea of ethnic-identity differences between Brazil and Argentina, on the one hand, and Paraguay, on the other. Brazilians and Argentines, each in their own way, cast the victory as proof of a supposed racial, moral, and civilizing superiority. Those imaginaries are reproduced even today in both Brazil (Souchaud 2011) and Argentina (Grimson 2012). 15

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Fig. 6.5  Itaipú hydroelectric dam. Foz de Iguazú, Brazil. (2019). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

­eighties (Albuquerque 2012) when agreements were reached to start constructing the Itaipú dam between Brazil and Paraguay (construction began in 1971 and was completed in 1985) and the Yaciretá dam between Paraguay and Argentina (built from 1983 to 2011) (Renoldi 2013, p. 125) (Fig. 6.5). Both projects were started when all three countries were under military dictatorships that pursued developmentalist projects. The dams had major social impacts (Lins Ribeiro 1999)17 for which the governments had not prepared adequately (Renoldi 2013). These improvements spurred economic growth in the region, which in turn led to an increase in the population around the TBA (Lynn 2008), except on the Argentine side, due to a decision made by the Videla dictatorship (1976–1981).18 It was at that time, then, that these three cities began to gain a degree of notoriety. However, despite the growth in the area in the seventies and eighties, it was not until the nineties that it came to be considered a TBA (Giménez 2011; Rabossi 2004), a transformation that intensified when the Southern Common Market (MERCOSUR) treaty was signed in 1991. Significantly, for the Brazilian military dictatorship (1964–1986), Foz de Iguazú represented a priority in the nationalist project of territorial control and the plan for military hegemony over the neighboring States (Ribeiro 2006, p. 53; Sessi 2015,  They brought one of the most well-connected land and water transportation infrastructures in the Southern Cone (Lynn 2008). 18  During this period, Argentina chose to reduce the State’s presence in cities near the Brazilian border (Grimson 2002). 17

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p. 25). The military oversaw large construction projects (Heller 1988) in the TBA, including not only the Itaipú dam but also roadways, airports, and public services (schools and universities, as well as the largest public hospital in the region),19 as confirmed by historiographical works and the accounts of those we interviewed. EMPT (man), a civil servant in Foz, for instance, tells us that: Until the fifties or sixties, the city of Foz was completely undervalued. It was tiny, just a military settlement until 1900. Most of the people were Argentines and Paraguayans; Brazilians have always been a minority. Then Itaipú [dam] was built, and things started to change. Through geopolitics of unification, Brazil aimed to integrate Paraguay: it was frontier geopolitics that built Itaipú. (EMTP, Brazilian man, 2019, July 20)

That complex mix of public works and service projects made the hegemony of the Brazilian State popular among local inhabitants, though that does not mean those projects were free of military violence or repression. On the contrary, it structured the lives of many poor laborers who worked on the construction of the dam (Sessi 2015). Notwithstanding, to this day, the city’s social imaginary is told from the perspective of the elites who reaped the benefits of military rule (Ribeiro 2006, p. xvi; Sessi 2015, p. 18). DMMF (man), a Brazilian professional who works at the UNILA, explains it in the following terms: “Foz really has a military feel, and its underpinnings are deep and hard to break” (DMMF, Brazilian, 2019, July 20). From 1975 to 1986, while the dam was being built, the demand for male workers was high in Foz (Ribeiro 2006; Sessi 2015). According to I. (man), a 56-year-old taxi driver who once worked on the construction of Itaipú dam and whom we interviewed in Foz (2019, July 29), construction work was underway 24 hours a day; three shifts employed up to 40,000 workers (at the time of the construction, the population of Foz was only 20,000) (Sessi 2015). The salaries were relatively high compared to wages in other Brazilian cities, which brought an influx of Brazilian migrants from several regions in the country.20 The construction workers had benefits like workplace injury insurance, a food stipend, a study allowance for their children, paid vacation, and health care. Foz was also renewed, with new avenues, gardens, and parks to accommodate dam executives. Two aspects of all of this are particularly salient for this work. First, the State’s strategy in the hands of the Brazilian military was substantially different from the models used by the military governments in Paraguay and Argentina during the  The Minister Costa Cavalcanti Hospital (HMCC), known locally as “Costa”, opened in 1979. Itaipú Binational, the company that constructed and now manages Itaipú dam, was behind the project. At first, the hospital’s patients were the dam’s workers, but “it has gone well beyond its original mission; it is now a point of reference in health care for a large region. In 1994, the Itaiguapy Health Foundation was created to manage the hospital. Since then, a series of structural reforms have taken place; the hospital’s level of care is now the highest in the region. In 1996, the hospital started serving patients in Brazil’s public health care system, the Single Health System (SUS), and today the SUS accounts for over 60% of all patients” (Hospital Minister Costa Cavalcanti Hospital 2019, n.p. Our translation). 20  In addition to I., who migrated from Minas Gerais to work at Itaipú, we interviewed S., who came from northeastern Brazil, and P., who came from the state of Goiás, in the country’s centralwestern region. 19

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same period. In Brazil, neoliberal reforms aimed at shrinking the State were not institutionalized by the military government. On the contrary, starting in 1968, the dictatorship favored the nationalization of the economy. Fostering a primary industry (i.e., raw materials for international markets) meant investing in port infrastructure, transportation, and industry as a whole (Bellingieri 2005) as part of a plan for social and territorial control. Foz was one of the principle enclaves of this military-­ statist policy, a strategy that stayed in place until the nineties with the onset of the neoliberal reforms that characterized the return to democracy (Sader 1999; Sallum 1999). Second, that history fed, in the imaginary of the city’s inhabitants, a direct association between the military regime and the years of intense economic prosperity in the city, with a robust labor market and services, a period that came to an end in 1986, when construction of the dam was completed. It is perhaps an odd coincidence that, that same year marked the beginning of Brazil’s democratic transition. As democracy began, some 40,000 jobs were lost in Foz. Those laid-off workers began engaging in small-scale smuggling with Ciudad del Este, which during that period had developed as a free-trade zone, which in turn had contributed to its expansion. While mass unemployment in Foz would have set in, with or without the military government – the dam’s construction was always going to come to an end at some point – in the local imaginary, democracy is tied to unemployment and militarism to economic prosperity. Indeed, the subsequent economic cycles in the city were never able to provide unskilled jobs on the same scale as during the decade when the dam was being built. From 1986 to 2008, Foz became a destination for a different sort of pilgrimage: consumers from all over Brazil would spend the night there before heading to Ciudad del Este to shop in the morning. Involved in small-scale smuggling, they would then take their purchases to different regions of Brazil. During this period, the city became a stop on the international drug-trafficking circuit that unleashed a violent restructuring of the local environment. Starting in 2004, with the fall of the Brazilian currency’s purchasing power and the rise in the value of the US dollar on the international market, commerce with Ciudad del Este collapsed, and Foz gradually veered toward tourism. The latter, though, is largely financed by smuggling and drug-trafficking capital, explains TVTW (woman), a Brazilian lawyer specializing in money laundering who works in Foz and Ciudad del Este (and whom we interviewed in 2019, August 1). The presidential administrations of Luis Ignacio Lula da Silva (2002–2005 and 2006–2011) and Dilma Rousseff (2011–2014 and 2015–2016), both members of the Workers’ Party, PT, understood the importance of Foz to the national political project (Sausi and Oddone 2010). They saw the city and the TBA in general as the crux of regional exchange, which in turn was a cornerstone of a political agenda concerned with positioning Brazil in the international economy. In the long term, they hoped to turn Foz into a major MERCOSUR hub (Alarcón Mejía 2019, p. 33). With that in mind, Lula submitted Law 12,189 to Congress on December 12, 2007. That bill proposed creating the Universidad Federal de Integración

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Latinoamericana (UNILA) in Foz (Alarcón Mejía 2019, p. 32).21 The bill held that the university would be located on the grounds of Itaipú Industrial Park – a territory that, as a “national strategic zone”,22 was under strict army control even after the return to democracy. Given that plenty of empty land that could easily house a major university project is to be found in and around Foz, it would be naive not to imagine Lula’s political intention in proposing this location: he sought to resignify one of the Brazilian military’s symbols by turning it into the epicenter of Brazil’s Latin Americanist commitment. At stake in UNILA’s construction was an opportunity to re-establish ties with neighboring countries (Ricobom 2010) by instigating intercultural integration and establishing the “Brazilian commitment” to coordinating the “union of Latin American peoples”. The university’s bylaws state that: [The UNILA] is born out of the urgent need for our peoples to promote a culture of peace, respect, solidarity, and cooperation through the strategic role of education and shared knowledge. [That is fundamental] to the construction of sustainable societies into the twenty-­first century, societies built on Latin American identity with its cultural diversity and commitment to development, social justice, and socio-environmental sustainability. (Alarcón Mejía 2019, p. 32. Our translation)

The university’s bylaws go further by declaring the university’s primary aim to be “fighting all forms of intolerance and discrimination on linguistic, social, cultural, national, ethnic, religious, or gender grounds or on the basis of sexual orientation” (UNILA 2009 in Alarcón Mejía 2019, p. 32. Our translation). The UNILA, then, was founded as a bilingual institution (Portuguese/Spanish); the idea was that some 50% of all students and professors would be from Latin American countries other than Brazil. There was a problem underlying all these good intentions, though: they were envisioned and articulated in a national power center that did little to investigate how the local community would respond to those values and to what extent it identified with them. Furthermore, the project lacked practicality, fundamental to p­ lanning such a university. Along these lines, SLF (woman), an Argentine professor at the UNILA, explains: The UNILA project was envisioned by people who were not very practical. So much so that they put the campus in the middle of a military zone full of barriers – areas where it was like “No! You can’t go there!”. A university open to the universe inside a secured-military zone. That could only occur to someone who wasn’t practical. Plus, the people who designed UNILA’s structure knew next to nothing about human nature […], which meant that UNILA started having major crises as soon as it had to deal with the situation on the ground. So, they had to negotiate with that situation without forgetting the utopia of a university for regional integration. It was a stunningly bold initiative on Brazil’s part because Brazil ended up covering all the costs of the UNILA.  There is no debate about that. At first, UNILA was going to be the MERCOSUR university, like the European University Institute, or other universities in regional blocs aimed at facilitating integration. The problem is who

 The bill was approved by the appropriate congressional and senatorial commissions before being enacted by President Lula on January 12, 2010 (Alarcón Mejía 2019, p. 32). 22  The grounds that house Itaipú dam are considered a high-security zone because it produces 80% of the electricity used by Brazil’s largest industrial complexes and cities. 21

6  The Strategic Production of Hate: Anti-migrant Discourse and Xenophobic Practices… 141 funds that dream, and the only one who ended up paying was Brazil […]. But UNILA was located somewhere where it is stigmatized, where saying out loud that you teach at the UNILA is cause for discomfort. And if on top of that, you are Argentine, a woman, and a foreigner, everyone thinks you are an organ of the PT, a PT mothership, the embodiment of its diplomatic relations ideas […]. So, they moor the UNILA in a city that hates it for other reasons […]. The people have never been educated in regional integration – and that holds true in Argentina, Uruguay, Chile, and Colombia. Integration is seen as only favoring cross-­ border trade and a few production chains. No one on the ground really understands what MERCOSUR is for, how it makes a difference to their lives. (SLF, Argentine woman, August 1, 2019)

SLF’s resounding statement that the PT government put the university in a city that hates it connects us to both the military imaginary of Foz and political events that have led to a veritable political cataclysm in the country. In 2013, the Brazilian economy slowed down with the US dollar revaluation on the national market, which led to a recession in Foz, where the economy depends on commerce and tourism. The recessive cycle was determined by international macroeconomic factors that impacted almost every country in the Southern Cone (Svampa 2013). But in Brazil, the center-right, supported by the hegemonic mass media, undertook a campaign to delegitimize the PT and its administrations. That campaign associated the PT with the nation’s troubles and justified the coup that would lead to Dilma Rousseff’s destitution in 2016 during her second term. It gradually made way for and legitimized hate speech of a racist, xenophobic, classist, misogynist, and McCarthyistic order as an expression of widespread discontent (Pessoa do Amaral and Neto 2017, p. 59). That speech ended up constructing and enabling the idea, held throughout Brazil, that the country was insurmountably divided along ideological lines. There were two narratives, one constructed by those who leaned right and the other by those who leaned left (Ribeiro 2018, p. 87). As one of our interviewees in Foz put it: “We are in the middle of a crisis; a crisis of Brazilian identity, not only a political crisis. Brazil is split in two, divided between those who care about others and those who do not” (DMMF, Brazilian man, 2019, July 20). Gradually, this discourse led to the open expression of anti-minority aggression and even enabled Jair Bolsonaro to emerge as a presidential candidate: Hate speech targeted at minorities, social movements, and trade unions; the persecution of professors and educational freedom; the attack on progressive ideas; the rejection of the common good; and the celebration of the market are some of the manifestations of this sort of reactionary “reflux”. (Casimiro 2018, p. 43)

In Foz, emerging hate speech was absorbed by a local imaginary that still saw the military dictatorship as “the best period in the country’s history”, as J. (man), one of the people we interviewed, put it (Fieldnotes, Foz, October 13, 2018). To a greater and greater extent, then, any idea identified with the PT was repudiated in Foz. With its Latin Americanist rhetoric, status as a beacon of regional migration, and commitment to Simón Bolívar’s notion of the Patria Grande in its bylaws, UNILA was at the epicenter of those associations: “And that is where you have got the pro-­Bolsonaro movement and all that. Public higher education is now an enemy to be destroyed as a final voice of resistance in Brazil” (EMTP (man), Brazilian, 2019, July 20).

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6.5  The Hate Campaign In Foz, the widespread rejection of the PT’s values culminated with the 2018 Brazilian presidential campaign. To illustrate this situation and its local configuration, we will examine two scenes and some testimonies. The first refers to an ethnographic experience lived by Guizardi. The second is narrated by SLF (woman), one of the people we interviewed. It was October 7, 2018 – the day of the first round of the presidential elections in Brazil. The extreme-right candidate, Jair Bolsonaro, was ahead in the polls; Fernando Haddad, the PT candidate, was in second place. Guizardi, who is Brazilian, was in Foz to do ethnographic fieldwork and, hence, had to vote in Foz rather than in her home district. Voting is mandatory in Brazil, and voters away from their polling stations must appear before the local electoral authority to explain their situation – a process known in Brazil as “justifying your vote”. The owner of the inn where Guizardi was staying told her how to get to the closest polling station, Bartolomé Mitre School23 in downtown Foz. The school’s name struck Guizardi; she saw it as evidence of how the historic militarism of these territories continues to make itself felt. How ironic, she thought, to see a reference to the disastrous Paraguayan War in the context of an election in which many were demanding the unrestricted right to bear weapons. Furthermore, many voters were taking photos of themselves mimicking gunning down members of the opposition. Bolsonaro himself had used a similar gesture at campaign rallies, lifting the microphone stands and pretending to shoot “lefties” and “petralhas” (the pejorative term for those who vote for the PT). When she arrived at Colegio Mitre, the first thing that struck Guizardi was a group of Bolsonaro supporters at the door, hanging around the military police assigned the post. The Bolsonaro supporters, five men and a woman, were wearing Brazilian soccer team jerseys; they were carrying the Brazilian flag – its colors are worn symbolically by voters on the extreme right – and they had Bolsonaro stickers on the left side of their chests. They were talking enthusiastically about how their candidate was going to win and would begin a campaign “to clean up the country” by doing away with all thieves. But their ideas were not expressed in the framework of something like, for example, a parliamentary campaign in favor of the death penalty. What they advocated was summary execution: “They should be killed, not tried. They should be killed and strewn out in plazas as an example”, one of them said, to the others’ approval. Minutes later, a woman with a number of Bolsonaro stickers on her blouse walked up to the group. One of the men who was standing next to Guizardi called her over and said: “What are you doing in a red blouse? You can’t wear red! Do you think you are in Venezuela or something?” The woman apologized and went home to change.

 Name of the Argentine president who, along with the presidents of Brazil and Uruguay, instigated the Paraguayan War.

23

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Frightened, Guizardi left the group at the door and walked inside the polling station. It was full of voters and those who had to “justify” were waiting in the same line. Most of the people in Guizardi’s line were supporters of the extreme-right candidate. She spent almost 2 hours there, listening to their remarks. A group of five – three men and two women – in front of her discussed the country’s future. Gilmar Mendes, justice of the Federal Supreme Court was brought up in their conversation; one of the men said that he should be killed and thrown into the sea (thus seconding the support for summary executions). Everyone agreed with his remark. These “reflections” continued as another in the group said that Lula should be released from prison so that someone could kill him. Meanwhile, the women, called the female activists in Lula’s party “little whores” (they specifically mentioned Senator Gleise Hoffmann, president of the PT at the time, and Manuela D’Ávila, head of the Brazilian Communist Party). In reference to the anti-Bolsonaro women’s marches that had filled the streets around the country the previous week, everyone agreed that “they were all filthy feminists” who “do not believe in God”. One of the men referred to the sin of blaspheming against Jesus and, as if to reinforce the point, he indicated the Bolsonaro slogan printed on his t-shirt: “God above everyone and Brazil above everything”. The phrase is a word-for-word repetition in Portuguese of the slogan used by Hitler and the Nazi Party, “Deutschland über alles” [Germany above everything]. The conversation got more and more aggressive: poor people do not know how to vote and should not be allowed to; people from northeastern Brazil (the poorest region of the country and where the greatest concentration of PT voters live) should not be allowed to vote; everyone who lives in northeastern Brazil should move to Cuba or Venezuela; Brazilians who emigrate should not have the right to vote because, since they left the country, they do not love it. (“Brazil, love it or leave it” was a phrase used by the military junta in the seventies to justify the systematic exile of its opponents). Listening in silence, Guizardi noticed that almost everyone at the polling station was wearing a Bolsonaro t-shirt. She spotted a small group of supporters of the presidential candidate Ciro Gomes, from the Democratic Workers’ Party (Partido Democrático Trabalhista, PDT in its Portuguese acronym), wearing small stickers. But only the Bolsonaro voters dared to start up a conversation. No one countered them; those who disagreed were afraid to speak up. Two other scenes illustrate the same phenomenon. The first happened to Guizardi while she was still standing in line. An older woman walked over to the group of Bolsonaro supporters eagerly going on about torturing and killing its opponents. Using a cane, she slowly made her way over to the gentleman standing right behind Guizardi. She told him, “I voted to set this country right with bullets because bullets are the only way to set it right”. The man happily agreed, as did the group standing in front of Guizardi and others to her side. Only Guizardi remained silent. One of the men in the group stared at her. “You didn’t say anything. Are you an izquierdista?” (“Izquierdista” is a pejorative term used by right-wing and extreme right-wing movements in Brazil to refer to those to the center or left of the political spectrum). Guizardi understood she could not say

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or do anything: she was afraid of what might happen to her if she left the line by herself. In silence, she kept listening. The second incident happened only a few minutes later when Guizardi left the polling station. As she walked down the school hallway, a man who supported Bolsonaro stopped her and asked: “You just voted, right?” But before she could answer, he grabbed her by the arm and went on. “You do not look like a Bolsonaro voter. You do not look happy about what is happening in our country … Don’t tell me you’re an izquierdista”. Guizardi left him there, mid-sentence. In the 20 years Guizardi has been voting in Brazil, she has never seen anything like what she saw that election day. It is true Foz voters have been conservative for some time. But the school where Guizardi went that day was located downtown; it was the polling station for voters from a range of socioeconomic backgrounds and different regions of Brazil. However, that heterogeneity came together around a worldview characterized by, among other things, the construction of a divide (“us versus others”) and by the de-legitimation of any argument that did not share the thirst for violence toward those imagined as “others”. In further conversations she overheard while waiting, one woman said, “I have a company and the workers vote for the PT. Of course they do! They want that annual bonus and maternity leave as if that were realistic in a country like ours. They do not understand that you cannot have everything”. That sentence, documented in Guizardi’s fieldnotes, could have been lifted straight out a nineteenth-century novel about how the slave-owning elites lived and thought. The second scene was recounted to us by SLF; it happened as Lula was preparing to announce his candidacy before he was detained by the Federal Police and taken to their headquarters in Curitiba, the capital of Paraná state, where Foz is located. SLF told us she was used to hearing xenophobic insults as she drove around the city (her car has an Argentine license plate). “They would shout hostile things at me from their cars” (SLF, Argentine woman, Foz, July 31, 2019). When Lula’s caravan went through Foz in March 2019, SLF was caught in terrible traffic at the gate of her home. These supporters marched by her house on their way to the Electricians’ Union headquarters, the site of the rally, located just 900 meters from her home. An anti-PT counterdemonstration was assembling directly in front of her building. It aimed to violently cut off the caravan: They were carrying tomatoes, eggs, and shovels. There were clashes. I was heading out to teach my classes. My Prussian work ethic is very ingrained: if I have a class, I must teach it! But the buses had been diverted; traffic was at a standstill all over town; Tancredo Neves Avenue [a major thoroughfare that runs through Foz] was utter chaos! I had to take side streets, and I ran into violent protesters, the ones armed with tomatoes. (SFL, Argentine woman, Foz, July 31, 2019)

So SLF was trapped on a city street, trying to make her way to teach at the UNILA campus, located near the union headquarters where the PT activists were meeting. Her determination to make it to the university led the violent counter-­ protesters, tomatoes and shovels in hand, to believe she was going to the PT rally. So, they started chasing her car, threatening to throw tomatoes at it and break the windscreen. The situation was getting tenser and tenser; a man finally stood in

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front of her car about to smash the front windscreen. SLF, fearing for her life, rolled down the window and told him firmly but politely, “I am not a supporter of the PT! I am Argentine!” The man seemed baffled for a moment: He stood there baffled, tomato and shovel in hand. He looked at the license plate and wavered, unsure of whether to throw [the tomato] at me or not. He was confused, trying to assess the situation: was I a communist member of the PT or an Argentine? He was unsettled. (SFL, Argentine woman, Foz, July 31, 2019)

According to SLF’s account, the man was vexed because, in that scene, the justification for his attack was not a hatred of foreigners – least of all Argentines – so numerous in Foz. In that situation, the socially legitimized violence was aimed at leftist activists. For at least a few seconds, then, the man was not sure whether or not to throw the tomatoes at her because she was foreign. After Bolsonaro’s victory – a triumph that legitimized anti-migrant discourses – that moral doubt was settled in the minds of many inhabitants of Foz. As we will see in the next section, they feel more and more confident about acting in a verbally or physically aggressive manner against foreigners on the city streets.

6.6  The UNILA: Exception and Contradiction Using the anecdotes recounted and dialogues carried out with the focus group of “international students, teaching staff and administrators from UNILA that took place at that institution on July 20, 2019, we were able to reconstruct a number of aspects of how anti-migrant discourses have been structured on the Brazilian side of the border (Fig. 6.6). These aspects reveal two dimensions: the university is a space of exception and a space of contradiction in relation to those anti-migrant discourses.

6.6.1  A Space of Exception The first thing we could verify in the conversation was that the university is still structured around the need to think, investigate, and put into practice the notion of Latin American integration. In the Brazilian social imaginary, that need is associated with the PT’s political agenda in general, and with Lula’s in particular. Students from different countries emphasized that educational orientation and underscored its critical dimension: So, the university has a large faculty that teaches us our history, the history of Latin America: how it was formed, situations experienced by all Latin Americans. Those are things I had never been taught in my country, where the education is geared to European thought and we don’t know anything about ourselves as Latin Americans. I’m so thankful for that! (JAMP, Colombian man, 2019, July 20)

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Fig. 6.6  Focus group. Foz de Iguazú, Brazil. (2019). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones) The great thing about Foz de Iguazú is the UNILA. It is thanks to UNILA that people from all over Latin America and the Caribbean have come to Foz […]. I’ve traveled to other parts of Brazil, and I haven’t seen that anywhere else. It’s hard: people do not even know they are from Latin America. But here in Foz, they do. (AHC, Venezuelan-Lebanese man, 2019, July 20) Compared with Paraguay, education here could not be more different. The education… here, there is a macro vision, a vision of Latin American and Caribbean integration. But there is still, within that, a real diversity that positions itself along the margins. Research, visions that you draw on. (RMVG, Paraguayan man, 2019, July 20) A lot of knowledge converges [at the UNILA], people eager to take on personal projects from a range of visions. And there are a lot of local and foreign students. It’s fertile terrain to open the doors to our dreams, to develop and acquire new knowledge. It’s important to have a wider vision of what Latin America is […]. When I lived in Colombia, I would look at Latin America but not really understand what it was, what was going on in the region. But since I’ve been here, I’ve realized so much. I no longer feel – how to put it  – only Colombian. I identify with Latin America’s entire past […]. And that has enriched me as a person  – the perspective I have of myself and the region. (FJVD, Colombian man, 2019, July 20)

In this sense, the university seems to be a “space of exception” – “fertile terrain” is how FJVD put it – organized around the idea of social-intercultural integration. As another student told us, that openness to diversity also encompasses sexual and gender heterogeneity, which she had found more limited in her country of origin: I’d an experience when I got here. My way of thinking has changed. When I arrived from my country, it was like that, like… On the UNILA’s campus, there were lesbians, gays, all

6  The Strategic Production of Hate: Anti-migrant Discourse and Xenophobic Practices… 147 of that. In Peru, you don’t see that […]. You go to Peru, and, I mean, if you want to be free, you can’t. (MLPH, Peruvian woman, 2019, July 20)

That freedom to express diversity is hard for a considerable segment of Foz’s population to digest. The city is an environment where, as we have seen, rejection of migrants and foreigners, as well as a fear of social heterogeneity, has been embraced as a hegemonic political imperative: There have always been idiotic politicians and there always will be. But the serious problem in Brazil is that the people are divided. That is why even more prejudice, racism, and xenophobia is cropping up. This separatism should not exist […]. I really get the sense sometimes that, even after all this time, the people of Foz do not even know that the UNILA exists [laughter]. (DMMF, Brazilian man, 2019, July 20)

At this point, we can begin to understand what SLF meant when she explained that the university is embedded “in a city that hates it for other reasons” (see the previous section). To a large extent, the UNILA makes the city feel like part of Latin America, a feeling that awakens so much fear in local frontier imaginaries. So much fear that, as DMMF explains, the city sometimes refuses to see the university, to recognize its very existence. When we put this topic before the focus group, their explanations were striking. For some, that rejection of diversity is tied not only to the militarism that has been so decisive to the city since the seventies but also to the fear of contamination through the border. EMTP, a Brazilian man who moved to Foz to work at the UNILA, explains: Personally, I don’t know anyone from Foz. I’ve been here for five years, and I don’t have a single friend from Foz. It’s not easy. They are really closed-minded. It’s a provincial culture. I have trouble adapting to the city, which is conservative, moralist, Christian, and closed-minded. […]. I think it’s a defense mechanism in a region where everything passes through. Merchandise, persons, drugs, weapons, everything comes through here – even [human] organs. Good things and bad things go on here at the border. And that is why I think the people here are so closed. (EMTP, Brazilian man, 2019, July 20)

His analysis allows us to explore the possibility that the strong adherence in Foz to the conservative values expressed in Bolsonaro’s campaign is tied to the local population’s constant feeling that the city is unstable because of its status as a border city. NCA agrees: I’d a different vision of Foz. Because Foz is a border city with a lot of migrants and foreigners, I thought the people were open-minded, that there would be no racism. And when it comes to the UNILA – we are afraid to say we are affiliated with the university, because for the people of Foz, the UNILA… because of our style… It’s hard to make Brazilian friends [if you study at the UNILA]. (NCA, Haitian woman, July 7, 2019)

But this conservatism is not only directed at foreigners, but anyone not from the Foz region. EMTP, who himself is Brazilian, has only been able to make friends with people from another country or another city in Brazil. That “fear” of “others” was catalyzed by the local media and politicians who, detecting its potential for public manipulation, launched a media campaign to equate the UNILA with everything that represents a danger in local imaginaries:

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So, they start saying that this is a local university connected to a Bolivarian government and the PT, a leftist, marijuana-smoking university… As if students at the private universities did not smoke marijuana. As if only UNILA students smoked. No one smokes, throws parties, has sex, or does anything like that at the private universities [in Foz], just here. Whenever there is a problem involving a UNILA student, the police, social communications, the newspapers, the gutter press, they are all over it. To damage the university’s image. (EMTP, Brazilian man, 2019, July 20)

The international migrant students agreed with these assessments and spoke of how surprised they were when they arrived in Foz and saw, on the one hand, the growing campaign to discredit the university and, on the other, that a city so profoundly influenced by the border could be so closed to diversity. A number remarked that the language barrier, caused by the Brazilian unwillingness to learn Spanish or Guaraní – the languages spoken in the bordering countries – is evidence of that fear of “contamination”: At first, before I came to the UNILA, I said, “It’s on the Triple-Border, and two of the countries are Spanish speaking”. Foz is relatively small, compared to Ciudad del Este. In Puerto Iguazú, the city on the Argentine side, they speak portuñol.24 I did not think the language issue would be such a big deal. To my surprise, when I got here, I learned that many people, even many who work in Paraguay, know hardly any Spanish […]. It was a real cultural shock. Incredible! Because I come from the Caribbean […]. It was a cultural shock because Foz de Iguazú is a mix of cultures. (AHC, Venezuelan-Lebanese man, 2019, July 20)

The UNILA is also an exception to that cultural “closedness.” To combat that language barrier, the university encourages contact with local languages, like Guaraní, a language that is usually met with disdain on the part of the Brazilian population in Foz: It’s a bilingual university, Spanish and Portuguese. But Guaraní is taught as well. And a number of people in the Guaraní course greet you in Guaraní. People from Ecuador, Colombia, Argentina. And it’s those integrations that you gradually construct that make the university richer in terms of culture, language, and thought. (RMVG, Paraguayan man, 2019, July 20)

6.6.2  A Space of Contradiction When we asked the UNILA students and faculty staff about the difficult reconciliation of the university’s Latin Americanist ideals of integration and their implementation in a setting like Foz, the situation’s contradictory dimension surfaced. At stake is a process where the construction of common forms of living together necessarily sparks conflicts between identities: We thought we were going to find an integrated place, and it turned out we came to be part of a process of integration. The UNILA, like any entity […], is a process that begins with

24  Translator’s Note: A combination of the words portugués and español, portuñol refers to an improvised mix of Spanish and Portuguese.

6  The Strategic Production of Hate: Anti-migrant Discourse and Xenophobic Practices… 149 disorder and chaos and non-identification… Before things take shape, everything is all jumbled up. Then certain elements in that jumble stand out and then pair up or separate. So just because we are in a place of integration doesn’t mean that everyone relates to everyone else. What integration really requires is a series of classifications. The identification of Haitians, Colombians, Venezuelans on Brazilian soil is important to show how the Brazilians can identify with us. And I see the process underway at the UNILA as a process of transition […]. We make up the student body, and we are the ones who will give shape to this process of integration […]. But that process takes patience. There won’t be instant integration; there won’t be a burst of integration. (FJVD, Colombian man, 2019, July 20)

The Brazilian professors in the focus group felt this assessment was accurate. “That’s exactly right. The UNILA is this wonder that you are all experiencing. But it is also that conflict and contradiction. And that is interesting. I am experiencing it as well” (LMA, Brazilian woman, July 20, 2019). In other words, a contradiction is at play in the university between its proposal, the political-identity of Foz, and the current political situation in Brazil, all the more so after Bolsonaro’s campaign and election. That contradiction informs the daily lives of international students in two ways: first in the xenophobia they experience in the city’s public spaces, and second on social networks: The contradiction is that UNILA is an outsider within the conservative system [in Foz and Brazil in general at present]. During the Bolsonaro campaign, some students experienced violence. I mean, actual violence. There are some bars downtown that [UNILA] students frequent […]. They used to go, but they would feel attacked. I even think two or three were physically attacked. The city’s Facebook account also published repudiation of foreigners at the UNILA. (RMVG, Paraguayan man, 2019, July 20)

Several people remarked that landlords do not want to rent to international UNILA students because of the negative image they have of them. Most students have had to find temporary housing, at least initially, until they could rent something minimally acceptable. Many explained that even in the “for rent” ads in the newspaper, landlords specified that they would not rent to UNILA students. Furthermore, this xenophobic sentiment is echoed by Brazilian students in the university itself: “And things like that are reproduced at the university as well: ­people tell you they support those [xenophobic] stances” (RMVG, Paraguayan man, July 20, 2019). Everyone agreed that the greatest barrier to integration at the university is the Brazilians: But there isn’t a lot of mingling with Brazilians… I don’t have any Brazilian friends. They say we are at a university of integration. Maybe so, but I don’t have any Brazilian friends. I stay in my corner, and they stay in their corner, concerned only with their own little corner, their own life. That is just how it is. (CD, Haitian woman, 2019, July 20) It is not easy to get along. I had trouble making friends, especially with the Brazilians. Even though sometimes, I don’t know… In my department, for example, there are different groups, and it is very hard to work your way into them. At least that is how it is for me. I don’t really have non-Spanish-speaking friends. (MLPH, Peruvian woman, 2019, July 20)

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Some groups don’t mix with others. I do have some Brazilian friends, and they have welcomed me. But I know that other groups have had trouble mixing with the Brazilians. (FJVD, Colombian man, July 20, 2019) I also have problems with the Brazilians. There is always the language barrier between the Spanish speakers and the Brazilians. I have a lot of Brazilian friends, and I speak Portuguese very well because we get together and I have learned from them. If it hadn’t been for that, though, my close group of friends would all have been Spanish speaking. (AHC, Venezuelan-­ Lebanese man, July 20, 2019)

From these accounts, we learn that international students at the UNILA are exposed to intersectional social exclusion. By “intersectional,” we mean that their nationality and gender, as well as how they are labelled racially by the Brazilian population, are intertwined in the local imaginary to enable and legitimize their marginalization in, for instance, the labor market: In my first year, then, I tried to work anyway I could. But that is part of racism. Well, not racism, but what is called xenophobia. Because as soon as they realize you are foreign and don’t speak the language well, and that you need money, they take advantage… For example, they will say, “I will pay you this much for this much work”. It is like you have no choice. “Well, what are you gonna do?” So, you just take the job. (AHC, Venezuelan-­ Lebanese man, 2019, July 20)

This remark shows how a Brazilian employer, knowing that the employee is foreign, takes advantage of his perceived need, and hires him for more hours at less pay. The discourse against the “foreign other” in conjunction with an environment that renders his experience in the city more precarious ends up facilitating economic exploitation. “Well, they take advantage of foreigners. Not everyone, but some do, and even with malice sometimes. Some see we have few options, and use that to their advantage” (MLPH, Peruvian woman, July 20, 2019). Others echo these accounts of abuse, adding that the high level of economic informality on the border aggravates the exploitation of migrants in Foz: So, it’s tied to the informality here too. He [her husband, a foreigner] turned down work on several occasions because of serious risks. And, as a professor at UNILA, I know a number of students who had [workplace] accidents and were left to fend for themselves. (LMA, Brazilian woman, 2019, July 20)

Most of the students associate these forms of discrimination with the local racist mentality: Brazil is pretty racist, as is Foz. Most of the population that is. I mean, it’s a generalization. (RMVG, Paraguayan man, 2019, July 20) Now when it comes to racism, yes, I have seen it. I did experience…discrimination. Even the professors can be racist, sometimes without meaning to. (MLPH, Peruvian woman, 2019, July 20)

Racism, then, crosses the borders of the campus and permeates university life, working its way into the relationships between students and professors. It is one of the contradictory facets that structure the university:

6  The Strategic Production of Hate: Anti-migrant Discourse and Xenophobic Practices… 151 The UNILA produces a stigma, but it also produces contradictions because the question of racism and xenophobia is reproduced within the university. Not long-ago students – I’m not sure what specific group they were from – waged a campaign to make Blackness more visible. They took photos [of black people] and put them up along the university’s hallway. And they were graffitied and torn down. They were torn down! I mean, even at the university, there is latent racism that is echoed. Something else I saw […]. A poster had been put up at the university’s entrance for a congress; I think it was, of Haitians. And it was taken down and thrown in the trash. (RMVG, Paraguayan man, 2019, July 20)

Of all the students, the ones that recounted the most extreme experiences of exclusion and non-integration were the Black women. The two Haitian women in the focus group, NCA and CD, spoke clearly of the marginalization from students of other nationalities, whether Brazilians or fellow migrants: The UNILA may be about integration, but there isn’t integration within the UNILA. There are people from different countries, but no integration […]. Each country has its own group: a group of Haitians, a group of Venezuelans, a group of Paraguayans, a group of Brazilians. But no integration. I must work on class projects alone unless there is another Haitian in the class. I do not know, maybe [integration] is a pretty word, but there is none at UNILA […]. There is a lot of racism as well and, after all these years, I have to say I’m not sure if that is going to change […]. The UNILA brings together, but it also pulls apart. (NCA, Haitian woman, 2019, July 20)

That marginalization – the fact that nobody wanted to do joint projects with the Haitian women, for instance – is tightly bound to the non-acceptance of their body, of their beauty, of their proxemic expression of Blackness: It’s annoying at times. They bother us. Sometimes the expressions [of racism] are overt. And there is, in my case, the whole issue of my hair. When I let it down, people are, like, frightened. As if no one else here had hair like mine […]. And when I walk down the street, I sometimes feel really foreign, because people look at me weirdly. I don’t know if it’s my hair, my body; our features are different. People stare at us […]. That makes me a little uncomfortable. (NCA, Haitian woman, 2019, July 20)

Both of those Haitian women students came to Foz by way of Belo Horizonte, capital of the state of Minas Gerais in southeastern Brazil. They felt they were treated better there, more integrated, and less subject to racist discrimination: I lived in Minas Gerais, and, in my view, there was no racism there. When I arrived here in Foz, [I heard questions like] “Are you Brazilian?” “Where are you from?” “Are you African?” And I would say, “I am from Bahía” [a Brazilian state where most of the population is of African descent]. And they would say, “Oh, so you are from Bahía”, and I would say: “But, are there no Black people in Brazil?” “There are, but I thought you were from another country”. (CD, Haitian woman, 2019, July 20)

According to fellow male students, the mistreatment of female foreign students – especially of Black women  – is informed by the machista and sexist mentality in Foz: Paraguayan women are treated very poorly. They are treated like lesser beings. Brazilian women are treated like a piece of meat. So, you can imagine how badly Black women are treated here in Foz. They are seen as sexual objects. Machismo here in Foz and Paraguay is intense, powerful […]. A number of female classmates at UNILA have told us how just

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waiting for the bus, men appear out of nowhere, roll down their car windows, and shout thousands of obscenities at them; sexual obscenities, of course. Because they are foreign… it happens much more to foreign women and Black women because they are seen as sexual objects. (AHC, Venezuelan-Lebanese man, 2019, July 20)

6.7  Closing Remarks The questions addressed in this chapter allow us to construct several interpretations of how anti-migrant hate speech plays out in Brazil and its social consequences in specific contexts. We would like to draw four conclusions from the third section, where we examine the discursive tendencies of the current president of Brazil. First, xenophobia has become government discourse in Brazil; it is articulated in statements that sanction intolerance of minorities and vulnerable sectors. Second, that discourse was deployed in “ideologies of security” akin to those used by the Southern Cone’s military dictatorships in the seventies and eighties (Grimson and Renoldi 2019, p. 80). Minorities are seen as dangerous. In this discourse, the migrant population is envisioned as pernicious to national identity. Third, these discursive uses are by no means benign; on the contrary, they construct imaginaries and symbolisms that perform a strategic political function for the government, namely instrumentally legitimizing the conservative court’s proposed legal reforms around issues like migration laws  – a topic of social debate. Measures that attempt to re-establish legal frameworks that deny migrants’ human rights have become increasingly popular. Fourth, the president’s discourse demonstrates how central patrimonialist, patriarchal, and racist visions are to the Nation-state when it comes to migration policies. This discourse and the readings that underlie it is part of ultra-neoliberal and neo-fascist agendas. These political imaginaries find fertile terrain in the specific context of Foz de Iguazú. In its imaginaries and social memories, this city has reproduced the association of militarism and economic stability, public services, major construction projects, and “protection from border contamination”. As explained in the fourth section, Foz is a border space whose vertiginous growth in the seventies contributed to the formation of a local imaginary of fear of diversity. Our interviewees’ words in the sixth section allow us to explore the strong adherence, in Foz, to the conservative values at the heart of Bolsonaro’s campaign. That support is tied to a permanent feeling the local Brazilian population has: that the city is unstable due to its location on the border. In other words, the serious nature of what happens along the border – crimes as varied as drug and human-organ trafficking – means that “the locals” are in a constant state of fear. Fear, then, would be the fuel that feeds suspicion of the unknown, represented here as foreigners, the border, and Latin America. The “closedness” and conservativism of the local population – its tendency to adhere to the securitization discourse that appeals to the idea of protecting a supposedly homogenous community from external threats  – stems from the city’s exposure to dangers affecting many spheres of social life. As our

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interviewees have told us, this conservativism is directed not only at the foreign but at anything that is not local. This “fear” of “others” has been deployed by the mass media and local politicians. Observing its potential for manipulating public opinion, they launched a media campaign to equate the UNILA with everything the local imaginaries perceive as dangerous. The UNILA is, in this context, a space of exception insofar as it is the site of a project to integrate diversity. It is also a space of contradiction that, despite its stated aim, ends up reproducing xenophobic, racist, and homophobic discourses and practices. In other words, the university cannot escape the contradiction that exists between its aim, Foz’s political sensibility and identity, and the political outcomes that characterize Brazil today, all the more so after the election of Bolsonaro. Acknowledgments  This chapter was translated from Spanish to English by Jane Brodie and Wendy Gosselin and reviewed by Menara Guizardi and Christine Ann Hills. Earlier versions of the debates presented in this chapter were published in a bilingual (Spanish/English) issue of the Revista Estudios Fronterizos (Mexico) published in the first half of 2020 (Guizardi and Mardones 2020) and in the Revista Crítica de Ciencias Sociais (Portugal) (Guizardi 2020).

Appendices Table 6.1  Brief description of the interviewees quoted. Foz de Iguazú (Brazil) July 2019 N° Initials Nationality Sex 1 I. Brazilian Male

2

S.

Brazilian

3

P.

Brazilian

4

TVTW Brazilian

5

SLF

Argentina

6

J.

Brazilian

Occupation Taxi driver (former construction worker at the Itaipú dam) Male 50 Taxi driver years (former construction worker at the Itaipú dam) Male Not Taxi driver stated (former construction worker at the Itaipú dam) Female 35 Lawyer and years businesswoman Female 52 Political years scientist Male

Age 56 years

65 years

Retired member of the armed forces

Place of residence Foz de Iguazú (Brazil)

Date 7/17/2019

Register Fieldnotes

Foz de Iguazú (Brazil)

8/31/2019

Fieldnotes

Foz de Iguazú (Brazil)

8/19/2019

Fieldnotes

8/1/2019 Hernandarías (Paraguay) 8/1/2019 Foz de Iguazú (Brazil) 10/13/2018 Foz de Iguazú (Brazil)

Video recording Video recording Fieldnotes

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Table 6.2  Participants in the focus group held at the Universidad Federal de la Integración Latinoamericana (UNILA). Foz de Iguazú (Brazil). July 2019 N° Initials Nationality 1 AHC Venezuelan/ Lebanese 2 RMVG Paraguayan 3 4 5

EMTP Brazilian CD Haitian MLPH Peruvian

6

NCA

Haitian

7 8

MBA FJVD

Colombian Colombian

Sex Male

Occupation/major Political science and sociology student Male Political science and sociology student Male UNILA administrator Female Public administration student Female Political science and sociology student Female Political science and sociology student Male Sound technician Male Mathematics student

City of residence Foz de Iguazú Foz de Iguazú Foz de Iguazú Foz de Iguazú Foz de Iguazú Foz de Iguazú Foz de Iguazú Foz de Iguazú

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Lima, S. E., & Cardin, E. (2019). As representações de mulheres na faixa de fronteira entre Brasil e Paraguai. Revista Caribeña de Ciencias Sociales. Retrieved from: https://www.eumed.net/ rev/caribe/2019/05/representacoes-­mulheres.html (Consulted in: 2019, June 24). Lins Ribeiro, G. (1999). La Represa de Yacyretá. Capitalismo Trasnacional y Política Hidroenergética en la Argentina. Posadas: Editorial Universitaria. Lynn, J. (2008). La Triple Frontera y la amenaza terrorista ¿realidad o mito? In F. Rivera Vélez (Ed.), Seguridad multidimensional en América Latina (pp. 57–80). Quito: FLACSO. Matossian, B., Abal, Y., & Melella, C.  E. (2019). Políticas migratorias regresivas y desigualdades socio-territoriales: análisis de desde una perspectiva interescalar. Revista Electrónica del Instituto de Investigaciones Jurídicas y Sociales Ambrosio Lucas Gioja, 22, 29–62. Migramundo. (2019, March 20). Como brasileiros no exterior reagiram às falas de Bolsonaro sobre migração. Migramundo. Retrieved from: https://migramundo.com/como-­brasileiros-­no-­ exterior-­reagiram-­as-­falas-­de-­bolsonaro-­sobre-­migracao/ (Consulted in: 2019, October 7). Organización Internacional del Trabajo [OIT]. (2002). Políticas sociales y ofertas institucionales para la confrontación de la explotación sexual comercial de niñas, niños y adolescentes en la frontera Paraguay-Brasil (Ciudad del Este). Lima: OIT. Pessoa do Amaral, M., & Neto, J. M. A. (2017). Perversão e política no impeachment de Dilma Rousseff. Chasqui: Revista Latinoamericana de Comunicación, (135), 55–70. Proyecto Mujeres y Fronteras (2019). Los límites de la violencia de género. Available at: http:// www.mujeresyfronteras.com/sobre-el-proyecto/ Consulted in: 25 January, 2021. Rabossi, F. (2004). Nas ruas de Ciudad del Este: vidas e vendas num mercado de fronteira (Doctoral thesis). National Museum of Anthropology, Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Reber, V. B. (1988). The demographics of Paraguay: A reinterpretation of the great war, 1864–70. Hispanic American Historical Review, 68(2), 289–319. Renoldi, B. (2013). Fronteras que caminan: relaciones de movilidad en un límite trinacional. Revista Transporte y Territorio, 9, 123–140. Renoldi, B. (2014). Conceptos que hacen el Estado: crimen organizado y prácticas policiales en la Triple-Frontera. In Proceedings of the Seminario de Estudios sobre Saberes de Estado y Elites Estatales. Buenos Aires. Octubre. Ribeiro, M.  D. F.  B. (2006). Itaipu, a dança das águas: histórias e memórias de 1966 a 1984 (Doctoral thesis, postgraduate program in history). Universidade Estadual de Campinas. Campinas, Brazil. Ribeiro, M. M. (2018). Antipetismo e conservadorismo no Facebook. In E. Solano (Ed.), O ódio como política: a reinvenção das direitas no Brasil (pp. 87–94). Rio de Janeiro: Boitempo. Ricobom, G. (2010). UNILA: a contribuição do ensino para a integração da América Latina. Ideação, 12(1), 67–78. Sader, E. (1999). Brasil: una historia de pactos entre elites. In A. Boron, J. Gambina, & N. Minsburg (Eds.), Tiempos violentos. Neoliberalismo, globalización y desigualdad en América Latina. Buenos Aires: CLACSO. Sallum, B. (1999). O Brasil sob Cardoso: neoliberalismo e desenvolvimentismo. Tempo Social, 11(2), 23–47. Sausi, J. L. R., & Oddone, N. (2010). Cooperación e integración transfronteriza en el Mercosur: el caso de la Triple Frontera Argentina-Brasil-Paraguay. In L. Maira (Ed.), La política internacional subnacional en América Latina (pp. 209–258). Buenos Aires: Del Zorzal. Sessi, V. (2015). O povo do abismo: trabalhadores e o aparato repressivo durante a construção da Hidrelétrica de Itaipu (1974 1987) (Master’s degree dissertation, postgraduate program in history). Universidade do Oeste Paraná. Marechal Candido Rondon, Brazil. Soares, J. (2019, March 19). Bolsonaro volta atrás: “Maioria dos imigrantes tem boas intenções”. Retrieved from: https://oglobo.globo.com/mundo/bolsonaro-­volta-­atras-­maioria-­dos-­ imigrantes-­tem-­boas-­intencoes-­23534610 (Consulted in: 2019, October 7). Souchaud, S. (2011). A visão do Paraguai no Brasil. Contexto Internacional, 33(1), 131–153.

6  The Strategic Production of Hate: Anti-migrant Discourse and Xenophobic Practices… 157 Svampa, M. (2013). Consenso de los commodities y lenguajes de valoración en América Latina. Nueva Sociedad, 244, 30–46. TELAM. (2018, December 8). Bolsonaro advirtió sobre una migración de argentinos si Alberto Fernández es presidente. Telam. Retrieved from: https://www.telam.com.ar/ notas/201908/383757-­bolsonaro-­advirtio-­sobre-­una-­migracion-­de-­argentinos-­si-­alberto-­ fernandez-­es-­presidente.html (Consulted in: 2019, October 7). Universal Declaration of Human Rights [UNDHR]. (1948). The Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Retrieved from: https://www.un.org/en/universal-­declaration-­human-­rights/ (Consulted in: 2020, November 17). Universidad Federal de la Integración Latinoamericana [UNILA]. (2009). Estatuto Universitario. Foz de Iguazú: Ministerio de Educación de Brasil. Retrieved from: https://www.unila.edu. br/sites/default/files/files/ESTATUTO%20UNILA%20de%2026%20DE%2009(2)(1)(1).pdf (Consulted in: 2019, October 3). Zsögön, M. C. (2013). Explotación sexual comercial infantil en la triple frontera entre Argentina, Brasil y Paraguay. Ideação, 15(2), 110–128.

Chapter 7

When Data Undermine Discourse: Migration and Post-Globalization in Chile Menara Guizardi and Pablo Mardones

7.1  Introduction As discussed in Chap. 2, since the economic crisis struck the Global North in 2008, migration has taken a prominent role in discourses of the right and far right in the countries of Europe, the United States, and since 2015, in Latin America as well (particularly the Southern Cone). These discursive uses of migration are framed within a dispute between the circulatory ideals that have characterized the governance of globalization since the nineties (Joppke and Morawska 2003), on the one hand, and a radicalized, renationalized and sovereignist mentality that is quite old but returned with renewed vigor in 2001, on the other (Domenech 2013). Thus, the strength of certain political segments has grown, e.g., those that defend the use of warfare technology to control borders and human mobility (Sørensen and Gammeltoft-Hansen 2013), are against incorporating human rights perspectives to legal frameworks on migration, and that criminalize migration and punish migrants, associating them with terrorism (Kretsedemas and Brotherton 2018). In addition, over the first decade of the twentieth-­first century, democratic institutions and safeguards suffered setbacks in diverse countries (Appadurai 2017) and hate speech with fascist overtones increased, reviving racist, xenophobic, misogynous, and aporophobic ideologies (Sanahuja 2017). Although there has been strong resistance to these political ideas in different M. Guizardi (*) National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET), Buenos Aires, Argentina National University of San Martín, Buenos Aires, Argentina University of Tarapacá, Arica, Chile P. Mardones Arturo Prat University, Iquique, Chile © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Guizardi (ed.), The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone, Latin American Societies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-68161-6_7

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places across the globe, Brexit, and the election of Donald Trump in 2016 constituted defining frameworks for their application worldwide. These events configured new geopolitics that went global despite the anti-globalization ideas they themselves foster. We are thus moving into a new cycle of governing world flows, “post-­ globalization” (Grimson 2018). This chapter explores the contradictions inherent to adapting these hate discourses for the countries of the Southern Cone. Migrants represent approximately 5% of all residents of these countries (IOM 2018, p. 76), a meager percentage in comparison to those of the so-called developed countries: Switzerland (29%), Australia (28%), New Zealand (23%), Canada (21%), Germany (14.5%), the United States (14%), the United Kingdom (12.7%) (IOM 2018, pp. 69, 83, 87). This creates a controversial distance between the political narratives of the Southern Cone and demographic data on migrant groups within this region. Bearing this in mind, we will focus specifically on the case of Chile. Our main objective is to explore the relationship between the migration policies introduced during the second term of President Sebastián Piñera (2018–2022), the discourse criminalizing migration that is used to legitimate these policies, and official data on migrant groups in the country. The study draws on three methodological techniques. First, we gather and analyze the discourses on migration by the Piñera administration which were replicated in the national press in 2018. Second, we present a state-of-the-art review of migration in Chile, and third, provide an analytical summary of official data on migrants in the country. This summary includes information from the 2017 Census carried out by the Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE, in its Spanish acronym); the National Socioeconomic Profiling Survey (CASEN, in its Spanish acronym) conducted by the Chilean Ministry of Social Development; reports on visa issuance from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Migration (DEM, in its Spanish acronym), part of the Ministry of the Interior and Public Security of Chile; reports from the Investigative Police (PDI, in its Spanish acronym) and the Ombudsman of the Bureau of Chilean Communities Abroad (DICOEX, in its Spanish acronym), part of the Chilean Foreign Relations Ministry. Finally, we compare and contrast the findings obtained using these three methodologies. In order to provide insight into these results, the second section analyzes certain features of the government discourses to reveal the contradictions in its arguments. The third section offers a migration outlook in Chile, presenting a summary of demographic data and comparing it to the information provided by qualitative case studies on migrant communities. The fourth section presents a historical comparison of the impact of migration in Chile, exploring changes in the largest migrant groups to show the heterogeneous configurations of migration across the country. Data on visas issued and on migrant removals are provided in the fifth section, before turning to some reflections on post-global configurations of migration in Chile.

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7.2  “Putting the House in Order” Anti-migration discourses by political actors and the media in Chile are by no means new: they date back to the mid-nineties when migration to the country began to intensify. Yet in the 2017 Chilean presidential campaigns, these discourses took on new overtones, making them instrumental in politics and campaigning: a range of candidates repeated racist and exclusionary statements about migrant populations to win the support of more voters. Sebastián Piñera banked heavily on this strategy in his reelection campaign and its impact was clear: it was the first time since the country’s return to democracy at the beginning of the nineties that a presidential candidate had used an anti-migrant discourse and it proved critical to his reelection. After assuming the presidency in 2018, Piñera took these discourses a step further and launched an attack in the media in which he likened migration control with maintaining national order. Since then, the presidential discourses have incisively correlated migrants with crime. “Putting the house in order,” which Piñera has used to summarize his stance on migration in Chile, echoed widely and became the slogan of his presidential campaign and later, the guiding principle of his national migratory program. With this slogan in mind, during a talk at La Moneda (the seat of the executive branch in the Chilean capital city, Santiago) on April 9, 2018, the president discussed the stipulations for a new Chilean Migrations Act.1 In his words, “Far from safe, orderly, or regular, the current state of migrations clearly differs greatly from this standard […]. It’s time to put this house in order, this house we all share”. (Cooperativa.cl 2018, n.p.). The government also announced – without prior notice to its members – that it would be closing the National Migrations Advisory Board (CCNM, in its Spanish acronym) that had been operating within the Department of Foreign Affairs and Migration (DEM) since 2016. The alternative was to form another national advisory board that began working 8 months later (in December 2018). In the interim, critically important decisions had already been made on migration policy (a plan for a path to legal status, special visas, the humanitarian repatriation program for Haitians, and a great number of removals). The new board has incorporated other topics such as public security, environmental emergencies, and drug prevention and rehabilitation, thus reducing the importance of the migration issue, one of the explicit aims of the administration. In an echo of statements by President Trump, Piñera also noted 1  The proposal is similar to one presented during Piñera’s first administration (2010–2014) with several important differences from the one President Bachelet advocated during her two terms (2006–2010; 2014–2018). The Piñera bill is currently in the Senate commission for internal governance after making its way through the House. There, as occurred in the House, the core issue is that the legislators from Piñera’s party do not see migration as a human right but the opposition does (Jarufe Bader 2018). One of the most controversial aspects of the bill is the proposal that foreigners who enter Chile on a tourist visa (in most cases, automatically granted when a foreigner arrives at Customs) cannot change their migratory status to that of temporary resident or obtain a student visa, for example.

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that the control of human mobility was a priority in Chile and that it was critical “to treat our borders as if they were our homes”. This sentiment, also expressed by Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro (see the previous chapter), reveals a patrimonialist and androcentric reading of the constitutive elements of the Nation-state, which is constantly compared with the president’s “home”. Along this same vein, officials of the Piñera administration made more and more statements about migration with no basis in empirical data. In February 2019, Health Minister Emilio Santelices blamed migrants for a rise in HIV/AIDS, an allegation that experts in different sectors and public agencies quickly refuted (El Mostrador 2019b). However, there are complexities to these narratives. At the same time that the government discourse juxtaposes migration with crime, disorder, and disease, it also affirms that there are “good” migrants who are supposedly “of use” to the country. Thus, the discretionary selectiveness of the State – always on the margins of human rights – is announced as ensuring the presence of “orderly, useful” migrants. Based on this idea, the government has acted in apparently contradictory ways: while granting legal status to swaths of undocumented migrant workers, it has also simultaneously deported other migrant contingents at its discretion. The discretionary aspect of these decisions is backed by one of the oldest national migration acts in Latin America and the Caribbean, legal decree 1094 (of 1975), issued during the Augusto Pinochet dictatorship. Among its many anachronisms, the law bans the entry or residency of foreigners who commit acts “contrary to moral values and good manners” and allows State officials or authorities to issue removal orders for migrants without the guarantees of due process (Jensen 2009; Pavez-Soto 2010; Stefoni 2011). Except for Haiti, the countries in the region with large groups of emigrants in Chile have more recent legislation (that is also more consistent with democratic rule of law)2 (Maldonado Valera et al. 2018). The institutional video available on the official Piñera Facebook profile, “Una casa ordenada” (An Ordered Home) shows the president giving a speech at a Santiago sports stadium packed with migrants. It synthesizes this discretionary narrative of State violence that, to use Segato’s expression (Segato 2013, p. 94), “gives with one hand what it takes away with the other”: Today we handed out the first 3,000 visas [for three reasons]: 1) putting our house in order, 2) opening our arms for you to become part of our country; 3) closing our doors to the criminals we don’t want in Chile. (Piñera 2018. Our Translation).

At the same time as it granted these visas, Piñera’s far-reaching plan to expel migrants brought media attention to the removal of Bolivians, Colombians, and Peruvians. The vast majority of these individuals had committed no crime (migrants were responsible for only 2.5% of crimes committed in Chile in 2017) (EMOL

2  A few examples include Argentina (2003), Venezuela (2004), Uruguay (2008), Bolivia (2013), Colombia (2013), Brazil (2017), Ecuador (2017), and Peru (2017). The only countries in Latin America and the Caribbean with migration legislation predating that of Chile are Jamaica, Guyana, Bahamas, Granada, Trinidad and Tobago, and Barbados (Maldonado Valera et al. 2018).

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2018a, b).3 However, the generalizing discourse (“closing our doors to criminals”) allowed the government to convince the public that removals were a “legitimate” way for the State to defend itself. In 2018, the government expelled 2049 migrants, 47% more than in 2017 (EMOL 2018a, b). In contrast with previous years, a range of media outlets covered these removals, investing in high-budget newscasts showing people in handcuffs being loaded onto buses or airplanes (La Tercera 2018a; Radio Agricultura 2018). Although 85% of removals in 2018 were ordered by courts,4 in February 2019, the Piñera administration – which had launched these raids in October 2018 (La Tercera 2018b) – introduced a special removal process for those who did not meet the document requirements for obtaining legal status (El Mostrador 2019a). Just as it claimed to have the best intentions while taking actions on the margins of human rights, the government also established by decree a “humanitarian repatriation” program that has been systematically returning large groups of Haitian citizens to their country of origin. For these return trips, all full flights, the government charters airplanes that fly direct from Santiago to Port-au-Prince. The Haitians receive no economic, psychological, or legal support. Upon joining the program, the Haitians are barred from returning to Chile for 9 years – ten for anyone who has committed a crime. If they do wish to return, their prior migratory status is not recognized, as is the case of humanitarian repatriation programs for other countries. In other words, in legal terms this “humanitarian repatriation” treats Haitians almost the same as those charged of crimes, in a clear criminalization of one of the migration groups that has suffered the most racist violence in the country (Rojas et al. 2015; Soto et al. 2018; Tijoux 2016).5 Aligning itself with Trump’s criticism of the United Nations pact for migration (on how this supposedly interfered with national sovereignty in relation to human mobility), in December 2018 the Chilean government declined to sign the “Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration”.6 Ironically, the slogan of the agreement coincides word for word with the phrases used by the Chilean government to define its migration policy. Far from naive, these contradictions between what the government says and what it does establishes a direct correlation in the collective imaginary between migrants, disorder, crime, and an attack on national sovereignty. One of the principal reasons given by the Vice-Secretary of the Interior

3  Data presented by former Public Defender Andrés Mahnke in his annual report on the Office of the Ombudsman in 2017 (EMOL 2018a, b). 4  According to the Ministry of the Interior, a total of 1748 court-ordered removals were done in 2018, and an additional 301 due to administrative causes (El Dínamo 2019). 5  Similar processes of racializing and criminalizing Colombian migrants are underway in the north of Chile (Stang and Stefoni 2016). 6  The non-binding compact provides recommendations on how countries should address the issue of migration without imposing any guidelines or decisions. It was approved by 152 countries (78% of general assembly members). The few countries that voted against it include those that have come out openly against receiving immigrants: the United States, Hungary, Israel, Poland, and the Czech Republic.

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Rodrigo Ubilla for not signing the pact was that the Chilean government “does not consider migrating a human right” (Medrano 2019, p. 1).

7.3  Migration Outlook in Chile The discourse of Chile’s current government reiterates that migration is an anomalous scenario, a “disorderly invasion” that threatens national stability. A reading of statistical series from the past 152 years provides arguments that qualify these affirmations. According to census data from 1865 to 2017, migrants have historically comprised only a small percentage of demographic groups in Chile. Figure  7.1 reveals that even in the 2 years in which the migrant stock was highest in Chile, it still remained quite low: 4.1% in 1907 and 4.35% in 2017. As shown on Fig. 7.2, the percentages of migrant stock worldwide (the orange line) exceed those of Chile for the past four decades. For example, when globalization intensified worldwide at the beginning of the nineties, 2.9% of the world’s population were migrants, compared to just 0.9% in Chile. In 2017, when the global migrant stock reached 3.3%, the percentage in Chile stood at approximately 4.35%. It was the first time that the country’s migration stock exceeded the international average since the United Nations began tracking the percentages. This was a novel phenomenon in Chile, but we cannot characterize it as an anomaly either internationally or within South America. 100% 90% 80%

98.7%

96.9%

95.9%

96.9%

97.5%

97.9%

98.2%

98.6%

99.0%

99.3%

99.1%

98.7%

95.5%

3.1%

4.1%

3.1%

2.5%

2.1%

1.8%

1.4%

1.0%

0.7%

0.9%

1.3%

4.5%

40%

1.3%

50%

98.7%

60%

1.3%

70%

30% 20% 10% 0%

% Foreigners

% Chileans

Fig. 7.1  Percentage of Migrant Stock in Comparison to Chile’s Total Population (Chilean censuses, 1865–2017). (Source: Drafted by Isidora Palma, using data from the Chilean censuses (1865–2017) and the Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE-Chile))

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5.00% 4.50%

4.50% 4.10%

4.00% 3.50% 3.00%

3.10%

3.10%

2.50%

2.50% 2.00% 1.50% 1.00% 1.30% 0.50%

2.10% 1.30%

3.30%

2.90% 2.30%

2.80% 2.20%

1.80% 1.40%

1.00% 0.70%

1.30% 0.90%

0.00%

% International Migration in Chile % International Migration World Fig. 7.2  Percentage of Migrant Stock in Chile (1865–2017) and Worldwide (1970–2017). (Source: Drafted by Isidora Palma and Menara Guizardi, using data from the Chilean censuses (1865– 2017), the Chilean National Statistics Institute, INE), and the International Organization for Migration (IOM))

A rapid historical overview demonstrates insightful here. Between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the world experienced the highest percentage of immigration in history (McKeown 2004), principally due to the European diaspora (Moch 1996). Between 1814 and 1914, some 64 million Europeans headed for the Americas (Sutcliffe 1998, p. 64). Although the United States was the main receiving country, Argentina and Brazil were the second and third in absolute terms on this ranking (Moch 1996). Yet several South American countries had migrant stocks during those years that remain all-time highs. Chile, however, was partially removed from this trend, with migrant stocks ranging between 1.3% (in 1865) and 4.1% (in 1907) of its national population (see Fig. 7.2). In contrast, 29.9% of the population of neighboring Argentina was foreign-born in 1914, according to the National Migrations Department of Argentina (DNM 2019) as was 17% of Uruguay in 1908 (Nahum 2007). The current percentage of migrants in Chile is thus far from a “novelty” in the Southern Cone. At the same time, especially since 2010, the countries of South America have seen marked increases in intraregional migration (while the trend in Central America, the Caribbean, and Mexico of sending its population to the United States continues and expands) (Martínez and Orrego 2016; Stefoni 2018). Migration between South American countries rose 11% between 2010 and 2015, and more than 70% of all flows in these countries are currently intraregional (IOM 2018,

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100.0% 90.0% 80.0%

88.0% 76.0% 74.0%

70.0% 60.0% 50.0% 40.0% 30.0% 20.0% 10.0%

28.0% 29.0%

23.0%

21.0% 14.5%

14.0% 12.7%

4.5% 4.4%

0.0%

Fig. 7.3  The ten countries with the highest migrant stocks in comparison to Argentina and Chile. (Source: Drafted by Isidora Palma with data from the International Organization for Migration (IOM 2018), the Argentine National Institute of Statistics and Censuses (INDEC 2010), and the Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE-Chile 2017))

p.  80). By 2015, the countries with the highest proportion of migrants in South America were French Guyana, Suriname, Argentina, Venezuela, and Chile (Rojas and Silva 2016, pp. 10–11). In absolute terms, Argentina tops the list of migrant-­ receiving countries (with 2,086,000 migrants), followed by Venezuela (1,404,400), Brazil (713,600), Chile (469,400) and Ecuador (387,500) (UN 2015, p. 1). Chile was not the main receiving hub in South America either in relative or absolute terms, even considering the results of the 2017 Census, which recorded a total of 746,465 migrants in the country (277,065 more than the United Nations had counted in 2015). In other words, in absolute terms, Chile is not a priority migration destination in South America or in the Southern Cone in 2017. In a certain sense, the increase of migration to Chile reveals its consolidation as an intraregional migrant destination (Stefoni 2018), bringing it close to Argentina, which continues to be the main receiving country,7 and surpassing Venezuela (historically the second receiving country) (Martínez and Orrego 2016). However, although the increase in migrant receiving in South America is important, its percentages are far too low to consider them relevant at the global scale. Figure 7.3 compares the migration stock of Argentina and Chile with those of the ten countries in the world with the largest number of migrants relative to their population.

7  In the eighties, 6.8% of Argentina’s population was foreign-born, a number that fell to 5% in the nineties, and currently stands at 4.8% (0.45% higher than in Chile) (DNM 2019).

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6.2%

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6.4%

6.0% 5.0%

4.4%

4.0%

3.2%

3.2%

3.0% 2.0% 1.0% 0.0%

0.7% 1982

0.9%

1992

% Foraigners Living in Chile

1.3%

2002

2017

% Chileans Living Abroad

Fig. 7.4  Immigrants in Chile vs. Chilean Emigrants (1982–2017) (as a percentage of the total Chilean population). (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma with data from the Chilean censuses (1982–2017), National Statistics Institute of Chile and records of the Bureau of Chilean Communities Abroad (DICOEX), part of the Chilean Foreign Relations Ministry (2005 and 2016))

A comprehensive reading of the migration situation in Chile requires counts of Chilean nationals who emigrate and the descendants of those migrants who are born outside Chile but retain Chilean nationality along with their parents’ transnational bonds with their country of origin. Though it may seem contradictory, it is rare for political discourses in the country to address the numbers of both emigrants and immigrants since the intensification of intraregional migration to central Chile in the nineties. The information on Fig. 7.4 sheds insight into the reasons for this omission. The percentages of the Chilean population living abroad were also higher than those of migrants living in Chile, at least in the past four decades. In 1982, 6.2% of Chile’s national population moved abroad. That number rose to 6.4% in 1992, fell to 3.2% in 2002, and remained at that same rate in 2017. Therefore, the fact that 4.35% of the Chilean population was foreign-born in 2017 represents a border crossing of a very particular kind: it marks the first time in many years that there are more immigrants in Chile than there are Chileans abroad. In keeping with this perspective, it is possible to say that Chile is a country that maintained a consistent emigration profile at the end of the twentieth century and the dawn of the twenty-first. The population, however, is unaware of this, and this information is rarely considered in planning Chilean migration policies, leading to the neglect of Chileans living abroad. (As occurred with the country’s refusal to sign the “Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration” in 2018). Little is known about these citizens or their specific needs. According to the Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE 2018b), of the 1,037,346 Chileans living abroad, 570,703 were born in Chile and 466,643 were born in other countries to a Chilean mother and/or father. The vast majority (42%, some 439,582 people) are in

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5,00,000 4,29,708 4,00,000 3,00,000 2,00,000 1,00,000 0

4,39,582 1,38,969

1,13,394

56,138

42,396

42,505

26,039

23,296

19,702

37,608 1,06,060 22,434 37,577 28,371 33,626 27,106 23,911 15,782 10,280

2005

2016

Fig. 7.5  Main Receiving Countries for Chilean Migrants Worldwide (2005 and 2016): Absolute Values. (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma with data from records of the Bureau of Chilean Communities Abroad (DICOEX), part of the Chilean Foreign Relations Ministry (2005 and 2016))

Argentina. The second highest-receiving country is the United States, with 13% of migrants (138,969 people); the third highest, Spain, saw a 344% rise in the number of Chilean residents in just over a decade (Fig. 7.5), from 23,911 Chilean residents in 2005 to 106,060 (10% of the total amount of Chilean abroad) in 2016 (INE 2018b),

7.4  M  igrants in Chile: Nationalities, Gender, and Geographical Distribution by Regions Figure 7.6 provides historical breakdowns of the main migrant groups that have settled in Chile and compares the six most numerous migrant groups (by nationality) based on all censuses from 1854 to 2017. This reveals several factors indicative of broader sociopolitical contexts, four of which prove fundamental. First, until the 2002 Census, Argentines, Peruvians, and Bolivians were among the six most numerous national groups, alternating from year to year in terms of which topped the ranking, with all other population groups representing just a scant percentage. This is indicative of a historical migration context marked by low diversity of national origins and predominantly consisting of migrants from neighboring countries. Second, the nineteenth-century wars over borders and the sketching of national territories affected the makeup of migrant populations in Chile. For example, until the first border treaties were signed with Argentina in 1881, Argentines were by far the most numerous migrant community in Chile. When certain Chilean territories became part of Argentina, the migratory status of the residents of these areas changed; while they had previously been considered migrants in Chile, they now

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60.0% 50.0% 40.0% 30.0% 20.0% 10.0% 0.0% Peru

Colombia

Venezuela

Bolivia

Argentina

Haiti

Fig. 7.6  The Six Most Numerous National Groups as a Percentage of Total Migrant Stock in Chile. (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma, using data from the Chilean censuses (1854–2017) and the Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE 2017). Censuses 1854–2017))

became nationals in Argentine territory. By 1885, as seen in the census, Argentines were no longer the most numerous migrant community in Chile, and would not be again until the 1940 census. Later, they retained the top spot until 2002. Similarly, Peruvians and Bolivians had only a scant presence until 1875 but appear as consolidated migrant groups on the 1885 Census. This can be attributed to Chile’s annexation of territories in the Atacama Desert after the War of the Pacific (1879–1883) (Guizardi and Garcés 2012). Therefore, the Peruvians and Bolivians who lived in these regions became foreigners without having migrated (Tapia 2012, 2015). Between 1885 and 1907, the majority of migrants in Chile were Peruvians, while from 1920 through 1940, Bolivians topped the ranking. During these periods, the predominance of three migrant groups – Argentines, Peruvians, and Bolivians – was not viewed as a sign of a migrant invasion. This can be attributed to a few fundamental factors. In the case of the Argentines, it is possible to identify a racist vision by which any “white” migration is deemed welcome (Jensen 2009). In the case of Peruvians and Bolivians, who mainly lived in the border areas of northern Chile, their presence was invisible to the eyes of residents in the capital of Santiago (Grimson and Guizardi 2015). This justified their absence from the discourses of a State characterized by the political centricism of the Santiago elites (Guizardi and Garcés 2014). Third, the twenty-first century witnessed a major transformation in the migration landscape of Chile. The return to democracy at the beginning of the nineties marked

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the beginning of a period of growth and economic stability in Chile (Martínez 2003, p. 1; Núñez and Holper 2005, p. 291; Núñez and Torres 2007, p. 7; Schiappacasse 2008, p. 23; Stefoni 2005, pp. 283–284), driven by a new cycle in which the mining economy in the country’s northern territories expanded and internationalized (Tapia and Parella 2015). When combined with the economic and political crisis of the neighboring countries – Peru and Bolivia, mainly (Araújo et al. 2002, p. 10), this sparked an increase in migration from those countries towards the central regions of Chile. In parallel, there is a noticeable drop in the percentage of Argentine migrants. In 2002, Peruvians became the most numerous migrant community and continued to top the ranking until 2017.8 The fourth aspect is the division of migrants in Chile by gender. In the 1992 Census, there were slightly more women than men in practically all migrant groups by nationality (Argentines, Peruvians, Bolivians, Ecuadoreans, Brazilians, and Colombians). In the 2002 census, this trend increased for all nationalities except for that of Argentina.9 According to the CASEN (2013), p. 7), between 2009 and 2013 the percentage of foreign-born women migrants went from 51.5% to 55.1%. However, the CASEN 2015 showed a decrease in the percentage of women migrants, to 51.9%. According to the 2017 census, 50.6% of migrants residing in Chile were women (INE 2018a). Thus, although the comparison is limited due to the fact that both the CASEN and census have their own particular methodologies, we can identify a downward trend in the percentage of women in the different migrant groups. Starting in 2010, two interrelated phenomena can be observed in terms of migratory flows to Chile: (1) flows intensified (66.7% of migrants reported in the 2017 census had arrived in or after 2010 (INE 2017); (2) migrant origins became more diverse (Stefoni 2018, p. 15). This coincided with an increase in the 2017 census in the number of nationals from several countries that had not sent migrants to Chilean territories in the past. Migratory flows have changed over time: in terms of immigrants who stated that they arrived in Chile before 1990, 33.2% were born in Argentina. Among those who said they had come between 2000 and 2009, 47.6% were born in Peru. Observing the distribution of those who reported having arrived between 2010 and 2017, the percentages for Argentina

8  In the 1992 census, Peruvians were the fourth largest national group (7649 people), behind the Argentines (34,415), Spaniards (9849), and Bolivians (7729). In the 2002 census, they had risen to second place, with 39,084 people (Guizardi and Garcés 2012, p. 15). In 2009, the Peruvian population in Chile had risen to 130,959 people, surpassing the Argentines (60,597), Bolivians (24,116), and Ecuadoreans (19,089) (DEM 2010). In 2015, Peruvians represented 31.7% of migrants in Chile, “followed by the Argentines (16.3%), Bolivians (8.8%), Colombians (6.1%), and Ecuadoreans (4.7%)” (Rojas and Silva 2016, p. 14). 9  According to 2009 data from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Migration, 57% of Peruvian migrants were women, while the percentage of women for other migrant groups stood at 54% for Bolivians, 55% for Ecuadoreans, 58.5% of Colombians, and 55% of Brazilians (DEM 2010). The National Socioeconomic Profiling Survey (CASEN) in 2006 reported on the feminization of migration in percentages that differ from those of the 2002 census; 56.4% of Argentine migrants, 57.8% of Peruvians, 57% of Bolivians, and 49% of Ecuadoreans were women (Acosta 2011, p. 218).

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and Peru fall, and new countries of origin appear on the list such as Colombia (18.8%), Venezuela (15.7%), and Haiti (12%) (INE 2018a, p. 8. Our translation).

Chileans tend to associate these new migrants with denigrating traits despite the fact that data on their educational attainment in years of schooling reveal that they have completed, on average, 12.6 years of formal education, while the average for the Chilean population is 11 years (INE 2018a, p. 10). Moreover, 85% of migrants to Chile are between the ages of 15 and 64, meaning they are active on the workforce (INE 2018a, p.  6). This suggests: (1) their potential as consumers on the domestic market (contributing to economic stability); (2) their belonging to age groups that demand less from the health system. Since 2015, Chile has seen a rise in the number of Black migrants. Racial discrimination stirs strong feelings of non-acceptance of these migrants, who are seen in the social imaginary as a “massive” presence. Yet according to data from the census, 24.7% of migrants in Chile (192,082 individuals) were Peruvians (a group with a low percentage who self-identify as Peruvians of African descent), by and large the most numerous migrant group by nationality until 2017 (see Fig.  7.7). They were followed by Colombians (13.8% of migrants, or 108,001 people), Venezuelans (10% of migrants, 85,461 people), Bolivians (9.9%, or 77,503 people), Argentines (9.4%, or 73,867 people), and Haitians (8.2%, or 84,567 people). When exploring the territorial distribution of this migration in Chile, we can see that since the mid-nineties, the metropolitan region of Santiago has become a hub of international migration in absolute terms. According to the 2002 Census, 64.81% of

Other England United States France Deutschland Italy Spain Brazil Cuba Equador Haiti Argentina Bolivia Venezuela Colombia Peru

0.40% 1% 0.80% 0.90% 0.60% 2.20% 2.10% 0.90% 3.60%

0.00%

5.00%

10.10%

8.20% 9.40% 9.90% 10.90% 13.80% 10.00%

15.00%

20.00%

24.70% 25.00%

30.00%

Fig. 7.7  Migrant Groups by Nationality as a Function of Chile’s Total Migrant Stock According to the 2017 Census. (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma and Menara Guizardi, using data from the Chilean census 2017, Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE))

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14.0% 13.2% 12.0% 10.0% 8.0%

10.3% 8.0% 6.8%

6.0% 4.0% 2.0%

2.8% 3.1%

2.2%

2.0% 1.9%

4.5% 1.4% 1.2%

1.0% 1.1% 0.8% 1.0% 0.8%

0.0%

Fig. 7.8  Percentage of Migrant Stock in Chile by Region, according to the 2017 Census. (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma and Menara Guizardi, using data from the Chilean census 2017, Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE))

migrants in Chile were living in Santiago (DEM 2010, p. 15),10 which is home to 40% of the national population. Migrants thus represent 3.35% of all Santiago residents (DEM 2010, p. 16). In terms of the proportion of migrants to total inhabitants, the percentages are highest in the regions of northern Chile. In 2009, migrants made up 6.66% of the residents of Arica y Parinacota, 6.1% in Tarapacá, and 3.7% in Antofagasta (DEM 2010, pp.  16–17), and 7.4%, 5,8% and 4.6% in these three regions, respectively, in 2015 (Rojas and Silva 2016, p. 12 et seq.). The 2017 census data confirm that in absolute terms, the greatest number of Chile’s foreign residents had settled in the Santiago’s metropolitan area (486,568 people): 65.3% of Chile’s total migrant stock and 7% of total population in the region (an estimated 6,962,102 people) (INE 2018a, p. 4). Yet in terms of relative migrant density, the three regions in northern Chile (Arica y Parinacota, Tarapacá and Antofagasta) continue to top the ranking. As Fig. 7.8 shows, according to the 2017 census, Tarapacá is the national region with the highest relative migrant density (13.7% of the overall population), followed by Antofagasta (11%), which surpassed Arica y Parinacota, leaving it in third place (with 8.2%) (INE 2018a, p. 4). Only four of Chile’s 16 regions had migration rates higher than the national average (4.5%).

 The National Socioeconomic Profiling Survey of 2009 (CASEN 2009) reveals an even greater concentration of migrants in Santiago, with 68% of foreign-born population in the country (Contreras et al. 2013, p. 10).

10

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At the beginning of 2019, the Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE) and the Department of Foreign Affairs (DEM) published a new study that sought to shed light on official data available on the migrant population in Chile as of December 31, 2018 (INE and DEM 2019). The methodology used for the report compiled statistics from five different sources: (1) census population projections (developed by the INE); (2) records on temporary and permanent residency applications and issues since the completion of the 2017 census (DEM); (3) records on the issue of diplomatic visas (Ministry of Foreign Relations); (4) border control records (Investigative Police, PDI) and (5) death records (from the Civil Registry). According to the results, in which census projections were adjusted to offset omissions using a mathematical equation, there are 783,282 migrants in Chile (389,979 men and 393,303 women) (INE and DEM 2019, p. 17). On the other hand, if up-to-date administrative records on residency permits issued to foreigners after the completion of the census are included in the calculation (taking into account both deaths and country departures at the border with no re-entry on file), 467,943 foreigners (256,149 men and 211,794 women) have settled in Chile since the census. According to these calculations, 1,251,225 migrants were living in Chile at the end of 2018: 646,128 men (51.6%) and 605,097 women (48.4%) (INE and DEM 2019, p. 19). These numbers reveal a 67.6% rise in migration since the 2017 census (INE and DEM 2019, p. 22). In parallel, this study confirms the trends of changing distribution of migrant groups in the country. According to the report, Venezuelans had become the most numerous migrant group with 288,233 people (23% of all migrants in the country), followed by Peruvians (223,923), Haitians (179,338), Bolivians (107,346), Argentines (74,716), and Ecuadoreans (36,994). In the next 2 years, it will be fundamental to compare these data with those obtained by other state measurement sources like the CASEN survey.

7.5  Visas Issued and Removal Processes There are three basic visa categories in Chile and all applications are handled by the Department of Foreign Affairs and Migration (DEM), part of the Ministry of the Interior (Pérez et al. 2015). The first is a tourist visa that does not constitute a work permit and forbids the holder from any type of paid employment. A valid tourist visa is a requirement for the second type of visa, the one that allows a temporary residency. This one-year visa enables the holder to work, can be renewed for one additional year, and is a requirement for the third type, the permanent residency visa. The latter allows the holder to work, has no expiration, and is a requirement for seeking naturalization based on residency. In order to earn the right to apply for a temporary or permanent residency visa, applicants must meet one of the following conditions: holding a labor contract (known as the “temporary visa subject to contract” or “permanent visa subject to contract”); enrolling as a student in Chile; being a member of a religious congregation; being the spouse, father, or mother of a

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Chilean citizen; being pregnant; being an investor; being a member of an international crew; or being a citizen of a MERCOSUR member or associate State.11 In April 2018, the Chilean government announced the introduction of two new types of visas, both under the jurisdiction of the Foreign Ministry. The first, the “democratic responsibility visa”, was designed for Venezuelan citizens. For 1 year, it enables the holder to do paid work; applications must be filed online before entering Chile through consular services. The second is the so-called “humanitarian visa for family reunification”, for Haitians. It requires a Haitian migrant already residing in Chile to request a visa for his/her spouse in Haiti before the spouse travels to Chile. This visa is valid for 10 months and can be renewed for an additional 10 months, after which the holder must apply for a permanent residency visa. This type of visa prevents Haitians from receiving a tourist visa – the visa granted to most migrants from other countries – upon entering Chile. Therefore, for people from Haiti to come to Chile, they must apply for a tourist, work, or family reunification visa at the Chilean consulate in the capital (Port-au-Prince). The obstacles for Haitians who wish to obtain one of these visas are enormous, as they must have a valid passport, a police certificate, and other documents that often involve extensive delays and are quite costly for most of the population (Stefoni et al. 2018). Official statistics on temporary residence visas granted between 2005 and 2018 (Fig. 7.9) reveals a direct correlation with census information on the most numerous migrant groups (by country of origin) in Chile. From 2005 to 2011, for example, the predominance of Peruvians as the most numerous migrant community in Chile is also reflected in the fact that migrants from this country received the greatest quantity of this type of visa. The difference between the number of visas granted to Peruvians and the migrants of other nationalities is striking during this period, particularly in 2007, when 60,000 temporary visas were granted to Peruvian nationals. That year, Bolivians were second on the ranking with barely 6000 of these visas (10% of the number issued to Peruvians). Moreover, a growing number of visas were also granted to Colombians during this period: in 2007, a scant number of these visas appears on the Fig.  7.9, but by 2011, Colombian move up to second place, surpassing Bolivians, and Argentines. Focusing on the period from 2011 to 2015, it can be noted that although the number of temporary visas granted to Peruvians continues to rise, the increase is less than that of Bolivians and Colombians. In 2013, these two migrant groups were tied as the second nationality with the most temporary residency visas and the difference between Peruvians and these two groups decreases. Haitians also appear for  The member States of MERCOSUR and its associate countries (Chile joined as an associate in 1996) have agreements facilitating human transit, scientific exchange, and the transport of goods between borders. With this objective, the MERCOSUR Residence Agreement was signed in 2002  in Brasilia, Brazil; Chile adhered only discretionally, selecting the countries in which it would apply each regulation. In the framework of this agreement, residents of Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Paraguay, and Uruguay can request temporary 12-month residence in Chile, regardless of whether they hold a labor contract, and provided they have no criminal record. This marks a substantial departure from the other types of visas, since it is not necessary for these nationals to demonstrate their financial standing, family ties to a Chilean national, or any other requirement.

11

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80000 70000 60000 50000 40000 30000 20000 10000 0

2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018

Peru

Bolivia

Colombia

Argentina

Venezuela

Haiti

Fig. 7.9  Temporary Residency Visas issued by the Chilean Government for the Six Most Numerous Migrant Groups in the Country by Nationality (2005–2018). (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma, using data from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Migration (DEM), part of the Ministry of the Interior of Chile)

the first time in 2013 as one of the six migrant groups receiving the most temporary visas (though their total number is very low in comparison to other nationalities). Starting in 2014, Venezuelans also appear in the top six, and as seen for Haitians and Colombians, there is an upward trend in the number of visas granted to these migrants. In 2017, the quantity of temporary visas granted to Peruvians and Colombians is practically the same, while Venezuelans move up to first place and Haitians to a distant second. In 2018, the temporary visas granted to migrants of these two nationalities practically tripled those issued for Peruvians and Colombians. The data for permanent residency visas in 2017 provide further insight (Fig. 7.10). A permanent visa allows the holder to put down roots in the country; they have no expiration date and enable access to a range of goods and rights. When temporary visa holders are granted a permanent visa, they gain new access to consumer goods, social rights, and possibilities for labor market insertion. If we home in on the permanent visas the Chilean State granted in 2017 (see Fig.  7.10), it is possible to observe that Peruvians continue in the top spot (with 25.6% of the visas issued that year). Many of the requirements for obtaining a permanent residency visa – like a labor contract – are difficult to obtain. Therefore, it is logical to anticipate that group that have lived in the country for longer have more tools available to them to meet these requirements as a result of resources (cultural and social capital) mobilized by their migrant networks. Colombians thus take second in this ranking, with 21.6% of the permanent visas in 2017, followed by Venezuelans (13.5%) and Haitians

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Other Countries, 7.4% China, 1.9%

Haiti, 12.8%

Venezuela, 13.5% Equador, 3.0% Dominican Republic, 1.6%

Peru, 25.6%

Bolivia, 8.9%

Colombia, 21.6% Argentina, 2.2%

Spain, 1.6%

Fig. 7.10  Permanent Residency Visas Issued by the Chilean Government by Nationality (2017). (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma, using data from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Migration (DEM), part of the Ministry of the Interior of Chile)

(12.8%). The rapid rise by migrants from Venezuela and Haiti to the top four groups in terms of permanent visas could be an indicator that these migrants are in fact putting down roots and thus more likely to meet the requirements needed to apply for this migratory status. On the other hand, data on migrant removal cases are not entirely consistent with the statistics on the predominant migrant groups in Chile by nationality from 2013 to 2018. While in 2013, Peruvians were in fact the target of the most removals and also the most numerous migrant community in the country, the following year Bolivians suffered the greatest number of deportations (though they are not the most numerous group of migrants by nationality). In 2018, the number of repatriated Bolivians – which jumped from 119 in 2013 to 1126 in 2018 – was five times that of Peruvians and Colombians (Figs. 7.11 and 7.12). It is important to note that the mass repatriations of Haitians on government charter flights introduced by Piñera in 2018 are not included in these statistics on migrant removals. This is because the government has categorized this as a “humanitarian program”, thus dissociating these repatriations from what is, to use the specific legal term, a removal.

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1,200

177

1,126

1,000 800 604

600 400 200 0

391 207 119 2013

822

709

525

355

242

241 196 2014

218 2015

Bolivia

167 154 2016

Peru

217 2017

260 232

2018

Colombia

Fig. 7.11  Annual Removals of Three Migrant Groups in Chile by Nationality (2013–2018). (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma, with data from the Chilean Investigative Police (PDI))

2500 2,049 2000

1500

1000

1,355

1,398

1,341 917

875

500

0

2013

2014

2015

2016

2017

2018

Fig. 7.12  Total Annual Removals of Foreigners from Chile (2013–2018). (Source: drafted by Isidora Palma, with data from the Ministry of the Interior and Public Security of Chile and the Chilean Investigative Police (PDI))

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7.6  Conclusions Based on the data presented in the previous sections, at least three core analytical points can be garnered. First, demographically speaking, we have seen that the numbers on migration in Chile cannot justify the use of the term “invasion” to describe the phenomenon. On average, the educational attainment (in years of schooling) of migrants is higher than that of Chileans, which represents a contribution to the country. At the same time, based on average age, the majority of the migrant population is economically active, meaning they demand fewer health care services and stimulate the domestic market. In accordance with the data provided herein, we can say that although Chile currently has the highest rate of foreign-born population in its history (4.35%, according to the 2017 census), this is far from extraordinary either in terms of South America or the world. Chilean nationals are far and wide the majority across the country, representing 95.5% of its population. How could migration pose a threat when nationals represent a 95.5% majority? It appears that the key here lies in in how the data are presented and interpreted, not in the quantifiable reality of migration in Chile. The issue here is one of building political hegemonies based on visions of the world and social representations: a question of how political subjectivities are constructed. When we speak of hegemonies and political subjectivities, we do so from the post-Gramscian debate, as summarized by Said: Gramsci has made the useful analytical distinction between civil and political society in which the former is made up of voluntary (or at least rational and noncoercive) affiliations like schools, families, and unions, the latter of state institutions (the army, the police, the central beaurocracy) whose role in the polity is direct domination. Culture, of course, is to be found operating within civil society, where the influence of ideas, of institutions, and of other persons works not through domination but by what Gramsci calls consent […]. The form of this cultural leadership is what Gramsci has identified as hegemony. (Said 2004, pp. 26-27. Our Translation).

Our analytical question here, then, targets this cultural-political realm: how is it possible to explain the Chilean population’s strong adherence to this imaginary of a migrant “invasion” that the government sows? This adherence evokes what Appadurai (2006) has referred to as “the fear of small numbers”, a fear of minorities closely tied to nationalism, with the way in which Nation-states imagine their communities through supposed racial unity and the concern that this unity could be “affected” or “contaminated” by those crossing the border. Such fear can explain the Chilean health minister’s insistence that migrants are to blame for pandemics like that of HIV/AIDS: there are no empirical facts or data to prove it, but the connection is instrumental in the popular imaginary. The idea of foreigners posing a risk to health and contaminating the nation can thus be maintained and reproduced. All of this further exacerbates the imagined relationship of “us versus them”, a structural element of racism (Todorov 1991) that also constitutes the symbolic foundation and political capital of authoritarian regimes in

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general and fascist regimes in particular (Sanahuja 2017). Here Hroch’s reflection becomes particularly relevant: these extreme feelings of racial nationalist u­ nification are reborn with an enormous capacity for public mobilization in times of crisis or disintegration: “When society fails, the nation appears as the ultimate guarantee”. (Hroch cited in Hobsbawn, 1998, p. 183. Our Translation). Therefore, the breakdown of data on the migrant groups from different countries that contributed to Chile in the first decade of the twenty-first century reveals that opposition to migration cannot be understood without analyzing the construction of imaginaries of Chilean national identity and its connection to discriminatory ideologies (Guizardi and Garcés 2014). In general terms, these imaginaries support feelings that are (1) aporophobic, connected to the perception that the country was experiencing economic growth and that those coming into it were poor immigrants seeking to get in on this growth; (2) racist, given the arrival of Andean immigrants to central Chile, a territory that had imagined itself to be “protected” from such an incursion; (3) misogynous, since the prevalence of women migrants was interpreted as a “female invasion” with questionable motives. During the first years of the twenty-first century, the migration issue gains visibility in Chile’s political and media discourses, in a response to nationalist imaginaries of otherness (racial, cultural, and political) that draw a distinction between Peruvians/Bolivians and the prototypical Chilean of Santiago (Browne-Sartori et al. 2011; Browne-­Sartori and Castillo-Hinojosa 2013; Póo 2009). The State was notoriously absent in promoting information campaigns to counter these clannish imaginaries. Since 2015, as post-globalization took hold worldwide, Chile has seen a growing influx of migrants from countries with citizens of African descent. The opposition to migration is closely related to racism expressed through discrimination based on the skin color of the migrants (Tijoux 2016). Since the end of 2016, Chilean social media has been peppered with xenophobic posts, including a growing number of videos in which Chilean citizens are seen insulting and threatening migrants. In 2013, in the city of Antofagasta (northern Chile), there was a march against Colombian migrants particularly focused on alienating Colombians of African descent. Also, in the north, Chilean fishermen set fire to the homes of two Peruvians with them inside over a labor dispute in 2017. In 2018, the media provided ample coverage of xenophobic outbreaks against Haitian migrants. A good portion of the hate discourses voiced by Chileans during these xenophobic and racist attacks are supported by the imaginary of a migrant “invasion”, revealing scarce acknowledgment of the fact that Chile also sends a good number of emigrants to other countries. Second, the discourse of the Sebastián Piñera administration is clearly aligned with “ways of doing politics” that involve undermining democratic institutions, as analyzed by Appadurai (2017). This way of doing politics is principally linked to a type of discourse that does not hesitate to twist, alter, and omit official data in order to mobilize support for drastic measures that would be a hard sell in other contexts. These uses are associated to what political scientists have called “post-truth”, a term coined by Keyes (2004) to refer to a style of producing discourse and political ideology. According to the author, post-truth refers to circumstance in which personal beliefs have a stronger influence on public opinion than the facts, validating a global

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public sphere that routinizes dishonesty, making believability more important than the truth (Keyes 2004, p.  3). The triumph of dishonesty would thus be directly ­proportion to an ethical decline, to the loss of collectively constructed meanings of good and evil. It also entails the active destruction of political convictions, which progressively ceded terrain to socially validated cynicism (Keyes 2004, p. 10). Third, it is possible to observe that these discursive uses are politically instrumental in a particular way: they serve to validate the government’s modus operandi in relation to migration, undermining democratic institutions – particularly, in this case, the legal framework on migration. This is clearly manifested in the mass repatriations of migrants and in the introduction of “humanitarian return” programs. Capitalizing on the capacity of hate discourses to validate its actions, the government can advance on migration policy at the margins of human rights, in a clear violation of Chile’s constitutional principles. This is because migration legislation in Chile is comprised of national regulations but also international instruments – treaties, conventions, and agreements that the Chilean government has signed and ratified. Despite the fact that the last three presidential administrations have worked to change national legislation on migration, the rules currently in force were established under Legal Decree 1094 from 1975 (Pavez-Soto 2010), enacted under the Augusto Pinochet military dictatorship. Both the language and the supposed values outlined in the legal decree contradict the legal and social safeguards of democratic rule of law (Stang 2016; Stefoni 2011) and emphasize police action and control (Jensen 2009, p. 106). At the same time, under the international legal framework that Chile has ratified, there are laws to protect migrants that are dictated by a democratic approach, backed by the Declaration of Human Rights, and centered on supranational notions of social rights (Stefoni 2011). There is thus a contradiction between the national legal framework and the international instruments Chile has ratified in terms of both values and legal rationale. From a legal point of view, these international agreements should have prevented legal decree 1094 from coming into force given that the Chilean Constitution adheres to the 1968 Vienna Convention and that all international agreements, treaties, and conventions, once ratified, have the same legal weight as the Constitution. In addition, these instruments take precedence over national legislation (organic law, ordinary law, and legal decrees) (Guizardi et al. 2015, p. 76). In view of this, any measure that infringes on the human rights of migrants (as observed in the Haitian repatriation case) represents a breach of norms that Chile has established as a constitutional value, suggesting that the State is disregarding the very principles of democratic rule. This same disregard can be seen in the statement by Interior Vice-­ Secretary Rodrigo Ubilla about the Chilean government not considering migrating a human right, and in the proposal for a new migration law to that end. It is also evident in several administrative and executive measures: (1) the closure of the National Migrations Advisory Board (CCNM) and its replacement it 8 months later with another national advisory board that deals with a range of other issues; (2) the introduction of consular visas in countries suffering political-economic crises (which, far from facilitating the legal entry and residency of the visa holders, instead

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serve as insurmountable barriers), (3) Chile’s refusal to sign the Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration. Currently, we are unable to identify any rationale for the argument that migrants in Chile pose – or could pose – a problem. As noted herein, the data demonstrate quite the contrary. In this regard, the government measures do not appear to be consistent with any reasonable interpretation of the official statistics. In the context of this disregard of both legal frameworks and official statistics, Piñera’s plan to “put the house in order” is ultimately a policy centered on controlling Chilean borders and consummating regulatory processes, but makes no effort toward acknowledging or integrating migrants. Acknowledgments  This chapter was translated from Spanish to English by Wendy Gosselin and reviewed by Menara Guizardi. The authors thank the National Research and Development Agency of Chile (ANID) for funding the studies that gave rise to this chapter through the Projects Fondecyt 1190056, “The Boundaries of Gender Violence: Migrant Women’s Experiences in South American Border Territories” (2019-2023); Fondecyt 1201130, “Routes and trajectories of Venezuelan migrants throughout South America” (2020-2024), and Fondecyt 3180333, “Ethnification, Ethnogenesis, Communalization, and Border Processes in the Traditional Aymara Celebrations of the Tarapacá Region”.

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Radio Agricultura (2018, agosto 23). Se duplicó la expulsión de inmigrantes en Chile en comparación a 2017. Radio Agricultura. Retrieved from: https://www.radioagricultura.cl/nacional/2018/08/23/se-­duplico-­la-­expulsion-­de-­inmigrantes-­en-­chile-­en-­comparacion-­a-­2017. html/ (Consulted in: 2019, April 4). Rojas, N., & Silva, C. (2016). La migración en Chile: breve reporte y caracterización. Madrid: OBIMID. Rojas, N., Amode, N., & Rencoret, J. V. (2015). Racismo y matrices de “inclusión” de la migración haitiana en Chile: elementos conceptuales y contextuales para la discusión. Polis, 42, 1–23. Said, E. (2004). Orientalismo. Buenos Aires: Debolsillo. Sanahuja, J. A. (2017). “Posglobalización y ascenso de la extrema derecha: crisis de hegemonía y riesgos sistémicos”. In Seguridad internacional y democracia: guerras, militarización y fronteras. Anuario 2016–2017 (pp. 41–78). Fundación Cultura de Paz. Schiappacasse, P. (2008). Segregación espacial y nichos étnicos de los migrantes internacionales en el Área Metropolitana de Santiago. Revista de Geografía Norte Grande, 39, 21–38. Segato, R. (2013). Crítica de la colonialidad en ocho ensayos. Y por una antropología por demanda. Buenos Aires: Prometeo. Sørensen, N., & Gammeltoft-Hansen, T. (2013). Introduction. In T.  Gammeltoft-Hansen, N. Sørensen, & N. (Eds.), The migration industry and the commercialization of international migration (global institutions) (pp. 1–23). Nueva York: Routledge. Soto, I. P., López, J. E. O., Jara, P., Olguín, C., & Domaica, A. (2018). Infancia haitiana migrante en Chile: barreras y oportunidades en el proceso de escolarización. Entre Diversidades, 11, 71–97. Stang, M. F. (2016). De la Doctrina de la Seguridad Nacional a la gobernabilidad migratoria: la idea de seguridad en la normativa migratoria chilena, 1975–2014. Polis, 44, 1–22. Stang, M. F., & Stefoni, C. (2016). La microfísica de las fronteras. Criminalización, racialización y expulsabilidad de los migrantes colombianos en Antofagasta, Chile. Astrolabio, 17, 42–80. Stefoni, C. (2005). Inmigrantes Transnacionales. La formación de comunidades y la transformación en ciudadanos. In U. Berg & K. Paerregaard (Eds.), El quinto suyo. Transnacionalidad y formación diaspórica en la migración peruana (pp. 261–289). Instituto de Estudios Peruanos: Lima. Stefoni, C. (2011). Ley y política migratoria en Chile. La ambivalencia en la comprensión del migrante. In B.  Feldman-Bianco, L.  R. Sánchez, C.  Stefoni, & M.  I. Villa Martínez (Eds.), La construcción social del sujeto migrante en América Latina. Prácticas, representaciones y categorías (pp. 79–110). CLACSO-FLACSO-UAH: Quito. Stefoni, C. (2018). Panorama de la migración internacional en América del Sur. Santiago: CEPAL. Stefoni, C., Guizardi, M., & Gonzálvez, H. (2018). La construcción política de la frontera. Entre los discursos nacionalistas y la “producción” de trabajadores precarios. Polis, 51, 137–162. Sutcliffe, B. (1998). Nacido en otra parte. Un ensayo sobre la migración internacional, el desarrollo y la equidad. Bilbao: Hegoa. Tapia, M. (2012). Frontera y migración en el norte a partir del análisis de los censos de población: Siglos XIX-XXI. Revista de Geografía Norte Grande, 53, 177–198. Tapia, M. (2015). Frontera, movilidad y circulación reciente de peruanos y bolivianos en el norte de Chile. Estudios Atacameños. Arqueología y antropología surandinas, 50, 195–213. Tapia, M., & Parella, S. (2015). Las regiones fronterizas para el estudio de la migración y circulación. Un análisis a partir de dos casos ilustrativos. In M. Guizardi (Ed.), Las fronteras del Transnacionalismo. Límites y desbordes de la experiencia migrante en el centro y norte de Chile (pp. 173–206). Ocho Libros: Santiago. Tijoux, M. E. (2016). Racismo en Chile: la piel como marca de la inmigración. Santiago: Editorial Universitaria. Todorov, T. (1991). Nosotros y los otros. Reflexiones sobre la diversidad humana. City of México: Siglo XXI. United Nations [UN]. (2015). International migration 2015 wallchart. New York: United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs.

Chapter 8

Closing Remarks and Opening Insights – From Uruguay Silvina Merenson

8.1  Introduction The world is split now Split in half It cannot heal its wound Humanity’s wound It’s a movie we’ve seen before With a ghostly plot. (Agarrate Catalina, “Amor y Odio” [Love and Hate]. Carnival of Montevideo, 2020).

In February, Montevideo is a powerhouse of emotions and debates. It is well-known that the ritual effervescence of its carnival is not given by the extraordinariness of time and space that opens and closes in an endless cycle, but by the mundane that enables reflection. For more than a century, “the world’s longest carnival”, which currently lasts more than 50 days, “sets the community agenda” for the year passing and the year to come (Figs. 8.1 and 8.2). Everything that is sung, danced, and incorporated in the carnival with such exquisite sarcasm, irony, and hyperbole, is nothing other than socially shared anguish and joy. Nothing that “really matters” is left out. I am writing these lines with the 2020 edition of the Montevideo carnival in full swing, this time marked by a new “change of era”. A few months earlier, in November 2019, Chile had mobilized en masse against measures adopted by President Sebastián Piñera. In the middle of a severe economic crisis, Argentina had elected Alberto Fernández as their future president, ending 4 years of Mauricio Macri’s government (2015–2019). At the same time, Uruguayan citizens brought 15 S. Merenson (*) National Council for Scientific and Technological Research (CONICET), Buenos Aires, Argentina National University of San Martín, San Martín, Argentina e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Guizardi (ed.), The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone, Latin American Societies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-68161-6_8

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Fig. 8.1  A carnival Murga presents on the stage of the Sayago neighborhood. Montevideo, Uruguay. (2012). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

years of left-wing coalition Frente Amplio governments to an end (2005–2020). In a hard-fought ballot, Luis Lacalle Pou reached the presidency mediated by an alliance of five political forces. Among them, “Cabildo Abierto”, headed by a retired army general Guido Manini Ríos. During the electoral campaign, his head on discursive attacks on the human rights agenda, particularly on migration and security policies, quickly related him to Brazilian Bolsonarism. Only 6 months old, “Cabildo Abierto” obtained 11% of the votes in the October national elections and managed to form its own bench in the Legislative Power. The party intends to debate the restriction of migratory flows, the implementation of a “hard hand” against crime, the limitation of the right to strike, a review of anything considered “gender ideology” and also the historical readings of the recent past, particularly those associated with the Armed Forces participation in the last civic-­ military dictatorship (1973–1985). Today what catalyzes the existence of the “Cabildo Abierto” once again draws our attention to two of the “f(r)ictions” (Merenson 2016) that guided the country in the twentieth century. First, the description of Uruguay as a sociedad amortiguardora [buffer society], which privileges consensus over conflict (Real de Azúa 2000). Second, its condition as a country of exception, whose potent and recurrent enunciative and performative power has managed to update itself, adapting to different demands since the forties (Pelleri and Rial 1986; Rico 2005; Espeche 2016). The latter was possible because “the exceptional is not elsewhere, but at the very heart of the order that testifies to it” (Moraes 2019, p. 326. Our translation). In this year’s Montevideo carnival, one of the 20 participating murgas (street carnival bands), named “Agarrate Catalina”, presented the show called “Amor y

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Fig. 8.2  A carnival Murga presents at the Summer Theater. Montevideo, Uruguay. (2017). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

Odio” [Love and Hate].1 The harmony – and the points of contact – between the chapters of this book and this murga’s presentation are impressive (Fig. 8.3). And this is a compliment to this volume, as it highlights the vehement validity of its proposal. In different registers, academics and murguistas (members of the murga) think about the place of hatred in the most daily relationships of social life, as Guizardi mentions in Chap. 1. Thus, they explain its power and how it threads through politics, as evidenced in the deepening of xenophobic discourse and its articulation in the governance of migratory flows. Furthermore, they explain the fractures, regularities, and intensities of a global order, situating and contextualizing its outcomes in the American Southern Cone by framing them “much closer”  – instead of “beyond” – the human. Therefore, academics and murguistas place this wound at the center of culture, and their text can go from Chekhov to carnival to illustrate it. With less sharpness and intellectual brilliance than these colleagues and murguistas, I will use the following pages to insist on some of the many virtues and  Translator’s Note: The murgas are social organizations articulated mainly to the carnival performances, although not exclusively to them. At the Montevideo carnival, they compete with elaborate shows in which they present a theme with original lyrics, music, performance, and costumes. These presentations usually have a political or critical dimension and are told with shrewd irony. Sense of humor is a recurring resource, often seen in the way the murgas are named (as in the case of “Agarrate Catalina”, which means “Hold on tight, Catalina”).

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Fig. 8.3  Carnival Presentation of the Murga “Curtidores de Hongos” (Mushroom Tanners), at the Summer Theater. Montevideo, Uruguay. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

vanishing points that this book raises. Specifically, I want to use the messy notes and reflections that follow to critically link the book’s theoretical proposal and its correlation: the exploration of normative regulations and the modulations of hate speech in the American Southern Cone. In doing so, and as a counterpoint, I will light up the Uruguayan contextualization of these debates.

8.2  Situationality Two teenagers escape Morocco with their hearts pressed between a truck’s chassis and the pavement. One of them will make it across the border to African Spain. He will arrive, they will hate him for being poor; he will suffer but, resisting the blows, he will build his life. The other will be a red stain on Ceuta’s soil. While here, in the deep south of Montevideo, a Caribbean couple, one of those whose words dance and who themselves dance as if life were fair, are swindled in a seedy hostel by a “good life” vulture, who, over the top and greedy, hides behind ladylike gestures. (Agarrate Catalina, “Amor y Odio” [Love and Hate]. Carnival of Montevideo, 2020).

Perhaps it is better to put it bluntly: there is a gulf between Aylan Kurdi, the three-­ year-­old Syrian boy who drowned on the shores of Turkey in 2015, whose photo circulated as an icon of the abject, and the many allegations of rights violations taken to court by migrant groups in Uruguay.

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As is well known, and I will repeat it time and time again, this does not imply any kind of excuse, much less a justification, but rather the need to explain – that is, to situate – in order to understand. The first part of this book offers the keys to do so; in other words, it shows why the two scenes recorded by the murga (in the verses quoted at the beginning of this section) are linked in a narrative sequence, but, at the same time they require other interpretative frameworks. As Canelo, Gavazzo, and Nejamkis noted in Chap. 5, Investigating how policies are produced in the Global South requires reconstructing the history of each national formation to avoid interpreting the ‘changes’ as mere ‘imitations’ or ‘copies’ of the core countries of the world system and, I would add, to admit the paradoxes that emerge from their comparison. The periodization proposed in Chap. 2 takes distance from and problematizes some of the “untimely linkages” or disconnections between the experiences of the Global North and the American Southern Cone. This includes migration data and figures, but also the theoretical perspectives adopted by academia to explain them. It is curious to note that English-speaking social science publications use the attacks on the World Trade Center of New York (in 2001) as a milestone from which to date some of the transformations that occurred in the experiences of migrants, tending to change this perspective into a matrix. Meanwhile, in the Southern Cone, these experiences are more “long-term” in nature and rooted in the political, economic, and social processes that have been taking place in the region since the end of the nineteenth century. If we look back, undoubtedly, crossing the border from Uruguay to Argentina was infinitely more complex and traumatic in the fifties. At that time, according to the Argentine Foreign Ministry’s records, customs controls were tightened, and Uruguayan nationals had to apply for a visa, and present a certificate of good conduct issued by the Federal Police and a return ticket. The construction of a “real Great Wall of China” between the two countries reported by the Tribuna Salteña (August 4, 1953), the newspaper for the border city of Salto, was the result of the Cold War – a local experience in the South and global one in the North (Marchesi 2017) – in which the differences between Argentine Peronism and Uruguayan neo-­ Batllism were raised and settled. Closer to the present, State coordination in control processes and militarization of territorial borders has as an immediate and terrible precedent in the implementation of the so-called “Plan Cóndor” [Operation Condor],2 in the seventies. In this operation, almost 400 people of Argentine, Chilean, and Uruguayan nationality were disappeared or illegally transferred from one country to another. Our contemporary history is made up of dense networks of exile and banishment; of risk, violence, cooperation, and solidarity that branch off in multiple directions. 2  Translator’s Note: Operation Condor was a military and intelligence plan of repression, persecution, and State terrorism against political opposition. It was implemented in the mid-seventies with the backing of the United States government, through coordinated actions carried out by several South American countries (Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Paraguay, and Uruguay) during their military dictatorships.

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Consequently, it is difficult for this region to notice the growing politicization of migrant groups after September 11, 2001, pointed out by Castles and Miller (2003). Migrant collectives here have been key actors in the cooperative agendas of democratic transitions since the eighties. They have participated in strategies to confront the neoliberal cycles of the nineties and are clear protagonists in facing the challenges that came with the so-called “progressive governments” (Grimson 2003; Halpern 2009; Merenson 2020). On the other hand, their practices distance them from the way social science literature  – particularly the English-speaking  – perceives the processes of subjectivation and political engagement. The latter are usually assumed as a kind of unidirectional contribution to the development and democratization of the migrant’s countries of origin. That is to say, they are conceived as a product of the learning and freedoms offered by the “rich” or “consolidated” democracies to migrants, as well as the economic resources they obtain in these countries (Waldinger 2013). In the Global North, mediated by the legitimacy of the language of citizenship (Sassen 2010), migrants become valued for the role they “play in the development of countries of origin” (Weinar 2010, p. 73). In the North, it is written, they learn to demand better governance or greater respect for human, ethnic and religious rights or the implementation of measures that put a stop to corruption and bureaucracy. I am not sure whether I will do justice to such an analytical inflection, but I will try: the democracies that deny the most basic rights in the migratory destination countries (the United States or Europe) would teach migrants how to defend and claim these rights in their countries of origin (Mexico, El Salvador or Syria). Another of this book’s contributions lies in the intersectional relevance given to gender in migration trajectories, in particular its specific relationship with the precariousness of migrant women regarding work and care, linked in turn to the configuration of transnational families. As Chap. 3 points out, female migrant agency had already been thematized in the eighties in Latin American academics’ production that worked on explaining the modes of migrant incorporation in receiving societies (Glick-Schiller et al. 2006). In his research on the domestic economy and sexual difference in international migrations, Balan (1990) observed a reduction in the autonomy of Bolivian women living in the Metropolitan Area of Buenos Aires, which he attributed to labor market conditions and cultural patterns (also present in the host society), such as female responsibility for domestic care. Recently, Rodrigo (2018) explained how these conditions rapidly impacted the territorialization of relations between migrant women belonging to lower-income sectors as they participated in what in the eighties became known as new social movements (Jelin 1989). Among them were the neighborhood movements that, in collective and organized actions, seized land in the face of the pressing housing deficit in several Latin American urban centers. These movements are inseparable from how “migrant women were traversed by a specific form of subalternity” (Rodrigo 2018, p. 78. Our translation). This subalternity pushed women from lower-income sectors, a decade later, in the nineties, to

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join the “piqueteros movements”.3 Currently, they are active in a wide variety of political society organizations. The domestication of politics has a long history, as shown by Rodrigo’s study in the community soup kitchen run by the “fellow Bolivian women” in the Altos de San Lorenzo neighborhood of La Plata (province of Buenos Aires, Argentina). There, “Bolivianity” is, above all, a “complicity”: a shared experience between neighbors, relatives, and friends from which they dispute, among other issues, rights to the State, ways to understand the sexual division of labor and the representations of gender. Through this complicity, women challenge the militancy they have decided to join. They also challenge what the leadership of their organization, their partners and their families expect of them. Finally, picking up again and amplifying Semán’s (2006) criticism of Bourgois’s arguments, the studies from a transnational perspective of migratory flows and controls have also been the product of a time – its own time – in which “neoliberalism”, as the wild card of analysis, enabled the construction of subordinates as “hyperactors” (Semán 2006, p. 182). The first part of this book, then, paves the way for the situated exploration of the interpretive keys and the theoretical stakes necessary to address the contextual configurations – that is, the historical configurations – of the migratory flows and control processes in the American Southern Cone. And it does so without subsuming or overdetermining these elements to the logic of the social totality, or to the distortionary risk of assuming social situations so immediate and burning, as differentiating.

8.3  Adjustments Like all fetishes, the alchemy of the law resides in an enchanted displacement that resists demystification: the notion, not entirely unfounded, that legal instruments have the means to orchestrate social harmony and to produce something that did not exist before. Its charm also lies in its ability to obscure the most brutal of truths: that power produces rights and not the other way around. (Comaroff and Comaroff 2013, pp. 130–131. Our translation).

In the first 3 years of the political coalition Frente Amplio’s term at the helm of Uruguay’s government (2005–2020), the country radically transformed its policy regarding the diaspora and approved a new Migration Law (Law 18,250, enacted in 2008). At that time, Uruguay was experiencing a slowdown in emigration and an upturn, albeit incipient, in the entry of foreign and returned population. For 2006, the International Organization for Migration estimated that the accumulated migrant 3  Translator’s Note: In Argentina, the “piquetero movement” refers to the organization of unemployed workers who, in the nineties, started to cut off the streets of different cities of the country (although mainly in Buenos Aires) protesting against the social consequences of the deepening of neoliberal policies. The term has an English correlate in the expression “to picket” or “picketers”. According to the Collins Dictionary, these terms are used to refer to a group of people, usually trade union members, that “picket a place of work”, standing outside it to protest about something, to prevent people from going in, or to persuade the workers to join a strike.

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stock was around 600,000 people, that is, 18% of the total population (OIM 2011). During the 2002 crisis, considered one of the largest in Uruguay’s history, an estimated 3.5% of the total population emigrated from the country. Regarding immigration, also reflecting International Organization for Migration data, according to the preliminary results of the 2011 Population Census (data from May 2012), 2.4% of the country’s population was born abroad (OIM 2011, p. 51). Among international immigrants who arrived in Uruguay in the former decade (2000–2010), those born in Argentina (34.9%) and, to a lesser extent, Brazil (17.5%) predominated. The countries that followed in importance were the United States (9%), Spain (7%) and, further afield, Peru (4%). Between 2014 and 2018, according to the figures provided by the Uruguayan National Directorate of Migration, 51,440 residences were granted, which represents 1.5% of the country’s total population, based on the 2011 Census. Meanwhile, in the last year (2019), the number of residences processed reached 14,348, more than half of those corresponding to Venezuelan and Cuban immigrants. Currently, the immigrant population accounts for 81,482 people, representing little more than 2% of the country’s total inhabitants. So, the general balance indicates that, far from reversing the accumulated migrant stock (given Uruguay has been a country of emigration for several decades), it has made little dent in the worrying aging trend of Uruguay’s population pyramid. Consequently, the country’s current demographic characteristics make both directions (emigration and immigration) inseparable in the analysis of State actions aimed at regulating human mobility. The transformations operated on the extraterritorial policies of linkage from the first Frente Amplio national government (2005–2010) have been addressed by Aldaba (2017). According to the author, in 2005, the country abandoned the restrictive criteria that prevailed after the recovery of democracy (1985) to advance in an institutional design “in the key of ‘reparation’ of rights for the exercise of de-­ territorialized citizenship” (Aldaba 2017, p. 38. Our translation). This implied an unprecedented change in the State budget structure and the modification of the ministerial organigram. In 2005, the General Directorate of Consular Services and Liaison was created within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Then, new measures aimed at stimulating and facilitating the return of emigrated Uruguayans were implemented. The “Department 20”4 program was created, within whose framework the Consultative Councils of Uruguayans Abroad (CCUE, in its Spanish acronym) were established. Since their creation, in addition to working in coordination with the respective consular delegations, the CCUEs have been active promoters of the right to vote extraterritorially. It is worth noting that Uruguay does not have a mechanism for voting abroad, even though voting is mandatory. The National Constitution does not 4  Translator’s Note: The Oriental Republic of Uruguay is divided into 19 departments. To meet the needs of the large number of their citizens living abroad, the Uruguayan Foreign Ministry created another department (numbered 20). Various actions are carried out through Department 20, such as facilities for phone calls for emigrated Uruguayans, online schooling for their children, together with several actions that foster the emigrants’ access to their civil and political rights.

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suspend citizenship and, therefore, residents abroad retain their right to vote. Those who live outside the country can participate in electoral acts if they are within the national territory on the day of the elections and registered with the Registry Office. After successive parliamentary attempts to legislate remote voting,5 in 2009, together with the sixth presidential elections since the return of democracy, a plebiscite was held that proposed a vote by mail for nationals residing abroad. The result of that day is widely known: José Mujica, one of the historical leaders of the National Liberation Movement – known as Tupamaros, the most important revolutionary organization in Uruguay during the late sixties and seventies – and the Frente Amplio’s candidate for the presidency, secured the votes that consecrated him as the new president. Despite the latter, in that first round, the referendum on the vote of Uruguayans living abroad was not approved; it garnered only 38% of the votes needed (50%). As we will see, this was not just a detail. At the height of progressive political hegemony and the advances in the expansion of rights (same-sex marriage, sexual and reproductive health and voluntary interruption of pregnancy, recognition of domestic work, expansion of the workers’ collective income negotiation system, among others), the result of the popular consultation expressed the limits of the community. Like two sides of the same coin, the moralization of the extraterritorial vote that operates on symbolic expatriation is completed in the readings related to the civic and political participation of the immigrant population residing in Uruguay. Legitimacies are also played out and settled on it. On October 26, 2019, and facing the first electoral presidential round, the newspaper El País reported on the number of immigrants on the electoral roll. On its front page, the headline was “Vote in someone else’s house...”. Unlike the thousands of emigrants who return to vote, this sector differs from those who “come, vote and leave” (that is, the Uruguayans living abroad, particularly in neighboring Argentina). To continue with the image, this sector is made up of those – immigrants – who “arrive and stay”. However, their vote does not seem to be less strange or improper, two adjectives used to describe outsiders. Beyond that authorized by law, both express a distancing mechanism in the search of an “us” – a “homeland”, a political community  – endowed with probity when deciding. On this paradoxical path, national belonging is dissociated from nationality. As I have already mentioned, the CCUEs were conceived as instances of citizen participation in close connection with the consulates. Although their agendas vary from country to country, they have been functioning as institutional support – and

5  Between 2000 and 2004, at the initiative of the Frente Amplio, three failed proposals were considered to legislate this right. In November 2000, the Frente Amplio presented its first bill to allow Uruguayans living abroad to vote. In 2004, the socialist senator José Korzeniak proposed constitutional reform, and Congressman Carlos Pita promoted the proposal, for a plebiscite to modify the Constitution, enabling the vote by post for Uruguayans not residing in the country. In 2005, the Frente Amplio, already in charge of the national government, presented a new bill to enable voting from abroad. Despite the Frente Amplio’s parliamentary majority, the proposal was not approved. On these issues, see Stuhldreher (2013).

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scrutiny bodies  – of the consular delegations and procedures (Merenson 2015), whose best known, most frequent, and routine task is the issuance of documentation. Outside territorial borders, the “effects of the State” described by Trouillot (2003, p. 151. Our translation) appear to intersect and overlap in specific ways. As an example, the “spatialization effect” – defined in this case by the country of destination – creates a “readability effect” (Trouillot 2003, p. 151). The former is articulated in the language, classifications, and regulations that the “diasporic bureaucracy” applies to (Smith 2008, p. 709) the emigrant population that it manages and, in some way, governs. These attributions are not established unidirectionally: they are rather the result of different negotiations and disputes with migrants, which, in turn, carry legible effects of the destination country. The latter is not minor since, among other issues, it shows how the instrumental rationality attributed to these bureaucracies is part of a complex negotiation that implies the redesign of the policies and practices of a State within another, based on expert knowledge, but also on common sense, and those political interests and emotions at stake. Different ethnographies of the State – I refer, for example, to the articles collected by Laszczkowski and Reeves (2015) – demonstrate that their bureaucracies, far from the Weberian ideal, operate through the production and circulation of emotions such as fear, pride, hope or suspicion. Affects, to paraphrase Weber, are part of the daily battles directed from the desks and configure how State practices are reproduced and transformed. This last observation, however, is partially true if we do not consider that these emotions are the product of different and varied interactions. State officials and agents do not feel alone but rather relate to those trajectories, experiences, and emotions expressed by emigrants and by the referents of their communities. Undoubtedly, these are unequal positions and power relations, but they are no less significant since the way they circulate and are distributed explains, at least in part, the links between norm and discretion. For example, when diplomatic corps are subject to community scrutiny, such as when they decide on repatriation or how they behave when faced with deportation. Frequently, repatriation and deportation form a relational pair that involves the concatenated actions of two States and their respective policies in the management of migratory flows. The deportation of a person, especially if he or she is the breadwinner of the household, is followed by the request for the repatriation of their nuclear family. Among other issues, the latter implies a cost that, in many cases, the consular budgets of countries of origin can ill afford, or they can only afford it differentially. Let us leave the abstractions, distance ourselves from the big statements, and observe these situations in the case of Uruguay. Recently, I set out to explore, map, and connect the places where extraterritorial State actions are practiced and mediated by migrants and diasporic bureaucracies of the Uruguayan consulates in the cities of New  York and Buenos Aires (Merenson 2018). Between 2014 and 2016, the jurisdiction of the Uruguayan Consulate in New York faced around 20 deportations per year. As the deputy consul explained, most “are for very silly infractions: the persons are caught for speeding, for some drunkenness. They are not serious misdemeanors” (Mónica,

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personal c­ ommunication, 2016, December 16). In her words, in these cases, consular interference is clearly limited and appeals to a series of specific knowledge and competencies that make administrative action unfeasible. As she pointed out, They let me know of a deportation and… I am not a lawyer, nor am I a police officer. The Uruguayan [citizen] in the United States is subject to the immigration laws of the United States. People do not understand that the Consulate cannot do anything. (Mónica, 2016, December 16).

This last sentence alludes, elliptically, to the criticism that I could hear among the immigrants residing in Elizabeth and Newark (New Jersey). They know the United States immigration policies, but they do not necessarily know the limits of consular action and, thus, expect more from its officials. According to the immigrants when faced with the deportation of a compatriot it is them, the community, that mobilizes to raise funds to support the families and return them to Uruguay. In 2009, during the celebrations of Uruguay’s national day (August 25) in the meeting room of Elizabeth City Hall, Juan reported the arrest of “a brother” and called for fundraising “to give support to the family”. The following year, Ignacio announced the suspension of the traditional dance because one of the dancers had been detained and was waiting to be deported. With a broken voice, he apologized and reported a bank account opened to collect the money that would pay for the man’s wife and three daughters to return to Uruguay. Juan and Ignacio were active members of the CCUE for New  York, New Jersey, and Connecticut at the time. Each deportation tears a family apart, mobilizes the community in solidarity and tests the country of origin’s economic and administrative capacity to contain it. Unlike what was described for New York, repatriations from Buenos Aires are much more frequent and feasible. Between 2013 and 2015, Argentina deported some 150 people to Uruguay who had been detained in different prisons in the country.6 While the CCUE functioned in Buenos Aires within the framework of the aforementioned “Department 20” program, some of its members collaborated to assist Uruguayan women deprived of their liberty by collecting clothing or writing letters to them. These tasks were considered ways of “supporting the work of the consul”, as explained by Blanca, who has lived in Buenos Aires for more than 30 years and joined the Buenos Aires CCUE after verifying the commitment of the consul and her work team. These deportations, it is worth clarifying, do not stir up the same feelings or complaints against consular presence. Nor do they evoke anywhere near the same degree of empathy shown by Uruguayans in the jurisdiction of New York. Among those who made up the Buenos Aires’ CCUE, there was a broad consensus regarding the futility of appealing against this Argentine provision that in fact they consider understandable and even fair. “They are Uruguayans, but they have committed a crime. It is logical that Argentina expels them”, said Mirta, a translator who has lived in Buenos Aires since 1986. 6  As discussed in Chap. 5, Argentine law stipulates the expulsion of foreigners deprived of their liberty once they have served half their sentence.

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Regarding these cases, neither the “need” nor the “poverty” of those deported was considered a justification or mitigating factor. On the contrary, they moralize in exemplary terms what was expected of a migrant’s conduct. Repatriation of the imprisoned migrant women’s nuclear family was facilitated in two ways, first by virtue of Argentina’s migration policies. Second, it was aided by the fact that transfer costs were covered due to an agreement between the Uruguayan State and one of the river-transport companies that connect Montevideo and Buenos Aires. Nevertheless, these repatriations still caused controversy, despite the consul’s constant preaching: “These women are imprisoned for being poor”. The links between the emigration histories and the professional trajectories of consular officials, as well as the country of destination’s policies (understood in a broad sense, not only regarding migrants) reveal different ways of understanding “the State”, representing it or feeling represented by it outside its territorial borders. In these situations, public documents are understood not as mere abstractions but as the “State in action” (Peirano 2002. p. 7), and thus play a crucial role. Following Hull (2003, 2012), the management and administration of documents by the diasporic bureaucracy are transformed into mediations that organize the lives of people and institutions. Issuing documentation is, then, more than a control technology that enables the governance of the diaspora. Documents link people, places, things, times, norms, and forms of sociability according to different interaction patterns (Hull 2012, p. 255). Doing paperwork at the Uruguayan consulate in New York City can be part of an exceptional “honeymoon” through a hostile city, just as a passport can certify “lived citizenship” (Pascucci 2016) in a place that is not an airport or a border crossing. Moreover, a visit to the Uruguayan Consulate in Buenos Aires to obtain an income certificate can be, on the one hand, one step through the long and painful red tape of local public offices in the face of the anguish of unemployment. And on the other, and, at the same time, a means of access and incorporation into a transnational political network. These situations, which I was able to access during my fieldwork, indicate the different ways in which migrants incorporate their steps through public offices into their lives and relate with the documents they issue both in creative and unforeseen ways. Thus, consular delegations are not, at least not always, a mere arid and tedious world of papers. Beyond the delays and difficulties – or for this very reason – they also act as mediators of a community that exceeds the one that emigrants compose. As already mentioned, the new immigration regulations in Uruguay were enacted in 2008. Like its Argentine counterpart, described in Chap. 5, it is characterized by the definition of migration as a human right. This supposes: Equalizing rights for all inhabitants of the territory regardless of their national origin or immigration status, use of non-detention as a tool for regularization, respect for the cultural and collective identity of the migrant population, and the principle of non-discrimination as vectors of integration processes. (Uriarte 2020, p. 18. Our translation).

Despite the regulatory framework, Uriarte (2019) warns of a series of difficulties in its application. First, the absence of “programs that facilitate, favor or specifically

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seek to make viable the integration processes of the migrant population” (Uriarte 2019, p. 11. Our translation). Second, the “increase in the requirements for entry from abroad” (Uriarte 2019, p. 11. Our translation). Third, the existence of “guidelines for the control and restriction of the foreign population entering the country […] crossed by racial criteria and gender and class moralities” (Uriarte 2019, p. 12. Our translation). Four, the “violations against the migrant population, absences of and violence carried out by the State and its operators” (Uriarte 2019, p. 28. Our translation). According to the author, this new period inaugurated by the law emphasizes “the governance of migratory flows from the regularization of mobility corridors, proposing a management of ‘safe, regular and orderly’ migratory flows” (Uriarte 2019, p.  18. Our translation). By virtue of the above, Uriarte places, together with Domenech (2013), the new Uruguayan migration policies among those with a humanitarian emphasis. All of this is disturbing. In general terms, this diagnosis for Uruguay does not seem to deviate much from some of the observations made about Argentina during the “Cambiemos” administration (in Chap. 5) or even from those registered for Chile (in Chap. 7). This is disturbing because, according to all political science literature, these governments are at opposite spectrums in ideological terms, and their immigration regulations obey this differentiation. While Argentina and Uruguay recently entered the guarantor paradigm, Chile maintains its restrictive cut. The questions that emerge from this are, necessarily, uncomfortable since they place us in the autonomization of State practices with respect to the leaders and referents of government efforts. These, to return to the Comaroff, “are weak or strong, intrusive or recessive, autocratic or populist, […] they have something in common: they speak incessantly of and for themselves on behalf of the State” (Comaroff and Comaroff 2013, p. 128. Our translation). The risk assumed – and translated – is great: it implies undertaking that, as diacritics and regardless of who governs, the requirements to obtain residency will be many; bureaucratic procedures will be complicated and time-consuming; and the rights of migrants will be violated, even in Uruguay, the only democracy considered full and with the best reputation in the region.7 The provocation, as “the most brutal of truths”, becomes more forceful if we consider that the leader of the center-right coalition Luis Lacalle Pou, a few days after assuming the Uruguayan presidency, anticipated in an interview on the United States television channel, CNN, his willingness to “open the borders” of the country “so that thousands and thousands of immigrants arrive […] respecting what international institutions say”. (CNN, 2020, February 23).

 See, for example, the “Democracy Index” published by The Economist (2019).

7

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8.4  Modulations And if the favor of hateful Lady Luck Does them the favor of letting them arrive Like a machine gun of opinions The bullets of inequity buzz “There’s no permit without a visa” “We do not need them here” “Don’t bring us poor we already have our own” The snakes of capital hiss “Get your wounds out of these lands” “Their blood shouldn’t cross the border” “Free my country from their misery, take it away”. (Agarrate Catalina, “Amor y Odio” [Love and Hate]. Carnival of Montevideo, 2020).

The second part of this book articulates the casuistry of political conjunctures and hate speech associated with migratory flows. During the Indo-American Park conflict in Buenos Aires (Argentina), inside and outside the Universidad Federal de la Integración Latinoamericana (UNILA) campus in Foz de Iguazú (Brazil), or through the televising of lines of people being deported from Chile, the enumeration of phrases in the song of the Uruguayan murga, “Agarrate Catalina”, became flesh, acquired a face. As indicated in Chap. 5 for Argentina, Chap. 6 for Brazil, and Chap. 7 for Chile, these speeches were picked up by the highest authorities of government administrations. However, these were not individual inventions but modulations of delusions that, as such, are shared. “Delirium”, Moraes explains, following Berardi (2013), “is the transfer of reading from one semiotic plane to another; it is the construction of an alternative universe of associations that recognize in an existing one, properties denied to it in everyday normality” (Moraes 2019, p. 239. Our translation). Delirium “can only become a subject – a process of subjectivation – once it has been shared” (Moraes 2019, p. 239. Our translation). Then, it does not nest or dialogue with data, no matter how willing we are to state them, but with desire. According to Deleuze, Moraes continues, “desire, identity of process and thought, ‘constitute their own field of immanence’ (Deleuze 2005, p. 187) […] they are placed under the rule of an unregulated multiplicity and draw from that delusional articulation all kinds of consequences” (Moraes 2019, p. 235. Our translation) that depend on the circumstances. It is the latter that demonstrates the eminently political character of the delusion; the one in which resides the potential and capacity to add to the rhythms and the powerful sedimented narrative figures to which it resorts: the threat, the invasion, the disorder that is projected from the past into the future. If the dialogue with delirium – and the hatred that it spreads – is inscribed in the order of the implausible, the same does not happen – or should not happen – with the desire/fear that supports it. Faced with that, anthropology cannot be postponed. In recent years, Uriarte observes, “the concern of the Uruguayan society has shifted from ‘the propensity to emigrate’ to the ‘wave of immigration’” crossed by racial constructions that scale and rank the migrant population according to their potential contribution to the country (Uriarte 2020, p.  23. Our translation). It is worth venturing into the game of placing this observation in dialogue with opinion

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polls, not to over-interpret percentages or infer explanatory bets from them, but to correct their conclusion. In May 2019, the pollster Cifra presented the results of a survey on migration in Uruguay. On balance, judgments about the arrival of immigrants are positive and have remained so over time. More than half of those surveyed (53%) considered that the arrival of immigrants was positive for the country and, a third (33%) considered it negative. This latter assessment has greater weight outside the capital, and among those unemployed and those who place themselves on the right of the ideological-­ political spectrum (44% share this opinion). But, when asked if more immigrants should arrive, if their numbers are enough today, or if they should be reduced, the two opinions almost tie: 38% think that there should be fewer immigrants, while 35% consider the current numbers are enough. Only a small minority (13%) think that it would be good if more came. “The configuration of opinions towards immigrants”, concludes the Cifra report, […] is remarkably similar to that observed in Europe or the United States. The urban population, with a better economic position and stable jobs, is more open to immigration. Those with fewer resources tend to perceive it as a threat to their work opportunities and/or to the aid they receive from the State. (Cifra 2019, n.p. Our translation).

This is not the place to develop the point, but it is worth mentioning the coherence that this has with the country’s electoral behavior a mere five months after the results of this survey were published, when “Cabildo Abierto’s” call put an end to the Frente Amplio’s run and garnered three senators and eleven members of congress. According to the same pollster, 24% of “Cabildo Abierto” voters, five years earlier, had opted for Frente Amplio. This is nothing new. The social spaces in which the limits of progressivism are articulated also involve them; they do not solely or exclusively obey the action of openly reactionary political forces or the preaching of their referents. They found a foothold because the conditions were ripe for them. Among them, the difficulties to dialogue with the forms of subjectivation of consumption capacity (beyond its mere increase) and the popular mode of meritocracy; the restricted and hierarchical conception of diversity did not fall on deaf ears. And this is not just a Uruguayan casuistry. Wherever the debate on collective problems is reduced to a limited set of institutions and legitimate “owners of the word” actors, then frustrations, powerlessness, and limitations emerge, and voters anchor their ship in search of – or wait for – another shore (Fig. 8.4).

8.5  Withdrawal Summer wind, crayon sea Fill these sails, take the helm Course, dream, and future, in eternal migration Chasing the stars of another sky, a new sky, in a truck. (Agarrate Catalina, “Amor y Odio” [Love and Hate]. Carnival of Montevideo, 2020).

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Fig. 8.4  Ramírez Beach, located on the shores of the Río de la Plata. Montevideo, Uruguay. (2016). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones)

As I conclude these lines, the 2020 Montevideo carnival continues its course, and, in the Southern Cone’s summertime, Uruguay received its new president and Parliament. An anthropological text cannot, nor can poetry – as Juan Gelman says in his poem “Confianza” – radically transform the order of things; simply because politics precedes any academic agenda.8 However, as murga poets and lyricists, “we sit at the table and write” (Fig. 8.5). The remarkable and stubborn confidence of the authors gathered in this book is oriented by exploration, by mapping virulent joint structures driven by a desire that, as we have seen here, is not always emancipatory. Gathering the strength to deal with it is another of the great challenges assumed in this book. It delves into the knowledge of “the uncomfortable, unresolved and ambiguous coexistence with other ways of being-in-the-world” (Comaroff and Comaroff 2013, p.  127. Our translation); those that push us to attractive categories such as “community”, “citizenship” or “democracy”: not because of what they mean, but because of what they promise. In this task, pursuing directions, dreams, and futures of more humane humanities makes all of us a bit migrant: subjects displaced by the imagination of another – new – sky.

8  It is worth clarifying that, with “politics”, I am referring – following Moraes (2019) – to what is situated in the order of the prescription and of the possible, and not the strategies mobilized to specify them.

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Fig. 8.5  Presentation of the Murga “La Gran Muñeca” (The Great Doll). Municipal Velodrome of Montevideo. Montevideo, Uruguay. (2014). (Photographer: Pablo Mardones) Acknowledgments  This chapter was translated from Spanish to English by Menara Guizardi and Christine Ann Hills. Some of the ideas and reflections that guide this text are the product of (long-­ term) dialogues for which I am grateful to Alex Martins Moraes, Menara Guizardi, and Pablo Semán. They, of course, are not responsible for the elaborations that I lay out in these lines.

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Domenech, E. (2013). “Las migraciones son como el agua”: hacia la instauración de políticas de “control con rostro humano”. Polis, 35, 1–20. Espeche, X. (2016). La paradoja uruguaya. Intelectuales, latinoamericanismo y nación a mediados del siglo XX. Bernal: UNQ. Glick-Schiller, N., Çaglar, A., & Guldbrandsen, T. (2006). Beyond the ethnic lens: Locality, globality and born-again incorporation. American Ethnologist, 33(4), 612–633. Grimson, A. (2003). La nación en sus límites. Contrabandistas y exiliados en la frontera Argentina-­ Brasil. Barcelona: Gedisa. Halpern, G. (2009). Etnicidad, inmigración y política. Representaciones y cultura política de exiliados paraguayos en Argentina. Buenos Aires: Prometeo. Hull, M. (2003). The file: Agency, authority, and autography in an Islamabad bureaucracy. Language & Communication, 23, 287–314. Hull, M. (2012). Documents and bureaucracy. Annual Review of Anthropology, 41, 251–267. Jelin, E. (1989). Los movimientos sociales en la Argentina contemporánea: una introducción a su estudio. In E.  Jelin (Comp.). Los nuevos movimientos sociales. Mujeres, rock nacional, derechos humanos, obreros, barrios. Buenos Aires: CEAL. Laszczkowski, M., & Reeves, M. (Eds.). (2015). Affective states. Entanglements, suspensions, suspicions. Nueva York/Oxford: Berghahn. Marchesi, A. (2017). Escribiendo la Guerra Fría latinoamericana: entre el Sur “local” y el Norte “global”. Estudos Historicos, 30(60), 187–202. Merenson, S. (2015). “Del ‘exilio’ a ‘la diáspora’”. Lenguajes y mediaciones en el proceso de diasporización uruguayo. Horizontes Antropológicos, 21(43), 211–238. Merenson, S. (2016). Los peludos. Cultura política y nación en los márgenes del Uruguay. Buenos Aires: Gorla. Merenson, S. (2018). Territorialidades de la acción estatal extraterritorial. Burocracias diaspóricas y migrantes uruguayos en New York y Buenos Aires. Revista Colombiana de Antropología, 55(1), 239–265. Merenson, S. (2020). Frenteamplismo uruguayo en Argentina. Trayectorias, redes y desplazamientos transnacionales. Montevideo and Buenos Aires: Pomaire-Gorla. Moraes, A. (2019). Esfuerzo de lo posible. Política, desarrollo y deseo en el extremo norte del Uruguay. Doctoral tesis, Postgraduate Program in Anthropology. Instituto de Altos Estudios Sociales, Universidad Nacional de San Martín. Buenos Aires, Argentina. Oppenheimer, A. (2020, February 23). Oppenheimer Presenta [Television broadcast]. Atlanta: CNN en Español, WarnerMedia Organización Internacional para las Migraciones [OIM]. (2011). Perfil Migratorio del Uruguay. Montevideo: OIM. Pascucci, E. (2016). Transnational disruptions: Materialities and temporalities of transnational citizenship among Somali refugees in Cairo. Global Networks, 16, 326–343. Peirano, M. (2002). “This horrible time of papers”: Documents and national values. Série Antropológica, 312, 3–31. Pelleri, C., & Rial, J. (1986). De mitos y memorias políticas. La represión y el miedo después. Montevideo: EBO. Real de Azúa, C. (2000). Uruguay, ¿una sociedad amortiguadora? Montevideo: EBO. Rico, Á. (2005). Cómo nos domina la clase gobernante. Orden político y obediencia social en la democracia posdictadura. Uruguay (1985–2005). Montevideo: Trilce. Rodrigo, F. (2018). Género y nacionalidad en la cotidianeidad de la política. Migrantes bolivianas en un movimiento de la ciudad de La Plata. Buenos Aires: Miño y Dávila. Sassen, S. (2010). Territorio, autoridad y derechos. Buenos Aires: Katz. Semán, P. (2006). Bajo continuo. Exploraciones descentradas sobre cultura popular y masiva. Buenos Aires: Gorla. Smith, R. (2008). Contradictions of diasporic institutionalization in Mexican politics: The 2006 migrant vote and other forms of inclusion and control. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 31(4), 708–741.

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Index

A Abortion, 92 Accessory elements, 58 Active destruction, 65 Age of migration anthropology, 24 Argentina, 32 Brazil, 27, 31 Chile, 26 gender inequality, 28 geopolitical reorganization, 24 globalization, 24, 30 industrial revolution, 26 Latin America, 26, 28–30 mass media, 24 Mexico, 27, 31 Nation-states, 24 neoliberal reforms, 27 Peru, 27 remittances, 32 social capitals, 31 social sciences, 30 South America, 26 transnationalisms, 31 transnational political process, 33 American Southern Cone, 13 Antagonistic categorical pairs, 76 Anthropology, 24, 98 Anti-corporate discourse, 100 Anti-globalization, 40, 160 Anti-immigrant, 17 Anti-immigration discourses, 130 Anti-leftist discourse, 132 Anti-migration discourses, 103, 105, 120, 131, 161

Argentine Foreign Ministry’s records, 189 Autonomization of State practices, 197 Avellaneda Act, 100 B Black feminism, 67 Bolivianity, 191 Bolivian migrant women, 67 Border territories, 39 Brazilian migrant women, 68 C “Cabildo Abierto”, 186 Capitalism, 10 Capitalist realism, 10, 40, 41 Care crisis, 71 CCUEs, 192, 193, 195 Cellphone app, 107 Chile, migration anti-migration discourses, 161 Argentina, 166 CASEN, 160 Chilean Constitution, 180 vs. Chilean emigrants, 167 Chilean migrants, 168 Chilean Migrations Act, 161 civil and political society, 178 democracy, 169 democratic responsibility visa, 174 education, 171 family reunification visa, 174 female invasion, 179 foreign residents, 172

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 M. Guizardi (ed.), The Migration Crisis in the American Southern Cone, Latin American Societies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-68161-6

205

Index

206 Chile, migration (cont) gender, 170 government, 163, 164, 181 HIV/AIDS, 178 humanitarian program, 176 humanitarian repatriation program, 161, 163 humanitarian visa, 174 human mobility, 162 human rights, 162, 180 INE, 160, 167 invasion, 178 legislation, 162, 180 migrant invasion, 169 migrant populations, 168, 173 migrant removal, 176, 177 migrant stock, 164–166, 169 migration policies, 160, 167 migratory flows, 170 mining economy, 170 National Migrations Advisory Board, 161 National migratory program, 161 permanent residency visas, 175, 176 politics, 161 presidential discourses, 161 racial discrimination, 171 region, migrant stock, 172 Sebastián Piñera administration, 179 social media, 179 South America, 165 temporary residence visas, 174, 175 tourist visa, 173, 174 visa categories, 173 Chilean Migrations Act, 161 Chilean National Statistics Institute (INE), 173 Citizen insecurity, 114 Civil rights, 97 Civil society organizations Argentine Commission for Migrants and Refugees, 114 detention center, 112 DNU organizations, 116, 117, 120 human rights organizations, 116 IACHR, 115 Legal and Social Studies Center, 111 Migrant and Refugee Network of Argentina, 111 migrants, 112, 113, 120 migrants’ human rights, 114 National Migrations Act, 111 United Nations committee, 117 Commodification of affections, 71 Community caregivers, 65

Community scrutiny, 194 Complicity, 191 Confianza, 200 Contradiction, 149 Creative destruction, 9 Crime, 110, 152 Criminal Procedure Code, 104 Criminal profiles, 105 Crises and hatred American Southern Cone, 11 cultural, 12 cynicism, 10 global neoliberal economy, 9 homogeneity vs. heterogeneity, 12 intersubjectivity, 9 migratory crisis, 12 neoliberal hegemony, 9 neoliberalism, 9 political and media discourses, 13 (post)globalized political imaginaries, 10 violence, 12 Cross-border living, 46 Cross-border migrants, 129 Cross-border migration, 23, 39 Cultural crisis, 12 Cynicism, 10 D Deglobalization border territories, 39 Brazil, 35 crime, 34 cross-border migration, 39 economic crisis, 34 Haitian migration, 38 human mobilities, 37 identity performances, 39 Latin America, 39 Latin American transnationalism, 35 migration flows, Latin America, 37 regionalized globalization, 35, 36 social sciences, 34 South America, 36 South American migration flows, 38 Southern Cone countries, 35 State and supra-State violence, 34 transnationalization, 39 weapon industry, 34 Delirium, 198 Democracy, 32, 44, 139, 169 Democratic crisis, 9 Democratic responsibility visa, 174

Index Department of Foreign Affairs and Migration (DEM), 161, 173 “Department 20” program, 192 De-territorialized citizenship, 192 Developmentalism, 60 Diacritics, 197 Diasporic bureaucracy, 194 Distancing mechanism, 193 Drug trafficking, 106 Dual-gender systems, 60 E Economic crisis, 34 Education, 146 English-speaking social science publications, 189 Ethnographies of the State, 194 Ethnography, 128, 130, 133, 142 Extraterritorial policies, 192 Extraterritorial State actions, 194 F Family, 68 Family reunification visa, 174 Family transnationalization, 69 Federal University of Latin American Integration (UNILA), 17 aggression, 128 anti-migrant discourses, 145 Brazil, 128 Brazilian commitment, 140 Brazilian economy, 141 contradiction, 148–153 discomfort, 141 discrimination, 128 focus group, Foz de Iguazú, Brazil, 146 Foz de Iguazú (Brazil), 140, 153, 154 human nature, 140 international migrant students, 129 macro-categories, 129 regional integration, 141 regionalist-Latin Americanist project, 128 SLF, 144 space of exception, 145–148 university’s bylaws, 140 Female agency, 63–66, 74 Female invasion, 179 Female migrations, 75 Female protagonism, 69 Feminism Argentina, 71

207 black, 67 Brazil, 72 Chile, 71 gender violence, 76 intersectionality, 67 knowledge, 56 Latin America, 71, 73 migratory processes, 57 politics, 74 positivism, 55 social reproduction, 58 social sciences, 73 transnationalization, 72 Feminization, 38, 39 Foreign Residency Act, 100, 115 Frente Amplio national government, 192 G Gender ideology, 186 Gender inequality, 28, 69 Gender in Latin America (1970-2020) anthropological and demographic perspectives, 61 asymmetrical gender systems, 60 developed countries, 61 dual-gender systems, 60 female labor, 60 female migration, 60 feminization process, 59 international agencies and banks, 61 Latin American migrant communities, 60 Mexican migrant women, 61 migrant women, 57 migration, 58 rural-urban displacements, 59 social changes, 58, 60 social institutions, 59 social mobility, 61 social reproduction, 57, 58, 60 transnationalism (see Transnationalism, migrant women) violence, 76 women, 57–59, 61 Gender perspective, 14 Gender violence, 14 General Directorate of Consular Services and Liaison, 192 Global imaginary, 34 Globalization, 12, 24 Global labor market, 32 Gross Domestic Product (GDP), 32 Growing politicization, 190

Index

208 H Haitian migration, 38 Hate discourses, 160, 179, 180 Hate speech, 11, 188, 198 androcentrism, 127 continuities, 93 cultural industries, 92 discontinuities, 93 ethnographic strategy, 95 genealogical and processual perspective, 93 homogeneity, 91 imagined communities, 91 insularization, 95 love and respect, 11 migrant and cross-border populations, 127 migrant populations, 13 minorities, 141 morality, 91 moral narratives, 90 narrative, 91 racism, 127 reflexivity, 95 repertoires, 89, 91, 92 social movements, 141 social sciences, 95 South America, 92 traveling theory, 94 xenophobia, 127 Hatred, 5, 7 Health insurance system, 107 Homogeneity producing strategies, 9 Homophobia, 133 Human development, 69 Humanitarian crisis, 132 Humanitarian program, 176 Humanitarian repatriation program, 161, 163, 180 “Humanitarian return” program, 43 Humanitarian visa, 174 Human mobilities, 37, 41, 162 Human rights, 8, 101, 102, 109, 110 Hyperactors, 191 Hyperconnectivity, 45 I Imagined communities, 6, 91 Immigration, 110, 132, 192 Immigration and Colonization Act 817, 100 Inequality, 71 Insularization, 95 Integration processes, 197

Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR), 115 Interdisciplinary, 14 International drug-trafficking circuit, 139 International female migration, 63 International migration, 7, 24, 28 International Organization for Migration, 191 Intersectionality, 66–68 Intersectional social exclusion, 150 Intersubjectivity, 9 Intranational migrations, 61, 69 Intra-regional migration, 38 Invasion, 22, 178, 179 Itaipú Industrial Park, 140 K Knowledge, 56 L Labor, 63 Labor market insertion, 175 “La Poderosa” (The Powerful Female), 66 Latin America, 16, 26, 145 Latin American migrants, 46 Legal and Social Studies Center, 111 Lived citizenship, 196 M Male provider, 69 Mass media, 24, 133 MaxQDA, 129 Media strategy, 132 Migrant activism, 118 Migrant invasion, 169 Migrant population, 152 Migrant stocks, 164, 165 Migrantazos, 117 Migrants, 6, 109 Foz de Iguazú, 127, 128, 130, 150 human rights, 152 sovereignty, 131 Migration flows, 37, 40 Migration Law, 191 Migration policies, Argentina anthropology, 98 anti-migration discourses, 105, 120 Cambiemos, 108 cellphone app, 107 civil rights, 97 civil society, 99, 119

Index civil society organizations (see Civil society organizations) criminal profiles, 105 drug trafficking, 106 government discourses, 120 health insurance system, 107 human rights, 109, 110 human rights organizations, 98, 99 Latin America, 119 legal and administrative mechanisms, 97 long-standing party structures, 119 migrant organizations, 106 migrants, 120 migration fees, 107, 108 National Migrations Act, 118 overstay operatives, 105, 107 RADEX, 108 reciprocity norms, 106 rights-based migration policies, 104 socio-anthropological approach, 99 sociopolitical context, 100, 102–104 state actors, 119 state intervention, 98 Territorial Approach Program, 104 Migration processes Argentina’s migration policies, 196 data and figures, 189 international, 190 survey, 199 trajectories, 190 Uruguayan migration policies, 197 Migrations American Southern Cone, 7 Brazil, 131 criminalization, 8 international, 7 Latin America, 56 Latin American citizens, 132 media strategy, 132 political economy, care and affection (see Political economy, care and affection) political imaginaries, 7 social sciences, 53 Migrations Act, 99, 101, 105, 109 Migratory crisis, 4, 7, 8, 12, 13, 15, 16 Migratory flows, 170 Migratory transnationalism, 38 Militarism, 136 Military dictatorship, 141 Military technology, 46 Minority, 133 Modernization Theory, 60

209 Monetary remittances, 32 Montevideo carnival Murga, 186, 187 “change of era”, 185 description, 185 Uruguay, 200 Moral breakdowns, 90 Moral entrepreneurs, 6 Morality, 91 Moral narrative, 90 murguistas, 187 N National Department of Migration (DNM), 104 Nationality, 105 National Migration Law, 103 National Migrations Act, 100, 107, 111, 118 National Migrations Advisory Board, 161, 180 National migratory program, 161 National Security Doctrine, 8, 33 Nation-state transnationalisms, 23 Native theories, 87 Neoliberalism, 9, 40, 191 Neoliberal reforms, 27, 63, 139 New social movements, 190 Normative regulations, 188 O Orthodox academia, 54 Orthodoxy, 54 Oxymoron, 90 P Patriarchal behavior patterns, 63 Permanent residency visas, 175, 176 piqueteros movements, 191 “Plan Cóndor”, 189 Political alliance, 103 Political crisis, 141 Political economy, care and affection care crisis, 71 care drain, 70 inequality, 71 social organization of care, 70 social reproduction, transnational life, 70 social sciences, 71 transnational families, 71 transnational social fields, 70 transnational social reproduction, 70

Index

210 Political imaginaries, 152 Positivism, 55 Post-globalization, 7, 16, 23, 160, 179 Post-truth, 10, 179 The Production of the Crisis, 15 Progressive governments, 190 Propuesta Republicana (Republican Proposal), 103 Public education system, 109 R Racism, 151, 178, 179 Radicalization, 54, 72 Readability effect, 194 “Real Great Wall of China”, 189 (Re)defining families, 68–70 Reflexivity, 95 Regionalized globalization, 35, 36 Remittances, 32 Rights-based migration policies, 104 Rights paradigm, 16 Risk society, 90 S Securitization, 16 Sexual contract, 76 Shared hatred, 4 Situationality, 188–191 SLF, 140–142, 144, 145, 147 Social actors, 6, 90 Social changes, 58, 60 Social differentiation, 70 Social imaginary, 171 Social inequalities, 72, 73 Social-intercultural integration, 146 Socialist Workers Movement, 58 Social life, 4, 87 Social media, 42, 45, 179 Social networks, 63 Social organization of care, 70, 76 Social practices, 41 Social protest, 100 Social reproduction, 32, 57, 58, 60, 65 Social research, 46, 55, 57, 76 Social sciences, 11, 29, 30, 34, 39, 45, 56, 57, 68, 71, 73, 76, 87, 88, 95 Social Security and Protection, 110 Social space, 68 Social welfare expenditures, 110 Society, 103 Socio-anthropological approach, 99

Sociocultural heterogeneity, 41 Socio-economic sectors, 71 South American migration flows, 38 South American migratory policies, 15 Spatialization effect, 194 Subalternity, 190 Subjectivation process, 198, 199 T Temporary residence visas, 174, 175 Territorial Approach Program, 104 Territorialization, 66 Tourism, 134 Tourist visa, 173, 174 Transition, 149 Transnational families, 68, 69, 71 Transnational Heterogeneities, 16 Transnationalism, migrant women definition, 62 female agency, 63–66 intersectionality, 66–68 (re)defining families, 68–70 society, 63 Transnational migration age of migration (see Age of migration) anti-globalization, 40 Argentina, 22, 41 capitalist realism, 40, 41 Chile, 22 Colombia, 43, 44 cross-border migration, Argentina, 23 deglobalization (see Deglobalization) heterogeneity, 44–46 hate speech, 41 humanitarian return program, 43 human mobilities, 41 intra-regional migration, 22 Latin American community, 21, 23 migrant laborers, 44 Nation-state identities, 22 neoliberalism, 40 post-globalization, 23, 40 South America, 24, 41, 43 transnational employment niches, 22 Venezuela, 43 xenophobic demonstrations, Chile, 42 Transnational mobilities, 7, 69 Transnational motherhood, 65, 69 Transnational political processes, 33 Traveling theory, 94 Tri-Border Area (TBA), 127–129, 134, 137–139

Index Triple Frontier, 148 Tropicalism, 67, 68 U Unemployment, 109, 139 United States immigration policies, 195 Universidad Federal de la Integración Latinoamericana (UNILA), 198 Uruguay “Cambiemos” administration, 197 “Department 20” program, 195 immigrant population, 193 immigration regulations, 196 international immigrants, 192 migration processes, 199 national day celebrations, 195 political coalition Frente Amplio’s term, 191 population pyramid, 192 revolutionary organization, 193 rights violations, 188 sociedad amortiguardora, 186 voting, 192

211 Uruguayan casuistry, 199 Uruguayan Consulate in Buenos Aires, 196 Uruguayan consulate in New York City, 196 Uruguayan murga, “Agarrate Catalina”, 198 Uruguayan National Directorate of Migration, 192 Uruguayan society, 198 V Value-added tax (VAT), 109 Videla Act, 101 Violence, 12, 68 Virtuous community, 91 W Warfare technology, 159 X Xenophobia, 150, 151 Xenophobic discourses, 101