Borders and Border Walls: In-security, Symbolism, Vulnerabilities 9780367370626, 9780429352508

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Borders and Border Walls

This book addresses the recent evolution of borderlines around the world as an attempt to control transnational movements with a view to securitization of borders rooted in the need to control mobility and preserve national identities. This book moves beyond physical borders and studies new manifestations of borders such as technological and symbolic walls. It brings together scholars from various academic fields such as geography, political science and Border Studies to examine the various movements, functions and articulations of ­international borders. It explores two main issues: How international borders have become enforced lines of demarcation and division, reinforcing national identity and impacting national and regional dynamics; and the material and immaterial, discursive and concrete expressions of borders and the impacts of the transformation of bodies into threat to be monitored, as daily lives become sites of border enforcement. Offering multidisciplinary insights on the growing phenomenon of border walls, this book will be of interest to undergraduate and postgraduate students of Border Studies, European Studies, International Relations, Political Geography, and Regional Studies. Andréanne Bissonnette is a PhD candidate in Political Science and research fellow at the Raoul-Dandurand Chair at the University of Quebec in Montreal. Her research focuses on women’s rights, immigration and borders in the US. Élisabeth Vallet is the Director of the Raoul Dandurand Center for Geopolitical Studies UQAM and Associate Professor at the RMC-Saint Jean. A regular chronicler for the Canadian national network and Le Devoir newspaper, she was awarded the AAG Richard Morrill Outreach Award in 2017. Her research focuses on borders, globalization and border fencing.

Routledge Geopolitics Series Series editors Klaus Dodds

Professor of Geopolitics at the Department of Geography, Royal Holloway University of London, Egham, Surrey UK

Reece Jones

Professor of Geography at the Department of Geography, University of Hawai‘i at Manoa, Hawai‘i, USA

Geopolitics is a thriving area of intellectual enquiry. The Routledge Geopolitics Series invites scholars to publish their original and innovative research in ­geopolitics and related fields. We invite proposals that are theoretically informed and empiri­cally rich without prescribing research designs, methods and/or theories. Geopolitics is a diverse field making its presence felt throughout the arts and humanities, social sciences and physical and environmental sciences. Formal, practical and popular geopolitical studies are welcome as are research in areas informed by borders and bordering, elemental geo-politics, feminism, identity, law, race, resources, territory and terrain, materiality and objects. The series is also global in geographical scope and interested in ­proposals that focus on past, present and future geopolitical imaginations, practices and representations. As the series is aimed at upper-level undergraduates, graduate students and faculty, we welcome edited book proposals as well as monographs and textbooks which speak to geopolitics and its relationship to wider human geography, politics and international relations, anthropology, sociology, and the interdisciplinary fields of social sciences, arts and humanities. Published: Popular Geopolitics Plotting an Evolving Interdiscipline Edited by Robert A. Saunders and Vlad Strukov Arctic Geopolitics, Media and Power Annika E. Nilsson and Miyase Christensen Borders and Border Walls In-Security, Symbolism, Vulnerabilities Edited by Andréanne Bissonnette and Élisabeth Vallet For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/­ Routledge-Geopolitics-Series/book-series/RFGS

Borders and Border Walls

In-security, Symbolism, Vulnerabilities

Edited by Andréanne Bissonnette and Élisabeth Vallet

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Andréanne Bissonnette and Élisabeth Vallet; individual chapters, the contributors The rights of Andréanne Bissonnette and Élisabeth Vallet to be identified as the authors of the editorial matter, and of the authors for their individual chapters, have been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-0-367-37062-6 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-35250-8 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear

Contents

List of figures and tablesvii List of mapsviii List of abbreviationsix List of contributorsx Introduction

1

ÉLISABETH VALLET AND ANDRÉANNE BISSONNETTE

  1 State of border walls in a globalized world

7

ÉLISABETH VALLET

PART I

Enforcing the Line

25

  2 The escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement

27

DAVID A. SHIRK

  3 Argentina’s enigmatic wall on the Paraguayan border

49

ROBERT ANDOLINA

  4 Ambiguous bordering practices at the EU’s edges

69

JUSSI P. LAINE

  5 Enforcing Israel/Palestine’s border spaces

88

CHRISTINE LEUENBERGER

  6 Border walls in a regional context: The case of Morocco and Algeria SAID SADDIKI

106

vi  Contents   7 Beyond the border fence: The emergence of Hungary’s contemporary bordering regime

117

JAMES SCOTT

PART II

Walled borders, walled lives

135

  8 Ways of seeing (the border)

137

MATTHEW LONGO

  9 The border wall and the paper wall: Accessing reproductive care in the US–Mexico borderlands

151

ANDRÉANNE BISSONNETTE

10 Spaces of exclusion: negotiating access to land beyond the border fence in Indian Punjab

166

RAPHAELA KORMOLL

11 Securitizing insecurity along Mexico’s borders

185

MARGATH A. WALKER

12 Promoting social change through Acompañamiento Internacional at the US–Mexico border

199

IRASEMA CORONADO



Index

213

Figures and tables

Figures   1.1   1.2   1.3   1.4   2.1   2.2   2.3   2.4   2.5   4.1 10.1

Borderwalls 1940–2019 Walled dyads 1980–2019 Border walls and political regimes in 2019 Official motivations for wall building US Department of Homeland Security Budget (Billions of dollars), 2003–19 US Immigration and Border Protection Budgets, 2003–19 Total Number of Border Patrol Personnel by Sector, 1992–2017 Nationwide Illegal Alien Apprehensions Fiscal Years, 1925–2018 Immigration Court Backlogs at Close of Fiscal Year, 1998–2019 Deaths at Europe’s Borders The Border Fence near Daoke, Punjab, India

9 10 10 11 36 36 37 39 41 79 169

Table 12.1 Social Change Agent – Citizen/Advocate Role in the El Paso/Ciudad Juárez region

202

Maps

  3.1  Province of Misiones, Argentina   9.1 Access to abortion in the border zone and the rest of Texas and Arizona (2017) 10.1  Area of land trapped between the de jure border (yellow line) and the River Ravi near the Indian villages Kakar and Ranian

53 156 172

Abbreviations

ACLU American Civil Liberties Union BADP India’s Border Area Development Program BSF Border Security Force (India) CBC Cross-Border Co-Operation CBP United States Custom and Border Protection DHS United States Department of Homeland Security EBY Entidad Binacional Yacyretá/Yacyretá Binational Agency (Argentina) EU European Union IBWC International Boundary and Water Commission (United States/Mexico) ICE United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement ICJ International Court of Justice IMF International Monetary Fund INS United States Immigration and Naturalization Service (1993–2003) IIRIRA Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (United States, 1996) IRCA Immigration Reform and Control Act (United States, 1984) MERCOSUR Mercado Común del Sur/Southern Common Market NAFTA North American Free Trade Agreement NGO Non-governmental organizations UN United Nations US United States USBP United States Border Patrol

Contributors

Robert Andolina is Associate Professor of International Studies at Seattle University, USA. He has published research on indigenous rights, social movements, transnational networks and international development in South America. Currently his scholarship focuses on immigration and border politics in the Southern Cone region. Andréanne Bissonnette is a PhD candidate in Political Science and research fellow at the Raoul Dandurand Chair at the University of Quebec in ­Montreal. Her research focuses on women’s rights and intersectional analysis through the study of the intersection between immigration and healthcare ­policies in the US. Her work on immigration and borders led to extensive fieldwork at the US–Mexico border and is supported by the Canadian Social Science and Humanities Research Council. Irasema Coronado is the director and professor of the School of Transborder Studies at Arizona State University. She received her bachelor’s degree in political science and a certificate of Latin American Studies from the University of South Florida. She has an MA in Latin American Studies and a PhD in Political Science from the University of Arizona. Her area of specialization is comparative politics, her research focuses on environmental issues and human rights on the US–Mexico Border. Previously, she was a professor in the Department of Political Science at the University of Texas at El Paso (UTEP), where she held the Kruszewski Family Endowed Professorship. Raphaela Kormoll is Teaching Fellow in International Relations and Peace and Conflict Studies at Durham University in the UK. Her research explores the dynamics of international relations through everyday practices by employing an ethnographically informed approach. She has extensive fieldwork experience in the Punjab borderland, India and Pakistan. Jussi P. Laine is an associate professor of multidisciplinary border studies at the Karelian Institute, University of Eastern Finland and holds the title of Docent of Human Geography from the University of Oulu, Finland. Currently, he also serves as the President of the Association for Borderlands Studies, in the

Contributors  xi Steering Committee of the IGU’s Commission on Political Geography, and as the book review editor of the Journal of Borderlands Studies. Christine Leuenberger is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Science & Technology Studies at Cornell University. Her most recent book is entitled The Politics of Maps: Cartographic Constructions of Israel/Palestine (with Izhak Schnell) (Oxford University Press, 2020). She has also published edited volumes and books and her work has appeared in various academic journals, edited volumes and popular news outlets. She was a Fulbright Scholar, a ­Fulbright Specialist, and an AAAS, STPF. She was the recipient of a National Science Foundation Scholar’s award to investigate the history and sociology of mapping practices in Israel and the Palestinian Territories. She is currently conducting research on issues of migration and borders and is engaged in peace and educational initiatives in the Middle East and Sub-Saharan Africa. Matthew Longo is Assistant Professor of Political Science at Leiden University. He is the author of the book The Politics of Borders: Sovereignty, Security, and the Citizen after 9/11 (Cambridge University Press, 2018), which won the 2019 Charles Taylor Book Award by the Interpretive Methods  & ­Methodologies Conference Group of the American Political Science Association (APSA). Said Saddiki is professor of international relations at Sidi Mohamed Ben ­Abdellah University, Fez, Morocco. He is the author of World of Walls: Structure, Roles and Effectiveness of Separation Barriers (Open Book ­Publishers, 2017). He received a Fulbright Visiting Scholarship (2010), Research Fellowship at the NATO Defense College in Rome (2012) and the Arab Prize in the Social Sciences and Humanities (2015). James Scott is Research Professor of Regional and Border Studies at the ­Karelian Institute of the University of Eastern Finland. Professor Scott obtained his Habilitation (2006), PhD (1990) and MA (1986) at the Free University of Berlin and his BSc at the University of California Berkeley (1979). His ­principal fields of research include: Urban and regional geography, borders, border regions, geopolitics, regional and urban governance, Cohesion Policy and Central European studies. Professor Scott has participated in the establishment of the Border Regions in Transition (BRIT) network. Since 1999 he has coordinated several medium and large-sized research consortia focusing on Border Studies and supported by the EU’s Framework Programmes, the European Science Foundation, the Finnish Academy and other sources. ­Presently he is coordinator of the GLASE project (Multilayered Borders of Global Security), funded by the Academy of Finland and is scientific coordinator of the Horizons 2020 project RELOCAL that investigates the role of the local level and local strategies in Cohesion and Territorial Development. David A. Shirk is a professor in the Department of Political Science and International Relations at the University of San Diego, and director of the USD

xii  Contributors Masters in International Relations program. He received his PhD in Political Science from the University of California-San Diego, and conducts research on Mexican politics, US–Mexican relations and law enforcement and security along the US–Mexican border. Élisabeth Vallet is Associate Professor at the RMC-Saint Jean, director of the Center for Geopolitical Studies – Raoul-Dandurand Chair at UQAM, and Quebec research lead for the Borders in Globalization program (University of Victoria). She was awarded the 2017 Richard Morrill Outreach Award by the Political Geography Specialty Group of the AAG. Her current research focuses on borders fencing and globalization and is supported by the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada. Margath A. Walker is Associate Professor of Geography at the University of ­Louisville. The majority of her research concentrates on empirically based dynamics of border places and their relationship to extra-local processes. She puts much of this work in conversation with critical social theory. Her current focus is aimed at understanding borders as inherently contradictory spaces where multiple and hierarchical scalar differences impinge upon local ­well-being. Her research has been published in numerous journals including: Antipode, Geoforum, Environment and Planning A, Environment and ­Planning D, Space and Polity and Social and Cultural Geography among other outlets. In addition, she is writing a book about the social philosopher Herbert Marcuse which is under contract with Bristol University Press. She is a member of several professional organizations including the Scholar Strategy Network.

Introduction Élisabeth Vallet and Andréanne Bissonnette1

Borders, walls and fences made a remarkable comeback at the turn of the ­millennium as they now underline one-fifth of the world’s dyads and delimit the territory of states, both failed and prosperous, democratic and authoritarian, scarifying every continent. In doing so, border walls contribute to reshaping mobilities and bodies, in a global world. Encompassing a heterogeneous set of structures built along 72 borders, they are both the manifestation of political ­fantasies and of an increasingly lethal reality.

Why do we care about walls? Historically, as lines delineating two sovereignties, borders have been studied and considered as geographical markers of territorial control, state power and manifestations of national identities. Over the centuries, borders have become a central part of states’ discourse on security, power and wealth. From a fixed material line, borders have evolved into mobile, pixelated and immaterial border zones (Sassen, 2015; Amilhat-Szary and Giraut, 2015; Balibar, 2004; Brambilla, 2015). While the functions of dividing, regulating and controlling borders have not changed, the places where they are established have multiplied (Balibar, 1996). These transformations mark not only the way borders are managed by states, but also the way they are perceived, experienced and analysed by individuals and academics. Boundaries are changing, both theoretically and physically. The transformation of borders has led to a renewed interest in border research as a locus for the articulation of state sovereignty, the classification and sorting of individuals and as obstacles to the mobility of people (Salter, 2008). As a result, Border Studies have evolved along with their research focus: The border is no longer analyzed as a simple territorial line, but rather in terms of border zones (Anzaldúa, 2012; Brunet-Jailly, 2007; Rosler and Wendl, 1999; Anderson and O’Dowd, 1999) with increased interest in the processes of bordering, debordering and rebordering (Popescu, 2011; van Houtum, Kramsch and Ziefhofer, 2005). Therefore, as borders have evolved, some states have chosen to fortify their border(s) with walls, the Berlin Wall being one of the best known, although it has since fallen. While some announced at the end of the 20th century the end of territories as a referent, of the nation-state as the central element of international

2   Introduction relations, of sovereignty as the cornerstone of collective security in an increasingly global world, the importance of border walls has rather increased in the second half of the 1990s and since 9/11 (Vallet and David, 2012; Brown, 2009). Neither geographically circumscribed nor confined solely to a continent or region border walls have an impact on populations, exchanges and flows on all continents. Walls have created interstitial spaces of globalization where flows are slowed down, but not totally impeded, that define what globalization has become today. These transformations of border perceptions and materializations have broadened the field of Border Studies, with the idea of walls gaining more traction and interest within academia. If we as academics can take the interest of our field of study for granted, asking the question “why are border walls interesting?” allows us to highlight three specific features of border walls that mark the interest of these structures. First, border walls as the object of research allow for, and encourages, interdisciplinarity. As both physical and virtual manifestations of state power and ­ideology, border walls are not anchored into one discipline, but rather invite scholars to collaborate beyond disciplinary boundaries. While they divide ­populations or flows, walls also bring scholars together to produce more comprehensive, diversified knowledge allowing for a portrait of walls as they are: Multi-faceted. Second, border walls studied here are inter-national.2 As mentioned earlier, walls are not limited to a geographical area and their construction often creates speci­fic bi-national relationships between neighboring states, both in regional ­contexts and at the international level. Border walls are legitimized by ideological ­discourses that are reinvested in other states, they aim to hinder international movements (economic or human) and are rooted in the dynamics of globalization. Finally, border walls are inter-identity. Studying border walls at the individual level allows for studies of individual movements, identity politics, gendered analysis and discourses. As contemporary structures with impacts at the micro and macro levels, border walls are more than simple structures; they are manifestations of many dynamics and studying them informs us on many contemporary issues.

The politics of words From daily life discussions to international resolutions, words are powerful and often convey a meaning that is both literal and figurative. Throughout history, languages have evolved, with some concepts or realities being defined by more than one word within the same language. However, while all refer to the same dynamics, words may not convey the same image, for words are political tools. The words we use can empower, hurt, fuel change, divide or unite. It is important to be aware of the power of words when discussing realities such as borders, migration and international relations. The main concept of this book is the border wall. While its definition might be viewed as simple, it is important to highlight what the contributors of this

Introduction   3 volume mean by “wall”. Furthermore, the word used to describe a bordering structure is often anchored into a political, ideological and regional background. In this volume, contributors use the words “wall” and “fence” interchangeably to refer to a bordering structure. While walls and fences can be used metaphorically, barriers have a more general sense of slowing down or getting in the way. Therefore, physical walls are defined as barriers with masonry foundations that are flanked by boundary roads, topped by barbed wire, laden with sensors, dotted with guard posts, infrared cameras and spotlights, and accompanied by an arsenal of laws and regulations (right of asylum, right of residence, visas). We understand the word ‘wall’ in the broadest sense, as a political divider that comprises complex technologies, control methods, legislative provisions and ‘securing the border’ discourse. (Vallet and David, 2012) Border walls are erected for a variety of reasons, but restricting migration is one of the most frequently cited reasons and one of the prevailing drivers for securing borders and building fences and walls. Aimed at controlling migration and movement on the peripheries of states, border walls are justified by othering discourses that tend to criminalize and dehumanize migrants by using terms such as “illegal aliens”. The editors and contributors to this volume collectively decided to use the terms “undocumented”, “nondocumented” or “irregular” as referents to someone who enters a country outside of legal ports of entry or overstays a visa. Grouping countries in regional blocs can be useful to highlight shared realities but can also contribute to a persistent lack of knowledge and awareness of country-specific dynamics. Furthermore, it perpetuates an imbalance of power between countries, the powerfuls being named and the less power­fuls being regrouped in regional groups and sub-groups. Throughout this book, all countries mentioned are named, and regional subgroups are divided, so as to bring forward the specific countries impacted by or actor of the policies discussed. For example, authors are not using “Northern Triangle of Central America”, but rather naming Honduras, Guatemala and El Salvador.

Overview This book addresses the very recent evolution of borderlines around the world, sealing and hardening what used to be porous and soft borders. Thus, if globalization blurs borders, harder borders simultaneously emphasize a new facet of globalization. It is not, though, a strictly post-9/11 phenomenon: Studies have shown that borders never truly disappeared after the fall of the Berlin Wall and that the hardening of old borders and the definition of new borders after 9/11 have their roots in the pre-9/11 period, for this phenomenon is fed not by a specific fear of terrorism but rather by global insecurities bred by ­globalization. In other words, in a security-conscious and risk-averse world,

4   Introduction globalization has led not to the eradication of borders but rather to the redefinition of territory through insecurities, generating therefore new border symbolism. In this context, border walls have become a symbol of hardened borders, their number steadily increasing in the last decade. The construction of such permanent, visible structure to impede transnational movements is anchored in a discourse of securitization of borders that shifted towards a need to control mobility and preserve national identities. Moreover, this discourse is no longer limited to the justification of a physical border wall. Rather, this same discourse is used to legitimize new manifestations of borders: Technological and symbolic walls. Building on the literature on mobile borders (Amilhat-Szary and Girault, 2015), this book brings together authors from diverse geographical zones and academic fields to study the various movements, functions and articulations of international borders. Divided into two parts, this book addresses two main issues: (I) how international borders have become enforced lines of demarcation and division, consolidating national identity and impacting national and regional dynamics; and (II) the material and immaterial, discursive and concrete articulations of borders and the impacts of the transformation of bodies in threat to be monitored, as daily lives become sites of border enforcement. Border walls have long been analyzed through specific case studies, but less frequently as a global phenomenon. The recent period, however, has seen a renewal of relevant research in this area. In Chapter 1, Élisabeth Vallet provides an analysis of border walls on a global scale, in order to understand them as interconnected phenomena. Gradually border lines have become more and more fortified and seem to tend towards a never-ending spiral of securitization. Despite the fact that border wall discourses rely on different situations and justifications, the fortification process circularly comes back to its inner link with sovereignty and identity politics. Hence the first part of the book, “Enforcing the Line”, assesses the normalization of the border wall within a broader trend of rebordering and thickening of the border, as well as its symbolic weight on competing identities. In Chapter 2, David Shirk offers an overview of the processes of enforcement at the US–Mexico border throughout the years, highlighting how moral panic has been used by political discourses to justify reinforcement of the borderlands. Lack of cost-benefit analysis reinforces the use of the border as a political tool. Building on the idea of discourses and the role of politics in border walls and border enforcement, Robert Andolina offers, in Chapter 3, an incursion into border walls in South America. Building on a case study that is often invisible in Border Studies, this analysis shows how globalization and antiimmigration sentiment, national politics and local dynamics can come into play and help explain how a border wall comes to be built and is received. Chapter 4 links these discourse practices at the national level with international dynamics. Jussi Laine illustrates how borders are more than spaces, and their reinforcement is linked with ontological insecurity and the perceived security that hard borders can produce through an analysis of bordering practices in the EU. These discourses, both contemporary and historic, are important factors in our perceptions

Introduction  5 of borders. In Chapter 5, Christine Leuenberger looks at how borders between Israel and Palestine have come to be, and how borders are more than lines in the sand, but rather are products of discourses, politics, people and topographical challenges that have impacts beyond paper. Said Saddiki furthers the discussion on historical borders’ contemporary impacts with a study of the Algeria–Morocco border. The analysis in Chapter 6 highlights how inherited colonial borders are a continuous source of tension – and how in an increasingly bordered world, those borders can come to be sealed. Chapter 7 concludes the first part of this volume linking discourses and biopolitics. James Scott’s research on Hungary brings forward the links between borders and national identity politics, with a focus on both physical and biopolitical manifestations of border controls. Border walls are much more than a physical artefact along a border line. Through the security and identity discourses that support their construction, border walls have penetrated the daily lives of those who cross the border just as much as the lives of those who live near the line without crossing it. Border wall discourses have extended to the establishment of technological barriers that stretch far beyond a state’s geographical boundaries. This evolution has triggered the permanence of several states of exception, almost Agambian, deep into both the conscious and the unconscious, paving the way for more symbolic walls. One of the chapters included in Part II, “Walled Borders, Walled Lives”, addresses the impacts of the wall in relation to the evolution of the border from a simple line to a zone. In Chapter 8, Matthew Longo suggests changing the question we ask ourselves as researchers. Rather than looking at the border, he analyzes how the border sees us. This discussion allows for both a reconceptualization of the border from an object to an active space of state agency and a shift from the ­politics of the border to the bodies it looks at. Building on the various levels of bordering and the focus on the individuals subject of the border wall’s gaze, ­Andréanne Bissonnette’s Chapter 9 brings forward the implication of bordering practices on the most intimate form of borders: The body. Through the case study of the US–Mexico border, this chapter analyzes the impact of border policies on access to reproductive health for Latina women. In Chapter 10, Raphaela Kormoll highlights the challenges of bordering practices on farm workers in the Punjab region straddling the boundary between India and Pakistan, where social class, ethnicity and geographical position overlap, creating an array of consequences. In Chapter 11, Margath Walker takes a step back from individuals’ relation to borders to illustrate how one border regime can impact another one through the case study of Mexico’s two borders, at a time where migration increases and individuals are faced with changing policies and insecurities, as their mobility allows for a better understanding of how securitized borders and production of precarity are interconnected. Finally, in Chapter 12, Irasema ­Coronado looks at what happens when border communities come together and find ways to circumvent federal and state immigration policies. Through the lens of Acompañamiento Internacional, this chapter looks at how border residents can be agents of change and awareness for more vulnerable populations.

6   Introduction

Notes 1 This research was supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. 2 The walls studied here are international walls as opposed to sub-national walls. It should be mentioned, however, that the former often respond to the same logic as infranational walls, particularly in a Foucauldian perspective of exclusion outside the city walls.

Bibliography Amilhat-Szary, A.-L. and F. Giraut. (2015). “Borderities: The Politics of Contemporary Borders”. In A.-L. Amilhat-Szary and F. Giraut (Eds.), Borderities and the Politics of Contemporary Mobile Borders, pp. 1–19, New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Anderson, J. and L. O’Dowd. (1999). “Borders, Border Regions and Territoriality: Contradictory Meanings, Changing Significance”. Regional Studies, vol.  33, no.  7, pp. 594–595. Anzaldua, G. (2012). Borderlands – La Frontera: The New Meztiza. 4th ed. San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books, 312pp. Balibar, É. (1996). “Qu’est-ce qu’une Frontière”. In É. Balibar (Ed.), La Crainte des Masses. Politique et Philosophie Avant et Après Marx, pp. 371–380, Paris: Galilée. Balibar, É. (2004). We, The People of Europe? Reflections on Transnational Citizenship. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 304pp. Brambilla, C. (2015). “Mobile Euro/African Borderscapes: Migrant Communities and ­Shifting Urban Margins”. In A-L. Amilhat-Szary and F. Giraut (Eds.), Borderities and the Politics of Contemporary Mobile Borders, pp. 138–154, New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Brown, W. (2009). Murs: Les Murs de Séparation et le Déclin de la Souveraineté Étatique. Paris: Les Prairies ordinaires. Brunet-Jailly, E. (2007). Borderlands: Comparing Border Security in North America and Europe. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 392pp. Popescu, G. (2011). Bordering and Ordering the Twenty-First Century: Understanding Borders. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 192pp. Rösler, M. and T. Wendl. (1999). Frontiers and Borderlands: Anthropological Perspectives. Francfort: Peter Lang, 239pp. Salter, M.B. (2008). “When the Exception Becomes the Rule: Borders, Sovereignty and Citizenship”. Citizenship Studies, vol. 12, no. 4, pp. 365–380. Sassen, S. (2015). “Bordering Capabilities versus Borders: Implications for National Borders”. In A.-L. Amilhat-Szary and F. Giraut (Eds.), Borderities and the Politics of Contemporary Mobile Borders, pp. 23–52, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Vallet, É. and C.-P. David. (2012). “Introduction: The (Re)Building of the Wall in ­International Relations”. Journal of Borderlands Studies, vol. 27, no. 2, pp. 111–119. Van Houtum, H., O. Kramsch and W. Ziefhofer (Eds.). (2005). B/Ordering Space. ­Aldershot: Ashgate, 251pp.

1 State of border walls in a globalized world Élisabeth Vallet

Since the end of the Second World War, 81 border walls have been erected around the world. While several of them have been destroyed over time, one – the Berlin Wall – has come to embody and define the international system throughout the second half of the 20th century. As it went down at the end of the Cold War, and the international system rapidly adjusted, scientists sought to break out of the ­“territorial trap” (Agnew, 1994) fostering a world of flows ­(Castells, 1996), theore­tically emancipated from Westphalian constraints (Badie, 1999, 2000). In that regard, in addition to the waning of sovereignty (Badie, 1999), globalization substantiated the disappearance of territory (Badie, 2000) and, in doing so, of state borders (Ohmae, 1990; Galli, 2001; Zolo, 2004; Schroer, 2006). Within this context, mobility was clearly the new analytical framework of the world system (Balibar and Badie, 2006); these border walls were the archaic symbols of the fixity of an ancient world (Pollman, 2013; Frankfurt, 2010; Klein, 2002: xx). The beginning of the 21st century, embodied by the events of 9/11, offered another narrative, one that geographers had clearly assessed, where borders still mattered (Newman and Paasi, 2008; Koff, 2017). Globalization had rather led to the redefinition of territories and was not opposed to the fragmentation of the world (Vallet, 2019) since the “loss of sovereignty does not mean the loss of ­territoriality” (Newman, 2003: 16). Since globalization is not uniform, mobility is in fact becoming a determining element of the global social stratification (Ritaine, 2009; Sassen 2014). Borders are mobile (Cuttitta, 2015; Amilhat Szary and Girault, 2015), reticular and complex (Dullin and Forestier-Peyrat, 2015: 7–9; Agnew, 2008: 175; Canale, 2017): the concept of borderities is key to account for their complex meshwork (Amilhat Szary, 2015: 49–50, 105). Both open and closed (Delmotte and Duez, 2016), borders are thus “elastic” (Mayor, 2011: 661), “asymmetric membranes” (Hedetoft, 2003: 152) and define spaces of exception, bearers of differential inclusion (Kasparek, 2016). Contemporary literature inscribes the borders in the contradictory movements of globalization: From this standpoint, borders are consubstantial with globalization – they are even globalized themselves (Dullin and Forestier-Peyrat, 2016), inherent to the “borderline-world” (Cuttitta, 2007): the reaffirmation of state sovereignty through the reinforcement of borders is therefore part of the very logic of globalization (Brown, 2009; Zapata-Barrero, 2013: 13).

8   Élisabeth Vallet In fact, “the national state claims its old splendor in asserting its sovereign right to control its borders” (Sassen, 1996: 59). Spaces where walls are erected combine both the modernity of a new norm in international relations (Vallet and David, 2012; Feigenbaum, 2010) and the archaic dimension of a feudal fortification (Paquot, 2006). For a long time though, border walls as a global phenomenon remained marginal in academic literature – with key contributions by Brown, Dear, Foucher, Jones and Newman. Recent literature offers new perspectives on border wall infrastructures (Szabó, 2018) and their functions (Callahan, 2018). In decentralizing the analysis ­(Pallister-Wilkins, 2015), recent research proposes avenues to explore the dynamics at work in the accelerating process of border fortification, as well as its social, environmental and economic impacts (see Carter and Poast, 2020; Jusionyte, 2017, 2018; Trouwborst, Fleurke and Dubrulle, 2016). They examine the physical and symbolic violence (Díaz-Barriga and Dorsey, 2020; Ganivet, 2019; Cheng-Hin Lim, 2019) induced by this armoring of borders as it redefines spaces and mobilities even through the necessary doors that are ­formally or informally (Vallet, 2019) created to cross them (Zolberg, 198: 406; Andreas, 2000: 2).

What is a wall? Terminology is crucial to the qualification and deciphering of border work: “wall, obstacle, fence, barrier, dam, border … of impediment, security, separation, apartheid, against terror” (Sivan, 2006: 98), the situated viewpoint is the key to the designation that the researcher must identify. “Calling any of these elements a [wall/barrier/fence] is not a judgment about what it is as an object, but about your position as a speaker” (Wills, 2016: 316). In that sense, the debate that took place during the International Court of Justice (ICJ)’s examination of the Israeli–Palestinian wall/barrier/fence issued in 2004 reflects the semantic discrepancies arising from the situated viewpoint – the ICJ ultimately opted for the term “wall” (Gheslin in Sorel, 2010). Thus, the term “wall” will be employed here in a generic manner, to refer to border infrastructure in the form of barriers/fences/walls: (1) whose foundations are fixed and of masonry (Gheslin in Sorel, 2010), (2) that delineate part of the border outside regular points of entry and (3) whose official or unofficial functions are to assert a territorial border/claim and/or prevent the effective passage of persons and goods. The generic term “wall” allows the inclusion, beyond the infrastructure in the form of fences with a masonry structure, of the entire system that may surround them (roads and perimeter railings, hemmed in with cables connected to sensors, dotted with “chevaux de frise” or punctuated with surveillance posts, minefields, infrared cameras, lighting, biometric measurements and sensors). Nor can it be ignored that these structures are often part of a broader “political system”, incorporating processes of border internalization (Ritaine, 2009: 158). The border wall differs from the border in three ways. First, it is defined unilaterally by the constructing state (Chaichian, 2013: 321) at the expense of the neighboring state: Whereas the demarcation line is in principle bilateral and

State of border walls in globalized world   9 governed by conventions, established by the border states, the wall is – with a few exceptions (Sajjad, 2006) – unilateral and exclusive. Second, in doing so, its course follows the border line within the territory of the constructing country and does not coincide with the demarcation line. Third, the border is an interface (Monty and Cavazos, 2016; Gottman, 1952: 123) between two sovereignties, whereas the wall reduces it to a marginal dimension of what a border represents. Indeed, the notion of border includes both “soft borders” defined as open, porous and inclusive, and “hard borders” characterized as closed, sealed and exclusive (DeBardeleben and Neuwalh, 2005: 11, 23; Zielonka, 2002: 11–12), of which walls are merely a meagre portion.

The growing pace of border fortification Over the past decade, the pace of border wall announcements has been steadily increasing. Whether in Asia with the construction by Pakistan of a wall on its Iranian border, in Europe with the strengthening of Russia’s borders with its neighbors, or to alleviate the shortcomings of the Dublin Convention, in South America on Ecuador’s border with Peru, in Africa as with Kenya and Tunisia in the face of rising transnational terrorism, or even in the US, the number of border walls is unprecedented in recent world history. Not only was the beginning of the 21st century marked by a drastic increase in the number of border fortifications in a more global world (Yester, 2009), but the        

                          



Figure 1.1 Borderwalls 1940–2019. Sources: Élisabeth Vallet, Mathilde Bourgeon, Thalia D’Aragon-Giguère, Sofia Ababou, Frédérique Verreault.

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Figure 1.2 Walled dyads 1980–2019. Sources: Élisabeth Vallet, Mathilde Bourgeon, Thalia D’Aragon-Giguère, Sofia Ababou, Frédérique Verreault with Kathleen Staudt’s database.

trend accelerated in the decades that followed. They have once again become one of the symbols of the sanctuarization of territory and state sovereignty (Stephenson and Zanotti, 2016; Brown, 2009; Jones, 2012). In 2019, 72 border walls scarify nearly 31,000 km of borders and impact more than one-fifth of the world’s dyads. The construction of walls as the standard response to insecurity makes them a critical border issue for states, particularly democratic states (Díaz-Barriga and Dorsey, 2020) – which make up the bulk of building states (see Figure 1.3).

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Figure 1.3 Border walls and political regimes 2019. Sources: Élisabeth Vallet, Mathilde Bourgeon, Thalia D’Aragon-Giguère, Sofia Ababou, ­Frédérique Verreault.

State of border walls in globalized world   11 In the aftermath of 9/11, they were erected at a pace that defied all predictions: With the construction of 56 walls after the attacks, including 32 during the aftershocks of the Arab Spring both in the Middle East and in Europe, among which seven in the Schengen area, these fortifications are redefining borders, sealing hard lines where once there were soft borders. On one hand, border fortifications are not new.1 On the other, the functions of a wall are not fixed in time. Callahan analyzes the case of the Great Wall of China: “the great wall was never a continuous wall along a single line boundary but dozens of discontinuous and overlapping walls built at a different time by different people for different purposes” (Callahan, 2019). Hence, over time, “all walls change their appearance and functions, in some cases ending up by performing an exclusively political role (the wall between the Vatican State and Italy) and in others failing and disappearing altogether (the Berlin Wall)” ­(Gasparini, 2017: 63) or adopting a more symbolic role until it remains solely as a cultural attraction (Gasparini, 2017: 16). The justification of a wall may even vary between the announcement of its construction, and its effective erection. After the Second World War, border walls often represented the means of establishing a de facto border, stemming the escalation of a confrontation between riparian states, establishing a “negative peace” (Gasparini, 2016: 81; David and Rapin, 2020: 86). It is, for example, the case with the border between the two Koreas, the two parts of Cyprus, between Ukraine and Russia, or along the borders of Israel. Those are “a unilateral attempt to demarcate common borders (…) that can be turned to de facto boundaries” (Saddiki, 2017: 6). In the contemporary period, and more particularly since the end of the 20th century, walls have crystallized the contrast between two spaces: The space of security and the space of risk. Walls aimed (in the official discourses announcing their erection) at preventing the passage of goods or individuals (“anti” walls) are

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Figure 1.4 Official motivations for wall building. Sources: Élisabeth Vallet, Mathilde Bourgeon, Thalia D’Aragon-Giguère, Sofia Ababou, ­Frédérique Verreault.

12   Élisabeth Vallet becoming predominant (62% of them – see Figure 1.4). The legitimating discourses have even often amalgamated the threats of migration, terrorism and smuggling, using them as interchangeable notions (Vallet, 2019: 159). Eighty percent of those walls are built along an economically asymmetrical border2: “there is always a significant potential imbalance of power” (Saddiki, 2017: 4). Not only do they reflect an asymmetry but they also “create hierarchies and produce difference” (Mbembe, 2017: 7; Stephenson and Zanotti, 2013: 5). They correspond to the transformation of a traditional issue (migration/traffic pressure) into a security issue (migration/health threat): The border is embedded into national security.

The (un)efficient border wall The difficulty in assessing the effectiveness of border walls lies in the fact that the discourses presiding over their construction postulate their impermeability. This “fantasy of impermeability” (Brown, 2013: 123) hides a more complex reality. First the illusion of “impermeability” is both temporary and territorially restricted – most evaluations of the effectiveness of the wall are based on too few factors (in time and space) and do not consider the adaptability of local border actors. Second, it eclipses the idea that the very porosity of the wall may actually be mobilized by those stakeholders who wish to strengthen their foothold at the periphery. Hence, a too narrow (and sometimes convenient) focus (in space and time) tends to reinforce the narrative of the walling success, while occulting spatial spillovers and adaptive behaviors triggered by the existence of the wall. From this perspective, even the oft-quoted example of the Israeli experience is not conclusive. The efficiency of Israeli border fences has been widely discussed to the point where the barrier is not even among the major factors [contrary to what the government has been stating since its construction] in preventing suicide attacks (Ben-Rafael and Galanti, 2017: 234). As for the fence along the Egyptian border, a similar observation has been made: “the border wall has only partially contributed to the decrease [in immigration] and other measures enacted by the Israeli government have also been of immense importance” (Flores, 2017: 10). In the US, border walls have been said to be merely speedbumps (as stated on a since deleted webpage of the main USBP union3): they are designed to simply slow down (rather than impede) irregular border crossing (GAO, 2017: 21–22; Aguilar, 2017) and depend on a more foucaldian “global dispositive” to achieve their purpose (whether in terms of technologies or public policies). Some data analysis (mostly those on which building states rely) ignore the evaporation effect of the wall in space and time. Other research however has delved into how local actors adapt, how border crossing changes overtime, and the spillover effects of the wall. For instance, the “Egyptian (Israeli) wall has not stopped all smuggling completely but it has forced Hamas to go to greater lengths in order to move goods” (Flores, 2017: 11). In studying the West Bank barrier, Gemantsky, Grossman and Wright analyze the spatial repercussions of

State of border walls in globalized world   13 the fence, showing that the wall has diverted smuggling routes and “increased the costs of smuggling stolen vehicles from Israel into the west bank” (2019: 331). In Israel, where the smaller size of the borders allows for an easier assessment of their impact, Fences don’t really provide security. […] Number one, we built a fence on the southern border with Gaza, and what did we get? Missiles over the fence, so we installed Iron Dome [essentially], raising the fence to endless heights to catch rockets. Then we got the tunnels, and we dug underground, so we are in an endless challenge of raising and lowering the fence. And now there are [incendiary] kites. So it’s all a false sense of security.4 Assessing the fences erected in Europe over the past few years, Minca and Rijke conclude that “walls do not block migrants’ mobility. Rather, they make these people evaporate and reappear elsewhere, where another wall may soon be erected.” (2017). Claiming a full efficiency assumes that activities do not relocate geographically and over time: They ignore the fact that smuggling (whether drugs, weapons or people) will morph into more organized, underground schemes (Nuñez-Neto and Vina, 2016: 26), harder in fact to control (Vallet, 2019: 158). Postulating the impermeability of the wall therefore diminishes the visibility of border crossings and increases both the probability and profitability of informal crossings (Agier, 2016: 55). Peter Andreas for instance explained how regular border crossers had to adapt and turn to sophisticated “illegal” ­practices (2000). On the other hand, Massey, Durand and Pren show the counterproductive impact of border fences, when migrants tend to extend the duration of their stays north of the border [into the building country] “in part to cover the increased costs of border crossing” (2016; on these increasing costs, see Rubio Salas, 2011). Deterrence through a border fence is an illusion (Vallet, 2019) and circumvention strategies range from resistance, civil disobedience (Vallet, 2014) and art (Rael, 2017; Ganivet, 2019) to tunnels (McCarthy, 2009)5 and smuggling schemes – bribery, drones, submarines, ramps deployed over even high fences, or simply ladders (Choi, 2016: 517; Longmire, 2017; Herweck and Nicol, 2019) … even “tearing down the fence and selling steel as scrap metal” (Gasparini, 2019: 18). Globally, the “bulk of smuggling and the illegal traffic of drugs and weapons pass through official crossing points, most often with the most intense cross-boundary circulation” (Kolossov, 2016: 184), showing the low efficiency of border walling (Saddiki, 2016: 122). Gemantsky et al. suggest that “even when border walls raise smuggling costs they do little to reduce cross border smuggling if fortification is partial” (2019: 332). However, due to the globalization of flows – whether regular or not – we could consider that fortification is always partial: The announcement of floating barriers by the Greek government6 reveals the border wall “colander syndrome”. Although it is difficult to assess those “evaporated flows”, the annual value of cross border smuggling and trafficking is estimated “at 1.014 trillion US$, a third of which is the value of the global drug trade. Trafficking in humans […] in

14   Élisabeth Vallet 2016 [generated] an economic return of about 7 billion US$” (Gemantsky et al., 2019: 330). Hence smugglers have the “ability to adapt to hard line enforcement poli­cies [which] proves the lack of efficacy of this approach” (Walker, 2018a). Therefore, the deployment of new barriers without a full assessment of their effectiveness and cost-benefit (GAO, 2018), shows that the main preoccupation is not impermeability. Actually, they perform the same differentiated functions as any border, and remain porous (Till et al., 2003). However, according to Simonneau (2015) militarization around these territorial ­boundaries is centered on managing the “porosity of contiguous territories rather than their impermeability as officially professed”. Minca and Rijke take it one step further in stating that actually “the relative porosity of the walls is key to their functioning” (2017). They believe that, in the case of migratory walls, “the migrants’ mobility and the related ‘crisis’ is in fact what legitimizes more walls, more walling, more security interventions” (Minca and Rikke, 2017). Ibsen Morales concurs: The wall depends on the “illegal migrant” to the point of becoming consubstantial of it (2009). It further “illegalizes border crossing” (Weber and Pickering, 2011: 2) and legitimizes a posteriori the erection of a fortification along the border – the 2018 migrant caravan crisis on the southern border of the US being the epitomy of such a phenomenon (see Walker in this volume).

The entropy of order7 Walls are designed as a rampart against perceived security problems, with no clear evidence of their actual effectiveness (Filipec and Macková, 2019). While their legitimacy lies in the restoration of an ancient order, border walls produce entropy: Walling is “a perverted matrix that transforms meaningful order into an illegitimate, rigid structure” (Horvath, 2019: 31). In those interstitial spaces (Newman, 2003: 19), wall building is linked to a “lasting violence, even a state of war” (Agier, 2016), which can take the form of economic, social but also environmental violence (Vallet, 2017). The resulting tension leads to a crescendo of violence fed, in a way, by the state sedentary bias – where “mobility is perceived as a danger” (Chebel D’appollinia, 2012). Hence, the feudalization of the border (see Gasparini, 2017: 68–69) submits borderlands to both a centrifugal and a centripetal effect. First the centrifugal effect of the frontier relegates border spaces to the margins of the territory but also to the confines of the rule of law, designing ­borderlands as spaces of exception: “a wall to some extent insulates the state from human rights duties” (Paz, 2017: 603). In that context the addition of a wall “has given rise to some of the most violent communities in the world” (Gasparini, 2017: 18). Then, the centripetal effect of the frontier has transformed borderlands into locus of experimentation, “laboratories”8 where the center weighs more than on the rest of the national territory: “the centripetal effect of [closed] borders [is] the orientation towards the interior of the people inhabiting

State of border walls in globalized world   15 the enclosed territory” (Van Houtum, 1998: 16; see also Vollaard, 2009: 698). In the peripherical space, the national exteriority is being so interiorized that it “provides [the state] citizenry with evidence of the protective power of the state and simultaneously grounds […] that state’s demands to increase its power over […] that citizenry” (Bowman, 2019: 79). It also reveals “an alarming concentration of power cloaked in the language of security” (Walker, 2018b). In that context, walls act as “colonial tools” (Stümer, 2019: 3) that carry a disproportionate impact on a marginalized population (Wilson, 2010) through “their relationship to mobility” (Pallister Wilkins, 2015: 443) inevitably fueling additional violence (Weber and Pickering, 2011: 133; Cannon, 2016). In that regard, border walling and concrete border walls contribute paradoxically to the erosion of sovereignty (Konrad, 2015). Hence, in recent times, their relevance relies on the fact that they are “visible [and …] photogenic” (Agier, 2016: 55), a “spectacle” (Garrett, 2018: 191), a “simulacrum” (Baudrillard, 1981; 2006), “a type of public display that demarcates the territory and reflects a deeper and often conflicted ontology of hope and/or fear” (Shirlow and Murtagh, 2004) key to the construction of identities and space (Stephenson and Zanotti, 2013: 3; Brown, 2009: 16). They do not address a substantiated external threat but feed on “a xenophobic ­identity” they reproduce through alienization (DeChaine, 2009: 61). Recent research has therefore correlated the influence of right-wing parties and the prevalence of an identity discourse that ultimately led to the building of several walls in Europe (Ruiz, 2018). Hence border walls perform a “theatrical presence” (Minca and Rifke, 2017) for the benefit of an internal audience. To the point where the performance is sometimes limited to the sole announcement of a hypothetic wall – in the last decade, 15 of them have been announced, sometimes even funded but not ­effectively built. The spectacle of the wall tends to mask not only “the contestations, controversies, but also cooperation and negotiations between social and state actors in the implementation of border security policies” (Simonneau, 2019: 102). It ends up creating the illusion that the enclosure of the territory is the panacea. However, the sole fact that “walling is growing and prosperous does not supply the positive proof about its necessity” (Horvath, 2019: 30). So, why build walls? Given that populations are increasingly sensitive to global risks, it is easy to brandish a ready-made solution, which, even if it siphons off public funds, shows that the government is taking action – Trump’s re-election strategy attests to this (Miroff and Dawsey, 2019). In the short term, this mise-en-scène can be electorally effective. But in the longer term, walls are a temporary illusion offering a vain response to a poorly controlled globalization and to the lack of international commitment in solving problems whose dimension extends far beyond state borders. We live “a time where overlaps of mass migration flows, economic meltdown and global environmental crisis fuel authoritarian populist fire” (Turhan and Armiero, 2017: 2) but at the same time, those flows will not be forever contained by archaic ­ramparts.

16   Élisabeth Vallet History has shown that border walls always end up falling … either physically or symbolically.

Notes 1 With the famous walls of the city of Jericho around 8000BC, the Roman empire’s limes (Hadrian’s Wall, Antonine Wall, Fossatum Africae, Limes Germanicus), the Byzantines’ (Anastasian Wall), the Sassanid Empire’s (Gorgan Wall), the Anglo-Saxons’ (Offa’s Dyke), the Danes (Danevirke), the Great Wall of China, as well as in precolonial Africa (Nigeria, Benin, Sungbo Eredo), in Japan (Genko Borui), on the southern borders of the Russian Empire; in the modern era, defensive walls such as the Maginot line, the Alpine wall or the Atlantic wall. Colonial walls such as the Morice Line, the Bar Lev Line. See Vernon and Zimmerman, 2019; Szakolczai, 2019. 2 This research is based on the data collected by Élisabeth Vallet, Mathilde Bourgeon, Thalia D’Aragon-Giguère, Sofia Ababou and Frederique Verreault. This research is funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. 3 http://web.archive.org/web/20190104055705/https:/bpunion.org/media-faq/media-faq/. Accessed May 1, 2020. 4 Director of the Project on Political Warfare at the Jerusalem Center of Public Affairs Dan Diker, quoted by Hosh Hasten, in “Is Israel’s security barrier a terrorism deterrent or political tool?”, JNS, December 2018, p. 26. 5 The Border Patrol announced on January 29, 2020 that they discovered the longest cross-border tunnel to date (1.31km) in the San Diego-Tijuana region. www.cbp.gov/ newsroom/local-media-release/longest-cross-border-tunnel-discovered-san-diego. Accessed May 1, 2020. 6 www.army.gr/sites/default/files/asdys_dpm_2.pdf. Accessed May 1, 2020. 7 This concept was coined by Jean-Jacques Roche in 1994. Le système international contemporain. Paris, Clefs: Monchrestien. 8 The word “border laboratory” as actually came up in several interviews (conducted by the author between 2016 and 2019) with both officials and locals along the US meridional border and was employed as a means to convey a sense of the tension between those centripetal and centrifugal forces.

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Part I

Enforcing the line

2 The escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement David A. Shirk1

Introduction On March 13, 2018, President Donald Trump visited the San Diego sector of the US–Mexico border to inspect eight prototypes for a new barrier to prevent unwanted entry to the US. Standing 30 feet tall and featuring a variety of colors and surfaces, the models were constructed by six US contractors in one month at a cost of up to $500,000.2 The prototypes were a symbolic demonstration of Mr. Trump’s effort to secure the border by building a “big, very beautiful wall”, one of his most prominent campaign promises (Nixon and Qiu, 2018). The ­prospect of a wall rallied many of Mr. Trump’s supporters and became a key rhetorical symbol during the campaign. While unprecedented in some ways, Mr. Trump’s call for a literal wall between the US and Mexico provides only the latest illustration of the scapegoating and inflamed rhetoric that have been employed by savvy politicians and biased media outlets for decades to create a state of “moral panic” about a wide range of cross-border issues, including immigration, drugs and terrorism. To help contextualize recent efforts to strengthen US border controls, this chapter examines US border security measures in terms of the successive phases or policy “regimes” that have developed since the early 20th century. This discussion helps to evaluate the implications of the latest wave of border madness over migration from Central America, and particularly Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador.

Theorizing border security escalation as moral panic Perhaps nowhere have the contradictions of globalization been more evident and more ardently studied than along the US–Mexico border. The nearly 2,000-mile boundary constitutes the longest border between a developed and underdeveloped country and has long been a subject of efforts to strengthen security measures. In the 1970s and 1980s, for example, US law enforcement efforts ramped up in response to growing outbound Mexican migration. Scholarly works, like Joseph Wambaugh’s Lines and Shadows (1984), characterized the crack down on criminality and undocumented immigration at the border as compelling

28   David A. Shirk moral drama, complete with heroes (US law enforcement), villains (smugglers and bandits) and unwitting victims (undocumented immigrants). Subsequent scholarship has chronicled the development and consequences of an ever-growing border security complex that has accrued a seemingly endless quantity of resources, including physical barriers, manpower, technology and equipment (Andreas, 2000; Ong Hing, 2010; Dreby, 2010; Henderson, 2011; Simmons and Mueller, 2014). Despite decades of enhanced law enforcement efforts, the US–Mexican border remains highly permeable to unauthorized trans-national flows of all kinds. This has, in turn, led to diametrically opposing policy recommendations. On the one hand, conservative politicians and their constituents have consistently called for ever greater investments in border security, emphasizing especially the damage caused by illicit drugs and undocumented immigrants to US society. On the other hand, other critics of the current border security regime have emphasized the costs – economic, environmental and human – and the ineffectiveness of tougher border security measures in controlling drugs and migration, prompting a wave of recent progressive scholarship that has begun to argue for a renewed commitment to the idea of a borderless world, reimagining and embracing the free flow of good, people, capital and ideas.3 Progressive advocates of trans-nationalism and “open borders” face an enormous challenge, and their calls have thus far fallen on deaf ears. As the Trump era has made increasingly clear, the forces of nationalism are very much alive and committed to the protecting territorial boundaries as both a manifestation and a symbol of national power and identity. Moreover, the appetite for tougher border enforcement measures appears to be growing worldwide, as public perceptions and rhetoric describe borders as lawless and out of control.4 While such fears may be founded in legitimate concerns, there is ample room for manipulation of public opinion and often the perception of cross-border threats is greatly exaggerated. As Peter Andreas argued in Border Games (2000), politicians and border security ­personnel have strong political and bureaucratic incentives to stoke public misunderstandings and fears about the border as a means to gain political support and marshal resources for their preferred government agencies. As Massey et al. (2016) observes, this kind of fear mongering has been employed for decades to generate what historians and sociologists refer to as a “moral panic” about the border. Moral panics result from deep-seated public anxieties and often outlandish misconceptions, but also from the ability of social and political entrepreneurs to stoke and harness these sentiments and beliefs to achieve specific objectives.5 In this sense, contemporary border politics are especially prone to moral panics, as the very idea of a border is directly linked to the founding mythologies of any nation state. Images of territorial boundaries drawn on a map generate comforting notions of physical security and separation that do not neatly conform with the reality of how borders truly look and function on the ground. Thus, the contrast between the imagining and reality of borders creates a disjuncture that can be easily become a cause of public alarm.

Escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement   29 Today, public fears about the border are especially ripe for moral panic as a consequence of globalization. Globalization has contributed to the massive relocation of people around the world, with an estimated 214 million people living outside their countries of origin and hundreds of millions wishing they could do so (DeParle, 2010; Esipova et al., 2011). In the late 20th and early 21st centuries, the US was the destination for the largest proportion of this global wave of migration, with most of its share coming from Mexico and other parts of the Americas. Thus, it is important to examine the ways in which recent rhetoric and policies towards immigrants – especially Mexican and Central American immigrants – reflects the fears and insecurities of an age of uncertainty brought on by globalization. Below, I trace the course of US border security policy changes over the course of three distinct phases or “regimes” centered around successive moral panics over immigration, drugs and the war on terrorism. Each of these border security policy regimes has been founded on public fears and insecurities that contributed to the escalation of US–Mexico enforcement and the context of current border security debates.

Early US border enforcement control efforts A century ago, the US–Mexico border was relatively “open”. That is, throughout the 19th century and until the proclamation of the closing of the frontier by the US Census in 1890, there was little enforcement of immigration controls at or between official points of entry. It is remarkable that the border remained largely “unprotected” both before and after the hostilities of the US–Mexican war, which ceded nearly half of Mexico’s territory to the US under the 1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. Even after that conflict, efforts to secure the newly acquired territory were sporadic and disjointed. Occasional patrols were formed by the US military, local law enforcement authorities, and white vigilante groups that clashed intermittently with the original Native American inhabitants, conquered Mexican settlers, and Chinese and Japanese immigrants drawn to the Southwest as agricultural workers (Lytle Hernandez, 2010). However, by and large, the border was a vast, open territory subject to relatively little state control over the course of the 19th century. As Kelly Lytle Hernandez (2010) observes, the first concerted federal immigration enforcement efforts between points of entry were introduced in 1904, when the US Immigration Service organized mounted patrols of immigration inspectors, primarily in an effort to prevent the entry of Chinese immigrants barred from entry to the US.6 Racist fears and moral panic over the “Yellow Peril” proliferated in the US, Europe and Russia during the late 19th century, owing to the waves of Chinese migrants displaced by wars and invasions by colonizing powers (Lusk, 1907; Buell, 1923). Drawn into the highly exploitative “coolie” trade, these oft-indentured workers became a key part of the labor force during the first wave of globalization (Stewart, 1954; Crawford Campbell, 1924; Valentine Daniel, 2008). Like immigrants today, there was little appreciation for the contributions of Asian migrant laborers to the building of Western prosperity.

30   David A. Shirk Rather, they were hated, harassed and sometimes lynched or massacred due to the racial prejudices and economic animosities caused by labor market displacement among the white working poor (Boswell, 1986; Saxton, 1971). Indeed, in an effort to stem unwanted Chinese immigration, early mounted patrols were deployed in El Paso, Texas, though at first they had little manpower and few designated resources.7 With the passage of the national origins quotas established by the Immigration Act of 1924, Congress immediately approved the Labor Appropriation Act of 1924 that created the US Border Patrol (USBP) to prevent the entry of immigrants between ports of entry.8 The new agency was housed within the Immigration Bureau of the Department of Labor, appropriated a budget of $1 million and charged with a mandate to enforce US immigration laws along the northern and southern land borders. Later, Congress passed the Aliens and Nationality Act of 1925, which granted the agency broad powers to detain or arrest aliens in order to enforce immigration laws along a 2,000-mile border that had heretofore been largely unguarded. At its outset, USBP had fewer than 500 poorly trained and ill-equipped inspectors. While some were drawn from the Texas Rangers and from Mounted Patrol units, the vast majority came from non-law enforcement backgrounds (Lytle-Hernandez, 2010). These new USBP inspectors were literally handed a gun and a badge, but had no standardized uniforms until 1928 or official training academy until 1934.9 Most inspectors patrolled the border by horseback; inspectors provided their own horse and gear, while the federal government provided feed.10 From these inauspicious beginnings, the USBP grew relatively quickly as US concerns about border security grew as a result of the enforcement of Prohibition, the Great Depression and the outbreak of the Second World War.11 Meanwhile, the demand for the USBP’s services grew amid the concerns of the prohibition era, the collapse of the US economy led to a backlash against Mexican immigrants and even US citizens of Mexican descent, as many as a million of whom returned home or were involuntarily “repatriated” due to the lack of jobs.12 By 1940, when the agency was transferred from the Department of Labor to the Department of Justice, its personnel grew from 916 to over 1,500 inspectors.13 The war introduced new responsibilities for the agency, as inspectors were detailed to supervise internment camps for US citizens of Japanese descent and to assist in the detection of airborne and maritime enemy invaders in border states. The end of the Second World War re-focused the agency on immigration control with a new intensity at the height of the Bracero Program, a guestworker program that provided special visas for manual and agricultural laborers beginning in 1942 (Public Law 78). The program was initiated to address the shortfall in manual labor caused by the war effort but persisted for years ­afterwards due to the demand from employers for relatively cheap manual labor. Over the course of the 22 years during which that program was in place, nearly 4.5 million Mexican and Central American workers were admitted to the US on a temporary basis. Although the Bracero Program was tarnished by deplorable treatment and labor conditions for these workers, it was the result of a bi-national

Escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement   31 agreement between the US and Mexican federal governments. As such, it ­provided for certain protections and employer responsibilities, including standardized wages, housing, health services, a pension upon repatriation and payment of transportation costs from the home country. Unfortunately, though, the number of visas available under the Bracero Program was insufficient to match the supply of willing laborers and the demand from employers, and ­millions of undocumented workers continued to flood into the US labor market during the 1940s and 1950s.14 Another problem was that the program required laborers to be assigned to a sponsoring employer, and large numbers of Mexicans entered the country without proper permission and/or violated the terms of the program by seeking employment with employers other than the ones who sponsored them. By the end of the Truman administration (1945–53), there were significant concerns over the growing number of undocumented immigrants, as well as increasing frictions with Mexico over the poor treatment of workers enrolled in the program. In 1951, the Mexican government temporarily suspended its participation in the program, a change in policy that was ignored by many US employers and Mexican migrants, who continued to enter the country illegally and fueled a sizeable increase in undocumented immigration. The USBP responded by diverting personnel from the Canadian border, assigning specialized units to deport undocumented immigrants in both border and interior states, and employing boats and airlifts to repatriate tens of thousands of immigrants to the Mexican interior (CBP, 2010). For the Eisenhower administration (1953–61), the surge in undocumented immigrants was a political opportunity to crack down under “Operation Wetback”. The total number of undocumented immigrants deported under the program is disputed, but certainly hundreds of thousands and perhaps over a million people were returned to Mexico. In conducting the operation, the USBP employed mass roundups in large swaths of territory both to detain and encourage undocumented immigrants to flee back into Mexico. Thus, in addition to those removed by USBP sweeps, tens of thousands of Braceros and undocumented laborers also likely returned “voluntarily” to Mexico, and people of Mexican descent were regularly harassed throughout the southwest (including an unknown number of wrongly deported US citizens).15 As a result, Operation Wetback firmly established the reputation of the USBP for discriminatory treatment and occasional brutality against immigrants, and specifically Mexicans.16 At the same time, Operation Wetback greatly expanded and consolidated the USBP’s role as a critical mechanism for border enforcement. The role of the USBP arguably became even more significant following the termination of the Bracero Program in 1964, which was followed by the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act. In addition to creating new country quotas – not based on the discriminatory criteria of the 1920s – the new immigration regime also thereby eliminated special exemptions from such quotas that existed previously for Mexican and Central Americans. With an end to special guest worker visas and new caps on immigration from these countries, the phenomenon of undocumented

32   David A. Shirk immigration proliferated during the late 1960s and 1970s. This provided ample work for Border Patrol agents to continue and intensify its immigration enforcement efforts along the border.17 By the 1980s, continued concerns about undocumented immigration and the passage of IRCA in 1986 dramatically expanded the ranks and resources available to border enforcement agencies.

Immigration, the war on drugs and border enforcement in the 1980s and 1990s Border enforcement efforts intensified significantly in the 1980s due to the ­proliferation of cross-border smuggling and other criminal activities in the Southwest. As the Reagan administration (1981–89) ramped up US counter-drug enforcement efforts, the INS strongly asserted itself in this area. The adoption of drug enforcement as a primary mission of the INS, and specifically the USBP, led to a qualitative shift in the agency’s role and character. In the context of the fight against organized crime, the agency and border enforcement measures in general became increasingly “militarized”, according to Dunn’s (1996) ­characterization. Borrowing from the doctrine of “low intensity conflict” or “counterinsurgency”, border enforcement increasingly relied on technologies and tactics often used in military combat: • • • • • • •

Helicopters and fixed-wing aircraft for transportation and reconnaissance18 Unmanned, remote-controlled aerial drones equipped with cameras Electronic sensors (for the detection of heat, sound and vibration) Night vision, radar and infrared equipment Special forces units (e.g., Border Patrol Tactical Team, BORTAC)19 High-powered firearms (e.g., automatic and semi-automatic weapons)20 Special detention facilities for detainees.

Such innovations were complemented by additional measures to fortify and facilitate operational control of border areas, including greater manpower, closed circuit television systems, high-powered lighting, as well as chain-link fencing. The growth of the USBP was particularly notable, as the number of agents grew from roughly 2,900 in 1980 to around 4,000 by 1994. In addition, the Immigration Act of 1990 called for new physical barriers along the border, which led the following year to the introduction of seven miles of corrugated metal fencing along the San Diego-Tijuana corridor, using military landing mats that were welded together and installed by Navy Seals (Dunn, 1996: 66–67). While chain-linked fencing had been installed in certain border areas in the 1970s, the introduction of a lengthier and more substantial “wall” along the border was a significant shift that invited both praise and criticism (including comparisons to the soon-to-be-defunct Berlin Wall). Advocates of these intensified enforcement efforts lauded them as necessary and overdue measures to promote order in a time of turbulence along the border. In addition to the proliferation of drug trafficking, Mexico began to experience

Escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement   33 severe economic problems during the turbulent decade of the 1980s. In this context, a sense of lawlessness prevailed in key border corridors. Large numbers of would-be immigrants, smugglers and petty criminals congregated in these areas, often using poorly guarded border zones as a staging area for incursions into the US. Individuals who ventured into the no man’s land along the border became easy targets for predatory criminal activities, including robbery and rape. Meanwhile, residents on both sides of the border were subject to property crimes and other inconveniences that contributed to the mounting political support for an escalation of the strategy of concentrated border enforcement in the 1990s and 2000s. In the 1990s, concerns about undocumented immigration and drug trafficking were intensified by the US–Mexican economic integration under the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). As numerous observers have noted, the intensification of enforcement measures during the NAFTA era was sharply at odds with the promise of a brave, new “borderless” world, and thereby illustrated the underlying contradictions and limits of globalization. By the advent of the new millennium, the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks in the US provoked a historically unprecedented expansion and reconfiguring border security measures in an effort to bolster US national security from unseen enemies in an increasingly interconnected world (Longo, 2018). IRCA had directly charged the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) – of which the USBP was a part – with the task of reducing undocumented immigration. As noted earlier, IRCA also likely made this task more difficult, since newly legalized immigrants provided a draw for relatives and friends to enter the US, in many cases illegally. Indeed, by 1990, the number of undocumented immigrants grew to an estimated 3.5 million (Office of Policy And ­Planning, 2004) In response, Sen. Alan Simpson (R-Wyo.) proclaimed: ­“Uncontrolled immigration is one of the greatest threats to the future of this country”. Yet, as Payan (2006) observes, the perception of the threat had less to do with ­competition for jobs than with other concerns. In particular, many US citizens grew convinced that undocumented immigrants were flocking to the US to take advantage of the country’s generous social welfare benefits. Moreover, the prospect of a major economic agreement between Canada, Mexico and the US heightened fears about a “NAFTA Train” of undocumented immigration and organized crime moving across the US–Mexican border. In response to these concerns, US authorities began an aggressive effort to stem the flow of undocumented migration and illegal drugs into the country by developing a strategy of concentrated border enforcement. This strategy is ­credited to El Paso’s then-USBP sector chief Silvestre Reyes, who redeployed hundreds of agents in 1993 to devise what he initially referred to as the “Blockade”. Reyes’s initiative, later relabeled as “Operation Hold the Line”, was arguably a continuation of a trend. That is, his strategy built upon earlier described trends that deployed new technology and physical barriers along the border, such as those that had been introduced in San Diego as recently as 1991. Yet, more so than previous efforts, Operation Hold the Line placed the concept of operational

34   David A. Shirk control at the center of enforcement efforts at the border. Even more important, the real key to Reyes’ strategy was the redeployment of personnel – some 400 USBP agents posted in quarter-mile increments along the border – to deter the unauthorized entry of immigrants. Since the strategy of concentrated enforcement diverted immigration flows to less well-guarded portions of the border, the result was to dramatically drive down attempted crossings in targeted urban areas. Although net levels of undocumented immigration remained unaffected, the ability to achieve ­isolated zones of operational control gained substantial support from locals and captured the attention of national politicians eager for policy solutions to a seemingly ­intractable problem. During the Clinton administration (1992–2000), officials were under intense pressure to do something in part because of criticism from conservatives. As Andreas (2000) notes, the 1994 re-election campaign of Republican governor Pete Wilson in California broadcast video-taped images of immigrants teeming at the border, overwhelming immigration authorities, and charging en masse into the US. These images were repeated by a growing media industry – and especially conservative news commentary from a stream of Fox News personalities like Glenn Beck, Lou Dobbs, Laura Ingraham and Bill O’Reilly – fueled the fears of many ordinary citizens about the rising tide of immigration and the failure to secure US borders. In an effort to address such concerns, in 1994 the Clinton administration appointed San Diego-based US Attorney Alan Bersin as the lead coordinator or “czar” for Southwest border enforcement efforts. Bersin oversaw the implementation of Reyes’ strategy in San Diego under the title “Operation Gatekeeper”, while other corridors along the border did the same. As Hold the Line and Gatekeeper tended to divert flows of immigrants to other sectors of the border, the strategy was later deployed in 1998 in Brownsville, Texas as “Operation Rio Grande” and in Nogales, Arizona in 1999 as “Operation Safeguard”. Combined, these operations produced a dramatic increase in force deployments, fencing and technology over the course of the 1990s. From 1990 to 2000, the number of Border Patrol agents more than doubled to reach over 9,000 agents, and steel fencing and high-tech surveillance systems were deployed throughout the ­Southwest border region. The massive surge was intended to achieve what border authorities referred to as “prevention through deterrence” by raising the costs of unauthorized entry to an extent that would discourage migrants – who were presumed to be rational economic actors – from attempting to enter the US. Indeed, greater enforcement increased not only the probability of being detained at the border, but it also increased the probability of being preyed upon by dodgy migrant smugglers or being injured or killed. In this sense, the policy of prevention through deterrence failed to anticipate the degree to which migrants would be willing to ignore the rising costs and risks associated with border crossing, and large-scale migration continued into the 21st century (Cerrutti and Massey, 2004; Cornelius and ­Salehyan, 2007).

Escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement   35

The war on terror and border enforcement in the 2000s The dramatic increases in border enforcement of the 1990s were followed by an unprecedented and unforeseen crisis that further fueled US concerns about national security along the 2,000-mile perimeter. The September 11, 2001 ­terrorist attacks had an immediate and significant impact on enforcement efforts along the US–Mexican border. On the day of the attacks, the US–Mexican border was temporarily placed on a strict high-security alert that increased wait times for northbound border crossers from previous averages of 30 minutes to approximately four hours. The border was never actually “closed” but, as inspectors scrutinized incoming vehicles and passengers, the lines of northbound traffic at the border stretched for four and five hours long, bringing cross-border economic activity to a virtual standstill in major twin-cities like Laredo–Nuevo Laredo, El Paso–Ciudad Juárez and San Diego–Tijuana. Although there was no evidence that any of the terrorists had entered the country through the US–Mexico border, public anxiety about it was very high and created a political rationale for continued investment in border enforcement measures into the 2000s. This response reflected the genuine sense of confusion and alarm that followed the terrorist attacks; it was difficult to know from what directions the US might be attacked. For example, the deployment of biological weapons, albeit unrelated to the assault on the Twin Towers, suggested that Al Qaeda might have planned for a multi-pronged attack across a wide range of targets. Yet, such fears were also stoked by a torrent of cable media coverage – by CNN, Fox News, etc. – that maintained a steady stream of breaking news and speculation from talking heads to fuel the daily panic over the threat of terrorism (Simon, 2001). In this sensationalized context, a state of heightened alert border continued in the weeks, months and years that followed, deterring legitimate economic activity while driving smugglers and undocumented immigrants to develop more sophisticated means of crossing the border. The attacks also brought major bureaucratic challenges. In the wake of the attacks, the USBP, for example, suffered a drain on its available manpower because numerous agents were transferred to the Federal Air Marshals Program, leaving the organization below pre-9/11 staffing levels. This created significant challenges because of the difficulty of recruiting, screening and training responsible and qualified individuals for these positions; it takes a full year to train and deploy new agents.21 Also important, citing concerns about insufficient interagency coordination in the lead up to the attacks, Congress passed legislation in November 2002 that completely reorganized the structure of federal agencies responsible for border law enforcement and domestic security by creating a new cabinet-level agency, the Department of Homeland Security (DHS). This constituted the largest bureaucratic reorganization in the federal government since the creation of the Department of Defense, and was followed by massive investments in border enforcement.22 In FY2003, the Bush administration (2001–9) requested $37.7 billion for homeland security measures (up from $19.5 billion the previous year),

36   David A. Shirk with roughly 11 billion (28%) reserved specifically for border security. Thereafter, the budget for the newly created DHS grew at an average of about 4% annually to reach $74.4 billion by 2019.23 (See Figures 2.1–2.2.) Amid these spending increases, there was continued growth in the number of personnel assigned to border enforcement, thanks to a series of laws passed by the US Congress, including the Immigration Act of 1990 (authorizing 1,000 new agents), the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act of 1996 (authorizing 5,000 new agents), the USA Patriot Act of 2001   



 

  





 

  













   

                

Figure 2.1 US Department of Homeland Security Budget (Billions of dollars), 2003–19. Source: Department of Homeland Security, Budget in Brief reports, 2003–18.

  

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Figure 2.2 US Immigration and Border Protection Budgets, 2003–19. Source: Department of Homeland Security, Budget in Brief reports, 2003–18.

Escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement   37 (authorizing hundreds of new agents at the northern border), and the Intelligence Reform and Terrorism Prevention Act of 2004 (authorizing 10,000 new agents). As a result, from the 1990s to the 2000s, the Border Patrol more than doubled in size to more than 20,000 agents, with a modest decline after 2013. In any given year, at least 85% of these agents were deployed along the US–Mexico border, with the remainder allocated to the northern border (around 10%) and US coastal regions (around 5%). (See Figure 2.3.) In addition, during the 2000s and 2010s, there were also thousands of additional US military and security personnel from other agencies – the US National Guard, Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms (ATF) – deployed along the Southwest border. The use of US National Guard troops, which began on a small scale in the 1980s, was greatly expanded under the Bush administration, which deployed 30,000 troops to the border from 2006–2008 during “Operation Jump Start” (Argueta, 2016). Due to US doctrine prohibiting the use of military forces for domestic purposes, National Guard troops did not play a direct role in law enforcement and security, but instead provided logistical and administrative support to civilian border protection agencies operating within the DHS. This set a precedent for subsequent deployments, including 1,200 troops sent by President Obama from May 2010 through January 2012, and an estimated 1,000 National Guard troops deployed by Texas Governor Greg Abbot to address the surge in the number of unaccompanied minors from Central America.24 Arguably, the strongest argument for the escalation of border enforcement is the fact that the massive deployment of manpower, technology and fencing 







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Figure 2.3 Total Number of Border Patrol Personnel by Sector, 1992–2017. Source: Department of Homeland Security, “Border Patrol Agent Nationwide Staffing by Fiscal Year”, Fact Sheet, www.cbp.gov/sites/default/files/assets/documents/2017-Dec/BP%20Staffing%20FY​ 1992-FY2017.pdf. Accessed September 23, 2018.

38   David A. Shirk facilitated greater “operational control” in areas that were previously difficult for law enforcement to oversee. The dramatic expansion of border security in the post-9/11 context was accompanied by new fencing and greater physical control of key areas. Thanks to special appropriations for additional border fencing along the Southwest border, DHS more than doubled the amount of primary fencing from 154.7 miles in 2007 to nearly 370 miles in 2008.25 All told, well before Mr. Trump’s proposals for a wall, the 1,954-mile (3,143-kilometer) border was protected by over 650 miles of physical barriers, including over 50 miles featuring two or three layers of fencing and reinforced-concrete posts (Spagat, 2017). By its own account, the USBP had achieved “operational control” of more than half of the US–Mexico border territory by the early 2010s, in so far as it had the capability to effectively deter or interrupt illegal activity in these areas (Rosenblum, 2012). Yet, significantly, US border enforcement efforts also contributed to higher death tolls for migrants who are pushed to greater extremes – crossing the border in the deserts and mountains – in their effort to find jobs on the US side of the border. Tougher border enforcement was intended to raise the stakes and create a deterrent for migrants crossing in major urban corridors along the border. The unintended result has been to redirect migrants to more dangerous routes and has led to the proliferation of lucrative and sophisticated people smuggling organizations. In the early 1990s, the number of immigrants who died at the border en route to the US tended to remain in the low double digits. With heightened border security measures, the number of migrants dying from dehydration and exposure in desert and mountain areas now typically amounts to well above 400 deaths per year. From the mid-2000s to the mid-2000s, over 6,000 people – more than twice the number of killed on 9/11 – had died in their sojourn though mountains and desert areas in an attempt to evade US border authorities.

The Trump era and the new moral panic over the border The account above illustrates the remarkable increase in border security measures over recent decades. Without question, by the second decade of the 21st century, the US–Mexico border region had a greater concentration of security forces than at any point in its history. Moreover, a strong case could be made that efforts to secure the border were working. Thanks to increased enforcement capacity along the border, large numbers of undocumented border crossers were detained in the 1990s and early 2000s, as illustrated by the surge in the number of apprehensions of undocumented immigrants (See Figure 2.4). Moreover, border authorities insisted that the declining number of apprehensions that followed 9/11 were attributable to more effective “prevention through deterrence” achieved through greater enforcement capacity. To be sure, the number of persons attempting to cross the border illegally declined substantially, with net flows of Mexicans to the US reaching zero and decreasing to become negative

Escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement   39        





















































Figure 2.4 Nationwide Illegal Alien Apprehensions Fiscal Years 1925–2018. Source: Customs and Border Protection, www.cbp.gov/sites/default/files/assets/documents/2019-Mar/ bp-total-apps-fy1925-fy2018.pdf. Accessed May 25, 2020.

by 2014 (Gonzalez-Barrera, 2015; Gonzalez-Barrera and Grogstad, 2017). However, lower numbers of apprehensions also at least partly reflected lower demand for immigrant labor stemming from a weaker US economy in the ­post-9/11 era (Rosenblum, 2012). Meanwhile, the number of individuals removed from the US by immigration authorities, which had nearly doubled under President Bush, reached unprecedented levels under President Obama. During Obama’s eight years in office, his administration removed over three million people, compared to the slightly more than 2 million people removed during the Bush administration. Given the 50% increase in removals, Obama was widely criticized among immigration rights advocates for being the “Deporter-in-chief”, though his administration also dramatically refocused removals efforts to prioritize new arrivals and undocumented immigrants with criminal records (Muzaffar et al., 2017). Arguably, both Presidents Bush and Obama apparently hoped to lay the groundwork for legislative reforms to resolve the immigration problem once and for all. Indeed, the prospect of immigration reform seemed tantalizingly close, with a sizeable majority of US citizens favoring the idea of providing amnesty and a path to citizenship to undocumented immigrants.26 Yet, despite widespread public approval for immigration reform, the political support needed to pass immigration reform failed to materialize. Under President Bush, Senators John McCain (R-AZ) and Edward M. Kennedy (D-MA) laid out a grand vision for a compromise to achieve “comprehensive immigration reform” through the Secure America and Orderly Immigration Act (S 1033) of 2005. The McCain-Kennedy bill would have introduced tougher border security measures and stronger workplace enforcement, while also offering undocumented

40   David A. Shirk immigrants the opportunity to obtain temporary immigration status and an eventual path to citizenship, but it failed in the face of Republican opposition. Chastened by the results of the 2012 presidential election, in which Latino voters were widely perceived to have helped re-elect President Obama, moderate Senate Republicans came back to the negotiating table for a new bipartisan initiative in 2013. Four Democratic and four Republican Senators – the so-called “Gang of Eight” – introduced the Border Security, Economic Opportunity, and Immigration Modernization Act of 2013 (Weiner, 2013). The compromise legislation posited permanent resident status and a path to citizenship for undocumented persons living in the US, fostering greater high-skilled immigration, expanding work authorization verification systems and increasing the number of guest worker visas available to low-skilled employees. The bill passed with surprisingly strong support in the Senate (68 in favor, 32 opposed), but was squashed by House Speaker John Boehner, who refused to allow a vote on the legislation. Thus, an estimated 11 million undocumented immigrants – including an estimated 5–6 million Mexicans – remained in limbo by the end of the Obama administration (MacGillis, 2016). The resulting stalemate over US immigration created an opportunity for aspiring presidential candidate Donald Trump. In contrast to most of the contenders in the Republican primary race for the 2016 presidential nomination, Trump adopted an aggressively anti-immigrant stance from the beginning of his campaign. Even as net Mexican immigration had declined to negative levels, Trump specifically vilified Mexican immigration. In announcing his candidacy, he proclaimed that “When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best. They’re sending people that have lots of problems. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists” (Kopan, 2016). Trump’s strategy helped him gain favor among the staunch group of Republican voters that had long opposed the centrist tendencies of moderate party leaders – like presidential candidate John McCain in 2008 and Mitt Romney in 2012 – who were open to compromise on immigration. This ultimately gave Trump not only the Republican nomination, but also an unforeseen edge among voters in key states he needed to win the presidency. Scapegoating immigrants and calling for even tougher border enforcement proved a remarkably successful strategy. Moreover, it was successful not only in the anti-immigrant wing of the Republican party, but among some disaffected Democrats and independent voters. In particular, Trump’s message appeared to resonate most strongly with white, middle class voters grappling with years of weak economic growth, stagnant wages and increased immigration. In this sense, Trump’s nativist appeals were well-matched to his unapologetically neonationalist calls to put “America First”. Moreover, Trump repeatedly returned to the issue of immigration to suit his political purposes at key moments during his presidency, and effectively capitalized on new developments in ways that cultivated a sense of moral panic. Despite the reversal of Mexicans migration to the US, Trump continued to perpetuate the notion that Mexican migration was out of control. When Mexican leaders

Escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement   41 repeatedly refused to cede to Trump’s insistence that Mexico would pay for the construction of the border wall, Trump pressured Congress to come up with the funding. When Congress refused to approve funds for construction of the wall, the resulting fiscal crisis shut down the US government for and left hundreds of thousands of US government employees on furlough for months. Most significantly, the Trump administration’s own policies contributed to a series of self-inflicted, if not manufactured, crises that stoked a sense of moral panic over immigration and the border. First, like the Obama administration, the Trump administration failed to adequately address a growing disparity in the level of immigration enforcement, on the one hand, and the resources allocated to federally operated immigration courts. In particular, immigration rights advocates pointed to inadequate number of judges available to hear immigration cases, which caused a growing backlog in the system (American Immigration Council, 2016). Immigration case backlogs had been somewhat steady during the Bush administration, averaging just below 166,000 pending cases at close of fiscal year from 2000–8, but more than doubled under President Obama from 223,809 cases at close of fiscal year 2009 to 515,031 in fiscal year 2016.27 During Trump’s first two years in office, the rate of case backlogs at close of fiscal year continued to increase by more than 22% annually, with cases pending at close of fiscal year 2017 and cases in 2018 (see Figure 2.5). Meanwhile, the number of days awaiting an immigration hearing nearly doubled from just under a year in 2000 to nearly two years in 2018. These backlogs worsened considerably under the pressure of significant increases in Central American migration that started during the Obama administration, as increased numbers of families 



 



 



 



 

















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Figure 2.5 Immigration Court Backlogs at Close of Fiscal Year, 1998–2019.* Note * Data on case backlogs reflects average for fiscal year from 1998–2018 and latest available data through June 2019. Source: Immigration Court Backlog Tool, Syracuse University, https://trac. syr.edu/phptools/immigration/court_backlog/. Accessed May 13, 2020.

42   David A. Shirk and unaccompanied minors fled growing violence to seek asylum in the US (Cara Labrador and Renwick, 2018; Kandel et al., 2014). The policies of the Trump administration greatly exacerbated the situation. Shortly after Trump took office, in early 2017, immigration officials had begun to separate family members detained at the border, according to Health and Human Services official Jonathan White, who was charged with handling the growing number of children separated from their families (Gomez, 2019). This policy was not made public until more than a year later, when then-Attorney General Jeff Sessions issued a memo announcing the “zero tolerance policy for all offenses referred to prosecution”.28 While “zero tolerance” included a wide range of questionable policies – including holding detainees in fenced cages and cells with exceedingly cold temperatures – the family separation aspect of the policy garnered enormous public attention and outrage. Ultimately, as it was revealed that thousands of children had been separated from their families – and that the administration had no immediate plan for re-unification – public condemnation forced the administration to publicly abandon the family separation policy in June 2018 (Wang, 2018). Shifting its attention to finding ways to limit asylum claims, the Trump administration pressured the Mexican government to allow asylum seekers to “remain in Mexico” while awaiting screenings at the border.29 With thousands of Central American asylum seekers arriving at Mexican border cities, the Trump administration’s continued policy of “metering” these cases caused unnecessary delays for legitimate claims and placed thousands of vulnerable applicants in danger of criminal predation (Human Rights First, 2018). At the same time, Trump launched a series of attacks against Mexico for failing to control its southern border. Specifically, the Trump administration threatened to close the US–Mexico border in April 2019 and to impose severe tariffs in May 2019, withdrawing these threats in both cases when Mexico agreed to redouble its efforts to help stem the tide of Central American migration. Pursuant to a June 2019 agreement with the US, the Mexican government deployed over 6,000 National Guard troops to its southern border and an additional 15,000 to the northern border, prompting criticisms that Mexico was now akin to a “Vichy” state for the Trump administration (Castañeda, 2019). Whatever the case, the moral panic over the US–Mexico border that had begun as a manufactured crisis became a real and ongoing crisis for thousands of Central Americans.

Concluding observations In the century-long escalation of US border control efforts, three trends are noticeable about the policy regimes that have emerged from successive moral panics over border security. First, is the episodic nature of efforts to control the border, which have taken place in response to perceived crises of national ­identity, nativism and nationalism; concerns about cross-border smuggling and the war on drugs; and fears about terrorism and national security. Second, is the tendency for policy makers and public to assume that the complex factors

Escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement   43 underlying these perceived crises can be resolved through simple, unilateral efforts to control the border, rather than trying to address the root causes of the perceived crisis. Finally, there is a remarkable absence of careful cost-benefit analysis regarding the deployment of additional resources and security measures to improve border enforcement. The net result is that, over several decades, US border control policies have evolved in a haphazard fashion without measurable success in stemming the problems they are intended to address. With regard to the most recent moral panic over the border, it is clear that presidential electoral politics now factor more heavily into the equation than at any prior point in history. This arguably reflects the fact that the effects of cross-border flows – of goods, capital and people – are felt more strongly today and in more parts of the US than ever before. The border, once at the fringes of US politics, has become a central focus of debates over US national security, political economy and identity, and is likely to remain so in the battle between the forces favoring and opposing ­globalism in the 21st century.

Notes   1 In the development of this chapter, the author wishes to acknowledge the research assistance of Judith Dávila and Ashley Ahrens-Viquez, as well as helpful comments received from Andréanne Bissonnette, Irasema Coronado, Élisabeth Vallet, and other participants in a series of research symposia sponsored by the Raoul Dandurand Chair at the University of Quebec in Montreal.   2 The contractors included W.G. Yates & Sons, Caddell, Texas Sterling, Fisher San & Gravel, ELTA North America, Inc. (part of an Israeli state-run company), and KWR Construction, Inc. Eliot Spagat, “Hammers, axes will help test Trump border wall prototypes”. Associated Press, October 27, 2017. www.apnews.com/780f027731d34e 8985539ee42c7af369. Accessed May 1, 2020.   3 Emphasis has been placed on the right to migrate on economic grounds, given the long-standing inequalities between the global north and the global south, as well as the plight of refugees and asylum seekers and their rights to protection (Souffrant, 2016; Jones, 2016; Bindgenagel Šehović, 2018; Jones (Ed.), 2019).   4 As Adam Isacson (2015) notes, in the US, “Most U.S. citizens and their political leaders continue to believe that the border is insufficiently guarded and that a variety of cross-border menaces are worsening”.   5 Moral panics have arguably plagued society since the dawn of time and have served as a major driver of social change in different contexts, both for “good” and “ill”. In Biblical times, moral panic pitted society against lepers and prostitutes. In the US colonial era, public superstitions gave rise to literal witch hunts that killed innocent victims based on the capricious and false claims of children. In the transition from apartheid, white South Africans blamed Satanic intervention as the cause of the decline of white privilege (Dunbar and Swart, 2012).   6 These efforts were supported by occasional law enforcement and military patrols along the border (CBP, 2010).   7 The US Congress formally gave the US Immigration Service authority to create designated mounted patrols within the Immigration Service in 1915, though immigration authorities continued to argue for a specific agency for the purpose of patrolling the border. In a 1918 communication, Supervising Inspector Frank W. Berkshire wrote to US Commissioner-General of Immigration Anthony Caminetti, lobbying for

44   David A. Shirk

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11 12 13

14

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19 20 21

an agency that could be specifically tasked with immigration and customs enforcement along the US–Mexico border. Berkshire is cited as stating, “If the services of men now being drafted cannot be spared for this work, it may be that the various departments vitally interested would give favorable consideration to the formation of an independent organization, composed of men with out the draft age. The assertion is ventured that such an organization, properly equipped and trained, made up of seasoned men, would guard the border more effectively against all forms of lawlessness than a body of soldiers of several times the same number”. (CBP, 2010). According to Lytle-Hernandez (2010), the Supreme Court had previously established precedent in the 1916 case of Lew Moy v. the United States that aliens would be considered to be entering the country until they had reached their final destination within the US. The first Border Patrol academy was inaugurated for a class of 34 inspectors in December 1934 at Camp Chigas, El Paso. In 1932, new command posts were established on both the northern and the southern border, in Detroit and El Paso respectively, as the agency’s jurisdiction was expanded not only to include immigration offenses but also the burgeoning industry of crossborder smuggling (CBP, 2010). In 1933, the Bureau of Immigration and the Bureau of Naturalization were folded into a single agency known as the Immigration and Naturalization Service. Dunn estimates the number of immigrants repatriated during the Great Depression between 500,000 and 1 million (1996: 13). Lytle-Hernandez (2010) indicates that there were 916 inspectors in 1939. The Border Patrol indicates that in 1940 “[a]n additional 712 agents and 57 auxiliary personnel brought the force to 1,531 officers. Over 1,400 people were employed by the Border Patrol in law enforcement and civilian positions by the end of WWII”. It is not clear why there were fewer personnel by the end of the war than in 1940 (CBP, 2010). One major problem was that employers in the state of Texas were excluded from the Bracero Program, due to Mexican concerns about practices in that state that contributed to “widespread violation of contracts, discrimination against migrant workers, and such violations of their civil rights as perfunctory arrests for petty causes” (Koestler, 2016). Dunn (1996) points out that the overall deportation effort was largely supported by the Mexican government as a means to protect the interests of Mexicans participating in the Bracero Program. In 1981, the Supreme Court’s ruling in the case of United States v. Cortez found that the Border Patrol agents in that case had the discretion to detain and search individuals based on the “totality of the circumstances”, which essentially granted them the ability to disregard protections from discriminatory racial profiling. That case has since provided a legal precedent for extending to other law enforcement officers the same kind of discretion long exercised by immigration authorities along the border. By 1970, Border Patrol operational personnel were reclassified from being “inspectors” to being “agents”, reflecting a shift in the internal culture of the agency. Dunn notes that the number of helicopters operated by the Border Patrol increased significantly over the 1980s, from two in 1980 to nine in 1982 and 22 in 1988 to 58 in 1992. The number of fixed wing aircraft went from 28 planes in 1981 to 46 in 1988 to 43 in 1992 (1996: 43–44, 69). BORTAC was founded in 1984 and went on to participate in a wide range of law enforcement functions beyond immigration control, including counter-drug operations, crop eradication and riot control. Dunn cites the introduction of M-14 and M-16 type rifles for special use to Border Patrol agents operating in dangerous situations (1996: 53). Some changes have been less visible but sought to better coordinate functions across agencies, such as the introduction of an FBI fingerprinting database into INS

Escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement   45

22 23

24 25

26

27

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o­ perations. A similar project currently under development will eventually provide access to Mexican fingerprints databases, enabling US border agents to identify criminals seeking to evade the law in Mexico. Annual budget requests for border security grew consistently, with several special appropriations above and beyond regular allocations for the Department of Homeland Security. In the immediate aftermath of 9/11, Congress appropriated a $40 billion Emergency Response Fund to increase the number of air marshals, stock up on vaccinations, improve bio-terrorism responsiveness, strengthen the Coast Guard, deploy National Guard forces to US airports and fund criminal investigations. Data up to 2003 compiled from Department of Homeland Security, Security the Homeland, Strengthening the Nation, 2003. Data from 2004–9 compiled from Department of Homeland Security “Budget in Brief” publications. Documents accessed at www.dhs.gov on January 10, 2008. According to Argueta (2016), January 2012, the Obama administration reduced the number of National Guard troops to less than 300 people dedicated to aerial support. Department of Homeland Security, Budget in Brief, 2009. The cost of current fencing construction is likely to be quite high, with significant cost overruns. During the 1990s, the construction of 14 miles of primary fencing along the San Diego sector of the border cost about $1.7 million per mile, roughly double what was predicted. Polling data consistently find that around two-thirds of respondents support creating a legal pathway to citizenship for undocumented immigrants living in the United States, and around four in five respondents favor such an option for undocumented immigrants who were brought to the country as children (Rhodan, 2014; Balara, 2017). According to the TRAC Immigration Backlog Tool based at Syracuse University, the number of pending cases in US immigration courts at the close of the fiscal year increased from 129,505 in 1998 to 768,257 in 2018. As this chapter went to print in November 2019, the figure stood at more than 1 million pending cases. TRAC Immigration Backlog Tool https://trac.syr.edu/phptools/immigration/court_backlog/. Accessed November 23, 2019. Sessions’ memo alleged that the policy was necessitated by a recent increase in undocumented border crossings, despite the fact that the Department of Homeland Security’s own data showed that apprehensions were lower than at any point since the 1970s (Office of Public Affairs, 2017). President Obama had instituted a similar policy to address an influx of Haitian asylum seekers in 2016, effectively “metering” those who wished to present an asylum claim to allow ports of entry to process them in an orderly fashion (Spagat et al., 2019).

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46   David A. Shirk Shared Responsibility: U.S.–Mexico Policy Options for Confronting Organized Crime. Washington, DC; San Diego, CA: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars; Trans-Border Institute, Joan B. Kroc School of Peace Studies, University of San Diego. Balara, V. (2017). “Fox News Poll: 83 Percent Support Pathway to Citizenship for Illegal Immigrants”, Fox News, www.foxnews.com/politics/fox-news-poll-83-percent-supportpathway-to-citizenship-for-illegal-immigrants. Accessed May 1, 2020. Bertram, E., M. Blachman, K. Sharpe and P. Andreas. (1996). Drug War Politics: The Price of Denial. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Bindenagel Sehovic, A. (2018). Reimagining State and Human Security Beyond Borders. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Boswell, T. (1986). “A Split Labor Market Analysis of Discrimination against Chinese Immigrants, 1850–1882”. American Sociological Review, vol. 51, pp. 352–371. Buell, R.L. (1923). “Again the Yellow Peril”. Foreign Affairs, vol. 2, no. 2, pp. 295–309. Cara Labrador, R. and D. Renwick. (2018). “Central America’s Violent Northern Triangle”. Council on Foreign Relations. Backgrounder, www.cfr.org/backgrounder/centralamericas-violent-northern-triangle. Accessed May 1, 2020. Castañeda, J.G. (2019). “Mexico’s Migration Mistake”, Project Syndicate, www.projectsyndicate.org/commentary/mexico-amlo-caves-in-to-trump-on-migration-by-jorge-gcastaneda-2019-07. Accessed May 1, 2020. Cerrutti, M. and D. Massey. (2004). “Trends in Mexican Migration to the United States, 1965–1995”. In J. Durand and D. Massey (Eds.), Crossing the Border: Research from the Mexican Migration Project, pp. 17–44, New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Crawford Campbell, P. (1924). “Chinese Coolie Emigration to Countries within the British Empire”. Studies in Economics and Political Science, no. 72, XXIII, London: P.S. King & Son. Cornelius, W.A. (2010). Mexican Migration and the U.S. Economic Crisis: A Transnational Perspective. CCIS anthologies. La Jolla, CA: Center for Comparative Immigration Studies, 269pp. Cornelius, W.A. and I. Salehyan. (2007). “Does Border Enforcement Deter Unauthorized Immigration? The Case of Mexican Migration to the United States of America”. Regulation & Governance, vol. 1, pp. 139–153. Custom and Border Protection. (2010). “Border Patrol History”. Online. www.cbp.gov/ about/history. Accessed May 22, 2020. Deparle, J. (2010). “Global Migration: A World Ever More on the Move”. New York Times. Dreby, J. (2010). Divided by Borders: Mexican Migrants and Their Children. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Dunbar, D. and S. Swart. (2012). “‘No Less a Foe than Satan Himself’: The Devil, Transition and Moral Panic in White South Africa, 1989–1993”. Journal of Southern African Studies, vol. 38, no. 3, pp. 601–621. Dunn, T.J. (1996). The Militarization of the U.S.–Mexico Border, 1978–1992: Low-­ Intensity Conflict Doctrine Comes Home. CMAS Border & Migration Studies Series. Austin, TX: CMAS Books University of Texas at Austin. Esipova, N., J. Ray and A. Pugliese. (2011). Gallup World Poll: The Many Faces of Global Migration, no.43, International Organization for Migration (IOM). Gomez, A. (2019). “Democrats Grill Trump Administration Officials Over Family ­Separation Policy on the Border”, USA Today, www.usatoday.com/story/news/­ politics/2019/02/07/democrats-trump-administration-family-separation-policy-borderimmigration/2794324002/. Accessed May 1, 2020.

Escalation of US–Mexico border enforcement   47 Gonzalez-Barrera, A. (2015). “More Mexicans Leaving Than Coming to the U.S.: Net Loss of 140,000 from 2009 to 2014; Family Reunification Top Reason for Return”. Pew Research Center. Online at: www.pewhispanic.org/2015/11/19/more-mexicansleaving-than-coming-to-the-u-s/. Accessed May 1, 2020. Gonzalez-Barrera, A. and J.M. Grogstad. (2017). “What We Know about Illegal Immigration from Mexico”. Pew Research Center. Online at: www.pewresearch.org/ fact-tank/2019/06/28/what-we-know-about-illegal-immigration-from-mexico/. Accessed May 22, 2020. Henderson, T.J. (2011). Beyond Borders: A History of Mexican Migration to the United States. Hoboken, New Jersey: Wiley-Blackwell. Human Rights First. (2018). “Refugee Blockade: The Trump Administration’s Obstruction of Asylum Claims at the Border”, www.humanrightsfirst.org/sites/default/files/December_ Border_Report.pdf. Accessed May 1, 2020. Isacson, A. (2015). “Northbound ‘Threats’ at the United States–Mexico Border: What Is Crossing Today, and Why?”. In M. Jaskoski, A.C. Sotomayor and H.A. Trinkunas (Eds.), American Crossings: Border Politics in the Western Hemisphere, pp. 130–150, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Jones, R. (2016). Violent Borders: Refugees and the Right to Move. New York: Verso. Jones, R. (Ed.). (2019). Open Borders: In Defense of Free Movement. Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press. Kandel, W.A., A. Bruno, P.J. Meyer, C. Ribando Seelke, M. Taft-Morales and R.E. Wasem. (2014). “Unaccompanied Alien Children: Potential Factors Contributing to Recent Immigration”, Congressional Research Service, R43628. https://fas.org/sgp/ crs/homesec/R43628.pdf. Accessed May 1, 2020. Koestler, F.L. (2016). “Operation Wetback”. The Handbook of Texas Online, Texas State Historical Association, Online Document. www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/ articles/pqo01. Accessed May 1, 2020. Kopan, T. (2016). “What Donald Trump has said about Mexico and vice versa”, CNN, www.cnn.com/2016/08/31/politics/donald-trump-mexico-statements/. Accessed May 1, 2020. Longo, Matthew. (2018). The Politics of Borders: Sovereignty, Security, and the Citizen after 9/11. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lusk, H.H. (1903). “The Real Yellow Peril”. The North American Review, vol. 186, no. 624, pp.375–383. Lytle Hernandez, K. (2010). Migra!: A History of the U.S. Border Patrol. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 311pp. Macgillis, A. (2016). “How Washington Blew Its Best Chance to Fix Immigration”. ProPublica. www.propublica.org/article/washington-congress-immigration-reform-failure. Accessed May 1, 2020. Massey, D.S., J. Durand and K.A. Pren. (2016). “Why Border Enforcement Backfired”. American Journal of Sociology, vol. 121, no. 5, pp. 1557–1600. Meyer, J. (2001). “Terrorist Implicates 3 Others in LAX Bomb Plot”. Los Angeles Times. Muzaffar, C., S. Pierce and J. Bolter. (2017). “The Obama Record on Deportations: Deporter in Chief or Not?”. Policy Beat, Migration Policy Institute. Online at: www. migrationpolicy.org/article/obama-record-deportations-deporter-chief-or-not. Accessed May 1, 2020. Nixon, R. and L. Qiu. (2018). “Trump’s Evolving Words on the Wall”. New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2018/01/18/us/politics/trump-border-wall-immigration.html. Accessed May 1, 2020.

48   David A. Shirk Office of Public Affairs. (2017). “Attorney General Announces Zero-Tolerance Policy for Criminal Illegal Entry”. Department of Justice, www.justice.gov/opa/pr/attorney-generalannounces-zero-tolerance-policy-criminal-illegal-entry. Accessed May 1, 2020. Office of Policy and Planning. (2004). “Estimates of the Unauthorized Immigrant Population Residing in the United States: 1990 to 2000”. By US Immigration and Naturalization Service (Ed.), Washington, D.C. Ong Hing, B. (2010). Ethical Borders: NAFTA, Globalization, and Mexican Migration. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: Temple University Press. Payan, T. (2006). The Three U.S.–Mexico Border Wars: Drugs, Immigration, and Homeland Security. Westport, Conn.: Praeger Security International. Rhodan, M. (2014). “Poll: 62% of Americans Favor a Path to Citizenship”, Time, https:// time.com/2852585/citizenship-poll-immigration. Accessed May 1, 2020. Rosenblum, M.R. (2012). “Border Security: Immigration Enforcement Between Ports of Entry”, CRS Report for Congress. Washington, DC: Congressional Research Service. Saxton, A. (1971). The Indispensable Enemy: Labor and the Anti-Chinese Movement in California. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Simon, J.D. (2001). The Terrorist Trap: America’s Experience with Terrorism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Simmons, W.P. and C. Mueller (Eds.). (2014). Binational Human Rights: The U.S.– Mexico Experience. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Souffrant, E.M. (2016). A Future Without Borders?: Theories and Practices of Cosmopolitan Peacebuilding. Amsterdam: Brill-Rodopi. Spagat, E. (2017). “Hammers, Axes Will Help Test Trump Border Wall Prototypes”, Associated Press, www.apnews.com/780f027731d34e8985539ee42c7af369. Accessed May 1, 2020. Spagat, E., N. Merchant and P. Espinoza. (2019). “For Thousands of Asylum Seekers, All They Can Do is Wait”, Associated Press, www.apnews.com/ed788f5b426940738 1d79e588b6c1dc2. Accessed May 1, 2020. Spalding, M. (1994). “From Pluribus to Unum: Immigration and the Founding Fathers”. Policy Review, no.67. Stewart, W. (1954). “Chinese Bondage in Peru: A History of the Chinese Coolie in Peru, 1849–1874”. Revue Historique, T. 211, Fasc. 1, pp. 155–158. US Department of State. (2011). “International Narcotics Control Strategy Report (INCSR)”, Washington, DC: Bureau for International Law Enforcement and Narcotics. Valentine Daniel, E. (2008). “The Coolie”. Cultural Anthropology, vol.  23, no.  2, pp. 254–278. Walker III, W.O. (Ed.). (1996). Drugs in the Western Hemisphere: An Odyssey of Cultures in Conflict. Jaguar Books on Latin America, Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources. Wambaugh, J. (1984). Lines and Shadows. New York: A Perigord Press Book/William Morrow & Co. Wang, A. (2018). “Officials Blast Trump Policy After Visiting Detained Immigrants”. Chicago Tribune, www.chicagotribune.com/nation-world/ct-trump-immigrants-policycriticism-20180610-story.html. Accessed May 1, 2020. Weiner, R. (2013). “Immigration’s Gang of 8: Who are They?”. Washington Post. www. washingtonpost.com/news/the-fix/wp/2013/01/28/immigrations-gang-of-8-who-arethey/?utm_term=.3e80efb61994. Accessed May 1, 2020.

3 Argentina’s enigmatic wall on the Paraguayan border Robert Andolina

An icon of the Cold War, the Berlin Wall separated its namesake city into two sovereign territories and gave concrete form to the “iron curtain”. While it stood, the reformist German chancellor Willy Brandt described it as a “wall of shame”. Another wall of this kind appeared 50 years later in Posadas, Argentina. A bridge connects this city to Encarnación across the Paraná River, whose middle defines the international boundary between Argentina and Paraguay. In 2014 and 2015, Argentina raised a cement wall 5 meters high and 1.3 kilometers in length near the Posadas offices of immigration, customs and border police. Shortly after completion, protestors and the mass media referred to it as a wall of shame. This border wall was doubly enigmatic: Polyvalent within Argentine society and elusive of simple explanations. The wall materialized under the government of Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner whose policies encouraged immigration from neighboring countries. In contrast, Mauricio Macri, who took office in December 2015 with an unfriendly stance toward regional immigrants, criticized this wall and rebuffed proposals for other border walls. This puzzling sequence of events resulted from the developmental background to the Argentine wall’s construction, the relative success of grassroots opposition to it and the continental stigma of border walls. This chapter extends recent turns in Border Studies toward interdisciplinary and comparative approaches that conceive of borders as ongoing social constructs (Wilson and Donnan, 2012). It also corroborates the view that restrictive border policies derive from tensions between transnational flow and sovereign space intensified by contemporary global forces (Andreas, 2009; Vallet and David, 2016). Additionally, the chapter highlights nation-state centrality to ­border-making even as other actors and symbols influence the process (Grimson, 2012; Mavroudi and Nagel, 2016). With respect to boundary walls, however, this chapter complicates contemporary border theory. The Posadas cement barrier did not, for example, resemble a “great wall of capital” that would be a tool of Argentine empire (Chaichian, 2013). Nor was this wall built to reduce immigration flows, revive waning sovereignty or reject globalization per se (Brown, 2014; Jones, 2009; Roche, 2016; Vallet and David, 2016). These latter items informed the policies of Argentine President Macri, but he took office after the Posadas wall was finished and he excluded walls from his border-tightening

50   Robert Andolina toolkit. To address this perplexing case, the chapter unpacks globalization’s impact on borders in four ways. First, it considers border making within a broader set of international connections, as Argentina’s policies have not aligned neatly with a pro or anti-globalization agenda. Second, it treats transnational meanings of border walls as a causally distinctive element of globalization. Brown (2014) viewed this symbolism as a legitimating device that buttresses structural forces driving states to build walls. In Argentina, however, references to border walls elsewhere in the world had a delegitimizing effect. Third, this chapter approaches border securitization and militarization as historical variables rather than contemporary constants. Finally, it delineates border politics through an interactive approach among diverse players and positions on border policy. The rest of this chapter proceeds by explicating Argentine border ­policies within wider agendas of global engagement and situating the Posadas borderland between security and development imperatives. The chapter then examines the sources and consequences of building the Posadas wall and analyzes the causes and effects of public opposition to it. It concludes by revisiting the main argument and discussing the methodological implications of this case.

Globalization and integration in Argentina Globalization as we think of it today permeated Argentina in the 1990s after several years of severe economic crisis and coping with the legacy of a military regime that sanctioned the murder of over 30,000 “subversives”. Subcontinental integration was one way to address these problems. Argentina’s 1985 accord with Brazil laid diplomatic groundwork for the foundation of the Southern Cone Common Market, known by its Spanish acronym, MERCOSUR. Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay were the original 1991 treaty signatories. The agreement, which became operational in 1995, centered on reducing trade barriers among member states and consolidating regime democratization.1 It also harmonized external tariffs and internal trade regulations. Over time, most South American countries gained associate (but not full) member status in MERCOSUR.2 Accession to MERCOSUR became part of Argentina’s larger adjustment to externally oriented, free-market economics under President Carlos Menem in the 1990s. Menem’s policies entailed privatization, budget austerity, labor flexibility, low tariffs, loose capital controls and a currency pegged at par with the US dollar. Together, they induced foreign investment and import consumption while incentivizing labor immigration from Bolivia, Peru and Paraguay. Neither MERCOSUR nor the Argentine government strongly encouraged this migration, however. Argentine officials adopted xenophobic rhetoric that echoed amongst labor unions and others frustrated with the economic insecurity that resulted from the country’s socio-economic adjustments (Grimson and Kessler, 2005). After several years of economic growth, Argentina’s mix of open economic policies, high debt loads, currency overvaluation and industrial disintegration made it vulnerable to financial crises. When the one that began in Southeast Asia enveloped Argentina from 1999 to 2002, half of the Argentine population fell

Argentina’s wall on the Paraguayan border   51 into poverty. This experience undermined Argentina’s neoliberal experiment and questioned the authority of global powers who had promoted “structural adjustment” in Latin America. The border policies of Argentine Presidents Nestor Kirchner (2003–7) and Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner (2007–15) were part of a larger response to that crisis. They increased state intervention in the economy and reduced Argentina’s dependence on the US, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and foreign investment from the global north. This agenda was narrated as a recovery of Argentine sovereignty, but it did not entail isolation. Argentina expanded trade with China and deepened South America integration through the continental mobility of persons. Unlike countries where restrictions on migration expressed anti-globalization sentiment, Argentina’s post-2003 opening to immigrants accompanied a reaction against globalization. And unlike President Menem’s agenda, the Kirchners’ continental integration policies were conceived as an alternative to neoliberal globalization. Specifically, Argentine legislation in 2004 established migration as a human right and extended constitutional guarantees to all inhabitants in the country. These included working in Argentina without ­discrimination, accessing healthcare and education fully and unifying immigrant families. Argentina’s 2006 residency legalization program called Patria Grande (Big Homeland) prioritized pre-2004 immigrants from neighboring countries. In 2009, Argentina signed the MERCORSUR residency agreement, which eliminated passports and visas requirements for crossing South American borders. Other proof of citizenship and a clean criminal record sufficed to work in neighboring countries for two years, at which point an application for permanent residency could be submitted (Cerruti, 2018). In contrast, Mauricio Macri adopted a border tightening policy upon assuming the Argentine presidency in December 2015. One month later, his government issued Executive Decree 228, which declared a “public security state of ­emergency” and authorized militarization of Argentina’s counter-narcotics and anti-terrorist practices. The decree also proposed furnishing the border with new surveillance technologies and aerial patrols (Grimson and Renoldi, 2019: 89–90).3 In January 2017, Macri identified immigrants as a security risk through Executive Decree 70, which eased deportation of immigrants who committed crimes and prohibited entry to those with criminal records. Despite the government’s declared focus on organized crime and serious legal violations, this decree authorized restrictions on immigrants for lesser crimes and transferred enforcement powers from the Argentine judiciary to executive agencies (García, 2017). Such policies were meant to impede border-crossing dangers, but ­President Macri’s economic policies were pro-globalization in lowering the Kirchner’s trade taxes and capital controls. Reversing the Kirchner’s foreign policy also motivated Macri’s border tightening. He sought to improve relations with the US and European Union (EU) while mitigating Argentina’s growing dependence on China. Macri’s 2016 security policies developed in conversation with US officials (Sain, 2018), and his January 2017 decree on “immigrant criminals” was announced shortly after Donald Trump’s presidential inauguration. Despite

52   Robert Andolina this decree, Macri supported MERCOSUR as a trade regime. Doing so was essential for completing an EU-MERCOSUR free-trade agreement and pursuing Argentine membership in the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD). This review of Argentina’s governing agendas shows why we cannot interpret its border policy as generally pro- or anti-globalization. It also offers a backdrop to the peculiar life of Argentine border walls, where a soft-border president permitted the construction of such a wall while a hard-border president ignored calls to build additional ones. Tackling the first part of this puzzle requires inquiry into the complex relations and shifting priorities in north-eastern Argentina.

Development and security in Argentina’s north-eastern borderlands A city of over 325,000 people, Posadas is the political capital and commercial center of Misiones province. Misiones lies in northeastern Argentina and shares more of its border with Paraguay and Brazil than with Corrientes, the sole Argentine province contiguous with Misiones (see Map 3.1). Across from Posadas, Encarnación’s 125,000 residents live in the capital and commercial hub of Paraguay’s Itapúa department, an area otherwise known for its agricultural productivity. This region is increasingly turning to tourism as an engine of development. Its location along the Paraná river between two national parks among Jesuit missionary ruins is one reason for this. Historically, the Argentine state and Buenos Aires elites have represented Misiones as a backward and ­perilous region requiring state intervention for security and development. The province’s borders with Paraguay and Brazil rendered it dubiously Argentine: A place teeming with foreigners where contraband is legion and hybrid languages – “Portuñol” or Guaraní-inflected Spanish – are widely spoken (Grimson, 2001; Jusionyte, 2015). Beginning in the 1960s, the Argentine government differentiated between the challenges that Brazil and Paraguay posed to their country. It deemed Misiones’ border with Brazil to be military and geopolitical, while its “boundary with ­Paraguay … ha[d] … an eminently economic significance, even though it was not exempt from concerns about ‘security’ or illegal migration” (Grimson, 2001; Grimson and Renoldi, 2019). This distinction underpinned the dual purposes of the Yacyretá hydroelectric dam, located 100 kilometers west of Posadas and Encarnación along the Paraná river. Argentina adopted Yacyretá as a response to ­Brazil’s expanding cities, commerce and mass media transmission in the borderlands (Grimson, 2001). Another dam, the Brazil-Paraguay Itaipú project, embodied this influence (Blanc, 2018). Installed near the Argentine border, Itaipú increased Brazil’s capacity to control river waters and influence Paraguay. All of this disrupted Argentina’s view of regional power balance, leading it to build Yacyretá with Paraguay as infrastructure that would increase electricity supply and modernize the region (Grimson, 2001).4 In sum, Yacyretá was an Argentine security device vis-à-vis Brazil, but a development project vis-à-vis Paraguay.

Map 3.1 Province of Misiones, Argentina.

Argentina’s wall on the Paraguayan border   53

54   Robert Andolina To manage dam construction and operations, Argentina and Paraguay established the Yacyretá Binational Agency (Entidad Binacional Yacyretá – EBY), in 1974 as a joint public firm. EBY also launched “complementary” projects to compensate for damage caused by the dam, especially flooding (Brites, 2014). During the intervening 40 years, sustained civilian rule, neoliberal policies and MERCOSUR integration shifted EBY’s projects and policies in a more developmental direction, and away from their original security rationale. Under 1990s’ neoliberal austerity, for example, the dam’s cost became controversial and led Argentina to initiate dam operations at 60% capacity and use revenues from electricity sales to fund later upgrades. At the same time, a regional anti-dam coalition mobilized around Yacyretá’s violations of the environmental and population requirements of its multilateral bank loans. The coalition compelled EBY to include social services for displaced people and ecological reserves in future complementary projects. The overall effect was to embed arguments for and against Yacyretá in developmental, ecological and social terms (IRN, 1996; CIEL, 1998; Garay, 2015). The 1990 opening of the San Roque Bridge reinforced Yacyretá’s adaptation to development imperatives and linked them to regional integration. Spanning the Paraná river, this bridge created the first land-based connection between Encarnación and Posadas and generated a direct overland route between the capital cities of Asunción and Buenos Aires. An EBY complementary project, the bridge was agreed to in the early 1980s to compensate Paraguay for damflooding damages. However, the impending signing of MERCOSUR in 1991 led politicians to inaugurate San Roque as a symbol of regional prosperity and peace rather than a bilateral strategic alliance. Because of Posadas’ whereabouts, MERCOSUR enabled local leaders to represent the area as continentally central instead of nationally marginal. Since then Misiones has periodically described its location as “the heart of MERCOSUR” (Grimson, 2001; Linares, 2008). The San Roque bridge also had a profound material impact on Posadas-Encarnación relations. People previously crossed the Paraná river by boat, so the San Roque bridge greatly facilitated border passage. Meanwhile, new exchange rate policies (making Paraguayan goods cheaper for Argentines) and immigration rules (granting Paraguayans full access to Argentine education and healthcare) subsequently incentivized border transit.5 Together, they produced a dramatic rise in the volume of border crossings and transborder commerce, which, in turn, deepened the two cities’ interdependence (Brites, 2014; Cossi, 2016). By 2015, the Posadas-Encarnación passage accounted for the largest number of entries of all Paraguayan ports and the third largest of all Argentine ports (Cossi, 2016). However, this movement became self-limiting when the volume of bridge traffic overwhelmed the capacity of border infrastructure and personnel to manage it efficiently (Zabludovsky, 2017). Cross-border relations have not become harmonious, but migration and security officials are rarely involved in conflicts. Expansion of informal commerce generated quarrel between poorer Encarnación traders and wealthier Posadas merchants, punctuated by blockades of the bridge and criticisms of

Argentina’s wall on the Paraguayan border  55 Argentine customs officers by both sides (Grimson, 2001; Linares, 2017). The increase in “medical migration”, stimulated by Argentina’s immigration law, prompted some healthcare workers in Posadas to charge Paraguayan patients for otherwise free medical services, because “there are too many” Paraguayans in their hospitals and clinics (Cossi, 2016). Notably, the key players in these disputes were customs agents, chambers of commerce, public health personnel and transborder workers. This differs with the “Triple Frontier” region where Argentine, Brazilian and Paraguayan territory converge near the northwestern corner of ­Misiones province, 300 kilometers from Posadas. Identified as high risk due to human trafficking, drug smuggling and potential terrorist networking, this area is subject to frequent security patrols and heavy surveillance by US and South Ameri­can personnel (Jusionyte, 2015; Brancoli, 2019). The Posadas-Encarnación border, in contrast, was not considered a major source of such dangers, which consolidated its economic character and set the stage for a border wall meant to streamline rather than impede regional integration pathways.

The Posadas Wall: Development, integration and bureaucracy In 2014, EBY commissioned the border wall in Posadas as an appendage to complementary projects it undertook a few years earlier. The wall raised around the Posadas border-administration center is best understood as a misguided effort to support local development and integration while addressing the shortcomings of EBY’s “Yacyretá Finalization Plan” (Plan de Terminación Yacyretá). Launched in 2009, this plan centered on expanding dam reservoir water to ­maximize the power plant’s energy production, which had been under capacity since 1994. In anticipation of flood damage, this plan included complementary restoration projects for Posadas and Encarnación, in housing, roads, railways, parks, potable water and sewage treatment (Brites, 2014). These complementary works were linked to municipal development goals (Thomas, 2015). For Posadas, reconfiguring public space for tourism was a major priority. It aimed to remodel its road network and signage scheme to ease flows in and out of town, facilitate transit between neighborhoods and decongest central streets. It also intended to beautify the landscape with a system of parks between downtown and the riverfront (Consejo Fundador, 2010). EBY began installing new roads, boardwalks, beaches, greenspaces and recreational facilities in place of riverfront areas hit by dam flooding (Cossi, 2016). These efforts modernized urban infrastructure and refurbished central Posadas, sparking a real estate boom that gentrified the area and augmented its appeal to leisure consumers. However, poorer residents who could no longer afford to live there were effectively displaced (Brites, 2014; Linares, 2017). EBY’s projects were also attached to crossborder aspirations. First, Posadas’ urban planning entailed coordination with Encarnación through integration committees (Consejo Fundador, 2010). Second, EBY is responsible to both sides of this border even though Argentina controls its key decisions. Third, EBY Director Oscar Thomas stated that a 2013 summit

56   Robert Andolina agreement between the presidents of Argentina and Paraguay made his agency responsible for border-center infrastructure and authorized the Posadas wall’s construction (Renoldi et al., 2017). The inaugural meeting of the Posadas-Encarnación Integration Committee, held in October 2013, corroborates the first of Mr. Thomas’ claims. To justify this convention, attended by local, regional and national officials from Argentina and Paraguay, organizers cited the same presidential summit that Thomas did. Also, participants made several requests to EBY to build and improve essential border infrastructure as quickly as possible (Comité de Integración, 2013). These requests may have been closer to demands than pleas because of the effects of recent EBY projects on border transit. EBY’s engineered floods closed the Posadas and Encarnación riverports, which suspended boat services across the border and, in turn, generated more auto traffic on the already-saturated international bridge. EBY also displaced 18,000 residents of working-class neighborhoods from inundated riverfronts in both cities, resettling them in peripheral locations. Those who regularly traversed the border to work would have longer commutes to get to the international bridge and longer wait times on it (Belo and Brites, 2017; Linares, 2017). These priorities and plans informed EBY’s stated reasons for building the Posadas wall – reasons that were not provided until the wall was done (see Redacción Ultima Hora, 2015; Redacción ABC Color, 2015; Redacción ­Paraguay mi País, 2015). One was to protect spaces that EBY had designated for parks and recreation in post-flooding recovery projects. Using a wall to insulate these unfinished projects would sustain EBY’s portfolio and contribute to municipal tourist development as Posadas desired. Another reason was that federal regulations mandated separation of all border centers from surrounding towns, but also their direct connection to national highways. A third explanation was that Mitre Avenue’s linkage of downtown Posadas and the international crossing filled downtown streets with bridge traffic and impeded flows in both areas. As the wall blocked Mitre Avenue in that area and inhibited access to the riverfront road for over one kilometer northward, it would move international-bridge traffic from downtown to a riverside corridor connected to a national highway. This would fulfil aspects of Posadas road network plans and facilitate shipping between the capital cities of Buenos Aires and Asunción. Incidentally, the 2013 Posadas-Encarnación convention highlighted a need to separate local and longdistance border traffic on the San Roque bridge, and MERCOSUR regulations had long identified the Posadas-Encarnación border crossing as regionally strategic (Comité de Integración, 2013). This also helps to explain why EBY could imagine this border wall to be consistent with Fernandez de Kirchner’s continental integration agenda. On the other hand, the Posadas-Encarnación Integration Committee did not mention a border wall, and Argentina’s regulation on border centers authorized a perimeter railing specifically (Redacción Primera Edición, 2015). One might therefore ask, as many Argentines and Paraguayans did, why a border wall was necessary to achieve their goals. Renoldi, Millán and Carísimo’s (2017)

Argentina’s wall on the Paraguayan border   57 h­ ypothesis – that EBY exceeded official requirements to build something it saw as capable of addressing multiple concerns – provides a persuasive answer. By 2014, EBY faced an accumulating and diverse set of demands and expectations about its public works. Also, the agency’s huge budget and mega-scale approach to development – with the Yacyretá dam as the paradigmatic example – predisposed EBY to grandiose projects (Millán, 2012). Some observers have posited that unethical scheming raised the wall in Posadas. EBY had a reputation for ­inefficiency and malfeasance and corruption charges had dogged the second ­Fernandez de Kirchner administration. Furthermore, EBY director Oscar Thomas was implicated in a 2009 corruption case (Redacción Clarín, 2018). Opportunity for favors or kickbacks may have influenced EBY’s decision to build this wall. However, there is no direct evidence of a plot, and corruptionbased motives may well co-exist with the ones discussed above. Others ­suggested that EBY built the wall to obstruct cross-border contraband. Posadas merchants had long opposed it, and a wall might block escape routes from the bridge into Posadas (Cossi, 2016).6 However, exchange rate shifts after 2011 increased the Argentine price of Paraguayan goods and lowered the Paraguayan cost of Argentine goods (Krautstofl, 2014). This made transborder trade more advantageous to Posadas merchants, and their chambers of commerce issued statements against the wall (Cossi, 2016). Additionally, the evasion strategies of cross-border traders entering Posadas centered on minimizing risks when going through customs rather than escaping those controls altogether (Krautstofl, 2014; Linares, 2017; Chabot, 2020). Alternatively, if the Posadas wall was intended to reduce citizens’ fears of immigration, drug trafficking or other ills associated with globalization, the government would have publicized the wall’s construction. Argentina’s governing party had an incentive to do so, as 2015 was a presidential election year. Yet no public notice or explanation for the wall preceded its completion in August 2015. Finally, if the government were to raise a border wall against established cross-border threats, it would most likely do so in the Triple Frontier region. But no wall was built there. Concerns about sovereignty and security influenced EBY’s decisions but remained secondary to those linked to development and integration. At the 2013 Integration Committee convention, Paraguay’s Director of Consular Affairs identified “accelerating border controls” as essential, while Argentina’s National Director of Borders recommended “controls through pairs of border functionaries [one Argentine, one Paraguayan] as a way to speed up border crossing” (Comité de Integración, 2013). Participants in the integration commissions on border operations made similar proposals and cited MERCOSUR agreements to legitimate them. Additionally, the meeting’s development commissions proposed items that would ease restrictions on the regional circulation of services, people, and goods, including merchandise traded informally (Comité de Integración, 2013). Participant references to border controls show that marking and protecting national space mattered; but the imperative was designing them to increase rather than decrease transnational flows.

58   Robert Andolina The Posadas border wall’s discontents The local population did not perceive the wall according to EBY’s rationale; they focused instead on the wall’s impact on local geographies, which fueled popular disaffection. One major irritant was the wall’s blockage of Mitre ­Avenue’s connection of downtown Posadas and the international bridgehead. This barrier required people to travel an extra 3.5 kilometers, increasing the time and costs of crossing the border. This was especially burdensome to poorer workers and consumers, who were once again compelled to adapt to EBY project fallout. Additionally, small vendors and shopkeepers near the Posadas wall saw a sharp decline in sales as bridge-to-downtown transit no longer traversed their locations (Redacción Primera Edición, 2015). A second set of worries derived from visual effects in Posadas. The wall obstructed views of the Paraná river and replaced them with a drab slice of gray cement. Property values declined and nearby ­businesses feared that an unattractive wall would deter tourists (Marty, 2015; Redacción Tres Lineas, 2015). Informal traders who worked near the bridgehead in Posadas, on the other hand, were disoriented by “the fact that Paraguay was no longer visible” (Renoldi, Millán and Carísimo, 2017: 77). The absence of prior consultation was a third grievance, especially as the wall threatened ­livelihoods and was materially inconsistent with some of its purposes (Renoldi, Millán and Carísimo, 2017). This privation also fueled speculation about corruption schemes (Cossi, 2016). Unlike recent border wall situations in other countries, citizen anxiety in Posadas was an effect of the wall’s completion rather than a cause of its making. Discontent was widespread and crossed class lines. As awareness of the wall grew in Encarnación, so did opposition there (Redacción Ultima Hora, 2015; Redacción Paraguay mi País, 2015). Paraguayan business leader Olga Fischer, for example, lamented the wall’s potential disruption of cross-border development plans. She also wondered if it was anti-Paraguayan, because Argentina built no wall in Puerto Iguazú. This city is located in the avowedly insecure “Triple Frontier” and hosts an international bridge – but one that crosses to Brazil not Paraguay. Ms. Fischer added that Encarnación municipal workshops with local youth were overtaken by the youth’s feeling of being “unwanted” in Argentina because of the wall in Posadas (Redacción Tres Lineas, 2015).

The wall of shame: Mobilization, immigration and reputation Despite the developmental and integrationist premises of the wall in Posadas, locals fretted about the harm it might do to the region’s economy. Activists described it in anti-integrationist terms and dubbed it a “wall of shame”. ­Governmental silence about the wall prior to its consummation is one reason for this ironic twist; people turned to transnational discourses on border walls to interpret the one in Posadas. Thus, diverse ideas about immigration and crime shaped the wall’s meanings after its completion even though anti-globalization

Argentina’s wall on the Paraguayan border   59 insecurities played little part in causing its construction. For Argentina, the larger consequence of the Posadas wall was to delegitimate border walls in general. In 2015, the Fernandez de Kirchner government provided no justification for the wall in Posadas. In 2016, President Macri’s new director of EBY criticized the wall and promised to address popular displeasure with it. The following year, Macri rejected calls to build other border walls despite 85% public approval of his January 2017 decree restricting immigration rights (Poliarquia Consultures, 2017). These outcomes resulted from a sequence of mobilizations and debates that linked local, national and international discourses, strengthened border-wall stigma and embarrassed officials who supported these walls. In what follows, I will trace this process from 2015 protests against the Posadas wall to the proposal of border walls in 2017, debates about Macri’s national decree and the impact of these debates on national border policy. Mobilizing shame across borders Local opponents performed a politics of shame (see Kulick and Klein, 2003) by transforming popular insecurities about the wall and projecting them onto the wall and its builders. They did so through a transnational narrative that symbolically distanced the Argentine government from MERCOSUR and continental incorporation, and associated it with exclusionary border walls in Berlin, along the US–Mexico border and within Israel/Palestine. In doing so, they portrayed Argentine officials and border walls as out of touch with local conditions, regional dynamics and global trends. This can be illustrated with three examples. First, a Posadas-based anti-wall petition on change.org eventually collected 8,000 signatures from people on both sides of the border (Marty, 2015; Duca, 2019). One petition statement read, With MERCOSUR fully operational, it is truly shameful that state authorities, sitting at a desk in the capital city [Buenos Aires] and ignorant of borderland realities, have built a perimeter wall that obstructs the free movement of both Argentine citizens and foreigners, especially Paraguayans. (Marty, 2015) After describing the wall’s negative consequences and demanding its removal, the petition suggested that the wall’s authors had emulated “the US far-right reactionary Donald Trump”, who promised to wall off the entire Mexico–US border (Marty, 2015). Other critics chimed in on Twitter, with one saying, “The Berlin Wall is going up. It separates the border center from downtown Posadas” (Marty, 2015). Another posted a photo of the Posadas wall and commented, “The Israel–Palestine Wall? Nope. It’s Posadas, Misiones. Customs Area” (Redacción Ultima Hora, 2015). Second, a public demonstration by environmentalists, human rights activists and displaced persons continued in this vein. ­Coalesced in the Provincial Anti-Dam Committee, they decided to hold their yearly protest day at the Posadas wall. With “No more walls separating peoples”

60   Robert Andolina as their main slogan, demonstrators peppered the concrete structure with “Wall of Shame” posters and portrayed it as inhibiting continental integration and neighborly relations between Posadas and Encarnación (Renoldi, Millán and Carísimo, 2017: 73). This performance linked disapproval of the wall to their long-standing fight against Yacyretá. In a third example, 18 labor federations from Argentina and Paraguay met in Posadas, where they condemned the wall and voted to petition the upcoming MERCOSUR presidential summit. Their action generated an official statement by the Southern Cone Labor Confederation Coordinator. Arguing that migration is a human right recognized in ­MERCOSUR conventions, the statement said, The wall constitutes a shame for the states party [to MERCOSUR]. We demand that authorities … initiate actions to dismantle the wall that poses an obstacle to consolidating the free movement of citizens and foreigners and goes against the declared aspirations of MERCOSUR for an effective regional integration. (Redacción Agencia CTA, 2015)7 These creative deployments of shame and embarrassment were fairly effective. First, “wall of shame” became the default public label for the Posadas wall, especially in the media. Second, no one outside of EBY with major reputational stakes spoke positively about it. Third, several local leaders publicly questioned the wall while provincial and national legislators requested official explanations for it (Redacción Agencia Hoy, 2015; Gobierno de Argentina, 2015). In early 2016, the new director of EBY promised “to soften this barrier to MERCOSUR integration” (Redacción Primera Edición, 2016), as the city councils of Posadas and Encarnación resolved to transform the wall into a mural celebrating crossborder fraternity (Redacción Agencia Hoy, 2016). However efficacious, this opposition to the Posadas wall did not function in isolation. As noted in the chapter introduction, “wall of shame” originated in 1960s’ Germany as an allusion to the Berlin Wall. In contemporary South America, it became a reporting meme and instrument of protest. In 2007, when Brazilian President Lula da Silva learned of a wall going up on a Brazilian border with Paraguay, he canceled the project and ordered the wall’s removal. Like Argentine Presidents Kirchner and Fernandez de Kirchner, Lula da Silva strongly favored integrating South America and reducing dependence on Western powers. At a press conference on his decision, Lula said, “enough of Berlin, enough of Mexico–US, enough of the Gaza Strip. We don’t want more walls!” (Redacción Ultima Hora, 2015). A second instance occurred in 2009, when the San Isidro district of Buenos Aires built a fence on its boundary with the San Fernando district. Gerardo Amieiro, the mayor of San Fernando, condemned the project, saying, “This anachronistic Berlin wall is a discriminatory offense that impedes the right of free movement, and to get to schools and health clinics”. The article quoting Amieiro referred to the fence as a “wall of shame” in the title, and President ­Fernandez de Kirchner ordered San Isidro to halt its construction (Redacción El

Argentina’s wall on the Paraguayan border   61 Economista, 2009). A wall in Lima, Peru dividing neighborhoods by class and race is a third example. Originally built in the late 1980s, this wall has since undergone expansion and “has come to be known as Lima’s muro de verguenza, or wall of shame” (Campoamor, 2019: 30). In sum, resistance to the Posadas wall was transnational in citing international border walls elsewhere and harnessing a wall-defiant repertoire of ­continental reach. Extension of this dissent from international boundaries to intra-urban ones is a third way in which this protest architecture is both local and global, even while applied in national political arenas. De-walling immigration policy The effects of this wall also extended over time. Public debates about Macri’s 2017 decree proscribing immigration rights referenced the Posadas wall and reiterated the rhetoric of its opposition. This legacy also contributed to dissuading Macri from building additional border walls to implement his decree. But it did not compel EBY to dismantle the Posadas wall nor elicit general disapproval of Macri’s decree. It severed border walling from border hardening rather than undermine the latter altogether. When promoting Macri’s decree, Argentine security minister Patricia ­Bullrich targeted Bolivian, Paraguayan and Peruvian immigrants. She cited them as the most numerous non-Argentine criminals by nationality, even though the government’s data overrepresented the percentage of immigrant convicts (Goñi, 2017).8 These actions criminalized immigrants as such; supporters of the decree then stretched the “migration problem” beyond crime by expressing nativist bigotry and resentment about immigrant access to Argentine education and health services (Centenera, 2017; Romero and Politi, 2017). Meanwhile, the government widened enforcement to surveillance points well inside Argentine territory. On the day Macri signed his decree, Argentine police raided a Buenos Aires bus station frequented by Bolivian passengers. It is unclear if those apprehended were involved in criminal networks (Achtenberg, 2017). Debates about Macri’s decree involved national news articles about the Posadas border wall. Whether favoring or opposing the Posadas wall, readers discussed its implications for immigration and drug trafficking. This reinforced the wall’s emergent significance as a structure meant to protect Argentina from perilous transnational flows. Several people hoped to extend or replicate the Posadas wall along Argentina’s northern borders (Kuna, 2017). One of them was congresswoman Liliana Mazzone, who was “tired of Paraguayans who vote and get paid in Argentina” (Redacción Hoy, 2017). Senator Alfredo Olmedo declared that he “agrees 100% with Trump” when he openly called for a border wall in Salta province, which has an extensive boundary with Bolivia (Goñi, 2017). As noted earlier, Macri’s decree was announced just days after Donald Trump’s January 2017 inauguration as President of the US. Overall, Argentine border politics under President Macri involved phenomena found in other countries where walls are going up. These phenomena

62   Robert Andolina include xenophobic stereotyping, immigrant criminalizing and nativist anxiety about state loyalty to citizens. Yet the Argentine government publicly ruled out border walls in February 2017. In this context, opposition to the Posadas wall was reproduced by association of border walls with Donald Trump, which undermined the legitimacy of walls in Argentina as a whole. Argentine activists challenged Macri’s entire decree by underscoring its likeness with Trump’s ­policies and questioning its consistency with the Argentine constitution (Garcia, 2017). Simultaneously, Bolivian President Evo Morales’ condemned Macri’s decree by comparing it to Donald Trump’s policies and doubting Argentina’s commitment to South American integration (Romero and Politi, 2017; ­Achtenberg, 2017). The popularity of Obama’s US presidency among ­Argentines ­(Anderson, 2019), combined with Trump’s reputation as anti-Latin ­American, made this resemblance a liability for President Macri. Thus, raising border walls could have accentuated the decree’s negative connotations and increased the chance of losing Argentine public support for it. Incorporating border walls into Argentine policy would also contradict recent government statements about specific walls. President Macri, for instance, cited Trump’s proposal to wall off the US–Mexico border as a reason for his support of Hillary Clinton in the 2016 US elections (Romero and Politi, 2017). Also, EBY Director Humberto Schiavoni described the Posadas wall as a bad idea linked to corruption; his criticism was reported on the day Macri’s decree was signed (VB, 2017). De-walling Argentine border policy was a double-edged sword locally and nationally. In Posadas, EBY opened the wall near the riverport and the border center, which could reduce transit distance for those who regularly crossed the border by boat or car. However, the road passing through the wall’s central opening was one way – from the international bridge to downtown only – and it was limited to auto and motorbike traffic. Pedestrians and larger vehicles – including passenger buses – still had to circumvent the wall by the riverfront road (Redacción Misiones Cuatro, 2017b) and the wall still obstructed views across the Paraná river. Nationally, border-wall stigma decreased the likelihood of new walls on Argentina’s international boundaries and boosted the chances that internal border walls would face intense public scrutiny. On the other hand, discontent with border walls did not produce widespread resistance to border hardening. The Macri government’s adaptation to anti-wall sentiment enabled its securitized border policy to advance with strong public endorsement. Two striking examples of these outcomes took place at the Posadas-­ Encarnación border. One was the position of Daniel Prino, an Argentine resident of Posadas who launched the 2015 anti-wall petition on change.org. In early 2017, he spoke in favor of Macri’s decree, supporting government use of border policy to exclude foreign criminals but rejecting border walls as a device for doing so (Zabludovsky, 2017). A second instance took place in November 2017, when several Paraguayans from Encarnación were denied entry to Argentina for minor infractions, despite the government’s stated focus on major crimes. Border officials forbade some of them, like Eugenia Rios, to re-enter Argentina for five years. Ms. Rios, whose mother and siblings lived in Posadas, summed

Argentina’s wall on the Paraguayan border   63 up her feelings this way: “the wall of shame has become a full-on barricade for us” (Redacción Canal Cuatro Posadas, 2017). Openings in the Posadas wall would not help those who could not enter the city in the first place.

Conclusions The border wall raised in Posadas, Argentina surprised local residents and distant observers alike. Residents were jolted because the wall was unannounced and because Posadas and Encarnación were very interdependent. Observers were puzzled by the wall’s construction during the presidency of Cristina ­Fernandez de Kirchner, who maintained a largely pro-immigration agenda. The developmental and integrationist priorities of this border region, together with the perspectives and interests of the agency (EBY) that commissioned the Posadas wall, explains its otherwise mysterious appearance. These factors also clarify how this wall increased rather than diminished citizen unease about flows across this part of the Argentina-Paraguay border. Argentina’s refusal to build walls during the presidency of Mauricio Macri despite his hard-line border policy stemmed from the effects of the Posadas wall after its completion. Protestor humiliation of the wall, supported by a transnational understanding of walls as shameful, made it disadvantageous for Argentine government officials to raise other walls. The association of border walls with Argentine class divisions and Donald Trump’s disdain for Latin Americans reinforced this political liability, which held firm even when the public widely favored Macri’s decree on “immigrant crime”. On the other hand, the capacity of Macri’s government to advance a hard-border policy without adopting walls effectively closed off more radical possibilities. Nationally, critics of Macri’s 2017 decree could not pose a major challenge to his border-tightening agenda, and staunch opponents of the Posadas wall could not compel EBY to dismantle it or add modifications to help under-resourced residents. Methodologically, the case of recent Argentine border policy affirms the value of context specificity and multi-scale perspective. It also offers lessons for comparative inquiry among countries and over time. First, Argentina’s 21st-­ century trajectory shows why nuanced concepts of globalization help to specify how globalization shapes border policies and practices. Examining them in tandem with a government’s international economic agenda, or disaggregating a state’s transnational connections into various dimensions, are two ways to do this. Second, this case suggests a need to slacken the conceptual tie between securitization and borderization. Chabot (2020) notes that border regimes are comprised of security, health, commercial and migratory norms that may contradict one another. In this respect it is also worthwhile to address “developmentalization” of border policy, especially in the global south. Kormoll’s chapter (this volume) on an Indian border fence examines a regional development project that was subordinated to security objectives. In contrast, developmental priorities subsumed security concerns in the Posadas border region of Argentina. Third, emphasis on resistance to border walls would encourage more dynamic studies

64   Robert Andolina of border-policy protagonists and antagonists. Coronado’s chapter (this volume) on accompaniment activism at the US–Mexico border is a good example of this. As the number of countries with boundary barriers increases, and global awareness of this pattern expands, systematically comparative analyses may ­proliferate. Meanwhile, political actors might refer more often to borders abroad to inform and legitimate their positions at home. Akin to the way public consciousness of globalization affects the evolution of the same, societal awareness of borderization across the world can influence how it unfolds in practice. These possibilities offer fruitful avenues for future research on borders and other common impediments to global mobility.

Notes 1 Rule by an elected democratic government is a condition for belonging to MERCOSUR. Paraguay, for example, was temporarily suspended in 2012 after its legislature removed President Lugo on dubious legal bases. 2 Venezuela gained full MERCOSUR membership in 2006 but was suspended in 2017 on political grounds. 3 Over time, this involved Israeli training, US financing, and equipment from both countries. 4 Argentina has contributed most of the funds to EBY’s projects and has reaped most of the dam’s benefits, while Paraguay has experienced the bulk of flooding damage. 5 This was reinforced by Paraguay–Argentina border-resident cards that authorized unlimited day trips across the border with a three-day maximum stay per visit (Linares, 2017). 6 Renoldi, Millán and Carísimo (2017) mention that EBY officials cited inhibition of informal commerce as a reason for building the wall. I only found such reasoning in editorial news commentary about the wall, however. 7 These themes reappeared in other public denunciations of the Posadas wall. They were reinforced by criticisms pointing to contradictions between the wall and President ­Fernandez de Kirchner’s pro-migration policies and highlighting the shared culture and material interdependence of Argentines and Paraguayans in the north-eastern border region. 8 The government’s claims were based on federal prison information only. When all Argentine prisoner data was tabulated, the number of immigrants in jail comprised 5.7% of the total immigrant population, while immigrants constituted 4.5% of the total population in Argentina (Achtenberg, 2017).

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68   Robert Andolina Redacción Tres Lineas. (2015). “Muro de la Vergüenza: Sentimos que no nos Quieren y Muchos no Van a Volver”. Tres Líneas. Retrieved from www.treslineas.com.ar/­ muro-vergenza-sentimos-quieren-muchos-volver-n-1318201.html. Accessed May 2, 2020. Redacción Ultima Hora. (2015, August 18). “Argentina Levanta el Muro Fronterizo que Brasil Impidió”. Última Hora. Retrieved from www.ultimahora.com/argentina-levantael-muro-fronterizo-que-brasil-impidio-n922917.html. Accessed May 2, 2020. Renoldi, B., M.R. Millán and A. Carísimo. (2017). “El Muro de la Vergüenza en ­Posadas-Encarnación: Especulaciones Sobre Seguridad, Estado y Fronteras”. In A. Benedetti (Ed.), Bordes, Límites, Frentes e Interfaces: Algunos Aportes Sobre la Cuestión de Fronteras, pp. 66–82. Buenos Aires: Alejandro Gabriel Benedetti. Roche, J.J. (2016). “Walls and Borders in a Globalized World: The Paradoxical Revenge of Territorialization”. In É. Vallet (Ed.), Borders, Fences, and Walls: A State of Insecurity?, pp. 105–115. New York: Ashgate. Romero, S. and D. Politi. (2017). “Argentina’s Trump-Like Immigration Order Rattles South America”. New York Times. Retrieved from www.nytimes.com/2017/02/04/ world/americas/argentinas-trump-like-immigration-order-rattles-south-america.html. Accessed May 2, 2020. Sain, M. (2018). “Militarization of the Drug-Trafficking Control in Argentina?” Revista Científica General José María Córdova, vol. 16, no. 24. Thomas, O. (2015). “Yacyretá: Building the Future”. ReVista: Harvard Review of Latin America, vol. 14, no. 3, pp. 29–33. Vallet, É. and C.P. David. (2016). “Walls of Money: Securitization of Border Discourse and Militarization of Markets”. In É. Vallet (Ed.), Borders, Fences, and Walls: A State of Insecurity?, pp. 143–156, New York: Ashgate. VB. (2017, January 30). “Schiavoni: El Muro es un Disparate”. Misiones Cuatro. Retrieved from https://misionescuatro.com/posadas/schiavoni-muro-disparate/. Accessed May 2, 2020. Wilson, T.M. and H. Donnan. (2012). “Borders and Border Studies”. In T.M. Wilson and H. Donnan (Eds.), A Companion to Border Studies, pp. 1–25, Oxford: Blackwell. Zabludovsky, K. (2017, March 5). “A Wall Divides Latin America – But Not the One You’re Thinking Of”. BuzzFeed News. Retrieved from www.buzzfeednews.com/ article/karlazabludovsky/argentina-separation-anxiety. Accessed May 2, 2020.

4 Ambiguous bordering practices at the EU’s edges Jussi P. Laine

Introduction Borders have come to play a critical role as interfaces between domestic concerns and wider interstate and intercultural contexts. As markers of difference, their role as barriers to undesirable influences and threats perceived has only been reinforced. Instead of taking the widespread rhetoric around the closing of state borders as a mere struggle over space, this chapter also includes in its analysis factors of ontological insecurity and the psychological comfort that borders can be seen to produce. It examines the prevailing security-oriented rhetoric, the related gatekeeping processes and the walls of fear that have grown in popularity and allowed the debate on migration to be hijacked, overshadowing many of its benefits. These practices, it is argued, carry elements of identitary and normative, if not civilisational, bordering, producing in the process an illusion of social order and fortifying inflexible social-spatial imaginaries and definitions of acceptable norms, appearance and behavior that seek to communicate who is welcome and who is not. Europe has long been a popular destination for migrants and refugees. Although it cannot be denied that the numbers of new arrivals spiked in 2015, when more than one million refugees and migrants reached Europe, the bigger picture has been lost behind the numbers. It was not the number of people who arrived that shook the resilience of the European Union (EU). The people arriving were regarded as unacceptable based on their values, language, appearance, religion or other such factors. If the numbers are used to reinforce the argument, it is also worth remembering that the actual EU population has remained relatively stable, growing only marginally, which suggests that people are not only constantly entering but also leaving. Nor can it be suggested that the EU stands out in global migration population comparisons: The share of migrants of the global population is just under 4%, and in the EU just above 4%.1 What is noteworthy here is that the share of refugees and asylum seekers has grown and now already constitutes roughly 10% of all international migrants. Even then the vast majority (approximately 85%) is hosted by developing countries. The consistent drive for ever stricter border and migration policies not only in Europe, but throughout the Global North, has not emerged in isolation or purely

70   Jussi P. Laine as the creations of politicians, but reflects the thinking of their electorates. These ideas reinforce the collective imagination of a safe “interior” and an insecure exterior, “outside”, reminiscent of the medieval concept of the fortress (Benedicto and Brunet, 2018: 8). In such rhetoric migration has often been framed as a threat, a security issue, something that needs to be combatted, creating an impression of borders as protective yet vulnerable walls safeguarding the inside from a perceived threat from the outside (Laine, 2018a, 2018b). The promise of a strong nation state as a solution for the perceived chaos has resonated well with the resulting public discourse in many EU member states. The original idea of open borders appears effectively to have been shot down (Ahtisaari, 2017). Fear is in this case a factor that cannot be overlooked. It has been deliberately politicized by feeding xenophobic far-right readings of the situation which hope to harness fears to advance political goals. Yet fear is a psychological, not a political, phenomenon. As Benedicto and Brunet (2018: 7) put it, this fear of the unknown and xenophobia create mental walls for people, who then demand physical walls. Gatekeeping is underlined here as a particularly intentional form of ­bordering, premised not only on the creation of difference but on more clearcut exclusion. The argument posited here is that having the power to determine these criteria is a major factor in the ordering of society, as well as in constructing a particular variety of social reality and view of the world. The applied criteria for bordering can also be seen as indicative of what the EU is envisioned as. That is, Europe appears different depending on whether ­bordering is effected with the aim of establishing security, preserving a culture, safeguarding economic sustainability or the distribution of state benefits, political functioning and self-determination, or based on interpretations of mere realism, for example. Recent public discussion suggests to many that identity- and value-related questions play an important role in the definition of the very idea of Europe. The analysis presented here focuses on the apparent securitization of migration and related bordering practices more consistent with the traditional sovereign state imaginary than with any proclaimed post-Westphalian political project. The notion of ontological security is utilised here to explain the politics and practices of the suppression of welcome. It allows us to connect the logic of security with the production and reproduction of identities, and to better understand why, in confronting otherness, rationality may be overridden in the search for continuity, even if this compromises values and norms otherwise held dear. The assumed logic here is that the gatekeeping (ordering) and politics of bordering are not merely technocratic or otherwise distinct processes operating in isolation, but they must instead be understood as processes amidst the everchanging multitude of factors impacting the securing of one’s own security. As many have argued (Mitzen, 2006a; Rumelili, 2015; Kinnvall et al., 2018), the EU seeks ontological security in securing its identity and gives meaning to the space and polity it has come together to govern. However, the policies put in place to cope with the many ongoing crises and risks should not be taken as

Ambiguous bordering practices at EU’s edges   71 merely a means to secure the existence of the EU as a political community. They should instead be seen as the result of the sense of anxiety and insecurity many ordinary Europeans feel about their identity, place within the wider physical/ social world and future.

Politics of difference For the purposes of this chapter bordering is essentially a multilevel process that takes place, for example, at the level of high politics, manifested by physical borders and visa regimes, as well as in media debates about national identity, legal and irregular immigration and language rights (Linde-Laursen, 2010). The calls for stricter border enforcement and control cannot be taken simply as an attempt to close state spaces, but rather as filtering and sorting the people crossing them, from those perceived as welcome and desirable, and those who are unwanted and undesirable (Laine, 2018a: 232; Koca, 2019: 186). These bordering practices can be considered “biopolitical architectures concerned with regulating circulation” ­(Pallister-Wilkins, 2016: 156) aiming at controlling undesired flows and “creating an efficient system of selection that determines which types of mobility to allow” (ibid.: 232). Borders, or their underlying regime, function as “differentiating machines” (Rigo, 2007) that produce complex hierarchies not only between citizens and migrants, but within these categories (Tervonen et al., 2018: 139). Being unevenly transparent for different groups, borders are ­associated with and reinforce discrimination, social injustice and inequality (e.g., Van Baar, 2014; Laine, 2018b). “Gatekeeping” is brought forth here as an example of a particular kind of ­bordering whose inherent processes of inclusion and exclusion show evident intentionality. Gatekeeping has been discussed mostly in analyses of mass ­communication and journalistic cultures, and is used to refer to the notion that journalists’ behaviors and decisions concerning which topics should be covered and from which angles are guided by cultural norms and roles (e.g., Shoemaker and Vos, 2009). Although the media’s gatekeeping role has become increasingly and especially evident in the very framing of recent events as a “crisis”, gatekeeping’s inherent processes of selecting and filtering are not however limited to the media. For the purposes of this chapter’s argument it is useful to return to the roots of the concept and recall the early work of Lewin (1947), who may have been the first to posit the idea. He developed the concept from the perspective of social psychology in seeking to understand human behavior and personal perception. He saw gatekeeping as a crucial element in how individuals work to understand their own world (physical, mental and social) and define what he had previously termed their “life space” (Lewin, 1936). Lewin believed that a person’s life space existed not in isolation but in dynamic and constant relation to others, with areas of tension and boundary between them. Although there may be an increase in tension within a specific area of a person’s psychological world, these processes should not be considered in isolation but must be seen in the context of the entire life space (Lewin, 1936).

72   Jussi P. Laine As the aim here is not to delve more deeply into social psychology, it will suffice to take from his work that “[w]hat is real is what has effects” (Lewin, 1936: 19); that is, to focus attention on the subjective importance of aspects of the life space rather than attempting to objectively define every possible influence. Although gatekeeping can be seen as referring to the control that nation states exert over their boundaries’ “gates” through the role of law and their respective migration and border control policies, the underlying reasoning for these actions is seldom raised. However, as Triandafyllidou and Ambrosini (2011: 255) highlight, gatekeeping has more to do with the restrictions of “practical legal access to a nation and its institutions” than the fencing measures actively targeting irregular migrants to arrest and then expel them. As such, an analysis of gatekeeping also raises the normative aspects of immigration regulations (Iacovetta, 2006; Nevins, 2010; Satzewich, 2013). Migration law not only enshrines the criteria for potential membership (Dauvergne, 2008: 123), but formal immigration regulations are also often intertwined with values and normative frameworks that highlight gatekeeping’s moral aspects (Pellander, 2015: 1474). Gatekeeping accentuates the fact that not everyone is free to work, live, move or even visit wherever they please, but people on the move around the world are likely to encounter structures and restrictions established by states or comparable international bodies such as the EU. A process of filtering takes place through these structures in which potential incomers are assessed and categorized based on their perceived desirability and merit. Essentially, the task is to separate those who are considered welcome and wanted from those who are not. Thus, the notion of gatekeeping renders immigration threatening. Although the practice is not new, states have a long history of controlling their borders and monitoring migrants. This has been especially noticeable and more strongly executed since the 2015 European “refugee crisis”. Various bordering practices in the context of the strength of anti-immigrant movements across Europe have portrayed immigrants as a threat not only to “our” land but to culture, identity, values and conventional ways of life. The European’s very body is now portrayed as facing the crisis, if not under a full-scale attack by invading outsiders. Such rhetoric has been produced to diminish support for welcome and to ignore the harsh reality and humanitarian drama which millions of refugees must endure every day. The prioritizing of policing and border security and surveillance, with the historical perspective which insists most migrations predominantly consist of conquest, conveys an effective image of homelands overrun with foreign if not downright criminal elements which the state, if not the EU, must repel. In this sense, borders can be seen as functioning like a computer firewall: They provide security by filtering incoming traffic based on a set of user-defined rules. In computing, the purpose of a firewall is to reduce or eliminate the occurrence of unwanted and harmful network communications, while allowing legitimate communication to flow freely. The EU’s border regime, including its migration policies, is similarly designed to carefully analyse incoming traffic based on pre-established rules and filter it when it emanates from unsecured or suspicious sources. It thus seeks to facilitate border

Ambiguous bordering practices at EU’s edges   73 crossing for those with a legitimate reason and are trusted, while impeding those who are seen not to have such a right. An illustration can be found in the recent populist debate, in which borders have commonly been proposed as a solution to the migrant “invasion”. Just as firewalls function, borders are seen as providing an essential layer of security which, combined with other measures, prevents malicious incoming traffic, attackers and viruses from malevolently accessing our society. It is important to remember that the word “choice” is also important. Carling (2015) has examined the use of “refugees” versus “migrants” and found such “two-kinds-of-people” rhetoric troubling and often politically motivated. Urging us to respect both the uniqueness of each individual and the human worth of all, he notes that “[w]hen people drown at sea or suffocate in lorries, our first ­question should not be ‘so, which kind were they, refugees or migrants?’ ” His thinking reflects Bauman (1996), who sees a depiction of the two dominant ­cultural types of the global era, the “tourist” and the “vagabond”, which he vividly exemplifies in the increasingly clear reality that our mobility is increasingly based on who we are, how much money we have in our pockets and the place to which we are perceived as belonging. Whereas tourists stay or move as they wish and may abandon a place when new and untried opportunities beckon from elsewhere, Bauman (1996: 14) portrays the vagabonds as knowing “that they won’t stay for long, however strongly they wished to, since nowhere they stop they are welcome”. In other words, “tourists travel because they want to; the vagabonds – because they have no other choice” (ibid.). Where the EU is concerned, migration injects tension into its hybrid model (Mitzen, 2018: 1380). It challenges the need to manage the tension between liberalism’s universalist free-movement aspirations and the state project’s particularism of bounded security communities (Hollifield, 2004). The tension between liberal ideals and reality is felt at borders and reflected in migration policies and governance. Even states with strong anti-nationalist histories, Duyvenduk (2011: 1) notes, now face vocal movements employing the rhetoric of “longing for a homogenous national home”. Migration poses an ongoing governance challenge not only to its member states but to the EU as a whole, especially given the populist and nationalist appeals to homeland discourses of closure and fear (Mitzen, 2018: 1383). Her concern is that the EU is becoming “a migration state writ large and that governing migration is pushing the project toward the ­Westphalian model” as “the EU intensifies its own fortress by increasingly ­hardening EU borders” (ibid.: 1380).

Identity and essentialised imaginaries Bauman’s (e.g., 1991) theorising of strangeness and social order helps us understand how myths of impurity and danger lead to exclusionary practices due to the incongruence of the other on the cognitive, moral or aesthetic map. Damaging myths and metaphors about immigrants’ undesirability have been used effectively throughout history to exclude and marginalise migrant populations in host

74   Jussi P. Laine societies in an effort to “exclude filth” (Harper and Raman, 2008: 6), regardless of evidence. The diseased foreign body presents an external threat to the nation’s political and social fabric, against which surveillance is often presented as a necessity for national security (ibid.: 8). Indeed, as Bauman (1997: 43) ­concludes, the consensus in Western societies has been that the “poor far from meriting care and assistance, deserve hate and condemnation”. For Bauman (1991: 5) modernity is the self-reflective moment of the production of order – for the world, for oneself and for society. It is this search for order that is associated with the suppression and exclusion of strangers. The other, from this perspective, epitomizes chaos and is thus a potential threat to the stable and fixed boundaries modernity has established: Although rational arguments concerning immigrants as a resource may be well understood and even agreed, they may be seen as a challenge to established social and cultural boundaries, thus threatening the clarity and certainty of order and the securing of the social world’s predictability. While Bauman’s earlier discussion of strangerhood demonstrates the relational or intersubjective conception of the self’s identity, he later extends his conception of strangerhood in his understanding of the rise of nationalism. Nationalism, Bauman (1992: 683) maintains, seeks unification and homogeneity, and this is achieved through the drawing of boundaries between natives and aliens. A stranger can be seen as representing the cultural other, destabilising and problematising established social and cultural boundaries, thus threatening the insider’s identity (Bauman, 1991: 55). In a similar vein Yuval-Davis (2013) also notes that identities and identity politics occupy specific roles in constructions of otherness and the politics of belonging. She maintains that identities should be understood as specific forms of narratives about the self and its boundaries, while identity politics are political projects of belonging promoted by specific social agents who construct specific collective boundaries around particular identity narratives. These narratives typically involve dialogical processes in the construction of normative discourses within which identities are performed. For her, however, the important aspect to understand is not merely the manner in which identity narratives are produced, but whether their production implies a particular relationship between the self and the non-self. “Self and other do not exist as mutually exclusive social facts” (Cooley, 1912: 92), but we are who we are only in relation to other people (Lacan, 1936). Our shared confidence that we have a self [image] is linked to stability, the maintaining of which depends on the repression of the object, the other (Thibierge and Morin, 2010: 73), a performance which gains further authorization via repetition. The otherness of the image the subject assumes in what Lacan calls the mirror stage creates a negative dimension in the subject’s existence. The failure to measure up to our own ideals surfaces in our psychosocial behavior in the form of anxiety, insecurity and hostility towards others. The “us” group is defined through the process of othering: The more negative the qualities attributed to the “them” group, the more positive “we” seem in comparison. The essentialised imaginaries of security threats based on exaggerated representations and imaginaries of foundational differences between people, cultures

Ambiguous bordering practices at EU’s edges   75 and states cannot be ignored, because in contexts of socioeconomic stress and geopolitical instability the sense of insecurity can dramatically increase, regardless of whether the assessment made is rational (Rumelili, 2015; Laine, 2018b). The feeling of insecurity in an ontological sense may escalate to the point that it hinders one’s ability to manage the uncertainties of daily life and erodes the sense of confidence and trust that the world is what it appears to be (Kinnvall, 2004: 746). In the multiple crises of this turbulent era the precise cause of insecurity is not always easy to pinpoint. As the security threat is unclear or too complex to be grasped, it is also difficult to manage or tackle. Uncertainty makes it difficult to act and sustain a self-conception, leading to the deep and incapacitating state of not knowing which dangers to confront and which to ignore (Mitzen, 2006b: 345). The othering of migrants and refugees in particular can be seen as a strategy to fight against paralysing anxieties in search of stability – whether societal or identitary. Whatever the significance for the construction of self-identity, individual or collective, the mere recognition that others exist creates a need not only to assess how and to what extent one differs from others but also for a decision, explicit or not, about how to treat them (Yuval-Davis, 2013). Such a decision, whether at the normative or positionality level, cannot be collapsed into the identificatory level of belonging. People’s values, morals and ethical decisions play a crucial role in the construction of identities and their contesting and authorizing (Frosh and Baraitser, 2003; Yuval-Davis, 2006). Thus, while the act of recognizing and separating from others constructs identitary boundaries, it does not need automatically to lead to their rejection. Otherness may also be acceptable. Ontological security dilemmas often pose a challenge to the conventional social glue perceived as holding “us” together and may actually reinforce the sense of being and identity of the actors involved (Mitzen, 2006b). In contrast to welcome as something relational, feeling at home – even if psychological – seems to have remained obstinately more place-based, or at least as a combination of people, practices and places – as well as their inherent structural power differences – that induce and deny the feeling of being welcome, with a particular focus on migrants as newcomers. As such, it is central to an ontological security approach to subjectivity (Mitzem, 2018: 1374) and fundamental for human beings to feel enduringly whole, continuous and stable (Laing, 1960; Giddens, 1991). This sense of personal continuity, Mitzen (2018: 1374) argues, requires an ongoing effort to hold the hard uncertainties of being such as meaning and mortality at bay and an awareness of the fundamental contingency of the social order. This is done through frequently emotional narratives that define and locate the self in the social world and routines that establish personal, social and political orders. In her discussion of Europe Mitzen (2018: 1376) posits “home” as a bordered container of the self. Thus, home becomes central to processes of self-stabilization as a locale associated with internal, psychological and emotional feelings of ­personal continuity or being, but also spatially as a location with a hard border between the inside and outside. These ideas of home may be incorporated in

76   Jussi P. Laine c­ ollective storylines that become important for group identification and mobili­ zation (Walters, 2004), and in the use of identities and place attachments, to naturalise certain person-place relationships in political projects (Hopkins and Dixon, 2006: 175). This suggests that in many social contexts identity boundaries between “us” and “them” can become banal and thus accepted (Gilroy, 2005). Whether invoked politically or banally, the imagery of home facilitates the imagining of ourselves as belonging to groups, especially nations and states, linked to homelands, the places where “we” live (Mitzen, 2018: 1374). To better grasp the complexity of the situation, it may be necessary to move beyond the commonly used identity narratives, which tend to construct clearly divisive boundaries between us and them in a dichotomous and zero-sum way. Yuval-Davis (2013) underlines the importance of not reducing all others to “the other”: To seeing diversity also within diversity. In identity narratives related to most everyday situations there is no such dichotomous division between “us” and “them”, and people’s social worlds are much more complex. This is particularly the case if a nationalist frame is used to define us, as has been the case in many European countries in the aftermath of the “refugee crisis”. As Anderson (1983: 6–7) famously declared, nations are socially constructed, imagined by the people who perceive themselves as belonging to a group. In all likelihood we do not know most of our fellow citizens. Rather, as Williams (2006: 70) notes, we may be much more attached to citizens of other states and have a closer bond with them. For many, the more meaningful discourses of belonging often relate to membership of other spatial, professional or friendship groupings and ­networks. These linkages can be seen as offering an alternative to traditional identity politics: Instead of being bounded within territorial confines, they ­establish a collective “us” transcending borders and boundaries, in which membership is bounded by a solidarity based on common emancipatory values (Yuval-Davis, 2013: 14).

Walling Europe We can find numerous examples around the world which suggest that actual concrete walls seldom work for the purpose for which they are intended. As soon as a wall or fence is erected, people will try to cross it – it is needless to underline the ineffectiveness of such constructions in alleviating the very causes of people’s movement in the first place. Walls, however, seem more effective on paper. I mean here how EU border and migration policies and practices actually play out. The EU has been vastly expanding its external border control force and has hiked expenditure on constructing “Fortress Europe” in a bid to discourage unwanted migrants. A fitting, if partial, example of this was the 2007–13 Solidarity and Management of Migration Flows Programme (SOLID), for which Directorate-General for Home Affairs of the European Commission allocated a budget of almost €4 billion. This General Programme consisted of four instruments: The External Borders Fund (EBF); the European Return Fund (RF); the European Refugee

Ambiguous bordering practices at EU’s edges   77 Fund (ERF); and the European Fund for the Integration of third-country nationals (EIF). Almost half the entire budget was directed to EBF activities, equipment and technological infrastructure focused on the control of the Schengen area’s external borders, while only 17% was allocated to support asylum procedures, reception services and the resettlement and integration of refugees ­(European Commission, 2019). The contrast between expenditure on border control and refugee support was considerably more pronounced in EU funding allocations to individual member states at the EU’s external borders. Bulgaria affords a good example: Approximately 8% of the total amount received under the SOLID Programme was allocated for activities funded by the Refugee Fund, and approximately 74% by the External Borders Fund. In 2014, the EU established two new funds to replace the four under the SOLID Programme: The Asylum, Migration and Integration Fund (AMIF); and the Internal Security Fund (ISF). This represented an increased spending of almost 50% in this area. Since the increased inflow of asylum seekers in 2015, the funding has not only been further increased but has increasingly focused on border securitization at the expanse of more solidary action. In particular, the budget of the European Border and Coast Guard Agency (Frontex) has soared from an initial €6.2 million in 2005 to €333 million in 2019.2 In September 2019, the Council of the EU supported a budget of €420.6 million for 2020 for Frontex, a 32.4% increase from 2019, to establish a standing corps of 10,000 border guards by 2027 (Council of the EU 2019). The total EU contribution from the 2014–20 ­Multiannual Financial Framework to Frontex increased from the initial commitment of €628 million to €1,638 billion (European Parliament 2018: 15). Acknowledging that “migration and border management will remain a challenge in the future”, the Commission proposed to almost triple funding for migration and border management to €34.9 billion during the 2021–7 EU budgetary period, compared with €13 billion in the previous period (European Commission: 2018a). An unprecedented level of funding will be channelled through two primary funds, the Asylum and Migration Fund (AMF, the current AMIF) and the Integrated Border Management Fund (IBMF, replacing the current ISF). “Learning the lessons of the past”, the Commission (2018) defined the “crucial areas of migration and border management” where the funds will be allocated as: (1) securing the EU’s external borders (strengthening external borders, a stronger and more efficient visa policy); and (2) supporting a robust, realistic and fair migration policy (a stronger and more efficient European asylum system, greater support for legal migration and integration and faster and more frequent returns). In addition to the €21.3 billion allocated for border management overall, a separate new Integrated Border Management Fund (IBMF) has been created, worth more than €9.3 billion. The creation of a dedicated border management fund reflects the fact that both border management and internal security have become increasingly pressing priorities – each worthy of dedicated and more targeted financing instruments – and that the “effective protection of the EU’s external borders is crucial to manage migration and ensure internal security” (European Commission, 2018b).

78   Jussi P. Laine The rhetoric employed suggests that to safeguard a safe interior from the insecure and threatening exterior, the EU must intercept those attempting to migrate “illegally” into the European space. Migration became a security issue, perhaps more distinctly than ever, with the establishment of a European Travel Information and Authorisation System (ETIAS) in 2016. This followed the 2016 announcement of Jean-Claude Juncker (2016), President of the European Commission, in his State of the Union address, in which he stated that “[w]e need to know who is crossing our borders” and demanded that “an automated system to determine who will be allowed to travel to Europe” be created for the purpose. The system was heralded as the “the missing link in our border management, connecting the dots with our migration and security policies” needed to guarantee that “Europe’s openness does not come at the cost of its security” (Avramopoulos, 2016, author’s emphasis). Migration was established as a security issue even more profoundly in the statements of other leading officials, according to whom “[t]errorists and criminals don’t care much for national borders” (King, 2016) because “[s]ecuring our borders and protecting our citizens is our first priority” (Timmermans, 2016). In short, to quote the Commissioner for Migration, Internal Affairs and Citizenship of the European Commission, Dimitris Avramopoulos (2017), “Europe has had to deal with two parallel and simultaneous crises on migration and security”. However, these policies have thus far done little to halt “illegal” migration, though they have certainly made it more difficult. The securitization tendency and the related effort to restrict migration have created a self-referential fencing which feeds itself insatiably. The more movement is restricted, the more crossing becomes illegal, and the more control is needed. The more fences are built, the more personnel are needed to control them. As border control technology becomes more sophisticated, so does the smuggling industry. As the stakes get higher, so do the potential profits, which in turn make illegal activities increasingly lucrative (Laine, 2018b: 292). The smuggling networks are making billions from human misery (Mohdin, 2016). The more restrictions are placed, the more people are pushed into irregularity, forced into more dangerous conditions and taking bigger risks. Ultimately, the more fences and walls are built, the more people die (Figure 4.1). The EU’s migration policy priorities have been geared towards sealing its borders and pushing back those seeking access to better lives, rather than its own human rights obligations and the actual meaning of ­“European values”. As a result, the EU’s external border has become the world’s most lethal. According to some estimates, even as many as 36,000 people have lost their lives in attempting to reach Fortress Europe as a result of its restrictive policies since the early 1990s.3

Our values’ values If values are indeed posited as a major determinant, there is an apparent need to discuss what these values actually are. Some may see them as stemming from the Kantian Enlightenment and the sacred values of the French Revolution – liberty,

Figure 4.1 Deaths at Europe’s borders. Illustration by the author. Data Source: International Organization for Migration (IOM).

Ambiguous bordering practices at EU’s edges   79

80   Jussi P. Laine equality and fraternity – which sparked great enthusiasm across Europe. More recently, the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union (CFR),4 which enshrines the rights for EU citizens and residents in EU law, contains ­specific titles dealing with substantive rights under the headings of dignity, ­freedoms, equality, solidarity, citizens’ rights and justice. Of particular interest for the argument here are the title on freedoms, which covers inter alia personal integrity, thought, religion, expression, assembly, and asylum, the title on equality, which prohibits discrimination on the basis of cultural, religious, and linguistic diversity, and covers the rights of children and the elderly, and the title on solidarity, which includes access to healthcare and social assistance. The European Commission officially defines the fundamental key values on which the Union is founded in the Treaty on European Union (TEU). Article 2 of the Treaty enshrines these values as consisting of respect for human dignity, freedom, democracy, equality, the rule of law and human rights, including the rights of minorities. The Europarlamentti (2014) website, maintained by the European Parliament Information Office in Finland with Mosaiikki ry, a Finnish immigrant association promoting the European Parliament among immigrants living in Finland by providing information in simplified language “to make it easier for immigrants to understand”, refers to the same set of values yet goes further in explaining that “[t]hese values unite all the member states – no country that does not recognise these values can belong to the Union”. Should this interpretation hold true, recent events involving the treatment of immigrants suggest the time may be ripe to begin exit discussions with a number of other member states in addition to the UK. In its own wording in the Treaty the European Commission is less stern in confining itself to stating that these values “are common to the Member States in a society in which pluralism, nondiscrimination, tolerance, justice, solidarity and equality between women and men prevail”.5 Although the Treaty establishes a mechanism for the suspension of certain rights in the event of a serious and persistent breach by a member state of these values, straightforward exclusion seems unlikely. Whatever the definitions may be, the values referred to are as a rule positive: Others who presumably do not share these European values possess values that may easily seem more negative. The overarching presupposition behind such thinking is itself far from trouble-free and may even have contributed to the very challenge which now confronts us. As Ahtisaari (2017) warns, Europe and more broadly the West may have made a major mistake in presenting these values specifically as European or Western. The semantics have created space for others to reject policies based on these values. To exactly what end then can “European” values indeed be held to be European? At the risk of over-generalisation, it can be noted that the EU’s key values seem to differ little from those of the United Nations, to which all its 193 current member states have committed. Second, it may not be an overstatement to claim that the widespread security-oriented and nationalist reactions to the “refugee crisis” in Europe have revealed considerably more about “us” than about “them”. The unsettling deficiency of historical selfunderstanding thus revealed has catalyzed a hollowing out of the very values

Ambiguous bordering practices at EU’s edges   81 upon which the idea of Europe has generally been constructed (Laine, 2018b: 293). To push this line of thought further, it may be necessary to consider if “we” rather than “they” are in fact challenging such apparently ­cherished values. Have we deviated from the commonly cited examples of values Europeans have sought to advance and cherish for centuries, as many of the uncompassionate reactions to newly arriving migrants suggest? Or have our values changed in the new age of continual crises? Bréchon and Gonthier (2017) suggest that they indeed have. Although their study confirms the notion that values generally only change slowly, in sharp contrast to the popular belief that values are converging and becoming increasingly standardised, they find that Europe remains very diverse in its value ­orientation: Discussing common European values may obscure more than it ­illuminates as the European value system deviates from grand narratives and becomes increasingly heterogeneous and individualised. However, their study identifies a number of underlying tendencies that seem to resonate widely throughout the European space. These include liberalism in personal behavior, orientation and decision making, yet the simultaneous demand for authority and public order in the rejection of uncivil behaviour and lawbreaking (Bréchon and Gonthier, 2017: 279). Many Europeans also reportedly wish to freely enjoy their lives without being constrained by moral or religious norms, and to exercise their freedom in a secure public space without being threatened by disruptive behaviour (Tournier, 2017). The dominant model within the EU is a mixture of liberal values and social preferences and expectations, though there seem to be major differences between the most privileged individuals and the most vulnerable, especially concerning expectations of equality or collective solidarity (Gonthier, 2017: 151). While it is widely acknowledged that citizens’ personal attachment to the EU has already been weakening for a long time, and concerns about the EU’s democratic deficit have not abated, Belot and Guinaudeau (2017) go further in ­suggesting there is a direct linkage, if not correlation, between fears regarding the EU, a withdrawal into narrow nationalist attitudes and the xenophobic rejection of immigrants.

Discriminatory othering Based on the recent events it is reasonable to argue that when borders are opened to some, they are closed to others. This realization urges us to examine not only the ethics of territorial borders but the various practices of border making and the politics of difference. European policymakers have been at pains to negotiate between more security-oriented approaches and human dignity and human rights. These concepts, as well as that of “freedom”, have therefore come to depend on who you are and where you are from. EU leaders’ quest for quick fixes in further border control and migration reinforcement is visionless and unlikely to solve anything – either in the short or long term. Borders are nothing but an end-of-pipe solution to a much broader phenomenon, which cannot be

82   Jussi P. Laine managed without addressing the inherent inequalities of the current international system (Laine, 2018b: 300). Instead, the various bordering processes these policies have fueled challenge European ideals and hollow out the EU’s core values. The EU and its member states have constructed an increasingly impenetrable fortress to keep irregular migrants out – irrespective of their motives and the desperate measures many are prepared to take to reach its shores. To “defend” its borders, the EU has funded sophisticated surveillance systems, created an agency to coordinate a Europe-wide team of border guards to patrol EU frontiers and built detention facilities where refugees and migrants are detained, limiting their access to information and freedom. So-called disembarkation platforms outside the EU have also been constructed for those rescued to be taken for the processing of their asylum claims. The EU has also rapidly changed the status of several states from “unsafe” to “safe”, undermining the right of citizens from these states to seek asylum in the EU. Instead of properly addressing the problem, practices have been put in place that have merely funnelled it elsewhere. The EU’s highly problematic migration cooperation with Libya and the curbing of non-governmental rescue efforts in the Mediterranean have led to a marked decline in arrivals to Italy, while those to Greece and Spain have increased. Individual member states themselves are taking drastic measures to stop irregular arrivals. Illustrative cases include unlawful expulsions of migrants and refugees, the ill-treatment of migrants by border guards and coastguards, efforts to obstruct rescue efforts (coinciding with skyrocketing migrant deaths), and the use of the threat of lengthy detention as a deterrent for those thinking about coming to Europe. The UNHCR has frequently reported allegations that thousands of asylum seekers and migrants have been pushed back by Croatian police into Bosnia and Herzegovina, hundreds of cases of denied access to asylum ­procedures and more than 700 allegations of police violence and theft. In August 2018 France adopted a flawed asylum and immigration system that was criticised for undermining access to asylum by weakening appeal rights and safeguards for those subject to accelerated asylum procedures. Attacks on refugees and asylum seekers, refugee shelters and xenophobic demonstrations remain a matter of concern in Germany. Physical and gender-based violence remain common in asylum camps in Greece and NGOs have reported deteriorating mental health conditions among trapped asylum seekers. In Italy the new coalition government comprising the anti-immigrant League and the populist Five Star Movement began immediately on taking power to block the disembarkation of rescued persons at Italian ports and systematically hand over the coordination of rescues to the Libyan Coast Guard. Summary returns from Spain’s exclaves have continued despite the 2017 European Court of Human Rights ruling. Nor has the introduction of increasingly discriminatory immigration policies been rare: The Visegrád states, for example, have formally articulated their strong preference for taking Christian refugees before others. Others (such as the ­Netherlands, the UK and Germany) impose high income and language ­requirements for family unification that can cause long periods of forced family

Ambiguous bordering practices at EU’s edges   83 separation, designed especially to reduce unwanted forms of immigration. Populist leaders in a number of EU states (such as Italy, Hungary and Austria) have sought to use the issue of migration to fan the flames of fear and garner more support at the polls. Their hard-line positions on migration have clearly undermined the EU’s moral standing and often have little to do with effective policy. With disagreements about sharing responsibility among EU countries blocking agreements on reforms of EU asylum laws and fair distribution of responsibility for processing migrants and asylum seekers entering and already present in EU territory, the levels of EU unity have reached new lows, and the focus has remained on simplistic measures to keep migrants and asylum seekers away from the EU by any means necessary.

Conclusions The resulting situation is utterly paradoxical. Despite its obvious shortcomings in living up to its own commitments, the EU claims to lead the way in promoting human rights globally. The EU uses contradictory rhetoric and narratives for migratory movements. While it ostensibly rejects a policy of walls and publicly supports humanitarian and development goals, this coexists with a discourse and bordering practices that criminalize the movement of migrants and conceive of them as a threat. EU border and migration policies intended to protect core European values are hollowing out precisely the fundamental values for which the EU supposedly stands. This is not merely a serious step in the wrong direction but a dangerous cat-and-mouse game with human lives and rights, eroding the soft power with which the EU has attempted to influence and pressurize the authoritarian regimes in its neighbourhood. It may also be a costly step that is likely to backfire and lead only to increased migration pressure on the Union. The identity crisis many have experienced may thus be more self-inflicted than is commonly believed. Questions concerning migrants and borders reflect the greatest challenges contemporary European societies face. Birth rates have been in decline while life expectancy has increased. As the population has aged, the functionality of labor markets and pension systems has been challenged. As a result of the need for labor and increased mobility, migration has emerged as a key EU theme and policy instrument. The need for migrant labor has, however, been overshadowed by the more protectionist and security-oriented rhetoric surrounding migration in the wake of the recent “refugee crisis”. Concerns about its consequences for society, welfare institutions and labor markets have influenced not only public opinion but political action, causing temporary border closures, cultural divides and even expressions of racism and xenophobic nationalism. In confronting otherness, rationality may be overridden in the search for continuity, even if this compromises otherwise cherished values and norms. The sudden influx of refugees became a political crisis, giving rise to the conflation of populist parties and right-wing ideology. The resultant prevailing rhetoric of migration concerns, problems or threats largely outperforms the apparent fact

84   Jussi P. Laine that European countries will simply not manage without migrants. Studies have shown that immigration provides economic opportunities, and that Europe can achieve a fair and effective allocation of migrants that will preserve European principles and unity (Blau and Mackie, 2016). However, broad generalization should be avoided, because different groups and individuals are evidently more receptive to different discourses and their subjective experience of a situation may differ greatly. Reactions to and framings of the observed increase in migrant arrivals in Europe have been fractured at best – and it may well be that it is this mounting polarization, rather than migrants themselves, that is testing Europe’s democracy, social model, cooperation and values. The rhetoric proposing the closure of state borders exposes personal insecurity and is a manifestation of the psychological comfort borders create. Security threats do not exist objectively but are the outcome of an inter-subjective ideational social construction (Laine, 2018b: 296). Borders have come to play a key role in the debate largely because they are perceived as barriers to undesirable influences and threats from the other side. Borders can thus be seen as fostering social orders and binary categories, which play an important role in identity construction. It would seem that the relationship between the self and the other is not based on the other forthrightly reaffirming the identity of the self. Rather, it is challenged by the testing of its values. Strangers may reinforce the boundaries between the self and the other, but they also disturb and problematize them by forcing people to rethink the very components of the social glue that is perceived to hold a ­particular “us” together. Although it may at first seem threatening, this problematization calls into question the assumed social orders and social-spatial imaginaries of the hegemonic narrative of Europeanness that have for too long uncritically ­communicated who is welcome, and who is not.

Notes 1 Based on Eurostat Statistics. 2 Compiled from Frontex’s annual budgets (https://frontex.europa.eu/about-frontex/keydocuments/?category=budget. Accessed May 3, 2020). 3 See, for example, the UNITED List of Deaths (www.unitedagainstracism.org/wp-content/ uploads/2019/07/ListofDeathsActual.pdf. Accessed May 22, 2020) and the Operational Data Portal by UNHCR (https://data2.unhcr.org/en/situations/mediterranean. Accessed May 3, 2020). 4 Drafted in 2000 yet did not gain full legal effect until the entry into force of the Treaty of Lisbon in 2009. 5 Consolidated Version of the Treaty on European Union 26.10.2012 Official Journal of the European Union C 326/17.

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5 Enforcing Israel/Palestine’s border spaces Christine Leuenberger

Why boundaries matter The fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 purportedly marked the beginning of a new era of open geographical spaces and unparalleled physical and electronic mobility, replacing a world divided along ideological and political lines. By the 1990s, globalization, deterritorialization and the opening of borders ostensibly superseded nationalism, regionalism and territorially based cultural identities. At the time, bordered spaces seemingly gave way to a borderless and interconnected world. Economic trade agreements between member states of the European Union (EU) and other such trading blocs enhanced transnational economic ­connectivity. Development of cross-border regions in Europe, Asia and the Americas made it seem like we had entered a post-bordered world in which the nation-state and its boundaries no longer dictate the terms of our global interconnectedness. While the dreams of a borderless world increasingly clashed with the rise of nationalism and the closure of borders across Europe and the US that commenced with Hungary’s building a wall in 2015 to allegedly stop immigration from Serbia and Croatia, such dreams of an open borderless world – however temporary they might have been – were always nothing but a fata morgana in the deserts of the Negev and the Sahara. Not only has the post-1989 period led to a worldwide proliferation of borders, boundaries and physical and virtual frontiers, that divide people, cultures and territories, but also in conflictridden areas, such as in the Middle East, establishing firm boundaries so as to delineate territory and attempt to differentiate between what are taken to be ethnically and culturally diverse social groups remains a desired form of social organization (Brawer, 2002). The unexpected hardening of borders in a supposedly borderless post-Cold War World, has led geographers and Border Studies scholars to increasingly use borders as a lens through which to understand notions of territoriality, spatiality of power and political identities. Given the ever more complex spatiality of borders in the 21st century, Border Studies scholars have focused on how spatiality and borders are socially produced, not only within border areas, but also through social practices, legislations and discourses that permeate societies. Accordingly, bordering mechanisms and their impact reside within a complex

Enforcing Israel/Palestine’s border spaces   89 network of institutional practices and narrative frameworks across different spaces, in which people perform notions of territoriality, cultural identities and power relations (Brunet-Jailly, 2011; Newman and Paasi, 1998; Paasi and ­Prokkola, 2008). National boundaries therefore do not only ideally define a nation’s sovereign control over people and land and differentiate states from each other, but they are also lines on maps, demarcations engraved in territories, as well as political, social, cultural and discursive constructs. Moreover, the meanings of borders are not fixed, but they are fluid as they respond to the changing histori­cal and social and cultural contexts that shape cross-border relations and affirm or deemphasize the importance of borders. Yet few studies have focused on the making of borders as a complex process of paper trails, surveying, map-making, politics, people and topographical challenges. Indeed, despite their geopolitical importance in the region, studies of borders in the Middle East have been scarce (Meier, 2013). The social, technical and bureaucratic construction of Israel’s boundaries provides an evocative case for gaining insight into attempts to make boundaries. Israeli surveyors have reported on the trial and tribulations of surveying activities (Srebro and ­Shoshani, n.d.; Srebro et al., 2009); geographers have analyzed Israel’s borders as mutable public spaces that can make and remake political identities and are impacted by facts on the ground (Bar-Gal, 1993; Falah and Newman, 1995; Hatuka, 2012; Newman, 2002; Wallach, 2011); historians have traced how borders are constitutive of state- and nation-building, delimiting territorial governance and also serving as agents of socialization into a sense of national belonging and identity (Anderson, 1983; Hobsbawn, 1992); and border experts have dealt with the process of delineating Israel’s borders and its social, political and economic impacts (Brawer, 1978, 1983, 2002; Biger, 2002, 2008; Kaufman, 2002, 2009). The focus here, however, is on how borders are not only technically produced, but their delineation is a social accomplishment, as their lines are constituted by an array of objects, papers, maps and data that are physical and tangible as well as abstract and conceptual. This amalgam of the abstract and the tangible constitutes what Bruno Latour (Kuklick, 1986) calls an “immutable mobile” that is transportable and used to convince others of the location of the border. At the same time, its rhetorical persuasiveness depends on interactional contingencies, diplomacy and negotiation, both during its making and also when used to convince others of its reality.

Israel’s boundaries The study of Israel’s boundaries is particularly compelling as they remain contested, and some are yet to be delineated. Their emergence has a fraught history. During the British Mandate from 1918–47, the British and French delineated the territorial unit of “historic Palestine” based on imperial needs and colonial power struggles. They mostly delimited its borders in Paris and London, with typically no or little knowledge of the local cultural, human and natural ­topography (Biger, 2002, 2008). Yet it is that bounded geographical entity of

90   Christine Leuenberger “historic Palestine” that remains contested as both Israelis and Palestinians, at times, claim it as being exclusively their own (Wallach, 2011). Consequently, this exemplifies how territory delineated on maps may be an accident of history but can nevertheless have long-term consequences. Besides claims on “historic Palestine”, also alternate territorial visions, ranging from maximalist territorial dreams of a Greater Israel or Palestine respectively, to more pragmatist accommodations to local realities – continue to make boundary-making a deeply politicized issue. To this day, Israel’s actual territorial limits, and where its sovereignty begins and ends, remain uncertain (Miles, 2011); consequently, its borders continue to be subject to dispute, negotiation and conflict within Israel itself, between Israel and its neighbors, and within the international ­community (Schnell and Leuenberger, 2014). In order to better understand the contested nature of Israel’s borders, in the following I will trace how some of Israel’s boundaries were made, mapped and sustained, and how maps hindered or enhanced the boundary-making process.

Mapping boundaries Historically, many protagonists, associated with a range of powers and national movements, have drawn and redrawn the borders in the Middle East. They represented, at different times, the Ottoman Empire, the colonial powers of Britain and France, the Zionist movement, Israel, Trans-Jordan (later Jordan), Syria, the UN, Egypt and the Palestinians (Biger, 2008). They drew four kinds of lines: “those in which natural features influenced their location, boundaries that run along old Ottoman Empire administrative boundaries, straight lines, new lines” (Biger, 2002: 464). Natural boundaries, that follow geographical features such as rivers, are considered the best possible boundaries; Ottoman administrative lines (such as between Israel and Egypt and Israel and Jordan) often served as a starting point for negotiating final lines, as they set a precedent of where the boundaries might lie; straight lines (such as those separating Syria from Jordan and Iraq) are some of the most common boundaries in the Middle East (especially in desert regions); and new lines (including the line between Syria and Turkey) may often follow a man-made feature such as a railway. Most of these lines were done with little or no consideration to local habitat and indigenous populations. Instead, many were delineated by imperial powers in Paris or London, and by protagonists who were far removed from the area, that they so easily severed into two. It is only more recently that now independent states have redrawn their boundaries as part of bilateral agreements. Boundary making in the Middle East is thus where colonial top-down aspirations continue to encounter attempts of local bottom-up renegotiations of historically superimposed territorial lines. In the process, as maps are remade – boundaries are newly demarcated, impacting social identities and economic realities. Boundary making entails a manifold set not only of technologies, techniques and skills, but also a range of cultural and human resources. A commander of Israel Defense Forces’ (IDF) mapping unit, Haim Srebro, argues that the process

Enforcing Israel/Palestine’s border spaces   91 of boundary making includes boundary documentation, boundary delineation, boundary demarcation and boundary maintenance (Srebro and Shoshani, n.d.). Various documents, including descriptions, graphic charts or schemes, coordinates, and maps serve as resources to delineate boundaries. They provide a way to “viewing the landscape through instruments and translating the variegated visual scene into measurable, and presumably stable, forms using science and mathematics” (Morrissey, 2018: 46). Yet, for surveyors, the persuasive power of cartographically delineated boundaries fades in the light of materially demarcated boundaries. Existing markers and pillars along the boundary have historically constituted more persuasive evidence for where the boundary might lie. At the same time, however, demarcated lines also need to be maintained and boundary markers regularly restored, albeit they may disappear as they can secretly be moved, became eroded by harsh weather conditions, or buried in sandstorms. While boundary markers need to be maintained on the ground, they also retain their power only in conjunction with the written documents, maps, charts and agreements that result from bilateral negotiations. Indeed, the “joint precise documentation of the boundary” (Srebro and Shoshani, n.d.: 12), in ­conjunction with the signing of an agreement, that includes all the relevant documents ­pertaining to the boundary’s delineation and demarcation, makes and maintains boundaries. Here is where the physical and tangible meets the conceptual and abstract to form an “immutable mobile” that becomes a resource to “determine who was right and wrong, ….[to] bear on certain controversies and force dissenters into believing new facts” (Latour in Kuklick, 1986: 6). The objects of the “immutable mobile” can be used to convince those “who did not go there” as it has “the properties of being mobile but also immutable, presentable, readable and combinable with one another” (Latour in Kuklick, 1986: 7). Consequently, maps may not make boundaries, but they help co-produce them. While they are important ingredients for delineating borders, they become one of the many tools in the surveyors’ and cartographers’ toolbox. The maps’ level of accuracy and viability does not suffice, as their persuasive power derives from being part of an array of other documentation and practices. Reasons for why the value of maps can only be ascertained in the context of other evidences, documents and practices, include the fact that they are not standardized and tend to represent information in ways that is most favorable to a particular nation-state. Indeed: “The basic problems of maps is that they are usually published by one country and they are not common to both states…. [therefore] states tend to produce maps which are in their favor” (Srebro and Shoshani, n.d.: 5). Moreover, maps also frequently employ different languages, names and symbols; they rely on diverse coordinate systems, geodetic data and cartographic projections and scales; and they hereby may provide different interpretations of boundary lines. Besides such non-standardized mapping practices across different cultural and historical contexts, cartographers also complain that maps provide weak evidence of boundary delineation as the quality of the mapping data as well as the density, richness and positional accuracy of geographical features can vary across different maps. Maps therefore “are not reliable to be used as a sole

92   Christine Leuenberger e­ vidence for the location of a boundary line” (Srebro and Shoshani, n.d.: 7), rather they became part of a body of documents and data, demarcation pillars and negotiation practices that can be used so as to ascertain geographical features and delineate boundary line. Maps hereby become part of an intricate system of objects, papers and data that provide the physical and conceptual resources to demarcate boundary lines on the ground. The physical monuments on the ground as well as the written material and maps and photographs link the tangible and the abstract, and they inevitably become open to interpretation and analysis (Morrissey, 2018). Given the multi-faceted nature of border-making, how then have some of the many boundaries of Israel been delineated and what sort of technologies and resources have contributed to their making? The focus here is on Israel’s boundary with Jordan and the West Bank respectively. I will sketch out some of the conditions under which these boundaries were delineated and demarcated and some of the consequences these cartographic delineations and border regimes have had on local topographies, people and economies.

Delineating the Jordanian boundary The 1922 Mandatory Boundary created two separate British mandates: Palestine and Trans-Jordan. This was based on no more than a short verbal definition and was delineated only on small-scale 1:250,000 maps by the British governor Herbert Samuel (Srebro and Shosani, n.d.). The line was determined, as was customary during the British Empire, according to natural geographical features. It ran along the center of the Arava, the Dead Sea and the Jordan and Yarmuch Rivers. The area, however, was never surveyed, as the mainly desert landscape seemingly did not justify such expenses. Consequently, the lines’ geographical features were never adequately specified. Moreover, its natural features were neither fixed nor stable. The Arava experienced seasonal floods that could impact the prevailing topography; erosion of the Jordanian slopes could quickly complicate the determination of the boundary; and the Dead Sea and the rivers Jordan and Yarmuch also changed their riverbeds and water levels over time, impacting measurements of the boundary line that were determined by its distance from the shore. As a result, the differences between the markings of the line on maps and its determination on the ground could reach up to 8 kilometers (Srebro and Shoshani, 2009: 83). It was not until 1946 that the Survey of Palestine under the British Mandate surveyed, marked and documented part of the line, publishing two versions of a 1:250,000 map (Srebro and Shoshani, n.d.). After the 1948 war between Israel and a coalition of Arab states, Jordan and Israel signed an armistice agreement in 1949.1 The agreement was to serve as a temporary ceasefire line to quell ­hostilities, it was dictated by military considerations and was not to prejudice territorial claims and rights in a final status agreement. Moreover, the armistice line (also known as the Green Line) was also not meant to determine the status of the land that was to come under Palestinian control under the 1947 UN

Enforcing Israel/Palestine’s border spaces   93 p­ artition agreement. While the northern and the southern sections of the boundary followed the International Mandatory boundary, the central part of the boundary had been delineated along the ceasefire line by the Israeli military general Moshe Dayan and his Jordanian counterpart Glab Pasha. The hastily drawn armistice line (that divided what today is the West Bank from Israel) was to leave the boundary between the two regions ill-defined and its location ­continues to be detrimental for some of the local population, as it cuts through villages, divides up built-up areas, and severs villagers from their water sources and farm lands. Surveyors who subsequently tried to demarcate the line on the ground continued to reassign units of land so the line would match up better with the cadastre map of land ownership. Yet, the Green Line’s delineation and status remains disputed to this day. The story of the fraught Green Line that extended from Eilat in the south, to the centrally located Jerusalem, and Latrun, and to the Gilboa Mountains in the north, took on a life of its own, apart from being part of the original delineation of Israel from Trans-Jordan. (The following section will first focus on the boundary delineation between Israel and Jordan, whereas the delineation between the West Bank and Israel will be discussed in the next section.) The 1949 ceasefire line between Jordan and Israel remained in place until the 1967 war when Israel tripled the territory under its control, including formerly Egyptian, Jordanian and Syrian-controlled territories under its jurisdiction. It was not until 1994 that Israel and Jordan signed a peace agreement. Subsequently, a joint team of Jordanian and Israeli experts began to delineate and demarcate the boundary line. One cartographer recounted that during the negotiations over the location of the line it was the input of scientific experts as well as extended face-to-face consultations on all levels that were crucial for a successful delineation: when the Jordanian side … saw that the Israeli side has brought a geographer and a geologist, they decided also to bring a geographer and ­geologist. So then, at certain stages, the argumentation was not between the political negotiators, but between the geographers on the Jordanian side and ours. And we agreed on matters. We said: “look, this is sensible!”. The ­Jordanians agreed to move the boundary in some places … to their side and we agreed, Israelis agreed, in other places to move. The actual boundary – that is now between Jordan and Israel – is not the boundary that existed at the time of the British. It is a new boundary, which was to a large extend the result of geographical considerations.… It is a much better boundary. A more sensible boundary. When the Jordanian side hesitated or the Israeli side hesitated it came to a direct contact between King Hussein and Prime Minister Rabin, and they were very lenient to each other and very sensible … we worked it out and we showed each other the factors that should be taken into consideration, what would be reasonable and a favorable settlement on both sides, [which] put the boundary in much better position. (Interview B 12)

94   Christine Leuenberger Another expert also emphasized that the development of cooperative r­elations between the two sides were crucial for successful negotiations over the location of the line. He maintained that it was the surveyors’ trust in each other and their shared commitment to professionalism that enabled the Jordanian and the Israeli sides to solve practical problems and minimize disputes ­(Interview Sh 12). As a result, they could agree on a new line that cut through the Arava Valley, the Dead Sea, the rivers Jordan and Yarmuk and through the Gulf of Elat. The teams also had the then latest technology at their disposal, including orthophotos, satellite images and satellite-based surveys. They furthermore employed a joint geodetic reference system for determining coordinates of the line. For instance, in order to delineate the marine boundaries along the Dead Sea and the Gulf of Akaba GPS (Global Positing System) were used to locate six reference points on the Israeli side and six on the Jordanian side in order to locate the boundary independently of topographic characteristics, which are less reliable as they can shift and change over time. At the same time, relevant geographical features were considered along the proposed line. Thus, while the 1922 Mandatory Line as well as the 1946 demarcations done under the British Mandate served as points of orientation, the new line does not concur with them any longer. While the surveying team used various documents, including maps, according to one protagonist: there was a problem which maps would we use. Then I prepared two ­versions. One thing was … which language [to use]? Which names? Because they sometimes have for the same areas’ other names. So, what I suggested was – on the Israeli side – we use our names. On the Palestinian side we use their names. (Interview S 10) Despite the production of new maps, the team decided that the delineation’s geographical coordinates as well as the boundary pillars were to take precedence over maps during any future negotiations. Placing boundary pillars was therefore a high priority. However, the difficult topography and the possibility of mines that had been swept into the valley over the years made positioning them no easy task. Nevertheless, the Israeli–Jordanian team placed 124 boundary pillars from the Gulf of Eilat up to the saltpans of the Dead Sea. Subsequently, the surveys and documentation pertaining to the delineation and demarcation were signed and adopted by both sides and was post factum adopted as part of the peace agreement. As protagonists proudly point out, the Jordanian–Israeli peace agreement thus included a new model for delineating boundaries that exemplified good practice as it documents the process of the agreement, includes all relevant documents and surveys and specifies how to maintain the boundary. Indeed, the sustained and long-term cooperation of the joint team of experts assured the delimitation as well as maintenance of the boundary. One protagonist pointed out in 2010:

Enforcing Israel/Palestine’s border spaces   95 for the last 16 years, until 2, 3 months ago, we shared this post. I’m still the chair of the joint team of experts with Jordan. He [his Jordanian counterpart] left three months ago, because he was to be the director of surveys over there, too busy! Somebody else replaced him. This is very important, because since the peace treaty in 1994, we prepared the delimitation of the boundary. (Interview S 10) The Jordan–Israel boundary continues to serve as a model for boundary-­ making, not only because the experts and surveyors maintained that they were aided by the availability of the most up-to-date technologies at the time for speci­fying the boundary so that it is considered to be one of the most exactly demarcated boundaries in the world today, but even more so it exemplified how boundary-making is an interactional achievement. For the boundary between Israel and Jordan to come into being Jordanian and Israeli teams closely cooperated over extended periods of time. Boundary engineers, survey personnel, as well as the highest political authorities, such as King Hussein and Prime Minister Rabin, were involved in the process. This was indeed the first time that Israel had conducted official negotiations with an Arab country over delineating a boundary.2 According to Srebro and Shoshani (n.d., 12), it was the “joint precise documentation of the boundary” that crucially contributed to its stability. It is thus not just the latest technologies, but cooperation, face-to-face contact and the painstaking work of Jordanian– Israeli teams implanting boundary pillars into the shifting sands of the Arava, which produced a boundary that to this day remains stable and free of controversy (Srebro et al., 2009: 95). Yet, despite all its advantages the question of boundaries between Israel and the former area of Trans-Jordan remained controversial, due to the Israeli governments’ legal interpretation of the status of the Palestinian Territories. For protagonists from the government’s official mapping intuitions, the Green Line: was the armistice Line between Israel and Jordan. Since 1994 there is a peace agreement between Israel and Jordan, there [therefore] can’t be an armistice line … an armistice line is a military line for an intermediate period, but after you have a peace agreement, there is no armistice line. So, this is obsolete as an armistice line.… But they claim it – the Palestinians. (Interview Sh 10) Thus, while for the Israeli government the border delineation with Jordan had replaced the hastily drawn temporary ceasefire line of 1949, according to international law, the Palestinian Territories remain under Israeli occupation, as the region had been assigned to a future Arab state under the 1947 UN partition plan. Different legal interpretations of the territorial status of the area have thus contributed to ongoing territorial disputes. The Israeli–Jordanian border, therefore, however well delineated, did not address the dispute over land claims and Palestinians’ right to a sovereign state under international law. The story of the

96   Christine Leuenberger 1949 armistice line not only pertained to relations between Israel and Jordan, but also to Israel’s relations with the Palestinians: A story that yet has to be told.

Delineating the Green Line between the West Bank and Israel The story of the Green Line has all to do with a blue pencil. Yet after its ­delineation, it was overprinted on Israel’s official maps with the color green (Brawer, 2002). As discussed in the previous section, after the 1948 war between Israel and its Arab neighbors the line between Israel and Trans-Jordan was to be delineated during the armistice talks. At the talks was the Israeli military general and head of the Israeli mission Moshe Dayan. As one participant in the meeting recounted: Either purposely or because he [Dayan] was not a very good map-reader, he took a blue pencil and he drew the line and the Arabs were less cartographers than he was. Instead of cartographers to draw the line, they drew the line. And he took a blue pencil and he drew the line and the width of the line of the pencil was nearly 2 millimeters – being nearly 300 meters – so you see if you take one side of the blue line or the other side you have two different boundaries. And I was present there … and I was at the time still a Graduate student … and I drew attention [to the fact] … I said, you know what you are doing? … the line itself is 300 meters! But he dismissed it. (Interview B 12) This unreflected dismissal was to come with huge costs. This carelessly delineated line ran through built-up areas and often cut communities off from their water sources and agricultural land, and thereby gave rise to disputes that are still not settled. According to an interviewee, the thick blue line means that “there is a stream of country which is 200 or 300 meters wide which is disputed as to the exact position of the line” (Interview B 12), and to make matters worse, there are: actually three lines – we have the Israeli Green Line which includes Eastern Jerusalem and some minor other areas, we have the Jordanian or the Arab Green Line, which actually concurs with the armistice agreement between Israel and Jordan, and we … have the Green Line of the United Nations, which are the maps of the United Nations truce supervision body, and they are not identical! (Interview B 10) The UN maps were based on the armistice agreement and amended according to the UN mixed armistice commission, which was chaired by a UN officer and included Israeli and Jordanian military representatives and operated between 1949–67. Whenever there were incidents along the boundaries, the commission

Enforcing Israel/Palestine’s border spaces   97 addressed respective Israeli or Jordanian complaints and voted in favor of either one or the other side. Although the commission’s decisions were documented, they were not implemented and amendments to the line were not executed. Not only was the UN’s interpretation of the line not implemented, but the Jordanians also never demarcated their line. The Israelis, however, soon after the signing of the armistice agreement, went out and implanted their line on the ground with boundary posts, barrels and heaps of rocks. To be sure: Israel demarcated the line and they invited the Jordanians to participate in the demarcation. They refused. What they did, they sent observers, which were not members of the teams which demarcated the line, but they were … present nearby and they had a look from the other side…. In some cases, they protested ‘this is not the correct line’, but their protests were ignored. Israel demarcated the line … they put in various forms of boundary posts.… The Jordanians had their own maps … on the maps they had their version of the position of the line, but they did not demarcate it on the area itself as the Israelis did. (Interview B10) Thus, with three Green Lines, yet only one of them demarcated, agreement on the line’s location was hardly likely. As one expert points out: to put it bluntly the Israelis are very determined that their line is the correct line and they will not negotiate on any other line. The Palestinians who inherited all these documents from the Jordanians when Jordan withdrew from Palestine, are not very sure about their line.… They have their doubts, and in some cases, they don’t have one version. (Interview B 10) With the Palestinians unsure of their line, and Israelis convinced of theirs, the UN brought their maps to their New York headquarters and restricted their access. Indeed, these maps are now “absolutely confidential.… The United Nations felt that these documents may either help the Palestinians or the Israelis and they don’t want to take sides. They want to be completely neutral” ­(Interview B 10). As the armistice line was never fully demarcated and does not follow any physical features, there is now a frontier zone of about five ­kilometers that is ill defined, yet severely impacts the local population (Brawer, 2002: 476). With the line in place, however fuzzy its borders, it has persistently impacted cross-border regions, economic development, agricultural practices and social interconnectivity across the border area. Post-1949, Arab villagers who had by and large worked agricultural land in the lowlands lost access to their farmlands, employment opportunities, markets and access to services. At the same time, the Israeli government sponsored the establishment of Jewish settlements alongside the border. Settlers, who often were new Jewish immigrants were frequently

98   Christine Leuenberger driven by Zionist ideology, determined to “redeem the land” for the Jewish people, and replace depopulated and displaced Palestinian communities along the Green Line with Jewish settlements. To do so was seen as a way to secure Israel’s new frontier region and participate in the mission of nation-state building and its expansion into the newly acquired territories (Falah, 2002). Such spatial developments, including government-sponsored resettlement programs, led to far-reaching changes in the human and natural landscape of the frontier. While the Jewish population increased on the Israeli side of the line, the Arab population decreased on the Jordanian side. At the same time, ethnic and ­cultural identities on either side become more and more distinct. Indeed, Arab villages on both sides of the borders “which were all very similar in their geographical characteristics, before 1949, developed into two dissimilar groups of villages divided by an international boundary” (Brawer, 1978: 545). At the same time, economic activities and modernized agricultural techniques made the Israeli frontier ever more distinct from the Jordanian border region. The varied topographical developments on either side become so stark that “it was possible to identify, with considerable accuracy, on air photographs, over long stretches, the exact location of the boundary line even where it was not demarcated” (Brawer, 1978: 545). The new border thus came to differentiate between varied economic and topographical developments and separated two increasingly contrasting political and administrative systems. With the border providing an ever-sharper division in the natural and human landscape, tensions also rose along the frontier zone. After the 1967 war, and Israel’s de facto annexation of the West Bank, the Israeli government decreed that the Green Line was no longer to be represented on official maps printed for the public. Yet it continued to have sway and appear on administrative maps. In other words, “in the West Bank there is no Israeli recognized sub-districts, so the boundary of the administrative division is actually the Green Line” (Interview B 10). Also maps used by the military continued to represent the Green Line. Indeed, crossing the Green Line, no matter whether it cartographically exists or not, entails not only entering a territory subject to different legislations, governmental services and developmental policies, but also an area that is governed by Israeli military law.3 Therefore “virtually – the Green Line exists. It exists in practice, in good many ways” (Interview B 10). Despite its administrative significance, not to print the Green Line on official maps, however, has its politics: So practical maps on which the administration operated had the Green Line. But for public use, maps for schools, wall maps, public places, no Green Line! The basic view was that this is not a boundary. This is only an agreed temporary separation line and therefore we don’t want to publish it and by thus recognizing that this is the boundary of Israel. (Interview B 10) With the official elimination of the Green Line, other changes also transpired. For instance, the Green Line ceased to function as a form of separation. Economic

Enforcing Israel/Palestine’s border spaces   99 exchange increased yet again, with ever more Palestinians seeking employment inside Israel. At the same time, with the Green Line no longer being the frontier zone, the expansion of Jewish settlements moved into the heart of the West Bank (Falah, 2002). As a result, Jewish and Palestinian enclaves increasingly developed side-by-side yet separate from each other. Their proximity only accentuated their differences. The ethnic, religious and social characteristics as well as the standard of living within the Jewish enclaves existed largely in discord with their cultural environments. At the same time, they remained completely dependent on the Israeli home country (Brawer, 2002). The expansion of economic interchange quickly came to a halt with the start of the first Intifada in 1987.4 As a result, the Israeli government reimposed the Green Line’s function as a full-fledged border. Economic exchange was minimized and the border became increasingly closed for Palestinians attempting to enter Israel. Instead, foreign workers from Thailand, China and Romania replaced the former Palestinian workforce within Israel. Until 1993, economic links between the West Bank and Israel came to a virtual standstill, with severe economic consequences for West Bank Palestinians. It was not until the 1993 Oslo Accords and the end of the Intifada that economic relations improved. Besides the subsequent increase in economic interchange, cross-border criminal activities, such as the stealing of Israeli cars for delivery to Palestinian-run “car slaughterhouses” (where cars were disassembled and its spare parts resold), were also thriving. Yet the thaw of cross-border relations, whether legal or illegal, was again short-lived. At the end of 2002 and the rise of the second ­Intifada, the legal movement of a Palestinian labor force into Israel declined to a trickle, with – once more – devastating effects on the Palestinian economy (Brawer, 2002; see also Roy, 1987; UNESCO, 2005). The construction of the Separation Barrier contributed to the economic stress on Palestinian communities as closures inside the West Bank and the closing off of the Israeli labor market for Palestinian workers further destabilized the ­Palestinian economy (HEPG, 2003). The World Bank pointed out that, by June 2000, 21% of all employed Palestinians worked in Israel in primarily low-skilled construction and agricultural jobs which provided more than 21% of Palestinian Gross National Income, making Palestine one of the most remittance-dependent economies in the world. Thus, the focus on labor export to Israel has made ­Palestine’s economy particularly vulnerable to closures (World Bank, 2003). Moreover, the Separation Barrier segregated some Palestinian farmers from their agricultural land which became enclosed in the “seam zone” (the area between the Green Line and the Separation barrier) to which their access was tightly regulated and often restricted, which impacted agricultural output and sustainability of farming practices in these regions (Sadeq and Lubrano, 2018). By 2003, the report by the UN also confirmed that the loss of land and the encirclement of Palestinian communities due to the wall’s construction meant that the Separation Barrier, “could effectively isolate Palestinian communities from their economic and social means of support – further exacerbating the process of economic fragmentation associated with the current internal closure and curfew

100   Christine Leuenberger regime” (UN, 2003). Furthermore, Sadeq and Lubrano’s econometric analysis (2018) revealed that the barrier continues to have a large and long-term impact on poverty dynamics and persistence inside the West Bank. To this day, the Israeli government may have erased the Green Line from official maps, yet it has also enforced its existence for different social groups in diverse ways. While Palestinians are acutely aware of its existence as for them it presents a strictly enforced border, Israeli settlers and military personnel can easily and often unknowingly cross the line. The Green Line hereby is founded on a radical “provisionality” that continues to leave questions of borders, sovereignty and polity open-ended and unsettled (Falah, 2002). Indeed, the Green Line today is even fuzzier than when it was first drawn as a blue line in 1949. According to an Israeli cartographer, a mutually agreed upon borderline is, however, not a political priority. He maintained that the Israeli government does not “want to hear anything about it … they don’t want to enter into any discussion of the question of the boundary” (Interview B 12). At the same time, ­Palestinians have refrained from proposing possible territorial divisions as “any new proposal would jeopardize what they have achieved in the UN and could give Israel the wrong signal – namely that Palestinians might agree to live with less territory” (Falah, 2002: 506). However, one of Israel’s primary cartographic experts, who was also consulted by the then President of the Palestinian National Authority Yasser Arafat’s advisors about the location of the Green Line, would tell everyone, including his high-ranking Palestinian visitors as they sat in his office “to me the Israeli [version] isn’t accurate, the Arab version is not accurate and the UN version is not accurate, and not only this – they are bad!” (Interview B 12). The line also has many faults that are “detrimental to one side or the other” (Interview B 12). Therefore, there is no doubt in his mind, that for any future peace agreement, the line has to be drawn anew. While changes would not be extensive, they nevertheless would have to take into account geographical matters, assure that villages were not split into two and that communities were not cut off from their water sources and farmlands. Exchanges of land so as to improve the line for both sides, nonetheless, would depend on “good will and good sense”, and on a mutually satisfactory “agreement on how to administer the boundary and the agreement of good neighborly relations” (Interview B 12). Therefore, a boundary cannot only function as a result of being demarcated and maintained, but its sustainability also crucially depends on mutually satisfactory agreements of what constitute “good neighborly relations” which define the parameters for cross-border economic exchanges and social mobility.

Conclusion As we have seen, when trans-national entities such as the EU and NAFTA, as well as global trade and cross-border movement had seemingly replaced the 19th-century enthusiasm for Westphalian concepts of nation-states, in the Near East, attempts at state-making and boundary-making in the shadow of

Enforcing Israel/Palestine’s border spaces   101 colonial politics and arbitrary boundary-delineations continued to reverberate into the 21st century. There, borders always mattered. Unlike in the EU, in the Near East, delineating territorial sovereignty and borders arguably provides a pragmatic step toward a more equitable distribution of land and resources in a global political system in which citizens’ rights and obligations continue to be largely linked to 19th-century notions of nation-states ­(Leuenberger, 2013).5 In this region, boundaries have historically made nations, yet at the same time, more cohesive social groups have never achieved nationhood. Indeed, artificially delineated colonial boundaries, whether they differentiated Egypt from Palestine, Lebanon from Jordan, or Syria from Iraq, become means to create nations and a people who identified with them. Yet social groups, such as the Druzs, that have had a long-standing commonly shared cultural identity, were never bestowed the possibility of forming a nation (Biger, 2002). The Zionist nation-building project, too, was fostered by the 19th-century assumption that populations desired to be part of a nation-state that consisted of an ethnically and culturally homogenous group that differs from its adjacent nation-states. Indeed, the Israeli state has generally implemented policies that would assure an ever more ethnically and culturally homogenous Jewish state. However, rather than people constituting nations, nations create a people. Just as the establishment of the French state paved the way to the formation of the French people (Hobsbawm, 1992), the establishment of the Israeli state and its borders has also assured that its population become more homogenous and culturally uniform. Despite Israel’s still fuzzy borders, they have served to integrate a polity by consolidating national identities, while, at the same time, becoming powerful dividers between supposedly different cultures, ecologies and economies. While Jewish culture and tradition has served as a homogenizing agent (Kimmerling, 1998), it is the bounded Israeli nation-state that also helped to distinguish the Israeli populations from its neighbors. While the Israeli state, unlike the French state, built a nation based on Jewish cultural communalities and a Zionist vision, it, much like the French geo-body also came to include diverse social and ethnic groups ranging from Israeli Palestinians, to Druze and Bedouins within the ­geo-body. Their cultural and social trajectory demonstrate the power of boundaries to shape cultural belonging and identity and their propensity to increase their sense of difference with people across the border. Indeed, as part of the cease-fire agreement between Israel and Jordan in 1949, 30 Arab villages, located along the Green Line, were included within Israeli territory in exchange for other territories. Subsequently, the Green Line acted as a border between Jordan (today the West Bank) and Israel until 1967. With Israel’s de facto annexation of the West Bank in 1967 and the “opening” of the Green Line, deep cultural gaps persisted between members of the same clans on either side of the boundary. The boundaries thus served to consolidate social identities within a national territory and increase cross-border differences. Moreover, the relative openness of the Green Line had a severe impact not only on the sense of social

102   Christine Leuenberger connectivity and difference, but also on the ecological landscape that was shaped by different agricultural practices on either side of the divide. Also, as we have seen, Palestinians’ dependency on Israel’s labor market and their lack of access to farmland could make the Palestinian economy very vulnerable to any closures. Besides the role of borders to help create a state and a nation, and differentiate between people on either side, their very delineation reveals the all too human stories that inform their making. While experts point to the latest mapping technologies, standardized coordinates and boundary-making techniques, such as satellite photography and the use of GPS and Geographic Information System (GIS) as ways to exactly and accurately delineate boundaries, it was always and will always also be, interactional contingencies, preferences, likes or dislikes and trust or distrust between negotiating parties, that will crucially impact the process of ­boundary-delineations. Moreover, technical prowess in delineating borders do not account for different legal conceptions of the territory and does not settle territorial disputes. There is therefore no technical solution to boundary-making and peace, however appealing such an approach may seem, but good boundaries are based on attending to the needs of local populations, negotiating with experts, policy-­ makers and politicians on the other side and establishing relationships based on trust, professionalism or commonly shared guidelines. Successful delineation of boundaries thus exemplifies the importance of science as diplomacy (Turekian, 2016; Mock, 2013; Hajjar, 2016). In conflict region, it is such scientific engagement that can ultimately enhance what one cartographer called “good will and good sense” (Interview B12) between the two sides, and which may make peace ultimately possible.

Notes 1 Ironically the 1949 armistice agreements included an attachment that included the 1946 map. Israel continued to occupy parts of Trans-Jordan in accord with the 1946 demarcation, rather than the 1949 agreement. Despite the 1949 agreement, almost all maps drawn after 1949 by both states delineate the boundary according to the 1946 interpretation of the mandatory international line (Srebro and Shoshani, n.d.: 11). 2 Israel had conducted talks with Egypt over demarcating the boundary, but not over delineating it. 3 While Palestinians are subject to Israel military law, Israeli settlers inside the West Bank are subject to Israeli civil law. For an analysis of the legal status of the Palestinian Territories under Israeli law, see Kretzmer, 2012. 4 The term “intifada” means “shaking”, which for Israelis implies a Palestinian war against Israel and to Palestinians signifies a popular uprising against an occupying regime (Prime, 2003). 5 However, the establishment of firm borders and the formation of two states in IsraelPalestine does not preclude other possible region-wide political reconfigurations in the future, such as a binational federation between Palestine and Israel within the context of a Middle East Union (Halper, 2004) or other numerous solutions to the Israeli–­ Palestinian conflict (Maltz, 2019).

Enforcing Israel/Palestine’s border spaces   103

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6 Border walls in a regional context The case of Morocco and Algeria Said Saddiki

Introduction The Maghreb is one of the few regions where the “Cold War” still casts its shadow. The tension between the two major rivals, Algeria and Morocco, has increased in recent years reflected in an unprecedented arms race, several ­diplomatic disputes, the stalemate in the Western Sahara peace process and the continued closure of the land border between the two countries since 1994. Like other African post-colonial states, Morocco and Algeria have largely been influenced by the legacy of the colonial past and, to a lesser extent, the postcolonial nation-building process (Zoubir, 2000: 45). The two countries adopted opposite approaches to the settlement of disputes over the inherited borders. Morocco based on historical rights to restore land that had been annexed to Algeria during the French colonization of the two countries. In contrast, Algeria relied on the principle of the inviolability of borders inherited from the colonial era (known as the principle of uti possidetis). The main disputes between the two countries since the independence of Algeria in 1962 are the borders inherited from colonization and the Western Sahara question. Those disputes and the regional subsystem led the two countries to choose contradictory alliances during the Cold War. The Morocco– Algeria border, which stretches more than 1,600 kilometers from the city of Saidia on the Mediterranean coastline in the north to Tindouf region in the south at the meeting point of the borders of the two countries with Mauritania, has gone through different stages. During the colonial period, France shifted the border of Algeria westward to annex a large part of Moroccan territory. Algeria has hugely benefited from the principle of uti possidetis because France had expanded the territory of the pre-colonial Algeria into the territory of both Morocco and Tunisia. On July 5, 1962, Algeria gained its independence and inherited all land annexed by France from its other former colonies in North Africa. This arbitrary demarcation of the border, which was made without respecting the historical facts, was the main cause of the 1963 war (known as the Sand War) between Morocco and Algeria. The application of the principle of uti possidetis by Morocco was not easy and took a long time until the end of the 1963 Sand War, which resulted in the de facto recognition of the existing

The case of Morocco and Algeria   107 border. At that time, frequent closures of the border between the two countries started. Except for the period from 1988 to 1994, the land border between the two states has been closed since their independence for different reasons. In 1972, the two neighbors signed an agreement on the common border, which was immediately ratified by Algeria in 1972, whereas Morocco waited almost two decades to ratify it in 1989. The border was closed again in 1976 after Morocco’s recovery of the Western Sahara which is still the main point of contention between the two countries. In 1988, the border was reopened as a result of the resumption of diplomatic relations between the two countries. In the summer of 1994, the border was shut down again when Morocco imposed visa requirements on Algerian nationals after accusing Algeria of being involved in the bombing of a hotel in Marrakech. Since this incident, the land border between the two countries has been officially closed, even though Moroccan officials have recently called on Algeria to reopen the border. In November 2018, the king of Morocco appealed to Algeria to set up “a joint political mechanism for dialogue and consultation” between the two countries to settle their differences, including reopening the land border. The initiative had not received a positive response from Algeria. Even if the issue of colonial borders was officially settled by the 1972 Border Demarcation Agreement, which was ratified by the two countries, the Western Sahara issue remains the key question that impedes the normalization of relations and hinders the regional integration process. Although Algeria, besides Morocco, is a principal actor in the Western Sahara affair, Algerian officials repeatedly deny that their country is part of the dispute and still refuse to enter into direct talks with Morocco to reach a settlement of the conflict. One of the main goals of Algeria's unconditional support for the Polisario movement, which seeks an independent state in the Western Sahara, is to impose itself as the major regional power in the Maghreb. Morocco has also always aspired to play a leading role in the region, especially during the reign of the late King Hassan II. Undoubtedly, these conflicting ambitions have fueled the competition between the two countries. The failure of the regional integration in the framework of the Arab Maghreb Union has deepened the mistrust and suspicion among its members, especially between Morocco and Algeria. The absence of a strong regional organization with effective powers opened the door for a “controlled” anarchy. Regardless of these differences between the two countries, they have avoided any direct confrontation since the 1963 Sand War. After failing to reshape the post-colonial map of the region, the two countries have become status quo states and keen to maintain the existing balance of regional power.

Border fortification from both sides Compared with other cases, the fortification of the Morocco–Algeria border is done simultaneously and unilaterally from both sides. The regional rivalry between the two countries and their long-standing political differences preclude

108   Said Saddiki any possibility of agreement on a common way to fortify and control their land border. At the beginning of 2013, the Algerian authorities dug five-meter-wide trenches in many points of its western border with Morocco to deter cross-­ border activities. In September 2015, Algeria started widening the first trenches to seven meters and deepening them in depth to 11 meters to make irregular cross-border movement more difficult, because the first trench had not stopped informal trading and smuggling across the border. The Algerian border patrol has recently started using helicopters to monitor the common northern border with Morocco. For its part, Morocco has made its own physical barrier and created an electronic system to enhance control and monitoring of its border. The policy of walls is not new to Morocco’s military and security policy. Moroccan Armed Forces have erected a sand wall of 2,200 kilometers in the Western Sahara in the 1981–7 period to defend this territory and prevent the attacks of the Sahrawi separatists (Saddiki, 2012b: 199–212). Although Morocco may benefit from its experience in the Western Sahara in the technology used in border management, the two cases are quite different in structure and purpose. In 2014, Morocco started fencing 150 kilometers of its land border with Algeria. The fence is now equipped with electronic sensors to prevent terrorist threats, irregular immigration and other illegal cross-border activities. It is three meters high and consists of two parts: A 50-centimeter concrete base and a 2.5-meter wire fence. A road has been traced along the fence for the Moroccan security force to guard the border. In the beginning of 2016, the Moroccan authorities began to extend the fence to the south on the perimeter of the province of Figuig. This fence was not erected far from the borderline, leaving some farms and fields between the fence and the international border with Algeria. This second part of the Morocco fence is contested by the local population who are denied access to their land. In comparison to other cases in the world like North America, Europe, India and Israel, the border fortifications led by both Morocco and Algeria are generally low cost and simple in construction. The Moroccan fence is not as sophisticated as the other cases such as the US–Mexico border (Saddiki, 2014: 175–190) or the fences of Ceuta and Melilla (Saddiki, 2012a: 49–65), and the limited height of the fence makes it easy to climb with makeshift ladders. Erecting fences or digging trenches are not enough in themselves and cannot be effective without serious cooperation between the two neighbors. Perhaps the clearest example of the necessity of the regional cooperation is the fences of Ceuta and Melilla, which are higher, well sophisticated, equipped with high-tech sensors and supported by hundreds of police and military forces, but they have frequently been scaled by ­sub-Saharan African immigrants. On the other side, Morocco has strengthened monitoring of the two enclaves’ borders and built its own fence on the border of Melilla. These unilateral security measures, even if they have undoubtedly reduced the number of candidates for irregular immigration, could not stop it, because of the lack of institutional cooperation mechanisms on the border control between Morocco and Spain. In addition, drug trafficking between the two shores of the

The case of Morocco and Algeria   109 Mediterranean has increased in recent years despite the two countries’ efforts to combat smuggling of various kinds (IOM, 2019).

Different objectives and different priorities Although Algeria and Morocco simultaneously proceeded to fortify their common land border, the priorities of their objectives are different because of each country’s specific challenges. Among the main reasons for the erection of the fence by the Moroccan authorities is the fear of infiltration by combatants, particularly from Libya and northern Mali via Algeria. In recent years, Moroccan police services have announced the arrest of many alleged members of “sleeper cells” linked to some transnational-armed groups, including Al-Qaeda, Daesh and Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM). In September 2015, after dismantling a “terrorist cell” in Essaouira city, Abdelhak El Khayam, Morocco’s director of the Central Bureau of Judiciary Investigations (BCIJ), said that the weapons seized from members of the cell were brought into Morocco from Algeria borders (Maghreb Daily News, 2015). Recently, similar cases have been reported by Moroccan police services. Therefore, the fence has been seen as a preventive measure against the infiltration of the so-called “lone wolves” who have pledged loyalty to those armed groups. While the security threat posed by cross-border armed groups in North Africa (particularly in Libya, northern Mali and southern Algeria) remains central to the Algerian border control policies, it is supplanted in the specific case of the border with Morocco by the prevention of oil trafficking. In May 2014, Algeria adopted a new military doctrine and turned land borders with five of its six neighboring countries, including Morocco, into military zones. The border with Tunisia is the only land border that has been open to Algerians in the post-Arab Spring period. The new doctrine is mainly based on the militarization of all its borderlands through a set of measures, including: (1) closing land border crossings with Mauritania, Mali, Niger, Libya and Morocco; (2) transforming Algeria’s borders into military zones and prohibiting movement without a security clearance; (3) restricting the movement of people and vehicles except with permission of the Ministry of Defense and only in humanitarian cases; and (4) transferring Algeria’s land border management with six neighboring states from the Ministry of Interior to the Ministry of National Defense (Ben Ahmad, 2014). The primary reason for the new Algerian border control policy with Morocco lies in smuggling prevention. Almost everything had been smuggled across the border especially from Algeria to Morocco because of price asymmetries between the two countries, particularly petrol which benefits from significant subsidies in Algeria. The most smuggled goods across both sides of the border include petrol – both gasoline and diesel –, medicines, scrap metal, household appliances, tobacco, vehicle parts, agricultural goods, some spare parts and alcohol (Hanlon and Herbert, 2015: 11). An important part of Algeria’s oil is smuggled across the borders with its neighbors especially to Mali, Tunisia and Morocco.

110   Said Saddiki Algerian Cabinet Director Ahmed Ouyahia said in early 2016 that his country lost nearly $2 billion annually because of the smuggling of subsidized fuel, diesel and gasoline to Northern African countries (Middle East Monitor, 2016). On the Morocco–Algeria border, smuggling is particularly intense in the ­Algerian province of Tlemcen and the three Moroccan Provinces of Oujda, Berkane and Jerada. The northern part of the border of the two countries in which these provinces are located is demographically dense and urbanized, in contrast to the southern border In fact, the fortification of the border has led to an important decline in the amount of fuel smuggled across the border and resulted in a significant increase in its price. After the erection of the fence and digging of the trench, the price of the Algerian-smuggled gasoline nearly tripled and reached MAD 15 (Moroccan Dirham currency) per liter after it was only MAD  6. But this temporary effectiveness of the border fortification will not likely last long and smugglers will find other ways to overcome those border barriers, as happens in other similar regions in the world. Moreover, smuggling is like an iceberg, the greatest amount of smuggling across the Morocco–Algeria border is unseen and takes place away from the watching eyes. The prevention of irregular immigration is one of the most important reasons for the erection of the fence by Morocco along its northeast border with Algeria. Though the land border is closed to all traffic since 1994, it is still one of the preferred places for sub-Saharan irregular immigrants to cross to Morocco from Algeria, particularly at the border of the province of Oujda after they have traversed the Sahara Desert. In Morocco, there are thousands of irregular immigrants, including sub-Saharan Africans and recently Syrians. Almost all of them have entered Morocco from Algeria (Hanlon and Herbert, 2015: 24). They use Maghreb countries, and to a lesser extent Algeria, as a transit point to enter Europe, but most of them end up settling in the transit country because of ­difficulties in entering Europe (Haas, 2008: 20). With regards to Algeria, the irregular immigration does not pose a serious security threat and is not a determinant of its new border fortification with Morocco because African immigrants use Algeria as a transit point to Morocco and not the opposite. These border fortifications are also designed to prevent drug trafficking from both sides. While Algeria is the largest source of hallucinogenic drugs seized in Morocco, the latter remains the principal source of cannabis entering Algeria (United States Department of State, 2010: 108). Most of Algeria’s drug seizures take place in the province of Tlemcen, which is in northwestern Algeria on the border with Morocco and an area in which large quantities of drugs are transported using traditional means: On pack animals, on foot in backpacks or in vehicles (Council of the European Union, 2015: 1). It is worth noting that corruption makes this new border fortification less effective and, moreover, smugglers have other ways to circumvent border ­barriers. Because of the limited effectiveness of the border fortification, border security collaboration between the two countries remains one of the most

The case of Morocco and Algeria   111 effective solutions to this problem, but this option cannot be achieved without normalizing the bilateral relations and reviving the Maghreb Union. Besides security and immigration factors, the political concern is likely the main indirect determinant of the new border control strategies adopted by the two countries, especially Algeria. Morocco has repeatedly called for the reopening of the land border because of economic reasons. However, Algeria did not react positively to this demand because it is not in its political and economic interest to do so. Algeria is the only Maghreb country that has frontiers with every country of the region – Morocco, Tunisia, Libya, Mauritania, Mali, Niger and Chad. This geographical situation gives Algeria a geopolitical privilege and greater regional competition.

Fortification of land border as an aspect of regional competition The issue of frontiers inherited from the colonial era has never been dissociated from the question of Western Sahara in Algeria’s foreign policy towards Morocco. The Western Sahara issue has also been used, by Algeria, as a mean to force Morocco to make territorial concessions in the north of their land border. In the early years of independence, Algerian leaders were not interested in the territory of Western Sahara and expressed in various official meetings that they would support any agreement between Morocco and Mauritania to settle this issue. Houari Boumedienne, then Algerian president, announced in the seventh Arab summit in Rabat in 1974 that Algeria had no territorial demand in Western Sahara and was ready to help Morocco to recover its territory. On other occasions, he emphasized Algeria’s support for any solution that may be agreed upon by Morocco and Mauritania. Ferhat Abbas, head of the Algerian provisional (pre-independence) government in exile, pledged in writing to return to Morocco its land that had been annexed by France to Algeria during the colonial period (Sater, 2010: 120). Ferhat stated in his promise that “the Algerian provisional government recognizes that the problem of territories whose border was inequitably defined by France and will reach a solution through negotiation between the Moroccan and Algeria governments once Algeria gets its independence”. However, after gaining independence in 1962, the Algerian leaders changed their position on the common border and, later, on the Western Sahara question. The Algerian position is based on the principle of uti possidetis adopted by the Organization of African Unity. Morocco relies on its historical rights to the Western Sahara region and the disputed border with Algeria. But, as pointed out above, the real reason does not lie in competing interpretations of the principle of uti possidetis or the right of people to self-determination, but in the mutual fear of any territorial change that may favor the position of the rival. Furthermore, Morocco did not recognize Mauritania as a state until 1969, nine years after it officially gained its independence in 1960. Morocco had considered Mauritania as an integral part of its historical “pre-colonial” territory.

112   Said Saddiki This vision had raised Algeria’s fears of Morocco’s supposed domination in the region. The involvement of Algeria in the Western Sahara affair in favor of the separatist organization Polisario mainly due to the fear of the Moroccan ambition to revise the border inherited from the colonial age. Moktar Ould Daddah, Mauritania’s president from 1961 to 1978, wrote in his memoir: I have been convinced that if the King of Morocco [Hassan II] had ratified the Rabat Agreement in 1973 or 1974, the President of Algeria would not have encouraged the creation of the Polisario movement as a retaliatory measure against Morocco and the 1963 Sand War would not have been waged. The statement of former Algerian president, Chadli Bendjedid (1979–92), in his memoir on the Morocco–Mauritania agreement regarding Western Sahara confirms the assumption that Algeria’s attitudes towards the disputed territories both in Western Sahara and common land border reflect the competition for regional influence: though Morocco and Mauritania signed an agreement recognizing the need for decolonization in Sahara and the right of people to self-determination, they were secretly preparing to share the Western Sahara region. Hassan II (the former king of Morocco) and Mokhtar Ould Daddah (the former ­President of Mauritania) signed a secret agreement in 1974 whereby they share the Western Sahara territory, the north for Morocco and the south for Mauritania. And they met again in Rabat to delineate the border between the two countries and then they signed a mutual defense pact. Bendjedid argued: we felt in Algeria that this is directed against us. The considerations of each country were clear. While Hassan II sought to isolate Mauritania from Algeria and convince the international community that the Western Sahara dispute is over, Ould Daddah wanted to put an end to the ambition of Morocco in the territory of his country by drawing new borders with Morocco. (An extract from Chadli Bendjedid’s memoir in Arabic) It has been proved many times that the main concern of Algeria is to prevent Morocco from strengthening its geopolitical power and reintegrating Western Sahara into the Moroccan territory. The most important point according to the approach used in this chapter is that Algeria has tried by different means to prevent the reintegration of Western Sahara to Morocco because such scenario is seen by Algeria as a further geopolitical advantage for Morocco over other Maghrebi countries mainly Algeria. Furthermore, the Moroccan delay in the ratification of the 1972 border agreement has increased Algeria’s fear of Moroccan regional

The case of Morocco and Algeria   113 ambitions. There are still a few Moroccan politicians and academics who call for the revision of this agreement and recovery of the Eastern Sahara, which is under the sovereignty of the post-colonial Algeria, to Morocco. Morocco’s ambition to strengthen its regional influence during the early years of independence prompted Algeria to use the Western Sahara issue to rein in Moroccan regional ambition and implicate it in this long and costly conflict. Therefore, the increased fortification of the borders on both sides can be seen as a continuation of competition between the two countries by other means.

Border fortifications and disputes as means to maintain the regional subsystem Although Algeria has consistently based its stance on the Western Sahara issue on the principle of self-determination, the expression of its intention to divide Western Sahara (UN Secretary General, 2002: para.2) reflects its great ambition to get, or at least control, a direct access to the Atlantic Ocean for three key goals. First, to get a strategic location allowing for good exploitation of some mineral resources. In the absence of access to the Atlantic Ocean, Algeria faced great difficulties in the exploitation and export of minerals in the south. Second, to create a buffer state as a geopolitical barrier between Morocco and Western sub-Saharan Africa, which has for a long time been a vital strategic depth to Morocco. The third goal, which is, in fact, the result of the previous ones, is to weaken Morocco at the regional level and reduce its territory size so that Algeria can gain a geopolitical advantage. The lack of Algerian support for Moroccan claims concerning its territories that are still controlled by Spain in the north, especially the two enclaves Ceuta and Melilla, can be explained by Algeria’s desire to prevent any major change in the regional balance of power – especially in favor of Morocco. While Algeria calls for self-determination and “decolonization” of Western Sahara, it is still silent on these two Spanish-controlled cities and all Moroccan Mediterranean islands that are still under the control of Spain. For example, Algeria has ignored the crisis of Perejil Island (also known as Laila island in Arabic) between Morocco and Spain in the summer of 2002. Moreover, some Algerian diplomats, like Abdelkader Messahel, Minister for Maghreb and African Affairs, have repeated the same Spanish allegations, such as rejection of de facto policy and respect for borders inherited from colonization. This ambiguous Algerian attitude to the continued Spain occupation of some parts of Morocco has been explained, in addition to what is mentioned above, by Algeria’s desire to get closer to Spain in order to take advantage of such tensions in relations between Morocco and Spain because of these disputed territories. The future of the Morocco–Algeria border fortification depends on the position of each state in the regional subsystem. There are two factors that will likely strengthen Algeria’s position: Economic growth and demographic change. This is what structural realists call “latent power”. The state needs money, technology and human resources to build up military capabilities. The latent power refers to

114   Said Saddiki the raw capacity, which can benefit a country at the expense of other competitors. It should be pointed out that war is not the only means by which states gain power; they can do so by increasing the size of the population and their share of global wealth (Mearsheimer, 2013: 72–73). The short history of Maghreb Union showed domestic economic situations do influence those countries’ regional foreign policies. In that sense, the economic crisis of Maghreb countries at the beginning of the 1980s can explain the ­“outstretched-hand” policy of both Algeria and Morocco toward each other that led to the opening of their land border and the establishment of the Maghreb Union. However, today, both the size of its GDP and its considerable foreign exchange and gold reserves do not encourage Algeria to make concessions, but rather to maintain rigid positions whether on the land border issue with Morocco or the Western Sahara conflict. Today, and as long as its foreign exchange reserves remain constant, no one expects Algeria to moderate its politics on the Western Sahara issue or the ­reopening of the Moroccan-Algerian land border. While Morocco looks forward to benefiting from any positive change in the region, Algeria is not in dire need of the benefits that can result from the normalization of relations between the two countries because of the significant accumulation of foreign asset stocks due to the high price of oil before mid-2014 when a sharp decline in oil prices started. The recent instability of oil prices has heavily affected the economy of Algeria and increased its economic dependence on the unstable international oil and gas prices. The hydrocarbon sector accounts for 98% of Algeria’s total exports, 30% of GDP and 60% of government revenues (International Monetary Fund, 2014: 24). Thus, any economic and financial crisis in Algeria will likely lead to a ­comprehensive review of its foreign policy towards Morocco and may result in reopening of their land border. Additionally, Algeria’s economy, which relies on gas and oil resources, certainly reduces its chance to play a leading role in the region. One of the factors that may make a difference in the future is the population growth in the two countries. Up until 1982, Morocco’s population was larger than that of Algeria, but in that year, both countries had an estimated population of 20.77 million. Since then, the demographic gap began to widen in favor of Algeria (UN Population Division, 2012). In 2015, Morocco had a population of 34.3 million, whereas Algeria’s total population almost reached 40 million (39.6 million) (UN Population Division, 2015). The population growth in Algeria will likely give it an important advantage, but political deadlock and instability of oil prices will lessen the impact of Algeria’s latent power.

Conclusion The fortification of land borders by Morocco and Algeria, as well as the Western Sahara issue, is only an aspect of the nature of the current Maghreb subsystem, which is reflected in long-standing differences between the two states. Since Morocco and Algeria are roughly equal in capabilities and any attempt to change the status quo in the region would be costly to both, the two states are likely to

The case of Morocco and Algeria   115 favor preserving the status quo balance of power. Therefore, it is expected that in the near future, the two states will increase fortification of their borders unilaterally, regardless of whether it is effective or not. The border fortification can be seen as a tool to maintain the existing regional subsystem, which is in both states’ interest at this time. Moreover, the fortification of the border will lead to more political tension and keep their relations frosty for a long time. Economically, the fortification of the border has dramatic effects on the region and its integration process. It is worth noting that the paralysis of the Maghreb Union has had heavy economic and social costs for all the countries in the region. The cost of a “non-Maghreb” has been estimated to be more than 2% of the annual growth rate of each Maghreb country. If the Maghreb integration was achieved, the region would be expected to be one of the most attractive regions for international investment in the next decades and create a huge market of more than 90 million consumers – and expected to exceed 150 million in 2050.

Bibliography Ben Ahmad, M. (2014). “Algeria Closes Most of its Land Borders”. Al-Monitor. Online. www.al-monitor.com/pulse/security/2014/05/algeria-border-closing-military-terrorismthreat.html. Accessed May 4, 2020. Council of the European Union. (2015). Regional Report on North Africa. Brussels. Haas, H. de. (2008). Irregular Migration from West Africa to the Maghreb and the ­European Union: An Overview of Recent Trends. Geneva: International Organization for Migration Geneva. Hanlon, Q. and M.M. Herbert. (2015). Border Security Challenges in the Grand Maghreb. United States Institute for Peace, Peaceworks No.109. Washington, DC. International Organization for Migration. (2019). Monthly Breakdown – Arrivals by Sea to Spain 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019. Online. www.iom.int/sites/default/files/ MedUp/05_04_19-medup-t3.jpg. Accessed May 4, 2020. International Monetary Fund. (2014). Algeria: Selected Issues. www.imf.org/external/ pubs/ft/scr/2014/cr14342.pdf. Accessed May 5, 2020. Maghreb Daily News. (2015). “Terrorist Cell Weapons Introduced to Morocco Via Algeria Borders”. Maghreb Daily News. www.maghrebdailynews.com/13734-terroristcell-weaponsintroduced-to-morocco-via-algeria-borders.html. Accessed May 4, 2020. Mearsheimer, J.J. (2013). “Structural Realism”. In T. Dunne, M. Kurki and S. Smith (Eds.). International Relations Theories: Discipline and Diversity, pp. 71–88. Oxford: Oxford Press University. Middle East Monitor. (2016). “Algeria Loses $2bn a Year to Fuel Smuggling”. Middle East Monitor. www.middleeastmonitor.com/20160107-algeria-loses-2bn-a-year-to-fuelsmuggling/. Accessed May 22, 2020. Saddiki, S. (2012a). “Les Clôtures de Ceuta et de Melilla: Une Frontière Européenne Multidimensionnelle”. Revue Études Internationales, vol. 43, no. 1, pp. 49–65. Saddiki, S. (2012b). “The Sahara Wall: Status and Prospects”. Journal of Borderlands Studies, vol. 27, no. 2, pp. 199–212. Saddiki, S. (2014). “Border Fences as an Anti-immigration Device: A Comparative View of American and Spanish Policies”. In É. Vallet (Ed.), Borders, Fences and Walls: State of Insecurity?, pp. 175–190. Farnham, UK: Ashgate Publishing.

116   Said Saddiki Sater, J.N. (2010). Morocco: Challenges to Tradition and Modernity. London and New York: Routledge. UN Secretary General. (2002). Secretary-General Report on the Situation Concerning Western Sahara. S\2002, p. 178. UN Population Division. (2012). World Population Prospects: The 2012 Revision. United Nations Population Division. Online. http://esa.un.org/unpd/wpp/index.htm. Accessed May 4, 2020. UN Population Division. (2015). World Population 2015. United Nations Population Division. Online. http://esa.un.org/unpd/wpp/Publications/Files/World_Population_2015_ Wallchart.pdf. Accessed May 4, 2020. United States Department of State. (2010). International Narcotics Control Strategy Report. Bureau for International Narcotics and Law Enforcement Affairs, vol.I: Drug and Chemical Control. Zoubir, Y.H. (2000). “Algerian-Moroccan Relations and Their Impact on Maghribi ­Integration”. The Journal of North African Studies, vol. 5, no. 3, pp. 43–74.

7 Beyond the border fence The emergence of Hungary’s contemporary bordering regime James Scott

Introduction The European Union (EU)’s political identity is closely tied to Europe’s practical and symbolic debordering in the interests of integration and peaceful co-existence. Nevertheless, borders and their collective representations continue to exercise a powerful influence on the constitution of “EU-Europe”. They give sustenance to notions of a shared European history but also serve as powerful markers of national and local identity. This is particularly visible in the post-Cold War context of eastward enlargements where historical memories and cultural narratives have re-emerged as important conditioning factors of Europeanization. Hungary, as dominated by the present national-conservative government, is an excellent example of how borders and national identity politics serve as a (geo)political resource. Since 2015 this has involved, among others, the installation of barbed wire fences and internment camps (euphemistically termed “transit zones”) for refugees along its border with Serbia and Croatia (Pap and Reményi, 2017). Nevertheless, the political use of borders goes beyond ­references to the fences that now skirt Hungary’s southern borders. In fact, the physical border and the biopolitical hardware that is in operation to safeguard Hungary’s sovereignty are only part of more comprehensive border-making policies that the present Hungarian government has actively pursued since ­ returning to power in 2010. It is abundantly clear that Hungary’s border politics serve an important instrumental role in consolidating the power and authority of the current conservative government. However, above and beyond this, Hungary’s politics of borders are linked to an emphatic re-assertion of national identity and sovereignty as well as the imposition of a new political reality in which liberalism and its advocates are marginalized. Indeed, the instrumental use of physical borders and fences is part and parcel of a bordering regime that aims to make hegemonic specific national conservative ideologies and understandings of “Europe”. Border politics are thus often more than a case of securitizing or controlling the mobility of certain groups or individuals, they are part of a deeper “politics of life” aimed at norming the public sphere and everyday life according to specific political and ideological aims.

118   James Scott As will be discussed below, since Fidesz’s massive electoral win of 2010, this regime has operated on a number of principles. At one level, European ­policies of cross-border cooperation have been re-appropriated in the pursuit of ethnopolitical goals, strengthening the cohesion of Hungary as a nation outside its territorial borders. However, at another level we can identity a more domestically targeted principle that involves the securitization of asylum seekers and the social marginalization of institutions, groups, individuals and ideas that do not conform to the national conservative vision championed by the government. The bordering regime thus transfers the logic of fences and walls to Hungarian society as well, purposely creating divisions within society in order to secure ideological hegemony. As such, the bordering regime also has certain biopolitical qualities to the extent that it attempts to control visibility in the public sphere and negate a sense of political life based on a plurality of ideas and needs This chapter begins with a theoretical elaboration of the concept of border regime and its appropriation as an analytical framework. Discussion then proceeds with general discussion of links between Hungarian border politics and the present government’s conservative nation-building project. This is followed by a brief analysis of Hungary’s emerging bordering regime based on three examples: (1) The implementation of an ethnopolitical and thus extraterritorial notion of nation; (2) processes of social bordering in order to norm the public sphere and create divisions between “national” and “opposition” ways of thinking and (3) the securitization of refugees and migrants. The research that informs this essay is based on a review of media sources, academic and policyfocused literature. Attention will also be devoted to the Hungarian government’s politics of borders and contestations of the EU within the context of the socalled refugee crisis and wider debates regarding immigration and asylum. In concluding, questions regarding the consequences of this bordering regime within a wider European context will be addressed.

Bordering as a politics of life: Preliminary arguments In very broad terms “border politics” can be defined as the strategic use of borders at different scales and by different actors. Border politics is thus very much about power relations involved in the making of borders and questions of identity, authority, security and the treatment of difference (Günay and Wittjes, 2017). Matthew Longo (2018: xv) has characterized the power of borders in terms of reducing individuals to subjects bereft of all personal traits except for documents that give proof of belonging to a specific community or state. For Longo, borders are: (…) sites of identification where the rudimentary aspects of our political and social identities are called into question, scrutinized and judged; where we are forced to reconcile ourselves as citizens or co-nationals and understand the privileges and obligations of those commitments.

Hungary’s contemporary bordering regime   119 Understood in these terms, border politics are inescapably biopolitical, they serve to emphasize belonging, difference and the privilege of the state to exclude. In the contemporary context of border securitization, border politics are also increasingly a question of bordering and of insisting on supposedly inherent identitary distinctions between the national and the non-national, the citizen and the non-citizen as well as the desired and non-desired “other”. Against this background, the EU is presently struggling to uphold the concept of open borders within the Schengen Area while increasing border controls and extending border management systems along and beyond its external frontiers. In many ways, border politics in Central Europe have closely mirrored developments within the EU within the last three decades, reflecting processes of de-bordering, re-bordering and securitization (Scott, 2018). However, with the resurgence of populist movements borders are being politicized as markers of identity and as contestations of European integration. Anna Krasteva (2017: 16–17) writes, for example, that in the case of Central and Eastern Europe, we find “extensive production and investment” in ethnic, religious, symbolic, cultural, national, European boundaries. She also draws attention to considerable political investment in narratives that mobilize anti-elitist notions of an EU that “subverts and erodes national sovereignty”, whereas identitary power “unites and protects national societies from multiplying enemies that constantly change their guises: the EU as ‘gays’, Islamic fundamentalists disguised as refugees”. The point I will emphasize here is that border politics, and bordering more generally, are biopolitical not only as a set of techniques to control population, such as asylum seekers, but also as a comprehensive form of norming everyday life through social policies, mobilizing identity politics and, more specifically, shaping national identities. In this way, biopolitics is not simply an academic ­question of conceptual development or deconstruction but a productive approach to understanding challenges of social transformation. As Makarychev and Yatszyk (2017) argue, nationalism and biopolitics are closely linked in the sense that individuals are aggregated in order to form a national collectivity through norming discourses of body, behavior and values. This resonates with Didier Fassin’s (2009) elaboration of a humanistic perspective on biopolitics – a politics of life – that targets the specific value and purpose of human life. As Fassin (2009: 44) states, politics of life “is not only a question of governmentality and technologies, but also of meaning and values”. As a consequence, the bordering regime that I argue has emerged under Hungary’s national-conservative government seeks to form political life but also aspects of everyday existence in ways that create clear divisions between “authentic” and “inauthentic” “Hungarianness”. A further point I would like to emphasize here is that the bordering regime as something biopolitical is not strictly speaking (not strictly speaking about) about Foucauldian “governmentality” – or control of population – as a goal in itself. The bordering regime cannot be understood without the historical context of nation-building, a process that represents unfinished business, curtailed by war and its geopolitical aftermath and that now coincides, often uncomfortably, with the simultaneous project of European integration. Following the observations of

120   James Scott Nagy and Nagy (2013), Pisciotta (2016) and Varró (2008), I argue that the quest for national consolidation in response to profound political, social and economic change is a major conditioning factor of Central Europe’s re-bordering. It is also where the national-conservative border politics derive their meaning and popular reception. In the case of Hungary, national-conservative nation-building is premised on a specific set of beliefs with regard to historical memory and the political consequences that can be drawn from historical experience. It is also culturalist in Vertovec’s (2011) sense of the term, involving a conception of (national) culture as reified, static and largely homogeneous. Furthermore, borders, past and present, are a central element in the conservative narrative. For example, the historical narrative of Hungary as a bastion against invasion from the East has been recast within the context of migration and refugee “crises” and Hungary’s recent border closures (see, for example, Rév, 2018). Thus, in legitimising border closures, and with a dismissive attitude to the EU’s attempts to accommodate asylum seekers and refugees, the present Hungarian leadership under Viktor Orbán has stylized itself as a guardian of Europe’s historical legacy and Christian culture. Beyond the definition of Hungary as a Christian nation based on traditional family values, the conservative canon holds that: (1) The “Trianon trauma”, i.e., a sense of injustice resulting from territorial losses after the First World War, is a defining element of Hungarian identity; (2) that Hungary as a nation is not limited by the formal borders of the state; and (3) that complete sovereignty to regulate and control national borders is essential to national survival. This expression of cultural politics is part of what is heralded as a national-conservative project of nation-building in which Hungary will finally realize its role as a “strong and proud European nation”, following its own political destiny but within the context of European cooperation. These ideas reflect political and ideological ideas that have achieved dominance with the 2010 victory of Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz party and with them, a dramatic shift in framing Hungary’s role within Europe.

The emergence of a bordering regime: The case of Hungary Since 1989 the Hungarian government has gradually shifted from pro-European appropriations of open borders and cross-border cooperation to more explicitly ethnopolitical understandings of the same. More recently, this shift has been marked by direct contestations of EU policies with regards to border security and to asylum seekers. This development is ironic as the opening of borders between East and West was perhaps the defining moment of the end of the Cold War order in Europe. Furthermore, at this historic site of de-bordering, Hungary played a prominent and highly visible role: Allowing East German refugees to cross into Austria and symbolically cutting the Iron Curtain’s barbed wire were first decisive steps on the path towards Hungary’s European integration. De-bordering was celebrated as a normalization of political relations and everyday life – with

Hungary’s contemporary bordering regime   121 the ability to travel freely Hungarian and other Central and Eastern Europeans could enjoy a new autonomy, a return to regular everyday existence. By the same token, the de facto Europeanization processes that began almost immediately after the collapse of state socialism also again made borders part of everyday experience – not just because they could be crossed more easily, but also because the historical legacy of nation-building and border politics reemerged with a new, post-socialist and European significance. In the following, contours of Hungary’s bordering regime will be delineated. Its active operation at the level of everyday life, culture and values signal an attempt to cement both allegiances and divisions within society in order to secure the dominance of nationalist elites and marginalize the many “others”, both Hungarian and foreign, that do not fit the mould. While rather different in terms of the specific bordering situations where they operate, the three examples elaborated below indicate a comprehensive link between forging a sense of nation and using borders as a means of securitizing society as a whole. In the first example, we find an intensification of ethnopolitical initiatives that target a greater extraterritorial and trans-sovereign role for the Hungarian government. The second case targets domestic sources of political power and socio-cultural influence. The third case more specifically targets physical borders and the othering of non-European migrants and asylum seekers. While these examples address different bordering contexts, they are linked by mechanisms through which Hungarianness is defined with regard to ideological, socio-cultural, ethnic and ethno-territorial categories. Hungarian ethnopolitics in a cross-border context Hungary’s 2011 Fundamental Law, or Constitution, outlines a conservative, as well as contested, understanding of the country’s place in Europe. The new constitution emphasizes the “role of Christianity in preserving nationhood”, and conveys a clear ethnopolitical message: Bearing in mind that there is one single Hungarian nation that belongs together, Hungary shall bear responsibility for the fate of Hungarians living beyond its borders, shall facilitate the survival and development of their communities, shall support their efforts to preserve their Hungarian identity, the effective use of their individual and collective rights, the establishment of their community self-governments, and their prosperity in their native lands, and shall promote their cooperation with each other and with Hungary. (Hungarian government, 2011) The ethnopolitical is a neuralgic point for Hungary more generally but is particularly salient to the conservative narrative of Hungarianness. The principal reason for this is the aftermath of the 1920 Trianon Treaty which transferred two-thirds of Hungary’s former state territory to old and new neighbors and

122   James Scott forced minority status on 3.5 million Hungarians living outside the new borders of Hungary. Ethnopolitical goals of re-establishing a sense of Hungarian nation across state borders coalesce with a cultural politics where notions of “1,000year borders” and “Greater Hungary” are employed to generate a sense of national purpose and pride. This proclamation of national purpose is in stark contrast to the post-1989 situation where Hungary’s borders served as sites where local, national and EU actors sought to appropriate cross-border cooperation (CBC) as a multilayered exercise in regional development and historical de-bordering of post-Cold War Europe. Through the use of symbolism of the border as a bridge between neighbors, ­Hungary’s relationships with its neighbours was recast in a wider European context of overcoming deep differences and eventual EU membership. Similarly, national perspectives of balanced development were related to the re-establishment of urban networks in the Carpathian Basin – a largely Hungarian reference to the geographical area encompassed by the Carpathian Mountains and which historically formed the borders of the Kingdom of Hungary. However, in this regional development reading, emphasis was squarely placed on cooperation and the re-establishment of the functional relationships between mid-size cities and different core areas of the region (Horváth, 2010; Süli-Zakar, 2002; Süli-Zakar and Czimre, 2002). Despite this initial enthusiasm, however, the Hungarian ­government’s direct support of local and regional forms of CBC declined markedly after EU membership (Nagy, 2011). Instead, CBC was redirected to the development of Hungarian minorities in neighboring countries and its implementation was gradually centralized, transferred to ministries, the national bank and the Prime Minister’s Office itself. Egedy (2013) reminds us that the Trianon Treaty “led to a break with the civic concept of Hungarian nation and resulted in the predominance of an approach according to which the nation is primarily a cultural community”. ­Similarly, Batory (2010) has documented shifting Hungarian political interpretations of European integration (and Europeanization) in formal and statist terms at the same time that Hungary’s political identity with regard to its neighbors is seen in affective, i.e., ethnic, cultural and historic rather than European terms. Political debate over the national status of these minorities and the nature of their relationship with the mother country resurfaced already before 1989 in response to Romanian policies of village liquidation and cultural assimilation. Consequently, one of the defining elements of Hungary’s post-socialist nationbuilding is the political objective of improving connections between Hungary proper and Hungarian communities in neighboring states. At one level this is an issue of improving living standards and stabilising conditions in neighborhood areas as a means to keep Hungarians thriving there. As mentioned above, both EU and national regional development funding, including CBC instruments, have been employed along these lines. However, the ethnopolitical agenda also involves an intensification of relationships with and promotion of local autonomy for Hungarian speakers in neighboring countries. In national-conservative readings, a clear distinction must be made between Hungary as a territorial state, reflected in the present-day borders of the country,

Hungary’s contemporary bordering regime   123 and Hungary as a nation, in which extra-territorial political agency is a ­legitimate form of promoting Hungarian minority interests (Pogonyi, 2017). As a result, the Hungarian central government began to negotiate directly with ­Hungarian minority elites. The present government’s extraterritorial strategy of functionally rebordering the nation has signalled a marked change from previous policies which exercised greater caution in relations with Hungary’s neighbors. In effect, a shift from advocacy to active political intervention in the affairs of ethnic Hungarian communities has taken place, resulting in unilateral processes of “de-bordering” and region-building with the aim of more vigorously promoting Hungarian cultural and linguistic identity in the Carpathian Basin.1 Interrupted in 2002 by FIDESZ’s electoral defeat, the extraterritorial project of nation-building has intensified since 2010. One major step in this direction has been the introduction of dual citizenship and non-resident voting rights for ethnic Hungarians, legislated in 2010–11. These measures have, at the same time, strengthened the potential power base of FIDESZ; by May 2017 Hungary could claim 920,000 new citizens and thus potential voters. Other concrete elements of this political strategy have involved the creation of cross-border institutions, such as the Permanent Conference of Hungarians in 1998 (in Hungarian: MÁÉRT, Magyar Állandó Értekezlet). The Permanent Conference, which meets yearly, is composed of representatives of Hungarian political parties operating in neighboring countries and Hungary proper. Furthermore, in 2004 a Forum of Hungarian Representatives in the Carpathian Basin was established as a more visible expression of transnational interest politics.2 The national-conservative vision of a Hungarian “transnation”, to quote Szabolcs Pogonyi (2017), is arguably a more radical version of the concept of “transsovereignty” (Bakk and Öllös, 2010) which targets greater local autonomy and dual citizenship rights for cultural minorities. FIDESZ’s specific understanding of transsovereign (and extraterritorial) agency evokes the concept of Greater Hungary (see Antonsich and Szalkai, 2014) which mobilizes historical imaginaries of the “1,000-year borders” and the Carpathian Basin as a unified geopolitical space. This narrative defines a historically legitimized exceptionalist role for Hungary as regional stabilizer and integrator and is accentuated by official pronouncements, for example by Minister Zoltán Balog, regarding the need for a transnational geopolitical vision that invokes the Carpathian Basin as a “unified Hungarian national space” (Zoltan, 2015). As one of the most outspoken architects of Hungary’s ethnopolitical strategies, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade confirms that “one of the most important cornerstones of Hungarian foreign policy is standing up for cross-border Hungarians, and the protection and representation of their rights and interests” (Hungarian government, 2019). The bordering regime as socio-cultural norming and division Directly after Fidesz’s spectacular electoral victory in April 2010, the proclamation of a so-called National Cooperation System (….) indicated that an epochal political as well as cultural shift was underway (Batory, 2016; Kovács and

124   James Scott Trencsényi, 2019). From the official English language version of the text, we can read that: They have authorized more than mere adjustment or change; they have authorized us, through the strength of national cooperation, to establish a new political, economic, and social system built on new rules in every area of life. (Office of the National Assembly 2010) In other words, a historical moment of fundamental transformation was declared (Pataki, 2013). According to this narrative, while the socialist system as such was swept aside in 1989, only partial sovereignty was achieved until this grand victory. Sentiments of discrimination, the demonization of “unhungarian” transition phase governments, as well as domestic malaise due to economic crisis were successfully mobilized in order to recode the post-socialist experience as an incomplete process of national becoming. Since 2010, the Fidesz has sought, both as a means to power and in an effort to subsequently consolidate its hold on society, to infuse its political identity with a sense of epochal change driven by popular will, finally putting an end to indecisive government pandering to external interests (Palonen, 2018). What we find is a comprehensive attempt to reorder Hungarian society along autocratic and populist principles, creating an “illiberal alternative” that reflects a deep social conservatism. This was facilitated by the revolutionary thrust of Orban’s agenda after 2002 which employed increasingly radicalized notions of national identity and interest. Moreover, this radicalization was not limited to political discourses, it impacted the public sphere and public spaces as a whole (e.g., media, arts and sciences, education, urban development goals, politics of historical memory). Most significantly, this radicalization process involved organizing, mobilizing and instrumentalizing a conservative-patriotic civil society movement that includes the Polgári Körök (Citizens’ circles) and the recently created Polgárok a Városért Egyesület (Association of Citizens for the City) (HVG, 2019). Hostility towards liberal social values already tangible during Orbán’s first government (1998–2002) have evolved into a pointed contestation of core ­principles that govern EU membership, including the rule of law and freedom of the press (Financial Times, 2017). Orbán has thus portrayed Hungary as a center of new European ideas that more closely adhere to public sentiment. This ­de-centered interpretation of Europe, has been developed in the media via depictions of Hungary as an innovator and an active, rather than passive, member of the EU, supporting a nationally defined Christian Europe and unmasking ­Brussel’s “political correctness” (Szarka, 2017). Accordingly, the present ­Hungarian government has warned constantly of the dangers of “unnatural migration” and the emergence of parallel (i.e., Islamic) societies that will threaten Europe’s welfare, security and identity. In mobilising support for restrictive asylum ­policies and unilateral border closures, Hungary’s prime minister has proclaimed that “illiberal” values are needed in order to protect national societies and guard against “naïve” understandings of openness and tolerance.

Hungary’s contemporary bordering regime   125 Hungary’s use of borders is therefore complemented by biopolitical instruments of internal control that attempt to reduce the visibility of that which can be categorized as the “non-Hungarian”. This has taken shape, for example, in attempts to visually “cleanse” areas of Budapest that are of a mixed ethnic (e.g., largely Roma) character and thus reintegrating them into a hegemonic story of mainstream Hungarianness (Keresztély et al., 2017). Moreover, migrants and refugees are only visible in the state-dominated media (most major newspapers and national news channels) to the extent they can be identified as an existential physical, economic or cultural threat (see Meszaros, 2019). Hungary’s government also refuses to align with the EU’s position on humanitarian aid. On the contrary, the official Hungarian standpoint is that the prevention of human trafficking is the true humanitarian issue at stake. In this way, the present Hungarian government focuses single-mindedly on border protection and shielding society from direct contact with asylum seekers. This message is accompanied by increasing hostility towards civil society organizations that promote humanitarian solutions, for example those associated with George Soros and his Open Society Foundations.3 Referring to the migrant crisis, Orbán has decried (…) an absurd coalition which had emerged between people smugglers, dictators pursuing flawed policies in their own countries and Western European civil human rights organizations and NGOs (…) Hungarians, working against our own national interests, also play a prominent role in enabling the operation of such networks in this region. (Hungarian government, 2016a) Hungary’s open animosity towards German Chancellor Angela Merkel’s welcome culture idea proclaimed in 2015 is another indication of the conflation of national conservativism and securitized thinking. In this context, humanitarian aims of accommodating refugees are marginalized by the political framing of refugee mobility in terms of socio-ethnic and religious tensions as well as increased social burdens for strapped public budgets. On the other hand, the Hungarian government has also formulated direct messages against multiculturalism more generally in which crime, terrorism and insecurity are openly associated not only with refugees but also irregular migrants (Barlai and Sik, 2017). This discourse is supported by constant negative Hungarian media coverage of Europe’s refugee crisis and conspiracy theories that suggest an “externally” driven exploitation of Europe’s open societies. In Orbán’s own words, “all terrorists are migrants” (Kaminski, 2015). Accordingly, the bordering regime represents an attempt to tap into ­European conservative scepticism of multiculturalism and open borders, as well as to consolidate domestic political power by appropriating critical debates on security and creating a hegemonic narrative of “national interest”. Having regained ­political autonomy in 1989, conservative forces in Hungary provocatively

126   James Scott argue that the country is loath to subject itself to the dictates of another multinational “empire”. The present Hungarian government thus seeks to change the rules by which questions of migration and citizenship are discussed and dealt with ­politically by advancing national understandings of political community. Consequently, domestic political views that conflict with the ­government’s interpretations of what constitutes “Hungarianness” (political legacies, historical memory) have been marginalized in the public sphere and in some cases have faced ostracism (public shaming as non-national liberals). Targets of this are: Roma communities, liberal political thinkers, civil society activists, social scientists and in general groups that through their ideas, ­physical appearance and lack of sympathy for the government can be identified as undesirable. Within this context, George Soros and NGOs who receive support from his Open Society Foundation have been accused of plotting to undermine Hungarian sovereignty and democracy by facilitating the entry of large numbers of would-be migrants.4 The 2017 national campaign against the “Soros-Plan” not only played with latent anti-Semitic tropes but more generally mobilized xenophobia and fear in anticipation of the April 2018 parliamentary elections. Bordering and the securitization of migration As indicated above, the Hungarian government’s bordering regime has exploited borders physically and symbolically in ways that resonate with popular unease with questions related to migration as well as conservative scepticism of multiculturalism and open borders. This is clearly manifested in Hungary’s border policies since 2015 which, in response to and in exploitation of the refugee “crisis”, have seen new border fortifications, a partial militarization of border areas and a comprehensive securitization of refugee and migrant issues in the public sphere. Hungary’s southern border fences thus carry a strong political message, evoking a need to protect the nation from “Schmittian” enemies from within and without as well as to preserve European civilization. The historian István Rév provides an insightful observation: According to the rhetoric of the Hungarian leader, liberal Jews – whose embodiment in the Hungarian official propaganda campaigns is George Soros, the Elder of Zion – (plan to) smuggle Muslim terrorists, posing as migrants, into Europe, in order to undermine the stability of the European Christian nations-states. By building a razor fence along the southern border of the country, Hungary, the bastion of Europe, defends Christian Europe, even against the Latin-American Pope, who does not know and does not understand Western civilization. (2018: 622) Indeed, as Rév suggests, Hungary has understood itself as a defender of Europe’s borders, a “bastion” of the West against attacks from the East and a

Hungary’s contemporary bordering regime   127 fortress (vedőbástya) of European Christianity (Glied and Pap, 2016). The selfunderstanding of Hungary as a civilizational border guard that in turn has never been treated properly by the West is still a living concept in the thinking of many Hungarians. Orsoly Száraz (2012) has mentioned that in Gallup opinion surveys conducted in 1993 and 2000 and independently of age, education level and place of residence, close to 75% of the respondents agreed with the statement that: “for a thousand years, Hungary was the bulwark of the West, but we, even today, have never been thanked for this”. This historical narrative exhibits considerable longevity, this is not necessarily unique to Hungary, but the coincidence of the ideas of the border guard with the idea of the 1,000-year borders adds a powerful political element and as such has served as a central aspect of the culturalist geopolitical agenda. Securitization has now re-emerged within this border politics context as a highly visible strategy of border closure and an assertion of national sovereignty.5 Hungary has refused to abide by Dublin criteria or the Common European Asylum System (CEAS), in effect “renationalizing” its borders. In addition, using border security as an emotionally laden issue and constant threat narrative has served (at least in the thinking of the present government) to bolster support for national-conservative ideological dominance. With its border politics, the Hungarian government seeks, furthermore, to reduce the mobility and the ­visibility of refugees. These understandings have been infused with a more pronounced anti-EU message communicated by securitization practices (e.g., fence building), anti-migration discourses (television, billboard and newspaper ­campaigns) (Goettig, 2016), political initiatives targeted at instilling deep ­mistrust of the EU’s policies towards refugees. These came together in the referendum of October 2016 against refugee quotas within the EU (Hungarian ­Government, 2016b) and associated poster campaigns connecting terrorism with “illegal migration” (Goettig, 2016). The radicalization of Hungary’s border ­politics is evidenced by the draconian measures adopted since 2015 with regard to refugees entering the EU. With the installation and reinforcement of barbed wire fences and the creation of so-called transit zones/internment camps along its border with Serbia, Hungary’s mobility control practices have since 2015 achieved a new intensity. Finally, the significance of the border as a guarantor of national sovereignty and as an instrument of “hard” geopolitics is underscored by the government’s insistence on unilateral control. As Orbán argued in 2015: The basics are that each nation is defined by its borders. Borders must be respected. And borders must be defended by the state. […] And if you are a member of the European Union, especially the Schengen Area, you have an obligation to defend your national border, which is the European border, to stop them. Everybody who would like to cross the border in an illegal way: stop them and defend the border to defend your community and to defend Europe. (Hungarian government, 2015)

128   James Scott Moreover, when asked whether he thought that building a border fence should be the decision of the EU, Orbán answered: No, no, it is a national obligation. To defend the borders inside the European Union, especially the Schengen, outside border is a national obligation. It is a national imperative. It is not a common [European] task. It is your job because you are a state. It is part of the definition of a state. Therefore, you have to do it. In which way, how to do it, is very difficult but that is a technical issue. The main issue is that it is your obligation to maintain your border control and defend your border. And you can’t wait for the European solution. (…) But moral and human issues are basically technical in comparison to the main issue, which is the obligation of the state to maintain border security. (Hungarian government, 2015) The Hungarian government’s securitization of mobility has culminated in the creation of four “transit zones” on the border with Serbia and Croatia in order to “fix”, as it were, asylum seekers in time and space and make them invisible to mainstream society. Since 2016, applications for asylum can only be processed at the border camps, anyone apprehended crossing Hungary’s borders at other points will be sent immediately back to Serbia. The ­immobilization of refugee flows is both a deterrent as well as a clear ­expression of the government’s resolve to reject any EU-level quotas or regulations that impinge upon national sovereignty. This policy is seen by critics as tantamount to imprisonment and a blatant violation of human rights.6 There is in fact strong underlying domestic agreement with the government’s refusal to accept refugees and asylum seekers. The October 2016 referendum against EU-wide resettlement quotas was not voted on by a majority of the population but its results did reflect overwhelming support (Hungarian ­Government, 2016b).

Concluding observations The forceful nature of the Hungarian government’s arguments against refugee and migrant mobility is based on a deft strategy of invoking the inviolability of national borders and exaggerating threats to national cohesion, identity and sovereignty. Above and beyond this, however, the Hungarian government’s highly visible exploitation of the refugee “crisis” is one example of the use of border fences as a political resource in an attempt to push for a more conservative turn within the EU. Hungary’s strategic use of its borders, both discursively and practically, has served the purpose of nation-building as a parallel process to EU membership. But it also reflects an introverted self-referentiality that has supported the national-conservatives’ will to power. Hungary’s bordering regime, targeted at ethnopolitical ambitions, security and domestic control, enhances the significance of national scale and a sense of national

Hungary’s contemporary bordering regime   129 purpose, at least in terms of conservative political agendas. As part of this, the border regime plays on historical memory and the identification of a core set of national values that seek both to exclude undesired foreignness as well as norm everyday life What are possible consequences of these border politics? It is likely that due to the xenophobic vehemence of the government’s border politics anti-immigrant sentiment will remain a feature of Hungarian politics for some time to come, even after Orbán’s departure from the scene. As a result, the Hungarian government’s politics of contestation could have the effect of making xenophobia less objectionable, particularly within the context of securitized understandings of mobility and migration. Clearly, the anti-politics inspired by Viktor Orbán and his government are partly fuelled by populist and xenophobic sentiments that are cause for more general concern within Europe. However, there is more to this story: Hungary’s border politics are also conditioned by the EU’s present crisis that can be attributed to an erosion of solidarity within the Community, neoliberal reforms and austerity politics that have challenged the European Social Model. Furthermore, a lack of consensus regarding migration and policies towards asylum seekers have magnified the significance of Eurosceptic tendencies. And in fact, there is a degree of consensus in Central Europe regarding greater local restrictions on the mobility of asylum seekers (Hungarian Free Press, 2015). This consensus has suggested a revival of sorts of the Visegrad Four cooperation forum, as the Czech Republic, Poland and Slovakia have to an extent become political allies with Hungary in the drive to stop immigration (Pachocka, 2016). Finally, it should be mentioned that despite its reach, Hungary’s bordering regime is not monolithic – there are highly critical counterarguments within Hungarian political debate that challenge the notion of singular identities and FIDESZ’s interpretation of national interest and security. Groups protesting Orbán’s hard-line nationalism and treatment of refugees have become more visible and vocal despite the state’s near monopoly of media outlets ­(Svensson et al., 2017). Moreover, it is highly likely that the ethnopolitical and securitization agendas that inform Hungarian border politics have in fact made cooperation much more complex by politicizing everyday CBC and arousing mutual mistrust. At some point, Hungary might have to contend with substantial backlash from its conspicuous ethnopolitical strategies. The controversial extra-territorial policies adopted during the three Orbán governments as well as Hungarian visions of the Carpathian Basin as an integrated space are a latent source of conflict, for example with Romania, Slovakia and Ukraine. As a result, the Hungarian post-Cold War quest for regional autonomy or ethnic Hungarians, often misunderstood by Hungary’s neighbors, has suffered from an inability to disassociate itself from radical irredentist and chauvinist messages conveyed by the extreme right. Ironically, Hungary’s national development interests would be much better served through dialogue and a productive understanding of de-bordering and cooperation as a trustbuilding project.

130   James Scott

Notes 1 2011 census data provide the following estimates for the Hungarian ethnic populations in surrounding countries: Croatia (14,048), Czech Republic (9,049), Romania (1,427,623), Slovakia (458,467), Serbia (253,899); 2016 census data indicate 70,676 ethnic Hungarian live in Austria while according to 2001 data 7,500 lived in Slovenia and 156,000 in Ukraine. 2 In Hungarian: Kárpát-medencei Magyar Képviselők Fóruma (KMKF). 3 George Soros has been accused of undermining national and European border security. Both international and domestic media have noticed the use of anti-Semitic stereotypes in attacks on George Soros. See for example: “Hungary’s Jews do feel fear and they have good reason”. Jewish Chronicle, November 22, 2018. www.thejc.com/comment/ comment/hungary-s-jews-do-feel-fear-under-victor-orban-and-they-have-good-­reason1.472938. Accessed May 4, 2020. 4 According to an October 7, 2017 entry on the Hungarian Prime Minister’s website, “Brussels is implementing the Soros Plan”. The full entry can be accessed at www. miniszterelnok.hu/brussels-is-implementing-the-soros-plan/. Accessed May 4, 2020. 5 This is evidenced by widespread media coverage since 2015 of Hungary’s refusal to accept refugees according to EU rules. See the Political article “Hungary’s zero refugee strategy”, available at www.politico.eu/article/hungary-zero-refugee-strategy-viktororban-europe-migration-crisis/. Accessed May 4, 2020. 6 The Hungarian Spectrum of June 14, 2017 reports that “Hungary’s transit zones are actually prisons where even pregnant women are handcuffed”. http://hungarianspectrum. org/2017/06/14/hungarys-transit-zones-are-actually-prisons-where-even-pregnantwomen-are-handcuffed/. Accessed May 4, 2020.

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Part II

Walled borders, walled lives

8 Ways of seeing (the border) Matthew Longo

The relationship between what we see and what we know is never settled. If we can see the present clearly enough, we shall ask the right questions of the past. John Berger, Ways of Seeing (7; 16)

In politics, what you look for greatly structures what you find. When you look long enough at an institution, for example, it starts to take the shape you give it – by the definitions provided by the discipline, or the pathways shorn by previous works. In this way, scholarship tends to deepen our understanding of social ­phenomena in clearly defined ways, but at the exclusion of other ways. We highlight the bits that fit our analysis, while omitting those that do not. These errors need not arise from malicious intent, but rather reflect a more general problem: We do not take into sufficient account the biases that come from our gaze. In other words, we need to rethink what we are looking for and how we go about seeing it. This chapter takes its inspiration from the writing of John Berger, noted art critic and author of Ways of Seeing, in which he sought to change the ways in which we view great works of art. He did so in part by drawing our eyes away from the canvas and towards the larger context in which a piece of art was set – it was a reflection of moral values (philosophy), social norms (sociology), market pressures (economics) and so forth. The ways in which beauty was manifest (in the form of female nudes, for example) or wealth portrayed (through lavish feasts), are not purely questions of art, but wrapped up in the broader thrust of history in which they are situated. Berger’s point was that to understand art you need to be conscious of what you are looking at (and for), as both the artwork and the audience are time- and place-set. It is only by adopting this vantage that we can see clearly the art for what it is. Borders are like this too. As scholars, we have a lot of conceptual tools at our disposal. We can discuss borders as thin, jurisdictional lines – i.e., as they appear on maps and in legal texts. We can think of borders metaphorically – as walls (negatively) or as bridges (positively). We can categorize them according to material dimensions – borders can be wall- or fence-like; they can vary in technological sophistication and how well-funded, staffed or built-up they are.

138   Matthew Longo We can also think of borders as sites of political self-expression – think of Banksy’s artwork at Qalandia – or protest. This literature is as broad as it is deep. The point here is not to provide a survey, but rather to point out that we spend a lot of time thinking about the different ways to conceptualize the border – i.e., how we see the border. This chapter wants to take seriously Berger’s challenge about reflective criticism and flip the question: Rather than ask how we see the border it instead asks how the border sees us. This re-framing of the question – following what we might think of as a “Ways of Seeing” approach – allows us to tackle the subject of the border from a different vantage. By examining the border’s gaze of its subjects, we can transition away from thinking about it as a material or legal entity, and towards considering it as an active, embodied site of state agency – i.e., as a seer. The body of the chapter looks at what we might gain with this approach, with a particular focus on how advanced data filtration capacities – and in particular “predictive analytics”, or the ways future actions are foreseen – are changing what it means to be a citizen-subject, caught in the state’s gaze. This approach offers two immediate dividends, the first is to give shape to the complicated inter-relation between the border as a physical space and a digital one – the algorithm is as much the “eye” of the border, as the border guard perched alongside the wall. Second, by looking at the border as a seer we shift the focus away from the ­institution and onto the subjects of their gaze – migrants, citizen-travelers, borderlands dwellers – and the ways in which they are defined and constrained by the manner in which the border catches them in its sights. In this chapter this is discussed with a detailed look at the question of state rationalization. Taking the vantage of the border as a seer is not itself new. Indeed, in the age of dataveillance, the question of what the state is looking for, especially at airports, has become a subject of some debate. For example, Gillian Fuller describes the experience of invasive security procedures at airports as follows: “Visible to all, only our thoughts move in private. Our baggage, our bodies, and our movements are all part of an encompassing spectacle” (2008: 165–170). This observation fits into a large body of social theory dedicated to the ways that travelers feel turned-inside-out by technology at the border – how they become “data-doubles” or “readable text” (Muller, 2008: 128; Ceyhan, 2008: 104); where they feel the need to make themselves appear as non-risky by a kind of purging – “to cleanse of guilt, sin and impurities” (Browne, 2010: 145–146). If anything, this approach brings to the border observations we have long made about states – classically through the writing of Foucault, who described the panopticon as the “oldest dream of the oldest sovereign” (Foucault, 1978: 66; see also Scott, 1998). Indeed, the border – with its walls, cameras and lights – in many ways recreates the p­ anopticon in the borderlands. It is a space in which the state not only watches its subjects but shapes them. In his essay, “The Eye of Power”, Foucault explains: [The system of surveillance has] no need for arms, physical violence, material constraints. Just a gaze. An inspecting gaze, a gaze which each

Ways of seeing (the border)   139 individual under its weight will end by interiorizing to the point that he is his own overseer, each individual thus exercising this surveillance over, and against, himself. (Foucault, 1980a: 155) It would certainly be no stretch to suggest that at the border, subjects are ­conditioned by surveillance. Rather than break new ground, what this chapter seeks to do is to codify some of the ways in which the border acts like a “seer”, drawing principally on fieldwork conducted at the US–Mexico and US–Canada borders.1 In particular, I break down three modes of sight – what I call the “Westphalia”, “Orwell” and “Pixelation” theses – and then discuss what thinking about borders in this way reveals (and which might have been missed by studies that take a less critical approach towards “seeing”). This latter discussion focuses on the evolution of these different theses – from less- to more-sophisticated approaches – at the border as examples of state rationalization, with its incumbent harms to individual subjectivity and citizenship.

How the border sees: Three theses This section discusses three theses – answers to the question “how does the border see us?” They are not meant to be exhaustive, but rather provide an overview of possibilities. The theses are presented in ascending complexity – with the older, more naïve conceptions of border-sight presented first, and more complex, and data-driven conceptions to follow. The “Westphalia” thesis This is the classic way of understanding border sight, modeled off the ­Westphalian conception of states, where the border was the site where one state (and its armies) faced off against another state (and its armies). This model takes as its target the generic other – a nameless, faceless enemy. In this way it mirrors the militaristic imaginary of the border-as-frontline; anyone from outside the polity is taken as a threat ex ante. (One is threatening until proven safe.) This conception has pre-modern roots but is still very much prevalent. Certainly, it sustains whenever border guards patrol the perimeter; it is also the norm in places of contested territory or conflict. It also has many modern variants – exemplified by the case of walls and all in situ technologies like drones, blimps and camera towers. The “Westphalia” thesis is perhaps best embodied by the US response to 9/11, and the 2002 creation of the DHS, which included CBP under its umbrella. In this period, the US government radically revamped its border security and expanded its mandate. In particular, after 9/11, border security and national security were no longer considered discrete domains. In the decades prior to the terrorist attacks, border security was primarily a response to illegal immigration

140   Matthew Longo and drug smuggling. After 9/11, the border became a central theatre of national security (Michael, 2007: 209). In a way, these changes took us back to Westphalia, making the border more “classic” than it had ever been before. In a matter of months, threats collapsed into one another – the border became a place to look for not just migrants and drug smugglers, but also terrorists – and the enemy became totalizing and generic. Anyone coming across the US border could be a threat under this ­conception, an escalation that led to calls for a magnified response. In 2005 the government produced a comprehensive border security plan, the Secure Border Initiative (SBI), which featured a surveillance technology system – SBInet – with sensors, night vision, remote video surveillance, light towers and unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs). Alongside this technological deployment came a major increase in tactical infrastructure with the Secure Fence Act of 2006, which amended IIRIRA with a requirement for double-layered fencing along the southwest border, totaling 850 miles – thereby radically expanding the infrastructural developments of the 1990s. Many, including in the government, were skeptical about the efficacy of these moves – doubting how much operational control of the border was actually achieved (Kimery, 2012), questioning whether flows were simply displaced by border build-up (McCarter, 2010a), and citing the astronomical cost (Silverberg, 2011). And, of course, the forces on the other side of the border were not idly being watched – they created counterstrategies of surveillance, such as by employing ultralight aircraft of their own. As one FBI agent puts it: “While we are watching them on the border with our sophisticated drones, they are also watching us” (Valdemar, 2012). (A counter-politics of seeing!) But the emphasis on a militaristic mode of sight is fairly clear. When border guards looked out onto the desert, they looked for threats, plain and simple. As support for tactical infrastructure and walling fell in security-circles (McCarter, 2010b), starting in about 2010 (despite its continued popularity on the political stage), a new emphasis was placed on “smart” border apprehension. This new way of thinking about borders brought an increased awareness that for borders to be effective, they cannot merely be “tall”, they must also be “wide” and “layered”, which demanded new technology at the border – and in particular technologies of detection (i.e., “sight”). For example, some technology thickens the physical line through ground sensors – seismic, magnetic, infrared – mostly placed within about ½ mile (0.8 kilometers) from the border, but in some cases much farther inland (Padilla, 2012). And of course, there were cameras and radars, designed to extend the range of detection at the border. As a local Police Chief on the US–Mexico border, explained to me: “It’s a net, basically. You are creating a new visual net”.2 New technologies were to serve as “the eyes of the border patrol agents”, controlled remotely from a command center (Padilla, 2012), with UAVs and Aerostats (radar balloons) that “can provide eyes almost around the clock”.3 What we see in this evolution of thought at the border is a general refinement of the “Westphalia” gaze through ever more-advanced technologies of sight. But

Ways of seeing (the border)   141 what is important here is that initial forms of “smart” border apprehension did not radically change the gaze. The target of the border’s gaze is still the generic other. Due to border-widening technologies, threats were better and more quickly identified. But the state did not take a more refined approach towards what a threat was. The “Orwell” thesis Responding to falling support for walling within the security apparatus, USBP put out a new strategy, “The 2012–2016 National Strategy”, which moved away from previous notions of guarding the line and towards “risk-based approaches” (Shiffman, 2012). These strategies built on the discussion of “smart” borders mentioned above, but now with a clearer sense that people carry within them ­differential markers of risk – i.e., they are not generically threatening, but rather have a specific (and measurable) amount of risk. Borrowing syntax from George Orwell, you might say that vis-à-vis risk, some threats are “more equal” than others. This move towards risk-assessment can only go so far at the perimeter, but the gaze radically changes our strategy at ports of entry, where there has been a strategic shift from “deterrence” to “risk assessment”, through filtration. This form of bordering was initially aimed at solving a conundrum generated by the “Westphalian” approach after 9/11, which is that too many checks hurt the economy, but too few checks diminished security. Thus, the mandate of ports was to increase the quality of checks such that the good is let in more quickly, and the risky are slowed down. Thus, just like at the perimeter we went through an evolution of thought about security at the ports – roughly going from a pre-9/11 model of “minimal security checks for all” to the immediate post9/11 model of “extensive security checks for all”. Now we have settled on a third model, which is “security checks for some more than others”. But unlike at the perimeter, these checks can be processed with greater refinement, due to the fact that they are based on data received in advance of traveler arrival. As such, data-processing technologies can be used to discriminate between people based on their risk ratings. This new strategic approach generates a specific other – a targeted, individualized object of security – rather than a generic other. This is because the principle capacity enabled by data analytics is profiling, which enables data systems to discriminate based on supposed “riskiness”. As such the “other” in this model is often racialized – people of Arab descent are nearly always riskier, for example, even if they are American citizens, than other people, including noncitizens of Western background. Indeed, these systems frequently discriminate based on ascriptive characteristics. For example, the US program E-verify has recently come under fire by the ACLU for categorizing minorities unfairly (Civil Rights, 2014). But discrimination is hardly a bug in these technologies – it is an essential feature. Subjects of the state’s gaze in this model become objects onto which we can project our values: Algorithms are designed in part to catch what we are already looking for.

142   Matthew Longo This feature of technology at borders is an important development and thus deserves some unpacking. Security at the ports of entry is driven by data ­(biometric and biographic) – so-called Big Data. Biometrics refers to the measurement of the human body – fingerprints, iris, face – and the translation of those measurements into data points. Big Data is the shorthand term for the massive accumulation of data, especially since the rise of social media. According to the White House, Big Data can be understood as “near-ubiquitous data collection where that data is being crunched at a speed increasingly approaching real-time” (White House, 2014). So, what is the point of Big Data as it relates to the state’s gaze? It makes the targeting of government services to citizens more precise – especially in sectors like public safety (such as border security). Here is the task of Homeland Security, as pertains to Big Data: Every day, two million passengers fly into, within, or over the United States. More than a million people enter the country by land. Verifying the identity of each person and determining whether he or she poses a threat falls to the Department of Homeland Security, which must process huge amounts of data in seconds to carry out its mission. The Department is not simply out to find the “needle in the haystack.” Protecting the homeland often depends on finding the most critical needles across many haystacks – a classic big data problem. (White House, 2014: 27) Much of the data that goes into these collections is biometric, which Robert Mocny, Director of US-VISIT, described as the “ultimate identification tool across immigration and border security spectrums”, which can provide “actual, personcentric information and analysis to help decision-makers” (Mocny, 2013). It would be impossible to sum up the changes made at the border by data. The point here is simply to show how the state’s gaze has changed – in this case by becoming targeted, discriminating between threats on the individual level. But is this granular enough? The next thesis shows how the same data strategies are generating changes at the sub-individual level. This reflects policy re-prioritization; it is also a shift in gaze. The “Pixelation” thesis Taken to its fullest, data would not simply change how the state views individuals, it would refine its locus of interest further – in this case to the sub-individual. The target here is not generic, or specific, but rather something different, a composite of data points – what I call the pixelated subject. This is the cutting edge of current border security – especially at the ports where data is processed in advance of traveler arrival. The question now is not “whether data” but “what data and when”. What the security industry at the border is now looking to generate is a “360-degree” picture (Shah, 2013), which goes beyond simple “physical characteristics of the individual” and towards something more complete, which

Ways of seeing (the border)   143 merges the biometric and biographic identities. It has as its aim predictive analytics, thereby sharing affinity with futuristic portrayals of crime-solving, such as in the film Minority Report, or in Philip K. Dick’s discussion of “pre-crimes”. The goal is no longer simple authentication, but a complete portrait of individual trustworthiness. To make this point, it is important to correct an error in terminology common to both popular and scholarly discourse: We use the word identification to refer to the process of handing over documents at a border port or visa office, and say that documents such as passports identify us. This is incorrect. These procedures are part of a process called verification. A photograph in a passport is compared to the face of the person presenting it; a fingerprint scanner matches prints taken on site with those carried digitally on the ID chip. Verification is a relatively banal process; by contrast, identification, or the process of creating identities, is far more significant. This is performed in databanks at headquarters, where biometrics are matched onto individual data-records, alongside all other existing datapoints about the individual such that the individual can be defined and classified. Seen in this way, identity is the complex amalgam of biometrics, biographics, behavioral data, and other forms of ready-made data; as such, it far exceeds the physical individual it putatively represents. Identity-creation is the core of the identity infrastructure promulgated at contemporary borders as it is here that risk-ratings are produced – i.e., that an individual is flagged as a suspected ­terrorist or linked to an “illegal alien”. A government biometrics expert explains that “total identity” includes all facets of identity including behavioral ­tendencies, and reputation – i.e., “what other people say about you, not what you say about yourself”.4 The goal of identification is not just to describe identities, but to model future behavior and create predictive risk assessments – or in the words of one Big Data expert, “to predict events, based on patterns of behavior” (Rohozinski, 2012). The goal is to “uncover, characterize, understand and potentially even predict threat-actors before they act”.5 At present predictive analytics is most developed in fighting urban crime. For example, the Chicago Police Department has developed a “heat list” which uses information held in police records to generate an index of people most likely to commit a violent crime. The civil liberties concerns raised here are manifold, and clearly present a threat to the vaunted notion of innocent-until-proven-guilty, as “the harvesting of data to try and ascertain who is likely to commit a crime places individuals who have done nothing wrong under suspicion” (Statewatch, 2014). Nonetheless, large cities see predictive analytics as the future, as it enables them to intervene in and pre-empt crimes. At the border, it is the future of risk-based classification – taking the “Orwellian” logics detailed above to their logical extreme. To return to the language of sight and seeing, we may say that individuals are fully caught in a gaze, but more interestingly, they are also created by that gaze. Persecution for crimes not yet committed is tantamount to being labeled as a person one has not yet become (and might never, had s/he not been caught in the

144   Matthew Longo gaze in the first place). In this way, data logics have already moved beyond the individual, and towards the sub-individual – the pixelated subject, an aggregation of data-points the way a photograph is an aggregation of pixels. For our purposes, the point is that this is a far more sophisticated way of understanding the border as a “seer” and is largely changing the nature and plight of subjects caught in its gaze.

Problematics of sight So, what does thinking about borders in this way offer us? Certainly, it illustrates the different ways that a gaze is being imposed by the border. But more than this, it calls our attention to certain normative concerns that warrant redress. In the discussion that follows I briefly illustrate some of these. This section will draw heavily on the writing of Foucault, who detailed how the state views its subjects. Here, data-centric bordering practices are very much in line with his concerns about state rationalization. What does it mean for a state to be rational? Broadly, it is the management of a state by scientific principles, designed to maximize the state’s capacity to control the totality of its subjects and distinguish between them as individuals. The rational state embodies various processes of differentiation, whereby discrete items are distinguished and categorized, and institutionalization, or the process by which the state takes on the role of regulator, organizer – overseer. Starting in the 16th century, the state began to institutionalize the individuating capacity of Christianity, resulting in what Foucault calls “pastoral power”.6 This process, bent on the individuation of subjects, carried through into the 18th century, with religious vestiges increasingly being replaced by secular forms of authority (and especially policing) (Foucault, 1980b: 334–335). The idea that the state shepherds – and polices – its population is recognizable. It is what we now take self-evidently to be government. Returning to the notion of individuation, we might say that at the same time as the rational state seeks to control its population, it also seeks to establish modes of control at the individual-level by conditioning and creating subjects (Foucault, 1980b: 331). What are the mechanisms by which this form of power turns humans into subjects? They are what Foucault calls “dividing practices” in which “the subject is either divided inside himself or divided from others. This process objectivizes him” (Foucault, 1980b: 326–327). Examples of such division in his work are familiar: Madness and sanity; illness and health, etc. These binaries are ways in which heterogeneous subjects can be grouped, separated and controlled – to which we can now add risky and non-risky. To achieve this end, the rational state targets the body – manifest today in the state’s pursuit of biometrics. Foucault calls this biopolitics, or “the set of mechanisms through which the basic biological features of the human species became the object of a political strategy, of a general strategy of power” (1978: 1). The biopolitical subject is one who can be effectively filtered into categories of safe and risky – and who can self-categorize. This, for Foucault, is the essence

Ways of seeing (the border)   145 of the state’s power; the power to turn rough, ungainly subjects into smooth manipulable ones. To do this, the government normalizes its subjects. This process comes out clearly in his discussion of discipline: Discipline, of course, analyzes and breaks down; it breaks down individuals, places, time, movements, actions, and operations. It breaks them down into components such that they can be seen, on the one hand, and modified on the other … and finally, on the basis of this, it establishes the division between those considered unsuitable or incapable and the others. That is to say, on this basis it divides the normal from the abnormal. Disciplinary normalization consists first of all in positing a model, an optimal model that is constructed in terms of a certain result, and the operation of disciplinary normalization consists in trying to get people, movements, and actions to conform to this model. (Foucault, 1978: 57) This discussion of individuation brings to the fore the problem of risk, which repositions the unknown as the greatest threat to the system – even over and above the substance of the threat itself. This is the nature of being risky – riskiness is an undefined state, except for what it is not (namely normal; safe). It is an anticipated thing, a state to come. But it can never be predicted, because the real risk is unknown. To this end, Foucault makes an interesting contrast between law and discipline, where law leaves room for that which is unknown; for discipline, what is unknown is precisely the least allowable: “In the system of the law, what is undetermined is what is permitted; in the system of disciplinary regulation, what is determined is what one must do, and consequently everything else, being undetermined, is prohibited” (Foucault, 1978: 46). Thus, while in the sphere of law, one is innocent until guilty; in the sphere of discipline, one is guilty until innocent. With this frame in mind, we can then return to the use of data in bordering practice and ask: What type of citizen – and subject – does data produce? Its practical aim is normalization – it uses the processes of filtration and profiling to police what it considers to be normal behavior and penalize deviance. This role is built into data design. John Torpey, in his The Invention of the Passport, explains the imprisoning nature of passport-identity as follows: Passports and other documents authorizing movement and establishing identity discourage people from choosing identities inconsistent with those validated by the state.… In this regard, people have to some extent become prisoners of their identities, which may sharply limit their opportunities to come and go across jurisdictional spaces. (Torpey, 2000: 166) Put another way, such documents condition the subject by structuring what we consider to be the rational, or natural way of things.

146   Matthew Longo Given this state-imposed normalization, how do we understand it as a harm? The most thorough treatment of the harms of classificatory schemes comes out in the writings of Pierre Bourdieu on distinction. For him, categorization is what makes possible cognition and selfhood but also self-restriction. This internalization of boundaries leads people to self-restrict from certain goods because they believe “that’s not for the likes of us”. These people are consistently “defining themselves as the established order defines them” (Bourdieu, 1984: 471). The concern is that data forces people into patterns of identification, conditioning who they can be according to the state-imposed norm. This instantiates the harm of both non- and misrecognition (Taylor, 1994: 25–26). Harms to identity of this sort are an ethical concern. It is through our identities that we come to feel ourselves to be fulfilled and free. Another harm of the Big Data view of the person can be expressed as a form of invasion, the permeation of our innermost boundaries – what is often expressed in the language of privacy, sometimes thought of as the right to be “let alone”, or to defend the private sphere from the public one (ACLU, 2014: 16–17). This stipulation of a boundary is important. We need to feel that there is a sense of external restraint – a frontier, the inside of which is our safe home, even if these categories themselves are fictitious. But in many ways, data has collapsed the boundary between state and subject. In the creation of many data worlds, and data-doubles that reside within and constitute the person, there is no form of meaningful escape from the experience of being monitored by the state. But these new forms of “border sight” do not merely shape the subject; they also restructure the meaning of citizenship. Data technologies segment people not based on membership in a polity but on risk scores. Certainly, filtration is nothing new and in fact corresponds to what we would expect to see at a border whereby distinction is made between citizens and aliens. The more interesting development comes in terms of internal surveillance, or the distinction between citizens, and the distinction of wanted and unwanted travelers irrespective of citizenship. For example, trusted traveler programs segment travel according to a two-track system of passage: Movement for the global “good” and security checks for the “bad”. These risk determinations are citizenship-blind: An ArabAmerican might face greater difficulty entering the US at JFK than a British business traveler. Peter Graham, a Director of IBM’s global division, puts this in relief: In the long term we think the travel experience could be very different and border controls more efficient. The business traveller who flies most months would be a member of their nearest airport’s frequent traveller scheme. They would pass through most airports almost without stopping until they reached the aircraft, facilitated by the Airport and the Airline. The foreign business traveller who comes to Europe regularly would have a Biometric Residence Permit and when using it would go through the same light touch process as a European citizen. (Graham, 2013)

Ways of seeing (the border)   147 Data filtration turns people into de facto non-citizens, even if they are de jure citizens. In doing so, it severs the political meaning of citizenship from its legal basis, further depleting its normative core. This argument builds upon numerous other critiques of citizenship, especially those linking travel and class – such as notions of “SUV citizenship” or “Gulfstream citizenship” (Sparke, 2006: 156; Lyon, 2009). Indeed, trusted traveler programs do not merely enable security stratification, but can be linked to class privileges, as they let members “park closer to the departure hall and use fast check-in counters” (Jain, 2011: 31). In these circumstances, what matters is not that you are a citizen, but what kind of citizen you are. This follows Zygmunt Bauman’s observation that the global era is based on the ability of states to distinguish variable rights of mobility based on the distinction between tourists and vagabonds (1998). Didier Bigo picks up on these themes, especially how thirdworld travelers are always already suspect due to their potential to become immigrant and are thus evaluated as “virtual invaders” (2005: 62–63). Louise Amoore points out the trade-off between security and freedom at the core of contemporary citizenship, such that individuals “verify a credible and secure identity and trade this for mobility” (2008: 28). This type of class analysis of citizenship and global mobility highlights the part of the story with which we are familiar – citizenship is not class-blind. What is of interest is that new forms of data-filtration add an element – risk – that cannot be reduced to class. Indeed, the greatest enemies of the state are frequently the wealthiest: The risk-rating produced by an Arab-American with links to wealthy Islamic charities is not identical to the class-profiling we have come to expect with non-white Americans in general (or immigrants in Europe). This amounts to a discrete challenge to citizenship. It is now manifest (what was perhaps always known, but more invisible) that there are graduated scales of citizens. Never is this more evident than at the border – especially, paradoxically, for the traveler entering his or her own state. What determines whether you are “welcomed” at the border is not your passport, it is the complex constellation of codes and content that lies within. Returning to the thesis of this chapter, to understand why this is true and what it means one must think carefully about what the state is looking for. In other words: How the state “sees” its citizens.

Conclusion This chapter serves as a first salvo into thinking through what a “Ways of Seeing” approach may offer us. It has shifted our vantage away from the question of how we see borders, and towards the question of how borders see us. It has provided three answers to this question. The first, the “Westphalia” thesis, articulates how the border sees us as a generic other, akin to a foe on the frontline. Second, the “Orwell” thesis discusses how through the use of data, borders are increasingly moving away from this generic view towards a more targeted view, in which individuals are distinguished based on risk. Third, the “Pixelation” thesis discusses the future of the border’s gaze, taking us away from individual-level

148   Matthew Longo analysis, and towards the sub-individual. The argument made here is that looking at borders this way alerts us to a number of important features of their evolution – in particular how it is participant to the broad process of rationalization, with its associated harms to subjectivity and citizenship. This chapter presents only an initial treatment of this approach. Many new questions are raised. What is the space between how we see the border and how the border sees us? How do we explain it and why does it matter? How we do learn to “see” what the state is doing behind its algorithmic eye? And of course, we may seek counterstrategies against these evolving forms of state scrutiny. Does the answer lie in more technology – sophisticated forms of AI that can eliminate some of the prejudicial bias inherent to bordering? Or maybe the answer is to scale back the state’s data addiction. But what would this mean – the return to the individual, away from the pixelated subject? A return to in-person profiling, as opposed to algorithmic discrimination? None of these answers resemble solutions, but perhaps they are a start. It is only by refining our understanding of the state’s gaze that we can ever hope to counteract it.

Notes 1 For a longer treatment of this empirical material, see Longo, M. (2018). For a discussion of how ethnographic material can be used in the service of theory, see Longo and Zacka (2019). 2 Personal interview with Jeffrey Scott Kirkham, Nogales Police Chief. Nogales, AZ, March 20, 2012. 3 Personal interview with John Appleby, Homeland Security Advanced Research Projects Agency, Science & Technology Directorate, DHS. Washington, DC, May 17, 2012. 4 Personal Interview with Christopher Munn, Program Manager, Biometrics, Office of the Under-Secretary of Defense for Intelligence (OUSDI), Alexandria, VA, January 31, 2013. 5 Personal Interview with Christopher Munn, Program Manager, Biometrics, Office of the Under-Secretary of Defense for Intelligence (OUSDI), Alexandria, VA, January 31, 2013. 6 Foucault writes: [Pastoral power] is a form of power that looks after not just the whole community but each individual in particular.… This form of power cannot be exercised without knowing the inside of people’s mind, without exploring their souls, without making them reveal their innermost secrets. It implies a knowledge of the conscience and an ability to direct it. (Foucault, 1980b: 333)

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Ways of seeing (the border)   149 Bauman, Z. (1998). Globalization: The Human Consequences. New York: Columbia University Press. Bigo, D. (2005). “Frontier Controls in the European Union: Who is in Control?” In D. Bigo and E. Guild, Controlling Frontiers: Free Movement Into and Within Europe, pp. 49–99, Chippenham, Wiltshire: Ashgate Publishing Company. Bourdieu, P. (1984). Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Translated by R. Nice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Browne, S. (2010). “Digital Epidermalization: Race, Identity and Biometrics”. Critical Sociology, vol. 36, no. 1, pp. 131–150. Ceyhan, A. (2008). “Technologization of Security: Management of Uncertainty and Risk in the Age of Biometrics”. Surveillance & Society, vol. 5, no. 2, pp. 102–123. Civil Rights. (2014). “Civil Rights and Big Data: Background Material”. Leadership Conference on Civil and Human Rights & The Leadership Conference Education Fund, News Release, www.civilrights.org/press/2014/civil-rights-and-big-data.html. Accessed May 5, 2020. Foucault, M. (1978). Security, Territory, Population: Lectures at the College de France, 1977–1978. Translated by G. Burchell. Edited by M. Senellart. New York: Picador, 2007. Foucault, M. (1980a). “The Eye of Power”. In C. Gordon (Ed.), Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews & Other Writings 1972–1977, pp.  146–165, Translated by C. Gordon, L. Marshall, J. Mepham and K. Soper. New York: Pantheon Books. Foucault, M. (1980b). “The Subject and Power”. In C. Gordon (Ed.), Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews & Other Writings 1972–1977, Translated by C. Gordon, L. Marshall, J. Mepham and K. Soper. New York: Pantheon Books. Fuller, G. (2008). “Welcome to Windows 2.1: Motion Aesthetics at the Airport”. In M.B. Salter (Ed.), Politics at the Airport, pp.  161–174. Minneapolis: University of Minnea­polis Press. Graham, P. (2013). Global Director, Immigration, Border and Transportation Security, IBM Global Business Services; cited in Government Gazette. Jain, A.K. (2011). “Biometric Recognition”. Lecture at Michigan State University. Available at: http://biometrics.cse.msu.edu. Accessed May 22, 2020. Kimery, A. (2012). “First In-Depth Inside Look at Border Patrol’s New National Strategy, Issues and Implementation”. Homeland Security Today. Longo, M. (2018). The Politics of Borders: Sovereignty, Security, and the Citizen after 9/11. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Longo, M. and B. Zacka. (2019). “Political Theory in an Ethnographic Key”. American Political Science Review, vol. 113, no. 4, pp. 1066–1070. Lyon, D. (2009). Identifying Citizens: ID Cards as Surveillance. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. McCarter, M. (2010a). “CBP Chief Lists 7 Principles for Agency’s Success: Bersin Says Facilitating Trade as Important as Preventing Terror”. Homeland Security Today. McCarter, M. (2010b). “DHS Programs Under Review Get No Funding: Cargo Screening? SBInet? General Aviation? Under Review”. Homeland Security Today. Michael, P.J. (2007). “The Economic Cost of Border Security: The Case of the Texas– Mexico Border and the US VISIT Program”. In E. Brunet-Jailly (Ed.), Borderlands: Comparing Border Security in North America and Europe, pp.  197–230. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press. Mocny, R. (2013). “US-VISIT Priorities and Collaboration with Federal and International Partners and Private Industry”. Paper read at Biometrics for National Security and Law Enforcement. Alexandria, VA.

150   Matthew Longo Muller, B.J. (2008). “Travelers, Borders, Dangers: Locating the Political at the Biometric Border”. M.B. Salter (Ed.), Politics at the Airport, pp. 127–144. Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press. Padilla, S. (2012). “Investing in Proven Technologies: Integrated Fixed Towers and Mobile Surveillance Systems”. Remarks by Padilla, Executive Director, Office of Technology Innovation and Acquisition, US Customs and Border Protection. Border Management Conference & Technology Expo, El Paso, Texas. Rohozinski, R. (2012). “Big Data Analysis and Intelligence”. Remarks by Rohozinski, Principal & CEO, the Secdev Group. Canadian Association of Defence and Security Industries (CADSI) SecureTech Conference, Ottawa, Canada, October 30. Scott, James C. (1998). Seeing Like a State. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Shah, R. (2013). “Biometrics Data and Apache Hadoop”. Remarks by Shah, Big Data and Hadoop Strategist, Hortonworks. Biometrics for National Security and Law Enforcement Conference, Alexandria, VA. Shiffman, G.M. (2012). “Patrolling the Border: The New National Strategy”. Remarks by Shiffman, former CBP Chief of Staff, Managing Director, Chertoff Group. Counter Terror Expo Conference, Washington, DC. Silverberg, D. (2011). “10 Years after 9/11”. Homeland Security Today. Sparke, M. (2006). “A Neoliberal Nexus: Economy, Security and the Biopolitics of ­Citizenship on the Border”. Political Geography, vol. 25 no. 2, pp. 151–180. Statewatch. (2014). “Note on Big Data, Crime and Security: Civil Liberties, Data ­Protection and Privacy Concerns”. Online. www.statewatch.org/analyses/no-242-bigdata.pdf. Accessed May 5, 2020. Taylor, C. (1994). “The Politics of Recognition”. In A. Gutmann (Ed.), Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition, pp.  25–74, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Torpey, J. (2000). The Invention of the Passport: Surveillance, Citizenship, and the State. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Valdemar, R. (2012). “Patrolling the Border: Special Issues in the South”. Remarks by Valdemar, Gang Task Force, FBI. Counter Terror Expo Conference, Washington, DC. White House. (2014). “Fact Sheet: Big Data and Privacy Working Group Review”. White House Office of the Press Secretary. News Release, www.whitehouse.gov/ the-press-office/2014/05/01/fact-sheet-big-data-and-privacy-working-group-review. Accessed May 5, 2020.

9 The border wall and the paper wall Accessing reproductive care in the US–Mexico borderlands Andréanne Bissonnette Introduction Although scarified by a wall on a third of its length, the US–Mexico divide is one where cities on both sides are often more integrated to one another, than to other cities in their respective countries. Daily movements across the border mark the region, both economically and culturally. Often less considered, health is also a place of integration, with border citizens crossing back and forth to palliate lack of access, higher costs or unavailability of services (Moya et al., forthcoming). While the border becomes a place of opportunity to get complete and (more) affordable healthcare services for general care, it can add to the challenge when it comes to specialized care, especially reproductive health. Economic and citizenship status also impact one’s freedom of movement – and therefore the ability to access proper care. American women’s and the feminist movements’ battle for the right to abortion was long and despite a US Supreme Court ruling confirming a right to abortion throughout the country (Roe v. Wade, 1973), the permanence of this right and its respect remain, even today, uncertain, abortion being a divisive issue (Lipka, 2016).1 These divisions, coupled with the will of certain groups and ­politicians, led to the passage of laws restricting access to abortion at the state legislature’s level (Breslin, 2014). While some of those laws have been contested, and deemed unconstitutional by courts, in light of Roe v. Wade, and subsequent decisions, it did not prevent anti-choice activists2 from multiplying their efforts. Since 2006, this movement has been steadily increasing its influence on state legislature across the US, including in Texas and Arizona. These two states are also among those increasingly collaborating with federal immigration law enforcement agencies and wanting to restrict undocumented migrants’ access to healthcare and other state-provided services. These laws – both regarding immigration and abortion – impose a strict territorial vision. There is a simultaneous exclusion of individuals whose national identity does not correspond and an aggressive control of the corporal territory of women, as much that of American women and that of migrant women, documented and undocumented. We therefore observe a double oppression of migrant women’s bodies: First in terms of the desire to control their reproductive health and then in terms of their mobility

152   Andréanne Bissonnette and their ability to access the healthcare they need. What are the implications of this juxtaposition of restrictive abortion laws and immigration laws in conservative border states? Based on interviews in California, Texas and Arizona, this chapter defends that while enacting restrictive abortion laws impacts all women, an intersectional analysis allows to demonstrate that Latina women live these restrictions differently based on immigration status, economic means and language knowledge. This chapter is divided into three parts. First, it presents a rapid overview of the restrictive laws enacted in Texas and Arizona. After, an analysis of the consequences on Latina women will be offered, highlighting the similarities and differences lived by women depending on their documentation status as well as the added difficulties in the borderlands. In conclusion, the differentiated application of the right to abortion in relation with a woman’s immigration status is analyzed.

An intersectional geopolitical approach to the study of reproductive rights in the borderlands While legal access to reproductive health (contraceptive and abortion) has been granted to all women per Supreme Court decisions, physical and financial access remains difficult. Supreme Court decisions mandate states to respect the right to reproductive health, such as abortion, but not to provide the means to access the required services. Therefore, studies of reproductive health access must take into consideration a woman’s identity and lived oppressions, for considering women to all be the same leads to perpetuation of differentiated access. This chapter is anchored to an intersectional approach, considering race, gender and other oppressions not as “mutually exclusive categories of experiences and analysis” (Crenshaw, 1989: 139), but rather as intersectional. Intersectionality deconstructs and rejects the hierarchy of oppressions due to their simultaneous nature, to consider rather how the intersection of oppressions produces specific oppressions. Thus, the experience of Latina women with reproductive health in the borderlands cannot be separated from her status as women, Latinas and “­borderlanders”; lived oppression is intrinsically linked to all parts of their identity. For undocumented migrant women, there is also oppression based on legal status and nationality (Bejarano et al., 2012; Hill Collins, 1991; 2009). One of the shortcomings of intersectionality, as theorized by Crenshaw and thought by theorists of Black Feminism, is the consideration of migration status as a place of oppression equivalent to other oppressions experienced. Sirma Bilge counters that assertion, proposing an “unequal interdependence of dominations” (Bilge, 2010: 62). She argues that “precariousness of status as an axis of domination [has] a greater weight, determining on other axes” (Bilge, 2010: 62). Undocumented women experience a plurality of oppressions (gender, class, age, religion, cultural background …), but their legal status impacts and shapes other oppressions, framing the way they experience and live discriminations. Furthermore, while intersectionality alone can provide tools to analyze access to reproductive health services, feminist geopolitics provides other means to

Reproductive care in US–Mexico borderlands   153 further analyze how bodies are being controlled in the borderlands. Bodies are spaces where the geopolitical and global are lived at the level of intimacy (Brickell and Cuomo, 2019) and constitutes the central unit of analysis. It is a space where states project their power, but also, as a reproductive entity, where the individual both conforms with and resists to power structures (Calkin, 2019). When applied to reproductive health, feminist geopolitics shows how the displacement of political discourse from Washington to state legislatures led to a multiplication of controls’ territoriality (Woliver, 2002). Approaching reproductive health through an intersectional geopolitical frame allows for a better understanding of the relationship between women, state (including citizenship) and reproduction.

The erosion of Roe v. Wade: Geographical and legal disparities in accessing reproductive health in the US Following the 1973 US Supreme Court decision in Roe v. Wade, abortion is legal in all 50 states. However, due to subsequent interpretations of the ­decision, states have gained more power in their ability to restrict or enlarge accessibility to the procedure. While conservative legislatures cannot completely prohibit abortion on their territory, as that would be unconstitutional, they are entitled to enact laws regulating access. Indeed, Roe v. Wade’s trimester frameworks divide states’ ability to enact abortion laws based on the progression of pregnancy. During the first trimester, from conception until the 13th week, the right to abortion is protected by the Court, and states cannot interfere in the ­decision, as it is part of the patient-doctor private relation. During the second trimester, from the 14th to the 24th week, states can enact laws meant to protect women’s health, based on their interest in “the health of the mother”. Finally, during the third trimester, states can, based on their interest to protect the fetus, enact any law meant to ensure that interest, up to the interdiction of the procedure. Therefore, although it would be unconstitutional to ban abortion on one’s territory, states can further their restrictive agendas through laws meant towards both clinics and women. These measures restrict access in all its forms (physical, legal and economical). In 1992, through its decision in Planned ­Parenthood of Southeastern Pennsylvania v. Casey, the Supreme Court abolished the trimester framework and replaced it with an undue burden framework. Laws restricting access to the procedure after viability must not impose an undue burden on women that is greater than the aim the state is trying to achieve in terms of protection through the proposed law. The Supreme Court further explained its undue burden frame through the 2016 decision in Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt. The case revolves around Texas, HB2 law, which seeks to make it mandatory for abortion clinics to obtain admitting privileges in a hospital within 30 miles and comply with ambulatory surgical centers’ requirements. Following the enactment of the law, more than half of the state’s clinics closed. In ruling against HB2, the Supreme Court also created a conformity test for law aiming at restricting abortion access to evaluate whether an undue burden would be created.

154   Andréanne Bissonnette During the first half of 2016, legislators introduced 1,256 provisions relating to sexual and reproductive health. Of these, 445 were meant to restrict abortion access, and 46 were effectively enacted, in 17 states. In comparison, for the same period, 22 measures were enacted to protect or expand abortion rights (Nash et al., 2016). Including these new restrictions, there have been 334 abortion restrictions enacted between 2010 and 2016, constituting 30% of the restrictions enacted since Roe v. Wade. While 29 states are considered “hostile” and “very hostile” to abortion by the Guttmacher Institute, some states are more active than other, with ten states enacting 60% of the 288 restrictions adopted between 2010 and 2015 (Nash et al., 2016). Restrictive laws are two-fold: Some target women, through financial and legal burden (such as the lack of insurance ­covering the procedure or the criminalization of abortion after 16 weeks of ­pregnancy), while others target clinics, through a tightening of health obligations to which said clinics must comply (for example, obtaining an admission ­privilege in a nearby hospital). Presented as ways to protect women and ensure the quality of provided services, these laws lead to significant clinic closures while imposing additional burdens on women – both directly through laws and indirectly, through clinic closures. While abortion is still legal – therefore complying with the Supreme Court decision – lack of access makes it almost de facto inaccessible in some states, as clinics are not able to offer services due to heavy bureaucratic practices and restrictions. If abortion remains legal at the national level, a geographic inequality remains. If the legalization of abortion by the Supreme Court in 1973 was to provide access to choice to all women, regardless of their home state’s willingness to legalize the procedure, the possibility for states to modulate the extent to which Roe v. Wade applies within state limits created a new situation of geographical inequality: The political landscape of a state affects the content of laws enacted to regulate the procedure and the spectrum of accessibility. Furthermore, women’s position within one state also impacts their access, with rural counties being more often underserved than metropolitan areas. Therefore, the geographical position of a woman’s body informs her access to abortion: From a right of all, abortion became a right whose application depends on the level to which a state wishes to control one’s reproductive body. Accessing reproductive care on the US–Mexico border: The cases of Texas and Arizona Depending on the issue, the US–Mexico border can be sub-divided in multiple and various regions. When it comes to reproductive rights, California and New Mexico are often grouped under the progressive banner, while Arizona and Texas, both once Republican bastillon and now republican-leaning states, are more conservative on the issue. This chapter will therefore focus on Arizona and Texas, where the relationship between women, state/citizenship and reproduction is more pronounced.

Reproductive care in US–Mexico borderlands   155 Both states have, since the beginning of the 2000s, enacted a succession of restrictive laws, such as parental consent, mandatory ultrasound, 24-hour waiting period, among others. These laws led to an increase in fees for women, as well as clinic closures due to increased pressure from states or unattainable requirements. For example, in Texas, following the enactment of HB2, which led to the Supreme Court decision in Whole Woman’s Health, 34 clinics closed, leaving only 14 for 1,335,000 women of reproductive age in the state (Texas Policy Evaluation Project, 2014). In 2017, Arizona had eight clinics left to serve all women in the state, while in Texas, some clinics reopened, leaving the state with 22 clinics in 2019. To lessen the impacts of the closures, some clinics introduced telemedicine consultations for medical abortion,3 but Arizona outlawed the practice in 2011. When taken separately, impacts of such restrictive laws are often limited or under-evaluated, but once studied together, they become considerable burdens. When clinics close, fees increase and legal obstacles escalate, some women are faced with little to no choice: The state makes the choice for them through limited physical, legal and economic access.

Accessing reproductive health as a Latina woman in the borderlands: Mobility, money and fear While positionality impacts a woman’s access to abortion, other parts of a woman’s identity factor in her level of access: Ethnicity, race, economic situation and immigration status are all sites of oppression that must be taken into consideration when assessing access to abortion care – in the borderlands and beyond. Indeed, identity markers impact how the body is controlled by the state. Citizenship, as race, is a social construct legitimizing subordination of one group and justified, through history and still today, the fact that the system gives noncitizens limited rights (Johnson, 1996), and limited means to defend the rights they are entitled to. Restricting access to abortion is problematic for all women seeking abortions, but once analyzed through an intersectional geopolitical lens, restrictions in Texas and Arizona carry discriminations with varied levels of impact on women, depending on their identities. As aforementioned, both states border Mexico, and both have a large ­immigrant – both documented and undocumented – population. Therefore, looking at abortion access solely in terms of socioeconomic status and positionality render invisible how laws restricting access to abortion have differentiated articulations when coupled with citizenship status, and the existing laws, both federal and state-level, with regards to immigration and migrants’ rights. Indeed, while immigration laws are a federal prerogative, both states have been using their prerogative with regards to health to further their conservative agendas and try to increase immigration controls. The laws impact access to all types of healthcare services, including abortion care, transforming laws that do not aim at abortion into means to control (un)documented immigrant women’s agency over their bodies and their reproductive health. One such requirement is mandatory identification in publicly funded clinics. In Texas, a 2015 law makes it mandatory for

Source: Andréanne Bissonnette, 2018.

Map 9.1 Access to abortion in the border zone and the rest of Texas and Arizona (2017).

156   Andréanne Bissonnette

Reproductive care in US–Mexico borderlands   157 clinics to request a valid ID before proceeding (HB3994, 2015), while in Arizona, a 2005 modification to the state statutes requires all state government employees “to verify an applicant’s immigration status with the Department of Homeland Security’s Secure America with Verification and Enforcement (SAVE) program before providing services” (Ochoa O’Leary and ValdézGardea, 2013: 79). Abortion clinics, as private providers, are not obligated to verify immigration status, and none of the interviewed clinics checked for immigration status. However, it still acts as a deterrent for women who might know of the rule, but not of where it is applicable as opposed to where it is not. While not all women are undocumented, there has been, in the last few years, an assimilation between “Latinxs” and “immigration” and between “immigration” and “undocumented migration”, contributing to a hostile environment, impacting the quality of care received and the propensity to seek care. Undocumented women’s access to abortion in Arizona and Texas cannot be addressed solely in terms of women’s rights or migrants’ rights. The two legislative frameworks overlap and create special consequences for Latina women, which inform their reproductive health opportunities. Their bodies are thus doubly controlled: First, in a racial/migratory perspective and then in terms of their reproductive health. These policies surrounding access to abortion affect all women residing in these two border states. However, the mapping of the abortion clinics in Arizona and Texas (see Map 9.1), coupled with the representation of the border area, show how these policies, apparently unrelated to immigration, become places of control of the migrating bodies. Clinic closures and concrete impacts Restrictive policies have concrete impacts on service availability, with clinics closing due to inability to meet the new imposed requirements. Clinic closures results in limited physical accessibility due to the increased distance women must travel to access the nearest provider. In both states, clinic closures impacts most women living outside of main cities, as most remaining clinics are concentrated in large cities. Rural women therefore have to travel longer distance to access the nearest provider. In 2018, Texas had ten cities considered to be “abortion desert”, with women having to travel over 100 miles to access the nearest clinic (Carthwright et al., 2018). Reasons for this limited access in rural counties is both due to restrictions that cannot be met (for example, admission privilege in a hospital located within 30 miles), and, on the other hand, by a lack of support for doctors in small towns: “stigma may discourage hospital-based physicians from publicly endorsing the privileging of abortion providers” (Grossman et al., 2014: 500). In Texas, the western and southwestern parts of the state are hit the hardest, both regions being on the US– Mexico border. Following HB2 in 2013, the two clinics in the Rio Grande Valley, a border region in southern Texas, closed, leaving women in the Valley without a provider. The nearest clinic that could meet HB2 requirements was in San Antonio, 250 miles away. One clinic later reopened in McAllen, but in

158   Andréanne Bissonnette 2019, it remains the only clinic serving the border, between there and El Paso. With its four doctors on rotating schedule and coming from out of town, the clinic can only provide abortion two days a week. In Texas border counties, the median distance jumped from 0.53 km to 401.03 kilometers following the wave of closures in 2013 while in Arizona, distance decreased in two border counties while in the other two, it increased of six and ten kilometers respectively (Bearak et al., 2017). Evaluating how many women were deprived of their right by these closures is difficult to assess, but other consequences created by these closures can be evaluated. The most salient consequence is felt by those whose mobility is restricted, either by economical means or immigration status. Across the US, 90% of persistently poor counties are non-metropolitan (Pruitt and Vanegas, 2015), but when coupled with border dynamics, such as in the Rio Grande Valley, access to services is impeded. Rural counties often lack reliable public transportation adding to the challenges faced by women wanting to access abortion. In the borderlands, mobility is also impacted by border checkpoints and other immigration controls. While women with legal residency or citizenship can move across checkpoints without a problem, undocumented women do not have the required papers to travel freely, without fear of being detected or using more dangerous routes to go around checkpoints. Therefore, if a clinic located within the border zone, that is before the first interior checkpoint, closes, all undocumented women in the region lose their access to abortion. In Texas, there are only three clinics remaining in the border zone (two in El Paso and one in McAllen), while there are none accessible in Arizona, the clinics in Tucson being beyond the checkpoint on Interstate 19. Migrant women face a dead-end dilemma: Trying to cross the checkpoint to reach the clinic and risk detection (and deportation) or abandon the abortion option. Overlapping laws force undocumented women living in the border region of Arizona and Texas to make “a choice between exercising one’s fundamental right and avoiding exposure to immigration enforcement” (Huddleston, 2016: 1776). In addition to the geographical criteria, abortion access is a matter of legal status, even though Roe v. Wade does not state that only citizens have access to reproductive choice. While for other healthcare services, the border can be an asset, when it comes to abortion care, women cannot access services in Mexico – unless they have the means to pay for a clandestine one. Furthermore, for undocumented migrants, crossing back and forth at the international border is not an option, as going to Mexico means risking not being able to get back. Undocumented women are deprived of their abortion right due to the superposition of immigration laws and conservative measures. Furthermore, clinic closures in the border region do not just impact women living on the US side of the border. Indeed, as abortion is not legal in Mexican border states, women will travel to get the procedure in the US. However, as highlighted by workers at the McAllen clinic, with the mandatory 24-hour waiting period for women living within 100 miles of the clinic, Mexican nationals must travel twice – and face immigration controls twice, often forcing them to disclose the reason of their visit.

Reproductive care in US–Mexico borderlands   159 Money matters: Abortion care and socio-economic class Added to the physical inaccessibility is the economical restriction imposed on women, due to the increasing cost of the procedure. This is particularly problematic for African-American, Latinas and low-income women because of their difficulties in obtaining the resources needed to pay for the procedure and associated costs. Indeed, in addition to the fees directly relating to the medical intervention – which range from $300 to $700 during the first trimester and $800 to $1,000 in the second trimester – women must pay for all travel costs (transportation and accommodation). Costs of abortion can represent more than a month of salary for some women, in addition to taking time off to obtain the procedure. This situation forces women to seek outside help to cover the expenses or care for their children while they undergo the procedure, often implying that they must disclose their plan (Fuentes et al., 2016). The economic burden of abortion is further increased by the lack of coverage by public insurance, as Medicaid cannot cover abortion due to the enactment of the Hyde Amendment in 1977, under which federal funds cannot be used to provide an elective abortion (H.R.14232, 1977). Some insurance companies, both private and public, do not cover abortions due to state laws prohibiting insurance companies from offering abortion coverage (Guttmacher Institute, 2019). While others do cover insurance, a study found that two-thirds of participants did not use their insurance to cover the procedure (Jones et al., 2013). This can be explained by a lack of knowledge of insurance coverage or a desire to keep the procedure private (Jones et al., 2013). Therefore, the existence of abortion funds – an organization whose main goal is to fundraise money to help low-income women access their right to abortion – is central to lessen the economic burden of abortion restrictions on women. In McAllen, 80% of all abortions provided at the Whole Woman’s Health clinic are funded by one of the abortion funds available to women living in the region. In El Paso, at the local Planned Parenthood clinic, all abortions provided are paid out of pocket, making abortion funds an important help for low income women. Thus, access to abortion is increasingly linked to the economic situation of women. However, undocumented women often are in precarious economic situations and these costs are not simple obstacles, but rather insurmountable barriers. While abortion funds are available to help with the costs, not everyone knows of them, and questions regarding address, and other information that can be perceived as sensible by migrants, might be a tangible obstacle. Clinic workers become vital help for women, as they help with applying for help with local abortion funds. While not a monetary help, underground networks of “aunts” have been created by women wanting to help other women. These networks offer accommodation, food and comfort to women traveling out of town or out of state to access the procedure, helping in both reducing the costs and psychological care. Self-abortion and medical abortion: Taking care outside of the clinic While impeded access to abortion might have direct impacts on the number of abortions performed in a clinic, it does not necessarily lead to a decrease in the

160   Andréanne Bissonnette number of women wanting to terminate a pregnancy. A direct impact of more restrictive laws is an increase in self-induced abortion – or attempted selfinducement. Indeed, a New York Times study of 700,000 Google searches of terms identical or related to “self-induced abortion” concluded that there is a correlation between states enacting more restrictive laws and states where the number of searches is higher than the national mean (Stephens-Davidowitz, 2016). Economic accessibility of the procedure is cited as the main obstacle preventing women from seeking professional care, particularly for women of color and of low income (Grossman et al., 2010). A 2015 study in Texas concluded that between 100,000 and 240,000 women tried, successfully or not, to provoke a self-induced abortion (Grossman et al., 2015). The study highlights that Latina women are more likely to know about the methods and to attempt a self-induced abortion (Grossman et al., 2015: 2). While self-abortion is often represented in negative terms and pictured through the lens of pre-legalization means, studies of self-abortion highlight that for some women, it is a choice, rather than ­something forced on them due to restrictive policies. Indeed, for some women, self-abortion allows them to decrease the perception of a medical intervention, transform the abortion into something more natural and a way to be at peace with the decision and lessen the impression of having “killed a baby” as they compare self-abortion to menstruations (Grossman et al., 2010; Lindgren, 2017). Beyond the physical and psychological impacts of a self-induced abortion, there are also legal considerations in a plurality of states. Indeed, as shown by Tania Bakic Hayden’s research (2011), there have been cases where women who decided to terminate their pregnancy outside of authorized abortion clinics face criminal charges for what is deemed an illegal abortion. Such is the case of Gerardo Flores, who is currently imprisoned on two counts of murder, with two concurrent sentences. His underage pregnant girlfriend, Erica Basoria, unable to obtain a legal abortion without parental consent – and because she was beyond the 20-week limit imposed by the state of Texas – asked for his help in provoking a miscarriage, which resulted in prosecuting for murder of two fetuses (Malisow, 2005). Under a 2003 Texas law, she could not be prosecuted, as it is a mother’s right to end the pregnancy (SB319, 2003). This criminalization of abortion increased since the 1980: While the charges used to be based on the illegality of the procedure, more and more states prosecute women – and other actors of self-induced ­abortion – with charges of murder. However, banning abortion does not decrease the need for it, it just increases the risks that women will be forced to take – seeking care in potentially unsafe conditions. The return to self-abortion, and the criminalization of it, offers a clear insight into the precarious state of the right to abortion in several US states. Cultural experiences and migration realities: Abortion laws and Latinas Latinas’ experience of abortion care is lived through their cultural identity. In 2014, Latinas accounted for 24.8% of all abortions in the US, while they represent

Reproductive care in US–Mexico borderlands   161 around 9.3% of the overall US population. However, foreign-born Latinas were less likely than US-born Latinas to opt for abortion, with an estimated rate 40% lower than that of US-born (Lara et al., 2015). Nonetheless, Latinas are often excluded from studies on abortion access, due to the perceived lack of desire to access the service in regard to their religiosity and the valorization of family inherent to Latinx culture (Mann et al., 2015; Bermúdez and Mancini, 2013). While those factors certainly impact a woman’s decision and/or her experience of post-abortion feelings, as well as the amount of support received, it cannot be generalized to all Latinas, and studies must take into consideration their experience receiving care as well as the specific burdens they experience in seeking care. Furthermore, multiple barriers to undocumented migrants’ access to abortion keep (un)documented migrant women in a subordinated position, contributing to the oppression they experience and constituting a succession of violences (Gomez, 2015). These policies also increase fear among migrant communities: “Such legislatives acts appear to be creating a ‘chilling effets’ that prevents Latinos from using community services, including those dedicated to health care because of the threat of deportation that immigrants face with hardened enforcement measures or shear humiliation” (Ochoa O’Leary and Valdéz-Gardea, 2013: 80). Migration status pushes women towards some choices regarding their reproductive health that might not be their preferred one, depriving them of their agency. The attempt to control migrant women’s access to abortion is multifaceted and perpetuated through direct and indirect channels: There is a desire to control the racialized body, the reproductive body by limiting access to healthcare and a tendency to restrict socio-economic well-being towards a previously impoverished population.

Is abortion a right for all? Beyond the discussion on the effective right to abortion for Latina based on their mobility and geographical position, there is also the question of respect for the rights of immigrants, regardless of immigration status. This respect for rights is modulated by the level of mobility; there is a differentiation in the application of the right to abortion among undocumented women living in border areas; living outside the border area; or in custody. This raises the question of undocumented women’s right to abortion. For abortion advocates and undocumented migrant advocacy groups, women’s right to choose when it comes to their reproductive health cannot be challenged on the ground of their migratory status. On the other hand, there is a discourse, particularly among conservative states, which opposes the recognition of undocumented migrants as being full individuals whose rights are protected in the same way as US citizens (No.17–654, 2017). This discourse impacts (un)documented women in the borderlands but also those in custody. While abortion rights are protected for (un)documented women, there have been cases where (un)documented minors were refused access to abortion while in government custody (Sacchetti, 2017; Garza v. Hargan, 2017a, 2017b,

162   Andréanne Bissonnette 2017c; Schwartz, 2018; Pilkington, 2018). Thus, in addition to the physical, ­economic, socio-cultural and legislative limitations that arise between (un)documented women and access to abortion, there are legal obstacles that are the source of a debate on the applicability of the right to an abortion for non-­ citizens. (Un)documented women living in the border area and in detention are not simply restricted in their reproductive rights; they are stripped of their right to abortion and reproductive health because of their migration status. *  *  * In relation to healthcare, the border is a site of many possibilities, but it also is a site of restrictions, where citizenship status requirements are heightened, where mobility is further controlled and where money matters. While the Supreme Court’s 1973 decision aimed at securing a right to abortion for all, analyzing the application of that right, from geographical disparities to variable levels of body controls, based on immigration status, abortion is, at the periphery of state, a complex matter that must be analyzed through an intersectional geopolitical lens to grasp the scope of restrictions and impacts of how this right is implemented.

Notes 1 “When asked directly about the legality of abortion, 56% of U.S. adults say it should be legal in all or most cases, compared with 41% who say it should be illegal all or most of the time.… There is a substantial ideologial divide on abortion, with Democrats much more likely than Republicans to say abortion should be legal in all or most cases”. 2 As part of this chapter, the term “anti-choice” will be used to identify those who are against abortion access and supportive of restriction on abortion. The term “pro-life” is used by the group to self-identify, but we believe that being pro-choice does not make you anti-life, and therefore reject the differentiation that using the term “pro-life” would create. 3 A medical abortion refers to the combination of Mifrepristone and Misoprotol, a medication combination that allow for a non-surgical abortion within the first ten weeks of pregnancy.

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Reproductive care in US–Mexico borderlands   165 Pilkington, E. (2018). “ ‘Blatant and Brazen’ Trump Accused of Blocking Abortions for Undocumented Women”. Guardian. Online. www.theguardian.com/world/2018/ jan/26/trump-accused-abortion-block-women-aclu. Accessed May 5, 2020. Pruitt, L.R. and M.R. Vanegas. (2015). “Urbanormativity, Spatial Privilege, and Judicial Blind Spots in Abortion Law”. Berkeley Journal of Gender, Law, and Justice, vol. 30, pp. 76–153. Reagan, L.J. (1997). When Abortion was a Crime: Women, Medicine, and Law in the United States, 1867–1973. Berkeley: University of California Press, 400pp. Sacchetti, M. (2017). “U.S. Judge Orders Trump Administration to Allow Abortion for Undocumented Teen”. The Washington Post. Online. www.washingtonpost.com/ local/immigration/judge-trump-administration-cancannot-block-abortion-for-pregnantundocumented-teen/2017/10/18/82348e08-b406-11e7-be94-fabb0f1e9ffb_story.html? utm_term=.4f5d53186f28. Accessed May 5, 2020. Schwartz, M. (2018). “Trump to Undocumented Teens: Give Birth or Get Out”. The New York Review of Books. Online. www.nybooks.com/daily/2018/01/10/trump-to-undocumentedteens-give-birth-or-get-out/. Accessed May 5, 2020. Stephens-Davidowitz, S. (2016). “The Return of the D.I.Y. Abortion”. New York Times, Online. www.nytimes.com/2016/03/06/opinion/sunday/the-return-of-the-diy-abortion. html. Accessed May 5, 2020. Texas Policy Evaluation Project. (2014). Rapidly Changing Access to Abortion in Texas – Infographic. Online. https://liberalarts.utexas.edu/txpep/_files/pdf/Rapidly-ChangingAccess-to-Abortion-in-TX-18Jul2014.jpg. Accessed May 5, 2020. Woliver, L.R. (2002). The Political Geographies of Pregnancy. Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press, 256pp.

10 Spaces of exclusion Negotiating access to land beyond the border fence in Indian Punjab Raphaela Kormoll 1

In a recently published report on Border Security (2017), the Parliamentary Standing Committee on Home Affairs in the Rajya Sabha, the upper house of the Indian Parliament, stated that: The major border security challenges of India are: cross-border terrorism, infiltration and ex-filtration of armed militants and insurgents, narcotics and arms smuggling; illegal migration; left-wing extremism and separatist movements aided by external powers. India has actively pursued the strategy of strengthening of border policing and guarding, creation of border infrastructure like roads, fencing and flood lighting on the borders, […] implementation of Border Area Development Programme [to tackle its border security challenges]. (Standing Committee on Home Affairs, 2017: 1) These threat perceptions and responses by the Indian government can be traced to the so-called Khalistan movement, a Sikh2 religious separatist movement in Indian Punjab that primarily took place from the late-1970s to the mid1990s. From then onwards, separatism, violence and the illegal cross-border movement of people and goods in Punjab have been perceived as threatening India’s social, political and economic stability, the state’s territorial integrity and the claim to the monopoly use of physical force by Indian government officials. The Indian government and security forces responded to such threats by increasing cooperation with Pakistan and launching unilateral initiatives to secure the borders. Cooperation between India and Pakistan took place on drug trafficking and smuggling, terrorism and economic relations, amongst others, but was, for the most part, not sustained. In 2012, the last round of the Composite Dialogue Process on bilateral relations came to an end and official negotiations have not taken place in this framework since then (Kormoll 2019, especially Section 6.4). This chapter focuses on the Indian government’s responses to border security challenges, notably the construction of a fence. Little has been written about the initiatives taken by the Indian government to secure its borders in Punjab and their implications for everyday life in the border area. In the late 1980s, the Centre for Research in Rural and Industrial Development

Access to borderlands in Indian Punjab   167 in Chandigarh conducted a study on the socio-economic developments in the Punjab borderland for the Indian government (Kumar et al., 1989). A study on Border Risk and Unemployment Dynamics (Singh, Singh and Brar, 2004) has provided insights into employment dynamics in the border area of Punjab, comparing it to non-border rural areas. The most comprehensive and most recent volume on Life on the Indo-Pak Border (Sohal and Mehra, 2016) was published by scholars from Guru Nanak Dev University in Amritsar in 2016, with a focus on the relationship between security and development in Punjab. These publications on the Punjab borderland are predominantly descriptive and based on quantitative methods. This chapter is based on 30 semi-structured interviews conducted in 11 border villages in Amritsar district in Indian Punjab in 2017. These villages include Kakar, Ranian, Audar and Mulakot in Ajnala tehsil,3 and Dhanoia Kalan, Attari, Roranwala, Mahawa, Rajatal, Daoke and Naushehra in Amritsar-II tehsil.4 All villages were in an area up to about 3 kilometers from the borderline and situated between the international boundary and the first line of defence demarcated through a trench, except for four: Kakar, Ranian, Attari and Mahawa were located right behind the first line of defence. The qualitative analysis adds depth and a reflexive evaluation to existing literature. It enhances our understanding of perceptions of borderlanders, crucial for understanding insecurities in everyday life. This chapter is organized into three sections. The first section focuses on the construction of a fence and other defence structures in the border area and their implications for cross-border mobility. The second section turns to everyday border guarding practices, explores the changes precipitated by the construction of a fence and their implications for everyday life. The final section will turn to the Border Area Development Programme (BADP), launched by the Indian government to address the special needs of the border area, and show how development was securitized in the Punjab borderland. Securitization has traditionally been defined as a process through which an “issue is presented as an existential threat, requiring emergency measures and justifying actions outside the normal bounds of political procedure” (Buzan, Wæver and Wilde, 1998: 23–24). However, I argue with Bigo and Tsoukala (2008: 5) that existential threats cannot be distinguished easily from simple threats or a feeling of unease and understand securitization as practices that categorise what is a threat, danger, fear and unease (insecurity), as well as protection, safety and peace (security) (Balzacq et al., 2010). The chapter contributes to existing literature on securitization, by turning attention to the everyday over the exceptional.

The material construction of the border and its impact on mobility The Indian government perceived cross-border mobility as a threat to be contained, which led to the construction of a fence and other defence structures. The material construction of the border is closely intertwined with nature and

168   Raphaela Kormoll t­echnology, which expose human weaknesses. The fence helped border guards to reduce mobility across the international boundary, as explored in this section. The Indian government evoked the image of Pakistan as a national enemy and constructed cross-border mobility as an existential threat to justify the construction of a fence and other border guarding practices along its border with Pakistan in Punjab. Following a recent report by the Indian Ministry of Home Affairs: In order to curb infiltration, smuggling and other anti-national activities from across the Indo-Pakistan border, the Government has sanctioned 2,063.066 km fence, out of which 2,004.66 km fence work has been completed. (MHA, 2018: 33) The decision to fence the international boundary to Pakistan in Punjab was taken in a meeting headed by Indian ministers in April 1988. 120 kilometers of the border were identified for fencing and its construction commenced in the same month (Singh, 2014: 119, 264). Under the so-called Punjab Action Plan, 462.45 kilometers of the 553-kilometer-long boundary were fenced and 460.74 kilometers were floodlit between 1988 and 1993 (Standing Committee on Home Affairs, 2008: 1; see Figure 10.1).5 In its report on Border Security, the Parliamentary Standing Committee on Home Affairs in the Rajya Sabha suggested that: as a result of fencing/floodlighting of the Punjab sector, terrorism and other anti-national activities from across the border have been checked to a large extent. (Standing Committee on Home Affairs, 2008: 1) This was also mentioned by border residents. The fence is thus deemed to be less permeable. But, of course, a fence is an imperfect barrier to movement. In some places, the fence was cut, and people could go through (Rao, 2002). In others, people dug tunnels under the fence (Gaganjot Singh, May 9, 2017; see also Maqbool Dar, 1997), smuggled drugs through pipes through the fence or threw them in Coca Cola bottles over the fence (Davinder Singh, May 6, 2017). Thus, people found different ways to cross or smuggle things through, over and under the fence. There were areas in which no fence could be erect. As a government official explained: “A total of about 249.61 km of Indo-Pakistan Border (IPB) […] have not been covered by fencing, primarily due to riverine/nala/marshy terrain and in some cases due to pending land acquisition etc.” (Rijiju, 2017a). To control movement along and across the international boundary in “non-feasible” riverine areas, other gadgets are used according to the former Border Security Force (BSF) officer Arjun Gupta (New Delhi, November 2, 2015) and the Indian Ministry of Home Affairs (MHA, 2016b).

Source: Kormoll, 2017.

Figure 10.1 The Border Fence near Daoke, Punjab, India.

Access to borderlands in Indian Punjab   169

170   Raphaela Kormoll At the time of the Khalistan movement, technologies of control were limited (Deshpande, 2015: 92, 94). Today, they include, inter alia, Floating Border Outposts, mechanized boats, speed boats, medium crafts, specialised vehicles and hi-tech surveillance equipments such as electro-optic sensors, radars, thermal sensors, day and night vision equipment and advanced weapons (Rijiju, 2017b). These technologies of control, like the fence, serve to mitigate human weaknesses and imperfections. Of course, these measures are never total or perfect. Unsurprisingly, people and things still cross the border between India and Pakistan in Punjab. Just like the BSF-deployed technologies of control, those who sought to cross or take things across the border into India resorted to technology to facilitate mobility. Recent news reports have claimed that trafficking rackets use divers to smuggle drugs through the riverine tracts of Sutlej and Ravi (Sura, 2017) and are airdropping contraband through drones (Sura, 2018). Borderlanders suggested that drug trafficking continues to be rampant. This is supported through reports studying drug abuse in Punjab (see, e.g., PODS, 2015; Verma and Mishra, 2010). By contrast, data on heroin, opium and hashish seizures by the Narcotics Control Bureau of India suggests that there has been a decrease in drug trafficking from southwest Asia6 since the late 1980s and that drug trafficking through the India–Pakistan border has stabilised. Pushpita Das (2012: 9–12) attributes these differences to underreporting of drug seizures by India’s security actors. Another reason could be that the concerned authorities are not as efficient at intercepting consignments as they portray through data. To summarise, the construction of a border fence and infrastructure developments in India have contributed to the reduction of mobility. However, a fence is not a perfect barrier to movement. It can be circumvented or damaged, thereby losing its barrier function. In places, the natural environment not only damaged the fencing but prevented humans from building a fence in the first place. Here, alternative technological solutions were employed to facilitate border guarding practices by the BSF, which are the focus of the next section.

Border guarding practices: Everyday insecurities The BSF is responsible for “prevent[ing] trans-border crimes, unauthorized entry into or exit from the territory of India”, for “prevent[ing] smuggling and any other illegal activity”, and for “promot[ing] a sense of security among the people living in the border area” (“The Border Security Force Rules, 1969”, Chapter III, Article 15). The construction of a fence aided the BSF in discharging its duties but also changed its responsibilities. It led to the securitization of everyday life for those owning and working on land beyond the fence, which created insecurity for borderlanders in Punjab rather than “a sense of security”. Amar Singh from the village Raja Thal recalled: “Before fencing, the BSF was only needed for security purposes. They used to patrol the zero line with lamps at night-time” (May 7, 2017). Today, the entire border area is floodlit. Eqbal Singh from the village Ranian explained that “You can see an ant in an area of 3 acres” (May 6, 2017). Therefore, lamps are no longer required for

Access to borderlands in Indian Punjab   171 patrolling the border at night. However, patrols continue to be among the key border guarding practices adopted by the BSF to control cross-border movement in Punjab (MHA, 2012: 8). Patrolling is closely intertwined with the material construction of the border and the technologies of control. As Baldev Singh from the village Ranian explained: Before fencing happened [in Punjab] in ’92–’93, people would flee across the border to save their lives during fake police encounters [during the Khalistan movement]. [Thereafter] It wasn’t possible anymore. The army would now kill anyone trying to cross the border to hide in Pakistan. It became very hard to come back. (May 6, 2017) Through newspaper articles, government reports and conversations with neighbours, borderlanders are regularly appraised of incidents in which smugglers die at the hand of members of the BSF when attempting to cross the international boundary for smuggling purposes (see, e.g., The Times of India, 2018; Hindustan Times, 2018). In a recent encounter, for instance, two Pakistanis allegedly infiltrating the international boundary were shot by the BSF (NCB, 2017: 16). However, the material construction of the border, technologies of control and border guarding practices did not allow the BSF to fill all gaps. In July 2015, militants crossed the international boundary from Pakistan and attacked a police station in Dina Nagar in Gurdaspur sector in Punjab (Chaudhary, 2015). The Punjab government subsequently requested the central government to increase the deployment of the BSF in this sector (Singh, 2016; The Economic Times, 2015). Four months later, attacks on the Indian Air Force Base in Pathankot showed that the border was still permeable, for the perpetrators again came from Pakistan (Chaudhary, 2016). In response, five additional battalions of the BSF were posted along the Punjab border (Tur, 2018). The continuation of cross-border movement thus led to an increase in boots on the ground in Indian Punjab. This was paralleled by the securitization of agricultural activities in the fields beyond the fence. In line with the West Pakistan/Punjab (India) Border Ground Rules (1961), the fence was constructed 150 yards away from the zero line or the de jure border between India and Pakistan inside Indian territory. Thereby, more than 17,000 acres of cultivated land belonging to 11,000 families from 212 villages were cut off from the “mainland” (Randhawa, 2009, quoted in Sekhon, 2014: 237–238).7 In Punjab, there are areas of land trapped between the de jure boundary and the rivers Sutlej and Ravi (see Map 10.1). Agricultural laborers reported being denied access to this land. The rivers are thus de facto borders between India and Pakistan in riverine areas. This presents a continuation of practices following the formal establishment of India and Pakistan in 1947, which were formally abandoned with the India–Pakistan Agreement Regarding ­Procedures to End Disputes and Incidents along the Indo-West Pakistan Border Areas in 1960 (Minutes HM/IM 1955; Note by MFA 1955).

Source: Google Earth, 2018.

Map 10.1 Area of land trapped between the de jure border (yellow line) and the River Ravi near the Indian villages Kakar and Ranian.

172   Raphaela Kormoll

Access to borderlands in Indian Punjab   173 In non-riverine areas, the fence was the second de facto border. Landlords and agricultural labourers explained that they have difficulties accessing their land beyond the fence, as exemplified in this statement: We have a lot of problems because our land is beyond the fence. The ­government doesn’t allow us to go beyond the fencing. […] Our ID cards have been made but that doesn’t make it easy to travel across the fence either. (Raghu Singh, Kakar, May 6, 2017) The challenges posed by the fence for farmers were contested by a Minister of State in the Ministry of Home Affairs who answered a question in the Lok Sabha, the lower house of the Indian Parliament, stating: Fencing is not a hurdle for the farmers as gates have been provided in fencing at an appropriate distance and farmers are permitted to cultivate their land ahead of the Fence. (Rijiju, 2016) To provide access to this land, gates were put in the fence. These gates are controlled by the BSF, which regulates who can cross the fence, when and where. Farmers explained that they require a so-called gate pass to gain access to their fields beyond the fence. Passes are issued by the BSF upon confirmation of rightful ownership of land beyond the fence and labor requirements by the Sarpanch, the head of the village government. Once a gate pass has been obtained, those mentioned on the permit can cross the fence at designated times. But only if there are no incidents, as the following statement exemplifies: Whenever there is some problem of smuggling, suppose someone is doing something wrong or they find something suspicious, they will not open the gates until the complete investigation is done. (Utam Singh, Attari, May 8, 2017) As the BSF kept gates closed following such incidents, cross-border drug trafficking and smuggling not only presented threats to the state of India, but also to borderlanders. When they were denied access to their land for prolonged periods of time, their products withered and spoiled. The Indian government and the BSF perceived agricultural activities, and, by extension, landowners and agricultural laborers as threats. Following the Parliamentary Standing Committee on Home Affairs’ (2017: 36) report on Border Security “[c]ultivation of fields right upto the zero line on both sides of the border” facilitates drug trafficking, which is considered a threat. The Indian government countered such threats by strictly regulating access to land beyond

174   Raphaela Kormoll the fence. Even when gates were opened, people had to go through thorough security checks. As a farmer explained: Whatever equipment we need to carry with us for the work, say to water fields, we have to write that down in the registers. Even if you’re carrying a box of rotis [bread], you have to write that down. They check that as well. (Eqbal Singh, Ranian, May 6, 2017) The emphasis on checking everything farmers seek to bring to and from their field highlights the vulnerability that people experience. A special emphasis on the checking of rotis (bread) by several interviewees indicates the perceived interference of security forces in everyday life. This shows that securitization does not always refer to an existential threat and emergency measures (Buzan, Wæver and Wilde, 1998: 23–24). Securitization is part of everyday life, as Didier Bigo (2002: 73), amongst others, suggested. Instead of providing those owning and working on land beyond the fence with security, securitization by the BSF made many feel more insecure, as a closer look at the relationship between border guards and farmers highlights. This relationship varies greatly. While some say that they have cordial relations, others say that they face problems: No, there are no problems with the BSF. They generally have a cordial relationship with the farmers. For instance, if we need more time in the fields, they concede that. (Jaikaar Singh, Mullakot, May 9, 2017) There seems to be a link between the economic capital of farmers and their relationship to the BSF. Farmers with larger landholdings reported fewer problems than those with small operational holdings: The people who are most likely to be harassed by the BSF during such times are the poor and the illiterate. They don’t harass people like me because they know of us. They know we’re good, honest men. (Davinder Singh, Dhanoakalan, May 6, 2017) Eqbal Singh, an agricultural laborer living in the village Ranian, confirmed this when he explained that “They [BSF officials] are rude. We don’t mix well” (May 6, 2017). At the same time, farmers with larger holdings are subjected to the same rules and regulations by the BSF, pointing to the symbolic power of border guards.8 Securitization does not stop at gates but extends to the crops that can be cultivated in fields and irrigation. For example, farmers are only allowed to grow crops below a certain height for security reasons. However, there are different guidelines regarding the height of crops. Jagrup Sekhon (2014: 226) puts it at three feet, while news reports quote four and six feet respectively

Access to borderlands in Indian Punjab   175 (Sura, 2015; The Tribune, 2017). This excludes maize and sugarcane, for example, and means that mainly wheat and paddy (rice) are grown in the fields beyond the fence, which is in line with general cropping trends in Punjab. To be able to grow rice and wheat, regular irrigation needs to be ensured. This has been a problem in fields beyond the fence, where provisions for irrigation are limited. Some farmers can water the crops from this side of the fence at night, while others have to take all the equipment for irrigation with them when they go to their fields during the day as there are few electric tube wells for irrigation installed in the border area (Sekhon, 2014: 227). The depletion of groundwater resources in Punjab further exacerbates the problem of farmers in the border area (see, e.g., Sarkar, 2011, 2012). These security and environmental considerations impact farmers’ opportunities and returns. As a farmer from a border village explained: Planting sugarcane is ruled out as the Border Security Force (BSF) and the Army say we can’t sow any crop that reaches a height of over 6 ft. Sowing paddy, too, is not feasible as it needs a lot of water. We can’t install tube wells as the [Punjab State Power Corporation Limited] PSPCL doesn’t give power connections to farmers with land across the fence. We only have to grow wheat, which is not financially remunerative. (Jagir Singh, quoted in The Tribune, 2017) Paddy and wheat have a very low value of output per hectare. Nonetheless, many people in Punjab continue to grow these crops because they are assured procurement at the minimum support price (MSP). The MSP is fixed by the Indian government to protect farmers against an excessive fall in price (Mann, 2017: 33). However, farmers stated that the minimum support price is not enough to make a proper living. Summarising the dilemma faced by farmers, Jaikaar Singh, a farmer from the village Mullakot (May 9, 2017), explained that “The crops suffer because farmers cultivate them under restrictions”. To conclude, it is important to highlight that not all people are equally affected by state security practices. Those who own land beyond the fence are probably the most vulnerable. They experience insecurity every time they go to their fields behind the fence and upon their return in the late afternoon. For most people in the Punjab borderland, security practices only become visible through small events: When gates remain closed due to the interception of drugs, the killing of smugglers or infiltrators, or higher-level visits by BSF officers; when people are arrested on suspicion of being involved in cross-­ border smuggling and face legal prosecution; or when they are arrested on suspicion of homicide, as has been the case more frequently in recent times. However, security practices not only affect those owning and working on land beyond the fence, but everyone living in the border area, to which I turn in the next section.

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The securitization of development: Border Area Development Programme The Punjab borderland is characterized by poor infrastructure, few education facilities, high illiteracy rates, unemployment, the lack of higher-revenue employment opportunities and indebtedness of farmers (for a detailed study see, e.g., Sohal and Mehra, 2016). This is partly related to changes in the agricultural sector since 1947, to economic policies by the central government and to ever-looming security threats posed by drug trafficking, ­smuggling and Pakistan. To address the “special characteristics” of the border area, the Indian government launched the Border Area Development Programme (BADP), to develop what it refers to as “sensitive” border areas. The program is flawed due to the primacy of security concerns over development goals, thereby having limited impact on the development of the border area. Development is here broadly understood to include governance practices that aim at enhancing the well-being of a population (Buur, Jensen and Stepputat, 2007: 11). The BADP was launched during the seventh five-year plan (1985–90) in 1986. The aim of this centrally sponsored Special Areas Development Programme was to promote “the balanced development of sensitive border areas” (Planning Commission, 1985). The term “sensitive” is frequently used in government reports and by interviewees to describe India’s borders and border crossing points. Asked what he meant by “sensitive”, a member of the Land Ports Authority of India9 explained that there are illegal things ­happening, such as the smuggling of drugs, counterfeit currency, arms and the movement of people (Teja Surwat, New Delhi, May 16, 2017). Another person explained that there is a high presence of security forces in sensitive areas (Raza Sangha, Lahore, March 13, 2017) and others added that there are more security checks (Shahid Khalil, Lahore, March 7, 2017; Pardeep Sehgal, Amritsar, December 10, 2015). The understanding of the term “sensitive” is related to security. The BADP seeks to promote “a sense of security among the local population” (Planning Commission, 1992), thus highlighting the primacy of security concerns over development goals. The program was initially designed to provide infrastructure facilities. Then it was extended to focus on education (Planning Commission 1992). After being revamped in 1993–94, the supply of drinking water and communication facilities also became eligible for funding (Planning Commission, 1997). Furthermore, Since [the] promotion of [a] sense of security among the people in the Border Areas is an important aspect of the Programme, schemes designed for public participation in crisis management, information and motivation of the people including their involvement in prevention of subversive activities, smuggling, infiltration etc. [can also be financed]. (Planning Commission, 1997)

Access to borderlands in Indian Punjab   177 This again shows that the program is oriented towards promoting security rather than development. Launched in Punjab, Rajasthan and Gujarat in 1986–87 (Planning Commission, 1988: 119), the program has since been extended to other border areas. Today, the BADP covers 394 border blocks in 111 border districts of India’s 17 border states sharing an international boundary with Myanmar, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Nepal, China, Afghanistan (disputed) and Pakistan (MHA 2018, 35). In Punjab, 21 blocks are covered, including Chogawan and Attari in Amritsar district (MHA, n.d.) where I conducted research. However, many interviewees, including the heads of village governments (Sarpanches), were not aware of the BADP or arguably did not receive funds under this scheme. In the late 1990s, two committees were set up: The Empowered Committee at the Centre, responsible for policy matters, the scope of the program and the allocation of funds; and Screening Committees at the state-level, which gave states more flexibility in formulating and implementing the scheme (Planning Commission, 1997; see also Department of Border Management, 2015: 5–10). Though the responsibility for utilizing funds is with state governments, the BSF plays an important role in the allocation of funds. Following the most recent guidelines, the BSF can use up to 10% of the annual allocation of the state for projects such as the construction of porter tracks, bridges, roads, transit camps and huts along patrol routes and the supply of electricity and water. Not permissible under the BADP is infrastructure-related work within Border Outposts, the procurement of vehicles, night vision devices, etc. (Department of Border Management, 2015: 18–19). ­Furthermore, the BSF is responsible for identifying villages in need of development and investment. Describing the relationship between the BSF and the civil administration, Arjun Gupta, a former BSF officer, explained that the BSF informs the civil administration as to where, because they are on the border, so where the funds are required, where the development has to take place, and which village is to be adopted. (New Delhi, November 2, 2015) Priority is given to all villages up to 10 kilometers from the international boundary, and within this radius, to those villages identified by the BSF as “strategic villages”. Only once the needs of these villages have been “saturated”, can the program be extended to other areas up to a distance of 50 kilometers from the boundary. Following the above-mentioned guidelines: District Level Committees (DLCs) shall make their own definition for “saturation of a village” infrastructure. However, for “saturation of a village”, the minimum facilities will include road connectivity, schools along with facilities like separate toilets for girls, sports facilities, health services, electricity, 2 water supply, community centre, public toilets particularly for women, houses for teachers and health staff, etc. (Department of Border Management, 2015: 1–2)

178   Raphaela Kormoll While road connectivity is generally provided – often keeping in view the movement of the BSF rather than the needs of borderlanders – many villages along the international boundary still lack some of these facilities (for a study of Amritsar district see Verma and Singh, 2016). This is closely related to the non-use of funding (Singh and Sohal, 2016: 200–204) and the allocation of funding. Following an evaluation of the BADP by the Indian government, 70% of the funds were allocated to infrastructure developments, followed by education (19%), the social sector (8.5%) and health (3.5%) in Punjab. No funds were allocated for agricultural development (NITI AAYOG, 2015: 16). However, the Punjab borderland is predominantly agricultural, which has been negatively impacted by the construction of a fence, as illustrated. The construction of a fence cut large parts of farmland off the mainland which restricted people’s access to their agricultural land. To facilitate security operations to curb drug trafficking and smuggling across the international boundary and to reduce the hardship of farmers, it was suggested that the fence be moved closer to the zero line. 23.38 kilometers of fencing and floodlighting in Abohar tehsil in Ferozepur district in Punjab were identified for this project (Standing Committee on Home Affairs, 2008: 10; 2011: 3; MHA, 2009: 28). Following news reports, areas close to the villages Rose and Bohar Wadala in Gurdaspur district were also identified for shifting the fence (Gopal, 2016). However, it is not clear whether these measures have been completed. Furthermore, the fence has to be 150 yards away from the zero line according to the West Pakistan/Punjab (India) Border Ground Rules (1961). Therefore, there will always be agricultural land trapped between the zero line and the fence. Consequently, landowners will face challenges regarding access to their land unless agricultural development is placed above security concerns. Keeping in view the hardship faced by people owning land beyond the fence, the Punjab and Haryana High Court ruled in 2014 that the government pay a compensation of 10,000 rupees (about 141 US dollars) per acre annually to those owning land beyond the fence for the losses accrued. Recent annual reports by the Ministry of Home Affairs state that 10.25 crore rupees (about 1,447,249 US dollars) have been released by the central government to the state government of Punjab under the BADP as compensation to farmers whose land is across the security fence (MHA, 2015: 39, 2016a: 48, 2017: 46). However, landlords lament that they have not received the money and that it is not sufficient to cover losses. A news report suggests that the money allocated by the centre and state governments for compensation was used for “other tasks” by the Punjab government (Singh, 2017). Thus, in addition to being security-­oriented, the funds released under the BADP do not seem to reach those for whom they are intended. To summarize, while the aim of the BADP is to spur development, a closer look at it revealed that security concerns trump the needs of the border population in the program design and the allocation of funds. The border area continues to be characterised by poor infrastructure, few education facilities, high illiteracy rates, unemployment, the lack of higher-revenue employment opportunities and

Access to borderlands in Indian Punjab   179 indebtedness of farmers, suggesting that the program had limited impact on development. What we thus see is what has been referred to as the “securitisation of development” (Buur, Jensen and Stepputat, 2007: 9). The relationship between security and development has frequently been looked at as a vicious cycle where underdevelopment is considered to be the root of violence, conflict and crime, while the latter are understood to contribute to underdevelopment (for a discussion see, e.g., Buur, Jensen and Stepputat, 2007). However, I concur with Mekhaus (2004), who draws on the case of Somalia, that the securitization of development in the border area is driven by the interests of the national and state governments, security actors and borderlanders rather than by a lack of development.

Conclusion India’s responses to threats in the Punjab borderland – the material construction of the border, contemporary border guarding practices and the BADP – can be traced to the Khalistan movement in Punjab. This chapter explored the implications of these responses for everyday life, showing that securitization is omnipresent and has had far-reaching socio-economic implications. The Indian government evoked the image of Pakistan as a national enemy and constructed cross-border smuggling of weapons, ammunition, drugs and people as existential threats to justify the construction of a fence and other border guarding practices along its border with Pakistan in Punjab. The representation of Pakistan as enemy and the materialisation of the border need to be understood as part of the government’s attempt to project its power “to the very edge of its territory, where it meets […] another sovereign power projecting its command” (Scott, 2009: 11) and as an attempt to consolidate the state itself. As Jones (2012: 73) highlights, “[t]he incorporation of previously marginal areas into the sovereign space of the state brings it substantially closer to the nationalist vision of a coterminous nation, state and territory”. Of course, while marginalised by the Indian government politically and experiencing a downward trend economically, Punjab was never as marginal as the Bengal borderland to which Jones refers. In fact, the Khalistan movement brought it to the heart of the state-making project by India, of which the construction of a fence was the material expression. The border fencing process was shaped by the natural environment. Nature was both part of border-making and border-evasion processes, for riverine areas represented de facto borders and were used for smuggling purposes. Technological solutions replaced the fence in riverine areas but only received a function as barriers to movement through human actors. While the fence reduced the mobility of those the Indian government and security forces considered a threat, interviews showed that it also reduced the mobility of those they sought to protect: Law-abiding Indian citizens. People with land beyond the fence are viewed with suspicion by the Indian government and security forces for cultivation up to the international boundary is deemed to facilitate cross-border smuggling. Securitization practices by

180   Raphaela Kormoll India’s border guarding force created insecurities for farmers and agricultural laborers who own and work on land beyond the fence. Restrictions imposed by security forces meant that farmers incurred losses. As agriculture-related work is frequently the primary source of income, the livelihood of farmers living in the Punjab borderland is at risk due to security practices of India’s security forces. In order to counter the negative effect of the border and related practices and to further development, the Indian government launched the Border Area Development Programme in Punjab in 1986. However, the program has been flawed due to the primacy of security concerns over development goals, thus showing how development is securitized by the Indian government.

Notes 1 Acknowledgements: I would like to thank Durham University for providing funding for this research. Special thanks go to Jutta Bakonyi for her guidance and invaluable feedback on earlier drafts of this chapter, as well as to Andréanne Bissonnette, Élisabeth Vallet and participants of the writers’ workshop in Montreal for their comments. 2 Sikhism is a religion whose followers live in majority in Indian Punjab. 3 A tehsil is a small administrative division below the district level in India. 4 The spelling of village names varies greatly. I adopted the spelling used in the Census 2011. 5 The fencing project in Punjab was just the beginning of an extensive border materialisation project by India. A fence was also built in Gujarat, Rajasthan and along the international boundary in Kashmir, fencing about 2,004.66 kilometers of the 3,323-­kilometer-long India–Pakistan boundary (MHA, 2018: 33). A temporary fence has also been erected parallel to the Line of Control in disputed Kashmir. In 2002, the Indian government also expanded its fence along the India–Bangladesh border (Jones, 2012: 57). The Indian government already took the official decision to fence the border in 1986, but only 5% of the border was fenced by 1998 (Schendel, 2005: 212–213). Today, approximately 3,006.48 kilometers of the 4096.7-kilometer-long boundary between India and Bangladesh have been fenced (MHA, 2018: 32). 6 The drugs come from the so-called “Golden Crescent”, opium-producing areas transcending the borders between Afghanistan, Iran and Pakistan. 7 A recent news report states that 24,000 acres of land by around 6,000 families in 212 border villages are affected in Pathankot, Gurdaspur, Amritsar, Tarn Taran and Ferozepur districts (Sura, 2015). By contrast, a note on the Border Area Development Programme by the Department of Planning of the Punjab Government states that 18,500 acres of land are situated across the border fence (DoP, 2006: 4). 8 Bourdieu uses the term “symbolic power” to refer to an aspect of power that is routinely deployed in everyday life (for a discussion see, e.g., Bourdieu, 1991). 9 The Land Ports Authority of India is responsible “to develop, sanitize and manage the facilities for cross border movement of passengers and goods at designated points along the international borders of India” (“The Land Ports Authority of India Act, 2010”, Chapter III, Article 11(2).)

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Access to borderlands in Indian Punjab   183 Rao, C.V. (2002). Starred Question No. 689 on Fencing on Pak Border. Lok Sabha, ­Government of India. Rijiju, K. (2016). Unstarred Question No. 2961 on Compensation to Farmers at Border. Lok Sabha, Government of India. Rijiju, K. (2017a). Starred Question No. 428 on Fencing of Indo-Pak and Indo-Bangladesh Borders. Rajya Sabha, Government of India. Rijiju, K. (2017b). Unstarred Question No. 1042 on Introduction of Laser Fencing at Borders. Rajya Sabha, Government of India. Sarkar, A. (2011). “Socio-Economic Implications of Depleting Groundwater Resource in Punjab: A Comparative Analysis of Different Irrigation Systems”. Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 46, no. 7, pp. 59–66. Sarkar, A. (2012). “Sustaining Livelihoods in Face of Groundwater Depletion: A Case Study of Punjab, India”. Environment, Development and Sustainability, vol. 14, no. 2, pp. 183–195. Schendel, W. van. (2005). The Bengal Borderland: Beyond State and Nation in South Asia. London: Anthem Press. Scott, J.C. (2009). The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia. New Haven, London: Yale University Press. Sekhon, J.S. (2014). “Farmers at the Borderbelt of Punjab: Fencing and Forced Deprivation”. In P.S. Judge (Ed.), Mapping Social Exclusion in India: Caste, Religion and Borderlands, pp. 237–252. New Delhi: Cambridge University Press. Singh, B., S. Singh and J. Singh Brar. (2004). Border Risk and Unemployment Dynamics. Patiala: Publication Bureau Punjabi University Patiala. Singh, N. and S.S. Sohal. (2016). “A Study of Implementation of Border Area Development Programme in Punjab”. In S.S. Sohal and A. Mehra (Eds.), Life on the Indo-Pak Border: A Paradox of Security and Development, pp.  187–206. New Delhi: Serials Publications Pvt. Ltd. Singh, R. (2016). Starred Question No. 192 on Increasing the Strength of BSF at International Borders in Punjab. Rajya Sabha, Government of India. Singh, S.J. (2014). Operation Black Thunder: An Eyewitness Account of Terrorism in Punjab. Los Angeles: SAGE Publications Pvt. Ltd. Singh, S. (2017). “Land Acquired for Fencing: Border Farmers yet to Get Compensation in Punjab”. Hindustan Times. Online. www.hindustantimes.com/punjab/land-acquiredfor-fencing-border-farmers-yet-to-get-compensation-in-punjab/story-GHcmS22sN7io StIqocvJnI.html. Accessed May 5, 2020. Sohal, S.S. and A. Mehra. (2016). Life on the Indo-Pak Border: A Paradox of Security and Development. New Delhi: Serials Publications Pvt. Ltd. Standing Committee on Home Affairs. (2008). Report on Border Fencing and Floodlighting Projects of Indo-Pak Border, p. 135. New Delhi: Department-Related Parliamentary Standing Committee on Home Affairs, Rajya Sabha, Parliament of India. Standing Committee on Home Affairs. (2017). Border Security: Capacity Building and Institutions, p. 203. New Delhi: Department-Related Parliamentary Standing Committee on Home Affairs, Rajya Sabha, Parliament of India. Sura, A. (2015). “Ray of Hope for Farmers Who Own ‘useless’ Fields Beyond Border Fencing”. The Times of India. Online. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/chandigarh/ Ray-of-hope-for-farmers-who-own-useless-fields-beyond-border-fencing/articleshow/ 46102085.cms. Accessed May 5, 2020. Sura, A. (2017). “Pakistan Using Divers to Smuggle Drugs: Intel”. The Times of India. Online. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/pakistan-using-divers-to-smuggledrugs-intel/articleshow/61029325.cms. Accessed May 5, 2020.

184   Raphaela Kormoll Sura, A. (2018). “Pakistan Drug Smugglers Skirt Border Fence with Drones”. The Times of India. Online. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/chandigarh/pakistan-drug-smugglersskirt-border-fence-with-drones/articleshow/64472643.cms. Accessed May 5, 2020. Tribune News Services. (2017). “Tied down by Barbed Wire, Farmers Suffer”. The Tribune. Online. www.tribuneindia.com/news/punjab/tied-down-by-barbed-wire-farmerssuffer/507853.html. Accessed May 5, 2020. Tur, J.K. (2018). “Intensified BSF Vigilance Hits Drug Smuggling into Punjab, but It’s Not Enough”. Hindustan Times. Online. www.hindustantimes.com/punjab/intensified-bsfvigilance-hits-drug-smuggling-into-punjab-but-it-s-not-enough/story-FQdymsNiePP cU9xYuNsLrO.html. Accessed May 5, 2020. Verma, P.S. and V. Mishra. (2010). “Study on Drug Abuse in the Border Districts of Punjab”. (Unpublished Report). Chandigarh: Institute for Development and Communication. Verma, S. and C. Singh. (2016). “Physical and Social Infrastructure in Border Areas of Punjab: A Case Study of Amritsar District”. In Life on the Indo-Pak Border: A Paradox of Security and Development, pp. 207–243. New Delhi: Serials Publications Pvt. Ltd.

11 Securitizing insecurity along Mexico’s borders Margath A. Walker

On April 16, 2010 Blanca Gomez’s son, Roberto, left El Salvador for the US. According to his mother, he left with a coyote, a smuggler who promised to get him to his destination. The last time Blanca heard from him, Roberto was somewhere close to the US–Mexico border. Blanca’s story, while tragic, is not isolated. Mothers in El Salvador, Honduras and Guatemala have similar accounts of their children who have “disappeared” while making the journey north to the US (BBC, 2017). Now to assuage their grief, the mothers, in honor of their children, travel the steps of their loved ones in order to draw attention to the dangers of the journey to the US. These migrant caravans have been around for nearly ten years. In Spanish, they are sometimes referred to as the “Viacrucis Migrante”, or the “Migrant Stations of the Cross”, which re-enact Christ’s last steps and crucifixion before Easter. The caravan that arrived in Tijuana in late April 2018 had left a bit before Easter, but unlike earlier ones, the recent migrant caravans headed to the US from Central America have received an unprecedented amount of attention under the current administration (KPBS, 2019). Although they are not new, several factors have coalesced to make these movements larger and more visible. These include a sudden media and political interest in caravans and newer forms of organizing through WhatsApp and Facebook. The caravans have increased in size over the years, not only because traveling in groups provides safety to migrants, but because the US border with Mexico, and more recently, the Mexico border with Guatemala have become increasingly militarized. In this chapter, I examine how mobility provides a lens for understanding the interconnection of securitized borders and the production of precarity.1 The trials facing caravans and migrants demonstrate not only the battle to regain control over migration movements, but also how the securitization program produces insecurity. The fortification of borders is on the rise. More border walls and border fences are being built every year, transforming soft borders long characterized by socio-cultural permeability into sealed, exclusionary lines of demarcation (Vallet, 2016). An increase in funding for traditional boundary enforcement tactics has been accompanied by trends to militarize the border through the provision of technologically advanced equipment including: Predator unmanned aerial vehicles, infrared night scopes, software that allowed biometric scanning.

186   Margath A. Walker Fortified and militarized borders suppose an underlying motif of threat that is “not intended to address the root causes of migration, but rather is used to perpetuate an industry devoted to the constant management of manufactured threats. It is an institutional, strategic continuation of the colonial project in the US border region” (Loyd et al., 2013: 194). This securitization of insecurity is best understood if we look to borders as territorially entangled and contradictory regimes with the capacity to exacerbate problems which they purport to solve. Toward this end, I juxtapose the impacts of US–Mexico boundary fortification with the Programa Frontera Sur (Southern Border Program) on the Mexico–Guatemala border. Comparing the militarization of Mexico’s two borders illuminates (1) the ways in which migrant bodies become focusing events obscuring larger interrelated historical and geopolitical circumstances; and (2) how the localized and dispersed reproduction of the Border Industrial Complex2 is a productive mechanism for insecurity. The battle to discipline borders and bodies unfurls in divergent ways across different locales but many of the effects are the same. In both contexts discussed in this chapter, discourse and policy conflate security and securitization. On the one hand, top-down regimes of securitization enacted along Mexico’s two borders contend that militarization is committed to securing the state, while on the other, those concerned about civil and human rights argue that national security trumps human security. The Border Industrial Complex, “sold” under the guise of security, reconfigures and transforms political boundaries from spaces of belonging and interconnectivity into sites of threat. Governance and subjectivity are linked through an “epistemology of insecurity” embodied through those seeking to transgress physical and symbolic boundaries. My aim, in part, is to show how security modalities can produce insecurity; and then in turn, how insecurity can be used to deal with the objects of security and securitization. Seen in this way, we are able to discern more clearly how militarization and security are fundamentally about capital rather than people, wherein equality of movement is a threat to inequality. Policies are enacted along these borders but are not of the border. Instead, security/securitization emanates from outside, often through the state, which has the prerogative to determine the constituents of security and to delineate legitimacy from illegitimacy. The framing proposed seeks a radical investigation into how current practices retain the power to seal off securitization from its insecuritizing effects.

Border (in)security Prior to the 1990s, borders were on the mind of interdisciplinary scholars, especially political geographers (c.f. Bialasiewicz et al., 2007; Paasi, 2016; Newman, 2003). This preoccupation is captured to some degree in Thomas Nail’s Theory of the Border: “We live in a world of borders. Territorial, political, juridical and economic borders of all kinds quite literally define every aspect of life in the 21st Century” (Nail, 2016: 8). Early work in Border Studies was firmly connected to a state-centered perspective, whereas more recent work has highlighted the

Securitizing insecurity on Mexican borders   187 constructionist strand of border research. In this view, the emphasis is on how states and boundaries are involved in the construction of identities and the emergence of borders at multiple scales. Following the events of 9/11, border fortification has emerged as a critical policy issue. Border management now follows a logic of control and containment but nested within is a messy entanglement of paradoxical tensions. The contradiction between the loosening of borders for information and capital flows and increasing prohibitions for human border crossings is well-captured in discussions of de-bordering and re-bordering (Coleman, 2005). In my work with Winton, we have stressed how any theory of borders and bordering must necessarily grapple with the idea of “discord” (Walker and Winton, 2017). In highlighting the discordant priorities that emerge at the “border”, we mean to shed light on two aspects of political boundaries. The first is attention to the real-world complexities attached to any act of bordering. This includes the conflicting and complementary interests of actors at multiple scales. A pertinent question thus becomes, who stands to gain/lose from border policies and from politicizing the border? The second point, and of particular relevance here, is the cost (sometimes hidden) of border fortification and the forces motrices of maintaining the current paradigm. How do existing border processes and dynamics, along with the proliferation of hardening borders, uphold power relations? My concern in relation to Mexico’s two borders is the effect of the securitization approach and the many unintended consequences associated with the Border Industrial Complex. A schematic that equates the border with the provision of security is deeply problematic. The dominant and narrow understanding of security represented in that model is currently being reproduced along Mexico’s southern border. In the next section, I show that the continuity within this policy frame has similar generative effects irrespective of locale.

Border fortification nation The combination of concrete pillars, gates, and barricades collectively known as “the wall” looms large in the US imaginary although it is relatively new. About 90% of the US–Mexico border wall was built under President George W. Bush and President Barack Obama. Prior to 1990, only about four miles of the current wall had been built. In 1993, President Clinton’s administration launched Operation Gatekeeper in California and Operation Hold the Line in Texas. Both were designed to make it harder for migrants to cross illegally into the US. From 1994 to 1999, about 24 miles of fencing was built in San Diego.3 Expanded personnel, resources and infrastructure resulted in apprehensions taking a nose-dive in San Diego, CA and El Paso, TX. As a result, migrants veered their routes into the desert (Nevins and Dunn, 2008). The portion of the wall at the San Ysidro crossing, which links San Diego with Tijuana, and the Pacific Ocean, had the unintended effect of funneling migrants onto Interstate 5. Some of these migrants were hit by cars causing transit authorities to post yellow signs of families running across the freeway (New York Times, 2019).

188   Margath A. Walker National security became a centerpiece of the Bush administration after 9/11 with the creation of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS). The extent to which DHS has transformed the border landscape is difficult to codify fully. In ensuring operational control over the US’s borders through DHS’s “Secure Border Initiative”, a host of players emerged including the US Customs and Border Protection (CBP) – formerly the US Border Patrol – and Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). In addition, two laws were passed in the aftermath of the attack. The Real ID Act of 2005 gave DHS authority to bypass cultural and environmental laws in order to build a border wall (Payan, 2016). Then in 2006 came the Secure Fence Act which called for hundreds of miles of more fencing (Nuñez-Neto and Garcia, 2007). The most visible result was more undocumented crossings in the desert and a general shift in mobility eastward. An underlying logic of dominant policies is the premise of “prevention through deterrence”, an ironic endeavor on various levels. Paul Ganster, who focuses on the US–Mexico border, sums up part of the conundrum in this way: “Saying ‘build a wall to provide for national security,’ is something that people accept as being a truth, when there’s no hard data to show that” (KPBS, 2017). Wayne Cornelius, who has tracked migration patterns for decades, discusses the same phenomenon in terms of evidence-free policy making. In a recent keynote address, Cornelius (2018) outlines multiple areas in which no facts exist to support current policy. Border Patrol apprehensions had at one point fallen to levels similar to those of the early 1970s, with Mexico no longer being a country that has large-scale emigration to the US. However, over the course of 2019, the arrival of large numbers of Central American families and children led to a ­sustained growth in apprehensions (Ramón, 2019). In short, who is coming is different than in previous years. Mobility is now being driven by Central Americans escaping poverty and violence. That number will not be reduced as a result of increased enforcement at the border. Another misguided assumption is encapsulated in the “magnet-hypothesis”. This proposition, used by Congress to exclude undocumented people from the Affordable Care Act, assumes that a significant motivation for migration is access to public benefit of some kind. The idea that undocumented migrants come to the US for tax-supported services has not been borne out in field research. There is a big misconception that undocumented immigrants do not pay taxes. According to estimates from research done by the Institute of ­Taxation and Economic Policy, a think-tank in Washington, DC, millions of undocumented immigrants file income tax returns each year. Many of these benefits they cannot even use (Institute on Tax and Economic Policy, 2017). Furthermore, numerous representations abound in the relationship between migration and crime. Contrary to the depiction of undocumented migrants as violent felons, there is no correlation between those who have entered the country illegally and criminal acts. Research shows that immigrants commit crimes at lower rates than native-born US citizens. Finally, there is the myth that Mexico is doing little to stem migration into the US. As I have argued elsewhere

Securitizing insecurity on Mexican borders   189 (Walker, 2018b), the US already has a wall in the form of Mexico. Since the 1980s, and particularly since the presidency of Enrique Peña Nieto, Mexico has begun to fortify both its physical border and employ vertical strategies to stem movement north. A political climate that supports stepped up deportations, and one where migrant bodies are used for political advantage, has numerous intended and unintended consequences. In the last 30 years, policies that bring significant harm to those they target can be seen in multiple arenas with reverberating effects. The Clinton administration, through deportation of its members, relocated American-born gangs like MS-13 to Central America. There, these groups thrived in a context of weak state institutions and poverty. In the current moment, Central American families are fleeing gang violence cultivated by the US. In response, the Trump administration has cut aid to Guatemala, El Salvador and Honduras. Forms of militarization have led to the family separation crisis because parents charged with the federal crime of illegal entry have been sent to prison. The punitive family separations also reflect how the border has stretched beyond any physical boundary. Nicholas De Genova makes this case powerfully: the prominence of Central American migrations and refugee movements has significantly transformed how we must apprehend the dynamics of the US– Mexico border. The US southern perimeter has become an expansive border zone that literally extends into South America incorporating Latin American states as outsourced junior partners in the policing of an externalized detention and deportation dragnet. (2019: 19) Stricter border controls ensconced in immigration policy from 1993 to the present include problematic trends such as enriching human smugglers.4 In addition, one of the most well-documented impacts of building walls is the transformation of seasonal, circular migration into permanent settlement in the US (Massey, Durand and Pren, 2015). If the border stretches across countries in myriad ways, then the concept of the Border Industrial Complex (BIC) helps us to understand how the border is interiorized across multiple planes. Michael Dear (2013) has ominously warned Americans to beware of the BIC, with its increasingly centralized and incorporated functions across multiple agencies. Under Bush and Obama, the Department of Homeland Security became increasingly powerful. Section 287(g) of the Immigration and Nationality Act allowed ICE to enter into cooperation agreements with state and local law enforcement. These joint efforts deputized officers for immigration enforcement and facilitated the DHS in outsourcing responsibilities to states and municipalities tasked with administering protocols of national security (cf. Golash-Boza and Hondagneu-Sotelo, 2013). There were also ­contracts with numerous corporations for the construction of private detention facilities, virtual and physical fences, security training provisions, and military

190   Margath A. Walker equipment transfers. The concentration of power reflected in agencies charged with border enforcement is somewhat alarming as is the depth of influence of these entities. For example, CBP is authorized, under a 1953 Department of ­Justice’s directive, to operate within a 100-mile zone inside the nation’s borders. CBP’s reach often exceeds that of local police and includes the use of predator drones and the distribution of surplus military equipment through the much-­ criticized 1033 program of the US Department of Defense. What is more, CPB has been accused of abuse and excessive force by those targeted. Tom Barry writes about how those who are detained and deported can end up exploited and homeless – one more casualty of political fear-mongering and hard borders (Barry, 2011). There are also shocking accounts detailing the wretched conditions within overcrowded immigration detention facilities. Ill-equipped to properly house the number of migrants arriving daily, these facilities lack the proper resources where many have little to eat and suffer from dehydration with nothing to protect them from the cold. Since 2017, 22 immigrants – including several children – have died in ICE detention centers (Guardian, 2019). Prior to Operation Gatekeeper (1994), porosity was associated with large swaths of the US–Mexico border. Since then, the permeability of border life has given way to hardening boundaries, a model that has gained traction. Recently, Mexican officials have collaborated with the US to reproduce a post-1993 model of bordering along Mexico’s southern border with Guatemala. Once again, it is those on the move – the migrants –, who are being enlisted in the production of territorial differentiation and bear the brunt of securitization at the expense of human security. A much-documented development in border security has been the expansion of controls beyond the physical border. This so-called “vertical border” (Isacson et al., 2014) penetrates deep into the national territory and is accompanied by a beefed-up program of securitization that entails geopolitical collusion among multiple countries. Mexican officials, under pressure from the US, have collaborated with their northern neighbor to keep undocumented thirdcountry migrants in Mexico and away from the US. This expansion of border security and the militarization of the Mexico–Guatemala border is a strategy of externalization in which governments shift migration control outside of their territories. As of 2008, the US government has been supporting security initiatives in Mexico, with the Merida Initiative. In July 2014, former Mexican President Peña Nieto launched Programa Frontera Sur, a militarized security program created with US support. Its aim is to stop migrants traveling north through a “layered enforcement” strategy. The Program promises to: Regulate migration from Central America; improve border infrastructure as a way to increase development and security; increase coordination within Mexican agencies and with Central American governments; and protect migrants and guarantee respect for their human rights (Walker, 2018a). In an effort to promote “regional security and prosperity”, the Southern Border Program has drastically increased ­vigilance, pledging to roll out security operations at 12 points of entry with ­Guatemala and Belize along with several well-worn routes popular with

Securitizing insecurity on Mexican borders   191 migrants. The strategy has triggered a massive increase in total migrant apprehensions. During the first year of operation, apprehensions of northbound migrants grew by 79%. Mexico now detains and deports around 150,000 people per year (Isacson et al., 2017).

The new face of old policy Prior to taking office, the Mexican leftist candidate, Andrés Manuel López Obrador promised that his country was done being President Trump’s “piñata” (Anderson, 2018). Against this rhetoric, there was some uncertainty about Frontera Sur’s fate and whether Mexico would continue to be the US’s wall. Instead of countering Trump’s tough stance on border security, however, López Obrador, or AMLO as he is called in Mexico, has become a surprising new ally in this arena. AMLO is in essence carrying out the bilateral agenda of the US, Mexico’s biggest trading partner. The New York Times put it this way: Mexican officials are carrying out the Trump administration’s immigration agenda across wide stretches of the border, undercutting the Mexican government’s promises to defend migrants and support their search for a better life. The Mexican authorities are blocking groups of migrants at border towns, refusing to allow them onto international bridges to apply for asylum in the United States, intercepting unaccompanied minors before they can reach American soil, and helping to manage lists of asylum seekers on behalf of the American authorities to limit the number of people crossing the border. (Ahmed and Semple, 2019) This stance reflects an about face because López Obrador began his term c­ riticizing the enforcement approach of his predecessor, Enrique Peña Nieto. His administration even went so far as to invite Central American migrants to apply for a year-long humanitarian visa that allows those who apply to work anywhere in Mexico. To expedite visas, a dedicated task force was established on the southern border. But, after more than 13,000 migrants applied for the visa, the policy was abruptly suspended (New York Times, 2019). Since then, his administration has increased the detention and deportation of Central Americans ­entering Mexico. The trend of diverging from campaign promises holds at the domestic scale as well as the international one. AMLO promised “hugs, not bullets”, stating that a public security model would prevail over the militarized approach of previous sexenios (six-year presidential terms) (Paley, 2019). In contrast to rhetoric espousing a broader and less-militarized approach to security, López Obrador expressed political inconsistency5 with his proposal for the creation of a new militarized force to police Mexico’s southern and northern borders. On 28 February 2019 after a lengthy debate, Congress approved reforms that would allow for the creation of a National Guard, a linchpin of López Obrador’s

192   Margath A. Walker Security Plan for Mexico. The National Guard will consist of between 50,000 and 60,000 members of the Military Police, the Naval Police and the Federal Police, along with staff and “troops”. Technically, the force will fall under civilian rule. However, the extent to which this approach diverges significantly from the previous administrations’ is questionable. The new administration and in particular the Security Plan for Mexico, reflects a commitment to increased militarization, a trend which has long alarmed human rights groups. Others are concerned about the systematic concentration of power in a disproportionately strong executive and the precedent that is being set by pushing through this agenda (Dresser, 2019). Returning to the border and the on-going fortification practices there, it would seem there are no plans for a break with business as usual. Any gains of the dominant paradigm will once again come at the expense of migrants. While López Obrador may be engaging in a delicate balancing act with the US on certain fronts, he appears to be on board with hard-line aspects of securitization. A primary goal seems to be to stop Central and South American migrants from entering Mexico and, if they do manage to cross the country, to stop them from entering the US. Surprisingly, Mexico’s president quietly accepted the Trump administration’s policy requiring asylum seekers to remain in Mexico while their cases are in US courts. Immigration officials from Mexico are also refusing to let Central American migrants onto international bridges to apply for asylum in the US. In the US, and now increasingly in Mexico, border reinforcement has become a political tool used to reassure an increasingly insecure population (Nevins, 2010; Mendieta, 2011). Recently we have seen the ways that the bodies of migrants have become focusing events obscuring larger interrelated historical and geopolitical circumstances. As Tonatiuh Guillén López, the head of Mexico’s National Migration Institute said last year, “The caravans are not the problem. The issue is the movements we do not see, those who are not in the caravan, that is the big issue” (Dibble, 2018). While hyberbolic rhetoric has tended to focus on the waves of migrants arriving to the US, the caravan has forced Mexico to confront its own complicated relationship with Central America. “More affluent Mexicans have complained on social media about the foreigners from poorer countries, often in terms similar to those used by US rightwingers” (Agren, 2018). In Tijuana, there have been protests against Central American migrants and asylum seekers, with participants shouting: “Mexico First”. Understanding security in its narrowest form by sorting people is caught up in entangled webs of xenophobia and regional histories and hierarchies which seek to elide the root causes of mobility. Until 1822, the Mexican state of Chiapas was part of Guatemala, the two countries sharing a cultural history from the Maya civilization. In the early 1900s the Mexican state engaged in nationalist campaigns to distinguish the border from Guatemala. Campaigns involved burning indigenous clothing and forcing ­Guatemalans to speak Spanish (Hernández-­ Castillo, 2001). In contemporary times, the exploitation of Guatemalans by wealthy plantation owners in Chiapas mirrors the US treatment of undocumented workers in the agricultural sector. The Soconusco region of Southern Mexico region relies

Securitizing insecurity on Mexican borders   193 heavily on migrant labor to raise mangos, bananas, coffee and dozens of other crops in fertile parts of the state. At the start of the 20th century, fruit corporations from the US turned large parts of Central America into huge banana plantations. In dominating its economy and politics, Honduras became the original “banana republic”. Numerous military interventions and coups were intended to protect American interests. During the Reagan years, joint Honduran-US military bases contributed to the militarization of Honduran society (Schulz, 2018). Without recounting all of the instances of geopolitical pressure and intervention in Central America by the US, it is crucial to point out how US policy and practice are major contributing factors to current conditions in the sending countries of Guatemala, El Salvador and Honduras. US consumption of illegal drugs is the highest in the world. Deportations of the 1990s and 2000s have facilitated the transfer of violent street gangs to the region. And, firearms trafficking from the US has contributed to violence and morbidity in the region (McBride, 1999). These three countries are experiencing serious violence and security threats exacerbated by economic and governance challenges, all of which is fueling regional dislocation. El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras all suffer from high rates of violence against women, extreme poverty, starvation, political and social persecution, gang violence and impunity for criminality. To give an idea of the severity of conditions, San Pedro Sula, Honduras recorded the highest homicide rate for a non-war setting in 2013. One in four children in Honduras suffers from malnutrition (Voice of San Diego, 2018). Top-down regimes of securitization, or hard-line border security policies, react to the effects of migration rather than the source of movement, often transforming political boundaries into sites of threat. And, as I argue in this chapter, such models produce insecurity. The recent militarization of the Mexico–Guatemala border through Frontera Sur has changed migration routes but has not deterred migrants. The Mexican–American border has shifted 3,000 kilometers south, now passing through Chiapas, Oaxaca and Veracruz, the narrowest part of Mexico. In this area, immigration traffic is easier to police. This dispersal has made migrants more vulnerable to extortionists, thieves and rapists. Increased vigilance of cargo trains (known collectively as La Bestia or “The Beast”), has translated into a crack-down on transportation that is notorious for robberies and assaults but also means fewer options for the most desperate. The “winners” in this scenario are the smugglers whose ability to adapt to hard-line enforcement policies prove the lack of efficacy of this approach. The Washington Office on Latin America, a research and advocacy human rights organization, has tracked the multiple ways that precarity and vulnerability are related to the current strategy. There is a clear linkage between migration flows, enforcement and insecurity in southern Mexico. For example, crimes and abuses against migrants traveling through Mexico continue unabated and shelters have noticed a more intense degree of violence in documented cases. This is likely a result of smaller criminal bands and Central American gang affiliates who have targeted these well-traveled migration routes. In addition, there is migration

194   Margath A. Walker authority and police abuse of migrants as a result of Frontera Sur.6 Numerous accounts exist of migration agents who are supposed to be unarmed but nonetheless use electrical shock devices and pellet guns. According to researchers at WOLA, people will continue to migrate en masse until there are significant improvements in the levels of violence and adverse conditions that cause many Central Americans to flee their home countries in the first place (WOLA, 2019). The Trump administration recently threatened to cut aid to Guatemala, ­Honduras and El Salvador – the origin points for the exodus of families from Central America to the US. According to one of Trump’s tweets: “Mexico is doing NOTHING to help stop the flow of illegal immigrants to our Country. They are all talk and no action. Likewise, Honduras, Guatemala and El Salvador have taken our money for years, and do Nothing” (Associated Press, 2019). As of this writing, the exact numbers have not been announced but it is likely that nearly $1 billion in aid might be affected by the cut-off (Washington Post, 2019). In his first two years, Trump revamped the previous administrations’ policy for Central America. For example, President Barack Obama had convinced a Republican-controlled ­Congress to double aid to the region in an effort to reduce violence and poverty (The Economist, 2019). But, that tack is being rethought in spite of the current administration’s strategy “to secure U.S. borders and protect U.S. citizens by addressing the security, governance, and economic drivers of illegal immigration and illicit trafficking, and to promote private sector investment in Central America” (quoted in Olson, 2019). Critics of the cuts, including the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), the agency responsible for the dispersal of much of the aid, believe the programs enhance human security in a broad sense. Take Guatemala, which receives the most aid from the US, and has ongoing projects focused on enhancing economic growth, food security, and rural and social development. One example, the Community Roots Project, has successfully created educational, cultural, athletic and employment opportunities for young people in Guatemala (New York Times, 2019). In Honduras, aid is concentrated on security, the justice sector and violence prevention, although there are also programs supporting sustainable farming practices and business development. According to the USAID Honduras Country Fact Sheet, examples of program impacts include greater capacity to prosecute corruption, agricultural investments and poverty reduction resulting in a 97% increase for nearly 30,000 families, and significant declines in homicide rates (USAID, 2018). Aid to El Salvador is similarly concentrated in job creation and areas that strengthen the justice system. As a result of programs like Bridge for Employment, a technical training program for civic organizations and at-risk youth, and Government Integrity, which supports accountability and transparency in local government, USAID has reported a 61% decrease in ­homicides between 2015–17, for those municipalities that received funding (New York Times, 2019). In spite of these documented successes, there is consensus among policy experts regarding the challenges of aid in its current form. The total amounts are meagre in the larger scheme of things and much of it is distributed inefficiently by foreign contractors. Although assistance has not worked, ending it is likely to drive up migration (Time, 2019). The aid, flawed as it

Securitizing insecurity on Mexican borders   195 is, represents the only outside support to Central American governments. The act of cutting aid in the name of border security will likely result in broader trilateral insecurity.

Conclusion This chapter has analyzed the impacts of boundary fortification and militarization on Mexico’s two borders from the dual perspective of mobility and insecurity. The comparison of ongoing securitization practices on the US–Mexico border and the Mexico–Guatemala border brings to light several pertinent realities. The first is how border walls and fences as an instrument of securitization are built upon an epistemology of insecurity, that paradoxical position which promotes a narrow vision of securitization at the expense of human security. A casualty of this rationale is the migrant. Because militarized borders eschew the root causes of migration, current practices manufacture further precarity. Migrants are re-routed into ever more dangerous terrain but are rarely deterred from making the journey, now costlier and deadlier than before. Second, and related to the previous point, the chapter has highlighted the linkage between the border industrial complex and insecurity. The border ­industrial complex reflects an alarming concentration of power cloaked in the language of security. The proclamation of perpetual threat masks the market logics, migration management regimes and geopolitical histories, connections and interventions that characterize North and Central American border regions. The recent migrant caravans have provided a window onto processes that have often been understood as isolated from one another. The nature of the recent journeys along with the attempts to traverse multiple boundaries, shines a light on the consequences of hard-line securitization policies. While the intricacies of the policies associated with each border might differ slightly, the outcomes are often the same. Therefore, in documenting some of the details of recent events, it is possible to better understand the entangled nature of mobility, securitization and the production insecurity.

Notes 1 I understand precarity in two ways: The conventional sense as lacking predictability; and, in the way that Judith Butler has utilized the concept as “the politically induced condition in which certain populations suffer from failing social and economic networks (…) becoming differentially exposed to injury, violence, and death” (Butler, 2009; 25). 2 An informal alliance that weaves together public and private interests in managing border security, that taken together becomes a vested interest influencing public policy (Dear, 2013). 3 See Chapter 2 in this volume for more on US–Mexico border history. 4 According to Ana Davila: “Mexican drug cartels have identified a lucrative niche of opportunity in the geostrategic position of Mexico as ‘bridge country’ for migration flows towards the U.S., and are now actively exploiting it. These organizations have

196   Margath A. Walker vigorously seized the human smuggling activities in the southern and northern borders of Mexico, and have transformed them into diverse forms of trafficking and exploitation. Every year thousands of Central Americans fall prey to drug cartels while crossing the southern border of Mexico. The victims are frequently extorted, assaulted, and trafficked for forced labor and sexual exploitation within the country and in the United States” (Huffington Post, 2017, www.huffpost.com/entry/drug-cartels-where-humantrafficking-and-human-smuggling-meet-today_b_7588408. Accessed May 5, 2020). 5 There are other examples of political inconsistency including rejecting key aspects of the $3 billion plan called the Mérida Initiative (cf. The Washington Post, May 9, 2019). 6 It is worth noting that abuses of migrants by the Mexican authorities, the Mexican military and Border Patrol have been documented prior to Frontera Sur. See for example, Luibhéid, E. (2002). Entry denied: Controlling sexuality at the border. U of Minnesota Press; and Bissonnette, A. and É. Vallet. (2018). “Migration, Border ­Crossing and Women: Female Migrant Sexualities Between Objectification and Empowerment”. In S. Shekhawat, D. Aurobinda and E.C. Del Re, Women and Borders: Refugees, Migrants and Communities, pp. 151–173, London: I.B. Tauris.

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12 Promoting social change through Acompañamiento Internacional at the US–Mexico Border Irasema Coronado

Introduction In the 1980s, political and social conditions in El Salvador and Guatemala led social and political activists to challenge their repressive governments. Agents of the state detained and often made students, labor union members, journalists or anyone critical of the government disappear. To note, the US government’s foreign policy often supported these unjust and corrupt regimes that, in essence, were violating people’s human rights. In solidarity with political and human rights activists in these Central American countries, people from other countries began to raise international awareness to the plight of citizens who sought only a more democratic and just society. This led to the evolution of Acompañamiento Internacional, a political tool that social and human rights activists – usually from the global North, or first world – implemented by travelling to countries like El Salvador and Guatemala (among others) where they volunteered to accompany political activists who were being persecuted and targeted by their repressive governments (Mahony and Eguren, 2006: 27). Though it promoted transnational solidarity, this protective accompaniment of journalists, human rights workers, trade unionists and others was not without criticism. Volunteers were mostly visibly foreigners and white, and were considered to be less likely to be attacked because of the potential reaction of the international community if a foreigner was detained or disappeared (Boothe and Smithey, 2007: 47). The presence of foreigners provided not only moral support to political ­activists, but helped to protect people from human rights abuses, disappearances and even death in countries like Guatemala and El Salvador. The idea behind Acompañamiento Internacional was that international activists would remain in close proximity to political activists and intervene if the military or government officials showed up to arrest or detain them. Scholars noted that many of the volunteers that accompanied people saw this as an opportunity to make up for the economic and political injustices inflicted on the third world by the first world (Mahony and Eguren, 2006: 101). Leon Mahony and Luis Enrique Eguren dedicated their book, “to the thousands of local activists of the world that daily take great risks in their fight for justice and human rights”.

200   Irasema Coronado The purpose of this chapter is to present: (1) the plight of asylum seekers arriving to the US–Mexico border region; (2) the response of the US government to their presence on the border in particular; and (3) the changes in border management practices that led to rebordering. In turn, I highlight how border residents and organizations located in the region participated in Acompañamiento Internacional to stand in solidarity to assist people fleeing El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras, as well as other countries.

Asylum seekers and the process of bordering and rebordering in Ciudad Juárez–El Paso All borders share a common function to the extent that they include some and exclude many others (Newman, 2003: 15). In this particular case, the US ­government explicitly did not want to include asylum seekers from El Salvador, Honduras and Guatemala. Asylum seekers had congregated at the most common and utilized pedestrian Port of Entry from Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, Mexico to El Paso, Texas: The Paso del Norte Bridge. Pedestrians pay 50 cents (US) or $10.00 (Mexican Pesos) at a stall on the Mexican side and then access a ­pedestrian walkway towards the Port of Entry in El Paso. Halfway through the pedestrian walkway, an International Boundary and Water Commission (IBWC) marker indicates the exact location of the political border between Mexico and the US. At this particular junction, a US flag and a Mexican flag mark each country’s limits. Technically, once a person has walked past the IBWC marker, they are in US territory. With the arrival of asylum seekers into Ciudad Juárez–El Paso, US government officials posted immigration inspectors at the official border, in the middle of the bridge. The presence of these US officials in the middle of the bridge started the process of rebordering, as a new border management practice was implemented. The purpose for their positioning was to preclude people from entering US territory because once a person has stepped across the official boundary then they could apply for political asylum. US government inspectors would “screen” people and would stop Central American asylum seekers thereby prohibiting them from stepping onto US soil. Ruben Garcia, a leading human rights activist and director of Annunciation House in El Paso, Texas, scheduled a meeting in 2018. Garcia invited El Pasoans to help and support asylum seekers, mostly from Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador, that were arriving at the Port of Entry in El Paso. Garcia expressed outrage at the fact that Customs and Border Protection (CBP) Officers were standing in the middle of the international bridge, the exact place where the border is technically marked by an IBWC sign, and turning away asylum seekers, thereby denying their legal right to request asylum. At this precise location, CBP officers were asking people for their passports and visas, rather than at the official Port of Entry. Once an asylum seeker crosses the line demarcating the boundary, they are in the US and could legally petition for political asylum and undergo a credible fear interview. The goal of CBP was to prevent asylum seekers from crossing into the US in order to deny them their legal right to

Acompañamiento Internacional   201 request political asylum. CBP officers argued that there were too many asylum seekers, their holding facilities were consequently at capacity, and therefore the CBP could not accommodate more people. Garcia passionately asked volunteers to accompany asylum seekers as they sought to enter the US through the Port of Entry so that they could exercise their legal right to seek asylum. He repeated the words “accompany”, “accompaniment” and ­“acompañamiento” in English and in Spanish. Garcia believed that if US citizens accompanied Central American asylum seekers to walk the international bridge together and jointly approached CBP officers, it would be difficult for CBP officers to turn people away.

Acompañamiento Internacional: Roles of social change Individuals and organizations can work for social change in a variety of ways. Moyer et al. (2007) present four roles of social activism that individuals can play to bring about social change: Citizen/advocate, reformer/helper, social change agent/organizer and rebel (21–29). Other activists have relabeled and further defined Moyer’s original roles (Lakey, 2016) to include: (1) citizen/ advocate role involves providing immediate assistance to those in need and restoring people’s dignity; (2) reformer/helper in promoting social change is to “translate” the plight, of those affected, to the political and corporate power holders; (3) social change agent/organizer that creates structures and opportunities to mobilize large groups of people to participate; and (4) rebel that takes non-violent social action to raise awareness to the issue. These four roles can be extended to Acompañamiento Internacional as individuals manifest their concern for the well-being of others. In this chapter I examine how individuals and non-governmental organizations (NGO) manifested their care in a variety of ways as they served as social change agents through Acompañamiento Internacional and responded to the arrival of political asylum seekers from Central America to the US–Mexico border. As I define it, Acompañamiento Internacional is the commitment to assist the most vulnerable people through a variety of measures: Physical, emotional, financial, as well as socially, psychologically, politically and legally, and to demonstrate that one cares for others. It can be direct and indirect, and it can be done behind the scenes or publicly. Acompañamiento Internacional also has many dimensions: Physical, political or financial accompaniment, communication and advocacy. This latter aspect of Acompañamiento Internacional includes writing op-eds for media outlets, publishing academic articles, granting media interviews and spreading the word through social media. To promote transnational solidarity building, individuals can also raise awareness by disseminating information to friends and neighbors, in community centers, and at religious events. In this chapter, I highlight the various roles that three different organizations and some individuals have assumed in order to assist asylum seekers on the US–Mexico border, manifesting Acompañamiento Internacional in the process. Through the lenses of the four roles of social activism – citizen/advocate, reformer/helper, social change agent/organizer and rebel – I demonstrate how

Providing immediate assistance to those in need and restoring people’s dignity

Casas Del Migrante Annunciation House

Definition (according to Moyer et al., 2007; Lakey, 2016)

Exemples from the El Paso/ Ciudad Juárez region

Citizen/Advocate “Translating” the plight, of those affected, to the political and corporate power holders Annunciation House

Reformer/Helper

Casas del Migrante Annunciation House Border Network for Human Rights

Creating structures and opportunities to mobilize large groups of people to participate

Social change agent/ Organizer

Table 12.1 Social Change Agent – Citizen/Advocate Role in the El Paso/Ciudad Juárez region

Border Network for Human Rights

Taking non-violent social action to raise awareness to the issue

Rebel

202   Irasema Coronado

Acompañamiento Internacional   203 individuals and organizations participate in Acompañamiento Internacional, and play a variety of roles not only to bring social change but to promote transnational solidarity and to help people in need. I focus on the activism of religious organizations such as the network of Casas del Migrante in El Salvador, Guatemala and Mexico, Annunciation House, and an organization called the Border Network for Human Rights, located in El Paso, Texas (see Table 12.1). Personally, I lived in El Paso for 20 years, and my volunteer and research activities – namely participant observation – led to me learn and gather data in a variety of meetings, forums, protests, marches and visits to shelters in the US and in Mexico. I have also collaborated with members of NGOs by assisting with fundraising, finding volunteers and by offering transportation and hospitality for volunteers from outside the community who came to participate in Acompañamiento Internacional activities, humanit­arian and legal. In many ways, I, too, have participated in Acompañamiento Internacional.

The plight of asylum seekers: A brief history Many factors lead people to leave their country of origin and make the treacherous journey to seek political asylum in the US. Historical factors include the ­consequences of colonialism and imperialism, namely US foreign policy in El Salvador, Honduras and Guatemala, historically and currently, that have destabilized democratically elected governments and supported dictators and repressive ­governments. Another driver of migration is climate change chaos and environmental degradation. In the case of Central American refugees, people are fleeing because of poverty, violence and fear. In some of the conversations that I have had with Central American asylum seekers, they mention that the main reason that they have left their homes is el miedo [fear] – people fear the military, the police, the maras [gangs] and the drug dealers. Once asylum seekers begin their perilous journey, they can be victimized by corrupt government officials, gang members and drug traffickers along the way. The goal of asylum seekers is to reach the US, to be granted a credible fear interview, and to be released and reunited with family members, compadres, comadres and friends to await their asylum hearing court dates in immigration court. This would be an ideal outcome. However, in the spring of 2018, the US government started to arbitrarily separate families, housing them in separate inhumane detention facilities, some government-run and others that are owned by private corporations. The family separation policy led to a worldwide outcry and motivated many people to become involved politically in the border region and beyond. Protests were organized and people marched to one of the facilities in Clint, Texas. An overwhelming amount of solidarity and support emanated from people from all walks of life, in many ways manifesting that they were in solidarity with the asylum seekers – a manifestation of Acompañamiento Internacional. Although people with professional credentials such as nurses, psychologists and social workers volunteered to help, US government officials did not allow anyone to

204   Irasema Coronado enter the facilities, except people that had been vetted by them – mostly religious clergy of different denominations. Despite these restrictions for access, photographs, testimonies and eyewitness accounts of families being separated and children in cages in detention facilities inspired people to get involved and denounce these practices and participate in A ­compañamiento Internacional activities in a variety of forms, writing letters to Congress, raising awareness through social media, donating legal services and volunteering with organizations. The outcry against the family separation policy led Washington to backtrack. This change led to the implementation of the process of metering, or giving people a number so that they could wait in Mexico and come back for their credible fear interview. This process became known as the Department of Homeland Security Migrant Protection Protocols, popularly referred to as the “Remain in Mexico” policy. Under this policy, over 10,000 asylum seekers have had to stay in Mexico as their cases make their way through an understaffed Department of Justice immigration court system. Amidst this complicated humanitarian crisis, several individuals and NGOs have provided Acompañamiento Internacional and have assumed roles as agents of social change.

Social change agent-citizen/advocate role Casas del Migrante Network in México, El Salvador and Guatemala In 1985, “Los Misioneros de San Carlos Scalabrinianos” opened the first Casa del Migrante in Tijuana, Baja California, followed by others in Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, Tecún Umán, Guatemala, Tapachula, Chiapas, then in Guatemala City and finally Agua Prieta, Sonora. They provided services to migrants, refugees, and deportees (Casa del Migrante, n.d.). Their mission is to provide shelter, food, support, spiritual guidance and first aid, and to defend and promote human rights. In 1999, these same Misioneros de San Carlos Scalabrinianos ­formally organized La Red de Casas del Migrante Scalabrini, that included a network of other NGOs and churches. To this day, this network of Casas del Migrante provides an invaluable service to migrants, deportees, refugees and asylum seekers in El Salvador, Guatemala and Mexico. The Casas del Migrante network also promotes and defends human rights, though their primary focus is on the immediate care of people. This direct assistance couched in the teachings of the Catholic Church meets the immediate needs of migrants. The Casas del Migrante would fall into the citizen/advocate role of social change according to the Moyer categories of social change because this network involves providing immediate assistance to those in need and helps to restore people’s dignity. Casas del Migrante participate in Acompañamiento Internacional because they render assistance to anyone in need regardless of nationality and religious beliefs. The Comisión Nacional de Derechos Humanos and the Universidad

Acompañamiento Internacional   205 Nacional Autónoma de México conducted a research study of shelters in ­Guatemala, El Salvador and México. Researchers from the Comisión Nacional de los Derechos Humanos (Mexico) interviewed migrants and those who work in shelters in order to capture the dreams and hopes of migrants as well as the challenges and problems that they encounter on their way. In 2018, they ­published their findings in a report titled “Los Desafios de la Migración y los Albergues como Oasis Migracional” [The Challenges of Migration and Shelters as Migrational Oasis]. The researchers noted that shelters like Casas del Migrante assist and provide shelter so that migrants can continue on their way (CNDH, 2018). The report included anecdotes of hungry and thirsty migrants, forced to drink water in swamps, being bitten by snakes and other animals, and at high risk of being assaulted, robbed and raped. The report highlights Casas del Migrante and other shelters, especially those that received families. These shelters are essential in order to maintain one’s strength and unity among people who are migrating. One cannot overstate the vital importance of just finding a place where one can sleep, feel safe, interact with other people similarly situated and where one is able to meet their basic needs. In these shelters, people can play, sing, pray, listen to music, participate in making arts and crafts and playing ball games; these spaces provide a reprieve from the anxiety and concerns of the migratory process. For many migrants, these shelters represent a place to rest on their long journey, and additionally, they can find “el Acompañamiento” with other migrants and those who help and provide support to them. This report is chock full of examples of Acompañamiento Internacional and people caring for others. Casas del Migrante rely on food donations from others to provide meals to the migrants. Staff at Casas del Migrante render aid to migrants that have lost a limb because they fell off the train, and they take care of migrants that are ill, dehydrated, suffering from animal bites or from diarrhea because they drank contaminated water.

Social change agent-citizen/advocate and reformer/helper Annunciation House (AH) “Accompanying the migrant, homeless and economically vulnerable peoples of the border” has been the mission of Annunciation House since its inception in 1978. Over time, Annunciation House has provided comfort and safety for migrants, homeless and poor people from many countries. This organization provides care to individuals, and at the same time helps to raise awareness of their plight in the hopes that policy makers will act, and others will render assistance so that this organization can continue to do its work. Ruben Garcia has been a part of Annunciation House for over 41 years. His commitment to Acompañamiento Internacional is palpable, is part of his modus operandi and is infused in the work of Annunciation House. In the summer of

206   Irasema Coronado 2018, Garcia accompanied a group of asylum seekers, and when confronted by CBP agents in the middle of the bridge, Garcia stated to the officers: “They want to exercise their right to present themselves for asylum and we’re going to accompany them” (Lach, 2018). During the meeting that many of us attended in 2018, Garcia was making a plea to human rights activists in El Paso similar to that made by human rights organizations back in the 1980s to volunteers in the global North. He was asking people to participate in Acompañamiento Internacional and stand in solidarity with families from Honduras, Guatemala and El Salvador that were arriving daily into Ciudad Juárez and attempting to seek asylum in the US through the El Paso Port of Entry. In his plea, Garcia asked volunteers to accompany asylum seekers as they walked on the international bridge to the Port of Entry. Those participating in Acompañamiento Internacional would accompany asylum seekers and help them make their case to CBP officers standing guard in the middle of the international bridge. Garcia provided a script for volunteers to recite to the CBP officers: “I am accompanying this person who is seeking asylum because he/she is afraid of persecution in their country”. Garcia noted several ways that people could participate in Acompañamiento Internacional. One way was to help people arrive to the Port of Entry, but other ways included providing food and water to asylum seekers in Ciudad Juárez, who were waiting in close proximity to the international bridge for an opportunity to be allowed to enter the US. News reports showed families with children who were tired, thirsty and hungry, anxiously waiting to petition for asylum. Garcia stated that providing food and water would greatly help people feel that someone cared. He also encouraged people to provide financial and material support to the Casa del Migrante shelter in Ciudad Juárez, which was housing people from Central America and other countries. Casa del Migrante needed food, clothing, toiletries, cleaning supplies, shoes, diapers, linens and money in order to be able to meet the needs of the new arrivals. Another way that one could help and be a part of this Acompañamiento Internacional was to provide financial and in-kind support to Annunciation House shelter in El Paso. Annunciation House (AH) was housing several families that had been vetted by Customs and Border Protection (CBP) and released to be reunited with their families in the US. The adults residing at AH usually had electronic ankle ­monitors and had been given a date to appear before an immigration judge in the community where they had family. There were so many ways that Garcia described that individuals could participate in Acompañamiento Internacional and demonstrate that one cares for other people ranging from providing bottled water, to making sandwiches, donating money, cooking meals, transporting people, donating toys, talking and welcoming asylum seekers. Basically, giving hugs would be enough to demonstrate to people that someone cared. Many residents of El Paso took part in the aforementioned activities and much more, thereby, helping Central American refugees, and in the process, participating in Acompañamiento Internacional in the US.

Acompañamiento Internacional   207 AH promoted Acompañamiento Internacional in citizen, reformer, and social change agent roles. The organization fulfills two of Moyer’s categories: Citizen and reformer. AH is by far the most well-known and arguably most committed organization that assists migrants and asylum seekers in transition in the El Paso area. In the citizen role, AH seeks to provide a safe place, and to restore people’s dignity. Many of the residents of AH have been in US government or contracted facilities and have been exposed to cold temperatures, sleeping on floors, eating bad food and been given ill-treatment. AH mostly serves migrants that have gone through the credible fear interview and have been released to travel to stay with a family member or friend in the US. AH assists migrants with shelter, food and other necessities. Their extensive network of volunteers provides immediate attention and care to individuals the minute they arrive. Volunteers at AH then help migrants contact their family members so that they can make the necessary arrangements to provide transportation to where they are located. Family and friends in the US provide a bus or airline ticket so that newly arrived migrants can be reunited with them. AH volunteers then provide transportation and accompany newly arrived asylum seekers to the bus station or to the airport. Volunteers explain the itinerary to the asylum seeker and indicate where they will need to transfer buses and what to expect along the way. Volunteers provide food packages, which were made by organizations such as the Border Rainbow Coalition, to traveling families. Annunciation House has an extensive networks of volunteers and organizations that provide assistance by providing food, clothing and medical assistance. Because of the publicity and notoriety that AH has received, they are in a position to act as a reformer and advocate for policy change at all levels of government. AH staff are able to “translate” the plight of the asylum seekers so that the public can understand and policy makers can be made aware of the complexities of the situations that they are facing. As such, AH can count on lawyers such as Taylor Levy, who started working at AH as a volunteer, eventually went to law school and is now an attorney working on asylum cases at AH. AH also promotes change by denouncing abuse and discrimination when necessary, though they are able to work respectfully with US government officials. Although their staff do participate in marches and protests to raise awareness, they never overtly advocate for militant or violent measures. During one of my many visits to AH, a volunteer shared the following story: The doorbell rang and I went to open it, I met a young woman who introduced herself and said that she lived in Annunciation House when she was 10 years old, and her family was fleeing the violence in Central America during the 1980s. She asked the volunteer if she could enter and visit the place that she found had been a source of comfort and support and that she credited with saving their lives. “Here they cared for my family and me.” She reported that she was now a U.S. citizen and was grateful to the hospitality that Annunciation House had provided her.

208   Irasema Coronado This anecdote highlights the important role that AH can play in the lives of people through Acompañamiento Internacional.

Border Network for Human Rights (BNHR): Social change agent and a rebel The Border Network for Human Rights is both a social change agent and rebel as they organize protests, marches, rallies and other events that raise awareness of the plight of asylum seekers and immigrants. BNHR participates in ­Acompañamiento Internacional because their mission is to advocate for the immigrant, from the undocumented and the newly arrived, to the long-term immigrant that has become a US citizen and has been racially profiled by the Border Patrol and pulled over or detained. Acompañamiento Internacional is part and parcel of the mission of the Border Network for Human Rights. BNHR was founded in 1998, and is one of the leading human rights advocacy and immigration reform organizations located at the US–Mexico border (BNHR, n.d.). Over time, they have spearheaded Hugs not Walls events, where families in Mexico and the US can meet for three minutes in the middle of the Rio Grande/ Bravo (water does not flow year-round). These events were organized in collaboration with DHS, CBP and other federal agencies with strict guidelines and high-level security. Staudt (2017) describes the events as “three minutes-long reunions of small groups of family members totaling hundreds from each side of the border” (245). She witnessed “the screams of joy, the crying, and the grandmas and grandpas, married couples, grandchildren and other relatives hugging one another after long separations due to a US policy that keeps ­families apart and prohibits human contact …” (245). For many families that participated in the Hugs not Walls events, this moment was the first time that grandparents could meet grandchildren, parents could see their children and a time that other family members could be united, albeit for three brief minutes. Agents of the US government canceled the last Hugs and Not Walls event in the spring of 2019, but later re-authorized it for the end of October 2019. In June of 2019, the BNHR released a report titled “The State of Human Rights at the U.S.–Mexico Border”. This publication detailed and denounced abuses and misconduct of CBP and Office of Field Operations (OFO) officers. This report is chock full of abuses that migrants have endured in detention ­facilities, at the Port of Entry, upon reentry into the US, and in their residential neighborhoods, such as federal agents driving recklessly and scaring the ­children playing outside their own homes. People reported verbal abuse while waiting in lines at the Port of Entry, specifically officers vocally blaming the influx of Central Americans for the long lines. The report concludes with reports of members of a militia, also described as a civilian armed group, that had arrived into Sunland Park, New Mexico and on their own volition were detaining migrants and instilling fear among the residents of the community by firing their weapons.

Acompañamiento Internacional   209 The BNHR helped to draft HR 2203, the Homeland Security Improvement, which Heyman explained: Born of the lived experiences of U.S.–Mexico border communities, HR 2203 works to limit family separation, protect asylum, and increase the transparency, accountability and oversight of our border enforcement agencies. “This is the first bill of its type – both coming directly from border residents and to address border enforcement without further militarizing communities.” This bill is a long-needed fix to ensure that CBP, ICE, and USCIS do not continue to violate the rights of any families. (Heyman, n.d.) On June 27, 2019, the BNHR organized a caravan that would travel from their offices in El Paso to the Clint Border Patrol Station. This non-violent caravan would denounce the Trump administration policies of detaining children and would call on the US government and local CBP leadership to stop holding children in the Clint facility. This detention center was identified as one of the most egregious in terms of providing care to children who were found to be unbathed, underfed and uncared for. The BNHR wanted to ensure that all persons in immigration custody have access to adequate food, water, bathing, sleeping facilities and medical care. The email concluded that BNHR wanted to express “our community’s deep dissatisfaction with what this Administration has done to degrade the dignity and lives of children and other asylum seekers”. BNHR does not provide direct assistance to people. Rather, they communicate and articulate problems to the community and to government officials. They support legislation and actions and have the capacity to organize and rally the community when they need legislative or moral support. In all of their actions, they participate in Acompañamiento Internacional because they advocate for immigrants and asylum seekers.

Individual actors participating in Acompañamiento Internacional At the end of the day, individuals form part of the aforementioned organizations that participate in Acompañamiento Internacional. Individuals can promote social change in all four of Moyer’s categories: Citizen, reformer, social change agent and rebel. Over time, I have met numerous volunteers that have supported asylum seekers in El Paso, Texas. Below are a few examples of some of the individuals that I have met that participated in Acompañamiento Internacional and promoted social change in the process. Mary from New Mexico Mary shared that she had spent time in Guatemala and felt a special connection to the country and to the people, and wanted to be of assistance in a meaningful

210   Irasema Coronado way, “I had to do something to help people and I decided to drive to El Paso and offer my services”. Her professional background in healthcare and her ability to speak Spanish proved to be an asset at AH. Mary always found a way to show appreciation and to thank others that supported the asylum seekers. In our conversations, she acknowledged the people that donated money and resources to AH and the volunteers that made sandwiches and prepared snacks so that people could take food on the plane or the bus as they started their journey: “At Annunciation House, I sorted clothes, talked, and comforted people and cleaned bathrooms”. On her last day as a volunteer, she indicated to me that she wanted to do more for the AH volunteers because she felt that they were exhausted physically and emotionally due to the sheer volume of people coming through. CBP would drop people off at all hours of the day and night. Those kids are not getting any rest or sleep, once a bus load of people arrive, they scramble to do the intake, provide food and drinks, take care of immediate needs such as diapers, showing people to the bathrooms, and then try to find a place for everyone to sleep. Her sense of showing appreciation for other volunteers, for those taking care of others, was heartwarming to me. Irma from El Paso Irma mostly drove and accompanied families to the bus station. She relayed two very touching stories during her Acompañamiento Internacional experience. As she was taking a woman and her daughter to the bus station, she learned that the young woman was on her menstrual cycle and did not have pads. She went to the store to purchase what she needed prior to taking them to the bus station. The family was very appreciative, especially when Irma paid for the purchase. Irma also shared that she lent her cell phone to a man who wanted to call his wife in Guatemala. Irma became teary eyed when she talked about “the joy that he expressed when he heard his wife’s voice on the phone. He was so grateful to me for having lent him my phone”. Irma recalled that the gratitude expressed by the asylum seekers for these two small gestures – making the drugstore purchase and lending the phone – led her to really appreciate what she has in life and not to complain about small inconveniences that she encounters on a daily basis. Numerous examples of Acompañamiento Internacional surfaced in El Paso. A local family opened their doors to asylum seekers with a child that had a ­contagious disease. The host stated that it was a great opportunity for her children to learn about human rights, compassion and international solidarity. Others donated diapers, food, toiletries and money and gift cards. Others attended rallies and protests, and contacted members of Congress to advocate for policy changes in the treatment of asylum seekers. Some volunteers provided legal assistance and medical care. Many of these groups and individuals rendered immediate assistance and helped to promote changes in public policies;

Acompañamiento Internacional   211 their contributions at different levels help promote social change. People organizing rallies and protests also participate in Acompañamiento Internacional because they bring awareness to this issue from the local to the international level and promote public policy changes. Acompañamiento Internacional can take many forms, from hugging and offering moral support to asylum seekers, cooking meals and serving them at shelters, providing medical care, giving legal advice and more. Additionally, it can be done at a distance by providing anonymous donations to an NGO, or advocating and pleading for changes in government policies.

Conclusion Acompañamiento Internacional from Central America to the US has come full circle. What started as a north-to-south support system is now a mechanism whereby people in the north are helping people from the south that are in the north. Individuals are participating in Acompañamiento Internacional as are organizations such as Casas del Migrantes, Annunciation House and BNHR. They are promoting social change as citizens/advocates, reformers/helpers, social change agents/organizers and rebels. While the plight of asylum seekers, refugees, and immigrants in the US is tenuous at best, those participating in Acompañamiento Internacional are affecting change at the individual and hopefully the systemic level for a just and humane world.

Bibliography Acoguate. Mandato. Online. https://acoguate.org/quienes-somos/mandato/#. Accessed May 5, 2020. Boothe, I. and L.A. Smithey. “Privilege, Empowerment, and Nonviolent Intervention”. Peace and Change, vol. 32, no. 1, pp. 39–61. Border Networks for Human Rights. (n.d.). History. http://bnhr.org/about/history/. Accessed May 5, 2020. Border Networks for Human Rights. (2019). The State of Human Rights at the U.S.–Mexico Border. http://bnhr.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/BNHR-Abuse-DocumentationCampaing-Report-2019-.pdf. Accessed May 5, 2020. Casa Del Migrante. (n.d.). “Quiénes somos”. La Red de Casa Del Migrante Scalabrini. Comisión Nacional de los Derechos Humanos. (2018). Los Desafios de la Migracion y los Albergues como Oasis Migracional. Encuesta Nacional de Personas Migrantes en Tránsito Por Mexico. Mexico, 218pp. www.cndh.org.mx/sites/default/files/doc/ Informes/Especiales/Informe-Especial-Desafios-migracion.pdf. Accessed May 5, 2020. Forward, I. (2019). “Migrants at the Border Have Lost Their Dignity”. Slate. www.slate. com/human-interest/2019/07/volunteering-border-helping-restore-migrants-humanity. html?fbclid=IwAR284lsxPuNtPnx01-O8X03129KLKsGYibeg9Zp-knhlCUkICcEp5KvMg. Accessed May 5, 2020. Heyman, R. (n.d.). “Action Alert–BNHR Caravan to Protest Child Detention at Clint BP Station”. Received by Irasema Coronado, July 26, 2019. Lach, E. (2018). “‘We Are at Capacity’: An Asylum Standoff on the Bridge Between Ciudad Juárez and El Paso”. The New Yorker. www.newyorker.com/news/dispatch/

212   Irasema Coronado we-are-at-capacity-an-asylum-standoff-on-the-bridge-between-ciudad-juarez-and-elpaso. Accessed May 5, 2020. Lakey, G. (2019). “What Role Were You Born to Play in Social Change?” Waging NonViolence. http://wagingnonviolence.org/2016/02/bill-moyer-four-roles-of-social-change/. Accessed May 5, 2020. Mahony, L. and L.E. Eguren. (2006). En Buena Compania: El Acompanamiento Internacional Para la Protección de los Derechos Humanos. Cantabria: Universidad de Cantabria. Mahony, L. and L.E. Eguren. (1996). International Accompaniment for the Protection of Human Rights: Scenarios, Objectives, and Strategies. Institute for Conflict Analysis and Resolution, George Mason University. Moyer, B., J. McAllister, M.L. Finley and S. Soifer. (2007). Doing Democracy: the MAP Model for Organizing Social Movements. Gabriola Island, British Columbia: New Society Publishers. Newman, D. (2003). “On Borders and Power: A Theoretical Framework”. Journal of Borderlands Studies, vol. 18, no. 1, pp. 13–25. Staudt, K. (2017). Border Politics in a Global Era. Lanham, Maryland: Roman and ­Littlefield. United States Congress. Homeland Security Improvement Act. 116th Congress, 1st session, House Report 2203. www.congress.gov/bill/116th-congress/house-bill/2203/ text/ih. Accessed May 5, 2020.

Index

Page numbers in bold denote tables, those in italics denote figures. 9/11 2, 3, 7, 11, 33, 35, 38–39, 45n23, 139–141, 187–188 abortion see reproductive health care Acompañamiento Internacional 5, 199–201, 203–211; definition of 199, 201 Algeria–Morocco border 5, 106–115; Border Demarcation Agreement 107, 112; establishment of 106; evolution of 106–107, 111–114 Annunciation House 200, 202, 203, 205–207, 210–211 anti-immigration rhetoric 4, 27, 29, 50, 69–70, 72–73, 78, 83 apprehensions 38–39, 39, 45n28, 187–188, 191 Argentina–Paraguay border wall: anti-wall petition 59, 62; consequences of 56, 58–59, 61–63; evolution of 49, 55–58, 60, 62; justification of 52, 55–57, 59, 63, 64n6; opposition/resistance to 49, 52, 57–63, 64n7 Arizona (United States) 34, 151–152, 154–155, 156, 157–158 asylum 3, 42, 45n29, 77, 80, 82–83, 118, 124, 127–128, 191–192, 200–201, 203, 206–207, 209; asylum seekers 42, 43n3, 45n29, 69, 77, 82–83, 118–121, 125, 128–129, 191–192, 200–201, 203–204, 206–211 barriers see border wall Berlin Wall 1, 3, 7, 11, 32, 49, 59–60, 88 Big Data 142–143, 146 biometrics 8, 142–144, 146, 148n4, 148n5, 185

biopolitics, biopolitical 5, 71, 117–119, 125, 144 body 5, 154; control of 4–5, 144, 151, 154–155, 161–162 Border Area Development Programme (India) 166–167, 176–180, 180n7 Border Patrol (US) 12, 16n5, 30–35, 37–38, 37, 44n9, 44n13, 44n16, 44n17, 44n18, 44n20, 108, 140–141, 188, 196n6, 208–209 border politics 28, 50, 61, 117–121, 127, 129 borders: apparatus 141; colonial 5, 16n1, 89–90, 101, 106–107, 111–113, 186; delineation of 1, 88–96, 101–102, 102n1, 102n2, 112, 121; individualized 2, 81; mapping of 90–91, 95, 102; meanings of 50, 70, 89, 120; social constructions of 49, 69–70; technological 4–5, 77, 138, 140, 170, 179 Border Industrial Complex 28, 186–187, 189, 195 Border Network of Human Rights 202, 203, 208 border security 15, 27–30, 33, 36, 38–40, 42, 45n22, 72, 110, 120, 127–128, 130n3, 139–140, 142, 166, 168, 170, 173, 175, 190–191, 193, 195, 195n2 border studies 1–4, 49, 88, 186 border wall 3–5, 6n2, 8, 9, 10, 12–13, 16, 43n1, 49, 58, 63, 78, 83, 98, 100, 108, 138–141, 151, 166–168, 169, 173, 175, 180n7; definition of 2–3, 8–9; effectiveness 12–14, 76, 110, 168; evolution 1–2, 5, 7, 9–11, 15, 16n1, 27–28, 32–33, 55–58, 64, 88, 99, 108, 117, 170–171, 178–180, 180n5, 185,

214   Index border wall continued 187–189; functions of 3, 11, 13, 49, 78, 170, 179; justification 2–4, 11, 11, 14, 57, 64n6, 99, 109, 188; spectacle of 4, 7, 11–13, 14–15, 27, 41, 50, 52, 58–63, 64n7, 69–70, 109, 118, 126–128, 137, 174, 187, 195 borderland(s) 4, 14, 50, 52, 59, 109, 138, 151–153, 155, 158, 161, 167, 175–176, 178–180 bordering 1, 3–5, 69–72, 82–83, 88, 119, 121, 141, 144–145, 148, 187, 190; regimes 117–121, 123, 125–126, 128–129; debordering/rebordering 1, 4, 117, 119–123, 129, 187, 200; social 118 border zone 1, 5, 33, 97–99, 156, 158, 189, 190 boundary 3, 11, 13, 27, 49, 52, 60–61, 64, 71, 90–95, 97–98, 100–102, 102n1, 102n2, 146, 167–168, 171, 177–179, 180n5, 185–186, 189, 195, 200 Bracero Program 30–31, 44n14, 44n15

El Salvador 3, 27, 185, 189, 193–194, 199–200, 203–206 enforcement operations (US–Mexico border): Operation Gatekeeper 34, 187, 190; Operation Hold the Line 33–34, 187; Operation Jump Start 37; Operation Rio Grande 34; Operation Safeguard 34; Operation Wetback 31 environment 8, 14–15, 28, 54, 59, 170, 175, 179, 188, 203 ethnopolitics, ethnopolitical 118, 120–123, 128–129 European Refugee Crisis (2015) 14, 71–72, 76, 80, 83, 118, 125–126, 128 European Union 4, 51–52, 69–73, 76–77, 78–83, 84n5, 88, 100–101, 117–120, 122, 124, 127–128, 130n5 European Union border management apparatus 76–78, 83, 119, 127, 130n3

Casas del Migrante 202, 203–205, 211 Central America(n) 3, 27, 29–31, 37, 41–42, 185, 188–195, 196n4, 199–201, 203, 206–208, 211 centrifugal/centripetal effects 14, 16n8 Ceuta and Melilla 108, 113 citizen/non-citizen 15, 30–31, 33–34, 39–40, 43n4, 45n26, 51, 57–60, 62–64, 71, 76, 78–82, 101, 118–119, 123–124, 126, 138–139, 141–142, 145–148, 151, 153–155, 158, 161–162, 179, 188, 194, 199, 201, 202, 204–205, 207–209, 211 citizenship see citizen/non-citizen continental integration 33, 50–51, 54–56, 60, 62, 107, 115, 117, 119–120, 122

gatekeeping 69; definition of 70–72 gender 2, 82, 152 geopolitics 127, 152–153 globalization 2–4, 7, 13, 15, 27, 29, 33, 49–52, 57–58, 63–64, 88 Guatemala 3, 27, 185–186, 189–190, 192–195, 199–200, 203–206, 209–210

Department of Homeland Security (US) 35–36, 36, 37–38, 45n22, 45n23, 45n24, 45n28, 139, 142, 148n3, 157, 188–189, 204, 208 deportation 31, 39, 44n15, 51, 158, 161, 189, 190–191, 193, 204 discretionary power 44n16, 144, 147 discrimination 31, 44n14, 44n16, 51, 60, 71, 80–82, 124, 141–142, 148, 152, 155, 207 drug trafficking see smuggling El Paso, TX 30, 35, 44n9, 44n10, 158–159, 187, 200, 202, 203, 206–207, 209–210

family separation policy see Zero Tolerance Policy fence see border wall

healthcare 54–55, 155, 210; access to 51, 80, 151–152, 158, 161–162 Honduras 3, 27, 185, 189, 193–194, 200, 203, 206 Hungarian borders 88, 117–121, 124–129; evolution of 120–123 identity 1–2, 4, 15, 42, 70–71, 73, 76, 83, 88–90, 101, 117–124, 128–129, 142, 146–147, 152, 155, 160; construction of 4, 15, 43, 70, 72, 74–75, 84, 98, 101, 143, 145, 187; politics 2, 4–5, 74, 76, 117, 119; narratives 4–5, 15, 28, 73–76, 80, 83–84, 117–123, 146, 151 illicit trade see smuggling immigrants see migrants immigration see migration Immigration Reform (United States) 39 Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1984 (IRCA) 32–33 immutable mobile 89, 91

Index   215 India–Pakistan border 166–168, 169, 170–180; agriculture 171, 172, 173–175, 178–180, 180n7; evolution of 9, 168, 170, 176–179, 180n5; discursive threat 166–168, 170–171, 174, 176–179; impacts of 166–168, 170–171, 173–175, 178–180 individuation 144–145 internalization (of borders) 8, 62, 146 intersectionality 152–153, 155, 162 judicial backlog 41, 41, 45n27 Latina women 5, 152, 155, 157, 159–161 maps 28, 89–98, 100, 102, 102n1, 107, 137, 157 medical migration 55 MERCOSUR 50, 52, 54, 56–57, 59–60, 64n1, 64n2 Merida Initiative 190 Mexico–Guatemala border 187, 190–191, 195; evolution of 192–193; fortification of 185–186, 189–193, 195; Programa Frontera Sur/Southern Border Program 186, 190–191, 193–194, 196n6; Security Plan for Mexico 192 Middle East 11, 88–90, 102n5 migrants 3, 13–14, 28–31, 33–35, 38–40, 44n12, 44n14, 45n26, 49, 51, 61–63, 64n8, 69, 71–76, 80–84, 97, 108, 110, 118, 121, 125–126, 128–129, 138, 140, 147, 151–152, 155, 157–159, 161, 185–188, 190–195, 196n6, 204–205, 207–209, 211; death 38, 79, 82, 84n3 migrant caravans 14, 185, 192, 195, 209 migration 2–5, 12, 15, 27–34, 36, 36, 37, 39–41, 41, 42, 43n7, 44n10, 44n11, 44n16, 44n19, 45n27, 49, 51–52, 54–55, 57–61, 63, 64n7, 69–73, 76–77, 78, 81–84, 88, 108, 110–111, 118, 120, 124, 126–127, 129, 139, 142, 151–152, 155, 157–158, 161–162, 166, 185, 188–195, 203–204, 206, 208–209; reasons of 41, 50, 55, 186, 188–189, 194–195, 195n4, 203 militarization 14, 32, 50–51, 109, 126, 139–140, 185–186, 189–193, 195, 209 mobility 1, 4–5, 7–8, 13–15, 51, 64, 71, 73, 83, 88, 100, 117, 125, 127–129, 147, 151, 155, 158, 161–162, 167–168, 170, 179, 185, 188, 192, 195 moral panic 4, 27–29, 38, 40–43, 43n5; definition of 28

NAFTA 33, 100 national identity 1, 4–5, 42, 71, 101, 117, 119, 124, 151 national security 12, 33, 35, 42–43, 74, 139–140, 186, 188–189 national sovereignty 119, 127–128 nationalism 28, 40, 42, 73–74, 76, 80–81, 83, 88, 119, 121, 129, 179, 192 nativism 40, 42, 61–62 Obama, Barack (US president) 37, 39–41, 45n24, 45n29, 62, 187, 189, 194 ontological (in)security 4, 69–70, 75 Orbán, Viktor (Hungary) 120, 124–125, 127–129 othering 3, 74–75, 81, 121 Palestine–Israel border 5, 8, 11–12, 59; demarcation of 89–96, 101–102, 102n3, 102n5; economic flux 92, 97–102; Green Line 95–101; wall 12–13, 16n4, 59, 99–100, 108 pixelation 1, 139, 142, 144, 147–148 politics of difference 71, 81 politics of shame see wall of shame Posadas, Argentina 49–50, 52, 54–63, 64n7 Port of Entry 3, 8, 29–30, 45n29, 141–142, 190, 200–201, 206, 208 post-colonial borders 106–107, 113 prevention through deterrence 34, 38, 188 Punjab see India–Pakistan border refugee 43n3, 69, 72–73, 75–77, 80, 82–83, 117–120, 125–129, 130n5, 189, 203–204, 206, 211 regional subsystem 113, 115; competition in 106, 114 reproductive health care 5, 151–155, 157, 161–162; abortion 151–155, 156, 157–161, 162n1, 162n3; evolution of access 151–155, 159, 162; restriction to access 151–155, 157–162, 162n2; selfabortion 159–160 roles of social activism 201, 202; citizen/ advocate 28, 32, 39, 41, 58–59, 62, 64, 117, 123, 126, 151, 161, 193, 199–201, 202, 203–207, 209–211; rebel 201, 202, 208–209, 211; reformer/helper 201, 202, 205–208, 211; social change agent/organizer 201, 202, 208–209, 211 security and development (relationship between) 50, 52, 167, 179

216   Index securitization 3, 5, 50, 62–63, 77, 119, 121, 125, 167, 170–171, 174, 176, 179–180, 186–187, 190, 192, 195; definition of 167, 174; of immigration 70, 78, 117–118, 126–129, 193; of insecurity 185–186 separation barrier see Palestine–Israel border smuggling 12–13, 32, 38, 42, 44n10, 78, 108–110, 168, 170–171, 173, 175–176, 179, 193–194; of drugs 13, 27–29, 32–33, 40, 42, 44n19, 55, 57, 61, 108, 110, 140, 166, 168, 170, 173, 175–176, 178–179, 195n4, 203; of fuel 109–110; of people 13, 55, 125, 179, 189, 196n4 space of exception 5, 7, 14 surveillance 8, 34, 51, 55, 61, 72, 74, 82, 138–140, 146, 170 Texas (United States) 30, 34, 37, 44n14, 151–155, 156, 157–158, 160, 187, 200, 203, 209 transnational flow 49, 57, 61 transsovereign, transsovereignty 123 Trump, Donald (US president) 15, 27–28, 38, 40–42, 43n2, 51, 59, 61–63, 189, 191–192, 194, 209 unaccompanied minors 37, 42, 191 United Nations 80, 90, 92, 95–97, 99–100

United States immigration laws 30, 36, 39–40; Immigration Act of 1924 30; Immigration Act of 1965 31, 189; Immigration Act of 1990 32, 36; Secure Fence Act of 2006 140, 188 USBP see Border Patrol (US) US–Mexico border 4–5, 14, 16n8, 27, 29–35, 37–38, 41–43, 43n7, 59, 64, 139–140, 151, 154, 157–158, 162, 185–186, 188–190, 195, 199, 201, 208; establishment of 29, 195n3; evolution of 29–42; militarization 32; wall 12, 27–28, 32–33, 38, 41, 43n1, 59–60, 62, 108, 151, 187–189, 191 Us vs Them see identity, narratives wall of shame 49, 58–61, 63 West Bank barrier see Palestine–Israel border Western Sahara 106–108, 111–114 Westphalia 7, 70, 73, 100, 139–141, 147 xenophobia 15, 50, 62, 70, 81–83, 126, 129, 192 Yacyretá Binational Agency 54–63, 64n4, 64n6 Zero Tolerance Policy 42, 82–83, 189, 203–204, 208–209.