Mediating the Refugee Crisis: Digital Solidarity, Humanitarian Technologies and Border Regimes [1st ed.] 9783030535629, 9783030535636

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Mediating the Refugee Crisis Digital Solidarity, Humanitarian Technologies and Border Regimes Sara Marino

Mediating the Refugee Crisis “Mediating the ‘refugee crisis’ is a well-researched book that reveals how the border is constituted as a performative and intensely mediated space that regulates transnational mobility but also Europe as a hierarchical political, ethical and communicative project. Marino’s sophisticated account shows how communication technologies become core to migration governance in Europe, but also how vital they are for migrants to contest and resist its repressive power” —Myria Georgiou, Professor of Media and Communications, Department of Media and Communications, London School of Economics and Political Science “Dr. Marino’s pioneering book breaks a new ground in understanding more collective processes and the power dynamics involved in the appropriation of digital technologies in the context of the ongoing refugee crisis in Europe. It provides important theoretical and empirical insights for interdisciplinary research in refugee studies, social sciences and technology, as well as for policymakers, practitioners, NGOs, refugee advocates, and refugee groups themselves. This book is an entry point to deeper reflections on technological mediations shaping contemporary governance of migration, as well as refugees’ experiences and solidarity networks. A major accomplishment!” —Amanda Alencar, Assistant Professor in Media and Migration, Department of Media & Communication, Erasmus University Rotterdam “In this timely book, Sara Marino offers new crucial insights on the politics of technological mediation in the context of Fortress Europe. The argument draws on original and rich empirical material alongside a wide array of critical theories from across relevant fields. Readers are presented with a lucid, and at times confronting account of how mobile subjects variously face a ‘nervous system of techno-power’ co-shaped by border regimes, humanitarian agencies, the militaryindustrial complex, as well as migrant activist and solidarity groups. Astutely, Marino offers a corrective to academic discourse by amplifying refugee voices and experiences, alongside tech for good activist perspectives. This is an urgent move because the point of view of institutions remains dominant. The social justice oriented, critical vocabulary proposed by Marino is highly generative. The framework renders intelligible the assemblage of actors and the myriad of invisibilized mechanisms of border-making and contestation. The evocative concepts of ‘technologies-of-exile’, ‘technologies-in-exile’, ‘mindful filtering’, among others, will become important reference points for students and researchers interested in the interdisciplinary research area of digital migration studies. Opening up new

research directions, this monograph is highly recommended to media and migration researchers, cultural geographers and anthropologists, sociologists, and political scientists committed to understanding the intricacies of the techno-mediation of bordering, surveillance, humanitarianism and contestation” —Koen Leurs, Assistant Professor in Gender and Postcolonial Studies, Department of Media and Culture Studies, Utrecht University “Sara Marino’s book is a must-read in the post-pandemic era, which has abruptly and radically changed border regimes, asylum and migration management. The book offers a fascinating and novel reading of the praxis of solidarity in the form of digital humanitarianism, pertinent in the age of dissensus and polarization following the so-called “refugee and migration crisis” in Europe. Avoiding techno-optimism, the book offers a theoretically robust and empirically comprehensive account of the relationship between technologies, mobilities and borders. Whilst technologies cannot resolve “refugee crises” or erase authoritarian borders, the agency and conscious praxis utilizing digitalities of these technologies produces spaces of resistance and counter-narrations to sovereign, disciplinary and bio-political powers. Moreover, the book paves the way for the vital debates about the world to come, free from racialized boundaries and oppressive border regimes in Europe and beyond” —Nicos Trimikliniotis, Professor of Sociology and Director of Centre for Fundamental Rights, University of Nicosia, Cyprus

Sara Marino

Mediating the Refugee Crisis Digital Solidarity, Humanitarian Technologies and Border Regimes

Sara Marino Media School London College of Communication University of the Arts London London, UK

ISBN 978-3-030-53562-9 ISBN 978-3-030-53563-6 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-53563-6 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover credit: © Alex Linch/shutterstock.com This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

To all the survivors out there, may you never walk alone

Acknowledgements

In The Island of the Day Before, Umberto Eco said ‘To survive, you must tell stories’. As a migrant and as an academic, the stories I have treasured the most are the countless stories of exile I have collected and shared with colleagues and friends over the past few years. Some of these stories have taught me how to deal with my own displacement fatigue, a very peculiar condition of being both at home everywhere and yet never fully settled once and for all. Other stories have made me realise that there is a strength to be found in the unsettling paths of migration, a strength that comes from solidarity, cooperation and dialogue. It is this solidarity that I now see weakened by the proliferation of borders in Europe and beyond, the subjection of refugees and migrants to stricter forms of control and the negation of hospitality because of fear and anxiety. And yet, as democracy retreats into its own obsessive quest for security, more creative politics of acceptance emerge out of daily practices of resistance among refugees, activists and citizens. This book has been written in an attempt to follow these trajectories of power and resistance within the tortuous geographies of the so-called refugee crisis in Fortress Europe. I first want to thank the migrants and refugees that allowed me to listen to their stories. Your resilience, endurance and determination often go unnoticed, and I hope these pages will give your voice the justice it deserves. I also thank the humanitarians, activists, entrepreneurs and volunteers who agreed to be interviewed. Your work and enthusiasm were

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a source of inspiration and represent a glimpse of hope in the midst of very dark times. The intellectual influences that shaped this book should also be acknowledged. I would like to especially thank Professors Luigi Alfieri and Cristiano-Maria Bellei who have been constant sources of inspiration since my undergraduate days in Italy. Your philosophical courage taught me to always question the most uncomfortable truths behind humankind, and for that I will be forever grateful. I also wish to thank the scholars who inspired my long-standing interest in the issue of migration. Among these, a special note goes to Myria Georgiou, Mirca Madianou and Roza Tsagarousianou. The conversations and exchanges with Eugenia Siapera, Amanda Paz Alencar, Koen Leurs, Donya Alinejad and the wonderful media and migration scholars I met presenting chapters of this book around the world have nourished and enriched my work. Thank you for being constant sources of inspiration. I would also like to thank University of the Arts, London College of Communication’s Associate Dean of Research Pratap Rughani for recognising the value of my work. The Media School at London College of Communication welcomed me in 2018 with its culturally vibrant atmosphere and dedicated team. Here, a special thank you goes to all my colleagues, to the Dean of Media Steve Cross, Associate Dean Adrian Crookes, Research Coordinator Rebecca Bramall and Programme Director Zoetanya Sujon for their support during my sabbatical leave. I am also deeply grateful to Derrick Wright for taking the time to read and comment on my work. Finally, I wish to thank my family and friends. When everything else fell apart, your presence kept me going. I am grateful for your love and thankful for having you by my side; you make my story brighter and richer.

Contents

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1

Mediating the ‘Refugee Crisis’: An Introduction 1.1 Forced Mobilities, Humanitarian Technologies and Digital Solidarity 1.2 Structure of the Book References

6 8 12

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The Foundations of Fortress Europe 2.1 The Philosophical Foundations 2.2 The Political Foundations 2.3 The Technologically Mediated Foundations References

13 13 28 32 37

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Technologies of Surveillance and Border Regimes 3.1 Borders as Institutions of Power 3.2 Borders as Mechanisms of Identity Formation 3.3 Borders as Performances References

41 41 54 59 65

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Technologies in/of Exile 4.1 Introduction 4.2 A Fragmented Methodology 4.3 Technologies in Exile: Functions and Affordances 4.3.1 Before Departure

69 69 74 80 81 ix

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4.3.2 During the Journey 4.3.3 On Arrival 4.4 Technologies of Exile: Functions and Affordances 4.5 The Limits of Technology Use 4.5.1 Surveillance as Act of Monitoring and Profiling 4.5.2 Surveillance as Justification for Exclusionary Practices 4.6 Conclusions References 5

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85 88 98 106 111 112 114 117 123 123 127

Technologies of Solidarity 5.1 Introduction 5.2 Technologies for the Social Good: Key Opportunities 5.2.1 Openness and Crowdsourced Creativity at the Service of the Displaced 5.2.2 Scalability and Sustainability 5.2.3 Empowerment Through Collaboration 5.2.4 Problem-Solving Attitude and Impact-Oriented Approach 5.2.5 Tech as Enabler 5.3 What Is Not So Good About Tech for Good 5.3.1 The Commodification of Social Good 5.3.2 Data Safety and Privacy 5.3.3 Critical Mass of Data, but Good for Whom? 5.4 Conclusions References

138 140 141 142 147 152 162 167

Digital Solidarity, Humanitarian Technologies, Border Regimes Concluding Notes References

171 178

Index

127 131 134

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CHAPTER 1

Mediating the ‘Refugee Crisis’: An Introduction

As I began writing this book in 2017, the number of people forcibly displaced as a result of the Syrian Civil War continued to represent one of the most pressing political issues in the mass-mediated public discourse across and beyond Europe. Unanimously labelled as a ‘refugee’ or ‘migrant’ crisis, the predominant narratives circulating offline and online were overflowing with references to the collapse of Europe’s institutions and values, and a fear that life as we knew it was about to end under the push of uninvited strangers. The ‘crisis’ appeared to be

The analysis offered in this book uses the term ‘refugee crisis’ within quotes to indicate how problematic this term is. While the term has been used to predominantly indicate a crisis of migration and a crisis of numbers, the way European governments have responded to such ‘crisis’ suggests instead that what we are witnessing is a crisis of European borders, a crisis of solidarity and a crisis of hospitality. The use of the terms ‘refugees’ and ‘migrants’ in this context is also problematic. In this chapter, I use both terms as the analysis takes into account the more politicised uses of migrants as illegal migrants and of refugees as asylum seekers. Over the course of this book, I shall mainly use the term ‘refugee’. While I recognise the term’s epistemological and ontological complexity, alternative uses also pose problems. The term migrant, for example, deeply undermines the differences that exist between voluntary and forced migrants. The term asylum seeker, on the other hand, calls into question their view as opportunistic agents claiming benefits. © The Author(s) 2021 S. Marino, Mediating the Refugee Crisis, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-53563-6_1

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mainly discussed as an emergency concerning the management of migration along Europe’s outer borders and thus mainly requiring military interventions able to contain and suppress a largely unwanted migration. In reality, however, a closer look at the inflections of Europe’s global mobility regime (De Genova 2017) suggested that, far from being exceptional measures addressing a situation of emergency, the reintroduction and reinforcement of border controls were in fact calling into question the very concept of Europe as a stable political, social and humanitarian project. This book deals with the technological mediations of Europe’s political and humanitarian response to the ongoing ‘crisis’ that has currently entered its tenth year since the start of the conflict. The reasons for focusing on technologies as key conceptual framework are threefold. Firstly, my interest in the role that technologies have played in mediating the ‘refugee crisis’ originates from the fact that mediated practices and discourses have been central to the way European governments have elaborated, communicated and intervened on the ongoing influx of migrants and refugees. Second, technologies have been instrumental in the way migrants and refugees have connected, more or less successfully, with Europe’s mobility infrastructures and services. Third, information and communication technologies have fundamentally shaped the way humanitarian organisations, activists and citizens have responded to the political and moral absenteeism of the Union’s member states in an attempt to promote the legal and moral duty to safeguard human life. In considering these aspects, the book recognises the European border space as a communicative entity shaped by a performative network of technologies used to exercise, resist and contest sovereign power in both material and symbolic ways. Theoretically, the analysis presented in this book engages with three lines of enquiry that are strongly interrelated. The first strand of scholarship discusses the tension between humanitarianism and securitisation that has characterised the governance of forced migration and border policing since the ‘crisis’ in 2015 became a cause of concern in the European political and public space. The first indications that a ‘tragedy of epic proportions’1 was unfolding at Europe’s outer borders occurred in the aftermath of what was classified by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) as the deadliest shipwreck ever recorded in the Mediterranean Sea.2 In April 2015, an overcrowded vessel capsized in Libyan waters south of the Italian island of Lampedusa killing more

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than eight hundred migrants and refugees. Only twenty-eight survivors were rescued and brought to Italy, where the scale and horror came into even sharper focus in the immediate days following the tragedy. Rage spread across Italy and the then Italian Prime Minister, Matteo Renzi, encouraged member states to collectively share the responsibility for a crisis concerning the Union in its entirety. When interviewed on possible courses of action, Renzi suggested that human traffickers—‘whom he repeatedly compared to slave traders’3 (The Guardian 2015)—had come to represent the key target of Europe’s migration response. From this point onwards, and in response to the increasing number of migrants and refugees fleeing war in 2015 and 2016, the governance of migration seemed to oscillate between two main reactions. One was to strengthen the EU internal and external borders in order ‘to manage migration more effectively and protect the internal freedom of movement within the Schengen area’.4 A second approach was designed to protect the lives of refugees and migrants by identifying and eradicating the activities of people traffickers. Within this scenario, while the UNHCR encouraged the Union to move beyond border enforcement to consider instead longer-term solutions such as more robust search and rescue operations, resettlement schemes and the provision of legal and safer alternatives to prevent migrants from resorting to smugglers,5 the European Commission proceeded quite differently. In defining Europe’s external borders as a shared responsibility, European Commission First Vice-President Frans Timmermans identified the creation of an integrated system of border management as a strategic resource for the identification of weaknesses and for the delivery of more efficient solutions to the geopolitical pressures exercised by the ‘refugee crisis’. In reiterating this position, European Commissioner for Migration, Home Affairs and Citizenship, Dimitris Avramopoulos, discussed the need for a new ‘Border Package’ as a response to citizens’ demands for more security and the need for higher standards of border management.6 Both positions made very clear that the united front against migration mainly consisted of a ‘politics of containment’ (Garelli and Tazzioli 2019). The paradox that Aas and Gundhus (2015) identify as the incongruity between care, the protection of migrants from smugglers and citizens’ safety, and control, the fortification of policies that make migrating even more precarious (De Genova 2017), is well reflected in

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the transformation of borders into a sophisticated techno-mediated architecture of territorial sovereign power. This represents one of the key arguments of this book. The second strand of literature that this book engages with builds upon the link that is being made between the securitisation, humanitarianisation and militarisation of borders to emphasise the extent to which top-down governmental bordering strategies adopted by state authorities increasingly rely on digital technologies. The contemporary European migration regime is datafied and digitalised (Leurs and Smets 2018). Europe’s techno-mediated infrastructure and architecture of power increasingly rely on an ‘assemblage’ (Madianou 2019) consisting of biometric registrations, artificially intelligent border systems, predictive analytics of social media activity, surveillance cameras and unmanned aerial vehicles (drones) designed to identify, monitor and control migratory routes and individuals. In this respect, the transformation of Europe into a cyber Fortress (Guild et al. 2008) has proceeded gradually but steadily. Since 2016, when Frontex—the European Border and Coast Guard Agency—was established,7 the protection of the EU’s external borders has continuously justified major increases in funding. A new integrated border management fund was identified as a priority for the EU 2021–2027 budget, where the funding for migration and border management was almost tripled.8 The new fund, which is designed to support the deployment of state-of-theart IT equipment for the identification of smugglers and for the delivery of search and rescue operations, justifies once again the need for more border guards to be ‘activated’ in emergency situations. Within this scenario, the delivery of search and rescue operations should be contextualised within the hyper-militarisation and technologisation of borders. This became painfully clear in 2014 when Operation Mare Nostrum, the search and rescue project led by the Italian Coast Guard, was replaced by the Frontex-led Operation Triton. The decision was met with mixed reactions over concerns that the more limited Frontex mission would have prioritised discouraging migrants from crossing the sea rather than supporting rescue operations (Andersson 2017). Both examples, however, speak of the convergence of two trends: on the one hand, the interplay of military and humanitarian ideologies as a justification for the adoption of force against the bodies of migrants; and, on the other hand, the militarisation of search and rescue operations signals the criminalisation of humanitarian assistance as facilitating the illegal arrival

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of refugees and migrants. Quite exemplary is the case of the search and rescue ship Aquarius which in 2018 became the object of an international dispute between Italy and Malta over who was responsible for allowing the ship to dock at their ports. The ship carrying 629 migrants was stranded off the coast of Libya and was left in a political impasse when both Malta and Italy refused to let the ship disembark on their shores. Under the hashtag #chiudiamoiporti (we are shutting the ports), Italy’s then deputy prime minister and leader of the right-wing Lega party, Matteo Salvini, celebrated Italy’s victory over its ‘no’ to human trafficking and illegal immigration. Using this event as a symbol of Italy’s renewed territorial sovereignty over Europe’s disregard for the pressure faced by the country, Salvini continued his march against humanitarian organisations. In this respect, his proposal to fine non-governmental organisations rescue boats for each migrant they disembark in Italy represented a further sign that the protection and rescue of human lives was indeed at the bottom of the government’s priorities.9 The techno-militarisation of borders points to the convergence of multiple forces that will be discussed in this volume. First, is the interconnectivity of different actors from political and border authorities to nonstate actors, private enterprises and humanitarian agencies, all capitalising on the power of technologies to deliver faster and more efficient responses to human displacement. Second, is the expansion of a system of global surveillance that further exacerbates the transformation of Europe into a geopolitical space where a few centimetres can make the difference between the exercise of a flexible and economically productive citizenship and the negation of identity as illegitimate, illegal and unworthy. Third, is the transformation of refugee and migrant identities into ‘data subjects’ where only those who are ‘biometrically’ readable and ‘digitally’ acceptable can be acknowledged as potential citizens in a very volatile and highly ambiguous political space. The third and final strand of literature expands on the identification of borders as technologies of surveillance to highlight different uses of technologies from the bottom-up perspective of everyday experiences of forced migrants and from the grassroots fringes of society that I identify in this book as pertaining to the tech for social good community. This aspect is what confers originality to the study presented in this book. More often than not, critical approaches to the ‘refugee crisis’ have focused their attention on the ethical, cultural and political challenges offered by technology use in contexts of surveillance and humanitarianism. More

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recently however, alternative accounts of migration and digital media have created a space where more productive understandings of mobility merge with the observation of what happens at the border, along the route from one border to another, and in-between these liminal spaces. Following this line of thought, I argue that the observation of technology use can offer a less theorised but indeed more productive lens with which we can look at how power can be contested and resisted.

1.1 Forced Mobilities, Humanitarian Technologies and Digital Solidarity As mentioned, the book observes technology use as a productive entry point to investigate not just the relationship between borders and power but also the circulation of solidarity at the border and the experiences of digital connectivity in the lives of forced migrants through personal interviews and ethnographic work. In doing this, it rejects the identification of technologies as purely material objects and as mere extensions of human beings and, instead, emphasises their material, symbolic and highly performative roles. The relationship between mobilities and media has received considerable attention in the literature over the years. In particular, the new mobility paradigm developed by scholars John Urry and Mimi Sheller (2006) importantly recognises how present configurations of mobility are indeed characterised by the convergence of physical travel and modes of communication that require the observation of the political, social, cultural and economic forces allowing or impeding movement. This was reiterated by media and communication scholar David Morley (2017) who expanded the original premises of the new mobility paradigm to include the material and symbolic infrastructures that either facilitate or contain movement, including their geopolitical dynamics and digital configurations. The need to consider how information and communication technologies (ICTs) have shaped the way migrants take control of their mobility and acquire a sense of agency has taken on a renewed interest in recent years. The emergence of the digital migration field of research introduced important contributions concerning the role played by (ICTs) within diasporic communities (Leurs and Smets 2018). However, many have recognised the lack of research on the role played by ICTs in the lives of forced migrants in Europe or on their way to Europe (Leurs and Ponzanesi 2018), with the exception of important contributions that will be amply discussed in Chapter 4.

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To these studies, the analysis offered in this book adds two more dimensions that I believe deserve further attention in the study of forced mobilities. First, the interplay between the notion of exile and the different performative uses that technologies embody at different stages of the journey to Europe. Second, the impact that refugees’ mediatised practices of witnessing have on more mainstream representations of refugees. The analysis is prompted by a crucial question. Can technologies offer refugees a platform where power can be contested and where more inclusive spheres of representations can be envisaged? A final form of mediatisation is embodied by more humanitarian uses of technologies at the border, which represents an additional original focus that this book puts forward. The incorporation of such a focus meets the need to offer a more comprehensive and complex overview of the different technological mediations unfolding within the European space, above and beyond surveillance. Over the past few years, the structural, political and cultural shifts affecting nation states across the globe have caused an important change in the distribution of power relations among states and citizens. More specifically, opportunities for political and public participation are said to have increased with the advent of technologies used to connect, express, act and create alliances. There are two trends that this book considers as central to the adoption of technologies for the delivery of social good, which represents the key argument of Chapter 5. The first trend is the renewed interest in doing good that Kaarina Nikunen (2019) contextualises as ingrained in the evolution of modernity as reinforcing individualism on the one hand, and as encouraging self-determination as a political and humanitarian project on the other. As responsibilities have shifted from social and political institutions to the individual, more personalised forms of participation have emerged. The second trend is the rise of social entrepreneurs, social corporate responsibilities industries, and the private and the notfor-profit networks all willing to support remote acts of cooperation and volunteering, either independently or in collaboration with more institutionalised organisations. In the context here observed, these two trends have converged in what I call the tech for social good community, a diverse and highly heterogeneous network made of volunteers, CEOs, software developers, digital humanitarians, entrepreneurs and techies at large, all placing faith in the power of technologies to deliver solidarity and bring social change. In recognising the increasing popularity of digital social innovation and digital solidarity for the displaced, my analysis, in a

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way not before considered, asks in what ways these circuits of mediated solidarity can challenge Fortress Europe’s techno-military infrastructure of power. Ultimately, the book proposes an alternative framework, a techno-mediated framework where the possibility of a counter-hegemonic project around a new idea of social justice for refugees can potentially be imagined.

1.2

Structure of the Book

The book is divided into six chapters and outlines three different applications of technology as strategies of political intervention, as tactics of resistance, and as techniques of political contestation. The volume, in an original way, approaches the complexity of bordering practices through an historical analysis of what borders represent from a political and philosophical point of view. This excursus, which is addressed in Chapter 2, introduces the reader to some of the key ideas that form the backbone of my analysis: the historical interplay between identity and alterity; the construction of otherness; the us versus them rhetoric; and the scapegoating of specific categories of unwanted individuals as a constant in the evolution of humanity. In discussing the philosophical, political and technologically mediated foundations of Fortress Europe, this chapter advances a more holistic understanding of migration as an object of securitisation and provides the necessary contextual framework where today’s architecture of security can be more comprehensively discussed. Chapter 3 looks more closely at the evolution of borders as institutions of sovereign power, as mechanisms of identity formation and as performances of denial. This distinction is considered central again to a more holistic understanding of the productive nature of borders and the materiality of their regimes. The chapter shows that European borders should be interrogated as sociopolitical constructions that are meant to divide a population of legalised citizens and privileged travellers from undeserving and unwelcome slices of humanity whose identity needs to be verified and authenticated before being accepted. As inherently performative, borders represent a fertile territory where performances of power and counterperformances of resistance coexist in often chaotic and unpredictable ways. The deployment of counter-performances of resistance is central to Chapter 4’s considerations of technologies of and in exile. Drawing from semi-structured interviews with Syrian refugees living in London,

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this chapter questions whether refugees’ digitally mediated practices can be observed as acts of resistance against the predominant narratives that monothematically place refugees as criminals or as victims within Fortress Europe. The discussion is broken down into two key macro-themes of research. Firstly, digital connectivity is analysed in the light of its material conditions and affordances (technologies in exile) pre-departure, during the journey and upon arrival in Europe. Secondly, the analysis moves onto observing the performative and symbolic dimensions of refugee connectivity (technologies of exile) to explore whether refugees’ tactics of mediatised witnessing can open up spaces for more inclusive practices of visibility and engagement. Chapter 5 expands on the limitations of refugees’ mediated practices of self-determination to look more closely at those grassroots initiatives that since 2015 have taken place within the tech community to support refugees and displaced communities. This chapter addresses the opportunities and challenges brought about by digital social innovation in an attempt to reflect on how impactful mediated solidarity can be in a situation where technologies are mainly used to subjectify, monitor and reduce refugees to repositories of data for surveillance and securitisation purposes. Drawing from interviews with tech and social entrepreneurs, volunteers and CEOs, I outline a new theoretical concept, ‘mindful filtering’, to critically examine the role of digital innovation and data in humanitarian practice. With this concept, I intend to contribute to an open debate that is still in its embryonic stages of critical thinking but one that nevertheless represents a useful entry point to begin to reconcile the ethics of data collection—one of the most problematic aspects of technologies for refugees—with the politics of solidarity. The final chapter discusses the complexities of what I call ‘reactive networked activism’ in relation to the alleged crisis of solidarity today and reflects on what we may learn from prioritising dialogue over the more rigid forms of protection of the space of Europe. Dialogue however, as I will discuss in Chapter 6, is a long process that demands empathy (not compassion) and requires affective citizenship: a practice of social responsibility where identities are seen as mobile and hybrid; where the ability to act differently is recognised as a value and not as a threat to political consensus; and where political membership is built and rebuilt in negotiation with each other, never defined once and for all.

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In emphasising the crucial role of solidarity as a form of resistance, this book puts forward some suggestions that the reader might find relevant within the political and economic climate originated in the aftermath of the COVID-19 global health emergency. As the book entered its final stages of revision, the rapid spread of coronavirus symptoms across borders announced a different kind of crisis demanding international coordination and support. Faced with the task of fighting an invisible virus, European and non-European governments turned to innovative tracing platforms and sophisticated surveillance tools to track movement, to identify and to isolate threats. These latest developments in health management raise substantial ethical dilemmas that we have yet to see fully accounted for, including the opaque uses of such technologies to monitor the movement of migrant populations and the risk of further exacerbating their vulnerability by propagating surveillance within already inadequate migration reception systems. How can the analysis offered in these pages help the reader navigate the complex and still blurred post-pandemic scenario? In examining the roots of political power, a set of analytical tools is offered in an attempt to deconstruct the relationship between policing and surveillance above and beyond the so-called refugee crisis . In scrutinising the mechanisms behind the identification of migrants as threats, the analysis helps us understand how matters of public health can serve as justification for the introduction of tighter border controls. In looking at ways in which the refugee body is datafied for security purposes, the book encourages us to remain vigilant to the intended and unintended consequences of bio-surveillance. Ultimately, as the world seems to retreat into a new and frightening pseudo-normality, this book invites us to remain open to more creative episodes of tolerance and acceptance. It is in its darkest moments that humanity always finds the courage to create more welcoming pathways and circuits of solidarity for all groups, communities and individuals. These pages suggest alternative ways we can reconstruct and remap traditional geographies of oppression while respecting, caring for and protecting every single voice.

Notes 1. Joint Statement on Mediterranean Crossings of UN High Commissioner for Refugees António Guterres, UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Zeid Ra’ad Al Hussein, Special Representative of the

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UN Secretary-General for International Migration and Development Peter Sutherland, and Director-General of the International Organization for Migration William Lacy Swing (23 April 2015). Available here https://www.unhcr.org/uk/news/press/2015/4/5538d9079/jointstatement-mediterranean-crossings.html. ‘UNHCR welcomes EU Mediterranean plans, but says more needs to be done’ (21 April 2015). Available here https://www.unhcr.org/uk/news/ latest/2015/4/553623109/unhcr-welcomes-eu-mediterranean-plans-saysneeds.html. ‘UN says 800 migrants dead in boat disaster as Italy launches rescue of two more vessels’ The Guardian, 20 April 2015. A summary of Europe’s 2015/2016 borders package is available here https://ec.europa.eu/commission/presscorner/detail/en/IP_15_6327. Joint Statement on Mediterranean Crossings of UN High Commissioner for Refugees António Guterres, UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Zeid Ra’ad Al Hussein, Special Representative of the UN Secretary-General for International Migration and Development Peter Sutherland, and Director-General of the International Organization for Migration William Lacy Swing (23 April 2015). Available here https://www.unhcr.org/uk/news/press/2015/4/5538d9079/jointstatement-mediterranean-crossings.html. The new border package was built around the need for a larger pool of border guards with a monitoring and supervisory role able to conduct risk analyses and vulnerability assessments. The ‘right to intervene’ was also discussed as a form of emergency support to member states. More information about the European Border and Coast Guard can be found in the press release by the European Commission ‘A European Border and Coast Guard to protect Europe’s External Borders’ Press Release (15 December 2015). Available here https://ec.europa.eu/commission/presscorner/det ail/en/IP_15_6327. Frontex—the European Border and Coast Guard Agency—replaced The European Agency for the Management of Operational Cooperation at the External Borders of the Member States of the European Union that was established in 2004. ‘EU budget: Commission proposes major funding increase for stronger borders and migration’ (12 June 2018). Available here https://ec.europa. eu/commission/presscorner/detail/en/IP_18_4106. In 2020, Matteo Salvini’s ‘migrant security decree’ went through a process of substantial modifications aiming at restoring Italy’s commitment to saving lives at sea and ensuring international protection.

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References Aas, Katja Franko, and Helene O.I. Gundhus. ‘Policing Humanitarian Borderlands: Frontex, Human Rights and the Precariousness of Life.’ The British Journal of Criminology 55, no. 1 (2015): 1–18. Andersson, Ruben. ‘Rescued and Caught: The Humanitarian-Security Nexus at Europe’s Frontiers.’ In The Borders of ‘Europe’. Autonomy of Migration, Tactics of Bordering, edited by Nicholas De Genova, 64–94. Durham: Duke University Press, 2017. De Genova, Nicholas, ed. The Borders of ‘Europe’. Autonomy of Migration, Tactics of Bordering. Durham: Duke University Press, 2017. Garelli, Glenda, and Martina Tazzioli. ‘The Humanitarian Battlefield in the Mediterranean Sea: Moving Beyond Rescuing and Letting Die.’ Border Criminologies blog, April 4, 2019. https://www.law.ox.ac.uk/research-sub ject-groups/centre-criminology/centreborder-criminologies/blog/2019/ 04/humanitarian. Guild, Elspeth, Sergio Carrera, and Florian Geyer. ‘The Commission’s New Border Package: Does It Take Us One Step Closer to a “Cyber-Fortress Europe”?’ CEPS Policy Brief no. 154, 2008. Leurs, Koen, and Kevin Smets. ‘Five Questions for Digital Migration Studies: Learning from Digital Connectivity and Forced Migration In(to) Europe.’ Social Media + Society 4, no. 1 (2018): 1–16. Leurs, Koen, and Sandra Ponzanesi. ‘Connected Migrants: Encapsulation and Cosmopolitanization.’ Popular Communication 16 (2018): 4–20. Madianou, Mirca. ‘The Biometric Assemblage: Surveillance, Experimentation, Profit, and the Measuring of Refugee Bodies.’ Television and New Media 20, no. 6 (2019): 581–599. Morley, David. Communications and Mobility: The Migrant, the Mobile Phone, and the Container Box. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2017. Nikunen, Kaarina. Media Solidarities: Emotions, Power and Justice in the Digital Age. London: Sage, 2019. Sheller, Mimi, and John Urry. ‘The New Mobilities Paradigm.’ Environment and Planning A 38 (2006): 207–226.

CHAPTER 2

The Foundations of Fortress Europe

2.1

The Philosophical Foundations

In order to grasp the monumentality of Fortress Europe, which Csernatoni (2016) describes as a ‘citadel type Union’ dividing, as Bauman (2016) puts it, ‘us’ (the normal) from ‘them’ (the ‘non quite human’), we need to take a step back and retrace the concept’s political and philosophical roots. In order to do this, I am using Elias Canetti’s work on crowds, power and survival and René Girard’s scapegoating theory as key reference points. Born in Bulgaria in 1905, Elias Canetti sought to understand the economic and political upheaval that was destroying Europe in the 1920s and 1930s by observing what he saw as the universal laws behind human behaviour. His masterpiece Crowds and Power (1962), a political and psychological account of the role of the masses and the nature of power, represents a fundamental starting point in our discussion on the materiality of borders and the humanitarian securitisation infrastructure that supports our Fortress. In locating the border as a space where Europe’s response to the ‘crisis’ shows a fundamental tension between a

The material used in this chapter has been published in Marino, Sara. ‘Surviving Mechanisms of Power in Immigration Strategies: Embracing Otherness and Pluralisms’. Journal of International Political Theory 11, no. 2 (2015): 167–183. A similar analysis can be found in Marino, Sara. L’ebbrezza del potere. Vittime e persecutori (in Italian). Verona: Ombre Corte, 2009 © The Author(s) 2021 S. Marino, Mediating the Refugee Crisis, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-53563-6_2

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humanitarian and a security-oriented rhetoric, Canetti’s understanding of power will help us to comprehend the logic behind the adoption of militarised responses to a crisis that is largely framed within a humanitarian discourse. As briefly mentioned in the introduction, migration has for years constituted the primary object of securitisation, where specific categories of migrants have been variously labelled as a threat to the unity of our states, as a force disrupting our sense of political and economic security, and as a violent invasion. In the EU’s policy discourse, migration has been largely framed within the parameters of control and security that have demanded risk management and threat identification measures coordinated by international bodies such as Frontex and Europol (Stepka 2018).1 At the same time, however, these militarised responses have walked hand in hand with a growing sense of an international obligation to intervene in situations of crisis as they have unfolded at the poorer peripheries of Europe, often in synergy with the relevant authorities, but other times without consensual agreement. The misuse of humanitarian arguments for the purposes of military intervention, as Stepka (2018) argues, has characterised new security responses to geopolitical situations of alleged ‘emergency’ and exceptionality where humanitarian governance converges with practices of extreme surveillance and control. In illustrating this complex geopolitical scenario, Walters (2011) describes borders as an ‘assemblage’ where humanitarian imperatives and technologies of governments overlap, shift and change over time. While I certainly agree that contemporary borders embody this tension between humanitarianism (the protection of human life) and security (the protection of other referent objects such as identity and the state) as they open and close in response to different circumstances and policy responses, I also argue that this tension should not be seen as a contradiction in terms or as something new in the geopolitical scenario. Instead, they should be seen as replicating a deep-seated game of power where the interplay between the exercise of authority and the survival of interested parties reveal uncomfortable truths about mankind and its connection to violence. In this context, and in order to truly understand why human beings can die right outside our doors turning the Mediterranean Sea and other routes into a cemetery for hopeless people and still be considered as a ‘fatality’ or as a ‘tragic loss’ that is soon forgotten by each and every member state, we need to examine the roots of human behaviour, which

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is what Elias Canetti did exceptionally well. Bear in mind, this philosophical excursus will be uncomfortable and bittersweet; it is time to stop pretending that we did our best to protect, safeguard and rescue the lives of refugees, asylum seekers or illegal migrants stranded at the borders of Europe. In this battle, there is no winner or moral champion: we are all equal participants in the inhuman and degrading treatment of thousands of lives whose humanity has been measured rather differently compared to ours. How is it possible that other individuals can suffocate in containers, freeze to death or die because safe ports are closed as a result of a capricious argument between states bouncing back responsibilities and duties of ‘care’? This is the object of a much broader reflection which takes us right to the beginnings of the human species. The scientific understanding of the evolution of our species has a long history of controversial debates among philosophers, biologists, social theorists and philosophical anthropologists. While it is beyond the scopes of this chapter to illustrate the complexity of these debates in full, a fundamental step in this discussion is the recognition of our evolutionary progress as biologically and culturally inadequate. Among others, German philosopher Arnold Gehlen (1988) described human beings as fundamentally deficient from a biological point of view, physiologically premature and unable to survive nature without claws, wings or even well-developed instincts. Yet, despite these adverse conditions, human beings evolved by adapting to a diverse range of environments and by ‘domesticating’ the raw natural conditions in order to make them habitable. Weapons were deployed in an attempt to compensate for the absence of instinctual defence mechanisms, shelters were erected as a protection against natural adversities and, most importantly, says Gehlen, human beings learned to cooperate with each other to increase their chances of survival. Human beings learned to survive nature by recreating an artificial world that they could fully grasp through means of linguistic, cultural and social domestication (Bellei 1999). In this historical excursus, we immediately understand how language and symbols can be considered as primordial forms of human action—by creating systems of classification (between objects, things, relationships) the infinite possibilities available to men and women in nature are reduced to a set of manageable options. More importantly, our cultural evolution has coincided with the ability to not only interpret the world symbolically but also to use symbols and signs to communicate intentions and to interpret the communicative intentions of others (Hunter 2019).

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How do we connect this to Canetti’s understanding of human behaviour? We are now beginning to understand how the unpredictable and potentially life-threatening elements of the natural world have encouraged previously solitary human beings to unite forces and to cooperate against the danger. Safer within the group than alone, says Canetti, hominids soon realised that only by acting together and with a common goal (hunting and killing) would their chances of survival increase. This awareness is fundamental to the very concept of social order: by killing the beast, by successfully completing the collective hunt, the group of hominids found its intimate bond and relief from its own death. Canetti uses the term ‘pack’ to denote the most primitive unit known among hominids which he describes as ‘a group of men in a state of excitement whose fiercest wish is to be more’ (Canetti 1962, p. 93). Its sole purpose is to kill but while members of a pack are unified around the common goal almost obsessively, they never lose their individuality. The most natural form of pack, says Canetti, is the ‘hunting pack’. Other forms include the ‘war pack’, where men and women unify not against a prey but against other men and women; the ‘lamenting pack’, which forms around the death of other members and the ‘increase pack’ whose intent is to increase in numbers. Historically speaking, packs describe a primordial collective unit that has mutated over time. While packs tended to be small and intimate (here, individual differences were still central to the group’s survival), crowds emerged at a later stage and contained much larger numbers.2 The difference between the archaic form of pack and the modern crowd is not, according to Canetti, qualitative since both aggregations were born out of fear. Modern fear is, however, different in the sense that is not directed towards an animal anymore. What modern men fear the most, says Canetti, is an attack from other unknown beings, an attack that can lead to our death.3 The author clarifies this point by saying that human beings experience mixed feelings of fear (Schreck) and repugnance (Abneigung ) every time they are touched by other human beings whom they do not know. Inside the crowd, however: man can become free of this fear of being touched. That is the only situation in which the fear changes into its opposite. The crowd he needs is the dense crowd, in which body is pressed to body; a crowd, too, whose psychical constitution is also dense, or compact, so that he no longer notices who it is that presses against him. (Canetti 1962, p. 15)

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Crowds, according to Canetti, have four very specific characteristics. First, and as a universal phenomenon, the crowd is characterised by an ‘urgency to grow’ (i.e. to always accept new members) and the constant eventuality of its disintegration as resources inevitably decrease. Crowds emerge spontaneously and rapidly with the ‘discharge’, which Canetti identifies as the most important occurrence in the life of a crowd. The discharge, which Aizman (2013) defines as a ‘sudden eruption of activity’, acts as equaliser. Those who belong to the crowd lose their individual differences and move as equals; the more they press against each other, the safer they feel. The second characteristic of the crowd is equality. Inside the crowd, men and women become a homogenous entity where individual differences disappear. Third, crowds love density. A crowd does not accept nor tolerate anything standing between its members that might divide them causing individual differences to re-emerge and bring more chaos. However, equality and density are, as important and as transformative as they are, only an illusion. People are never really equal. Sooner or later, their specific differences will re-emerge. Of course, the crowd cannot know that its very existence is an illusion, an artifice created with the sole purpose of finding relief against the indeterminacy of a world not created for their survival. The illusion must be kept hidden through new entrants and new leavers; afflicted by a constant sense of persecution, crowds must keep growing and must find new directions or common goals. The most common type of destruction that crowds fear is an attack from within or from without. The crowd, says Canetti, always feels under assault from enemies living inside and around its external boundaries (1962). As fear creeps in, individual differences suddenly re-emerge as each person looks after their own survival. Fear rapidly turns into panic, and panic leads to the disintegration of the crowd, an occurrence which the group cannot afford. The only solution, says Canetti, is to identify the enemy who brought chaos inside the crowd and to march against them. In marching against the enemy, crowds renew their sense of belonging to each other and confirm their intimate bond. In a similar vein, Thomas Hobbes argued that a sense of constant fear pervades the state of nature and constitutes the foundation of civil society. In particular, he described how ‘the original of all great and lasting societies consisted not in the mutual good will men have towards each other, but in the mutual fear they had of each other’ (in Blits 1989, p. 417). Compared to Hobbes, Canetti’s understanding of fear seems to detach itself from this rather

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normative understanding of civil society and to instead locate fear at the centre of all kinds of relationships, and not necessarily societal ones. Despite the differences between these two important scholars, an element of connection needs to be pinpointed. Canetti himself, while criticising Hobbes’ approach to the most salient questions related to the evolution of humankind, applauded his attempt at unmasking the most uncomfortable truths behind power. The truth is that our story is not the story of a group of human beings who suddenly decided to create a prototype of society by sitting around a table and crafting a series of laws governing human behaviour. Rather our story is a story of survival against alterity, a story of prevarication and ultimately a story of an incredible violent nature. The sooner we appreciate this point, the sooner we understand why for centuries we have decided over the life and death of other human beings, often without perceiving death as murder but instead as a way of preserving humanity (our crowd). The connection between Canetti’s crowds and the grim perpetuation of violence exercised by all isms, and the connection between the thirst for power that underlies much of human behaviour and our ability to look at the thousands of bodies who have died and are dying right now not too far away from us without being shocked by it, should now be crystal clear. If this is still confusing, let me expand again on the analysis being offered here. Firstly, let us look at the interplay between identity and alterity. As Canetti reminds us, the crowd needs enemies in order to survive. To find, target and kill the enemy is precisely the direction a crowd needs in order to stay alive and grow. However, we have already discussed how growth already contains the seeds of its own destruction because what threatens the survival of the crowd is also what nourishes it. Identity needs alterity in order to recognise itself and this interplay is a fundamental step in our discussion. However, this relationship is older than we think. Originally, alterity was represented by the unknown natural/animal world and from here developed into more complex and indeed radical forms of exclusion. Following this line of (anthropo-biological) thought, we can see how domesticating the world into something more familiar and less threatening has always been a priority for humankind. Social relationships as well as institutions, says Bellei (1999), were born out of this obsession with protecting the artificiality of our world through means of cooperation and the sharing of common routines that remind us of who we are as opposed to other categories of life that are radically different from us. At the beginning of time, there was nothing more different or

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more threatening than an animal or a group of animals who were much bigger, faster and hungrier than us. What to do? How to react? We almost immediately learned that we could not survive nature alone and that to fight the danger, to eliminate this primordial source of fear, we had to stay in groups to unite forces. The first act of collaboration, says Bellei (1999), was born out of fear and resulted in the first process of exclusion/expulsion. The death of the enemy (the animal successfully killed by the group) was tangible proof that the group (the community, the crowd) had successfully eliminated the danger. In other words, the us won against the them. The first coordinated action among human beings was, in fact, an act of personification, management and organisation of fear (as in, fear of the animal/s). Of course, things have changed since the first hunting. Sources of insecurity and fear have multiplied. The danger is not in nature anymore but now has a cultural root. The other is not an animal, but someone who is equally identified as a threat. Similarly, the enemy is perceived as someone who is not simply threatening a single individual but the whole survival of the group. In order to face it, the whole group must stay together. But again, the direction is of fundamental importance, for as long as we know where we are going, the crowd stays united. Of course, when we talk about ‘killing’ in this context, we are referring to both the act of physical and social killing. In this latter respect, Bazzicalupo (2011), among others, describes the act of ‘killing difference’ as when we force people to approve and to conform to what we believe is the ‘right’ way of doing things. The second element that I wish to discuss here is the relationship between power and survival. The origin of power lies, according to Canetti, in the sense of the profound relief, satisfaction and triumph that people feel when they survive death or, more accurately, as they accumulate experiences of other people’s deaths. These two elements are so connected that for Canetti the moment of survival is the moment of power. There is nothing we dread more than death because, unlike all other animals, we know we are mortal beings. However, instead of accepting what we perceive as a death sentence imposed on us, we transfer death onto others. In Canetti’s theory, this sentence of death that hangs over all living human beings is the most important element of power and the glue that keeps the crowd together, for being in a crowd acts as a deflector of death. However, and as I have already mentioned, crowds need enemies in order to survive; periodically, says Canetti, the crowd needs to march against a group of arbitrarily selected victims in order

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to reinforce its bond. Enemies act as carriers of death and to march against them is a strategy of survival that protects the crowd from its own mortal fate. Of particular importance here is the double symbolic value that the selected victim(s) hold. On the one hand, their alterity is what reinforces the identity of the crowd and it is, therefore, crucial. On the other hand, by becoming carriers of death, their expulsion (either physical or symbolical) somehow frees the crowd from the penalty of dying. To explain this process in different words, the need to act arises from a perception of an increasing anomie (i.e. a lack of social cohesion) when the boundaries of the crowd or community seem to be severely weakened by forces pushing against those boundaries. More interestingly, Canetti argues that this condition of anomie, and therefore the need to create institutions based on principles of inclusion (who is inside the crowd) and of exclusion (who is outside the crowd), lies in the belief that the people who are coming into the group are something different from those who live in the group. The Others are depicted in terms of a series of ‘nots’: they do not speak the same language, they do not have a culture, they do not have the same habits, and they do not have a clear humanity. Categories of otherness are central to the way in which identity and alterity interplay with each other. In establishing a sense of identity over what identity is not, systems of power reveal their productivity. Power, in other words, and in its political sense at least, is functionally necessary for the development of a sense of collectivity (Sciacca 2012). In order to march against the victim, the crowd needs a leader, someone who can simplify the work for us by identifying the victim and calling us to action. Now that the direction is set, and a goal has been established, it does not matter who the victim is as long as they are not perceived to be a human being. What is needed, says Escobar (2001), is a fanatical vision of the world, a vision that is reduced to its flesh and bones, a story that does not allow for different voices that might in some way penetrate the blindness of the crowd. The leader then is the survivor par excellence, the survivor that calls all men and women to action, while giving them a reassuring vision of the world and providing slogans that can be easily remembered and screamed while marching towards the enemy. Here, the crowd does not need to physically participate in the murder because their virtual participation, their silent trust and acceptance of a monolithic vision of the world that refuses difference are sufficient enough. For this to happen, however, we first need to kill our own unique story. To a certain extent, says Escobar, the persecutors are already dead; it is

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in this thanatocracy that human beings find, at least for a moment, their raison d’être. The relief is even more intense as we are told that we should not feel responsible for marching against the victim. We are marching to safeguard our community, to protect our rights and to defend ourselves. The reason why this is not as shocking as it should be is probably because of the ‘domestication of command’ (Alfieri 2012). Command refers to how violence is perpetrated by institutions in such a normalised way that we do not see how it unfolds to create its victims. By governing our fear, the political and media elites create slogans and diffuse hate, they give the crowd exactly what they need, a simplified version of the world and people to blame for their failures. Here, the victim is double: the targeted victim, who has no voice and no sense of agency, and the persecutor, who is now dead inside. But who is really the victim? How can they be so dehumanised that the crowd does not see their humanity? Interestingly, victims do not need to have a peculiar characteristic that automatically isolates them as such. What is crucial is for their unique identity to be emptied to a point that is not even recognised as deserving of life anymore. While, as we shall see in the next section, Girard will contribute to this debate with greater intensity, we can for now start thinking about how Canetti’s work still resonates with the scenario we are witnessing today. Described through the sequence of who and what they are ‘not’, differences between migrants are silenced, perceived as absolute and not subject to dialogue. As I will discuss later, the reduction of refugees to a ‘surplus of humanity’ (Bauman 2016) that we can dispose of without worrying too much about the consequences represents both an issue of threatened identity and of cultural danger. Differences are not only perceived as absolute but inscribed on the body and in the genes of migrants. Here, the ‘border spectacle’ that De Genova (2017) talks about is only possible if difference is ignored and perceived as irrelevant. In the best scenario, migrants can maintain their own difference (i.e. their unique identity) in the privacy of their domestic spaces, eating traditional food, praying to their saints or gods, educating their children, and watching programs or reading newspapers in their native language. Outside the domestic space, however, when their visibility becomes public, migrants become ‘those who have no respect for women’, ‘those who have not respect for property’, ‘those who want to live on our shoulders’, ‘those who have no respect for our culture’ and so forth. Altogether, this populist rhetoric constructs ‘the migrant’ by stereotyping differences into forms of life, by reducing the social to the biological (Banton 1977), by challenging

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the notion of a common humanity and by differentiating people at the deepest level of their being. In securitising migration then, the bifurcation between the private and public view of the migrant sets the migrant apart in terms of racialised culture where the natives (the crowd) trust one another as members of the same cultural crowd and distrust the migrant as the cultural Other. But what is next? As mentioned above, since social and political institutions are based on hierarchies of power that decide who is in and who is out, the ‘natural’ consequence is to protect the community against the threat, that is, in other words, to survive the incoming danger. As Canetti (1962) argues, power is ultimately a mechanism of survival, a vicarious triumph over the threat that has been diverted towards other targets. Power is a supreme act of removal. It lies in degrading human beings to instruments and resources of power and in the annihilation of human plurality at the physical as well as societal level, which is exactly the logic that stands behind every negation of difference. This identification does not merely refer to an undeviating drive but lies at the core of the human condition, richly documented in the past and by no means neutralised today. Another key author, and one who probably investigated the relationship between identity and alterity even more than Canetti, is René Girard. For this author, violence and desire are at the very core of our existence as human beings. In Girard’s fundamental anthropology, our evolution as human beings has proceeded hand in hand with our increased mimetic capacity. In conceptualising the origins of our species, the French philosopher identifies imitation and acquisitive desire as the drivers of social cooperation and culture. To understand this point, we need to go back to a point I made earlier in relation to our ‘biological deficiency’. Compared to animals, human beings are biologically ‘inadequate’ because, conscious as they are of their mortality, they are physically and mentally unable to enjoy the ‘here and now’. They always desire something more than that which simply fulfils their immediate needs and, instead of concentrating on what they have, they become obsessed with what they do not have. This is the logic behind desire. This obsession is directed not just towards what the other person has that we do not, but also towards the identity of the other person who suddenly becomes the object of our desire. While we can observe mimesis among primates, the levels of sophistication and complexity acquired through evolution have made desire, and competing for others’ desires, a potentially fatal drive for our species. Imitation, in Girard’s theory, must be understood as inherently

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conflictual. By virtue of imitation, we do not simply ‘copy’ the actions of others, but we are also attracted by each other’s interests. Rivalries and conflicts erupt when two or more subjects start to imitate each other in an ever-increasing desire for the same object. The problem is that we do not have any mechanism of instinctual control over this intra-group violence; once initiated, violence is also imitated and quickly escalates to infect the whole group unless an external mechanism of control for the mimetic rivalry is adopted. How did we escape this situation of primordial chaos? According to Girard, it was through the means of a collective murder. This external mechanism of control is defined by Antonello and Gifford (2015) as an ‘externalisation of endemic violence’ where this perennial threat of self-annihilation, instead of being directed within the group, is aimed towards an arbitrary victim, a member of the group that presents some elements of ‘externality’ that catalyses the attention of all other members now united against the same enemy. As the crowd is given a sense of direction, to use Canetti’s framework, violence is channelled into a ‘meaningful’ action that members believe will restore a sense of peace. In this respect, many authors agree that violence has always had a ‘redemptive’ element that transcends and gives ‘sense’ to its very foundational logic. More importantly, the victim is considered responsible for the crisis that generated the violence in the first place. It is as if by eliminating the victim, a sense of peace is restored, after which it becomes evident that the scapegoated target of violence was genuinely responsible. No member of the group must feel responsible for the act of killing. The killing of the victim is somehow legitimised as a necessary action for the survival of the community. In order for this to work, says Girard, the process must be ‘normalised’. The victim must never be recognised as an innocent scapegoat; instead, the victim must be deprived of their humanity and believed to be genuinely responsible for the communal crisis. Girard seems to suggest that a real murder is at the origin of humankind, a killing that has transformed the once indistinct mess of atoms in a group of individuals who have found peace around the body of the first victim. A scapegoat mechanism, in other words, is the foundation of cultural life. Now, bearing in mind that there are limitations to applying the scapegoating mechanism to the complexity of violence that is sweeping through Europe in different ways and towards different targets, Girard’s analysis nonetheless offers an insight into how the persecutors reveal their victims to us. At the centre of every scapegoating there is the impossibility

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of dialogue. As the persecutors believe that the selected victim is responsible for the crisis that is threatening the survival of the community, the victim ceases to be human and they are degraded to a point that their life appears meaningless and superfluous. Escobar (2001), among others, uses this framework to understand the ‘normality’ of violence perpetrated against the victims of the Nazi regime where guards and officials felt legitimised to abuse the victims’ bodies as desired. Deprived of their names and identities, dressed in identical ways and lost in this silent indifference that made them all equals in their mortal destiny, victims were numbers with not much else attached to them and, therefore, disposable lives for a world that did not need them. As I have noted before, the victim, so to speak, is not born as such. As we know, victims have different skins, religions, genders, affiliations and languages. They do, however, occupy a liminal position: they are insiders and outsiders at the same time, they are different from us but pretend to become like us, they push the boundaries of our identity and threaten the authenticity of our repetitive lives. They are, in other words, enemies inside and outside. They contaminate our order with the germs of their chaos. It is here then that we can start moving forward with our analysis. Scapegoats still exist, and we need to come to terms with this uncomfortable truth before we can understand that we are not free from this mechanism. Instead, it is probably even more dangerous now as we hide behind the magnitude of our democratic victories and as technologies give us an even easier and more efficient way to ‘eliminate’ the danger. Fear is, as discussed, still a driving force behind the construction of otherness. Compared to the past, however, fear has changed into something more pervasive and all-encompassing. For Paul Virilio (2012), we have entered a time of general panic—for the things we cannot control, for the people we cannot see, for the events we cannot predict. It does not matter how technologically and scientifically advanced we have become, we are still terrified creatures that need leaders to take on the responsibility we do not want to have, to take on the pressures we cannot bear and the voices we cannot listen to. Migrants do embody this fear as they threaten us with their illegality and irreducibility. This is well explained by Bauman in Strangers to Our Door (2016). Using his own words, migrants: make us aware, and keep reminding us, of what we would dearly like to forget or better still to wish away […]. Those nomads – not by choice but by the verdict of a heartless fate – remind us, irritatingly, infuriatingly and

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horrifyingly, of the (incurable?) vulnerability of our own position and of the endemic fragility of our hard-won well-being. (p. 16)

As argued by Canetti in particular, and by Girard to a different extent, the potentiality of destruction, the collapse of our social structures, is always behind the corner. Even if not tangibly present, the mere idea that someone could potentially destroy us or contaminate us or change us by virtue of their difference is the worst nightmare and the ultimate source of existential anxiety. Make no mistake, the scapegoating process identified so clearly by Girard requires a certain degree of commitment to the cause. The enemy has to be ‘constructed’ in order for the crowd to really believe he or she is responsible for whatever tragedy is happening to us. The narrative has to be packed and sold to us in segments, slowly but insistently, in order for us to digest it as if it were the ultimate truth. Now let us apply this framework to the representations of illegal migrants in general and to refugees in particular. First, a sequence of ‘nots’ is deployed: they do not understand our culture; they do not want to integrate; they do not speak the same language; they do not have respect for our land—and the list goes on. These ‘nots’ contribute to the dehumanisation of the target. Once dehumanised, the victim is ready to be exposed to the fury of those who consider themselves to be part of the ‘deserving’ slice of humanity. He or she can be beaten up, humiliated to the core, left floating on our seas or waiting at the other side of the wall waiting for help that will not come, waiting for an answer that will not be given. The second element that helps us find a connection between Girard’s theory and the refugee crisis can be found precisely in Girard’s words when he mentions that no modern society is entirely free from this scapegoating tendency. These strategies always operate on the belief that the enemy is contaminating the body politic, corrupting the youth, eroding the economy, sabotaging peace and debasing morals (Kearney 2002). The victim of choice differs from country to country and from time to time. Nonetheless, even if targets ‘change’, the underlying rhetoric that constructs the target as the perfect victim presents similar themes, with the victim accused of being a catalyst for ‘negative change’, of threatening cherished traditions with harmful consequences for one’s personal prospects and of being responsible for spurring strong feelings of injustice, fears of déclassement and rising insecurity.

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There is another point we can draw from Girard’s theory which might help us understand why this retreat to the notions of national identity as ‘wholeness’ is taking place. I refer here to his theorisation of the arbitrariness that characterises the selection of the victim and the idea that foreigners are easy targets simply because they struggle to fully engage with the social infrastructure. They are, in other words, marginal. As I have argued before, the construction of Otherness and the negation of alterity have been a constant in the history of human beings, together with specific mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion whose responsibility has been to ‘decide’ who legitimately belongs to ‘Us’ and who to ‘Them’. This is further confirmed by Julia Kristeva (1993) who argue that the modern identity crisis has led to the search for distinction under some regressive common denominators such as national origins and the faith of our forebears. Fuelled by negative media attention on migration-related issues, the proportion of people identifying immigration and race as the most (or one of the most) important issues facing Europe has reached new levels. Clearly, defining migration as a ‘crisis’ has a twofold implication. Firstly, it reinforces perceptions among citizens of being ‘under siege’, touched by unfamiliar faces and poverties that threaten the stability of our social structures. Secondly, and going back to Girard’s theory of violence, it is when a crisis is perceived that the scapegoating mechanism starts to function. Finally, crises claim leaders with a strong voice and an even stronger personality, with a narrative to tell and a dream to recreate, leaders who say things we are not allowed to say but we secretly like hearing, leaders with a clear-cut, mono-directional vision of the world (Bauman 2016), a world that is predominantly White, productive, networked, highly mobile for us and shut down for others. These leaders promise to remove the complexity of our world and to do the dirty work for us. As we know, these leaders are still here, among us. The tangible result of this fear today is an architecture composed of walls and wired fences that constitute the material response to Europe’s paralytic paranoia, a sense of persecution that has never left us (Escobar 2001). Encapsulated within a frantic security operation, the EU external border extends its arms like an octopus to include third countries, lands, seas, power centres and technologies located inside and outside the EU. The nature of this architecture of surveillance and power is inevitably never stable, always in motion, as we increasingly exercise violence as a

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form of prevention rather than as a reaction to actual threats. Our obsession towards the protection of our borders extends as far as to imagining things that have not yet happened and might never happen. It is probably in the defensive function of violence that the philosophy behind the artificial construction of Fortress Europe reveals the drama of ‘staying human’ in a word ruptured by conflicts. And yet, as Canetti and Girard have already predicted, the relief provided by excluding the other (physically, symbolically or even only imaginary) is only temporary. The fact that borders need to be constantly improved and technologically enhanced is already a symbol of their fragility. In fact, I argue, the over-reliance on technologies covers our failings as human beings, our inability to respond to alterity with dialogue instead of reacting as an isolated unit. In my view, technologies have exacerbated our tendency towards violence through even more aseptic forms of intervention. Caught in this state of experimentation, where innovation in technologies of surveillance is among the top priorities of the Union, we excuse ourselves by using narratives of emergency where killing the other becomes collateral damage or a reality TV show, an inconvenient element of political life. Together with the ‘deficient’ creatures theorised by Gehlen, we always need to find new ways to control and reduce the complexity of the world by our own hands. Here, the ever-increasing sophistication of technologies only expands the possibilities of our artificial nature while further exacerbating the distance between ourselves and our victims. If it is not us hitting the target but a drone or a system guided by artificial intelligence, then we cannot really be held responsible. Even better, we are not really responsible if what we are doing is protecting ourselves from a threat. As the moral justification blurs our vision, it does not really matter if the violence exercised on the bodies of migrants is disproportionate in relation to the actual threat. The ‘better safe than sorry’ motto assumes very grotesque traits here. While technologies transform and improve, victims remain stuck in the same limbo of perpetual obsession. Deprived of a ‘political’ voice these lives do not matter nor exist in the political discourse, rather their lives ‘float’ as non-citizens, non-regular, non-legal indistinct forms of subjectivity. Before we turn to the analysis of the complexity of European borders, let me focus a little longer on the figure of the migrant and why their presence has always been a source of fear.

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2.2

The Political Foundations

The theoretical framework just outlined has confirmed that our sense of identity cannot exist without alterity. I connect this obsession towards the protection of European borders to the fact that Western Europe has found itself in the grip of a political identity crisis. This is partly the result of the drift to the right in European political discourse concerning issues of immigration and the supposed failure of multicultural societies, and partly the consequence of a massive level of unease in many Western countries, where trust in institutions and politics is at a record low, alongside crises of confidence and of political representation. As we witness a difficult time for the state of our politics, the economic crisis that has hit all political and social systems in Europe has also revealed a series of fractures that were probably already there for a very long time. More recently, David Morley’s (2017) hypothesis of a two-tier Europe, where the most successful European economies would join together around common financial and fiscal interests against the poor and unproductive economies of the South, seems a very likely geopolitical scenario. A return to the purest forms of national identities reveals a worrying return to the ghosts of the past that tend to be easily and conveniently forgotten. In using this as a starting point, in this section I want to focus on Europe’s political and institutional responses to ideas and forms of diversity before turning my analysis to the technological mediatisation of Fortress Europe. As Alessandra Buonfino (2004) notes, the interplay between migration and social fear is responsible for the fact that migrancy, despite the ‘multiculturalist fairy-tale’ that is repeatedly told at Europe’s bedtime, will always be perceived with suspicion and mistrust. Migrants are often seen as unwelcome and unwanted guests (Tsagarousianou 2004), constantly under scrutiny for their daily routines and traditions, excluded from the legitimate public places where citizens live and dialogue. Suspicion and mistrust are both the product and consequence of a general state of insecurity that is increased by misinformation. As mentioned by Buonfino (2004), it is the official representation of (illegal) migration as an issue of security that paradoxically increases social insecurity and anxiety. While, as discussed, this is a well-established trend in Europe historically, over the past three decades migration flows have changed in a number of ways, with an increase in both number and complexity to and within Europe. We now live in a far more complex society than ever before, where forms of exclusion and discrimination

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towards illegal and irregular migrants with lower employment and educational opportunities cohabit with episodes of successful ‘contamination’ where there is little or no conflict. A ‘clash of civilizations’, as some would say, is not an inevitable fact of modern society; in fact, it is the more complex result of a variety of interconnected factors, such as anxiety over belonging and identity, conflicts abroad, the behaviour of institutions, a widespread fear that familiar things are being taken away, feelings of powerlessness, and perceptions of being treated unfairly or not being listened to. We do not really have to look too far to find clear examples of narratives screaming hate towards certain groups once and forever labelled as enemies of Europe. From Africa and South-East Asia to the Albanian diaspora of the 1990s, from the movement of East Europeans following the 2004 EU enlargement to the most recent ‘mass emigration’ of people from the Middle East, a security-obsessed Europe has over the years found its nourishment and raison d’être. Regardless of their different historical and political nature, a common disregard for the actual numbers of arrivals, for the root causes of migration and for the responsibilities of the ‘developed world’ in most of the events that are now forcing people to flee, has fuelled Europe’s determination to protect and enforce the continent’s main entry points. Today, Europe’s borders represent a political affair that is shared across multiple forces including governments, military forces, migration officials, border guards and, of course, accompanied by an unprecedented architecture of security and surveillance technologies spreading across lands and seas. As migration keeps playing an oversized role in all political and public agendas, as economic and political crises slowly but steadily erode citizens’ trust in the ability of governments to protect and provide for them, the hardening of Europe’s external frontiers has over the last few years revealed its ambiguous and violent nature. I would like to pause for a moment and consider three overlapping dimensions characterising Europe’s political responses. First, Europe’s political responses to the presence of ‘others’ in its territory have been almost always driven by the already discussed sense of persecution, an always present fear that what we have been cherishing as a right and privilege can disappear at any moment because of forces outside our control. The second defining characteristic of Fortress Europe is its foundational narrative. Despite the evolution of our society, the need to believe in a narrative that explains who we are and where we are from has always represented the most fundamental, and at the same time the

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most artificial, reference point. In the name of such a narrative, attempts to ‘remove’ those who do not believe, or worse threaten, the core pillars of such testimony of spiritual and moral value, have punctuated Europe’s history. Third, there is a fanatical vision of the world. In the political communication that substitutes dialogue with propaganda, that builds walls instead of bridges, that prefers to retreat into the safe space of home (the nation) instead of risking any minimal contact with alterity (those that the nation has once and for all described as enemies), a self-repeating lullaby that celebrates our ‘common past’, ‘our origin’ and the purity of our identity anesthetises our souls. Blinded by anxiety and fear as migrants are said to ‘invade’ our territory, fed by media outlets and politicians capitalising on this fear to win consensus, reassured by the Great Leader or the Strong Man who says that everything is going to be fine, we lose a sense of responsibility for a humanity that does not count. From the comfort of our homes, we witness episodes of unbearable violence safe in the knowledge that our governments will successfully take care of these incidents without too much noise. The lack of a sense of responsibility does not only depend on the presence of leaders (and other institutional forces) doing the dirty work for us, but also on the comfort provided by Canetti’s crowd. By being together, by cooperating against the danger, we renew our intimate bond and sense of belonging to a non-better-defined European identity that seems to matter to us only when it is convenient. Alternative narratives are simply not possible; the refusal of dialogue is what fuels the blindness and indifference of persecutors. There is also, of course, a strategy of over-simplification behind Europe’s political responses to the arrival of unwelcome guests. When the Prime Minister of Hungary Viktor Orbán famously declared the ‘all terrorists are migrants’, he provided as the Great Leader a clear-cut and easy-to-digest analysis of Europe’s crisis. No fancy political tones, no incomprehensible jargon. Instead, he gave his citizens, already hit by high levels of unemployment, the scapegoat they needed. And there you have it: the victim responsible for all things wrong in society, for the jobs we do not have and for the things we cannot afford, for the lack of safe ports and for the presence of dead bodies on our beautiful beaches. Of course, narratives of criminalisation are not at all a new phenomenon. Hannah Arendt (1951/2017, p. xi) talked about ‘selective dispositions’ towards certain minorities which have characterised the evolution of antisemitism, imperialism and totalitarianism by showing us the ‘truly radical nature of

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Evil’. More recently, and especially after the tragic succession of events following 9/11 in the USA and the attacks in London, Paris and other European cities since then, the equation made between asylum seekers, terrorism and crime has been at the centre of media and public agendas. Strategies of over-simplification affect migration policies. Balibar (2009), among others, has described security policies as functional in either attracting cheap labour or in resisting the settlement of certain categories of migrants. Faced with only two options, solutions have always been minimal: either governments have facilitated migration for a limited period of time, hoping that migrants would have decided to return home at some point, or have reduced, slowed down, stopped and abused such mobility. This is of course valid for refugees, a particularly undeserving category of migrants wanted for their labour but unwanted as human beings (Ferrer-Gallardo and von Houtum 2014). This practice of discrimination, which distinguishes between the different values of human life (a life, nevertheless, perceived as a waste), is at the very centre of bordering practices. In the matter of who deserves to enter and who should turn around and go back to where they have come from, the evaluation is arbitrary, often ill-judged, and always of a violent nature. By constituting a threat to an ill-defined sense of national purity/homogeneity, undesirable refugees personify a ‘geography of fear’ (Stierl 2017). Perceived as a problem rather than as a resource, their representations shift from—again—two main poles: they are either victimised or criminalised (Chouliaraki and Zaborowski 2017). In either case, their voice disappears behind our necessity to transform our life into a plot of reassuring and comforting narratives. A sense of identity beyond these two extremes seems impossible and cannot be categorised. The next step is to transform these narratives into material acts of exclusion. While the philosophical and political foundations I have just outlined have never really evolved but simply replicated the same historical patterns of alterity, there is something seemingly new about the politics of Europe. Andrew Barry (2001) explains this in unequivocal terms in describing ‘the politics of Europe today [as] a politics of technology…[and] Europe itself is a technological arrangement’ (p. 20). The next section will consider some of the most recent advancements in such a technological arrangement. While a comprehensive account of Europe’s politics of technology will not be provided, an overview of the latest innovations in the government of migration will nevertheless be offered.

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2.3

The Technologically Mediated Foundations

It is not news that we now live in a technological society where innovations in technology have come to influence every facet of our lives. From the way we work, travel and communicate, to the way we initiate and maintain relationships, technology has acquired a new substance that makes its study central to all questions pertaining to our evolution as human beings. In recent years, the word mediatisation has attracted considerable interest in the media theory field. Couldry and Hepp (2013) define mediatisation as a concept able to embrace the political, economic, cultural and social configurations of media in both everyday life and more systemically. For the purposes of this book, I expand on the concept of mediatisation to reflect more holistically on the digitisation of bordering practices. This implies looking at technologies not merely as everyday practices or as communicative processes but as the outcome of a complex infrastructure (both physical and symbolic) where technologies of surveillance, technologies of exile and technologies of solidarity and social good come together in unpredictable and creative ways. Of course, much has been written about the role of the technologies of surveillance within the spaces of Fortress Europe. Dijstelbloem and Meijer (2011), for example, in their book Migration and the New Technological Borders of Europe have perhaps offered one of the most comprehensive and lucid accounts of Europe’s border surveillance system. According to the authors, technology has played an increasingly pervasive role in defining the nature of the border, at least since the introduction of passports. Surveillance technology not only applies to geographical borders as instruments of control and monitoring but it increasingly intervenes on the body as data information and storage. Similarly, Chouliaraki and Musarò (2017) have discussed the ‘digital matrices of global surveillance’ that distinguishes the value of human life by using categories of legality and illegality in often contradictory and porous ways. The sophistication of Europe’s technological infrastructures is recognised by Milivojevic (2013) who distinguishes between technologies of the living (migrant identification via body parts), optical and electronic technology (laser and glass fibre networks) and information and communication technologies. Altogether, they reinforce three concomitant sets of logic: the security logic of the identification of risks which is, of course, connected to the perception of migration as a security problem; the economic logic of management where risks need to be identified, assessed and targeted

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in the most efficient and cost-productive manner; and finally the logic of ambient intelligence which goes hand in hand with the provision of situational awareness (comprehensive and exhaustive control of border crossings) and of comfort. This observation is, of course, linked to the following discussion on borders but at the same time the full extent of Europe’s technological apparatus and nervous system goes beyond the materiality of borders to identify a much broader and sophisticated architecture of financial investments, power and surveillance. More than a set of tools used to impart decisions, the technological foundations of Fortress Europe rest upon a number of political, ethical, cultural and social propositions that have increasingly normalised the mediation of technology as an instrument to identify life that is worthy of living. In saying this, we should of course remove ourselves from the risk of falling into the trap of techno-determinism which establishes a direct logical causation between technology and the development of social structures. In looking at the interplay of multiple factors in the definition, implementation and observation of technologies, I imply that these cannot be understood outside the broader social, cultural, political, legal and security contexts in which technologies are deployed and acquire sense. In using the phrase ‘technological foundations’ then, I specifically refer to a set of attitudes towards the political present (and future) that sees in the mediation of technology a response and solution to some of the most pressing issues of our time, first and foremost migration. This is especially true if we look at the proliferation of e-borders, digital borders and technological borders as central to the functional ‘metamorphosis’ of Fortress Europe (Marin 2011). I argue that at the centre of such a metamorphosis we can locate the trend towards rendering borders increasingly smarter, cost-effective and more automated, in line with the general economic trends towards hyper-connected and high-tech global economies. For decades, the EU has invested money in the implementation of a ‘security assemblage’ (Haggerty and Ericson 2000). Heat and movement sensors, surveillance cameras, smart technologies, fingerprints, iris and bone scans, facial recognition software, speech recognition technologies and more recently drones are only a few practical examples of Europe’s sophisticated techno-military infrastructure. While the topic of surveillance will also be discussed in the next section, some considerations are necessary here. First, in the analysis provided

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by Haggerty and Ericson (2000), surveillance emerges as an integration of systems and tools that collaborate towards a more comprehensive outlook on a given emergency. Thus, technologies of surveillance should be considered as closely interrelated regardless of their specific function and target. Second, the body becomes an object of intervention as data are extracted from its territorial setting and re-formulated as data flows (documentation, fingerprints, scans, etc.). Third, during the process of commodification of the body, where even the most intimate and private data become a source of information, a process of selective scrutiny takes place. This is perhaps nowhere clearer than in the last new border packages developed by Europe’s member states. Since the formalisation of Europe’s new border package in 2008, which mainly documented the need for a centralised database containing information about specific categories of non-EU nationals and the need to support the systematic and rigorous checking of people entering Europe, policies have become more rigorous. At the same time, and on a more institutional level of innovation, agencies like Frontex and Eurosur have witnessed constant revisions of their mandate and responsibilities. The first, Frontex—the European Border and Coast Guard Agency—was set up with the precise responsibility to coordinate border control efforts. In response to the European migrant crisis of 2015–2016, the European Commission proposed to extend its mandate and to transform it into a fully fledged European Border and Coast Guard Agency. Today, the agency is responsible for conducting risk analyses, for coordinating the delivery of staff and equipment to external border areas, for ensuring rapid response actions through the deployment of Border Guard Teams, for conducting research and administering training, for developing best practices of return operations as a suggestion to member states and for coordinating information sharing.4 The latter, the European Border Surveillance System (Eurosur) is also responsible for information sharing and for ensuring cooperation between the EU member states and Frontex itself. Its main role, as stated in the European Commission portal, is ‘to improve situational awareness and increase reaction capability at external borders’.5 The phrase ‘situational awareness’, which I have mentioned before, is of particular importance here. In fact, many authors identify the increasing technologisation of Fortress Europe as central to an established narrative that demands smarter tools to be able to provide a more efficient, precise and flawless solution to illegal crossings. Compared

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to human guards who need shifts, salaries and most of all instruments that are able to enhance their limited vision and ranges of motion, technologies can of course operate on a much bigger scale and at a faster pace, ensuring continuous action and infallible functionality. While specific examples will be discussed in the following chapter, I would like to pinpoint three related aspects here. First, that communication on the role and nature of such technologies is meant to be understood only by experts and not by the general public. The vocabulary used by international organisations is highly specialised and should tell us something about the logic of profitability that stands behind the design of these systems. Second, that the emphasis on risk speaks about the belief that these procedures will effectively bring order to situations of chaos, which can and will be managed through a cost-effective analysis of data. Third, that there is a growing European security market where institutional and non-institutional actors and private and public organisations compete to provide the most innovative, efficient and high-tech solutions that deliver smart responses to the issues posed by migration and most especially illegal migration. In this respect, looking at the technification of the security response, which has reached peak levels of interest today, is not just about looking at how many solutions are designed and implemented but also at the emergence of new business models and cost-benefit calculations that define today’s digital economy and big data mindsets. Bearing this in mind, it comes as no surprise that the European Commission is proposing to substantially increase the current security funding from e3.5 billion (2014–2020) to e4.8 billion (2021–2027).6 While it is certainly true that security has always been a political priority, the amount of resources spent on internal and external security has more than doubled since the 2015–2016 refugee crisis. From the original allocations for 2014–2020 of e6.9 billion for the Asylum, Migration and Integration Fund (AMIF) and for the Information Security Forum (ISF) fund, an additional e3.9 billion was mobilised to reach e10.8 billion for migration, border management and internal security.7 It should also come as no surprise the fact that the EU budget for the management of external borders has increased significantly, reaching more than e21.3 billion for the period 2021–2027, compared to e5.6 billion for the period 2014–2020.8 In 2018, the Commission also proposed to create a new Integrated Border Management Fund worth e9.3 billion and to allocate more than e12 billion for the decentralised agencies supporting those

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member states protecting the borders, namely the European Border and Coast Guard (Frontex) and EU-LISA, the European Union Agency for the Operational Management of Large-Scale IT Systems in the Area of Freedom, Security and Justice.9 Under the new border fund, the top priorities are to make external borders even stronger and to support member states with border and visa policies, to design and implement more flexible and fast responses, to strengthen the EU’s visa policy and to improve custom control equipment that also includes the creation of a standing corps of 10,000 border guards (to add to the existing pool of 1500 national border guards). Needless to say, as borders represent an area in constant revision and design, so are the technologies that are deployed to make the ‘administration of fear’ (Virilio 2012) more cost-effective and sophisticated. In the next pages, we shall encounter many different examples of border technologies, each with an inner complexity that we can only begin to comprehend in this context. However, I invite the reader to remember what Canetti and Girard said about the artificiality of our social, political and cultural infrastructures. They are meant to protect us from our inadequacy and biological deficiency, they look after our myths and narratives of identity, but they are also intrinsically fragile. It is clear then that, in examining the political, philosophical and technologically mediated foundations of Fortress Europe, the concept of sovereignty remains central. In the words of Bruno Le Maire, France’s Finance Minister at the time of writing, Europe must become an Empire again. But an empire with a Great Leader able to drive us through hell and towards a better future is an empire that kills—figuratively or literally—those lives that stand as an ‘impediment’ to our ambitions and goals. This is the ‘real’ nature of power, its violent foundation and its hypocritical mask. The next chapter will delve deeper into this.

Notes 1. The European Union Agency for Law Enforcement Cooperation (Europol) support member states in preventing and combating international and organised crime, cybercrime and terrorism (https://www.europol.eur opa.eu). 2. A useful analysis of Canetti’s crowds and packs can be found in Brighenti, Andrea Mubi. ‘Tarde, Canetti, and Deleuze on Crowds and Packs’. Journal of Classical Sociology 10, no. 4 (2010): 291–314.

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3. Canetti’s use of ‘man’ to mean ‘humankind’ or ‘people in general’ has been retained here. 4. A full list of Frontex’s role and responsibilities can be found on the agency’s website https://frontex.europa.eu/operations/roles-responsibilities/. 5. A description of Eurosur can be found on the Migration and Home Affairs website https://ec.europa.eu/home-affairs/what-we-do/policies/bordersand-visas/border-crossing/eurosur_en. 6. The information is taken from the European Commission’s 2018 press release (13 June 2018) and can be found here https://ec.europa.eu/com mission/presscorner/detail/en/IP_18_4125. 7. Ivi. 8. Anita Käppeli questions European funding and the numbers mentioned here in her piece ‘The EU’s Answer to Migration Is to Triple Funding for Border Management. Will This Do the Job?’ for the Center for Global Development, which is available here https://www.cgdev.org/blog/eusanswer-migration-triple-funding-border-management-will-do-job. 9. This information is amply discussed in the European Commission’s 2018 EU Budget for the Future report (12 June 2018) which is available here https://ec.europa.eu/commission/sites/beta-political/files/bud get-may2018-securing-external-borders_en.pdf.

References Aizman, Anna. ‘Introduction to Crowd Theory.’ Hypocrite Reader 33 (2013). http://hypocritereader.com/33/crowds. Alfieri, Luigi. ‘Il destino del sopravvissuto.’ Societá, Mutamento, Politica 3, no. 6 (2012): 35–46. Masse, potere e paranoia, edited by Fabrizio Sciacca. Firenze: Firenze University Press. Antonello, Pierpaolo, and Paul Gifford. Can We Survive Our Origins? Readings in Rene Girard’s Theory of Violence and the Sacred. East Lansing: Michigan University Press, 2015. Arendt, Hannah. The Origins of Totalitarianism. London: Penguin Random House UK, 1951/2017. Balibar, Etienne. ‘Europe as Borderland.’ Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 27, no. 2 (2009): 190–215. Banton, Michael. The Idea of Race. London: Tavistock Publications, 1977. Barry, Andrew. Political Machines: Governing a Technological Society. London and Oxford: Bloomsbury, 2001. Bauman, Zygmunt. Strangers at Our Door. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016. Bazzicalupo, Laura. ‘La biopolitica di Canetti: la Massa è un soggetto politico?’ In Leggere Canetti. Massa e potere cinquant’anni dopo, edited by Luigi Alfieri and Antonio De Simone, 79–90. Perugia: Morlacchi, 2011.

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Bellei, Cristiano Maria. Violenza e ordine nella genesi del politico. Trieste: Edizioni Goliardiche, 1999. Blits, Jahn. ‘Hobbesian Fear.’ Political Theory 17, no. 3 (1989): 417–431. Buonfino, Alessandra. ‘Between Unity and Plurality: The Politicization and Securitization of the Discourse of Immigration in Europe.’ New Political Science 26, no. 1 (2004): 23–48. Canetti, Elias. Crowds and Power. New York: Viking Press, 1962. Chouliaraki, Lilie, and Pierluigi Musarò. ‘The Mediatized Border: Technologies and Affects of Migrant Reception in the Greek and Italian Borders.’ Feminist Media Studies 17, no. 4 (2017): 535–549. Chouliaraki, Lilie, and Rafal Zaborowski. ‘Voice and Community in the 2015 Refugee Crisis: A Content Analysis of News Coverage in Eight European Countries.’ International Communication Gazette 79, no. 6–7 (2017): 613– 635. Couldry, Nick, and Andreas Hepp. ‘Conceptualizing Mediatization: Contexts, Traditions, Arguments’. Communications Theory 23, no. 3 (2013): 191–202. Csernatoni, Raluca. ‘High-Tech Fortress Europe: Frontex and the Dronization of Border Management.’ European Public Affairs (2016). https://www.eur opeanpublicaffairs.eu/high-tech-fortress-europe-frontex-and-the-dronizationof-border-management/. Accessed April 5, 2017. De Genova, Nicholas. The Borders of ‘Europe’: Autonomy of Migration, Tactics of Bordering. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2017. Dijstelbloem, Huub, and Albert Meijer. Migration and the New Technological Borders of Europe. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. Escobar, Roberto. Il silenzio dei persecutori ovvero il coraggio di Shahrazàd. Bologna: Il Mulino, 2001. Ferrer-Gallardo, Xavier, and Henk van Houtum. ‘The Deadly EU Border Control.’ ACME: An International Journal for Critical Geographies 13, no. 2 (2014): 295–304. Gehlen, Arnold. Man: His Nature and Place in the World. New York, NY: Columbia University Press, 1988. Girard, Rene. ‘Mimesis and Violence.’ In The Girard Reader, edited by James G Williams, 9–19. New York: Crossroad Publishing Company, 1996. Haggerty, Kevin D., and Richard V. Ericson. ‘The Surveillant Assemblage.’ The British Journal of Sociology 51, no. 4 (2000): 605–622. Hunter, James Davidson. ‘The Deficient Animal: Only the Human Species Is Capable of Grasping, Analyzing, and Interpreting Signs as Symbols.’ The Hedgehog Review: Critical Reflections on Contemporary Culture 21, no. 1 (2019): 62–68. Kearney, Richard. ‘Strangers and Others: From Deconstruction to Hermeneutics.’ Critical Horizons 3, no. 1 (2002): 7–36.

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Kristeva, Julia. Nations without Nationalism. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993. Marin, Luisa. ‘Is Europe Turning into a “Technological Fortress”? Innovation and Technology for the Management of EU’s External Borders: Reflections on FRONTEX and EUROSUR.’ In Regulating Technological Innovation, edited by Michiel A Heldeweg and Evisa Kica, 131–151. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. Migration Home Affairs. (n.d.). Eurosur. https://ec.europa.eu/home-aff airs/what-we-do/policies/borders-and-visas/border-crossing/eurosur_en. Accessed August 7, 2019. Milivojevic, Sanja. ‘Borders, Technology and (Im)mobility: “Cyber-Fortress Europe” and Its Emerging Southeast Frontier.’ Australian Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 3 (2013): 101–123. Morley, David. Communications and Mobility: The Migrant, the Mobile Phone, and the Container Box. Oxford: Wiley Blackwell, 2017. Sciacca, Fabrizio. ‘Masse, potere e paranoia.’ Societá, Mutamento, Politica 3, no. 6 (2012), Firenze: Firenze University Press. Stepka, Maciej. ‘Humanitarian Securitization of the 2015 “Migration Crisis”: Investigating Humanitarianism and Security in the EU Policy Frames on Operational Involvement in the Mediterranean.’ In Migration Policy in Crisis, edited by Ibrahim Sirkeci, Emília Lana de Freitas Castro and Ülkü Sezgi Sözen, 9–30. London: Transnational Press London, 2018. Stierl, Maurice. ‘Excessive Migration, Excessive Governance. Border Entanglements in Greek EU-Rope.’ In The Borders of ‘Europe’: Autonomy of Migration, Tactics of Bordering, edited by Nicholas De Genova, 210–232. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2017. Tsagarousianou, Roza. ‘Rethinking the Concept of Diaspora: Mobility, Connectivity and Communication in a Globalized World.’ Westminster Papers in Communication and Culture 1, no. 1 (2004): 52–65. Virilio, Paul. ‘The Administration of Fear.’ Semiotext Intervention Series 10. Cambridge, Massachusetts and London: MIT Press, 2012. Walters, William. ‘Foucault and Frontiers: Notes on the Birth of the Humanitarian Borders.’ In Governmentality: Current Issues and Future Challenges, edited by Ulrich Bröckling, Susanne Krasmann and Thomas Lemke, 138–164. New York: Routledge, 2011.

CHAPTER 3

Technologies of Surveillance and Border Regimes

3.1

Borders as Institutions of Power

Before I delve deeper into the analysis of European borders as institutions of power, a note on their role as institutions is due. While this book does not intend to provide a history of the evolution of borders but only to focus on its more recent configurations, it is important to remind the reader that a new interest in the study of borders emerged in the 1990s to reflect the reconfiguration of European and non-European political systems on the one hand, and the exponential increase in and complexity of mobility flows on the other. In both academic and public debates, this interest signalled the importance of borders zones in the European agenda and the recognition that the myth of the borderless world was indeed collapsing as a result of increasing pressures to safeguard the external borders of Europe. Despite its long history, the narratives surrounding the evolution of bordering practices have always been contradictory. As Reece Jones (2017) reminds us, the prevalent myth through the 1990s was the creation of a borderless world as an emanation of the democratic spirit sweeping across Europe after the Berlin Wall fell in

A similar analysis of borders as institutions of power, as mechanisms of identity formation and as performances of denial can be found in Marino, Sara. ‘What Are We Going to Do About Them? The Centrality of Borders in Fortress Europe’. Networking Knowledge Journal 9, no. 4 (2016): 1–12. © The Author(s) 2021 S. Marino, Mediating the Refugee Crisis, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-53563-6_3

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1989. When the Schengen area was established, the abolition of internal borders represented the biggest achievement in the history of Europe. The reality, however, was that EU borders were not really abolished. Instead, they were moved to different locations to protect the external boundaries of the Union. Over the years, the protection of these external boundaries became a very serious affair that demanded policies and regulations. Frontex, the European and Coast Guard Agency, was founded in 2004 to ensure safe and well-functioning external borders providing security in collaboration with member states. Today, and among many other tasks, the agency promotes, coordinates and develops European border management strategies, it monitors and analyses data through the screening, debriefing, identification and fingerprinting of migrants and it supports the cooperation between law enforcement authorities.1 As this chapter will hopefully clarify, the evolution of borders has walked hand in hand with the evolution of our technical and technological skills. Borders have become, in other words, increasingly techno-militarised in order to respond to bigger and bolder threats more efficiently and more productively. Besides becoming increasingly techno-mediated, borders have shifted from opening to closing in a rather flexible manner. This became particularly evident in the aftermath of the death of three-yearold Alan Kurdi on a Turkish beach, whose photographed (and violently mediatised) body became global news not only for its shocking nature but also for causing a shift in the political discourse on refugees. Not only was the violent nature of borders suddenly called upon, but European leaders too seemed to move towards more welcoming policies. In the days following his death, Germany opened its border to welcome thousands of refugees waiting in line at the Hungarian border. This decision, as the Guardian’s migration correspondent Kingsley (2016) reported, encouraged European member states to create a humanitarian corridor from northern Greece to southern Bavaria. In the UK, the then Prime Minister David Cameron also agreed to host thousands of refugees seeking asylum. Most poignantly, the shift also comprised a broader acknowledgement that the migration or refugee crisis was, in fact, a shared responsibility. Unfortunately, what was widely considered to be a promising sign of a shift towards a more compassionate treatment of refugees soon revealed its temporary nature and limited capacity. In what followed, the Balkan humanitarian corridor was shut, the relocation scheme failed as the numbers of refugees who were relocated to Europe were nowhere near the figures initially promised, refugee camps developed unprecedented

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and unbearable living conditions, and a ‘race to the populist bottom’ in Italy, Austria and the east of Europe (Ambrosi 2017) reshuffled the cards in tragic ways. Years after the EU-Turkey agreement that was signed on 18 March 2016 to end irregular migration from Turkey to the EU, the back door to Europe now became an impossible route to take. Slovakia, Germany, Austria and Hungary among other countries decided to seal their land borders as a consequence of the perceived security threats and the emerging far-right parties. Unable to cross the Mediterranean Sea to reach Italy thanks to Matteo Salvini’s firm refusal to allow refugees in, with a route along Eastern Europe patrolled by stricter and more sophisticated border controls, refugees have in the past two years embarked on more perilous routes to Greece and the across the Aegean Sea, while irregular and abusive pushbacks continue to be exercised by the military and other forces in the east of Europe. In such a scenario, clarifying the use of the term institution might seem like a trivial exercise. However, there is a rationale behind such a decision. For years in the social sciences, border studies have mainly focused on the specific functions fulfilled by borders in response to very specific emergencies, thus on a very time-sensitive and geopolitical basis (Müller 2013). This approach, while useful to identify the centrality of bordering practices within specific migratory contexts, somehow misses the inherent productive and more porous nature of such practices which demand different and broader underpinnings. In line with Müller’s argument that ‘borders cannot be properly understood if they are identified with historically specific functions’ (2013, p. 354), I argue that their view as institutions allows us to unpack the core functions of bordering practices above and beyond the specific context in which they are deployed. In more specific terms, an institutional view of borders allows us to consider the following: 1. the possibilities of coordination between multiple forces including European authorities, nonstate actors, private enterprises and smuggling networks; 2. the production of identities, mobilities and subjectivities. Here, a fixed understanding of borders as tied to certain historical occurrences fails to see the more subtle and often hidden production of identities and subjectivities that are affected by borders in different ways and nuances. Borders are not simply points of entry/exit;

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rather, they have different languages, meanings and representations depending on who crosses the border. They can be visible or invisible, open or closed, porous or impermeable. Hedetoft (2003) defines borders as ‘impermeable asymmetric membranes’ that reveal their sticky and capricious nature as their function, locality and power change from time to time; 3. the often-hysterical deployment of technologies of surveillance for the purpose of monitoring, screening, fingerprinting, scanning and thermo-visualising the refugee body. By their (artificial) nature, institutions need logistics to operate and function. Borders are the institutions without which Fortress Europe would not be able to operate. There is something else to add. As David Morley (2017) rightly points out, a comprehensive observation (of borders, in this case) should not only take into account the most visible flows of bodies and objects but also the ways in which broader institutional frameworks work and how they affect the way decisions are made, regulated and changed. I therefore agree with Balibar (2002) that borders possess at least three attributes: they are over-determined in the way they are perceived differently according to their internal or external nature; they have a polysemic nature as they acquire diverse meanings and functionalities depending on who is crossing them; and they are ubiquitous and heterogeneous. This last characterisation is of particular use here. Regardless of the specific context in which bordering practices are activated, borders are volatile, scattered and diffuse. Far from being simply a measure of international stability, dialogue and security to be deployed only in situations of emergency, borders act as geographical and symbolic lines separating the deserving from the undeserving slices of humanity. Fuelled by ‘narratives of invasion’ and presented as the only solution possible to the ‘organised incursion’ of unwanted and unwelcome guests, borders function as a systematic form of exclusion that Matthew Carr (2015) defines as both chaotic and dysfunctional. Within this scenario of ‘frantic experimentation’ (Antonello and Gifford 2015) where increasingly sophisticated technologies of surveillance are deployed in an attempt to control global movement, we are confronted with the tangible signs of a crisis that is both environmental, political and socio-cultural. At the same, time, we once again use artificial structures to protect us from the truth that we are imperfect and deficient human beings. When the world becomes so

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open that we believe multiple forces outside of our control threaten us with their diversity, the imperative is to bolt shut the door and hide. They (the political and media elites) say it is temporary, that the crisis will soon disappear, that we shall find peace again, and that more prosperous seasons will arrive. Unfortunately, the narrative of exceptionalism keeps feeding itself until we citizens do not question its presence anymore and we become blind to its operational logic. For a while now, borders have embodied this narrative. While they have always existed in some form or another, contemporary borders are highly mobile, increasingly techno-mediated and likely to multiply every time there is an emergency that requires immediate action. We have then witnessed a widening of the concept of border in at least two ways. Firstly, in terms of a shift from borders to bordering practices which has called into question an interpretation of borders not as fixed geographical lines but as practices of selective inclusion and exclusion. Secondly, borders have rapidly become the normative instrument through which migration flows are regulated, monitored and recorded. For those subjects who live on the ‘right’ side of the border, crossing is at best an inconvenience that slows down the rapid rhythm of a business trip or a holiday. For those marginalised groups whose identity is more difficult to authenticate, borders have been transformed into a permanent state of exception that is imposed on them. In an attempt to consolidate the distinction between who is in and who is out, borders function as institutions where state authorities can exercise their power. The allocation of authority is, for Andreas Müller (2013), the core characteristic of the border regardless of its specific functions. In particular, the author links the evolution of borders to the exercise of political authority on the one hand and to the implementation of regulations on the other. The first aspect, which to me connects to the idea of the exceptionality of power exercised outside of and away from the state’s political and administrative regulation, is what confers legitimacy on decisions made in situations of emergency. The second aspect is what makes borders flexible and mobile as it concerns the specific political decisions made to justify the very idea of the border and to consolidate its significance within the governance of global mobility. That is to say, that while the specific functions of bordering practices do change depending on the situational emergency, the aspect of authority remains unchanged. This element is crucial in our discussion: by locating the exercise of authority as the stable defining characteristic of borders, we can understand the

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evolution of borders as institutions rather than as a sum of their evolving functions. What distinguishes the operational logic of borders today is the plurality of actors, both public and private, exercising different kinds of authority. Military organisations, European agencies, governments, humanitarian networks and not-for-profit agencies, security industries and private companies all contribute to what Amoore (in Corey et al. 2011) calls a ‘spatial stretching’ of the border. There is more. As noted, the conceptual shift from borders to bordering practices signals an extension of power above and beyond decision-making at entry and exit points. Once labelled as a deserving or undeserving migrant, the label sticks to the skin and the body of the migrant with long-term consequences for their process of integration. There is, therefore, a temporal dimension that applies every time an irregular or illegal foreigner threatens to enter the territory of a nation. Temporality, in the context here discussed, refers both to the ‘life’ of borders and the interplay between exceptionality (the state of emergency) and the norm (the state of emergency acquiring a permanent nature), and to the long-lasting consequences of Europe’s bordering practices. The spatial and temporal dimensions of bordering practices intervene in an object that according to Michel Foucault has been a target of intervention of power since at least the seventeenth century, namely the human body. Controlled, monitored, fingerprinted, scanned, digitised, the body has never been as ‘disciplined’ as it is today. In this respect, Salter (2006) talks about a corporeal turn in the development of contemporary practices of identification where the body that moves is the body that can be included or excluded on the basis of arbitrary categories of identification. Given the relevance of this statement for the present analysis, the first aspect of power I would like to discuss here is that of disciplinary power. To do this, we need to firstly discuss Michel Foucault’s ‘triangle of power’ (Dean 2013), which breaks into (I) sovereign power; (II) disciplinary power; and (III) biopower. Sovereign power is, for the French philosopher, a repressive and coercive form of domination that was typical of the mediaeval state. According to Foucault (1990), the classical privilege of sovereign power is the ‘right to take life or let live’. Since the law represents the will of the sovereign, those who violate the law are not only punished for their transgression but also for challenging the authority of the sovereign at its very core. However, for Foucault, a representation of power exclusively in terms of sovereignty bounds our understanding of power to state-exercised power

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and fails to recognise that forces of power are far more capillary as they stretch across other kinds of relations and institutions. In particular, says Foucault, a more productive relationship between power and the body started to emerge in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, which ultimately connected the exercise of power to surveillance. Disciplinary power is ultimately productive power. Its goal, it seems, is not merely to reiterate the divide between the bourgeoisie and the working class through the implementation of specific modes of production as the predominant conceptions of modernity used to claim; rather, its target is the continuous regulation of human activities by means of material coercion and exercise. To discipline the modern body is to surveil it, to communicate it, to adapt it. Within this context, Foucault is not really interested in who ‘holds’ the power; rather, he looks at the discursive relations that emerge between the modern subject and power. There is no judgement in Foucault’s analysis, no universal laws governing the administration of such power; however, what holds Foucault’s theorisations together is its conflictual nature. The social body is also at the very centre of Foucault’s triangle. While the sovereign subject is an atomised entity upon which mass domination is exercised, the indispensable condition for disciplinary power to work is the existence of a subject and the production of his/her individuality. Foucault’s theory of power becomes even more relevant as we shift from disciplinary power to the concept of biopower, which Foucault began to theorise in the last series of lectures delivered on 17 March 1976. Biopower is, according to Foucault, a ‘technology of power’, which seeks to manage, optimise and increase life. Configured as the power to ‘make live’ and ‘let die’, the scope of biopower is not simply to discipline the body through norms of behaviour but to intervene on more salient aspects. To put it another way, this new technology of power, which emerged during the second half of the eighteenth century in Europe concomitant to the emergence of biology as a discipline, takes control of the organic, biological and the social aspects of entire populations rather than individual bodies. According to Fiaccadori (2015), the aim of biopower is to identify risk in order to safeguard healthy social structures. Thus, the concept of biopower calls into question the relationship between security, territory (the political configurations of space) and population (the calculated management of life). How is this relevant to our analysis?

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While Foucault did not specifically address the figure of the migrant in his work, we can still apply his theorisations to our analysis of bordering practices. The starting point in this analysis is Foucault’s concern with interpreting modern societies as relying on the convergence of practices of sovereignty, discipline and biopolitics. In modern societies, these practices serve a new purpose, one by which the power to kill is made to comply with a larger project of the administration of life and where the preservation of the social body (the crowd, in Canetti’s terms) becomes the primary objective. In his more recent works, Foucault did in fact identify the concept of race as central to a new understanding of sovereign power in contemporary societies and in relation to biopower. An excerpt from Society Must Be Defended (2003) is of particular relevance here. Here Foucault asks the following question, How is it possible for a political power to kill, to call for deaths, to demand deaths, to give the order to kill […] Given that this power’s objective is to essentially make live, how can it let die. (p. 254)

The apparent contradiction inherent in this statement is ‘reconciled’ as Foucault approaches the concept of the race war. Confronted with the horror of Hitler’s utter destruction of what Hitler considered ‘abnormal’ life, Foucault turned to state racism to understand the extent to which sovereignty’s imperative ‘to take life or let live’ can still be possible in contemporary societies (Fiaccadori 2015). The forms of racism found in contemporary societies distinguish between an idealised image of humanity (the us) and those ‘segments’ of life who threaten its survival (the them) such as the sick, the disabled, the criminal, the sexually deviant and so on. Here, the foundations of racism stand on these principles of exclusion that are designed to protect the integrity of the ‘right’ social body. By identifying those who must die so that other people may live, state racism finds its key reference point. We have already noted in the works of Canetti and Girard how the extent to which a foundational narrative that distinguishes between who should live and who can die without causing too much protest has permeated the constitution of any idea of social order. The convergence of media and political elites reiterating this narrative over and over again is what creates an audience that firmly believes in the need to protect the social body against dangers and at all costs. Selective processes of inclusion and exclusion have always

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existed and always operated. However, they have become more technically sophisticated. But this is nothing new. As authors such as Traverso (2003) and Bauman (1989) have suggested, the Nazi regime was not simply racist but technologically advanced. Specific techniques of government, including the use of statistics, archives and modes of observation (already identified by Foucault as sites of power), were adopted to systematically and efficiently identify the enemies of the state. Clearly, and while Fiaccadori (2015) reminds us that a juxtaposition of yesterday’s holocaust with today’s refugee crisis demands careful attention and caution, the implementation of technological devices as matters of ‘problem solving’ presents some similarities to the case discussed here. In today’s economy of biopower, the migrant is seen as ‘biologically’ responsible for the germs of diversity they are introducing inside the state’s territory. As difference becomes inscribed in the genes of the other, the institution of sovereign power finds its legitimation and nutrition. This is of course relevant for our analysis: by dehumanising refugees, by making them responsible for the ‘crisis’ of our values and by using them to fuel our anxieties, the recognition of the other as a human being is prevented. In this context, technologies are then used in both a pre-emptive and performative manner: on the one hand, the application of technology onto the refugee body is justified by the articulation of ‘potential’ enemies; on the other hand, the urgency of the situation is what gives state authorities the power to perform selective acts of exclusion at each and every border inspection. Today, the ways in which the refugee body is surveilled reveal an extension of power and surveillance way beyond the border zone space. From here, I want to go a step further to highlight the now powerful relationship between the biopolitical and the digital, a relationship that seems to me to characterise today’s refugee crisis in unique ways. When the biopolitical intersects with the digital, life and death assume a new centrality for the social order. The body becomes data, a binary product of information that is abstracted from its territorial setting and transformed into a series of discrete codes. The body becomes augmented, stretched and expanded to become more manageable and controllable as a flow of unique and private information. The body, in other words, becomes a transaction. Haggerty and Ericson (2000) poetically described the ‘surveillant assemblage’ that characterises the quantitative (and qualitative) increase in surveillance techniques in the West as the ‘opaque flows

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of auditory, scent, chemical, visual, ultraviolet and informational stimuli’ (p. 611). This is particularly evident if we look at two regulations that have contributed to the increasingly digitised EU border surveillance system: Eurodac and Eurosur. Eurodac (the European Asylum Dactyloscopy) is a biometric asylum fingerprint database. The Council Regulation No. 2725/2000 of 11 December 2000 concerning the establishment of Eurodac originally stipulated that its purpose was to ensure the effective enforcement of the Dublin Convention which mandates that refugees have to apply for asylum in the first country of arrival in the EU. The term biometrics refers to those biological or physiological characteristics that can be used for automatic recognition and verification, for example, fingerprints, facial structure, iris and retinal patterns, DNA, voice and signature. The scope of Eurodac is not only to help member states to establish the identity of applicants for purposes of internal protection but also to allow them ‘to check whether a third-country national or stateless person found illegally staying on its territory has applied for international protection in another Member State’.2 In 2013, the mandate of the Eurodac regulation was broadened to allow law enforcement authorities such as Europol access to the database in order to join forces against terrorism. Moreover, a new Smart Border Package was introduced to supplement existing systems represented by the Schengen Information System (SIS), the Visa Information System (VIS) and the already mentioned Eurodac and Europol (The European Union Agency for Law Enforcement Cooperation). Designed to target ‘new and complex security threats’, the package was meant to define the best technical solutions for faster and more secure border control processes. According to Milivojevic (2013), there were three main goals: first, to detect and remove visa overstayers and undocumented migrants; second, to facilitate the movements of desired migrants; and third, to boost the economy by facilitating good and constant transactions. In 2016, following the new challenges faced by the member states in response to the increasing number of arrivals in the EU and the temporary reintroduction of internal border controls, three proposals were advanced: the amendment of the Dublin Regulation, the creation of a European Union Agency for Asylum, and the reinforcement of the Eurodac system for fingerprinting migrants. In relation to the latter, the European Commission proposed a ‘hotspot’ system as an immediate action. Here, the scope was to create a platform for agencies such as

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Frontex, European Asylum Support Office (Easo) and Europol to provide support for the identification, registration and fingerprinting of migrants. The 2016 proposal also introduced the obligation to take facial images in addition to fingerprints, and it lowered the fingerprinting age from 14 to 6 years old.3 While the proposal specifies that force should never be used on minors to take fingerprints or facial images, a note clarifies that where permitted by relevant EU or national law, ‘a proportionate degree of coercion’ may be applied to minors, while ensuring respect for their dignity and physical integrity.4 Permission was also granted to the authorities of third countries to take fingerprints (Article 38), thus opening up a series of ethical concerns regarding data acquisition, transfer, retention and protection. Eurosur (the European Border Surveillance System), meanwhile, presides and ensures the cooperation between the EU member states and Frontex in order to improve situational awareness and increase reaction capability at external borders and ‘for the purpose of detecting, preventing and combating illegal immigration and cross-border crime and contributing to ensuring the protection and saving the lives of migrants’.5 To do this, as Latonero and Kift (2018) remind us, Eurosur allows member states to rapidly exchange information through a comprehensive system of land and sea surveillance, which also includes the establishment of national coordination centres presiding over the deployment of sophisticated surveillance tools such as satellite imagery and drones. Both regulations constitute the backbone of a techno-militarised border surveillance system. This system, albeit seemingly flawless, is in fact highly contradictory. While its purpose is to target (and prevent) illegal migration through the detection of trafficking on the Mediterranean Sea, it is only when refugees arrive in Europe that the need to identify them becomes more urgent, hence the use of biometric technologies able to capture the most sensitive information pertaining to an individual. The surveilled body is a body that is scanned, thermo-analysed, geo-mapped and fingerprinted. GPS systems, satellite surveillance, thermal cameras, drones, biometric and automated border controls all constitute Europe’s techno-military infrastructure and architecture of power. A similar approach is embodied by the most recent project iBorderCtrl, a new automated border control system piloted in Latvia, Hungary and Greece in 2018.6 The project consists of lie-detecting avatars that are meant to simplify border procedures and the identification of illegal crossers by reading and interpreting the person’s micro-gestures. In

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more specific terms, travellers will have to answer a set of questions to a webcam and a computer-generated border guard which recognises gender, ethnicity and language on a case by case scenario. The main modules that define this system are significant as they include the analysis of non-verbal micro-expressions, biometric data, face matching tools and hidden human detection tools, among other technologies. The often-deceitful application of artificial intelligence systems on people crossing borders based on the apparent objectivity of such technologies plays a marginalised role compared to the need to deploy more innovative strategies to contain movement. Other technologies that are still in their pilot phase (at the time of writing) also include ROBORDER. ROBORDER is a project that aims at developing a fully functional autonomous border surveillance system with unmanned mobile robots, including aerial, water surface, underwater and ground devices, and in close contact with human guards.7 Designed to increase and improve situational awareness, ROBORDER detects and recognises illegal border activities faster and more efficiently. The deployment of drones represents a significant slice of Europe’s techno-military infrastructure while embodying the contradictions inherent in the deployment of technologies in situations of crisis. Let me explain. While the prevention of illegal crossings is at the centre of drone deployment, the concomitant narrative that these technologies are also used to detect and prevent accidents at sea and on land raises a number of concerns: hidden behind the intention to save and rescue lives remains only one imperative, namely to monitor and ultimately stop the arrival of the unwanted. The relationship between ‘sovereignty and benevolence’ (Chouliaraki and Musarò 2017) displays its Janus-faced nature here. Sold to us as humanitarian missions and as instruments meant to stop the loss of life, technologies contribute to the revindication of power relations and power discourses. The famous Mare Nostrum operation, a naval and air operation initiated by the Italian government in 2013 to tackle the increased immigration to Europe and particularly to the island of Lampedusa, is a clear example of what Cusumano (2019) calls ‘organised hypocrisy’. Armed with 34 warships, 900 sailors and a team of drones to detect migrants in distress, the operation saved at least 150,000 migrants, mainly from Africa and the Middle East (Patalano 2015). Unsustainable and extremely expensive, the operation ended on 31 October 2014. Its replacements, operations Triton and EU NAVFOR (European Union Naval Force), the latter specifically designed to address and dismantle smuggling networks

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in the Mediterranean, were never meant as a substitute for a Mare Nostrum type of operation. Instead, and while hidden behind humanitarianism as their source of legitimacy (Cusumano 2019), the commitment to rescue migrants was soon made more and more opaque by the emergence of different priorities including border control and monitoring. The gap between rhetoric (the emphasis on humanitarian tasks) and actions (border control) was further reinforced by an EU-wide criticism that Mare Nostrum was in fact acting as a pull factor, encouraging migrants to cross the sea. This narrative, also adopted by Italy’s Interior Minister Matteo Salvini in his invective against charity rescuers, translated as we know into actions that are in fact responsible for the increase of casualties at sea (Carrera and Den Hartog 2015; Heller and Pezzani 2016). Moving this debate further, Muller (2011) claims that there is an important relationship to be established between biometrics and biopolitics. To understand this relationship we need, I argue, to turn to another philosopher who brought sovereignty back into the analysis of refugee politics. This is the Italian scholar Giorgio Agamben whose most important contribution to our study is the identification of biopolitics with sovereignty, and specifically with the sovereign ability to decide which lives are worthy of living. In this context, and as argued by Connolly (2004), the logic inherent in the sovereign is that of a supreme power that can eliminate an entire population to guarantee internal security and national unity. We do not really have to go too far to assess the validity of this statement and to see the ways in which today’s treatment of refugees seems to reiterate an old narrative that we should recognise all too well by now. Agamben himself attempts to explain the relationship between power and violence using the paradigm of exception as a starting point. The philosopher argues that the state of exception tends increasingly to appear as the dominant paradigm of government in contemporary politics. The border, which was once considered to be an emergency measure against immediate threats, has now become a normalised institution that is both ubiquitous and omnipresent. In his interpretation of Agamben’s theory, Salter argues that borders embody a state of exception by making it permanent and institutionalised, which in turn define both the identity of the sovereign and the identity of the sovereigned subject (2008). As both authors imply, the state of exception is not a suspension of the law; rather, it is a legitimised space where sovereign power can be exercised by a handful of individuals who are allowed to make decisions without any possibility of debate. Typical of this form of power is, first

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of all, the determination of a zone of anomie where ‘all legal determinations – and above all the very distinction between public and private – are deactivated’ (Agamben 2005, p. 61). These zones of anomie are excluded from the political space of the state but are still, according to Agamben, part of that space; more specifically, its very condition. The sovereign decides whether the border crossers constitute a danger to the sovereign. The relationship between politics and life is, in other words, the very principle behind this conceptualisation of power. The construction of a threat and the subsequent declaration that the state will protect its legal citizens from external and internal threats have become one of the main functions of states today, perhaps the most powerful and tangible. Pushing this argument further, it is probably safe to say that in the construction of the danger, and in the response to that danger, states invite their citizens to confirm their sense of belonging to a community of equals with similar values that need to be protected. This strategy is a winning strategy: confronted with the looming perception of a crisis, citizens need someone to tell them what to do. It does not get more artificial than this, and yet this appears as the most natural response that we can think of in dark times. The artifice is only temporary though and makes no mistake, citizens are not in fact equals, they become equals when and as they fit within the requirements set by governments. Agamben is here again relevant in bringing the debate to the more intimate and corporeal dimensions of sovereign power. For him, the refugee is an emblematic figure that allows us to understand the crisis of a Union lost in between its nationalistic fantasies and the fear of its annihilation. For this reason, it is crucial now to turn to another important element of our discussion: the conceptualisation of borders as mechanisms of identity formation. By identity, I here refer to the identity of the refugee and the identity of the authority. Both identities shape and are shaped by the technoconfigurations of Europe’s border zones—not just the border itself, but another location of critical relevance here: the camp.

3.2

Borders as Mechanisms of Identity Formation

As already discussed, borders are not simply territorial lines demarcating the external boundaries of a space: borders are political, social and discursive constructs (Storey 2007). This section will attempt to unpack how

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bordering practices and techniques affect two distinct processes of identity formation. To do this I begin by presenting a paradox that is often overlooked in the field of migration and border studies. The paradox specifically concerns, I argue, the simultaneous treatment of the refugee as a negated and as an augmented identity at two different locations: the camp and the border. What follows is an expansion of my previous argument on the ‘us versus them’ rhetoric which informs and shapes the way national identities are produced, resisted and negotiated. In their analysis of the Choucha refugee camp in Tunisia, Glenda Garelli and Martina Tazzioli (2017) define the camp as a machine that deeply affects migrants’ mobility. In thinking about the spatial and temporal nature of the camp then, I partially agree with Agamben’s (2005) famous declaration of the camp as a zone of exception where the authority (the sovereign power) can legitimately and arbitrarily decide which lives should be included in or excluded from the political space. Drawing on Schmitt’s theory of sovereignty, Agamben views the development of the systematic processes whereby state authorities separate citizens from foreigners as the foundational moment of all political life. Separated from political life and stripped of legal attributes, bare lives (nude vite in Agamben’s original formulation) are banned from the purview of law. However, and as Deuber-Mankowsky (2015) argues, while Agamben’s view is certainly useful in exploring the element of violence behind the exercise of power, his somehow monolithic understanding of the camp as a permanent institution where practices are legalised and made into a normalised technique of government does not really account for the different, and often contrasting forces, that contaminate the very idea of power and make it a capillary force. This dynamic and productive characterisation of power will return with more vigour and emphasis in the next chapter where refugees’ strategies of resistance and technologies of exile will be taken into consideration. Here, what I want to point out again, in agreement with Garelli and Tazzioli (2017), is the belief that the infrastructure of power that supports life in camps is made up of a variety of governmental techniques and tactics that shape migrants’ subjectivity and identity. It is then fundamental to acknowledge the fact that what we witness in refugee camps and border zones is a continuous contraposition and juxtaposition of forces of unequal power. There is nothing linear or fixed in the ways state authorities exercise their power and adapt to often capricious political decisions, nor in the ways in which migrants attempt to resist, subvert and negotiate

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such authority. This tension should always be borne in mind and allows us to understand the paradox I have mentioned before: that of the identification of refugee positionality as a negated and an augmented type of subjectivity. First of all, I argue that negation occurs in at least two ways. On the one hand, what we witness is a process of political negation. Migrants in general, and forced migrants in particular, are often described (as mentioned in Chapter 2) by a sequence of ‘nots’. Not even non-humans but subhuman, a form of identity in reverse and the very symbol of what we can become if our institutions suddenly fail to protect us. Here, Agamben’s theory proves useful as it unpacks the existence of bare lives as the ‘raw’ and undetermined existence of individuals that have no space, no voice and no political agency. They are the product of a sovereign power that in targeting the life of entire populations merges with the biopolitical into a normal technique of government. Their lives become bare lives which are a ‘deposit’ of mere existence where zo¯e (natural life) is separated from bios (political or cultural life); in other words, bare life is life that has been reduced to biology while its political existence and citizenship status have been withdrawn (Shields 2017). In contemporary political life, the failure to make a distinction between zo¯e and bios is what makes it possible to ‘create’ lives that when deprived of their political contingency can be treated as animals. Exposed to human rights violations at the hands of the authorities, forced migrants are then subject to physical and psychological exploitation both in camps and in the proximity of border areas. This is, unfortunately, nothing new in the political landscape. Hannah Arendt, for example, gives us an extraordinary picture of today’s ‘crisis’ through her analysis of the treatment that the Jewish people were subjected to as the ‘indésirables of Europe’ in the First and Second World Wars (1951/2017). In enunciating the loss of rights that the victims of the Second World War endured, Arendt interprets loss as the impossibility of finding a new home and as the loss of government protection. Equally negated, the failing attempt to handle the ‘refugee problem’ collaboratively and harmoniously has signalled a failure of the entire social and political order, a crisis of moral responsibility, a disintegration of the Union. This ‘expulsion from humanity’, as Arendt calls it, is more dangerous now than ever before. It is closer, it is more pervasive, it is more efficient and smarter. In the negation of the person, not only is biology

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reduced to its bare essence, to a question of wrong genes and imperfect DNA sequences, biology is transformed into a red dot floating in water and only recognisable through thermal sensors and video cameras. From a human rights point of view, this is clearly unacceptable. From political and military points of view, this is perfectly justifiable. In fact, these practices are fully discretionary, arbitrary and perpetuated by officials that have the power to interpret the law as they wish. As discussed, this is a de-legitimisation of the human, a life that is reduced to a biological minimum, suspended in an extra political space for an indefinite term with nowhere to go and no place to come back to. Here, and in order to respond to the crisis, the ‘heaviness’ of human life becomes irrelevant from a political and military point of view: it is slow, it is heavy, it is far too complex. On the other hand, negation refers to the absence of voice. To bring back Hannah Arendt’s words, the rightless not only experience the loss of their homes and the loss of government protection, they also experience the loss of their voice. This can happen in at least two ways. First, through the transformation of subjectivity into a number or a statistical figure. This is of course a legacy of a past that we too often conveniently forget, but it is by no means neutralised today. Second, it happens through the reiteration of a narrative of vulnerability that leaves no space for refugee agency. Here then, the process of human disposal also goes through the negation of those very aspects that define us as humans: the ability to talk, to protest and to resist (Minca 2015). A growing body of literature has already addressed how this issue has unfolded in mainstream and non-mainstream media (Musarò 2017; Chouliaraki and Stolic 2017; Gillespie et al. 2016; Triantafyllidou 2013). Here, I want to focus on the fact that the refugee voice is often caught between two main logics: the logic of victimisation, on the one hand, and the logic of threat, on the other. In depicting refugees as vulnerable victims with no sense of ownership or sense of agency, this logic re-affirms paradigms of invisibility that further reinforce the distance between us and them. The second logic, which plays with the concept of threat, has been particularly powerful in the news. Here, Georgiou and Zaborowski (2017) talk about three main narratives emerging out of people’s anxiety: the narrative of careful tolerance (the ‘yes, but’ that goes hand in hand with the ‘I’m not a racist but’); the narrative of ecstatic humanitarianism (often in tandem with the technological hype that sees hundreds of apps being created on a daily basis to help refugees); and the narrative of securitisation. Clearly, there is a game

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at play whereby these narratives often coexist and together contribute to the hyper-mediated attention paid towards the plague of refugees or they contradict each other and determine the disappearance of refugees from the news until a new shocking episode shuffles the cards again. Whichever logic we pay attention to, the imperative of categorisation is what links them all. This is not just a question of language. Global mobility is, now more than ever, a process of global stratification where only a few wins. To advance this debate further, I argue that the identity of refugee is not only negated but also augmented. This is particularly evident, as we discussed, in another extra-territorial space where power manifests itself in a similarly coercive manner: the border. When the body is transformed into biometric data, I argue, it acquires a new hyper-visible shape that technologies can pinpoint and memorise. Here, we need to clarify a preliminary point, that is the meaning of biometric data. According to Kloppenburg and van der Ploeg (2018), biometric technology is the result of the mutual shaping of technology and the body or, even better, the result of the interplay between human and non-human elements (hardware, algorithms, sensors, border authorities, security industries, etc.). Madianou (2019) defines the combination of biometric, artificial intelligence, and more recently the application of blockchain technology, as a ‘biometric assemblage’ with the main purpose of identification and verification. As part of the identification process, a biometric record (iris, fingerprint, etc.) is checked against a database of biometric profiles. Then, the system checks the record against the information already available in the system in order to verify the identity of the person being scrutinised. Together they account for a process of ‘algorithm sorting’ that make ‘populations legible’ (Madianou 2019, p. 8). Recently, biometrics have been used in tandem with new developments in blockchain, artificial intelligence and machine learning to increase shareability, data protection and increased accuracy in both data collection and interpretation. The amount of data extracted from the refugee body is impressive and causes an ‘augmentation’ of the body that has in hypervisibility and hyper-consumability its main consequences. Echoing what Claudio Minca says about camps being a laboratory, Metcalfe and Dencik (2019) define refugees as a population where experimental techniques can be deployed through intensive surveillance and data collection procedures. In considering the interplay between negation and augmentation, I argue that what is at stake is a quantitative and qualitative shift in the

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shape of refugee subjectivity. When unique identifiers become so important that they define your legal identity and access to basic services leading to identity augmentation, then the only way to resist the practice of deportation or to reject the status is to negate the same identity leading to identity negation (as, for example, by burning off fingertips). The consideration of these multiple forms of negation and augmentation contradict, at least partially, Agamben’s definition of the camp as a circumscribed space with a fairly fixed identity. Rather, the multi-faceted configurations of practices of resistance and tactics of governance resemble what Walters (2015) describes as a ‘viapolitics’, a governmentality on the move that follows the trajectories, displacements, rejections and acceptances that migrants go through as part of their journey to safety. Here, and while I do agree with Garelli and Tazzioli (2017) that there is, in fact, a process of interruption of migrant’s lives, such a process is also punctuated by micro-contra-trajectories that have different paces and scales. As already mentioned, this new ‘techno-cultural technique of bordering’, a phrase I borrow from Pötzsch (2015), affects multiple identities, including the identity of border agents and state authorities. However, this does not mean that we have witnessed a dilution of identity as perhaps was imagined pre-EU; rather, we are witnessing both an exacerbation of the politics of identity and a retreat into a narrower sense of identity which does not make space for any dialogue.

3.3

Borders as Performances

It should be clear by now that borders are highly mobilised places where multiple strategies of power and resistance take place every day. In using the word performance, I would like to draw attention here to a number of elements. First, the word immediately calls into mind the element of productivity. When an act is performed, it produces some effects on the audience. In this respect, Nancy Wonders (2006) talks about an ‘elaborate dance’ where, in the process of ‘doing and undoing’ borders, border crossers and border agents establish some sort of dialogue of a highly performative nature. Both identities are deeply affected and mutually shaped by each other’s trajectories, hopes and responsibilities. Secondly, as performative measures, borders are not neutral applications but gendered and racialised spaces. They act and produce different consequences depending upon who crosses the border. As mentioned before, the performative act of crossing a border can either reveal itself as

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a relatively fast, pain free and even encouraged act of productive mobility, or as a less convenient trajectory of movement containing the ever-present risk of a contaminated mimesis. What if we become like them? What if we mutate into this shapeless mass of souls without material possessions, without a story to hold on to and a future to look at? Thirdly, the word performance alludes to something very tangible that take us back to the aspect of materiality that I have outlined before. It seems to me that the process of securitisation is also a process of reassurance in at least two ways. Firstly, and from a citizen point of view, we need to be reassured that someone else is doing the ‘dirty work’ for us, while taking care of our needs and desires to be safe. Secondly, and from a purely political point of view, borders seem to reaffirm a sense of authority, trust and accountability that European governments seem to have lost before and in the immediate aftermath of the Eurozone crisis. Borders are, I believe, at the very core of this (highly performative) political and communicative process of trust in the sovereign power which rapidly turns into the obsolescence of what is actually happening outside our legitimate spaces of citizenship. As performances, they are not natural, but exist as practices and processes of identification (us versus them) and of exclusion. I thereby argue that borders are not merely performances of states of exception, but also performances of denial. I here intend the term ‘denial’ to mean both a process of degradation of this ‘humanity on the move’ that demands a global response from the EU and also as denial of lives that simply do not matter. In this process of human and political obsolescence, disposable lives are produced and replicated in the inefficiency of European policies and bordering practices. Contemporarily, they legitimise the unfolding of a culture of impunity where even the most heinous violations of human rights are neither investigated nor punished. Any attempt to understand this infamous ‘crisis’ of the European Union without understanding the fundamental link between violence and the cultural order first is, and always will be, limiting. As a final note, it seems to me that the identification of borders as performances creates a fertile territory of investigation where the relationship between mobility and communication can be re-thought in the light of the current political climate. When we talk about migration and, as in this case, when we discuss how technologies differently affect the movement of individuals across borders, it becomes clear that the trajectories and forms of movement are not the same for everybody. Therefore, as David Morley (2017) suggests, what we should really investigate is

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not just who makes the crossing, but also when and how and under what structural conditions. Refugees in particular are cast in a condition of ‘liminal drift’ (Agier 2002) with no hope of knowing whether their status is transitory or permanent. That alone, this condition of permanent uncertainty in the midst of Fortress Europe’s always ambiguous policies, is I believe performative in the sense that it profoundly affects the way people move, the reasons why they do it, and how their journey changes according to weather conditions, border checkpoints, routes and transport availability. In this context, media and communication studies, and the social sciences in general, have a duty to investigate not just the material conditions of movement but also the immaterial infrastructures that either facilitate or impede movement. As many have noted, the tensions between (im)mobility and freedom characterise not just our present but will increasingly define our future as crises of all kinds will likely stamp their footprint on the future generations. Recent global developments have infused a new sense of gravity into what Castles and Miller (1993) have famously described as the ‘the age of migration’, including terrorism, new economic and political crises attributed to the decline of the nation states, and rising xenophobic and racist sentiments fuelled by deepseated anxieties of identity. Clearly, for those who advocate the ‘end of geography’ in the borderless world, the restless movements of voluntary and forced migrants, the complexity of journeys taken by means of airplanes, trains, boats and foot better reflect a hyper-complex geography that has transformed the world into a mosaic of departure and arrival points, a sequence of lines cutting through lands and seas indicating an extended and expanded geopolitical history. Here, I reiterate again, the performative nature of this geography on the everyday lives of multiple agents, including refugees as well as border agents and the international community working in the field, needs to be considered as of paramount importance. To conclude, I would like to consider a few key reference points that I believe deserve further attention: 1. New technologies and smart innovations at the border are deployed in a climate of institutionalised insecurity where terror and fear are used as normalised instruments in governing the masses. Our ‘Great Leaders’ actively exacerbate these feelings through a sophisticated control of media and political outlets to justify sovereign decisions at home and abroad, and to confirm their power within the space

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of Europe. The architecture of Fortress Europe as an Empire is, however, constantly moving in different directions under international and supranational pressures and because of a regime of large indifference towards shared responsibility and humanitarian care. The European project is at a point where its ‘healing power’ is seriously called into question by bittersweet political dialogues between countries, probably leading us towards political alliances between the richest contributors to the EU system. This new and revamped ‘blocpolitik’ will further disaggregate the North from the South, while creating a fertile territory for new extremisms and xenophobic fantasies. Here, we should wonder whether a politics of dialogue is still a desirable path and what it can bring to the political table. Instead, questions of representation should become far more critical and urgent because an Empire with peaceful intention has never existed. 2. Already in the 1980s, sociologist Anthony Giddens (1981) defined the state as a ‘border power container’. Borders are not geographical lines but are sociopolitical constructions that are meant to divide a population of legalised citizens and privileged travellers from undeserving and unwelcome slices of humanity whose identity needs to be verified and authenticated before being accepted. For those identities, life is somehow reduced to a handful of options. If accepted as a non-threatening form of subjectivity, these lives can continue their journey to Europe (although not without further alienations and suffering). If rejected, life becomes a suspended version of an existence in waiting. Especially today, refugees have become the emblematic figure of a Europe not on the verge of a crisis but fully immersed in a situation of political indeterminacy and international stasis. As tangible materialisations of this crisis, refugees embody a present that we do not want to see and a future we do not want to imagine. Threatening us with their visible poverty and loss of hope, we need them to stay away and, if possible, to disappear without too much fuss. 3. Borders are inherently performative. As sociopolitical constructions, they represent a fertile territory where performances of power and counter-performances of resistance coexist in often chaotic and unpredictable ways. This chapter has mainly dealt with the first aspect and its connection to sovereign authority, while the following chapters will focus more on those acts of resistance undertaken by

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refugees (Chapter 4) and tech for good organisations (Chapter 5). While seemingly different, these strategies have a common denominator, that is their productive nature. Borders, as well as camps, produce and shape bodies and identities of both border crossers and border agents. While this is nothing new, and while the body has always been the object of various forms of demographic, social and political interventions, what is new about today’s borders is the extent to which intervention can be exercised, where not just an appropriation of labour or an appropriation of time but the most intimate and private body features are the subject of public scrutiny. Through a (necessarily limited and partial) overview of the application of technologies at the now ‘smart’ border in Chapters 2 and this chapter, we have witnessed the extent of the disintegration of the body into a flow of data more easily readable and manageable. My argument here is that when information such as our DNA sequence, our facial traits and iris scans, our body temperature and palm lines become data that can be exchanged between private and public actors, then Orwell’s Big Brother nightmare has reached its apotheosis. Of course, this discourse bears upon more political questions. While we are all, to a certain extent, subjected to these forms of expropriation, their consequences are profoundly different. The pathways of global mobility are trajectories of a profound global stratification which are facilitated for some through fast tracks and relatively smooth processes of identity verification but are unbearably difficult and much more invasive for others. Clearly, the management of global mobility has become a priority for all European and non-European governments as the amount of money spent on the safeguarding and strengthening of our borders demonstrates. The goal, make no mistake, is always the same: a more efficient, user-friendly, sophisticated and security-led economy of techno-power. This technification of the security response has now reached unprecedented levels of technological hype. 4. The drive towards a smarter and more efficient border control systems is still under way. Funded by Horizon 2020, the SMart mobILity at the European Land Border (SMILE) project (July 2017–June 2020) introduces a low-cost authentication and biometric verification system in an attempt to make border controls less ‘resource intensive’ and more ‘user-friendly’ in order to increase ‘performance’.8 In using a vocabulary that is typical of the corporate

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world, the ultimate expression of bordering involves the contribution—often overlapping and highly problematic—of private actors, multinationals and data analytic industries.9 5. As a final remark, we are probably left to wonder what else might happen? This is a highly charged question. It plays with the more political outcomes of this hyper-techno-militarisation of our border zones, but it also calls into question a more ethical understanding of the consequences of our actions. Dialogue seems to me to be impossible. We are divided in every possible way and we fight each other in this foolish war against our brothers and sisters, against other human beings. The question also bears on a more ‘futuristic’ outlook on what Europe is and what it means to be European citizens—in fact what it means to be citizens tout court —when we still operate on the logic of us versus them. What will remain of Europe? Do we need to rethink what a European identity is? Should we perhaps rethink our core foundations? We cannot predict what is going to happen, but we can imagine a very dark future. However, we should also be very careful about imagining a dystopian future as the only possible scenario, a risk that is always around the corner where technologies are involved. I believe there is hope for a different future which includes a more comprehensive view of the role of technology, not just as instruments of sovereign power and authority but also as platforms where forms of counter-resistance can happen. Of course, technology alone cannot do anything, but it can offer a platform where alternative voices and alternative narratives can take place. The next chapter will delve deeper into this.

Notes 1. A summary of Frontex’s history, role and responsibilities can be found on the agency’s website, available here https://frontex.europa.eu/about-fro ntex/origin-tasks/. 2. https://eur-lex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/?uri=CELEX:52016P C0272(01). 3. More information about the migration and home affairs, lower age for minors asylum: deal to update EU fingerprinting database can be found here https://www.europarl.europa.eu/news/en/press-room/ 20180618IPR06025/asylum-deal-to-update-eu-fingerprinting-database. 4. Ibidem.

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5. Regulation (EU) No 1052/2013, available here https://eur-lex.europa. eu/legal-content/en/TXT/HTML/?uri=CELEX:32013R1052. 6. The project is fully outlined here https://www.iborderctrl.eu/The-project. 7. A complete description of this project, where this information is taken from, is available here https://roborder.eu. 8. A full description of the project can be found here https://smile-h2020. eu/smile/. 9. Other relevant projects include TRESPASS which modernizes security checks at the border through risk-based calculations; TABULA RASA which focuses on the improvement of biometric systems and devices; EFFISEC which delivers more efficient technological equipment for security checks; and BODEGA, which aims to provide innovative sociotechnical solutions for enhancing border guards’ performance of critical tasks.

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Chouliaraki, Lilie, and Tijana Stolic. ‘Rethinking Media Responsibility in the Refugee “Crisis”: A Visual Typology of European News.’ Media, Culture and Society 39, no. 8 (2017): 1162–1177. Connolly, William. ‘The Complexity of Sovereignty.’ In Sovereign Lives: Power In Global Politics, edited by Jenny Edkins, Véronique Pin-Fat, and Michael J. Shapiro, 23–41. London and New York: Routledge, 2004. Corey, Johnson, Reece Jones, Anssi Paasi, Louise Amoore, Alison Mountz, Mark Salter, and Chris Rumford. ‘Interventions on Rethinking “the Border” in Border Studies.’ Political Geography 30 (2011): 61–69. Cusumano, Eugenio. ‘Migrant Rescue as Organized Hypocrisy: EU Maritime Missions Offshore Libya Between Humanitarianism and Border Control.’ Cooperation and Conflict 54, no. 1 (2019): 3–24. Dean, Mitchell. The Signature of Power: Sovereignty, Governmentality and Biopolitics. London: Sage, 2013. Deuber-Mankowsky, Astrid. ‘Cutting off Mediation: Agamben as Master Thinker.’ Acta Poetica 361 (2015): 49–69. Fiaccadori, Elisa. ‘State Racism and the Paradox of Biopower.’ Foucault Studies 19 (2015): 151–171. Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality, Volume 1: An Introduction. New York: Vintage, 1990. Foucault, Michel. Society Must Be Defended: Lectures at the College de France 1975–1976. New York: Picador, 2003. Garelli, Glenda, and Martina Tazzioli. ‘Choucha Beyond the Camp: Challenging the Border of Migration Studies.’ In The Borders of Europe: Autonomy of Migration, Tactics of Bordering, edited by Nicholas De Genova, 165–184. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2017. Georgiou, Myria, and Rafal Zaborowski. ‘Council of Europe Report: Media Coverage of the “Refugee Crisis”: A Cross-European Perspective.’ Council of Europe Report (DG103). Council of Europe, 2017. Giddens, Anthony. A Contemporary Critique of Historical Materialism. Vol. 1. Power, Property and the State. London: Macmillan, 1981. Gillespie, Marie, Lawrence Ampofo, Margaret Cheesman, Becky Faith, Evgenia Iliadou, Ali Issa, Souad Osseiran, and Dimitris Skleparis. ‘Mapping Refugee Media Journeys: Smartphones and Social Media Networks.’ The Open University/France Médias Monde, 2016. Haggerty, Kevin D., and Richard V Ericson. ‘The Surveillant Assemblage.’ The British Journal of Sociology 51, no. 4 (2000): 605–622. Hedetoft, Ulf. The Global Turn: National Encounters with the World. Aalborg: Aalborg University Press, 2003. Heller, Charles, and Lorenzo Pezzani. ‘Death by Rescue: The Lethal Effects of the EU’s Policies of Non-Assistance.’ Forensic Architecture Agency Report, 2016.

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Jones, Reece. Violent Borders. Refugees and the Right to Move. London and New York: Verso, 2017. Kingsley, Patrick. ‘The Death of Alan Kurdi: One Year on, Compassion Towards Refugees Fades.’ The Guardian, September 2, 2016. https://www.thegua rdian.com/world/2016/sep/01/alan-kurdi-death-one-year-on-compassiontowards-refugees-fades. Kloppenburg, Sanneke, and Irma van der Ploeg. ‘Securing Identities: Biometric Technologies and the Enactment of Human Bodily Differences.’ Science as Culture, 29 (2018): 57–76. Latonero, Mark, and Paula Kift. ‘On Digital Passages and Borders: Refugees and the New Infrastructure for Movement and Control.’ Social Media + Society 4, no. 1 (2018): 1–11. Madianou, Mirca. ‘Technocolonialism: Digital Innovation and Data Practices in the Humanitarian Response to Refugee Crises.’ Social Media + Society 5, no. 3 (2019): 1–13. Metcalfe, Philippa, and Lina Dencik. ‘The Politics of Big Borders: Data (In)Justice and the Governance of Refugees.’ First Monday 24, no. 4 (2019). Milivojevic, Sanja. ‘Borders, Technology and (Im)Mobility: ‘Cyber-Fortress Europe’ and Its Emerging Southeast Frontier.’ Australian Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 3 (2013): 101–123. Minca, Claudio. ‘Geographies of the Camp.’ Political Geography 49 (2015): 74– 83. Morley, David. Communications and Mobility: The Migrant, the Mobile Phone, and the Container Box. Oxford: Wiley Blackwell, 2017. Müller, Andreas. ‘Territorial Borders as Institutions.’ European Societies 15, no. 3 (2013): 353–372. Muller, Benjamin J. ‘Risking It All at the Biometric Border: Mobility, Limits, and the Persistence of Securitisation.’ Geopolitics 16, no. 1 (2011): 91–106. Musarò, Pierluigi. ‘Mare Nostrum: The Visual Politics of a MilitaryHumanitarian Operation in the Mediterranean Sea.’ Media, Culture & Society 39, no. 1 (2017): 11–28. Patalano, Alessio. ‘Nightmare Nostrum? Not Quite. Lessons from the Italian Navy in the Mediterranean Migrant Crisis.’ The RUSI Journal 160, no. 3 (2015): 14–19. Pötzsch, Holger. ‘The Emergence of iBorder: Bordering Bodies, Networks, and Machines.’ Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 33, no. 1 (2015): 101–118. Salter, Mark. ‘The Global Visa Regime and Political Technologies of the International Self: Borders, Bodies, Biopolitics.’ Alternatives: Global, Local, Political 31 (2006): 167–189. Salter, Mark. ‘When the Exception Becomes the Rule: Borders, Sovereignty, and Citizenship.’ Citizenship Studies 12, no. 4 (2008): 365–380.

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Shields, Rob. ‘Bare Nature.’ Space and Culture 21, no. 1 (2017): 4–17. Storey, John. Human Resource Management: A Critical Text. London: Thomson, 2007. Traverso, Enzo. The Origins of Nazi Violence. New York: New Press, 2003. Triandafyllidou, Anna. ‘Migrants and the Media in the Twenty-First Century: Obstacles and Opportunities for the Media to Reflect Diversity and Promote Migrant Integration.’ Journalism Practice 7, no. 3 (2013): 240–248. Walters, William. ‘Migration, Vehicles, and Politics: Three Theses on Viapolitics.’ European Journal of Social Theory 18, no. 4 (2015): 469–488. Wonders, Nancy A. ‘Global Flows, Semi-Permeable Borders and New Channels of Inequality: Border Crossers and Border Performativity.’ In Borders, Mobility and Technologies of Control, edited by Sharon Pickering and Leanne Weber, 63–86. The Netherlands: Springer, 2006.

CHAPTER 4

Technologies in/of Exile

4.1

Introduction

In examining the different ways in which digital technologies have affected narratives, practices and discourses around the ‘refugee crisis’, we must bear in mind that multiple perspectives coexist and make up a complex choreography of voices and actions. While the previous chapters have specifically dealt with the deployment of surveillance technologies and with the governance of territorial borders, this chapter and Chapter 5 focus instead on the role of the technologies of communication as spaces where not only borders can reconstitute themselves in more symbolic ways but also power can be contested and resisted. This is, of course, not a new line of enquiry in migration and refugee studies. A rich body of scholarship has for decades debated how media and communication technologies have played an essential role in the everyday lives of transnational migrants across the world, especially for identification, integration and participation purposes. While a comprehensive overview of these accounts is beyond the scope of this study, scholars have unanimously agreed on the transformative potential of technologies for migrants as they plan their journey, move to their destination countries, settle down and integrate while maintaining deep and meaningful connections with home. Although these contributions are still of course relevant in order to understand the impact of information and communications technology on transnational migration, recent events have urged scholars to more

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critically interrogate how technologies are affecting the routes, communicative needs and practices of representation among forced migrants in this age of ‘mass migration’ (Karakoulaki et al. 2018; Leurs and Ponzanesi 2018). Interrogating the so-called refugee or migration crisis through the lens of digital connectivity requires, in fact, a particular sensitivity towards the interconnectivity of different actors (states, authorities, international organisations and refugees themselves), the expansion of borders outwards and inwards that deeply affects the redefinition of Europe as a political and legal entity, and the material as well as symbolic conditions that constitute borders from the top-down and the bottom-up. The complexities behind the theorisation of borders have encouraged scholars to approach the governance of (forced) migration today through different avenues of research. A body of scholarship has focused on how the media framing of refugees has aggravated feelings of anxiety over the very notion of European citizenship in situations of ‘crisis’ (De Genova 2017; Georgiou and Zaborowski 2017; Zaborowski and Georgiou 2016; Chouliaraki 2017). Others have discussed the unfolding of an infrastructure of interconnected structures (military, governmental and financial), logics and pathways affecting the formation of ‘digital passages’ and digital borders (Gillespie et al. 2016, 2018; Ponzanesi 2016). In an attempt to find a common theoretical framework, other scholars have identified the need to pinpoint the centrality of communication in the constitution of borders and in practices of reception (Chouliaraki and Musarò 2017). Of course, within these broad avenues of research, alternative voices and views coexist and account for a rich and ever-open understanding of the material and affective affordances of digital devices. This chapter takes these contributions as an entry point to begin to understand the functional and performative dimensions of technologies as both a resourceful and a threatening totality where tactics of resistance against Fortress Europe can take place. In her keynote speech at the ECREA Media and Migration conference in 2019,1 Myria Georgiou made an important point about borders being a communicative project where mediatised strategies of governments’ surveillance and refugees’ use of technologies redefine the very concept of digital citizenship in often unfair and ambiguous ways. Borders, she said, are reconstructed every time technologies are used to reinforce binary oppositions (us versus them, victims versus perpetrators and worthy versus unworthy) and to legitimise the distinction between those who have full rights (to speak, to resist, to be listened to, to participate as an equal citizen) and those

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who cannot and should not claim the very same rights. If we consider the migration crisis as a fundamentally communicative problem, where technologies are used to communicate, exercise, control and maintain power over subaltern non-citizens, how can we move forward? The physical and digital passage to Europe is both a moment where profound resilience takes place in the midst of adverse situations and a source of deep insecurities as contrasting voices play out a game of power where the few win and the many suffer. In between these different poles, the refugee is simultaneously a protagonist and a victim, a carrier of dreams and the subaltern object of exploitation, the symbol of a human catastrophe and the uncomfortable source of alterity. Who are they? What do they want from us? Where did they find the money to reach Europe? Why do they have smartphones? Where will they settle? Should we embrace it? Should we hide in fear? We have heard these questions with a tick-tock regularity almost every day since the socalled refugee crisis knocked on our doors in 2015. We have seen photos of refugees waiting in mass at border checkpoints that suddenly popped up at every corner of our democratic shores in an attempt to cope with a humanitarian tragedy as they called it. We saw them occupying spaces that we traditionally associate with our freedom to move, to gather and to communicate at, for example, railway stations, airports, ports and public squares. We saw them resisting the cold weather sweeping across the Balkan route or floating at sea without water and food under the merciless sun of the Mediterranean. We saw them smiling at their successful attempts to grab their new life in Europe and crying for their lost homes. We saw them taking smartphone selfies, calling home and texting good news to their families after days or months of scattered communication. Shocked by the uncanny resemblance with our own mediatised practices of communication, we laughed at these trivial exercises of connectivity as proof that the ‘incomers’ were not in actual danger. This further exacerbates the presumed incompatibility between being a refugee and being a social media user which, according to Chouliaraki (2017), is what informs the strategies of continuous ‘symbolic bordering’, that is ‘the systematic elision of the other’s face as an authentic and agentive presence’ (p. 91). Chouliaraki’s analysis brings me to the core question behind this chapter. In what ways can technologies offer a space where refugees can re-appropriate their agency and thus subvert traditional othering narratives? As a media and migration scholar, I am fascinated by how technologies can offer us a lens through which we can approach broader

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social and cultural phenomena, often from the top-down but also, and more interestingly, from the bottom-up. In the everyday uses of technologies, we can see processes unfolding almost naturally and often unconsciously. It is here, in the daily practices of refugee connectivity that we see how refugees cope with the physical and emotional challenges of their journey, how they resist the stereotyped narrative of vulnerability by dealing with contingencies and how they can potentially shift the public discourse around them from vulnerability to ‘resilient individualism’ (Georgiou 2019). True, the situation is far more complex than the one I have just outlined. Firstly, the refugees’ mediatised agency is more often than not challenged by infrastructural factors such as lack of connectivity, expensive data plans, battery life, absence of charging stations and pervasive (social) media surveillance. Secondly, the refugees’ lack of agency is evident in the perpetual storytelling by the political and media elites that repeatedly vilifies refugees’ own attempts at selfpresentation, thus reinforcing the distance between the subaltern subject and the sovereign citizen. In between these two poles, refugees are at best represented as ‘ungrateful’ (Nayeri 2019), especially when they do not conform to the only acceptable version of citizenship we can possibly tolerate, that of the economically productive, the emancipated good migrant, the always networked and the wannabe entrepreneur. Thirdly, we can connect this to the presence of alternative contested spaces of determination/representation, portrayed as either too different (thus, incompatible with the requirements of citizenship) or too similar (thus, not in position to demand our help) and very rarely are refugees considered in terms of their own individuality. At this point, I want to slightly distance myself from those scholars who mainly focus on mainstream representations of forced migration and instead observe whether digitally mediated communication can offer a platform where the subaltern can speak. I, therefore, begin this chapter by taking into account those devices and applications that refugees actually use, alongside the effective potential that social media and mobile devices hold for refugees (i.e. technologies as resources ) and the ‘infrastructural violence’ (Gillespie et al. 2018) perpetrated within the space of Fortress Europe (i.e. technologies as threats ). I shall use Georgiou’s understanding of the digital in its functional and performative role as an entry point to highlight the complexity of technology use (Georgiou 2019).

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The discussion is broken down into two key macro-themes of research. Firstly, digital connectivity is analysed in the light of its material conditions and affordances (technologies in exile) during the period of pre-displacement, during the journey and upon arrival in Europe. Then, secondly, the analysis moves onto observing the performative and symbolic dimensions of refugee connectivity (technologies of exile), by which I refer to the refugees’ tactics of mediatised witnessing which, I argue, can potentially open up spaces for more inclusive practices of visibility and engagement. Before I embark on this journey, two points need to be made. Firstly, it is crucial to remember that every account of what connectivity means for refugees is necessarily limited by the inadequacies of our imagination as researchers working and living in the privileged West, which is only enriched by the stories that we are fortunate enough to collect. The second point I wish to make calls into question the use of terms such as ‘technologies in/of exile’. While I am conscious that the adoption of these words can potentially objectify and ‘freeze’ trajectories that are by definition fluid and in constant motion, my intention is to pay attention to both the material and symbolic conditions that govern the use of technology in situations of displacement. On the one hand, technologies are used for certain needs and purposes as their adoption and configurations largely depend on material and immaterial infrastructures that can either facilitate or impede communication. This is nothing new. As mentioned earlier, these infrastructures are made of interconnected structures (military, governmental, financial), logics and pathways. However, in situations of forced displacement and in the context of Fortress Europe, these infrastructures acquire characteristics of urgency and contingency that are specific to a situation of exile, hence my use of this terminology. On the other hand, refugees use technologies in ways that surpass their practical configurations and open up more symbolic and performative uses. Here, we should bear in mind that we are navigating a territory where research is still scarce and profoundly limited and this will naturally affect the appropriateness of our vocabulary and approaches. Within this scenario, it is crucial to adopt a non-digital-media-centric approach (Pink et al. 2016) that locates the use of technology (and its theorisations) within the broader political, historical, socio-economic and sociopolitical dynamics in which they are employed. This is particularly important in the context here observed where there is a lack of critical research on the relationship between forced migration and digital media. A non-digital-media-centric approach places the refugee voice at its core.

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In order to understand the ways that the refugees’ experiences and mobilities have been transformed by technology, we need to ask the refugees themselves. Crucially, research needs to identify the ‘forced yet connected migrant’ (Twigt 2018) as an active co-participant whose voice needs to be recognised as meaningful. It is with this in mind then I now introduce the protagonists of this chapter.

4.2

A Fragmented Methodology

This chapter builds on semi-structured interviews conducted in 2017, 2018 and 2019 with Syrian refugees living in London. The purpose of these interviews was to understand how refugees organise and situate their media practices and the social meanings they attach to them. Researching how forced migrants use digital technologies during their journey to Europe represented an unfamiliar and unexplored territory. After almost a decade spent researching how European migrants, and specifically Italians living in London, use media to connect, communicate and live transnational lives, I was about to embark on a completely different journey. While the scope of my observations was quite similar, interviewing refugees posed a number of different challenges, both methodological and ethical. From a methodological point of view, I had to first of all reconsider how I was going to ‘follow the people’ and ‘follow the medium’, two aspects that I consider of paramount importance in qualitative research (Caliandro 2018). As an ethnographer, I have always observed my communities of interest through the lens of a multi-sited approach that sees the relationship between ethnography and transnationalism as fundamental to an understanding of the complexity, hyper-connectivity and flexibility of contemporary migrations. Multi-sited ethnography (Marcus 1995) acknowledges the need to re-conceptualise how ‘open’ and unstable the research site, the fieldwork and the people (both the researcher and the researched) are. ‘To follow the people’ meant, within the context of my previous research, to follow Italian migrants as they moved from online to offline spaces of conversation and interaction before, during and after arrival in London (Marino 2015a, b). These shifts occurred quite naturally and seamlessly. As avid and savvy consumers of technologies, Italians continuously switched between platforms to respond to different emotional and material needs and to communicate with different audiences. Described as a key force behind the decision to stay in London, the ever-present

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gift of digital connectivity was never once called into question. As ‘privileged migrants’ whose migration is often described in terms of intellectual stimulation (either as ‘brain gain’ or as ‘brain drain’), Italians are entitled to move freely within the space of Europe. As students, as workers or as economically productive agents, they are expected to be always connected and always mobile. For refugees, this is of course completely different. While the purpose and motivations behind being connected are more often than not similar, the urgency and precariousness of mediated communication create a completely different scenario. As I recognised how the fieldwork and the research site presented characteristics of instability that I did not encounter in my previous research, the imperative ‘to follow the medium’ became a useful entry point. Here, as Alencar (2018) suggests, it is important to adopt a sociological approach to technology that recognises how media are shaped by complex social forces which also affect their uses and modalities of adoption. Therefore, ‘to follow the medium’ means to consider technologies and the internet not as an object of study in isolation from the broader infrastructures where technologies are deployed, but as a critical resource for understanding contemporary societies. ‘To follow the medium’ encourages researchers to deeply engage with and learn from the contested meanings, appropriations and uses of technologies as they evolve over time and in relation to changing material and immaterial geographies. While I was indeed more comfortable approaching this research from a media point of view, more challenges opened up for me. For the first time, my own positionality as a researcher was to a certain extent ‘disrupted’ because prior to this study, as an Italian migrant myself, my respondents constituted a rich entry point of conversation and familiarity. Interviews were usually conducted in our native language to facilitate conversations and to establish an emotional connection. As I was sharing a similar history of migration as my respondents and sharing similar cultural and normative codes, both the analysis and the interpretation of the data did not pose any particular challenges. Here, I entered the research process as a complete outsider. As a female researcher working in one of the richest countries in Western Europe and as a privileged migrant, I was constantly questioning the value of my research design, my relationship with the participants and ultimately the impact of my work on the broader academic community. This proved especially difficult in this context. Equipped with a strong theoretical knowledge, I was extremely self-conscious of the hierarchical

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relationship between myself and my participants. On the one hand, this tension represented an ever-present warning not to contribute to the stereotypical views of refugees as helpless individuals in desperate need of protection, nor to portray them as a homogeneous group. On the other hand, I immediately recognised that my own vocabulary and discursive approach were disrupted by a fear of being too ‘politically correct’ in the kind of questions I was posing. In doing so, I was not only replicating the ‘charity approach’ that sees refugees as objects of pity but, from a research point of view, I was also undermining the thoroughness of my investigation. In thinking about this tension, I had to remind myself of the balance that needs to be established between ‘the rights of subjects (as authors, as research participants, as people) with the social benefits of research and researchers’ rights to conduct research’ (Markham and Buchanan 2012, pp. 4–5). This brings me to the ethical considerations that guided this work. As we know, the most fundamental principles that guide research involving human subjects include the rights of human dignity, autonomy, protection, safety, the maximisation of benefit and the minimisation of harm. While these, of course, apply to refugee research, the call by Anderson (2017) to engage with the instability of the migrant demanded a different approach to questions of privacy, security, informed consent and trust. In what follows, I therefore outline the multi-staged approach I adopted during the empirical stage of my research. These steps are not meant to ‘normalise’ our approach to refugee research, which should always be adapted to the specific context and group we are observing, but can indeed provide a useful starting point for further enquiry into the methodological challenges of refugee research. – Step 1: Access This study is based on personal interviews with Syrian refugees now living and working in London. Access to participants was partly made possible through participation at selected events such as conferences, tech summits, fundraising and charity events, and partly through external organisations that work with refugees to facilitate their integration in the UK. Being introduced as a researcher by individuals that refugees already trusted represented an important step in my research, something that demands some additional considerations. As Hynes (2003) has

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observed in her research with Burmese refugees, the concept of trust is of paramount importance, both in terms of the relationship that is established between researchers and refugees and in terms of making our conversations with refugees meaningful and respectful. On the one hand, trust has deep-seated cultural and personal roots that differ from person to person thus demanding flexible and open approaches instead of a one-for-all homogenising methodology. On the other hand, as a means of survival, refugees have learned not to trust institutional and non-institutional actors. Of course, establishing trust takes time and investment that researchers need to prioritise in order to avoid becoming part of that ‘European migration machine’ (Dijstelbloem and Meijer 2011) that at best tolerates but does not recognise the individuality of refugees. For this reason, I decided to follow up the first round of introductions (often initiated by the external organisation) with a further email (or face-to-face meeting if preferred) outlining my previous work with migrants and the reasons behind my interest in this particular project. These preliminary conversations were sustained by Hynes’s suggestion of prioritising clarity as a form of trust building (2003). Of course, the establishment of trust is a long process with many setbacks, disappointments and defeats. More time was needed to cultivate a relationship with my respondents, to follow up and more importantly to avoid imposing my presence as the ‘colonial observer’ who leaves once their academic appetite has been satisfied. While every effort was made to maintain a meaningful relationship with all my research participants after the interview, the fallacies and imperfections of this approach should still be recognised and possibly addressed at a very early stage of the research process. – Step 2: Research design and ethical forms Semi-structured interviews were selected as the preferred method of investigation. This format allowed me to have general guidelines and macro-themes that I wanted to explore with my respondents while keeping the interview open and flexible. Interviews started with a few icebreaking questions and were then followed by more sensitive questions at a later stage in order to build familiarity and confidence. The content of the interview was indicated to my respondents before the interview took place to ensure that everyone felt comfortable with the questions and aims

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of my research. An information sheet and consent form were also circulated before the interview. These two documents outlined the scope of the project along with the consent to take part and the right to withdraw; any advantages, disadvantages and risks involved; data collection, retention and use; the purpose of recording the interviews and information about storage. Once availability was confirmed, the respondents were asked to select a convenient date and location for the interview. As Hynes (2003) suggests, locations should not be threatening but instead spaces where respondents feel comfortable to share their story. All interviews took place in public but quiet locations or via Skype in English. Interviews lasted between 60 and 90 minutes and the majority of respondents agreed to have the interview audio-recorded for transcription purposes. – Step 3: Interviews On the day of the interview, both the information sheet and consent form were explained again to ensure full understanding and agreement. Participants kept one copy of the information sheet and one copy of the signed consent form. The purpose of the consent form, along with the consent itself, was mainly to confirm whether the respondents preferred to remain anonymous, to be quoted with their full name or with their initials. The quotations included in this chapter reflect the diversity of decisions that were made on this occasion. Wherever possible, I have included the full name of the interviewees. In all other cases, initials or pseudonyms have been used. Once interviews were transcribed, the transcriptions were shared on Google Docs with those respondents who expressed the desire to review my notes. Participants were invited to review and to edit the transcription before confirming it as final. While this process was received positively by my respondents as a way to engage them in the research (and publication) process, I am conscious that sending transcripts via mail or other online editing tools can cause a different set of problems in terms of privacy and data use by third parties and platforms such as Google. Respondents did not seem to be particularly concerned about this aspect, but this is something that demands further investigation in future.

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– Step 4: Follow-ups Contacts were maintained after the interview to initially remind my respondents that transcripts were available for them to review. Some interviewees I have met again on more social occasions but with others I have lost contact. As mentioned, entering and exiting the research field posed a number of challenges that I do not believe I fully addressed after the interview stage was concluded. While I recognised a tension between the distance imposed by my own positionality as an outsider to the context of my research and the need to recognise refugees as co-participants, I also realised the contrast emerging between the pressures imposed by the academic community in terms of producing, shaping and distributing knowledge, and the much slower rhythm of qualitative research especially in contexts that demand a particular sensitivity. I am not sure I have coped with these challenges in the way that I had hoped at the beginning of my investigation. However, a few suggestions can be made that might guide researchers in dealing with stories of incredible distress without further stigmatising groups made marginal by discrimination. 1. Prioritise clarity over the urgency to set an interview date. The research rationale, design and objectives need to be outlined as clearly as possible before proceeding with the research. An information sheet and a consent form should be provided in advance but given further explanation either before the interview or on the day of the interview. 2. Design interviews (or any other methodology) in such a way that the ‘pace’ of questions is carefully tailored to the specificity of the context being investigated. The language used should be simple, direct, and clear. Start with ‘easy’ questions to get a sense of the person’s biography and then move on to ‘harder’ topics of conversation. 3. During the interview, it is important to pay attention to the way our informants respond to our questions. Attention should be paid to minimising trauma or adding further suffering while, at the same time, reminding refugees that they can at any point refuse to answer sensitive questions. This might ease the interview process for both parties.

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4. Finally, asking respondents to review transcriptions can be a valuable asset in terms of building trust. It can facilitate access to other potential respondents and give respondents a chance to own their contribution by adding more information, by revising (and deleting) uncomfortable segments and by confirming their intervention only when comfortable with it.

4.3 Technologies in Exile: Functions and Affordances My mobile is my homeland, my identity. (Ahmad, interview with the author, 2017)2

It is often difficult to clearly demarcate the different stages of the journey of a refugee: from route planning to border crossing, the magnitude of traumatic experiences that refugees have to endure seems to obfuscate the otherwise linear passing of time. Physically and mentally, refugees experience a variety of emotions including hope, fear, distrust and temporary relief upon arrival. At the same time, the recurrence of traumatic events, such as being trafficked, tortured or sexually assaulted by smugglers or border guards and facing death threats at every corner of Europe’s ‘democratic’ shore, deeply affects refugees’ narratives of movement and social suffering. According to a study conducted by Bjertrup et al. (2018), among refugees stranded in Greece between 2016 and 2017, the refugees’ lack of control over their present and future, the passivity of life spent waiting in refugee camps and the loss or disruption of key social networks from back home all contribute to their aggravated perceptions of powerlessness. Since 2011, more than 5.6 million Syrians have been forced to flee their country and another 6.6 million are internally displaced in refugee camps mainly in Lebanon and Jordan (source: UNHCR3 ). Many of them have lost any hope of seeing their loved ones and of returning home, while others are trying to rebuild their life in some European countries with or without their families. While each and every experience is without doubt utterly unique and personal, my research has confirmed—in line with similar studies (see, for example, Gillespie et al. 2016)—that the use of technologies in exile reveals three sets of affordances: communicative and networking affordances, location and navigation affordances, and multimedia affordances.

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These affordances take on a different significance depending on when they are activated—before departure, during the journey or upon arrival in Europe. 4.3.1

Before Departure

Before departure, technologies, and the mobile phone in particular, respond to a series of information and communication needs which include route planning, contacting smugglers, keeping in touch with family members or friends already in Europe or en route to Europe, and gathering political and legal information about potential destination countries. Social media platforms such as Facebook and news media outlets are the main sources of information, while messaging platforms (WhatsApp and Viber in particular) seem to be used in an attempt to activate what Elliott and Urry (2010) call ‘network capital’ or the ability to sustain relations with networks that can generate emotional and practical benefits. Ahmad travelled from Syria to the UK in 2015 with his mobile, some spare batteries and a small bag with two books, 1984 and Animal Farm by George Orwell. When asked about the importance of carrying a mobile phone, he told me the following: Before the journey, I used technologies to plan everything. I would go on Google and search for news about the UK and the asylum process. I got quite a lot of information, and I had to compare different resources on different websites. Later, I would access Facebook and of course this was also before the journey, as people were posting their experiences, routes and everything else… and I kind of communicated with people using Facebook Messenger and eventually I decided to make the move.

While Ahmad’s experience cannot be generalised to all refugees who made the journey to Europe, this description is nevertheless important as it allows us to identify some key stages in the use of technology pre-departure. Firstly, internet access allows refugees to gather vital information, to compare and contrast different sources, to connect with other refugees who have already made the journey or are about to, and ultimately to make a decision. Secondly, technologies constitute a space where refugees can prepare for the journey by linking together different networks (more or less institutionalised) and by reducing (or at least

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attempting to reduce) the uncertainty of the journey itself. Equipped with mobile resources, Ahmad navigates a complex landscape that is often made up of contradictory news and sources of misinformation, which is why he compares and contrasts but ultimately resorts to the information provided by members of the local community who are already in Europe, still en route or about to make the journey. Here, and in stark contrast to those narratives who see forced migrants as agentless individuals, Ahmad becomes the protagonist of a digitally mediated circuit of information that deeply affects his decision-making process. Platforms and tools are exploited with the main purpose of reducing the risks associated with journey planning. During this preparatory stage, as Alencar et al. (2018) also suggest, mobile phones work as ‘organisational hubs’ as they facilitate cooperation online (on Facebook and via messaging platforms) and offline (existing networks), route planning and the administration, organisation and storage of documents online (usually on iCloud). Documents are stored online to reduce the risk of losing proof of documentation that the authorities need in order to verify the identity of asylum claimants. The functionalities of mobile technologies as organisational hubs are again confirmed by Ahmad, who travelled for fifty-five days and crossed over ten countries before reaching the shores of England: I used my mobile to check the news, I downloaded two or three radio stations and I was listening to how they were talking about migration, the politics. This was very interesting for me […]. Then before making the journey and crossing the river to Turkey, I had to do my research on the other area of the border, so I would google the area and read more about it […] We also relied on other applications to do online registrations as paper applications were easily lost […]. Technology somehow was a lifeline for the majority of us, people were ready to give up their cars and everything but not their mobile phones.

In the context of high uncertainty, the different uses of information and communication technologies are exploited in order to improve the chances of survival. Another respondent, a 31-year-old former English teacher, journalist and now PhD student from Aleppo remembers how volunteers would help refugees to navigate the uncertainty of refugee life: What happens is that you see a lot of volunteers. At the beginning of the refugee influx there were a lot of volunteers who wanted to help and book

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your train or coach…So Viber and WhatsApp were mainly used to connect. (Abdulwahab, interview with the author, 2019)

Another way in which technologies are used during the planning stage is to contact smugglers. Previous research has suggested that refugees are often forced to cross borders irregularly and to use smugglers in the absence of any other useful network (Dekker et al. 2018; Witteborn 2018). However, other research has advanced the hypothesis that social media and mobile technologies can in fact empower migrants by making them less dependent on smugglers and more autonomous with regard to routes, transports and destination countries (Zijlstra and Van Liempt 2017). I believe we need to be very careful when we attempt to rationalise the ways in which refugees use media to access a variety of resources. The distinction between autonomy and dependence is not clear-cut and changes constantly depending on contextual factors such as the availability of networks in different countries, the existence of personal contacts, the availability of social capital and the available legal support refugees can have access to. These factors fluctuate constantly and cannot be formalised once and for all. Additionally, the ways in which smugglers are contacted via social media and mobile applications suggest a degree of literacy that cannot be generalised to all asylum migrants. Here again, Ahmad’s testimony emerged as particularly poignant: The way I approached them is through media groups. On Facebook but mostly WhatsApp and Viber. You contact them and you use maps to meet them. So, I went and met this people and we agreed that it was going to be alright, that it was going to be 24 people…it turned to be 88 people and he said it will be £1,500. Because I didn’t have money with me because I had to keep them somewhere safe, I had to call friends and ask them to transfer money to a third-party person which is the smuggler. The day came and we had to use the application about weather, even the application with sea levels so you need to do this research to understand. Without the mobile it would be impossible to do. Then the day came, it was midnight, and we were beaten, and all forced into this boat. Smugglers were afraid of mobile phones, of people taking pictures, videos and possibly sending locations to the police. We only had one mobile phone; we also used it to call coast guards and send them our GPS coordinates when the boat started to take water.

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Contacts are initiated on Facebook first and then through other encrypted applications such as WhatsApp. Phone numbers are provided by smugglers on Facebook or are exchanged through more informal networks. Initial contacts mainly serve the purpose of negotiating prices and routes and the logistics of any further encounter. Fees are quite expensive and are transferred also by means of an informal network that pools resources to help the migrant. Reality can, however, turn out quite differently from what was originally agreed. In Ahmad’s story, we hear about an overcrowded boat where people were beaten and deprived of their phones to avoid their location being known, surveillance and then capture. Here, the only mobile phone available was used to check sea levels and weather conditions, and later to call the police as soon as the boat started sinking. Clearly, and as Ahmad repeatedly told me during the interview, mobile phones did in fact constitute a lifeline in conditions of high contingency and indeterminacy. Applications such as Google Maps and Google Weather allow refugees to partially alleviate the risks of exposure to potentially fatal events. Needless to say, the use of these fundamental services is dependent on the availability of reliable internet infrastructures or data plans which can be expensive, unreliable at sea and when transiting between borders. Phones can be stolen, thrown away by smugglers or border agents, damaged in rough conditions and, as pieces of hardware and software, can stop working at any time. The reliance on these fragile pieces of engineering adds further vulnerability that in conditions of forced displacement (and particularly during the journey) can be fatal. Interestingly, not all of my respondents agreed on the usefulness of using technology to contact smugglers and to plan their journey with them, as the following conversation with Abdulwahab (who flew to the UK) illustrates: Sara: Do you have any family member who took the journey by boat? Abdulwahab: Yes, I have family members and I advised them not to take it. It is not worth it. What if you die? They don’t listen. We have this romantic view of Europe but again when you are desperate what else are you going to lose? For those people you need smugglers and they will show you everything through rose-painted glass. They showed you these big boats and the journey and the reviews. And all of this was on Facebook and they never shut them or banned these pages. I don’t know if this is ethical or not, but everything was on FB and Instagram. You would see a couple of smugglers and then make your decisions based on costs, etc. One of my family members who took the boat, he went with their neighbours and they took the boat up to Greece and then another one to Athens and then trains, buses and coaches and

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they got to Germany. My brother lives in Germany. He wants to go to Sweden because Sweden is better. I don’t understand these choices, why Germany, why Sweden?

The extent to which technologies are deemed crucial before and during the journey largely depends on personal situations and the very unique trajectories that every refugee takes after deciding to leave Syria. Critical questions around the role of Facebook in allowing smugglers to post their services online go hand in hand with the accounts of those who often have no other choice than to trust this network and hope for the best possible outcome. While it is beyond the scopes of this analysis to make any judgment around these decisions or to reflect on the ethical responsibilities of platforms—a topic that certainly deserves further attention—I want to focus my attention on other technological uses that emerge during the journey. 4.3.2

During the Journey

My research suggests that communicative and networking use persist as the journey is initiated, mainly allowing refugees to keep communicating with smugglers, with families left behind and again with existing networks about to embark on the same journey or already en route. In the excerpt reported above, specific services such as Google Weather and the GPS system did in fact help Ahmad to secure the progression of his journey which would have been otherwise fatal. His reliance on technology did not end once he approached his first ‘safe’ location but continued alongside the fragmentary stages of Ahmad’s journey, as the following conversation demonstrates: Ahmad: I crossed the Turkey side, it was midnight and it was raining and we were crossing the river - was very dangerous but we managed to cross, people got shot, killed, but eventually I was in south east of Turkey and then I travelled all the way to Izmir, which is west of Turkey and there I really didn’t speak a word of Turkish and I had to translate, read and use Google translate to understand what was happening. This was helpful, very helpful, as we had to talk to smugglers. Sara: What happened then? Ahmad: I remember when we arrived in Greece and then again, I did not understand a word, I used Google translation and then Facebook and other platforms to find smugglers. I found this smuggler and he sent

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me his location. Without Google Maps I would have been lost, I didn’t know how to move in Athens. Afterwards I got a flight from Greece to Marseille, France, then from Marseille to Calais, and then I spent two weeks in Calais. The last night in Calais a smuggler from Egypt put me and other people in a tanker full of red flour and he said the journey would have taken two hours to London, and we said ok. We were seven people and one child, we were in complete darkness, before I got into the lorry, I contacted my friends and gave them my location. I said the journey should take two hours, if you don’t hear from me in two hours then something has gone wrong but should be two hours. After five hours the truck started moving. After eleven hours we all started suffocating, no signal, no texts, no messaging. We all gave up and thought we were dying. The driver stopped and he let us out and we were at the Italian border, eventually I was in the middle of nowhere, I contacted my friends. Eventually I went back to Calais and then to Germany. Here I met another smuggler and again travelled on the back of a lorry for three nights and then eventually I made it to the UK.

A number of important elements of discussion emerge here. First, technology responds to a series of immediate needs that need to be addressed. Already distressed and lost after days of travelling, applications such as Google Translate allow refugees to communicate and navigate the foreign environment where local smugglers are contacted and further negotiations take place. Moving from border to border, mobile applications are again used mainly as communication and informational devices. Within this context, social media platforms perform their role as ‘contact zones’ (Veronis et al. 2018) or as spaces where refugees can learn local routes by exercising a greater degree of agency. This agency is often shared with other actors such as smugglers but nevertheless provides an opportunity for refugees to become more independent in searching, locating and identifying crucial information. More importantly in this context, the opportunity to use services such as Google Translate considerably lowers the risks of exploitation and additional abuse that refugees can be subjected to in a situation of complete unfamiliarity with foreign languages and organisational structures. These very practical solutions go hand in hand with more affective uses as mobile phones are used to support the formation of a ‘circuit of care’ that allows refugees to support each other, to share locations and to make one’s survival a shared responsibility. In this context, not having a signal or a reliable connection to data considerably lowers the

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chances of ‘getting through’. For both parties, for the individual and for the family left behind, the lack of information often equates to a death sentence and adds additional physical and mental burdens. However, even when phones can be used to send messages and updates, other contextual factors can further complicate communications. For example, and as Ahmad explained to me, the lack of electricity in Aleppo makes it difficult to send regular updates. Friends outside Syria are often contacted first, and other means of communication are then activated to ensure the spread of news. Family members might only have landlines, as Abdulwahab noted during our interview, which means that communication can be even more sporadic, expensive and difficult to activate. For the refugee, approaching camps or other waiting points such as hotels and railway stations might mean having access to charging stations and WiFi hotspots, but these opportunities are also sporadic or untrusted as the border police patrol these areas and exercise further surveillance. After hours of travelling and when portable batteries are not available, news is delayed until phones can be charged. What emerged from my interviews was also the gap that mobile technologies come to fill in the absence of other reliable infrastructures that should, in fact, represent a source of trustworthy information. Asked about how he kept in touch with relatives and friends left behind, Abdulwahab said the following: There is this service Ask the Red Cross but good luck! That’s it. Databases are not regularly updated. With my family, I mainly call them. Skype is a thing among the young people because they know how to use it but not among the parents. Most people don’t have a cell phone in Syria, they use a landline. We only have a landline in Syria and one phone in the whole house.

This is a very important point. Not only do mobile phones become drivers of individual autonomy before and during the journey to Europe, but on a more collective level of organisation they become the sole providers of information against the lack of reliable infrastructures and official informational hubs. This was confirmed by other respondents as well who over the years have ‘learned’ not to trust the most formalised organisations for fear of their associations with governments and authorities.

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I don’t think I can trust anyone. I’ve been through so much that I learned to rely on myself and my family and my friends only. It’s sad, it shouldn’t be this way, but it’s the best option. At least people can’t lie to you. At least you don’t get disappointed. (N., interview with the author, 2018)

4.3.3

On Arrival

Upon arrival, technology takes on different roles and practical uses. While its communicative uses remain key as refugees update their loved ones or reunite with existing networks, the navigation and multimedia use of mobile technologies acquire a new urgency. In this context, navigation refers to the use of services such as Google Translate, which helps refugees to communicate and navigate the foreign environment, and the use of other important platforms such as employment-related search engines, language courses and volunteer-run networks that are designed to help refugees integrate into the host community. The concept of integration has received a great deal of attention in migration studies, especially for the role played by information and communication technologies in facilitating migration and settlement (Dekker and Engbersen 2014). Shifting between views of integration as a one-way process that necessarily demands full assimilation of migrants to the host culture (Da Lomba 2010) or as a two-way process where migrants and institutions collaborate to avoid conflict (Ager and Strang 2008), scholars have attempted to rationalise the practices and outcomes of integration by paying attention to the influence of specific factors whether they be socio-economic, cultural or political. By focusing on how specific factors intervene in the more or less successful integration of migrants and refugees, these contributions have failed to account for the ways in which individual, contextual and techno-mediated factors together affect the long and uneven process of integrating into a new country. In migration networks, information coming from governments, NGOs and other more or less institutionalised actors merge with migrants’ experiences and narratives, especially on social media. Bearing this in mind, a new body of scholarship has advocated the need to advance a multidimensional approach (Ager and Strang 2008; Alencar 2018) that considers refugee integration as the sum of interrelated aspects such as:

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– the varying degrees to which refugees have access to opportunities such as employment, education, housing and health services (means and markets); – the availability of social connections in both home and host countries; – the presence of facilitators such as the linguistic and cultural knowledge of the receiving country; – the (also varying) levels of engagement, participation and public visibility in the host country. For the purpose of this project, I was particularly interested in observing how technological devices such as the mobile phone and webbased applications are used to facilitate (or not) integration and later contribute to the refugee’s general sense of well-being. While I am fully aware that the risks of considering technology as the sole driver of integration are often present in this type of study, my focus on participants’ voices has provided a valuable opportunity to advance our understanding of integration processes from a sociological perspective, one which values the role of social forces in technology use and adaptation (Alencar 2018). In the light of the above, my research has suggested that technologies do seem to facilitate access to local services including volunteering networks, health services and access to education opportunities such as language courses and professional training. This was confirmed by S., a former journalist who recently moved to the UK with the intention of working as a journalist in London. On Facebook, he met a network of volunteers offering their free time to review his curriculum and to provide practical advice on the local job market, which in turn deeply affected his understanding of the English system, his confidence in the skills he could transfer and his hopes for a successful integration into his new home. I think Facebook helped me a lot as I met these volunteers who looked at my curriculum and helped me finding resources. I know I wanted to be a journalist here, but I didn’t know where to start and what to look for. I was lost and losing confidence in myself. What was I going to do here? How was I going to provide for my family? Thankfully I met them, and I am now collaborating with other journalists here to build my career. (S., interview with the author, 2018)

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The adoption and use of mobile technologies and social media for resettlement purposes reflect the complexity of integration for all migrant communities and especially for those communities whose integration is neither welcome nor easy to legally obtain. In the following quote, Ahmad illustrates the many ways in which technology provided useful resources once he arrived in the UK: The last seven years, without mobile phones and applications I would not have been able to make this massive network, technology was vital for me. I remember after I got to this country applying for refugee status, I needed to find an accommodation. I had no money, no place to stay, no national insurance number. I had to go to Facebook to ask for help as I was homeless and these people who picked me up as part of the Refugees at Home project helped me a lot [Refugees at Home is a charity who match people with spare rooms to host refugees and asylum seekers who need accommodation]. They hosted me for about five months, my time with them was very important because for instance I remember having the opportunity to use computers, the Wi-Fi. As a way to say thank you to the family I post pictures of my room on Facebook and thanked the family and that post on Facebook was shared five thousand times and I had thousands and thousands of comments, was taken by the Independent and others. So you can see, massive awareness and solidarity. Social media has been vital.

Here again, Facebook enables refugees to make connections with a network of volunteers and associations using social media to provide help and support. By making connections available, technologies encourage the circulation of social capital that many scholars have already identified as central to any migration experience (Komito 2011). Building from Putnam’s seminal study on social capital (2000), Ager and Strang (2008) differentiate between social bonds (connections with a strongly tied community), social bridges (connections with members of other communities) and social links (connections with the more institutional networks, including volunteers and humanitarian organisations). This was confirmed in my research which suggested that both strong and weak ties are activated not just before and during the journey in multiple settings (the border, the camp, at sea and on land) but also once having arrived in the host country where the urgency to settle down demands perhaps a more active engagement with the opportunities available locally. On the one hand, social bonds are maintained across distances with family members scattered across the globe which help refugees to keep

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a sense of emotional stability despite the fragile circumstances. This emerged vividly in the following conversation with a female refugee from Aleppo who asked that her name be identified only with her initial: I don’t use Skype to communicate with my family but WhatsApp, Viber, and Facebook. With Facebook you can share news, sending messages and pictures. For example, now on Christmas, we were having dinner together and we phoned our aunts and said, ‘we’re eating this, we’re eating that’. They started talking about every single thing we were eating, for my aunt this is part of the family process, talking to her sister, trying to make it as normal as possible and trying to maintain the same conversations they would have back home. Trying to engage them with the little things. So that’s how technology helps sometime. (D., interview with the author, 2018)

Typical conversations around food are recreated by means of technological mediation which allows D’s family to recreate a very intimate bond that was once experienced in physical proximity. A feeling of ‘digital togetherness’ is recreated as the material and affective meanings of food consumption are reactivated as a transnational culinary practice (Marino 2019; Marino 2017). On the other hand, online and offline networks enable refugees to become part of a community. This is extremely important in terms of the organisation of daily life which already goes through major stages of de-territorialisation and re-territorialisation that deeply undermine the refugee’s sense of material and emotional stability. Not all of my respondents agreed on the usefulness of online platforms for this particular purpose, as the following conversation with Abdulwahab illustrates: Sara: Would you say that these platforms are helpful in terms of creating connections with the local community? Abdulwahab: Not at all. Jobs and Indeed yes because they are for everyone, they are not designed just for refugees, they are not exclusive. Google Translate I think it’s helpful, but it also encourages people to not be confident, Facebook is however making it worse because it creates a Syria inside the host community, a bubble inside the local community. If you need an electrician you would look for a Syrian electrician, if you want to eat you would go to Syrian restaurants. I remember when I was in Turkey, they did not have Syrian loaf bread. People would pay the taxis that go to Syria every day to bring them bread from Syria and they would buy it twice a week and they would refuse to eat Turkish bread. Totally against integration and people would refuse to learn the

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language. I’ve seen in Germany and in Sweden – people refusing to learn the language. When I go to Germany to visit my brother, I feel like I’m in Syria again.

There are some interesting points to discuss in more depth. First, the applications that are considered to be more useful are those which are not uniquely designed for refugees. Employment-related search engines such as Jobs and Indeed are identified by the respondent as practical precisely because you do not have to be a refugee in order to use them. This point will return in our discussion in the next chapter when digital solutions created for refugees will be observed in the light of what I argue is a mismatch between humanitarian intentions and refugee needs. Second, according to Abdulwahab, the use of multilingual machine translation services such as Google Translate encourages refugees to delay the process of learning a new language which is traditionally understood as one of the most important steps in the process of integration. Third, platforms such as Facebook support the formation of ghetto diasporic communities that in fact hinder the process of integration. Of course, this is one less critical view among many others of the role of social media platforms for settlement purposes, but nevertheless one that needs to be taken into account as we explore the complex role of technologies in situations of forced displacement. The extent to which digital media support the formation of ghetto communities thus further reinforcing discrimination and segregation is a topic that demands careful attention and more evidence, especially as it stands in stark contrast to those views that focus instead on the link between media and social cohesion. In contrast, a solid corpus of literature has for years identified media (and community media in particular) as positively contributing to community development, social inclusion and intercultural dialogue (Bellardi et al. 2018). But there are limitations to any approach that considers the shortand long-term impact of technologies without acknowledging the impact of factors such as age, gender, digital literacy and access. Women, the elderly, and lower educated migrants tend to rely on more traditional channels of communication, a view that is supported by Rianne Dekker and Godfried Engbersen (2014) among others. Furthermore, whereas many refugees have more or less reliable internet access via smartphones, people in the countries of origin often do not, as previous quotations have demonstrated.

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As for integration, the networks accessed via social media or other platforms do not necessarily represent social capital in the forms outlined above. What matters is the individual’s ability to exploit those resources and to transform them into concrete outcomes (Portes 1995). Indeed, the formation of migrant enclaves is a likely scenario with or without technology. Even before the internet, generations of migrants would tend to cluster in particular neighbourhoods in order to benefit from previously established networks and resources. In this respect, the literature has already shown that ethnic networks can positively affect migrants’ economic activity and social integration at the local level (Kindler et al. 2015). Other studies, including the study by Roggeveen and van Meeteren (2013) of the Brazilian community in Amsterdam, identify the lack of legal status and education as the main barriers to the circulation of social capital rather than the use of the technologies themselves. In general, we can probably assume that highly mobile and well-educated refugees such as Abdulwahab and Ahmad have the social and cultural capacity to decide if, how and when they can use digitally based transnational networks to gather resources and create a sense of community, often shifting from online to offline networks depending on needs and other contextual factors. For those who have a low level of English proficiency but can and have access to mediatised networks, the use of social media and local connections indeed represents the first starting point in an integration process that is in fact very unpredictable and fragmented. My research shows that generally speaking mobile media and social media platforms have been central to building a new sense of community abroad with a positive effect on a refugee’s sense of familiarity with the host environment, sense of isolation and cultural shock. Confronted with the trauma of being far away from home and often lost in translation, the opportunity to maintain a connection with home, either by means of distant communication with home or through connections with other refugees in the local community of destination or on Facebook, helps to lessen the trauma of displacement. Asked about the role of Syrian online communities on Facebook, my respondents were overall positive about the role of online spaces as ‘a way to connect, to discuss, to share news’ (M., interview with the author, 2019). In general, and as mentioned earlier, Facebook was identified as the preliminary channel of communication among my respondents in line with similar data suggesting the predominance of Facebook as the top social media channels used in Syria

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where among Arab countries usage is the highest in that country at ninety-five per cent (Ramadan 2017). As we know from the extant literature, social networking sites can be regarded as a functional tool enabling an individual to satisfy a certain preset goal (Hollenbaugh and Ferris 2014) and to maintain existing relationships, as well as creating new ones around common interests (Ellison et al. 2014). Prior to Facebook, online communities such as discussion forums had been observed in relation to the formation of bonding and bridging social capital, now even more transnational and mobile (Ellison et al. 2011; Wellman et al. 2001). Other studies have also shown that the use of Facebook is associated with stronger and better social relationships between migrants with both their destination and home countries (Damian and Van Ingen 2014) thanks to the availability and circulation of informational and emotional support (Marino 2015a, b). More poignantly, the use of social networks has been positively associated with communication during crisis situations as information sharing, collaboration and mobilisation can be activated relatively easily and quickly (Ramadan 2017). In a study conducted by Díaz Andrade and Doolin (2016), technology use emerged as a crucial resource allowing refugees to be socially connected, which in turn affects practices of self-identification and belonging to a given community. As in the example provided by respondent D. previously, communication technologies can in fact provide the feeling of being home while actually being away from home, even for a limited amount of time and despite the bittersweet feelings of nostalgia that can creep in when the video call ends or when connection is lost. The importance of platforms and devices was recognised by Abdulwahab among others: Facebook is still a huge thing. People say that Facebook is dying but not for refugees. There are a couple of pages here for the Syrian community in England, all Syrian fighting and arguing against each other, classic! You would see marriage proposals, all the time. It is good for those who don’t speak the language very well.

In line with similar studies, then, it is probably safe to assume that these forms of digital togetherness are not only useful during the first stages of integration, when things are still unfamiliar and material support (online and offline) is needed to navigate the urban space, but are more generally connected to a person’s emotional well-being and sense of

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belonging. This is reiterated by Ramadan (2017) in his study of the Syrian use of Facebook which confirmed that by cultivating in-group membership, the social identity of refugees is reinforced through commitment to the group and the circulation of shared support and resources. As already mentioned, technologies allow refugees and their families to keep in touch, share critical information and pool vital resources that more often than not make the journey not only possible but also more bearable. Before and during the journey to Europe, the opportunity to call or text loved ones seems to alleviate the trauma of displacement by favouring moments of digital co-presence that are characterised by a high degree of intimacy, emotional depth and social cohesion. In this context, sending and receiving updates affects the well-being of the refugee as well as the family back home or any other member of the community otherwise displaced. Similarly, to connect with other families or communities of displaced Syrians can help to alleviate the trauma of being completely alone and far away from home. Here, and while we need to be very careful about any direct equation we make between technologies and personal well-being in respect of which other factors certainly intervene, it is clear that information and communication resources are essential means of material and affective empowerment. Indeed, this digital infrastructure works in concert with other and more conventional webs of support that many of my respondents identified as similarly crucial resources: The value is keeping contacts with people you can’t see face to face, that’s priceless. A lot of refugees cannot get a visa to visit their families in Turkey so the only, the closest thing they can do to see their loved ones is a video call, as simple as that. This is priceless, this is amazing. (Abdulwahab, interview with the author, 2019)

The cooperation of online and offline webs of support does not end once the refugee steps foot in Europe; on the contrary, it becomes more diversified to include the local community of volunteers, citizens and members of the community. As documented by my respondents, the opportunity to access a broader set of resources during the process of integration considerably improves the chances of achieving a sense of normalcy in the midst of chaos. This is confirmed by similar studies. In research conducted by Cange et al. (2018), it is shown how postmigration factors such as access to housing services, employment opportunities,

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language skills and social support are central to a refugee’s mental wellbeing and sense of safety. While we cannot say that technologies alone can be responsible for alleviating these and other critical psychological effects connected to forced displacement, they can indeed help refugees to access networks and opportunities that might have been slower or more difficult to activate otherwise. Technology in this context is an instrumental means to a broader pool of resources that refugees must be willing to access and use. In this respect, the agentic capacity of technologies is what transforms migrants from vulnerable individuals to ‘digital agents of change’ (Borkert et al. 2018, p. 8). Parallel to this, the opportunities offered by the media’s visual uses also seem to contribute to refugees’ emotional well-being and account for a different set of multimedia uses that mobile technologies bring with them. This is confirmed by Ahmad who speaks about the importance of creating and preserving a digital archive of memories and other tokens of love: Of course, for me my mobile phone has played a massive role. Family pictures are also very important. I could not take them with me so I scanned them all and uploaded on drive, cloud or Google pictures, everything I had I scanned, because I could not take documents with me. I don’t have anything physical, everything I have is on cloud.

Family photos are tangible memories of a life that is still there regardless of the physical and mental disruption that refugees endure. In moments of distress, they provide comfort and contribute to the maintenance of a sense of family that does not fade in the present circumstances of physical displacement. Here again, Ahmad reveals a sophisticated and complex use of devices that I did not see in other respondents who, however, all confirmed (with the exception of Abdulwahab as we shall see) that looking at family photos and videos returned mixed feelings of nostalgia and emotional relief, depending on their overall mental state, application status and living conditions during the journey as well as once they have arrived at their destination. As I have discussed in previous work, technology use—in both its informational and affective affordances—seems to intervene on the following crucial dimensions: nostalgia or longing for home; desire for intimacy; return to normalcy; and a sense of emotional proximity (Marino 2017). In this discussion, it is important to remember that these affordances not only affect the refugee in their individuality

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but the whole community that they belong to. Proximity in this context involves maintaining a routine of intimate closeness with relatives or friends, who have been left behind or scattered in different European countries, while establishing new relationships of trust and commitment to other refugees on the move or in the process of integrating. Baldassar has argued that ICT provides new avenues for the unfolding of intimacy across time and space which in turn affects the feeling of ‘being present’ regardless of distance (Baldassar et al. 2016). Of course, physical copresence remains the privileged form of togetherness and critical voices do persist alongside Ahmad’s more positive approach to the digital as a repository of memories. This emerged with particular vigour during my conversation with Abdulwahab. This is the point. I might be wrong, but this is something I noticed, that western people are obsessed with this, asking refugees ‘what do you have from home? Do you still have your keys?’ No, I don’t have my keys, my house has been destroyed I don’t care about the keys. I don’t have anything from back home, I don’t have photos because I don’t care about them. These things are making me more depressed, these things about identity and who I am are slowing down my integration process, make me nostalgic in a deceptive way, looking back at a country that I miss, but that I hated when I was there because of the corruption and the political situation. I wanted to go out. This nostalgic feeling is really fake in my opinion. Of course, there are some happy moments but keeping pictures of things from the past and looking at them and thinking this was great and now my life is miserable is awful. An awful thing to have especially on your phone. If you have photos or videos and maybe you look at them once a year, that’s ok. But to keep them on your phone, I think this would really stop you from moving on, and people really need to move on and to let go. I don’t have any photo from Aleppo on my phone. I think I only have one or two from Aleppo on my Facebook, and that’s it. This is not something I want to keep looking because it will make me depressed and give me this deception that I was happy there.

This quote is particularly important for two main reasons. First, in stark contrast to Ahmad’s account of the power of digital memories, this testimony refuses to accept the romantic idea that migrants always bring or refer to material objects such as photos as a way of coping with the trauma of displacement. In Abdulwahab’s words, the trauma of displacement is vivid and does not require any visual trigger. Second, what we see here

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is a very open and honest account of perhaps a very Western obsession with the investigation of the symbolic meanings hidden behind the uses of technology and their consumption. This obsession seems to me to be connected to almost a sense of legitimisation of the ‘true’ migrant that goes through their investment in objects of memory that would either augment or suppress the nostalgia for what the migrant has left behind. While in Ahmad’s story the digital archive somehow helped him to cope with the practical difficulties of the journey and the loneliness to be detached from his family, Abdulwahab’s transparent account of the fallacy of the digital emerges with particular intensity. On the one hand, technology can further remind the refugee of the things they have lost, thus adding additional emotional burdens that no video call or photo can alleviate. On the other hand, technologies can prevent refugees from moving on with the integration process by further idealising a nostalgic past back home. It is difficult to know the extent to which digital archives can be deceptive as other contextual factors do play a role which causes sentiments to fluctuate intermittently. As we delve deeper into the role of digitally mediated experiences and memories, however, it is clear that we are stepping into a whole new set of affordances that call into question the more performative uses of technologies. The next chapter will delve deeper into these.

4.4 Technologies of Exile: Functions and Affordances Documenting the journey itself would have not been possible without technology. (Ahmad, interview with the author, 2017)

By ‘technologies of exile’, I specifically refer to the performative functions and affordances of information and communication technologies mainly affecting a refugee’s practices of self-representation and public visibility. In particular, what I shall discuss here is how performative uses affect these two practices both politically and symbolically. To do that, I am focusing on the way technologies were used during the journey and upon arrival by my respondents to document and witness the challenges of reaching Europe. In thinking about these mediatised practices of documentation and witnessing, three main purposes seemed to emerge.

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First, the need to reassure family and friends after days or months of fragmented communication, as Ahmad’s quote shows us. Here, mediatised witnessing becomes part of a circuit of care that is in itself highly performative and emotional. To document that a journey has been made (more or less successfully) raises a sense of agency that is of vital importance in the lives of refugees, albeit only within the private familial sphere. Second, we can see in these practices an attempt at providing alternative narratives that contrast with more mainstream and institutionalised representations of the ‘refugee crisis’. Seen as partial and limiting, these official narratives lack the authenticity of refugee voices and further feed into the common view that refugees are vulnerable and agentless individuals. Third, on a more hypothetical level of enquiry, we can begin to unpack refugees’ performative media uses as tactics of resistance that can coexist alongside (and possibly in contrast to) the more power-infused strategies of Fortress Europe. The last two purposes call into question notions of self-representation and public visibility. In both public and academic debates, we have seen in recent years a renewed interest in the role of social media in the articulation and representation of the refugee voice. This interest has taken many forms. In the news, reality-TV style documentaries shot by refugees have entered the mainstream with a high degree of virality. Two examples stand out for their popularity and contradictory nature, at least in the UK where I am based. The first example is the 2016 BBC2 series Exodus : Our Journey which was shot partly by BBC crews and partly by refugees who were given camera phones to secretly film their journeys to Europe. The second example is the documentary Escape from Syria: Rania’s Odyssey which was published online by The Guardian in 2017. With around 1.5 million views in the first 24 hours of its publication, the documentary was said to have given viewers a rare perspective of a refugee woman and a more intimate portrait of the ‘refugee crisis’. Both are multi-award-winning documentaries that have been praised for their intention to subvert the traditional narratives that see refugees as observed subjects into one that brings refugees at the very centre of their story. This is, in part, true. Using well-established platforms and formats, these stories have successfully provided a more intimate understanding of the difficulties that refugees go through as they try to reach Europe. The use of mobile devices played an important role in terms of looking at these testimonies as uncut, unfiltered and unmediated. As we document every second of our lives on our phones, we are drawn to these

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mobile accounts of ‘lived lives’ as if we are there with them. The idea of ‘transporting audiences into the crisis’ through means of alternative storytelling, such as refugee-led mobile accounts, has in fact been successful in terms of offering viewers a diverse range of resources to choose from. In the news, Exodus was publicly praised as one of the most successful experiences of ‘unmediated witnessing’, while Escape from Syria was described as a ‘deeply personal and immersive story that gave viewers a fresh and authentic perspective on the Syrian refugee crisis at a time when public interest was waning’.4 While I do not wish to negate or deny the impact that these accounts have undoubtedly had on the often mono-sided media diets of Western audiences, these accounts present a number of challenges in relation to mediatised witnessing and self-representation that I contend we need to address. First, I argue that virtual reality and other interactive experiments risk normalising the gamification of suffering that may lead to a further simplification of narratives and to empathy fatigue. While certainly designed with the best intention in mind, giving viewers the opportunity to take an interactive or virtual journey to understand the supposedly ‘real’ dilemmas that refugees face does very little for the refugees’ self-representations and public visibility, especially in the long term. Second, and while I agree on the powerfulness of narrations like Exodus and Escape from Syria, the ways in which these seemingly uncut stories are distributed to the public raise a few concerns. Escape from Syria was shot with a GoPro given to Rania by Norwegian documentarian Anders Hammer who taught Rania how to film. In Exodus , made by Keo films for the BBC, the film team gave cameras to some of the people we see on screen.5 On the one hand, the interactivity and multimediality provided by the use of portable devices (smartphones and GoPro) address the ‘veracity gap’ noted by Peters (2001) by transmitting the pain in a less mediated way and by focusing our attention on specific (and very likeable) personalities which we know helps emotional proximity more than any other discursive strategy (Chouliaraki 2006). We also witness a ‘shift towards a self-staged testimony that appears to offer a potential autonomous self-management of social media presence by the refugee themselves’ (Rettberg and Gajjala 2016, p. 179). On the other hand, the close-up of objects of popular culture that Rania, for example, is bringing with her (the DVDs of her favourite TV show Game of Thrones ) seems to exacerbate the emphasis on those material objects that make them a little bit more ‘like us’, while at the same time institutionalising the parameters within which our

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encounter with the other can legitimately happen. This process already de-legitimises and undermines the struggle for recognition which requires self-identification with alterity rather than a homogenisation of thoughts and behaviours. This strategy can also divert attention from the broader structural and political causes of inequalities and potentially reflect our obsession towards the objectification of human mobilities, as respondent Abdulwahab noted in the following excerpt: You can see a huge Western intervention; these examples are hugely influenced by Western producers […] These videos make people in the East feel like they have to act. Most of the things I see on TV it’s heavenly produced for Western audiences. [On the objects brought by Rania, he observes:] People grab different things. I had a CD with me when I came here because I knew that I wouldn’t have internet and I didn’t want to get bored and wanted to watch something funny. Was that necessary? No, I just put it. But researchers would start to analyse something that has no meaning whatsoever. I’m very sceptical. I’m sure there have been some discussions between them. Who is going to edit? Who is going to choose the music? The angle? There are lots of questions about framing etc.

Furthermore, we are still looking at narratives that—albeit often only marginally—are ‘imposed’ on refugees by a Western colonial mentality that decides how a narration should take place. This is evident in the instruments given to refugees (highly expensive tools that refugees would not normally use or bring with them during such a risky journey) and in the process of editing that the BBC or The Guardian has surely used before releasing these stories to the public. The lack of research on this particular aspect gives me no authority to define how ‘serious’ the intervention was or the extent to which the material was edited before its publication; however, this is an important aspect that needs to be taken into account. In the mediatised representations of refugees, questions of ownership are often confused with a sense of legitimacy that is only provided to refugees when they confirm their status of vulnerability, when they show their suffering and when they perform their refugeeness in ways that we can at least understand, if not accept (Fassin 2005; Georgiou 2019). I do not necessarily agree that this is bad. As we watch Rania’s journey, we witness her joy and her pain as she overcomes multiple obstacles and experiences of physical and mental displacement. To a certain extent, this

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alone can account for a more complex and indeed precious narrative. But the most important question really is how these alternative representations communicate with the broader political and social framework in order to produce more concrete outcomes. In other words, we should ask where the refugee voice begins and ends, as broadcasting, in the words of Peters (2001), always creates a sense of distance, regardless of the authenticity of the voice being represented. Let me reflect a bit more on this point. Peters (2001) defines witnessing as a practice that ‘raises questions of truth and experience, presence and absence, death and pain, seeing and saying, and the trustworthiness of perception’ (p. 707). As a practice, it is made up of three different elements: the agent/witness, the text and the audience. Rae et al. (2018) reiterate that through the act of witnessing, audiences are somehow forced to connect to the suffering of other people. Of course, we are not immune to mediated representations of witnessing. Since the advent of mass media and especially with the first televised word reportage, we have got used to observing spectacles of suffering (Ellis 2000). As viewers, we have an unprecedented knowledge of events as they unfold and to witness is also to become morally responsible for events that we cannot ignore anymore (Chouliaraki 2008). This is even more evident today, as the convergence of media platforms and devices brings us an amplified recording of events with a super-abundance of details that the human eye would not otherwise be able to record. And yet, this uberexposure to real-time events does not seem to translate into a heightened sensibility towards those who experience such events in their skin. In fact, we have become quite numb to these human tragedies that are thrown at us as we watch the evening news. This was noted by Peters (2001), among others, who discusses the ‘voracity gap’ that seems to be opening up between us and the news while calling into question the ability of the media to sustain the practice of witnessing. First, to translate the pain into words that can be fully understood by distant audiences requires a paradigm shift that media cannot convey. Second, the tension between the need for more objective testimonies compromises the authenticity of these testimonies which are often raw. Third, broadcasting tends to create a distance between the subjects in pain and the audiences who sit comfortably on their sofa far away from the sites of pain. Within this scenario, the recognition of the refugee voice as a voice that deserves to be listened to and to be engaged with on a physical, political and cultural level has still a long way to

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go. On the one hand, this is compromised by the distinction between victims whose suffering is worthy of attention (those who are selected by news media outlets as capable of gaining the public’s empathy) and those victims whose voices nevertheless remain silent. On the other hand, and as noted before, the refugees’ mediated voices can further exacerbate the simplification of narratives with the result that the distant sufferer is further debilitated. This certainly holds true for all the mediated representations of distant suffering produced, edited and disseminated by media outlets and organisations with a pressure to sell commodified narratives and sensational news. But what happens when we look at the refugee’s everyday mobile media uses? Can digital connectivity offer a path for refugees to gain self-confidence, self-respect and self-esteem, which Honneth (1992) identifies as preconditions for self-determination and public recognition? Can media constitute a space where the exiled voice can be exercised as an act of digital citizenship? On the one hand, I am tempted to say that everyday mobile media uses can increase self-confidence and self-esteem by virtue of the communicative, navigation and multimedia affordances that are activated before departure, during the journey and on arrival. If and when the physical infrastructure of Wi-Fi hotspots, charging stations and SIM cards do work, then refugees can in fact be empowered by digital connectivity. Even when these performative practices of documentation, for example the selfie, are used to further discriminate and marginalise the other, disruptive fissures can still open in our understanding of their alterity. On the other hand, the path to recognition is made up of two essential conditions: being able to communicate and being listened to. I am not entirely sure that this has happened as yet. In the first place, public attention is extremely volatile and as new fears and priorities for the public good emerge, past preoccupations disappear, and voices become quiet again. Habermas (2013) and Offe (2015) importantly discuss the accountability deficiency of the EU which seems to impede the creation of more rigorous spaces of contestation over the very concept of digital citizenship. Secondly, we know from the literature that the notion of digital citizenship refers to the participatory and democratic potential of new technologies to form a (public) space where alternative voices can coexist, thus potentially contributing to the strengthening of a healthy (public) sphere (Hintz et al. 2017; Papacharissi 2002). We need, however, to bear in mind that the public space and the public sphere are not synonyms because simply providing a platform for alternative

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and potentially more inclusive discussions does not automatically lead to the formation of a more representative or democratic public sphere. For example, the fact that connectivity is simultaneously a lifeline for refugees and the very symbol of the impossibility of dialogue due to its incompatibility with European expectations of refugee suffering is in itself a barrier to the unfolding of digital citizenship rights. In the literature, scholars have conceptualised the digital citizen as both active and supervised, a governable subject and a fragmented body that is ‘assembled’ partly through users’ active participation and partly through the collection and analysis of the information circulated through participation (Hintz et al. 2017). If we take this definition as a starting point for discussion, then refugees are to a certain extent digital citizens as they do not simply connect and perform their ‘refugeeness’ every time they call home on WhatsApp or communicate on Facebook—our very own spaces of conversation—but also because they, like us, increasingly live and operate in a datafied environment in which everything we do leaves data traces. Clearly, this comes with important differences in terms of the ‘heaviness’ of surveillance that is imposed upon them first, and furthermore, their performativity does not make them like us. On the contrary, they remain loosely active and falsely engaged. Not available for marketing and the useless targets of cookies, the digital refugee is still at the very periphery of our platformed sociability. To this (and while of course we can make the argument that even our data traces are used and extracted with little ownership by us), the disrespectful and violent identification of the refugee’s body as a body that can be scanned, surveilled, read and monitored by governments and other authorities adds further levels of complexity that compromise the real potential of technologies for self-recognition and self-determination. I therefore agree with Georgiou (2019) as she identifies performed refugeeness as a precondition for recognition. Only when refugees show their resilient individualism to us, as they act a little bit more like entrepreneurs, networked and economically productive quasi-citizen, do we seem to accept them more easily. Full access is then guaranteed, or at least made more accessible, to those who have proved their entrepreneurial abilities and have learned how to cope with the rules and ghosts of neoliberalism. They become the good migrant and the competent refugee, the refugee that can pay back and return the favour. When belonging can only be earned through subjectification to our understanding of public agency and through performances of gratefulness, no

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sense of commonality can be established between the subaltern and the sovereign citizen. According to Couldry et al. (2014), digital citizenship is a narrative exchange supported by digital infrastructures. To acquire a ‘public voice’, a space is needed that would allow for the recognition of that voice, that is a space for appearance and a mode of expression (Butler 2015). These legitimate modalities of expression more often than not come through the idea of the entrepreneurial refugee, to which I would like to briefly turn to now. In 2019, British political economist, writer and author of ‘Seven Steps to SUCCESS: Enabling Refugee Entrepreneurs to Flourish’6 Philippe Legrain published an article on The Guardian claiming that the potential of refugee entrepreneurs is vast but still largely untapped and ignored in the public debate. In identifying support for refugees/prospective entrepreneurs as an ‘investment’ with promising economic and social returns, Legrain’s contribution allows me to raise a few points of concern. While I do not wish to discredit the whole approach in its entirety— which is also specifically focused on migrants settling in Australia—I still want to make a note about Legrain’s affirmation that refugees are individuals who are ‘already equipped with the key entrepreneurial strengths of resilience, risk-taking and resolve’ (2019). This optimistic statement risks hiding, I believe, the root causes that force refugees to adapt to conditions of vulnerability through everyday strategies of survival. These strategies do not make them entrepreneurs, or an economic asset for the destination country. Rather, they should be framed within broader considerations around the lack of support and humanitarian care that European and non-European governments have displayed towards refugees. Quite problematic is also the fact that these positive accounts of refugee entrepreneurship, which we shall also discuss in the next chapter, are often promoted as standalone narratives. This again ignores the more complex and overlapping associations that the economy has with broader political and social structures. In sum, while I certainly welcome the establishment of public initiatives aimed at supporting refugees’ integration through a recognition of their skills, I argue that we need to be careful about how these initiatives are framed. While these projects often offer a route to independence, self-confidence and self-esteem which, as I have noted, Honneth considers an essential resource for recognition (1992), the same projects, however, reveal their fragility as they often lack a clearer and more inclusive policy framework from which ultimately the attribution (and legalisation) of citizenship comes from. Attention needs therefore to

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be paid to the grey areas between the techno-optimistic accounts of technologies as agents of social change and the dystopian views of technology as undermining the principles of truth in contemporary democracy. While the refugee voice is indeed a useful starting point, its legitimacy and political value (Couldry 2010) need to be critically assessed against its hypervisibility and its full complexity. That includes creating opportunities where refugees are not only respected but recognised as autonomous beings. Media alone cannot do this, especially when the political debate is still shifting between commonality and difference as two opposite extremes. The recognition of the other comes through the acceptance of similarities as well as differences. If the infrastructure does not change, then the refugee body will always be commodified either as the unworthy subject (the criminal), the suffering migrant (the vulnerable), the object of compassion (the miserable) or the self-governing subject (the refugee as innovator and as digital entrepreneur).

4.5

The Limits of Technology Use

While media technologies certainly hold the potential for providing refugees and migrants in general with a platform where tactics of resistance can take place, their intrinsic limitations should also not be forgotten. In this section, I specifically focus on those limitations that affect the everyday uses of portable devices and both the functional and performative uses of technologies. In reviewing the challenges that characterise technology use in situations of ‘crisis’, as the exodus of refugees has been defined, I argue that (a) infrastructure, (b) trust and (c) surveillance emerge as particularly problematic. In reviewing these aspects, I strongly contend that in these contexts, technology is both fundamental and precarious, always open to contentious interventions and never defined once and for all. a. Infrastructure As we know, connectivity would not be possible without a functioning physical infrastructure of charging stations, Wi-Fi hotspots, SIM cards, spare batteries and adaptors. While we often take it for granted, communication and connectivity depend on an intricate web of pieces of hardware

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(routers, cables, switches), software (operating systems, security applications) and services (IP addresses, wireless protocols) that make our day-to-day operations possible and secure. This is very often not the case for refugees. The lack of internet signals, the frequent interruption of services at borders and in camps, the costs of SIM and data plans that often do not work when crossing borders, and the sporadic presence of charging stations further increase the refugee’s vulnerability and communicative deprivation. Among my respondents, Ahmad confirmed that connectivity was a daily struggle: Sometimes it was problematic because we didn’t have a place. From time to time I would go to local cafes, and I also had a mobile charger, which was very popular among Syrian refugees. Connectivity was a problem when you had no signal. So, you had to go to ask others or get to a free spot, I remember going to some 5-star hotels to catch the wi-fi in the lobby, collect all the information that we needed and then move again.

The lack of a reliable network infrastructure affects refugees on multiple levels of analysis. For a start, it significantly reduces the opportunity to preserve a functioning social and cultural capital that derives from maintaining connections with home. All my respondents confirmed that calling home and sending and receiving updates helped them to keep a sense of emotional stability despite the circumstances. In a situation of high deprivation and uncertainty, connectivity can foster a sense of normalcy and belonging to a community that, although not physically present, is still ‘available’ a phone call away. Among others, Leurs (2015) has theorised how transnational communication produces affective capital that can potentially have a positive impact on a migrant’s sense of security. The notion of affect is crucial here and, for the purposes of this analysis, I am using Wise and Velayutham’s (2017) theory of transnational affectivity as a ‘circulation’ of bodily states that impact not just the subject but also the symbolic fields [which] ‘evoke certain emotions, in turn creating qualitative intensities which produce vectors and routes, thus intensifying belonging to and boundaries of transnational fields’ (p. 121). Here, transnational affectivity circulates across platforms (WhatsApp, Facebook, Viber), devices (the mobile phone) and objects of memory (photos, videos) that have helped many of my respondents sustain the practical and emotional fatigues of the journey. In conditions of extreme precariousness, relying on transnational connections allow migrants to

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also remember ‘who they are’ against the simplifying narratives that construct them as either criminals or victims, as subjects of external forces rather than as human beings with a voice. In this context, those factors that impede a smooth and continuous circulation of affective capital across borders have a negative impact on those who travel and, of course, on those who have stayed behind. In fact, as many respondents confirmed, the internet is often shut off in Syria and recurrent power cuts affect phone networks and private internet providers. On a second level of analysis, this is problematic not just because it disrupts the element of social support that is kept alive through conversations via the media but also because it affects the refugee’s decisionmaking process in situations of high risk. As I have discussed earlier, connectivity allows refugees to make decisions with relative autonomy and, therefore, to maintain a sense of agency before it gets suppressed by state actors and media elites through forms of territorial and symbolic bordering (Chouliaraki 2017). Furthermore, access to resources allows refugees to maintain a sense of control, or of awareness at the very least, of the representations that circulate about them in the media. Online news, for example, is accessed in order to get an understanding of how refugees are being portrayed in the media and within the European public discourse, while websites are accessed to learn about the asylum-seeking process and to get in touch with networks of volunteers that can help the transition into the new legal system. As I have discussed, technologies provide support at different stages of the journey and more critically during the move and upon arrival. In these critical stages, the opportunity to ‘arrive prepared’ from a purely informational point of view seems to reduce some of the risks associated with migration. Naturally, this discourse does not take into account those who do not have access to devices or cannot use them in the ways described by Ahmad, for example. Similarly, the lack of female respondents in my sample does not allow me to extend these considerations to their individual uses but I nevertheless make a point about the importance of information and social capital. Furthermore, without a reliable connectivity that would allow refugees to cross check information, they are more prone to exposure to unverified sources, disinformation (purposely misleading information) and data-driven propaganda. On a third and final level of analysis, the lack of a reliable infrastructure does not only constitute an obstacle to the use of technologies as orientation devices but also as documentary evidence of the journey, including

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cases of torture and abuse. This aspect emerged towards the end of the previous sub-chapter where I explored strategies of mediatised witnessing and resistance. As discussed, the full potential of devices as forms of resistance has not yet been fully explored but it nevertheless represents one strategy among many where mainstream representations can be subverted and challenged and where alternative voices can reclaim a space where a more inclusive notion of citizenship can at least be envisaged. On a political level then, the lack of a reliable infrastructure deprives refugees of a series of opportunities that could shift their agency from the personal to the public and from private affectivity to a more performative engagement and public recognition. b. Trust As previously mentioned, the amount of information that circulates online is often contradictory or unreliable. An important study has discussed the concept of ‘information precarity’ in response to the instability that occurs when accessing information that can be potentially threatening and can thus add further vulnerability (Wall et al. 2017). As we know, the internet is an incubator of an infinitely scalable, dot-com repository of information that, while incredibly powerful in theory, can hide a whole new set of threats when not updated or when controlled by surveilling actors. This is particularly problematic for those less digitally skilled refugees who do not know how to navigate this crowded space and skim through the contradictory resources available at the touch of a screen. Earlier on in this chapter, we have seen how Ahmad cross-referenced, double-checked and compared each piece of online information before making any decision. While this is testament to Ahmad’s and other refugees’ ‘resilient individualism’ (Georgiou 2019), the process is nevertheless time consuming, battery draining, and emotionally challenging. For some of my respondents, the element of information was associated with ‘the need to constantly fight for survival, whether it’s in the form of crossing a border or navigating the internet’ (M., interview with the author, 2019). For others, trusting the information available online was more problematic. More informal channels such as local networks, friends of friends, family relatives and Facebook groups were usually preferred as less mediated and institutionalised repositories

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of information. This was confirmed by some of the volunteers I interviewed, who agreed that the lack of trust also affected the relationship between refugees and humanitarian organisations. I argue that in conditions of vulnerability trust is more an ‘epidermic feeling’ than a settled and stable condition for long and reliable relationships as it varies with time, it constantly fluctuates, and it is built through direct, quasi-physical contacts with individual people rather than with organisations. c. Surveillance The surveillant power of media technologies affects refugees in multiple ways, all contributing to the exploitation, experimentation and commodification of their bodies. For the purposes of this analysis, I am going to focus on three manifestations of surveillance: surveillance as the act of monitoring and profiling; surveillance as the justification for exclusionary practices; and finally, surveillance as a contested space where binary systems of recognition take place. Before I turn to these three overlapping manifestations of surveillance within technology use, I want to make a preliminary point that will help the reader connect the different chapters of this book. In Chapters 2 and 3, I have discussed the evolution of an architecture of power, security and surveillance that far from being a recent invention of contemporary nation states has its roots in the foundational principles of Fortress Europe. While specifically focusing on borders as institutions of power, as mechanisms of identity formation and as performances, the intention of my argument has been to expand our understanding of borders as part of a larger infrastructure of intervention that is indeed flexible and movable but is also very ‘static’ in the exclusionary practices it performs at any given moment in history. In this section, I contend that the element of radical violence that I claimed at the beginning of this book to be intrinsic to the very concept of social order takes on new forms when technologies are involved. Infrastructural violence becomes, in this scenario, more pervasive, more intimately disturbing, creepily abstracted from the singularity of human lives and yet deeply connected to the very functions that make us human, namely our genetic privacy and the ownership of our individual stories. I shall explain what I mean by this as I review the different forms of surveillance.

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Surveillance as Act of Monitoring and Profiling

In the context here observed, digital surveillance manifests itself in a number of ways: as a form of migration management (the digitisation of border and bordering practices); as a system of racial profiling through sophisticated surveillance tools (drones, satellites) and biometric measures; and as the everyday surveillance of refugees’ social media narratives. In this section, I shall briefly return to the first two aspects, which I have addressed already in Chapter 2, before turning to a more extensive analysis of social media surveillance. As a form of migration management, digital surveillance translates into a regime of dysfunctional colonial power that not only signals the crisis of European sovereignty in relation to the human consequences of its historical imperial achievements, but also the bureaucratisation of migrant traceability. On the one hand, while attempting to wash away the human consequences of its long history of colonial and ‘postcolonial arrogance’ (Gatt et al. 2016) through technological means, Europe’s management of the migrant crisis has revealed the ambiguous and contradictory nature of its policies and alliances. The capricious opening and closing of borders without a clear agenda, often without international consultation and with disregard to the very concept of human rights, represent one manifestation of such failure. The obsession with the deployment of a techno-apparatus made up of mobile phone data, drone and satellite surveillance, social media data, traditional statistics and intelligence services represents another manifestation. On the other hand, the faith in the objectivity of big data and biometric systems has worked as a justification for a more pervasive traceability of migrant bodies. Seemingly operating in a purely logical manner, data and technologies have in fact reinforced the capillary nature of power in contemporary societies and its interest in controlling not just the behaviour of people (as in traditional conceptualisations of power) but also their bodies and genetic imprints. Using refugee bodies as a laboratory where more pervasive forms of surveillance can be tested, the deployment of technologies for monitoring and profiling is rapidly becoming the more trustworthy solution for the identification (and selection) of legitimate and illegitimate citizens. In today’s practices of surveillance, the body becomes visible, readable and mappable. It constitutes an algorithmic violation of the most sacred and intimate aspects of ourselves: our DNA, our fingerprints, our eyes, our voice and our movements. Bodies are abstracted from their territorial

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positions in order to become biometrically readable and ‘fit for purpose’. No consent is asked when security justifies the invasion of our genetic data. That singularity that governments refuse to accept and to welcome as legitimate is paradoxically the very singularity (in the form of data) that they require in order to feel safe. 4.5.2

Surveillance as Justification for Exclusionary Practices

The domains of surveillance have evolved alongside the evolution and multiplication of platforms, devices and actors concerned with the management of populations. The capillary power of surveillance is evident in what I call the ‘3 B priorities’ of power: behaviours, bodies and biographies. I contend that biographies in particular constitute a new domain of governmental intervention, both material and symbolic, affecting not just our right to own our genetic information but also the ownership of our individual stories. I am here referring in particular to the everyday surveillance of the refugee’s social media activities. As I have discussed at the beginning of this chapter, social media and digital devices often constitute a lifeline for refugees as organisational, communicative and integration tools. The mobile phone is, in this context, a witness, a testament of one’s identity and a repository of a variety of information that identifies the refugee status, personal and collective identity. The centrality of phones for refugees is what also makes them a unique database of information for governments and border authorities. In Austria, Germany, Denmark, Belgium and the UK, just to name a few examples, a flourishing mobile forensics industry has specialised in extracting smartphone data for identification and verification purposes. Passwords can be requested at each and every border inspection to check for inconsistencies in an applicant’s story. Refusal to provide passwords or to hand in one’s mobile phone can jeopardise the request for asylum and result in repatriation. The bitter irony here is that the same digital platforms facilitating movement are at the same time spaces of surveillance where governments can exercise further control. This is, of course, done in the greater name of security where hiding social media surveillance behind the intention to prevent illegal crossings and the digital activity of smugglers only makes opaquer the real reason that animates government interference: namely, to differentiate the good from the bad migrant. To a certain extent, any form of surveillance is based on the creation of boundaries between opposite poles and refugee media surveillance is no

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exception. To ‘consent’ to have one’s phone scrutinised seems to pave the way for a more ‘acceptable’ version of refugeeness where the transparent refugee can potentially become a transparent citizen. The transformation of the refugee into a data subject is potentially the only way for the migrant to prove their value against the common representations of criminality and vulnerability. Within this ‘digital communicative territoriality’ (Georgiou 2019), where surveillance and networked communication merge into a more holistic version of citizenship, a new and governable collective is created. Once part of the ‘European migration machine’ (Dijstelbloem and Meijer 2011), the refugee body is a body that requires constant biopolitical management in order to keep confirming its worth as a productive and networked member of society, as a non-threatening biography that, like us, can finally serve the purposes of customer management, market analysis and advertising tools. This statement remains valid as we consider both governments’ use of refugee data but also the involvement of corporations. As mentioned earlier, many of the platforms and devices that refugees use before, during and after their journey are provided by private corporations. On Facebook, for example, increased visibility can expose refugees and their relatives to further risks of surveillance and exploitation for commercial and non-commercial purposes. As an example, this was raised by my respondent Ahmad. Of course, if you are coming through a militarised zone, mobile phones are very dangerous. Since day one until the moment I die I am going to use a fake email address, everything is fake, even when I communicate with people, I use code, so even if you read it you would not understand. There are ways to overcome these challenges, even keeping three or five sim cards and change them from time to time, changing numbers, nicknames, accounts, deactivating Facebook.

The examples of data surveillance are far too numerous to be accounted in full here. The datafication of the governance of refugees is evident, for example, in the newly established relationship between government authorities, private corporations and industries for the purpose of speeding up the recognition (and verification) of border crossers. Quite interesting in this techno-militarised scenario is Atos, a European multinational information technology company which specialises in

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advanced computing, big data analytics, cloud technologies and cybersecurity services for a broad range of industries. In 2017, Atos partnered with BAMF, the German Federal Office for Migration and Refugees, to make the verification of asylum seekers more efficient and to deliver a ‘much more human, efficient and less invasive approach’.7 To do this, a combination of voice and face recognition techniques, mobile data analytics and data extraction strategies are employed alongside fingerprinting. One example among many, Atos confirms that the recognition of identity in this particular context is highly dependent upon the amount of refugee data that can be collected, read and synthesised. Therefore, even when verification becomes the pathway to a successful asylum claim and then to the acquisition of citizen rights at a later stage, such acquisition will always carry an ontological disadvantage to the extent that bodies, biographies and behaviour can be transformed into machine readable binary segments.

4.6

Conclusions

The aim of this chapter has been to understand the ways in which technologies can offer a space where refugees can re-appropriate their agency and potentially subvert traditional othering narratives. The complexity of this research problem is approached by looking at the material and symbolic affordances of technologies and by identifying their intrinsic limitations. In thinking about how technologies can be used as instruments of surveillance as well as platforms where alternative voices and needs can be exercised, I aim to offer a more nuanced understanding of Georgiou’s (2018) ‘hegemonic communicative order’ as a tension between ‘who speaks’ versus ‘who is silenced’. In locating the exiled voice at the core of contemporary practices (and reformulations) of digital citizenship, I have also been interested in observing whether digitally mediated practices of orientation, communication and witnessing can create a space of counterpower within the walls of Fortress Europe. My research suggests that we need to be very cautious about the potential of technologies for the acquisition of self-recognition and self-esteem among refugees. Alongside the many opportunities that technologies offer to refugees in terms of connectivity, ownership and agency, critical limitations occur during the shift from the private (the refugee’s own performativity) to the public space.

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I argue that the preconditions for the acquisition of citizenship rights are the ability to communicate and the opportunity to being listened to. While the first seems to hold hope for the future, our ability to listen is obscured by an ‘accountability deficiency’ that precludes any chance for a more informed dialogue. Instead, even those initiatives I have mentioned that are designed to support a refugee’s self-recognition happen outside a clear policy framework, which is what ultimately supports and sustain claims to citizenship rights. The pathway to full citizenship—digital or otherwise—is only made more accessible when refugees conform to our own ideals of what it means to be a good citizen, by which is meant a networked, economically productive, socially efficient and gratefully compliant element of society. Outside this well-known framework, refugees can rarely find opportunities to own their stories, stuck as they are between hypervisibility and invisibility. This point, I believe, is extremely important. I argue that hypervisibility has occurred in specific situations where: a. a tragic event has suddenly been picked up by mainstream and digital media outlets and transformed into a headline. Here, the ‘dead refugee’ either as a collective (the 2013 Lampedusa migrant shipwreck, for example) or as a singular entity (Alan Kurdi) has become the focal point around which we have witnessed an increase in humanitarian reporting on refugees in newspapers and a call to political action; b. institutional and non-institutional organisations have identified refugees either as objects of compassion and humanitarian assistance (within a framework of pervasive surveillance) or as potential self-governing subjects; c. refugees have been identified as digital witnesses but not-yet-citizens with a discursive power to call out EU governments for their failure to agree on a common policy on forced migration. While this form of hypervisibility (mediatised witnessing) has often been described as an attempt to facilitate empathy between us and them, it also brings to the fore the fact that refugees have not been allowed to have a voice outside the constructed spaces of representations that I have outlined in this chapter.

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Within these sets of logic, we should ask to what extent does hypervisibility guarantee refugees a voice that is not only tolerated but recognised as legitimate? As Georgiou (2018) notes, hypervisibility often hides an attempt to normalise our encounter with the other through the homogenisation of their voice and a simplification of their experience. In this context, even when priority is given to the refugees’ own accounts of mobility, it often happens within the parameters set by external organisations (Sigona 2014). The identification of refugees as digitally smart has I believe contributed to a further silencing of refugees. Incredibly visible in their own social media practices but simultaneously invisible in the more contested spaces of determination, the re-appropriation of agency has not yet disclosed its full potential. This is even more urgent today as the media and political hype around the ‘migrant crisis’ has almost disappeared from the news. In the next chapter, I delve deeper into some of the initiatives, which I have only briefly mentioned so far, that fall under the umbrella category of digital humanitarianism but account in fact for a multitude of projects and intentions. Since the agency of refugees is only partially conveyed by digital media, and since the walls of Fortress Europe have only been slightly cracked by the refugees’ practices of self-determination, the question now is what happens when the civil sector, the tech community and the networks of volunteers decide to take the borders down. Can digital humanitarianism offer a more powerful counter-narrative against Europe’s techno-military infrastructure of power? The following pages will attempt to answer this question.

Notes 1. Georgiou, Myria. ‘Digital Border: The symbolic and material order of Fortress Europe.’ Paper presented at the ECREA (European Communication Research and Education Association) Digital Fortress Europe: Exploring Boundaries between Media, Migration and Technology conference in Brussels, October 2019. 2. The excerpts used in this article are quoted with the respondents’ full names only when they agreed to do so. In all other instances, only initials or a pseudonym has been used. 3. As of March 2019, these are the numbers provided by the UN Refugee Agency. https://www.unrefugees.org/news/syria-refugee-crisisexplained/#When%20did%20the%20Syrian%20refugee%20crisis%20begin?.

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4. https://www.oneworldmedia.org.uk/awards-spotlight-series-escape-fromsyria/. 5. An interesting analysis can be found in Rachel Cooke’s article ‘How refugees filmed their own journeys to Europe for a new documentary’ for New Statesman, available here https://www.newstatesman.com/culture/ tv-radio/2016/07/how-refugees-filmed-their-own-journeys-europe-newdocumentary. 6. The report was written by Philippe Legrain and Andrew Burridge for the Centre for Policy Development and focused on entrepreneurial migrants based in Australia. The Guardian article I am referring to can be found here https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/apr/11/thepotential-of-refugee-entrepreneurs-is-huge-but-they-need-our-help. 7. Mainzer, B. (2018). ‘Asylum is a fundamental right; granting it is an international obligation’—European Commission. https://atos.net/en/blog/ asylum-fundamental-right-granting-international-obligation-european-com mission.

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Borkert, Maren, Karen E. Fisher, and Eiad Yafi. ‘The Best, the Worst, and the Hardest to Find: How People, Mobiles, and Social Media Connect Migrants In(to) Europe.’ Social Media + Society (2018): 1–11. Butler, Judith. Notes Toward a Performative Theory of Assembly. Harvard University Press, 2015. Caliandro, Alessandro. ‘Digital Methods for Ethnography: Analytical Concepts for Ethnographers Exploring Social Media Environments.’ Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 47, no. 5 (2018): 551–578. Cange, Charles, Calle Brunell, Ceren Acarturk, and Fouad M Fouad. ‘Considering Chronic Uncertainty Among Syrian Refugees Resettling in Europe.’ The Lancet Public Health 4, no. 1 (2018). Chouliaraki, Lilie. The Spectatorship of Suffering. London: Sage, 2006. Chouliaraki, Lilie. ‘Distant Suffering and the Media.’ Public Lecture, February 27, 2008. http://www.lse.ac.uk/website-archive/newsAndMedia/ videoAndAudio/channels/publicLec-turesAndEvents/player.aspx?id=202. Chouliaraki, Lilie. ‘Symbolic Bordering: The Self-Representation of Migrants and Refugees in Digital News.’ Popular Communication 15, no. 2 (2017): 78–94. Chouliaraki, Lilie, and Musarò, Pierluigi. ‘The Mediatized Border: Technologies and Affects of Migrant Reception in the Greek and Italian Borders.’ Feminist Media Studies 17, no. 4 (2017): 535–549. Couldry, Nick. Why Voice Matters: Culture and Politics After Neoliberalism. Los Angeles, CA: Sage, 2010. Couldry, Nick, Hilde Stephansen, Aristea Fotopoulou, Richard MacDonald, Wilma Clark, and Luke Dickens. ‘Digital Citizenship? Narrative Exchange and the Changing Terms of Civic Culture.’ Citizenship Studies 18, no. 6–7 (2014), 615–629. Da Lomba, Sylvie. ‘Legal Status and Refugee Integration: A UK Perspective.’ Journal of Refugee Studies 23, no. 4 (2010): 415–436. Damian, Elena, and Erik Van Ingen. ‘Social Network Site Usage and Personal Relations of Migrants.’ Societies 4, no. 4 (2014): 640–653. De Genova, Nicholas. The Borders of Europe. Autonomy of Migration, Tactics of Bordering. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2017. Dekker, Rianne, and Godfried Engbersen. ‘How Social Media Transform Migrant Networks and Facilitate Migration.’ Global Networks 14 (2014): 401–418. Dekker, Rianne, Godfried Engbersen, Jeanine Klaver, and Hanna Vonk. ‘Smart Refugees: How Syrian Asylum Migrants Use Social Media Information in Migration Decision-Making.’ Social Media + Society (2018): 1–11. Díaz Andrade, Antonio, and Bill Doolin. ‘Information and Communication Technology and the Social Inclusion of Refugees.’ MIS Quarterly 40, no. 2 (2016): 405–416. Dijstelbloem, Huub, and Albert Meijer. Migration and the New Technological Borders of Europe. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011.

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Elliott, Anthony, and John Urry. Mobile lives. London: Routledge, 2010. Ellis, John. Seeing Things: Television in the Age of Uncertainty. London: I.B. Tauris, 2000. Ellison, Nicole B., Charles Steinfield, and Cliff Lampe. ‘Connection Strategies: Social Capital Implications of Facebook-Enabled Communication Practices.’ New Media & Society 13, no. 6 (2011): 873–892. Ellison, Nicole B., Jessica Vitak, Rebecca Gray and Cliff Lampe. ‘Cultivating Social Resources on Social Network Sites: Facebook Relationship Maintenance Behaviors and Their Role in Social Capital Processes.’ Journal of ComputerMediated Communication 19, no. 4 (2014): 855–870. Fassin, Didier. ‘Compassion and Repression: The Moral Economy of Immigration Policies in France.’ Cultural Anthropology 20, no. 3 (2005): 362–387. Gatt, Sabine, Kerstin Hazibar, Verena Sauermann, Max Preglau, and Michaela Rals. ‘Migration from a Gender-Critical, Postcolonial and Interdisciplinary Perspective.’ Österreichische Zeitschrift für Soziologie 41, no. 3 (2016): 1–12. Georgiou, Myria. ‘Does the Subaltern Speak? Migrant Voices in Digital Europe.’ Popular Communication 16, no. 1 (2018). Georgiou, Myria. ‘City of Refuge or Digital Order? Refugee Recognition and the Digital Governmentality of Migration in the City.’ Television and New Media 20, no. 6 (2019): 600–616. Georgiou, Myria, and Rafal Zaborowski. ‘Council of Europe Report: Media Coverage of the “Refugee Crisis”: A Cross-European Perspective.’ Council of Europe Report (DG103). Council of Europe, 2017. Gillespie, Marie, Lawrence Ampofo, Margaret Cheesman, Becky Faith, Evgenia Iliadou, Ali Issa, Souad Osseiran, Dimitris Skleparis. ‘Mapping Refugee Media Journeys: Smartphones and Social Media Networks.’ The Open University/France Médias Monde, 2016. Gillespie, Marie, Souad Osseiran, and Margie Cheesman. ‘Syrian Refugees and the Digital Passage to Europe: Smartphone Infrastructures and Affordances.’ Social Media + Society (2018): 1–12. Habermas, Jürgen. ‘Democracy, Solidarity and the European Crisis.’ Social Europe Journal (2013). http://www.social-europe.eu/2013/05/democracysolidarity-and-the-european-crisis-2/. Hintz, Arne, Lina Dencik, and Karin Wahl-Jorgensen. ‘Digital Citizenship and Surveillance Society.’ International Journal of Communication 11 (2017): 731–739. Hollenbaugh, Erin E., and Amber L. Ferris. ‘Facebook Self-Disclosure: Examining the Role of Traits, Social Cohesion, and Motives.’ Computers in Human Behaviours 30 (2014): 50–58. Honneth, Axel. ‘Integrity and Disrespect: Principles of a Conception of Morality Based on the Theory of Recognition.’ Political Theory 20, no. 2 (1992): 187–201.

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Hynes, Tricia. ‘The Issue of “Trust” or “Mistrust” in Research with Refugees: Choices, Caveats and Considerations for Researchers.’ New Issues in Refugee Research Working Paper no. 98 (2003). Karakoulaki, Marianna, Laura Southgate, and Jakob Steiner. Critical Perspectives on Migration in the Twenty-First Century. Bristol, UK: E-International Relations Publishing, 2018. Kindler, Marta, Vesselina Ratcheva, and Maria Piechowska. ‘Social Networks, Social Capital and Migrant Integration at Local Level.’ IRIS Working Paper Series, no. 6 (2015). https://www.birmingham.ac.uk/Documents/collegesocial-sciences/social-policy/iris/2015/working-paper-series/IRiS-WP-62015.pdf. Komito, Lee. ‘Social Media and Migration: Virtual Community 2.0.’ Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology 62 (2011): 1075–1086. Leurs, Koen. Digital Passages: Migrant Youth 2.0: Diaspora, Gender and Youth Cultural Intersections. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2015. Leurs, Koen, and Sandra Ponzanesi. ‘Connected Migrants: Encapsulation and Cosmopolitanization.’ Popular Communication 16, no. 1 (2018): 4–20. Marcus, George E. ‘Ethnography in/of the World System: The Emergence of Multi-sited Ethnography.’ Annual Review of Anthropology 24 (1995): 95– 117. Markham, Annette, and Elizabeth Buchanan. Ethical Decision-Making and Internet Research: Recommendations from the AoIR Ethics Working Committee (Version 2.0), 2012. http://aoir.org/reports/ethics2.pdf. Marino, Sara. ‘Making Space, Making Place: Digital Togetherness and the Redefinition of Migrant Identities Online.’ Social Media + Society 1, no. 2 (2015a): 1–9. Marino, Sara. ‘Transnational Identities and Digital Media: The Digitalisation of Italian Diaspora in London.’ Jomec Journal 7 (2015b): 1–12. http://www. cardiff.ac.uk/jomec/jomecjournal/7-june2015/Marino_Transnational.pdf. Marino, Sara. ‘Digital Food and Foodways. How Online Food Practices and Narratives Shape the Italian Diaspora.’ Journal of Material Culture 23, no. 3 (2017): 263–279. Marino, Sara. ‘Cook It, Eat It, Skype It: Mobile Media Use in Re-staging Intimate Culinary Practices Among Transnational Families.’ International Journal of Cultural Studies 22, no. 6 (2019): 788–803. Nayeri, Dina. The Ungrateful Refugee. Edinburgh: Canongate, 2019. Offe, Claus. Europe Entrapped. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2015. Papacharissi, Zizi. ‘The Virtual Sphere: The Internet as a Public Sphere.’ New Media & Society 4, no. 1 (2002): 9–27. Peters, John Durham. ‘Witnessing.’ Media, Culture & Society 23 (2001): 707– 723.

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Pink, Sarah, Heather Horst, John Postill, Larissa Hjorth, Tania Lewis, and Jo Tacchi. Digital Ethnography. Principles and Practice. London, UK: Sage, 2016. Ponzanesi, Sandra. ‘The Point of Europe: Postcolonial Entanglements.’ Interventions 8, no. 2 (2016): 159–164. Portes, Alejandro. The Economic Sociology of Immigration: Essays on Networks, Ethnicity, and Entrepreneurship. New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1995. Putnam, Robert. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000. Rae, Maria, Rosa Holman, and Amy Nethery. ‘Self-Represented Witnessing: The Use of Social Media by Asylum Seekers in Australia’s Offshore Immigration Detention Centres.’ Media, Culture & Society 40, no. 4 (2018): 479–495. Ramadan, Reem. ‘Questioning the Role of Facebook in Maintaining Syrian Social Capital During the Syrian Crisis.’ Heliyon 3, no. 2 (2017). Rettberg, Jill Walker, and Radhika Gajjala. ‘Terrorists or Cowards: Negative Portrayals of Male Syrian Refugees in Social Media.’ Feminist Media Studies 16, no. 1 (2016): 178–181. Roggeveen, Suzanne, and Masja van Meeteren. ‘Beyond Community: An Analysis of Social Capital and the Social Networks of Brazilian Migrants in Amsterdam.’ Current Sociology 61, no. 7 (2013): 1078–1096. Sigona, Nando. ‘The Politics of Refugee Voices: Representations, Narratives, and Memories.’ In The Oxford Handbook of Refugee and Forced Migration Studies, edited by Elena Fiddian-Qasmiyeh, Katy Long, Nando Sigona, and Gil Loescher, 369–382. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2014. Twigt, Mirjam A. ‘The Mediation of Hope: Digital Technologies and Affective Affordances Within Iraqi Refugee Households in Jordan.’ Social Media + Society 4, no. 1 (2018): 1–14. Veronis, Luisa, Zac Tabler, and Rukhsana Ahmed. ‘Syrian Refugee Youth Use Social Media: Building Transcultural Spaces and Connections for Resettlement in Ottawa, Canada.’ Canadian Ethnic Studies 50, no. 2 (2018):79–99. Wall, Melissa, Madeline Otis Campbell, and Dana Janbek. ‘Syrian Refugees and Information Precarity.’ New Media & Society 19, no. 2 (2017): 240–254. Wellman, Barry, Anabel Quan Haase, James Witte, and Keith Hampton. ‘Does the Internet Increase, Decrease, or Supplement Social Capital? Social Networks, Participation, and Community Commitment.’ American Behavioral Scientist 45, no. 3 (2001): 436–455. Wise, Amanda, and Selvaraj Velayutham. ‘Transnational Affect and Emotion in Migration Research.’ International Journal of Sociology 47, no. 2 (2017): 116–130. Witteborn, Saskia. ‘The Digital Force in Forced Migration: Imagined Affordances and Gendered Practices.’ Popular Communication 16, no. 1 (2018): 21–31.

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Zaborowski, Rafal, and Myria Georgiou. ‘Refugee “crisis”? Try ‘Crisis in the European Press’.’ OpenDemocracy (2016). https://www.opendemocracy.net/ en/refugee-crisis-try-crisis-in-european-press/. Zijlstra, Judith, and Ilse Van Liempt. ‘Smart(Phone) Travelling: Understanding the Use and Impact of Mobile Technology on Irregular Migration Journeys.’ International Journal of Migration and Border Studies 3, no. 2–3 (2017): 174–191.

CHAPTER 5

Technologies of Solidarity

5.1

Introduction

In the previous chapter, I examined the characteristics and implications of technologies of exile as they are used by refugees before, during and after their journey to Europe. I highlighted the extent to which mobile technologies can constitute an important lifeline for refugees as they are used for information, navigation and integration purposes, but can also pose infrastructural and ethical challenges that can cause further exploitation and discrimination. In particular, I have argued that the digitisation of the refugee body, and that body’s transformation into a data subject, calls into question the logistics of a techno-apparatus which seems to reiterate Eurocentric assumptions that see refugees either as subjects to re-territorialise (through a non-threatening vision of them as digitally proficient individuals) or as subjects to de-territorialise (through forms of pervasive surveillance that are meant to prevent them from reaching Europe). This is, of course, a very complex debate, and one that attracts diverging opinions on the digitisation of borders, the politics of refugee identity, and the promises of technologies as platforms where alternative voices can find more legitimate venues of representation. As we consider the multiple ways in which the so-called European refugee crisis has been mediated by technology use, I argue that attention also needs to be focused on those digital innovation practices that since 2015 have given birth to mobile applications, websites and technological solutions for refugees. Here, I am not simply referring to the innovative work © The Author(s) 2021 S. Marino, Mediating the Refugee Crisis, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-53563-6_5

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under way within humanitarian organisations; instead, I want to focus on how information and communication technologies have been adopted by social enterprises, the not-for-profit sector and global volunteer networks with the purpose of tackling social change through mediated acts of solidarity. The inspiration behind this study came from the realisation that the death of three-year-old Alan Kurdi in 2015 activated—almost immediately—an outpouring of support for refugees in the form of social media groups and online petitions, smartphone apps, crowdfunding campaigns, start-ups, hackathons1 and global volunteer networks using tech to coordinate and mobilise action. The well-known image of Alan’s body dressed in a red T-shirt and blue shorts and lying face down on a Turkish beach became the symbol of the human tragedy unfolding right on the doorstep of Europe and yet largely ignored by its institutions. The photo was shared endlessly on social media and with its virality came a wave of deep emotional reaction among activists and citizens demanding that the European Union come together and agree to a plan to tackle the refugee crisis (Smith 2015). The events surrounding both the mainstream and social media circulation of Alan Kurdi’s body have been studied by several scholars, some pointing to how it encouraged political institutions to temporarily open its borders to Syrian refugees, others reflecting more on the short- and long-term impact of such narratives (Sohlberg et al. 2019). Here, I want to focus on a different set of reactions that to my knowledge has not yet received adequate attention: the involvement of a plurality of different actors that I define here as referring to the tech for social good community. For the purpose of this study, the notion is used to identify a community of people (private entrepreneurs, digital humanitarians, techies, volunteer networks and developers from a range of backgrounds), initiatives and organisations (social enterprises, and for-profit and notfor-profit organisations) that believe in the power of technology to drive social change through acts of collective solidarity. The notion is intentionally kept loose to reflect the complexity of the digital humanitarian landscape today. I argue in particular that what happened after the death of Alan Kurdi signalled an important shift in our understanding of how crises could and should be addressed, in what we as citizens can do, and in how collective and individual responsibilities should be addressed. The explosion of technological solutions and devices for refugees after 2015 was to a certain extent largely supported by the recognition that a refugee with a

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smartphone is a refugee that is not only connected but also fundamentally empowered and self-reliant. As we shall see, this belief was shared by humanitarian organisations as well as by the tech community. The optimism with which technology was welcomed as a powerful force for the circulation of solidarity from Europe to refugee camps (and vice versa) and as a liberating device for refugees inspired me to dig deeper into the opportunities and challenges of digital innovation. The time was right; newspapers and online news sites were reporting on the ‘apps for refugees’ phenomenon almost on a daily basis. Websites and mobile applications containing information for refugees were launched with the usual speed and creativity of a world where solutions move fast, disrupt the status quo, and encourage people to collaborate across borders (Benton and Glennie 2016). Hackathons and tech summits inviting entrepreneurs to pitch innovative ideas for refugees were popping up in all major European cities. A techno-hype seemed to invade all spaces of humanitarian intervention, one that was firm in the belief that something had to change and disrupt the old humanitarian model of aid delivery as soon as possible. But what was this movement really about? And was it really empowering refugees? In attempting to answer these questions, between 2016 and 2019 I interviewed social entrepreneurs, humanitarians, start-uppers and volunteers who have turned to technology in order to support and help refugees. Interviews were followed by a period of participant observation in the spaces of innovation including tech summits and hackathons and by an additional stage of digital ethnographic work in order to critically understand the role of the tech for good community in this specific context. Among the organisations I observed were Techfugees, Crisis Classroom, Code Your Future, Empower Hack, Chayn, RefuAid, RefAid along with other volunteers who preferred to remain anonymous. My research was driven by three key research questions that I believe provide a useful entry point for further enquiries. The first set of questions attempted to unpack how my respondents perceived the contribution of technologies, or the tech industry more generally, to the refugee crisis and what challenges and limitations they saw as either boosting or undermining their efforts. The second set of questions sought to understand the relationship between the humanitarian sector, the tech industry and governments at large, and to find out what forces are behind the circulation of digital solidarity. The final and most critical question I wished to explore with my respondents was

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whether tech for good activism can challenge the techno-militarised infrastructure of Fortress Europe from below. In selecting this sample and in designing these sets of questions, I consciously decided, for multiple reasons, to step away from looking at the more formal humanitarian organisations, corporations and multinationals involved in digital innovation for humanitarian aid. First, I wanted to address the lack of research on the tech for good community within this particular context. Second, I wanted to provide a more balanced overview of what digital innovation actually involves and to do this through the direct experiences of tech for good activists. This was deemed of crucial importance, especially considering the plurality of voices that regarded the infiltration of digital technologies into humanitarianism as either incredibly powerful or as inherently problematic and discriminatory. While these voices usually intervened in the debate about the relationship between humanitarian organisations and large private corporations such as Microsoft, Google or Facebook, I was curious to understand what innovation truly entails when we step away from these complex public-private partnerships to look instead at smaller initiatives. My intention was, in other words, to explore whether alternative organisations under the tech for good umbrella term can in fact provide a better chance of activating webs of solidarity that do not rely on the interests of larger corporations or formal humanitarian organisations. With the partial exception of Techfugees, which is now a global organisation still however based on more localised chapters of volunteers, the rest of my respondents started locally and then grew to become more impactful and coordinated. Rather than attempting to make a value judgement on whether the solutions offered by these groups are inherently good or bad, my aim is to conceptualise the concept of solidarity within the tech for good community as an extremely problematic field of intervention where noble intentions are often challenged by tensions and structural challenges. To shed some light on this very complex digital ecosystem made up of different actors, technologies and mindsets, I outline a new theoretical concept, what I call ‘mindful filtering’, to critically examine the role of digital innovation and data in humanitarian practice. With this concept, I intend to contribute to an open debate which is still in its embryonic stages of critical thinking but one that nevertheless represents a useful entry point to begin to reconcile the ethics of data collection—one of the most problematic aspects of technologies for refugees—with the politics of solidarity.

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Technologies for the Social Good: Key Opportunities

Where humans can’t go, data can go. (A., founder of app for financial transactions, interview with the author, 2019)

In this chapter, I begin to explore the key opportunities that my respondents have identified as central to the circulation of solidarity in the European refugee crisis. These will be reviewed in the light of broader historical, social and cultural trends in an attempt to better contextualise the tech for good phenomenon within today’s geopolitical scenarios. 5.2.1

Openness and Crowdsourced Creativity at the Service of the Displaced

I first met Germán Bencci, founder of Code Your Future (CYF), in 2018 in London. Code Your Future is a non-profit organisation and a coding school for disadvantaged and underrepresented groups. In 2016, CYF launched its first cohort of their web development programme, which teaches students the technical and soft skills they need to become entry-level developers. Since then, the organisation has rapidly developed into a more coordinated network with classes in London, Birmingham, Manchester, Glasgow, Rome and Medellín. When I asked Germán how the training programme came into being, the element of openness was immediately recognised as central to the skills provided: The original part was initiated by Hack Your Future in Amsterdam. They have a syllabus, this very good approach of weekend classes, of mentoring, a kind of modular approach. So, we took that framework and all the mentors that were joining started to rebuild it and to adapt it to the UK market. It’s an open source syllabus so everyone can download it, it’s constantly evolving, it’s a collaborative work. (interview with the author, February 2018)

This quote from Germán allows us to situate the tech for good phenomenon at the centre of two broader shifts. The first shift is typically associated with the historical and cultural transition from Web 1.0 to Web 2.0 that led to the transformation of Internet users from consumers into creators of online content. The greater availability and accessibility of

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platforms supporting participation, collaboration and information sharing radically transformed the production of knowledge, previously dominated by professional producers, into a common good where users’ ideas, videos and other creative material got to be shared and circulated in peer, crowdsourced and collectively intelligent ways (Gauntlett 2011; Howe 2008). The faith in the power of media technologies to support more democratic forms of participation led to a widespread optimism that online networks could promote a digital expansion of the public sphere and contribute to the growth of a healthy democracy in which individuals can participate, share, become visible and contribute to social change (Shirky 2008). This optimism was shared by Yochai Benkler, among others, who used the notion of commons-based peer production to refer to ‘a non-market sector of information, knowledge and cultural production, not treated as private property but as an ethic of open sharing, self-management and co-operation among peers who have access to fixed capital such as software and hardware’ (2006, pp. 59–90). This includes, as in the case of Code Your Future, using technology to address the lack of learning opportunities for refugees and disadvantaged individuals. The second shift, which expands on the developments mentioned above, refers more specifically to the application of the open-source model principles (transparency, participation, collaboration, learn by doing, meritocracy and community work)2 to fields outside of software, including the field of humanitarian work. From here, we can begin to visualise the evolution of the tech for good notion as the latest development of technology adoption in humanitarianism. The faith in the power of technologies to crowdsource creativity in the service of bigger societal challenges became particularly evident in the aftermath of the 2010 violent earthquake outside of Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Here, the provision of humanitarian aid driven by information and communication technologies signalled the beginning of what is now known as ‘digital humanitarianism’. In the hours that followed the earthquake, all across the globe a network of software developers, grassroots organisations, programmers, techies and volunteers from governmental and non-governmental organisations pooled their talents, skills and connectivity to collect, map and share information using the local populations’ activities on social media (in particular Twitter) and SMS data (Bruns 2019). The humanitarian community quickly followed in implementing technologies to mobilise efforts more efficiently and rapidly. With that, came a growing interest in the power of innovation among humanitarian

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actors but also, as I shall review later, corporations, multinationals, social entrepreneurs and the tech community at large. Across these initiatives, we witnessed the unfolding of common approaches to the concept of data (and data acquisition) as a public good where the social power of sharing is directly linked to ideas of a more capable citizenry. Data, in other words, were perceived not just as pure and abstract information, but more broadly as a space for citizens—even those not previously involved in any humanitarian work—to contribute to social change by capitalising on their (digital) skills and technological resources. The idea of devolving crowdsourced creativity at the service of the displaced is shared by Germán and Code Your Future. In particular, open sharing allows dispersed networks of volunteers and developers to share resources (a syllabus for example) and to adapt them to the needs of students and to the market’s requirements. This in turns enables CYF to be fully operative in different countries. The syllabus covers soft and tech skills, provides mentorship opportunities, and it is supported by the collaboration of different actors, including corporate partners.3 I argue, however, that crowdsourced creativity is not just about the application of fixed capital such as software and hardware. More broadly, to circulate solidarity means to create an environment that is tailored to the needs of the serviced community. This value is strongly embedded in CYF’s ethics. As part of the programme, the organisation offers free part-time courses with classes at weekends to suit the needs of a diverse cohort of students; it encourages all individuals even without prior technical expertise to apply; it provides laptops to those who cannot afford one; it covers child costs to allow single parents to attend their courses and travel costs for those living outside the centre; it funds Internet costs; and it provides meals during classes.4 For volunteers, this is an opportunity to do something concrete to help and change the lives of refugees. For refugees, this is a chance to build social capital, to create a sense of community with other students and with the volunteers, to network and to learn transferable skills that the job market requires. The model built by Code Your Future seems to be quite promising as seventy per cent of eligible graduates are in employment or in full-time education within six months of graduation.5 While this statistic excludes ineligible asylum seekers for obvious reasons, the combination of volunteer work, corporate funders’ support and tech skills seems to constitute a successful example of ‘social goodness’.

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As noted earlier, the use of open-source protocols became a driving force behind the evolution of digital humanitarianism into a large community of developers, entrepreneurs and techies spread across the world (Meier 2015; Sezgin and Dijkzeul 2015). According to Conneally (2015), the degree of openness that technology embeds and relies on is what makes technology truly ‘transformational’ while creating a common ground for grassroots solidarity to spread through social sharing and collective participation. This was recognised by Germán, among other respondents, in the following passage: The power of technology is the fact that no matter where you are from or what is your background, tech disregards your background more than any other industry. What matters is your knowledge, that you are a doer, that you are able to convert an idea into solution […]. You don’t need to go to university to work in tech. This is very powerful. We are talking about vulnerable people that might not have the resources to go to university but that can still learn. (interview with the author, February 2018)

There is a fundamental belief behind the tech for good community that technology does not discriminate. In this respect, it is open not just in the sense that it allows all individuals with technical expertise to join and help people in need, but also in the sense that everyone can benefit from the power of connectivity. This sentiment is shared by the so-called digital social innovation (DSI) movement which network facilitator Matt Stokes from innovation foundation Nesta defines as ‘a type of social and collaborative innovation in which innovators, users and communities collaborate using digital technologies to co-create knowledge and solutions for a wide range of social needs and at a scale and speed that was unimaginable before the rise of the Internet’.6 The notion of digital commons is central to the practices and discourses of the tech for good community. Felix Stalder (2010) connects the emergence of the digital commons to the rise of the networked economy and the evolution of the Free Culture movement, first in software development and later in all domains of knowledge production. Through ideas of collective production, dissemination and the sharing typical of the infrastructure of the network society, says Stalder (2010), a new ecosystem composed of ‘open, yet highly structured volunteer communities, nonprofit foundations […] and commercial and non-commercial actors using

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and contributing to the common resource’ has strengthened the responsibility of individual actors in tackling social inequalities and promoting ideas of social justice. 5.2.2

Scalability and Sustainability

The features of scalability and sustainability were identified by my respondents as distinguishing the tech good community’s response from the more institutional forms of solidarity and support. This emerged quite vividly during my interview with Senior Creative Technologist Kim Lawrie in London in 2016. Kim co-founded EmpowerHack with Han Pham in 2015 at a Techfugees hackathon in Amsterdam. The idea behind EmpowerHack was to create sustainable tech solutions to specifically support women and girls who, regardless of their numbers, are often ignored. The idea quickly evolved into a global volunteer design and technology collective in partnership with Chayn—a global volunteer network addressing gender-based violence—and Chayn’s founder Hera Hussain. At the time of the interview, EmpowerHack was still operating and working on different projects. These included HaBaby, a mobile application designed to help pregnant female refugees on the go and to support healthcare workers in the field; Soul Medicine, a crowdsourced SMS micro-education platform; Draw My Life, a set of tools to help recognise and understand the experience of refugee children; and Vocapp, an educational platform involved in academic language learning for Syrian refugees.7 This is what Kim said when asked about what makes technologies unique in their delivery of aid: Tech is future facing, infinitely scalable and ultimately by nature innovative. Tech is consistently providing new solutions to problems and it is enabling communities to back humanitarian efforts. So not just alone but by collaboration, tech is an incredible vehicle for change, and I’d argue by far the most important. (interview with the author, 2016)

Kim identifies three main characteristics as driving forces behind the intervention of the tech for good community on social issues such as the displacement of female refugees: scalability (the adaptability to different needs and contexts); sustainability; and its future-facing attitude. Sustainability, in the context here investigated, refers both to the way tech for

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good networks work and the way that solutions are implemented. As Kim observes however: Sustainability is such a broad concept and it affects every single part of what we do – how we run our teams or meet ups and how we communicate internally. [It is about] replicability, fill[ing] the gaps all the way up through to how we approach projects, how we run our partnerships and reach out to NGOs, and how we run events. The whole point is that we don’t want to be the only people doing this or the only people capable of doing it, we don’t want our volunteers to feel that they are alone in holding the key for a project. We want to design in a way that is collaborative. (interview with the author, 2016)

The word sustainability is at the centre of many initiatives developed not just by the tech for good community but also by humanitarian organisations, especially in relation to the role of Information and Communication Technology for Development (ICT4D). Generally speaking, ICT4D refers to the implementation of new information technologies and data gathering methods for the fulfilment of social and sustainable development goals. The seventeen Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) were adopted by all United Nations Member States in 2015 as a universal call to action towards the achievement and protection of social, economic and environmental sustainability by 2030. Access to the Internet is identified as a critical resource for sustainable development, especially considering that still to this day more than four billion people do not have access to the Internet, with ninety per cent of those who do in the developing world (source: United Nations Development Programme). To address the connectivity gap, and very much in line with what Kim is saying in relation to sustainability, the United Nations has identified as crucial the development of global partnerships for sustainable development ‘complemented by multi-stakeholder partnerships that mobilise and share knowledge, expertise, technology and financial resources’ (source: UN Sustainable Goals 2019). Within the humanitarian sector, this has opened the door to alliances with the for-profit sector, including Microsoft, Google, IBM and other multinationals, that have shown interest in the adoption of sophisticated technologies for the delivery of social good.8 Within the tech for good community, partnerships seemed to have been embraced with varying degrees of acceptance. Alice Piterova from Techfugees explained this point particularly well in the following passage,

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where she links the problem of partnerships with notions of scalability and sustainability: I think the main challenge for us will always be collaborations between stakeholders […] Sometimes the organisations working on the ground don’t know about [tech] solutions or they know but they think ‘oh it’s really difficult to implement, it’s costly’ even if the beauty of technology is that they scale really fast so you don’t need to be very cautious about costs and things like that. What you actually need is to connect with the right people with similar kind of issues, problems, factors, systems […]. (interview with the author, 2017)

Attention is placed on what keeps the tech for good community response as independent as possible. This is again recognised by Alice: We are open to partners all the time, we are very willing to help as much as we can because we have a joint goal. The means are the same, but we want to stay neutral and this is how technology, the tech community works; it doesn’t care about politics, it doesn’t have borders. Why should we care about politicians not willing to accept refugees? We don’t have election terms; we will be there forever. It’s all about ‘do we actually want to be a voice for politicians?’ Probably not because we have our own voice and it’s the community voice. (interview with the author, 2017)

Collaboration and community voices are the core pillars of sustainability, both for the survival of the organisation as well as for the type of solutions that can be designed. Kate McAllister from Crisis Classroom9 explains why collaborations can be, however, problematic: We wouldn’t turn it down if it was offered to us, but in order to provide, as we do, everything in the instant moment, it becomes more complicated. If we want to get funding to buy another bus [buses are used to host classes and learning opportunities in camps and other sensitive areas], it would take months to get the grant and by that time, it might no longer be useful. We want to work with companies who can see the benefits in working with diverse communities. […] A big injection of cash will make life easier; Google gave us £16,000 and we run for a year with that, we have now trained over 200 people in person and over 7,000 have taken an introductory course via a MOOC. Being able to work that way and to change direction quickly is working and has been hugely beneficial to us. (interview with the author, 2018)

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The notion of collaboration returned quite often over the course of my interviews. Specifically, my research suggests that collaboration does not exclusively refer to the collaboration with key stakeholders, but also with other volunteers and with refugees. The next section will delve deeper into this. 5.2.3

Empowerment Through Collaboration

As I explored more what collaboration means in the tech for good community, one of the forms of collaboration that emerged is that with communities of volunteers who share similar commitments to social change. This aspect is identified in the literature as typical of a new humanitarian age where the combination of digital technologies, their availability to previously disconnected populations, and the development of new methods of aggregating data have unlocked a number of opportunities for aid organisations, for affected populations who have become a new information source themselves, and for digital volunteering (Chernobrov 2018). This aspect emerged quite vividly when I interviewed two volunteers who preferred to remain anonymous, as the following conversation illustrates. Sara: Why did you decide to join this organisation? Volunteer 1: For me, because it was so different from what I usually did. I came in thinking that I really wanted to do something to help. I’m not an aid worker, I don’t speak another language, but this organisation tells you that everyone can do something, and so it is empowering, and it allows me to feel like I have the ability and responsibility to do something. Volunteer 2: I found it empowering because I’ve learned quite a lot, it’s so different from any other projects I’ve done before. It’s scary because you can put only a certain amount of structure. You have to trust yourself because you understand what to do only when you get to certain places. For the people we are working with, at the very minimum what I would like to give people is a good time, do something nice together and then from that I would love to be able to help people to create something for themselves. (interview with the author, 2018)

The feeling of empowerment coming from helping others is at the centre of Crisis Classroom’s response to the ‘refugee crisis’. Crisis Classroom was funded by teacher Kate McAllister and coach, therapist, trainer

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and edupreneur Darren Abrahams after spending a year in Calais in 2015/2016. The organisation offers training to volunteers on a not-forprofit basis. Once trained, volunteers work with refugees, asylum seekers and migrants, people in remote communities, the homeless and all those for whom traditional schooling is inaccessible to provide them with the tools to rebuild and live satisfying lives (source: Crisis Classroom website). While not specifically focused on developing technologies, Crisis Classroom relies on a strong online presence where all projects are presented to the public and where people can apply for volunteering opportunities and donate money. Crisis Classroom’s motto is ‘with and not for refugees’, which Kate explains quite well below: Learners take ownership of their learning, they collect skills, knowledge, they collect all of these component parts, if you like, and then they decide how they can make sense of them. So rather than focusing on knowledge, we focus on the transferable skills that are developed through the process of learning. It doesn’t matter what you are learning, every time you get in contact with a new person, with a new team, you are developing transferable skills. So, when you arrive in your final destination, you are able to talk to people, to share your ideas, to describe the skills you’ve learned. It’s about collecting knowledge, skills and tools. (interview with the author, 2018)

The flexibility that less formal and institutionalised organisations can bring to situations of high vulnerability is identified as empowering because it allows volunteers to quickly organise, to brief ideas and to test potential solutions without the typically slow bureaucratic rhythm of more institutional platforms. This was confirmed by Nima Karimi, responsible for tech and education in Code Your Future, as I asked him what encouraged him to join the organisation: On a more general level having experience with working in the NGOs and thinking that you are helping and looking at international development and more macro ways of helping people – I realised this wasn’t good for me and I wanted to operate on a more community level, to bring social change from below. [CYF is] a network of people who help each other [which] enables me and other people to do what we want. I don’t see it as a coding school but as a community that wants to do good. (interview with the author, 2018)

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The need for collaboration is also evident in the partnerships that my respondents have developed with fieldworkers and local communities in order to provide more effective solutions. EmpowerHack, which is not operating anymore, has in the past successfully partnered with organisations including the Muslim Doctors Association, the Syrian Medical Association, Doctors Without Borders, Doctors of the World and the Lesvos CoWorking Initiative for Social Innovation. Collaborations with key partners, of course, differ depending on what service is being offered. The more locally based charity RefuAid has partnered with private language schools to offer intensive English language support through a wide response system that combines interest-free, character-based loan schemes for refugees, employment support, paid work placement and constant casework support (source: RefuAid 2018–2019 report). When I met co-founder Anna Jones in 2018, the discussion revolved around how her initial collaborations with other volunteers and field workers in Lesbos represented the first step towards the decision to do something concrete in the UK. Technologies were, in this case as in many others I observed, critical in terms of coordinating resources, communicating with volunteers and refugees in the UK and in Greece, and most importantly in terms of identifying needs. As co-founders Anna and Tamsyn understood, in order to give refugees what they needed, such as help with their language skills and certification, collaborations with private schools and universities as well as crowdfunding were absolutely critical. Language, in the words of Anna, is an essential gateway for a more satisfactory longterm integration. To date, according to their 2018–2019 report, RefuAid made interest free loans totalling £334,876 in the period from May 2018 to May 2019 and had secured a hundred per cent repayment rate. The key to success, according to Anna, is the fact that repayments are worked out on a case-by-case basis and within a broader support system that helps applicants find employment or paid placements. The last form of collaboration is the one exercised directly with refugees. As I shall also explore later, hackathons represent a controversial area of study where more optimistic voices are contradicted by critical ones that see ‘hackathons for social good’ (Madianou 2019b) as exploitative and not leading to long-term solutions. For tech founders, however, hackathons represent an opportunity to be more user centred and less ‘interventionist’ in the type of solutions designed for populations that are

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not typically involved in traditional events of this kind. Kim from EmpowerHack explained to me why these events ensure more sustainability in the short term: Our hackathons are attended by refugees and they are on the design teams, on the strategy teams, they work on the projects all the way through completion. We encountered something very interesting very quickly which was the response: ‘look I am a refugee, but I am also a developer, I am an extremely skilled professor, etc’– and I think that our initial response was we had to be very careful not to overly objectify or only rely on refugees purely for their experience of being a refugee. We had to create an environment where people who have had the experience of being a refugee felt enabled and empowered to bring that experience and convert that into information or expertise or advice […] That for me was a turning point into becoming a sustainable place to work […] I think that this was a wonderful experience for us and we have had really positive feedback about how we work to ensure we never create an environment where people feel they are useful only because of that experience they had. (interview with the author, 2016)

This point is reiterated by Techfugees’ volunteer Alice Piterova: We think it is important because we hear from them what they need and they feed us with information. Refugees are participants, they are not only feeding with information and challenges, but they also participating as mentors, so they go and talk to teams and teams are actually coming to them and ask them to provide information and assess immediately whether a particular idea is crazy or good enough. So altogether this gives them the experience that they are in control and they see the result as well in the end […] This builds their confidence, helps them make connections and may end up having a job, which is not bad at all. (interview with the author, 2017)

While the limited number of my participants does not allow me to generalise on the impact of inviting refugees to hackathons and similar events where refugees can actively participate rather than been acted upon, a few considerations can still be made. First, based on my participant observation, I have noticed that there is a fine balance between inviting refugees for inclusivity purposes and just ‘ticking the box’. Among the refugees I interviewed, many emphasised that at times being invited to events and being ‘showcased’ as examples of inclusivity added

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further pressure while pointing to the differences between them and the participating audience. The second aspect that I believe is easily overlooked, or not adequately addressed by the tech for good community, is the post-hack impact. Rarely in my interviews did I come across the appreciation that what is maybe more important than inviting refugees to hackathons is the post-hack support that is provided to participants. This is perhaps connected, more broadly, to what innovation truly means inside and outside incubators of digital solutions in Europe and beyond. While the short-term impact of such events is clearly identifiable and certainly promising in many ways, the long-term impact of hackathons is much more questionable and, indeed, in need of further fieldwork which is, however, made difficult by the closed nature of these almost exclusive circuits of digital work. This consideration brings us to another important feature of tech for good, namely its problem-solving attitude and impact-oriented approach. 5.2.4

Problem-Solving Attitude and Impact-Oriented Approach

The tech for good community is, by definition, impact oriented and disruptive. Its goal is to identify a problem and design a solution that should be, as mentioned, scalable and sustainable. Technology’s problemsolving attitude was identified by Shelley Taylor as critical to the type of response that is offered to refugees and workers on the ground. I interviewed Silicon Valley veteran Shelley Taylor in 2018 via Skype. Shelley developed the mobile application RefAid in an attempt to map out and connect refugees to services provided by NGOs and charities on the ground. When I asked her how the platform came into being, this is what she said: I was reading about all the people who were coming to Europe who had smartphones that they used for navigation, and I thought ‘this is something I can do, like showing what services are available on a map’. If they can find where they can charge their phone, or where food and shelter are, then this is maybe something that can be useful, and it was easy to do. I met with people like the UNHCR and the British Red Cross and some other organisations. The British Red Cross was one of the first who said they wanted to partner with us. We started reaching out to not-for-profit organisations, we gave them an excel spreadsheet and asked them to list their services there. It took a really long time and all we needed was the name of their service and a little bit of description. So we quickly realised

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that the problem that we set out to solve, which was showing refugees and migrants what was available to them from a humanitarian organisational perspective, wasn’t the big problem; the big problem was that aid organisations did not have any service mapping, they didn’t have a single database for the information. (interview with the author, 2018)

In the case of RefAid, the need to map what services were available to refugees responded to the realisation that there was a gap in the provision of aid that technology could address relatively quickly and easily. Here again, the flexibility of tech platforms, the inherent scalability of digital innovations and the ability to respond to urgent needs almost in real time speak to technology’s unique problem-solving nature. A similar attitude is reflected in the organisation of Chayn, a global volunteer network addressing gender-based violence, funded by Hera Hussein in 2013. The network operates on the principles that technology should be built ‘with refugees and not for refugees’, it should remain open to collaborations, be intersectional in addressing the multiple factors affecting violence and inequality but also innovative, scalable and replicable. Chayn’s mission is to disrupt ‘the women’s rights world with award-winning collaborative design, open source and design thinking’.10 The notion of disruption deserves some attention, as it is often used by social entrepreneurs and the tech community at large to describe the impact that technologies have in situations of emergency. As Madianou (2019b) however notes, the idea of disruption is inherently problematic as it often brings to the fore a generalised lack of engagement with the sociopolitical context and root causes of inequalities that drive mass displacement. What does disruption mean when applied to contexts where lives are already heavily disrupted by war and persecution? Should the language of innovation change to better respond to the sensitivity of contexts where social good is delivered? The frequency with which the word ‘disruption’ is used by my respondents makes me think that this notion should be further problematised and taken away from its natural environment to see how refugees perceive the ‘disruption’ of technologies into their lives. This aspect emerged more intensively as I discussed how technology interventions are perceived by both refugees and those involved in tech for good.

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5.2.5

Tech as Enabler

Technologies are not the solution, but neither is a tent. (F., interview with the author, 2018)

Critical scholarship on the impact of technological solutions is divided as to its effects. In particular, a critical strand has for years questioned the disruptive impact of technologies in contexts already heavily affected by war, environmental disasters and crises of different kinds. Key questions in these debates centre around how technologies have redefined our understanding of international emergencies as repositories of data, the sensitivity of contexts in which they are used (Finn and Oreglia 2016; Crawford and Finn 2015), the hyper-optimism that technological innovation can cure everything, and the inherent inequalities in technological access, use and proficiency leading to further discriminations and power asymmetries (Madianou 2019a, b). My respondents were overall fairly cautious when situating the significance of technologies, as acknowledged by Kate from Crisis Classroom: Tech helps information move quickly, but if the person who receives the information is not able to discern useful information from useless information, then we have a problem. In some ways it is incredibly beneficial that useful information can travel, but there is also capacity for sending bad information to people. Tech allowed me to crowdfund, to set up a Facebook group, to speak to people all around the world. Crisis Classroom needs tech to support its infrastructure, to maintain the connection between our volunteers globally and to be able to advertise our work. But I don’t think it can and it should replace all human contact. I think tech is not enough by itself, you need human beings working together. (interview with the author, 2018)

This point is reiterated by Kim from EmpowerHack: 2000 apps may not actually make any difference. It’s when they are partnered with or when those projects are part of a greater ecosystem that is well planned and sustainable, that’s when you can make an impact. Realistically, tech is a vehicle for things to happen. When that ecosystem is in place incredible things can happen […] You can help people far beyond

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the fact that you launched an app and I think tech is just a part of an enormous puzzle that comes together to form an incredible picture. (interview with the author, 2016)

The role of technology as an enabler is also highlighted by Techfugees’ former volunteer Alice Piterova: It’s empowering, it’s not an end goal but an enabler to achieve something. We are not promising to solve problems with tech solutions, we are just giving people tools and means so that they can solve these problems themselves. This is what we call empowerment. We are not saying ‘oh guys with this app everything will be good again in your life’. No, because we know there are million other problems that they are facing and sometimes tech doesn’t solve everything because there are still issues with their identities, documents, and access to the job market. All these types of problems are usually controlled by governments. We just say, ‘here’s the tool, you can do it’. (interview with the author, 2017)

These conversations provided an interesting perspective that seems to counteract the impact of more critical voices about the so-called big data disaster (McDonald 2016) caused by the implementation of data-driven solutions in the context of high vulnerability. Scholars emphasise how technologies can in fact hinder solidarity and reproduce social inequalities by ignoring the root causes of displacement and by spreading technooptimism (Madianou 2019a, b; Witteborn 2018; Twigt 2018). However, my respondents recognise the fact that technologies need to operate in collaboration with other solutions in order to be truly effective. This is only partially reassuring, since the emphasis on making refugees ‘digitally resilient’ can support the view that tools and devices can substitute more comprehensive and institutionalised forms of support in both receiving and sending countries. This aspect will be reviewed in the next section where the critical literature on the limitations of technology for social good will be critically discussed.

5.3

What Is Not So Good About Tech for Good

While my research highlights several important opportunities that the tech community can offer thanks to technology’s unique strengths, many challenges still remain and deserve to be investigated further. In the

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following pages, I shall review these challenges and outline a new theoretical concept, that of ‘mindful filtering’, to critically examine the role of digital innovation and data in humanitarian practice. With the concept of mindful filtering, I intend to contribute to an open debate that still is in its embryonic stages of critical thinking but one that nevertheless represents a useful entry point to begin to reconcile the ethics of data collection— one of the most problematic aspects of technologies for refugees—with the politics of solidarity. 5.3.1

The Commodification of Social Good

I met F., the co-founder of a mobile app that facilitates the circulation of mutual aid and who asked me not to reveal his name, at a start-up incubator in London in 2018. As we discussed his involvement in the tech for good community, he placed the notion of innovation at the centre of profound structural changes within aid and disaster relief: I think the internet has really changed the character of these communities, our awareness of their problems. People are more connected than ever before and that’s really quite profound. You can talk to a refugee and on his phone he’s got a cousin in Finland and a friend in Canada, they are WhatsApping together, working together, so the nature of the problem has changed but the way that we’re dealing with that problem it’s the same. We are still dealing with this problem the same way we did in 1945, putting up temporary camps, providing emergency relief… there is a strong sense that we need to change the way we are dealing with this problem. (interview with the author, 2018)

As I prompted him to elaborate more on the failings of humanitarianism, which reflects broader discussions on how the humanitarian system is seemingly ‘unfit for purpose’ (DuBois 2018), F. interestingly emphasised how these crises are creating […] a space for new products, new services, a space where we can think differently about these communities as consumers. There is a range of reforms that need to occur, some around policies, some around the practices of the humanitarian sector, and some is just you know, new services, new products, thinking about these communities differently, as potential customers […] The other tension is that the purpose of humanitarian organisations was to respond to short term crises but now the problem

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has become a long term crisis and that’s the difficulty. I think the business model for humanitarian agencies is not suitable for the nature of the challenge. What we are trying to do is to build an organisation that starts with the customer and it’s focused on the customer, focused on the refugee or the displaced person, and build up. That means that they give us the money, we need to charge them, so we are incentivised to serve them. (interview with the author, 2018)

This point is crucial for the present discussion and can be contextualised within broader trends that have affected the humanitarian system over the last two decades following the neoliberal reforms adopted by the Western world; namely: the gradual withdrawal of nation states from service provision (Madianou et al. 2016); the marketisation of the field with added competition for funding (Chouliaraki 2013); and the incursion of neoliberal rationalities including the logic of profit (Bruns 2019). The transformation of the humanitarian field into a quasi-market structure populated by typical and atypical humanitarian actors, such as private donors and corporations, has generated three main effects: the emphasis on impact factors to justify funding; the use of corporate language borrowed from the private sector; and the identification of sustainable development as mainly guided by entrepreneurial principles. The first of these effects explains why the two divergent rhythms of solidarity action— the humanitarian and the commercial—have come together in recent years around the notion of digital social innovation geared towards more social ends. Examples of such partnerships cannot be fully accounted for here, however, they do call into question what ‘social good’ means today. One among many, the partnership between UNHCR and Microsoft— ongoing since 1999 but recently focused on empowering refugees in Kenya by providing digital skills and computer science training—should be contextualised in the light of these organisations’ different political economies, operational logics, and modi operandi. As it stands, it is difficult to clearly outline where these boundaries are set, and even if they exist at all. Mary Snapp, President of Microsoft Philanthropies, describes the partnership with the United Nation in the following terms: Together with UNHCR, we will harness our combined expertise, resources, and advocacy to empower young women and men refugees with access to digital skills, computer science and certified training. Refugees are one of the most digitally excluded populations in the world and our goal

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is to take part in delivering a sustainable global solution that fosters youth employment and entrepreneurship opportunities.11

The delivery of impact-oriented solutions around transferable skills and in ways that maximise effect clearly speaks the language of a sector that had little to do with the principles of independence, impartiality and neutrality that have driven humanitarian practices since its early days. Within this scenario, F.’s reference to the need for new services and new products in a now customer-oriented market echoes the notion of philanthro-capitalism developed by Bruns (2019). According to this author, philanthro-capitalism makes essentially two claims. The first claim is that individual actions can and should produce social change. The second claim is that those societal challenges that in fact derive from capitalist and colonial expansion (vulnerability, inequality, hunger, war, climate disasters) can be addressed by further circulating capital in the form of connectivity for all. This is nothing new. As Bruns reminds us, private companies who produce and invest in digital technologies have long benefited from their work in disaster-affected areas. However, and I argue in stark contrast with the past, private actors (and the social tech community) are acquiring more independency and power as they venture into the mission of social good. What is particularly problematic is the transformation of displacement into a problem of connectivity. This is a problem, I argue, with the depoliticisation of displacement. In the light of this, the application of machine learning and artificial intelligence systems responds to multiple needs: firstly, the need to manage displacement effectively, promptly and without human glitches; and secondly, the need to shift responsibilities from the collective to the empowered and networked individual. The latter aspect is particularly poignant here. As we briefly step away from the context of our investigation, we can analyse the shift from institutional to individual responsibilities as part of larger post-modern trends that have redefined what identity means in Bauman’s liquid modernity (2005), that is the transformation of identity into a task to be performed in order to become more economically productive, more completive, and generally better suited to the needs of society. We are now, says Bauman (2016), at the centre of a ‘refugee tragedy fatigue’ that is paradoxically both at odds with our liquid mentality and also its main product, namely the production of redundant people, economically useless, politically uncomfortable and humanly intolerable that we can at best tolerate

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when we impose on them the logics that are familiar to us, namely the logics of production/consumption. The transformation of refugees into customers and potential entrepreneurs must be contextualised, I think, within this logic. Many scholars have critically approached the spaces of innovation as spaces where the risks of entrepreneurialisation of refugees have become more evident. Hackathons, for example, which I have noted earlier as spaces where refugees can be involved as equals, can in fact turn into spaces where the production of entrepreneurial subjects is among the outcomes largely expected from running these events (Irani 2015) and where the formation of entrepreneurial networks is prioritised over helping displaced people (Madianou 2019b). Hackathons exemplify, says Madianou (2019b), the need to feel good about oneself that is typical of post-humanitarianism practices and discourses as identified by Chouliaraki (2013), a symptom, in other words, of entrepreneurial humanitarianism. In the light of this, we should probably read the following quote from F. as problematic evidence of tech’s self-reflexivity, here reflected by the need to move away from political labels to consider instead refugees as customers. This is problematic especially as it sweeps away the fundamental differences that exist between our and refugees’ needs, priorities and concerns: The mental shift for me that is critical and is going to sound so idealistic but actually is profoundly realistic [is that] refugees and IDPs are just people – the title is a bureaucratic and technocratic phrase and must not blind us to the physical reality, which is many of the people we are speaking to are men and women looking to get married, have an education, do the same stuff as every other person in the world, but they have unique challenges. And so, I think it’s really important for us to frame refugees and IDPs we are working with as customers, as people like everyone else but living in difficult circumstances. (interview with the author, 2018)

My observation of digital social innovation indicates that the way the ‘problem’ is framed by respondents such as F. reveals worrying signs of a broader commodification of the social good that the tech for good community needs to address if it wants to stay true to its intention to reorient technology towards more social ends. Among the communities I have observed more or less closely, those initiatives that directly involve refugees, not just in the design of solutions but also in the delivery of them, are those with higher rates of success. Organisations such as Code

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Your Future and Crisis Classroom truly started by asking refugees what they needed and how, thus translating the element of agency into something in the hands of those individuals they intended to help. In other cases where intervention is somehow imposed on refugees first, only to see its impact at a later stage, the risks of perpetuating the white saviour mentality become very real. This was recognised as inherently problematic by the refugees I interviewed, as Abdulwahab explains: Most of the applications or platforms are developed and designed by white people, usually men and middle aged, for non-white people. They don’t talk to each other; they assume what they need so they design something completely useless. This is the thing that really annoys me, the white saviour mentality that is seen in 99% of NGOs. […] NGOs are predominantly white. If you see people who are not white, they are not in senior positions. Most of the NGOs I have seen so far have good intentions, but their senior members are white, and they impose their mentality. Same in most newsrooms, media, many other places. The problem is that there is no integration, people assume things and pitch to them. (interview with the author, 2019)

Similar concerns were voiced out by Ahmad: One of the fears that I have is the treatment of refugees as customers. It is because the humanitarian field has failed miserably in the past that businesspeople are trying to take advantage of the dysfunction of the system. Sometimes they deliver fantastic services, but the commodification of humans, the importance of likes, numbers and comments might lose the human touch. This is a humanitarian crisis, these are humans, but it’s turning into charts, columns, figures, frames. Can you make it sustainable? For how long? How can people benefit? Ownership is an important aspect. Can people have a say? They need to own these platforms. It’s very moneycentred, a corporation, is profit. Ethical guidelines are essential. (interview with the author, 2018)

In this powerful passage, Ahmad interrogates some of the key features of technology that are usually identified as key opportunities: sustainability, ownership and disruption. How can the logic of sustainability survive the fact that the humanitarian crisis is not just an emergency but a protracted event? How can refugees benefit from these solutions? Where is their voice and is it accounted for? This is not simply a question of involving refugees in the design of solutions, but more broadly an

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issue with what happens after solutions are designed. Impact, in sensitive contexts, should not, and cannot be, merely associated with the shortterm impact of solutions; a wider, more comprehensive response needs to be outlined. Ethical guidelines are essential precisely to guide this wide response that, as we shall see, should be both political and humanitarian. 5.3.2

Data Safety and Privacy

A recent briefing paper by Gelb and Krishnan (2018) for the Overseas Development Institute claims that technologies such as blockchain can have positive applications in the political management of migration. The report addresses two important dimensions that I believe crucially demand further contextualisation in the light of the increasing popularity of digital initiatives for refugees. The first dimension refers to the authors’ discussion of the contribution of migrants to innovation in destination countries as encouraging out-of-the-box thinking and facilitating a more inclusive creation of knowledge that can benefit local communities in both destination and origin countries. This aspect is reviewed in the light of the role that technologies have played in the formation of transnational connections and diasporic communities, and of the recent intervention of tech institutions in facilitating the maintenance of such transnational connections, for example, through phone-based financial services (cash transfers being one of these services). The second element brings us to governments’ use of technologies as a way of monitoring and controlling the movement of refugees via surveillance cameras, drones, geothermal devices and biometric devices that collect and store personal data such as irises, fingerprints and facial images. Here, the use of biometrics and artificial intelligence systems for identification and verification purposes comes to constitute an assemblage (Madianou 2019a) of data and infrastructures that spread from financial services (cash transfers) and education opportunities (provision of learning resources via mobile platforms) to gender inclusivity and to other facilities including mobile payments, machine-to-machine connectivity and by leveraging mobile infrastructure (GSMA 2019). Within this scenario, we must ask whether refugees know how their data will continue to be used after the primary reason for their collection is exhausted, and should refugees know why a multinational company like Accenture—a global consulting and technology company—is interested in partnering with UNHCR for the delivery of biometric identity

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management systems?12 This is particularly problematic since, as Ahmad mentions, There is a lot of goodwill, people who want to help. The problem is they lack understanding of the actual situation on the ground. They have to be careful about their use of personal data as faces and pictures can leak. A lot of people can be blackmailed, there are a lot of security concerns. Also, there is distrust towards these people, the idea that they are getting money from governments… there is a lot of concerns especially among people from Syria who think that these people might be spies or work for the government. The missing point is the lack of understanding of the background and why people are using or not using specific services, and for how long they can use it. (interview with the author, 2018)

Good intentions are not always sufficient when personal data and the safety and privacy of individuals are concerned, especially when it is almost impossible to understand how consent is obtained, at what stage refugees are asked for their consent, and whether organisations have put in place different stages of consent seeking depending on how data is used and for what purposes. Is collecting biometric (or any other kind of) data always in the best interests of refugees themselves? While none of the organisations I have interviewed for the purposes of this study collect biometric data, issues of privacy were still discussed as critical challenges. Shelley Taylor, founder of RefAid, explained how her company deals with such problematic aspects: We allow non-profits and governments to have access to input their services and they can see what other services are available, but we don’t allow governments the same access as refugee organisations. For example, nonprofits can use the system to send a geo-targeted message to users who have the app, but government users can’t. We don’t take names of app users, only email addresses (and eventually they can choose between a phone number or email to login in). All refugees know they can set up a fake email address. They all use WhatsApp and Facebook that require some kind of registration and to even download an app from either Google Play or iTunes, a registration (and email address) is required. We don’t require any form of validation. We of course need some unique identification so the system can send geo-targeted information, but we don’t collect personal data because every system can be hacked […] A frustration I have is that a lot of organisations have used Facebook thinking that they could communicate to the audience they wanted but in fact it’s not true […] Now I’m

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from Silicon Valley and I’m a tech entrepreneur and I believe in profit, but you need to have some sort of moral boundaries especially with vulnerable people. (interview with the author, 2018)

Similar concerns are voiced by Nima Karimi, responsible for tech and education in Code Your Future, who interestingly mentioned the aspect of ethical coding as a necessary practice that all organisations should embed in their practices: I have become more cynical in learning about different tech solutions. Think about ethical coding for example. We are trying to have guidelines, a sort of manifesto. For example, UNHCR just posted a technology project like an invitation and there was no mention of ethical coding. In fact, when we approached them, they said they didn’t know any refugee who was going to help them. This should be embedded into recruitment, product design and service design. (interview with the author, 2018)

Unwin (2017) famously declared that we have recently moved from ICTs for Development (ICT4D) to Development for ICTs (D4ICT) where companies promote their own interest under the umbrella term (and easily condonable justification) of humanitarian development and sustainable solidarity. Donner and Locke (2019) agree with such a statement by pointing out that technologies for development are ill-equipped to deal with the expansion of platform giants and with the organisational logics they embody and represent. There is, they say, ‘an urgent need for new circuits of ethical engagement beyond and outside regulation’ (p. 41). In thinking about how we can reconcile the ethics of data collection— one of the most problematic aspects of technologies for refugees—with the politics of solidarity, I have developed the notion of ‘mindful filtering’ in an attempt to critically examine the role of digital innovation and data in humanitarian practice. The notion brings together two seemingly disparate practices: mindfulness and data filtering. On the one hand, mindfulness as a lifestyle practice and meditation process implies acceptance and encourages people to live in the present moment. Data filtering, on the other hand, refers to strategies that are put into place with the aim of refining datasets which, in this particular context, we can interpret as a way of transforming data into smaller units of useful information that organisations can later use for a variety of other purposes. How, then, can the two come together?

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Recent studies have observed how mindfulness can be used in refugee contexts to support recovery from traumatic experiences (Kalmanowitz and Ho 2016) especially among unaccompanied minors (Van der Gucht et al. 2019). The helpfulness of mindfulness practices has been observed in relation to the well-being of police officers and staff (Fitzhugh 2019), although to the best of my knowledge never among border guards. The notion of mindful filtering in this particular context does not advocate the implementation of mindfulness practices among humanitarian workers, tech entrepreneurs or digital volunteer networks, as the studies I have mentioned do, rather, I want to think about how the philosophy behind mindfulness can at the very least call into question the discriminatory practices inherent in data collection and challenge the logics and functions of data filtering. This is of course just a starting point for a conversation that crucially demands more research and critical thinking, but one that could nevertheless expand the limits of our conversations on digital solidarity in refugee contexts. As a practice, mindfulness cultivates awareness of what is being experienced without judgement, it encourages a holistic understanding of both body and mind as interrelated elements in a flexible manner and helps to develop empathy and acceptance of all emotions. Bearing this in mind, and as we consider the mechanisms of data filtering, we can see how the digitisation of borders has affected not just the state of mind of refugees who, as mentioned, are caught in between processes of de-territorialisation and re-territorialisation at each and every border inspection but, more pervasively and violently, has effected the transformation of the bodies of refugees into a repository of data for identification and verification purposes. This has gradually shifted the attention from bodies as an object of control into the very embodiment of what bordering means. The extent to which a refugee body can be datafied determines the degree to which that body can move, integrate and beg for public recognition. The body that escapes from datafication is, in other words, a body that cannot be recognised as such. It is also a body that cannot be subsumed under the ultimate logics of techno-humanitarianism (Garelli and Tazzioli 2018) or the logics behind the securitisation of migration. When the body can, in fact, be datafied, identity is reduced to smaller units of information that can be reproduced, stored, circulated and shared with other organisations that are large repositories of unique (but not special) data.

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How does mindfulness intersect with the politics of refugee identity? As a practice and philosophy that cultivates awareness, it demands a better recognition of the risks involved in collecting data without meaningful consent, not just in the short term as emergencies spread, but crucially in the long-term. As mindfulness encourages self-reflexivity through a non-linear and always open process of rediscovery, so data collection (and filtering) demands continuous stages of (re)negotiations of its initial premises and to ask whether data collection is always necessary. Awareness also implies recognition of the other’s perspective which is also not linear and is never static. This is a crucial point. While we wholeheartedly agree that our identities are always liquid, always in motion, always becoming through life experiences, connections and relationships, we are somehow more reluctant in recognising that the identities of refugees are also in motion and never fixed once and for all. Against a culture of datafication that is based on extensive processes of social sorting and data accumulation, mindful filtering demands a better understanding of how identities change and how change can affect the type of data that is being collected and the type of consent that is being given. In its invitation to challenge the logics and functions of data collection, mindful filtering creates a space of self-reflection where refusal to give consent does not automatically hinder the possibility of movement. Awareness is made possible through a holistic understanding of how body and mind work in concert, and how all elements of life are interrelated. In refugee contexts, mindful filtering invites organisations to take into account personal narratives and needs which technologies reject as surplus data of no value. In making this point, I acknowledge the fact that the shift from a “quantitative” to a “qualitative” and deep understanding of what identity means could potentially be subject to human errors and could slow down the valutation of asylum claims—the very reason why technologies were adopted in the first place. However, I believe that a more holistic understanding and less technologically disruptive sorting of identities is required to counteract the deep discriminatory practices that are by no means disappearing in techno-mediated contexts. In fact, as mindfulness prepares individuals to recognise the interrelatedness of all things, it could help appreciating the politics of data (infrastructures) and the politics in data (related interests) that can lead to further discrimination and biases (Metcalfe and Dencik 2019).

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Finally, learning from an affective practice that is meant to develop acceptance and empathy, mindful filtering calls for a valorisation of identities that cannot be reduced to binary logics. While I do not want to advocate here that datafication should be rejected altogether (the trend is, it seems, irreversible), I am arguing that technologies—whether they are of surveillance, exile or solidarity—should in fact acknowledge the embodied affective power that makes the bodies of refugees repositories of intrinsic value. In more practical terms, mindful filtering calls for the creation of spaces of intervention where those communities subject to this datafication can also be recognised as co-participants and as the only voices that can speak for the trauma and deep emotional struggles refugees go through. In this respect, the motto ‘with refugees and not for refugees’ that many humanitarian and tech for good communities seem to subscribe to can only make sense within this improved ‘digital infrastructure for global movement’ (Latonero and Kift 2018, p. 3). 5.3.3

Critical Mass of Data, but Good for Whom?

You need to build something easy and quick to prototype, you don’t want anything too heavy because refugees don’t have enough network, they don’t have enough money, enough data. You need to keep this in mind. Sometimes you want to build something very fancy. But you need to ask: who is the right user? How do you communicate with refugees? You need to have refugees on board. What happens now is that the tech community markets itself only within the tech community […]. You need to find the right place for technology so that people can use it rather than having technology just because it’s trendy. (Dina Ariss, interview with the author, 2018)

My conversation with Dina, volunteer at EmpowerHack and Chayn, provided an interesting point of departure for a broader conversation around the additional challenges that technological solutions can pose to refugees in respect to the way that digital innovation is promoted, sustained on the ground and maintained across time and borders. In this chapter, I will focus on the following challenges: accessibility and identification of needs, trust building, user-design, responsibility and duplication of efforts. In locating these at the centre of Europe’s socio-technical infrastructure, I argue that the critical mass of data that has been collected, produced and circulated on and for refugees by the tech for social good

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community has some intrinsic fallacies that need to be addressed in order to fully grasp what solidarity means in this particular context. As amply discussed, digital social innovation has probably been one of the most significant responses to the European refugee crisis in 2015/2016. Policy reports on the importance of connectivity for the displaced, hackathons, mobile applications, websites and digital volunteer networks have all contributed to a global spread of enthusiasm for the power of technology to circulate solidarity in the form of access to critical information and services. But in some cases, as Benton (2019) rightly recognises, this wave of creativity has produced a cascade of damaging consequences for the most vulnerable. Especially at the beginning, solutions were often ‘thrown’ at refugees and fieldworkers without a clear understanding of the available physical and digital infrastructures along the route to Europe and in refugee camps. As a result, applications were either too heavy, impossible to use without a strong network connection or ill functioning during border transits. This problem was recognised by some of my respondents and especially by the volunteers working in EmpowerHack who recognised the importance of creating applications that refugees could use in places with low bandwidth and with most of the functionalities accessible offline once initially downloaded. Lack of accessibility, in this context, not only referred to the instability of network infrastructures able to support tech solutions, that is the availability of network and data referred to in Dina’s quote but, more broadly, accessibility was often hindered by a poor understanding of the composition of refugee groups (Gillespie et al. 2016). This was partly due to the myth of endless connectivity that was spread alongside the circulation of images of refugees carrying smartphones, and partly due to the lack of coordinated efforts among policy organisations, humanitarian workers and the civic tech community at large. Within this scenario, and without discrediting those studies that emphasised the significance of refugees’ mediated practices (Borkert et al. 2018), the role of gendered participation in apps use still to this day represents a contentious trajectory for tech-based interventions. The lack of women and elderly refugees in both empirical studies and hackathons and similar events makes it difficult to grasp how technologies can respond to a variety of needs and modes of access, thus necessarily making the sphere of technological intervention limited and limiting. This understanding was again recognised as vital by Dina, as the following conversations elucidate:

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Dina: [You need to be careful] especially with refugees coming from countries where the government controls the internet and the information. [Women] refugees might be afraid to check websites or applications because they are afraid someone will track them and see they are checking websites and collecting information on how to escape a forced marriage. How do you get people to trust you is the real question. Sara: How do you address this challenge in Chayn and EmpowerHack? Dina: By creating conversations, that’s why it is really important to have user interviews with refugees to understand what their problem is. Having workshops to understand the solution. Information and solutions have to be simple. Too complicated and people will start to question. Communication is key. Empathy is very important: you need to spend time with them, you need to understand their challenges. (interview with the author, 2018)

As discussed by Dina, understanding the problems refugees face is crucial in order to address specific needs. This was again confirmed by Kim (EmpowerHack) who identified collaboration with humanitarian fieldworkers as a necessary step in order to design effective solutions for audiences that are not the typical ones addressed by the tech community. Designing with the user in mind means, in this specific context, developing ideas that are sustainable, scalable for future collaborations and, most importantly, inclusive. This is especially valid in the case of EmpowerHack and Chayn, as their solutions are directed at women and children in situations of precarious mental health, pregnancy or abusive relationships, although they should in fact be at the centre of every digital initiative. The quote below from Kim explains the critical thinking behind EmpowerHack’s activities. Realistically we operate on the principle that what we create has to be sustainable. Someone’s got to run it – there’ve been far too many ideas that have then disappeared into thin air because no one can be there to run it. We make sure that absolutely every single one of our ideas is partnered or has a partner that is capable and willing to run it in the field. When we had situations where field partners have dropped away, we found more, and that may have come with a little bit of pivot, but ultimately it means that ideas can transition into meaningful real solutions […] We try to build in a way that is useful in far more ways than just launching a simple app. (interview with the author, 2016)

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Of particular interest here is Kim’s use of a familiar vocabulary that speaks of ecosystems, collaboration, product improvement and partnership. As discussed earlier, the infiltration of corporate language into a context that instead demands a much more qualitative approach to different needs and literacies has undoubtedly affected how areas of intervention are prioritised by the tech for good community. We need to ask the question of who benefits from this critical mass of data that is produced around and collected from refugees. Both Dina and Kim identify trust as key to the circulation of mediated solidarity. How organisations build trust and how they maintain trust over time is a challenge that affects not only the civic tech communities, but more generally intergovernmental and non-governmental organisations. Especially among refugees, as many volunteers confirmed to me, trusting official information is particularly problematic because big organisations, including humanitarian ones, are often not trusted and local sources of information (or information from independent organisations or volunteer networks) are considered more trustworthy. The aspect of trust emerged quite vividly during my interviews with refugees and prior to my contact with tech organisations, as the following extract from my interview with Ahmad exemplifies: The missing point is the lack of understanding of the background and why people are using or not using specific services, and for how long they can use it. For example, during the journey I used some applications, but I don’t use then anymore because now they are useless. You need to be very careful about what you are offering, why and for how long. (interview with the author, 2018)

The convergence of trust and privacy is perhaps one of the key challenges that all organisations now face in relation to how refugee data is handled. Tagged, tracked and constantly in danger, refugees are subjected to a series of potentially deadly misuses of personal data over which they have no control. This includes not just the biometric data collected by governments and intergovernmental organisations, but more generally the personal information that mobile apps need in order to provide a service. As discussed previously, the majority of organisations I have observed and approached directly operated on the assumption that in order to build trust, collaboration with key stakeholders or humanitarian

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organisations was crucial. I asked Kim from EmpowerHack what trust meant to this organisation and what she believed its main challenges were: Kim: Research has shown that refugees value privacy very highly, in fact this is one of the key things they look for. Concern around privacy might prevent them from using a product or collaborating with an NGO. We work with privacy experts, data protection experts, we consult quite heavily internally, externally and through our partners in terms of the impact of our approach to privacy and security. This is so key to how we design. Sara: How does this work in more practical terms? Kim: For example, we once took one of our solutions back to the board to re-plan around building a higher level of security. We re-planned our metric around the pure anonymisation of data to secure and protect our users. This is crucial to us, and it always informs our design decisions, [especially] for the security of women. Also, we understand that a key part of building a sustainable project is the establishment of trust. We place a great deal of priority on not breaking that trust, and on being utterly transparent. I’d much rather overthink and over-engineer a service than expose anyone or anything that could potentially harm them. (interview with the author, 2016)

It seems to me, in this particular context, that over-reliance on fieldworkers (or privacy experts) without any actual member of the tech community being present to test, verify and actively co-contribute with refugees to the formation of trust networks contradicts the community’s good intentions in ways that are not fully accounted for. Other organisations place trust at the centre of their communicative practices, if not in the building of technological solutions. In my conversation with Alice Piterova, former volunteer at Techfugees, the notion of trust was associated with specific events such as hackathons: The only problem that we see now – because we did many hackathons – is that when it comes to Europe and unprotected areas like camps, if you organise hackathons around women refugees the turn out will be less than you expect, always. This is one of the problems we are working on, so we are trying to understand what the incentives are, what are the safety protection requirements we need to follow to make sure that this target group actually comes. We need to make sure that we provide everything

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they need, safety, security, environment so that they feel comfortable to talk and to share and to participate. (interview with the author, 2017)

But is participating in hackathons a priority for refugees? Who benefits the most from these events? For the organisations charged with collecting and protecting some of the world’s most vulnerable individuals, the provision of safety raises a fundamental dilemma. Is collecting data always in the best interests of the refugee? And if not, should the data be collected in the first place? A tech entrepreneur I interviewed for this study and who preferred to remain anonymous seemed quite nonchalant about this issue: It’s interesting to think about who they do trust. Every refugee we spoke to uses Facebook or WhatsApp. I don’t know how many lives it saved, lots of financial transactions begin on WhatsApp, and so I think the answer is I guess that over the next year we are going to design and test a series of different products. Our commitment, the only way it will work, what we are asking is for people to voluntarily adopt the product and so if they don’t want it, if it doesn’t serve a need, they just won’t adopt it. We are not going to build something we are not going to succeed, we can’t, it will be impossible. If we build an application and people don’t use that’s it, game over. (F. interview with the author, 2018)

What seems worthy of attention here is the fact that F. interprets the effectiveness of technological solutions as a black-and-white scenario where if disruption does not happen straight away then that particular solution is automatically considered devoid of any value. The problem again is the application of certain principles of digital innovation that are ill-equipped to be used in contexts other than software or hardware development. In addressing what refugees seemingly need in the here and now, the tech community appears to ignore that needs can of course change, evolve and mutate over time. For an entrepreneur working in the West, it is almost impossible to understand how needs change, and collaboration with key stakeholders, although crucial, is not always sufficient to address this gap. This was recognised by refugees themselves as an issue, as the following extract from my conversation with Abdulwahab illustrates: I certainly see a value in teaching refugees or in developing solutions where refugees are not simply subjects but also contributors. Technology is good and it helps to connect, but the ethical issues are profound. The thing that

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annoys me the most is that a lot of data is kept private by organisations. This is the problem with charities, they care about getting funding for themselves and they compete for funding, so they don’t work together, and they don’t share the database. This is not working for the people, for refugees […] I refuse to be a subject. That’s very important for me. (interview with the author, 2019)

As I asked Abdulwahab what kind of tech solutions he used during his journey to Europe, the mismatch between tech’s provision of services and refugee needs emerged very clearly: I have never heard a refugee using applications. Aside from Facebook and the usual platforms [e.g. Google weather, Google maps, Google translator] there was no other application that refugees used. We don’t live in a cave, people think that refugees have this refugee cave that we go to in the evening to sleep so that people need to find ways to communicate with us, to teach us things. We are like everyone else. We have iPhones and we use the same applications. If you don’t use these applications, chances are that we are not going to use them. If this application is used everywhere, there are chances that we are going to use. (interview with the author, 2019)

As I explored with my respondents who identified themselves as refugees, a clear difference was made between initiatives such as Code Your Future, which was generally praised for enabling refugees to become more autonomous, and other solutions where the main beneficiaries were treated as subjects and not as contributors which then resulted in the design of useless applications that refugees did not really need or want. When I asked the tech community how they measure the practical utility of their solutions, the overwhelming majority of respondents resorted to the notion of ‘impact’. However, my research suggests that when we start investigating the impact that these initiatives and volunteer networks have on and with refugees more issues arise. When I asked Kim what EmpowerHack means by impact and how they measure it, this is what she replied: Interestingly enough we almost didn’t look at it as a plan of ‘do the design, and then build a metric for measuring the outcomes’, we were dictated by those metrics. We asked our partners (who were going to be in charge of it in the field and will work with it) what are the metrics that constitute

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success from their point of view and how does that inform their requirements. They gave us a couple of very specific goals that they wanted us to work towards and then within that we were able to assess step by step how we can measure that and how we could feedback and work towards reiterating for a better outcome. (interview with the author, 2016)

Collaboration with key partners on the ground is here again identified as a critical resource, not only in terms of effectiveness and sustainability of their initiatives but also as a way of ensuring impact. I argue that this could potentially become a problem to the extent that communication between the tech community and refugees is often mediated by a plethora of other actors, logics and conditions that further complicate the circulation of solidarity. Alice Piterova from Techfugees clarifies this point: Usually if you have techies on board, or businesspeople, they will look at KPI models [Key Performance Indicator] so we would ask them to consider different approaches which would give a twist to what they would usually do to measure the impact of an app or whatever. So, because it’s so different for refugees we need to ask them to rethink their model/approach to success and actually focus more on beneficiaries, meaning refugees. So we you know would have a conversation, an initial interview on what their current approach is, what kind of metric they’re using, what they think is important for them, what is important for their beneficiaries, what’s their measurement of success and we would then tailor it, tailor our model, what we use for ourselves to their needs, their approach, and offer a framework that they can apply if they want. Then again, we would go through it in a very detailed manner and describe why this is important or less important, if they should focus on something more like long term results or short-term results benefits. [This] would definitely help them to refine their approach in terms of working with their targeted audience because it is very different and sometimes people have never worked with this kind of group, and it’s really hard for them to put themselves in their shoes. (interview with the author, 2017)

As I asked Shelley Taylor from RefAid whether she had any data on the impact of her mobile application among refugees, a clearer picture of the challenges that organisations often face when confronted with the reality of their solutions was provided: One of the things we found early is that not as many refugees were downloading as we had hoped, and that was a bit frustrating to begin with but

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what we realised is that aid organisations were using the app. They can go on the website, which is only for them, it’s their own content and communication system, and manage the information but it turned out that not a lot of them were telling refugees to download the app. There is a culture in the not-for-profit world, at least in the refugee aid world, is that they are used to having migrants and refugees coming to them for help, so I think it was great for them to be able to tell people ‘oh, you know there is a free clinic around the corner’. It’s not really part of their culture to encourage self-service. So, we had to kind of work against that and really encourage them to disseminate the information to get people to download the information. That is changing. We are seeing more downloads this year than we did last year and we’re seeing more organisations promoting the app. You also have a population where not everybody has free data or free Wi-Fi so might be that there is only one person in a travelling group that has a smartphone and can download the app to find out things. (interview with the author, 2018)

The lack of collaboration between the tech community and other organisations was identified my some of my respondents as potentially hindering the circulation of digital solidarity. Some organisations explicitly refused collaborations with other groups in order to safeguard their independence and neutrality. Others such as EmpowerHack did not refuse these in principle but pointed to the difficult relationships that exist between organisations that have different logics and modi operandi. What seemed to be crucially important for my respondents, in fact, was the need to connect multiple initiatives within and beyond the tech community in order to deliver more effective solutions, as Dina discussed: I think tech can facilitate and it is very important to understand where the right place is to do technology. Tech cannot help you make people feel better, to sort all problems, but it can help to work more efficiently, it helps NGOs to do their work better. (interview with the author, 2018)

The relationship between different initiatives is a contentious topic that needs further investigation. While my respondents agreed overall that technologies need to become part of a more holistic response to the challenges that refugees face, more problematic is to think about how this can happen in practical terms, especially in the absence of a

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regulatory framework that would establish some common (ethical) guidelines. Shelley Taylor of RefAid was more critical about the impact of such collaborations: Technology can improve the efficiency of humanitarian aid. I don’t think technology is used very much. Things have not really changed and there is a lot of waste of time and money doing things the old-fashioned way. I hope we can be the change agent that makes things possible globally but there is a long way to go. There has been a proliferation of hackathons to find tech solutions for refugees. But you have to ask – how many tech solutions are needed by refugees? There are hundreds of these hackathons each year and people keep ‘inventing’ similar things over and over instead of working together on existing projects that can be scaled. This leads to a cemetery of dead apps and websites that refugees don’t know and are not updated. Why? Because of ego? Because they just like building things? I don’t really get it. (interview with the author, 2018)

Shelley’s quote brings me to the final challenge that my research has exposed, namely the duplication of effort. This challenge is recognised by other scholars in the field as central to the circulation of solidarity. Among others, Meghan Benton (2019) illustrates the spread of digital litter as one of the most critical consequences of the techno-hype that gave birth to hundreds of mobile applications and sites for refugees after 2015, some of them translating into incomplete or no longer updated sites. In this context, the condition of deep insecurity that refugees already experience in accessing information and services is further aggravated by the presence of unfunded and not updated platforms. Techfugee’s former volunteer Alice Piterova explains: Duplication of efforts happens everywhere and all the times, even for commercial space there are many apps and they are competing and it’s ok because it’s free market. For us is the same thing: there are similar solutions but it’s about how you make it efficient, it’s about why are you doing this: it’s because it’s cheaper, it’s because you are pursuing other needs, maybe you know something they don’t know, it’s all about the willingness to share information, to share knowledge. (interview with the author, 2017)

The element of competition is, of course, extremely problematic in this context as it risks hiding more harmful consequences above and beyond

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knowledge sharing. Techfugees does in fact recognise this aspect in its guiding principles, especially in relation to the value of sustainability. Interestingly, the organisation encourages tech entrepreneurs and interested communities to take appropriate measures to ensure that solutions are not dysfunctional or outdated. In order to do so, products need to fit into the whole ecosystem and business models need to be aligned from the very beginning. While, of course, I recognise the value in calling out the critical aspect of responsibility when it comes to designing refugee tech, the constant emphasis on business models and digital ecosystems seems to be responsible for embracing a logic of marketing where, in the words of Turner (2020), refugee entrepreneurs do not need solidarity but ‘to be allowed to embrace the forces of free-market capitalism’ (p. 137). To conclude this section, I want to argue a final point about the different forms that the critical mass of data that is produced and collected around refugees can take. As my research suggests, the guiding principles that animate the efforts of the civic tech are in principle extremely creditable. They revolve around human-centred design to ensure attention to refugees’ needs, data transparency, inclusivity, sustainability and the refusal to accept the idea that technologies can fix political problems to look instead at what technologies can enable more holistically. All of this is, of course, extremely important. However, what seems to be still unclear is how this critical mass of data can be turned into knowledge and how this knowledge can be ethically shared with other institutional organisations in order to better inform policies and to feed into longerterm solutions. While there are promising signs of a debate within the humanitarian sector, the complexity of a digital ecosystem where multinationals, corporations, Internet oligopolies, humanitarian actors, the profit and not-for-profit all share slices of interventions by often claiming more independence, makes it difficult to predict what the future holds for this debate. In the next section, I shall attempt to bring together the opportunities and challenges of the tech community to see whether technologies can open up spaces where a more inclusive concept of solidarity can be developed and answer the question of whether tech for good activism can challenge the techno-military infrastructure of Fortress Europe.

5.4

Conclusions

As Fenton (2008) illustrates, solidarity can become a powerful force as it can foster more inclusive and democratic patterns of engagement and thus contribute to the unfolding of a healthier political community where

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multiple voices can speak up. In reviewing the formation of counterpublics online—alternative discursive arenas made possible by digital networks—Fenton questions whether the proliferation of groups and ideologies circulating online enables the formation of complex networks around non-hegemonic discourses and politics, that is, the formation of alternative discourses that oppose the predominant use of networks by governments and corporations to reinforce the status quo, namely the political and economic regime. The question is urgently located at the centre of today’s fragmentation of traditional institutions including the welfare state, the shift from collective (the state) to individual responsibilities and the focus on what we as citizens can do to resist. Stepping away from Fenton’s analysis of new social movements, I have focused my attention on a range of activities that are not strictly identifiable as a social movement as such but are instead characterised by a more scattered collaboration between grassroots groups, volunteer networks, tech entrepreneurs and humanitarian actors. My intention was to emphasise the opportunities and challenges that the adoption of technologies for the delivery of social good presents when adopted in specific contexts such as the European refugee crisis and whether the circulation of digital solidarity in the form of mobile applications and digital initiatives can challenge the predominant use of technologies as instruments of surveillance in Fortress Europe. My research suggests that technologies of solidarity can in principle constitute a platform where patterns of resistance against the technomilitary infrastructure of Fortress Europe can develop. This argument is based on a few considerations. First, I am arguing that we can define digital social innovation for refugees as part of a more consolidated evolution of the social and solidarity economy around the notion of development. In saying this, I locate the tech community response within a broader system made up of organisations such as cooperatives, non-governmental entities (NGOs), community and volunteer networks, social enterprises, social entrepreneurs and digital crowdfunding schemes where the ethics of solidarity (also) demand a re-orientation of technologies towards a more social needs perspective, including social justice, sustainability and inclusive democracy (Utting 2015). For Utting, the new alliances that constitute the social and solidarity economy are capable of creating a counter-hegemonic project where neoliberal logics can be challenged. Bearing this in mind, my research seems to suggest that, more uniquely, tech for social good emerges as a form of ‘reactive

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networked activism’ that encourages citizens, volunteers, entrepreneurs and start-uppers to react against the absence of political institutions. In this respect, reactive activism can fall under Della Porta and Tarrow’s definition of transnational collective action as a coordinated network of activists reacting against international actors and institutions (2005, p. 7). Within reactive creative activism, a set of opportunities seems to return positive signs of how solidarity can spread out from scattered networks of ‘activists’ for the common good. The first opportunity lies in the acknowledgement that technology is only an enabler and only truly efficient when adopted in collaboration with other key partners, including refugees. Second, the motto of ‘with and not for refugees’ upon which many organisations I have interviewed are built and appear to share as the core of their guiding principles seems to speak about the intention to avoid the dangerous ideology of solutionism and instead to prioritise the values embedded in their work, including the lack of judgement, accessibility and openness. Human-centred design, collaboration with partners and communication with refugees were usually placed by my respondents at the centre of such strategies. Third, the belief in the power of the digital commons seems to create a familiar territory where all the organisations interviewed recognise the value of their efforts. Among my refugee respondents, those organisations that provided learning opportunities through processes of open data sharing were considered particularly successful, as the example of Code Your Future demonstrates. By locating their work as part of the greater (open) commons available to all, these initiatives place refugees (and marginalised communities) as contributors and not as subjects of intervention. By putting the refugee voice at the centre of design, testing and delivery, certain tech for good initiatives seem capable of transforming data into knowledge and knowledge into power. I argue that these opportunities represent a significant step forward in thinking about more productive and less discriminatory practices of technology use in refugee contexts. With that being said, however, my research has uncovered a set of challenges that do in fact compromise the transformation of solidarity into a critical force for the formation of a counter-hegemonic project strong enough to counter-balance Europe’s digitised architecture of power. The first of these challenges relates to the inadequate networks of collaboration between the tech community, humanitarian organisations and governments. This is, of course, a contentious debate. While on the one hand collaboration can indeed benefit the type of responses and the nature

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of the impact delivered by technological and non-technological initiatives, on the other hand there is no doubt that a closer collaboration between humanitarians and corporations opens up a whole new set of challenges for the privacy and safety of those individuals whose data are collected without meaningful consent. In such a sensitive scenario, the identification of common regulatory frameworks based on principles of ethical coding and mindful filtering is considered critical for the transformation of isolated claims into more ‘coherent oppositional ideologies’ (Fenton 2008, p. 54). Drawing on Tarrow (1998) and Fenton (2008), the danger in the circulation of mediated solidarity rests in the shortterm, fast disruption mode that the tech community (and online activism more generally) embodies and potentially precludes the formation of more fully-fledged ideologies. In turn, this makes it difficult to evaluate the extent to which digital social innovation can be successful in influencing public policies and in developing an articulate oppositional ideology against the predominant narratives of Fortress Europe. The second challenge relates to the consideration of the broader infrastructures (political, economic, cultural and social) where technologies operate. When we discuss the opportunities and challenges of technologies, the risks of falling into the trap of techno-determinism is always around the corner and does not help to bring the debate forward. In order to bring social change, says Habermas (2001, p. 126), a shared political culture is fundamental. This means that in this particular context the role of single agents (start-uppers, entrepreneurs, volunteers and so on) means nothing without the presence of institutions able to translate the circulation of digital solidarity into policies. This commitment requires, in the analysis that Fenton (2008) undertakes of social movements, a recognition of the value of difference and, with that, the recognition that identity is fluid and subject to change. This brings us to the third and final challenge, which is perhaps the most problematic. As I have discussed, many of the initiatives coordinated by the tech for good communities have, more or less consciously, fully adopted the language and business models largely borrowed from economics and software development. Turner (2020) has conceptualised this trend in terms of two associated movements: the post-modern focus on self-reliance as a way to become full agents; and the changing nature of humanitarianism around the notion of innovation. This is also a contentious debate. On the one hand, the narratives around the connected refugees have supported the view that refugees should be

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seen as legitimate voices and not as victims, which of course is fully supported here. On the other hand, the transformation of refugees into entrepreneurs that can accomplish anything with the right skills and the right tools hides deeply embedded colonial dynamics that shift the attention to what refugees can (and therefore should) do in order to make the most of their precarious living conditions. The commodification of displacement into an issue of connectivity (and lack thereof) further aggravates the not so subtle idea that marginalised communities should find solutions within their own self-governance rather than in national and supranational politics, as Turner (2020) also rightly emphasises. The persistence of these challenges hinders, I believe, the real opportunities that collaborations among different actors could in fact have in resisting the datafication of refugee bodies. However, the involvement of the tech community across borders represents a crucial issue for today’s global economy and thus demands critical attention. As researchers, as humanitarians, as volunteers, as activists, we need to commit more profoundly to the value of difference that goes above and beyond single actions to instead promote more inclusive politics of voice, which includes the recognition of the refugee voice as fluid and in constant becoming. This study does not, of course, pretend to offer final solutions but to consider digital solidarity as a way to rethink what structure, agency, technology and culture can do (and not do) in such critical landscapes.

Notes 1. Techopedia define hackathons as gatherings where programmers collaboratively and intensively code on specific projects over a short period of time. 2. These principles are discussed by Opensource.com at https://opensource. com/open-source-way. 3. Partners include Capgemini, Ticketmaster and Skyscanner among others. The full list of partners is available on the organisation’s website. 4. This information has been taken from Code Your Future’s 2018 report which is available on the organisation’s website. 5. This and other data are provided in the organisation’s 2018 report, available online. 6. The full interview can be found at https://www.siceurope.eu/network/ digital-social-innovation/digital-social-innovation-intimately-related-allother-areas?conical=true.

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7. These projects are listed and described in EmpowerHack’s website. As I reached Kim again in February 2020, it was discovered that EmpowerHack is not operating anymore. 8. It is beyond the purposes of this chapter to discuss the numerous partnerships that the humanitarian sector has established with the for-profit sector as I was mainly interested in looking at smaller and more localised initiatives. However, of particular interest are the establishment of AI for social good programmes within Google and Microsoft, and their respective collaborations with the United Nations and other intergovernmental organisations. For a critical overview, see Madianou (2019a) The Biometric Assemblage: Surveillance, Experimentation, Profit, and the Measuring of Refugee Bodies and Madianou (2019b) Technocolonialism: Digital Innovation and Data Practices in the Humanitarian Response to Refugee Crises. 9. Crisis Classroom, as explained later on in the chapter, was funded by Kate McAllister and Darren Abrahams with the purpose of building a training program to help volunteers prepare effectively and to design their own educational activities step by step. More info available here https://www. crisisclassroom.com. 10. This statement of intention is available on the organisation’s website. 11. The quote is taken from the UNHCR’s website. 12. UNHCR partnered with Accenture in 2013 to design and build a biometrics system with the purpose of registering and verifying the identities of refugees and thus improving the delivery of assistance to the right beneficiaries. The system incorporates fingerprint, iris and facial capture and recognition technology from different vendors, including WCC Smart Search & Match, Green Bit, GenKey, Warwick Warp, IriTech, SmartSensors and Cognitec (source: Accenture).

References Bauman, Zygmunt. Liquid Life. Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2005. Bauman, Zygmunt. Strangers at Our Doors. Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2016. Benkler, Yochai. The Wealth of Networks: How Social Production Transforms Markets and Freedom. London: Yale University Press, 2006. Benton, Meghan. Digital Litter: The Downside of Using Technology to Help Refugees. Migration Policy Institute, 2019. Benton, Meghan, and Alex Glennie. Digital Humanitarianism: How Tech Entrepreneurs Are Supporting Refugee Integration. Washington: DC, Migration Policy Institute, 2016.

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Borkert, Maren, Karen E. Fisher, and Eiad Yafi. ‘The Best, the Worst, and the Hardest to Find: How People, Mobiles, and Social Media Connect Migrants in(to) Europe.’ Social Media + Society (2018): 1–11. Bruns, Ryan. ‘New Frontiers of Philanthro–Capitalism: Digital Technologies and Humanitarianism.’ Antipode 51, no. 4 (2019): 1101–1122. Chernobrov, Dmitry. ‘Digital Volunteer Networks and Humanitarian Crisis Reporting.’ Digital Journalism 6, no. 7 (2018): 928–944. Chouliaraki, Lilie. The Ironic Spectator: Solidarity in the Age of PostHumanitarianism. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2013. Conneally, Paul. ‘Digital Humanitarianism.’ In Humanitarianism, Communications and Change, edited by Simon Cottle and Glenda Cooper, 61–66. New York: Peter Lang, 2015. Crawford, Kate, and Megan Finn. ‘The Limits of Crisis Data: Analytical and Ethical Challenges of Using Social and Mobile Data to Understand Disasters.’ GeoJournal 80, no. 4 (2015): 491–502. Della Porta, Donatella, and Sidney Tarrow. Transnational Protest and Global Activism. Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield, 2005. Donner, Jonathan, and Chris Locke. ‘Platforms at the Margins.’ In Digital Economies at Global Margins, edited by Mark Graham, 39–41. Cambridge, MA: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press, 2019. DuBois, Marc. ‘The New Humanitarian Basics.’ Humanitarian Policy Group Working Paper. London: Overseas Development Institute, 2018. Fenton, Natalie. ‘Mediating Solidarity.’ Global Media and Communication 4 (2008): 37–57. Finn, Megan, and Elisa Oreglia. ‘A Fundamentally Confused Document: Situation Reports and the Work of Producing Humanitarian Information.’ In ACM International Conference in Computer-Supported Cooperative Work. San Francisco, 2016. Fitzhugh, Helen, George Michaelides, Sara Connolly, and Kevin Daniels. Mindfulness in Policing: A Randomised Controlled Trial of Two Online Mindfulness Resources Across Five Forces in England and Wales. Coventry: College of Policing, 2019. Garelli, Glenda, and Martina Tazzioli. Migrant Digitalities and the Politics of Dispersal: An Introduction, 2018. https://www.law.ox.ac.uk/researchsubject-groups/centre-criminology/centreborder-criminologies/blog/2018/ 05/migrant. Gauntlett, David. Making Is Connecting: The Social Meaning of Creativity, from DYI and Knitting to YouTube and Web 2.0. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2011. Gelb, Stephen, and Aarti Krishnan. Technology, Migration and the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development. Overseas Development Institute (ODI) Briefing Paper, 2018.

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Gillespie, Marie, Lawrence Ampofo, Margaret Cheesman, Becky Faith, Evgenia Iliadou, Ali Issa, Souad Osseiran, and Dimitris Skleparis. ‘Mapping Refugee Media Journeys: Smartphones and Social Media Networks.’ Report, The Open University, UK and France Médias Monde, 2016. Groupe Speciale Mobile Association (GSMA). Mobile for Humanitarian Innovation Report. London: Groupe Speciale Mobile Association, 2019. Habermas, Jurgen. The Postnational Constellation. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001. Howe, David. The Emotionally Intelligent Social Worker. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. Irani, Lilly. ‘Hackathons and the Making of Entrepreneurial Citizenship.’ Science, Technology, and Human Values 40 (2015): 799–824. Kalmanowitz, Debra, and Rainbow T.H. Ho. ‘Out of Our Mind: Art Therapy and Mindfulness with Refugees, Political Violence and Trauma.’ The Arts in Psychotherapy 49 (2016): 57–65. Latonero, Mark, and Paula Kift. ‘On Digital Passages and Borders: Refugees and the New Infrastructure for Movement and Control.’ Social Media + Society 4, no. 1 (2018): 1–11. Madianou, Mirca. ‘The Biometric Assemblage: Surveillance, Experimentation, Profit, and the Measuring of Refugee Bodies.’ Television and New Media (2019a): 1–19. Madianou, Mirca. ‘Technocolonialism: Digital Innovation and Data Practices in the Humanitarian Response to Refugee Crises.’ Social Media + Society 5, no. 3 (2019b): 1–13. Madianou, Mirca, Liezel, Longboan, and Jonathan C. Ong ‘Finding a Voice Through Humanitarian Technologies? Communication Technologies and Participation in Disaster Recovery.’ International Journal of Communication 9 (2016): 3020–3038. McDonald, Sean Martin. ‘Ebola: A Big Data Disaster Privacy, Property, and the Law of Disaster Experimentation.’ The Centre for Internet and Society, 2016. http://cis-india.org/papers/ebola-a-big-data-disaster. Meier, Patrick. Digital Humanitarians: How Big Data Is Changing the Face of Humanitarian Response. London and New York: Taylor & Francis Press, 2015. Metcalfe, Philippa, and Lina Dencik. ‘The Politics of Big Borders: Data (In)justice and the Governance of Refugees.’ First Monday 24, no. 4 (2019). Sezgin, Zeynep, and Dennis Dijkzeul. The New Humanitarians in International Practice: Emerging Actors and Contested Principles. London: Routledge, 2015. Shirky, Clay. Here Comes Everybody: The Power of Organizing Without Organizations. London: Penguin, 2008. Smith, Helena. ‘Shocking Images of Drowned Syrian Boy Show Tragic Plight of Refugees.’ The Guardian, September 2, 2015. https://www.theguardian. com/world/2015/sep/02/shocking-image-of-drowned-syrian-boy-shows-tra gic-plight-of-refugees.

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Sohlberg, Jacob, Peter Esaiasson, and Johan Martinsson. ‘The Changing Political Impact of Compassion-Evoking Pictures: The Case of the Drowned Toddler Alan Kurdi.’ Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 45, no. 13 (2019): 2275–2288. Stalder, Felix. ‘Digital Commons.’ In The Human Economy: A World Citizen’s Guide, edited by Keith Hearth, Jean-Louis Laville, and Antonio David Cattani, 313–324. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2010. Tarrow, Sidney. Power in Movement: Social Movement and Contentious Politics. Cambridge University Press, 1998. Turner, Lewis. ‘“#Refugees Can Be Entrepreneurs Too!” Humanitarianism, Race, and the Marketing of Syrian Refugees.’ Review of International Studies 46, no. 1 (2020): 137–155. Twigt, Mirjam. ‘The Mediation of Hope: Digital Technologies and Affective Affordances Within Iraqi Refugee Households in Jordan.’ Social Media + Society 4, no. 1 (2018): 1–14. Unwin, Tim. Reclaiming ICT4D. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017. Utting, Peter. Social and Solidarity Economy Beyond the Fringe. London: Zed Books, 2015. Van der Gucht, Katleen, Jana, Glas, Lucia, De Haene, Peter, Kuppens, and Filiip Raes. ‘A Mindfulness-Based Intervention for Unaccompanied Refugee Minors: A Pilot Study Using Mixed Methods Evaluation.’ Journal of Child and Family Studies 28, no. 4 (2019): 1084–1093. Witteborn, Saskia. ‘The Digital Force in Forced Migration: Imagined Affordances and Gendered Practices.’ Journal of Popular Communication 16, no. 1 (2018): 21–31.

CHAPTER 6

Digital Solidarity, Humanitarian Technologies, Border Regimes Concluding Notes

Never have I heard a true story about refugees here. If you want to know about us or help us, you need to ask how we are feeling and what is that we need. I would like to thank you for your interest in my story because when you move to another country you need this kind of support, people who ask you if you are ok. We can’t escape from reality, but we can talk about it. (D., interview with the author, 2019)

During the process of writing this book, mediatised narratives of the ‘refugee crisis’ took on different nuances to reflect the fluctuations in public anxiety over the scale of forced migration, the ambiguity of European migration policies and the interplay between security and humanitarianism which alternated practices of search and rescue with systems of policing and rejection. As I approached the final pages of this manuscript, a new EU ‘crisis’ seemed to unfold on the Greek/Turkish border, thus re-igniting public interest in the human consequences of the Syrian Civil War after years of relative silence on the numbers of refugee arrivals in Europe. The crisis evolved in the aftermath of Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdo˘gan’s decision in February 2020 to open the country’s borders and to allow migrants to transit into the EU as a protest against the lack of support originally promised in the 2016 EU-Turkey agreement which was meant to stop the flow of migrants arriving from Turkey to the Greek islands. This decision reportedly came after thirty-three Turkish soldiers were killed in north-west Syria in an airstrike a few days prior, causing © The Author(s) 2021 S. Marino, Mediating the Refugee Crisis, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-53563-6_6

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a further exacerbation of the conflict between Turkey and the Russianbacked Syrian Government. The Turkish offensive against Assad’s regime forces and the escalation of military intervention provided Erdo˘gan with an opportunity to formally announce the country’s inability to handle a new wave of migration and the decision to open Turkey’s passage to Europe via Greece. According to the International Organisation for Migration (IOM), around thirteen thousand migrants had assembled along the border between Turkey and Greece between the end of February and the beginning of March, while the Greek police confirmed that hundreds of people had reached the islands of Lesbos, Chios and Samos immediately after Erdo˘gan’s announcement.1 The situation, as politically problematic as it was, had predominantly hit the most vulnerable. In an attempt to escape from Idlib province, refugees attempted to reach Greece via its land or sea borders but were met by the Greek border guards with tear gas, grenades and live ammunition to prevent vessels from disembarking and migrants from continuing their way to Europe. Described as a ‘callous political game’ and as an open violation of human rights, humanitarian agencies such as Amnesty International openly criticised the Greek authorities for putting lives at risks by temporarily suspending asylum claims and thus breaching the principle of non-refoulement.2 More problematic, however, was the response that came from the key representatives of the European Union. The President of the European Commission Ursula Gertrud von der Leyen, the President of the European Council Charles Michel and the President of the European Parliament David Sassoli all united in solidarity with Greece in the days that followed the collapse of the EU-Turkey agreement. In recognising Greece’s external border as a ‘European border’, the EU promised financial support consisting of a total of seven hundred million euros to be spent on the management of migration and other infrastructural needs. President von der Leyen’s statement ended with praising Greece for being Europe’s ασ π ι´δα (translated as ‘shield’ in English) while no mention was made of the recurrence of violent pushbacks by the Greek authorities, of the deterioration of living conditions in refugee camps in the Greek islands or of the rising tensions among locals, humanitarian organisations and refugees.3 Once again, Europe’s inadequate response to its crisis of hospitality disappeared into a political vacuum of how the Union intended to respond to the ongoing crisis of European borders.

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Von der Leyen’s use of the term ‘shield’ seemed to confirm Europe’s intention to retreat behind walls, to close the door and hide. In common parlance, the word ‘shield’ is typically used to refer to a device that is meant to protect someone from an incoming danger or an attack that could cause injury. In this particular context, referring to Greece as Europe’s shield seemed to imply that what needed to be prevented was an attack on the continent’s external boundaries by unwanted and uncontainable migration flows. Of course, this is merely a speculation, but one that should also be contextualised within Greece’s appeal to Frontex to launch a rapid border intervention at its sea borders. Once again, this example demonstrated how the Union was responding to complex geopolitical emergencies with short-term arrangements designed to relieve the ‘urgent and exceptional pressure’4 placed on borders through militarised interventions rather than long-term political solutions. Years after the ‘refugee crisis’ became headline news in 2015 in all European and non-European media outlets, what is happening now in Greece has been described as a new ‘refugee crisis’ causing the EU to further drift away from its values and norms. But where exactly are these values situated? And why do we hold on to them so fiercely even if they seem to collapse at each and every emergency? What is left of Europe today as thousands of people are mercilessly sacrificed for the sake of our values? Is human solidarity, by many advocated as a duty and a hope, really the solution? And if so, how does it circulate within the walls of Fortress Europe? The book approaches these questions, which I believe are at the very core of any possible dialogue around our present and future, through a techno-mediated perspective. The interest in the role of technologies as sites of surveillance, as resources of exile and as tools of solidarity responds to the urgency to devise a comprehensive framework able to capture the interplay of multiple forces at Europe’s democratic core. This framework needs to encompass first the technification of the European security response as a pre-emptive measure supposedly in the name of human rights protection; second, the emergence of the ‘connected refugee’ as a digitally smart and technologically proficient individual using social media platforms and mobile devices to navigate the border space, to communicate transnationally and to devise networks of digital togetherness on the move; and third, the materialisation of digital solidarity initiatives in support of refugees as an expression of global citizenship across and despite borders.

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Chapters 2 and 3 introduced the reader to the philosophical, political and mediatised foundations of this sophisticated techno-military infrastructure of power that we call Fortress Europe. Using the philosophy of Elias Canetti and René Girard as key theoretical frameworks, I have discussed how Europe’s political responses to the presence of unwanted others in its territory have always been driven by a tangible feeling of anxiety and a sense of social precariousness. Through an analysis of bordering practices as institutions of sovereign power, as mechanisms of identity formation and as performances of denial, I have examined the transformation of Europe into a nervous system of techno-power where increasingly sophisticated technologies have brought the need to classify, name and exclude the good from the bad migrant to a whole new level of aseptic social sorting. As strategies of power, technologies have enabled European authorities to extend their sovereignty to spheres of life previously inaccessible to authoritarian control, not just the body in its physicality but the body in its most intimate and sacred parts. As the refugee body is broken down into a sequence of binary bits of information that determine whether or not they can be accepted in the European space, refugee identity is simultaneously negated as a surplus that does not count nor matter in the political discourse and augmented in its hypervisibility as data. I have argued how the recent combination of biometric data, artificial intelligence systems and blockchain technology has increased the shareability of sensitive data among multiple actors that now constitute the backbone of Europe’s digital architecture of power. This is not merely governments and border authorities but also data analytic industries, corporations and multinational technology companies with a renewed interest in global connectivity for the displaced. As a result, the amount of data extracted from the refugee body causes an ‘augmentation’ of the body that has in hypervisibility and hyper-consumability its main disturbing consequences. In identifying borders as productive and performative spaces where territorial sovereignty overlaps with digital sovereignty, I have argued that borders represent a fertile territory of investigation where the material and immaterial conditions of forced mobility can also speak about our historically problematic relationship with alterity. In line with Georgiou’s (2018) claim that Europe is a political, communicative and ethical space, this analysis has reiterated that communication and intelligencedriven surveillance are central to the datafication of cross-border mobility and to the way refugees are commodified either as unworthy subjects

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with no political voice (and, therefore, communicated upon) or as the dishonest victims that do not deserve help but only a reliable internet connection. In recognising these two narratives as limiting, the analysis offered in Chapter 4 addresses this gap by looking at how refugees themselves use information and communication technologies to organise their journey, to stay in touch with their families, to integrate and to narrate their displacement. My interpretation of the role of technologies of exile, in this context, is to be contextualised within a slightly more optimistic view of mobile devices as spaces of resistance where bordering power can potentially be contested through alternative narratives of selfpresentation and representation—ultimately, a space where newcomers can be humanised again. In writing this chapter, my analysis of the daily practices of refugee connectivity is meant to illustrate how refugees cope with the physical and emotional challenges of their journey, how they resist the stereotyped narratives of vulnerability, and how they can potentially shift the public discourse around them from vulnerability to ‘resilient individualism’ (Georgiou 2019). In locating the exiled voice at the core of contemporary practices of digital citizenship, I also attempt to discuss whether the refugees’ use of technologies can begin to tear down the walls of Fortress Europe. Unfortunately, my research suggests that while technologies can indeed provide opportunities in terms of navigation, communication, ownership and agency over border crossing and integration, critical limitations occur during the shift from the private (the refugee’s own performativity) to the public space. In particular, and in line with similar studies, this research confirms that the persistence of processes of symbolic bordering prevents refugees from acquiring a recognisable voice outside the parameters already set by our social and political institutions—the good and hard working migrant, the vulnerable migrant, the potential innovator or the wannabe entrepreneur. In distinguishing itself from similar accounts of digital migration, however, my analysis has also advanced the hypothesis that the identification of refugees as digitally smart has in fact contributed to a further silencing of refugees. Incredibly visible in their own social media practices but simultaneously invisible in the contested spaces of determination where citizenship is more productively negotiated, refugees remain loosely engaged. More problematically, as refugees become the most suitable test subjects for the deployment of data-driven identification technologies, the absence of a coordinated policy around data use, safety and consent further aggravates inequalities in information access.

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Uninformed and unaware of how data will be collected, used and stored, refugees are automatically prevented from performing (or obtaining) citizenship rights. As I reflected on the different ways in which refugee agency is (under)performed digitally and within the more robust techno-infused strategies of power within Fortress Europe, a fascinating direction of research opened up within the tech for social good community’s mission to take the borders down through digital social innovation. Chapter 5 revolves around a simple yet intricate question: Can tech for social good— and the mediation of solidarity across borders—create a way out of Fortress Europe? The question became increasingly urgent as I began writing this book, when hundreds of mobile applications and digital initiatives were publicly praised on all mainstream and social media circuits of information for helping the displaced in innovative ways. Theoretically, the analysis situated itself within two extremes: at one extreme, the techno-optimistic hype that surrounded the deployment of technologies for the social good among humanitarian organisations and private corporations/multinationals such as IBM, Google or Microsoft’s artificial intelligence programs; at the other extreme, the more critical overview of corporate-driven technologies in response to the ‘refugee crisis’ as driven by logics of capital accumulation and colonial power in the name of humanitarianism (Madianou 2019; Witteborn 2018). In practical terms, the analysis intended to promote a more productive understanding of digital solidarity in times of crisis where rising insecurities and the weakening of social structures urge researchers to question what social change, social innovation and social justice still mean today. My research suggests that technologies of solidarity can in principle constitute a platform where citizen-led tactics of resistance can develop. This is particularly valid if we move beyond the more institutionalised initiatives to consider how innovation is implemented by localised networks that place the refugee voice at the centre of their solution design, testing and delivery. By harnessing the power of digital innovation as a collaborative, networked and problem-oriented resource, a more human-centred use of technologies can effectively encourage the circulation of social justice, sustainability and inclusive democracy. In outlining the concept of ‘reactive networked activism’, I have argued that certain tech for social good opportunities represents an important step forward in thinking about more productive and less discriminatory practices of technology use in refugee contexts. More research is needed to

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address, however, the challenges that my work has preliminarily indicated. One of these challenges is the lack of coordination among the different actors that inhabit the space of solidarity at the border which seems to me to be preventing these remote acts of solidarity from addressing the fundamental structures of inequality. The transformation of refugees into entrepreneurs also needs to be further contextualised as it aggravates the not-so-subtle idea that marginalised communities should find solutions within their own self-governance rather than in national and supranational politics. Finally, I have proposed the notion of ‘mindful filtering’ to invite the tech for social good community, as well as humanitarian and political actors, to critically think about the usefulness of data accumulation at the expense of the most vulnerable. Mitigation strategies need to be identified in respect of the transformation of identities into binary logics, the use of corporate language that refers to refugees as assets and to the notion of consent within short-term and long-term scenarios. In more practical terms, my interpretation of mindful filtering demands the creation of spaces of intervention where affected communities can also be recognised as co-participants. In times where solidarity is said to be collapsing under capitalist forces that require fast disruption, we need to reinforce the ontological value of dialogue. This is even more crucial as we are surrounded by ‘crises’ of a different political, cultural and environmental nature that are ultimately calling into question our ability to self-identify with the ‘other’ and to accept our vulnerabilities. Dialogue, however, is a long process that demands empathy (not compassion) and requires affective citizenship: a practice of social responsibility where identities are seen as mobile and hybrid; where the ability to act differently is recognised as a value and not as a threat to political consensus; and where political membership is built and rebuilt in negotiation with each other but never defined once and for all. Crucial to solidarity—digital or non—is the ability to listen beyond, despite and across borders.

Notes 1. The situation is far from clear, which is why these numbers should be considered carefully. This information has been collected on the IOM’s website https://www.iom.int/news/more-13000-migrants-reportedalong-turkish-greek-border and in the statement circulated by the Refugee

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Solidarity group, which is available here https://refugeesolidaritysummit. org/greece-update/. 2. The principle of non-refoulement states that no one should be returned to a country where they would face persecution or any other human rights violation. This principle applies to all migrants irrespective of their migration status. According to Amnesty International, the temporary suspension of asylum applications will cause additional risks and exploitation. The full statement can be found here https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/ 2020/03/greece-inhumane-asylum-measures-will-put-lives-at-risk/. 3. The full statement can be read on the European Commission website https://ec.europa.eu/commission/presscorner/detail/en/statement_ 20_380. 4. These are the words used in Frontex’s new release ‘Frontex to launch rapid border intervention at Greece’s external borders’ which can be found here https://frontex.europa.eu/media-centre/news-release/frontex-to-launchrapid-border-intervention-at-greece-s-external-borders-NL8HaC.

References Georgiou, Myria. ‘Does the Subaltern Speak? Migrant Voices in Digital Europe.’ Journal of Popular Communication 16, no. 1 (2018): 45–57. Georgiou, Myria. ‘City of Refuge or Digital Order? Refugee Recognition and the Digital Governmentality of Migration in the City.’ Television and New Media 20, no. 6 (2019): 600–616. Madianou, Mirca. ‘Technocolonialism: Digital Innovation and Data Practices in the Humanitarian Response to Refugee Crises.’ Social Media + Society 5, no. 3 (2019): 1–13. Witteborn, Saskia. ‘The Digital Force in Forced Migration: Imagined Affordances and Gendered Practices.’ Journal of Popular Communication 16, no. 1 (2018): 21–31.

Index

A Affect, 31, 44, 55, 60, 73, 75, 80, 88, 93, 96, 98, 106–108, 151 Affectivity, 107, 109 Affordances, 9, 70, 73, 80, 96, 98, 103, 114 Agamben, Giorgio, 53–56, 59 Agency, 4, 6, 11, 21, 34, 36, 37, 42, 50, 56, 57, 64, 71, 72, 86, 99, 104, 108, 109, 114, 116, 146, 166, 175, 176 Apparatus, 33, 111, 123 Architecture of power, 4, 51, 110, 164, 174 Arendt, Hannah, 30, 56, 57 Assemblage, 4, 14, 33, 49, 58, 147, 167 Asylum seekers, 1, 15, 31, 90, 114, 129, 135 Authority, 14, 45, 46, 54–56, 60, 62, 64, 101 B Balibar, Etienne, 31, 44 Bauman, Zygmunt, 13, 24, 49, 144

Belonging, 17, 29, 30, 54, 94, 95, 104, 107 Big data, 35, 111, 114, 141 Biometric, 4, 5, 50–53, 58, 63, 65, 111, 112, 147, 148, 155, 167, 174 Biopolitical, 49, 56 Biopower, 46–49 Border enforcement, 3 Bordering, 4, 8, 31, 32, 41, 43–46, 48, 55, 59, 60, 64, 71, 108, 150, 174, 175 Border package, 3, 11, 34, 50

C Camp, 42, 54–56, 58, 59, 63, 80, 87, 90, 107, 125, 133, 142, 153, 172 Canetti, Elias, 13–23, 25, 27, 30, 36, 37, 48, 174 Capital, 81, 83, 90, 93, 94, 107, 108, 128, 129, 144, 176 Chouliaraki, Lilie, 71

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2021 S. Marino, Mediating the Refugee Crisis, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-53563-6

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INDEX

Citizenship, 3, 5, 9, 56, 60, 70, 72, 105, 109, 113, 115, 173, 175–177 Civic technology, 153, 155, 162 Code Your Future (CYF), 125, 127–129, 135, 146, 149, 158, 164, 166 Collaboration, 7, 19, 42, 94, 128, 129, 131, 133, 134, 136, 139, 141, 154, 155, 157, 159–161, 163, 164, 166, 167 Connectivity, 6, 71–73, 104, 106– 108, 114, 128, 130, 132, 144, 147, 153, 166, 174, 175 Counter-hegemonic, 8, 163, 164 Crisis, 1, 2, 9, 10, 13, 14, 23, 24, 26, 28, 30, 34, 44, 49, 52, 54, 56, 57, 60, 62, 70, 71, 94, 100, 106, 111, 116, 143, 146, 171, 172, 176 Crisis Classroom, 125, 133–135, 140, 146, 167 Crowdsource, 127–129, 131 D Datafication, 113, 150–152, 166, 174 Data subjects, 5, 113, 123 De Genova, Nicholas, 21 Digital citizenship, 70, 103–105, 114, 175 Digital connectivity, 6, 9, 70, 73, 75, 103 Digital humanitarians, 7, 116, 124, 128, 130 Digital solidarity, 6, 7, 125, 150, 160, 163, 165, 166, 173, 176 Disciplinary power, 46, 47 Displacement, 5, 59, 73, 84, 92, 93, 95–97, 101, 131, 139, 141, 144, 166, 175 Drones, 4, 27, 33, 51, 52, 111, 147 Duplication, 152, 161

E e-borders, 33 Education, 29, 89, 93, 129, 131, 135, 145, 147, 149, 167 Empower Hack, 125 Entrepreneurs, 7, 9, 72, 104–106, 124, 125, 129, 130, 139, 145, 149, 150, 157, 162–166, 175, 177 Escape from Syria, 99, 100 Eurodac, 50 European Commission, 3, 11, 34, 35, 37, 50, 117, 172, 178 European member states, 34, 42, 51 European Union, 3, 4, 11, 14, 26, 29, 33–36, 42, 43, 50, 51, 60, 62, 103, 115, 124, 171–173 Europol, 14, 36, 50, 51 Eurosur, 34, 37, 50, 51 Exceptionality, 14, 45, 46 Exclusion, 18–20, 26, 28, 31, 44, 45, 48, 49, 60, 110, 112 Exile, 7, 8, 32, 55, 73, 80, 98, 123, 152, 173, 175 Exodus , 99, 100, 106

F Facebook, 81–85, 89–95, 104, 109, 113, 140, 148, 157, 158 Filtering, 9, 150–152 Fingerprints, 33, 34, 50, 51, 111, 147, 167 Forced migrants, 1, 5, 6, 56, 61, 70, 74, 82 Fortress Europe, 8, 9, 13, 27–29, 32–34, 36, 41, 44, 61, 62, 70, 72, 73, 99, 110, 114, 116, 126, 162, 163, 165, 173–176 Foucault, Michel, 46–48 Frontex, 4, 11, 14, 34, 36, 37, 42, 51, 64, 173, 178

INDEX

G Georgiou, Myria, 57, 70, 72, 104, 114, 116, 174 Gillespie, Marie, 57, 70, 72, 80, 153 Girard, René, 13, 21–23, 25–27, 36, 48, 174 Global volunteer networks, 124, 131, 139 Google, 78, 81, 82, 84–86, 88, 91, 92, 96, 126, 132, 133, 148, 167, 176 Grassroots, 5, 9, 128, 130, 163

H Habermas, Jürgen, 103, 165 Hackathons, 124, 125, 131, 136–138, 145, 153, 156, 157, 161, 166 Humanitarianism, 2, 5, 14, 53, 57, 116, 126, 128, 142, 145, 150, 165, 171, 176 Humanitarian technologies, 6, 171 Human rights, 56, 57, 60, 111, 172, 173, 178 Hyper-connectivity, 74 Hyper-militarisation, 4 Hypervisibility, 106, 115, 116, 174

I Illegal migrants, 1, 15, 25 Impact, 7, 69, 75, 92, 100, 107, 108, 124, 137–141, 143, 146, 147, 156, 158, 159, 161, 165 Information and communication technologies (ICTs), 2, 6, 32, 82, 88, 98, 124, 128, 175 Infrastructure, 2, 4, 6, 8, 13, 26, 32, 33, 36, 51, 52, 55, 61, 70, 73, 75, 84, 87, 95, 103, 105–108, 110, 116, 126, 130, 140, 147, 151–153, 162, 163, 165, 174

181

Innovation, 7, 9, 27, 31, 32, 34, 61, 123, 125, 126, 128, 130, 136, 138–140, 142, 143, 145, 147, 149, 152, 153, 157, 163, 165, 176 Insecurity, 19, 25, 28, 61, 161 Institutions, 1, 7, 8, 18, 20–22, 28, 29, 41, 43–47, 56, 88, 110, 124, 147, 163–165, 174, 175 Integration, 34, 46, 69, 76, 88–95, 97, 98, 105, 112, 123, 136, 146, 175 Internet, 75, 81, 84, 92, 93, 101, 107–109, 127, 129, 130, 132, 142, 154, 162, 175

M Madianou, Mirca, 58, 139, 145, 167 Mare Nostrum, 4, 52, 53 Mediated solidarity, 8, 9, 155, 165 Mediatisation, 7, 28, 32 Mediterranean Sea, 2, 14, 43, 51 Member states.. See European member states Migration, 1–4, 6, 8, 10, 14, 22, 26, 28, 29, 31–33, 35, 37, 42, 43, 45, 51, 55, 60, 61, 64, 69–75, 82, 88, 90, 95, 108, 111, 115, 116, 147, 150, 171–173, 175, 178 Militarisation, 4, 5, 64 Mindful filtering, 9, 126, 142, 149–152, 165, 177 Mindfulness, 149–151 Mobile applications, 83, 86, 123, 125, 131, 138, 153, 159, 161, 163, 176 Mobile phones, 81–84, 86, 87, 89, 90, 96, 107, 111–113 Mobility regime, 2 Morley, David, 6, 28, 44, 60

182

INDEX

N Network(s), 2, 7, 32, 43, 46, 52, 81, 83–85, 88–91, 93, 96, 107–109, 116, 124, 127–130, 132, 135, 139, 145, 150, 152, 153, 155, 156, 158, 163, 164, 173, 176 Non-citizens, 27, 71 Not-for-profit, 7, 46, 124, 135, 138, 160, 162

O Order, 16, 35, 48, 49, 56, 60, 110, 114 Others/otherness, 8, 13, 19, 20, 22, 24, 26, 29, 31, 63, 70, 92, 94, 102, 107, 109, 124, 134, 160, 161, 174

P Performative, 2, 6–9, 49, 59–62, 70, 72, 73, 98, 99, 103, 106, 109, 174 Privacy, 21, 76, 78, 110, 147, 148, 155, 156, 165 Power, 5–8, 10, 13, 14, 18–20, 22, 26, 33, 36, 41, 44–49, 52–55, 57–59, 61, 62, 69, 71, 97, 108, 110–112, 115, 116, 124, 128–130, 140, 144, 152, 153, 164, 174–176 Public space, 2, 103, 114, 175 Public sphere, 103, 128

R Racism, 48 Reactive networked activism, 9, 164, 176 Recognition, 15, 33, 41, 49, 50, 101–106, 109, 110, 113–115, 124, 150, 151, 165–167

RefAid, 125, 138, 139, 148, 159, 161 RefuAid, 125, 136 Refugee crisis, 1–3, 5, 10, 25, 35, 42, 49, 69, 71, 99, 100, 123–125, 127, 134, 153, 163, 171, 173, 176 Refugee identity, 123, 151, 174 Regime, 2, 4, 8, 24, 49, 62, 111, 163, 172 Resistance, 8–10, 55, 59, 62, 64, 70, 99, 106, 109, 163, 175, 176 Risk management, 14 ROBORDER, 52 S Satellite surveillance, 51, 111 Scapegoats, 8, 13, 23–26, 30 Schengen, 3, 42, 50 Securitisation, 2, 4, 8, 9, 13, 14, 57, 60, 150 Security, 3, 8, 10, 14, 26, 28, 29, 31–33, 35, 42–44, 46, 47, 50, 53, 58, 63, 65, 76, 107, 110, 112, 148, 156, 157, 171, 173 Selfies, 71, 103 Smartphones, 71, 92, 100, 112, 124, 125, 138, 153, 160 Smugglers, 3, 4, 80, 81, 83–86, 112 Social change, 7, 106, 124, 128, 129, 134, 135, 144, 165, 176 Social corporate responsibility, 7 Social good, 7, 32, 124, 127, 129, 132, 136, 139, 141–145, 152, 163, 167, 176, 177 Social media, 4, 71, 72, 81, 83, 86, 88, 90, 92, 93, 99, 100, 111, 112, 116, 124, 128, 173, 175, 176 Social networks, 80, 94 Solidarity.. See Digital solidarity Sovereign power, 2, 4, 8, 46, 48, 49, 53–56, 60, 64, 174

INDEX

Sovereignty, 5, 36, 46, 48, 53, 55, 111, 174 Start-ups, 124 State of exception, 45, 53 Strategies, 4, 8, 13, 25, 31, 42, 52, 55, 59, 63, 70, 71, 99, 105, 109, 114, 149, 164, 174, 176, 177 Subaltern, 71, 72, 105 Surveillance, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 14, 26, 27, 29, 32, 33, 44, 47, 49, 51, 52, 58, 69, 70, 72, 84, 87, 104, 106, 110–115, 123, 147, 152, 163, 167, 173, 174 Sustainability, 131–133, 137, 146, 159, 162, 163, 176 T Tactics, 8, 9, 55, 59, 70, 73, 99, 106, 176 Tech for good activism, 126, 162 Tech for social good, 5, 7, 124, 153, 163, 176, 177 Techfugees, 125, 126, 131, 132, 137, 141, 156, 159, 162 Technology, 5, 6, 8, 31–33, 47, 49, 58, 64, 69, 72–75, 81, 82, 84–86, 88–91, 93, 94, 96, 98, 106, 110, 113, 116, 123–125, 128, 130–133, 138, 139, 141, 145–147, 149, 152, 153, 157,

183

160, 161, 164, 166, 167, 174, 176 Techno-militarisation, 5, 64

U United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), 2, 3, 138, 143, 147, 149, 167

V Visibility, 9, 21, 58, 73, 89, 98–100, 113, 174 Voice, 10, 20, 21, 24, 26, 27, 31, 50, 57, 64, 69–71, 73, 89, 97, 99, 102, 103, 105, 106, 108, 109, 111, 114, 115, 123, 126, 133, 136, 141, 146, 152, 163, 164, 166, 175, 176 Vulnerability, 10, 11, 25, 57, 72, 84, 101, 105, 107, 109, 110, 113, 135, 141, 144, 175

W Walters, William, 14, 59 WhatsApp, 81, 83, 84, 91, 104, 107, 148, 157 Witnessing, 1, 7, 9, 21, 59, 73, 98, 100, 102, 109, 114, 115