All entries for January 2021
January 26, 2021
Photo Credit: Knut Bry/Tinagent
Written by: Henrik Kjellmo Larsen & Eleanor Gordon
A Policy of Silence?
After the fire that destroyed the Moria Reception and Identification Centre on the Greek island of Lesvos, on 08 September, the 13,000 migrant-residents were moved into a quickly assembled new camp in Kara Tepe. Within a month this camp was already being referred to as ‘worse than Moria’, which had itself been described as ‘hell on earth’.
After the fire, European Commission (EC) Home Affairs Commissioner, Ylva Johanson, said there would be ‘no more Morias’, recognising that the poor conditions were partly responsible for the developments which led to the fire.
Whether or not conditions in the camp would improve and the Commissioner’s assurances honoured will now be difficult to ascertain in light of a recent General Operation Regulation of the Temporary Reception Facilities in Greece passed on 30 November. This regulation prohibits all workers operating in a refugee camp, including government civil servants and volunteers, from publicly sharing any information about the residents or the conditions in the new camp. Kara Tepe is thus continuing a dangerous trend of hiding harm with a policy of silence.
Moria was designated a ‘hotspot’ due to the overwhelming surge of migrants arriving on Lesvos in 2015. The ‘hotspot approach’ was intended to allow for a quicker Registration and adjudicate of asylum application and provide additional support to ensure dignified shelters and services.
However, when the EU-Turkey statement was signed in 2016, the vastly understaffed Greek asylum service meant asylum claims could not be processed quickly enough. The camp became a bottleneck, severely and perpetually overcrowded, with the 3,000-person capacity far exceeded by up to 20,000 people.
As a consequence, Moria, built as a short term transit camp but without even meeting the UNHCR standards of a transit camp, essentially became a camp for long-term residency where many migrants effectively remained trapped in deplorable conditions for months and sometimes years. Some described the camp as ‘the worst refugee camp on earth’, as ‘a living hell’, and a prisonlike place where the lack of food, poor sanitation, limited water and electricity supply and prevalent violence, earned the camp a reputation of being ‘the moral failure of Europe’. These deplorable camp conditions contributed to a number of fires in the camp, including the fire which destroyed the camp, resulting from technical faults and growing desperation among migrant residents.
Over a period of 18 months, we, two scholars, one of whom has extensive field experience from Lesvos, conducted interviews with humanitarian actors working in Moria on the causes and effects of these poor camp conditions. Invariably, research participants described the conditions as deplorable, and as intended to both deter humanitarian actors and, moreover, prospective migrants hoping to enter the EU. Many were also critical of how information about these conditions was being carefully managed in order to avoid public scrutiny.
Humanitarian actors described being prevented from taking photos or video footage in and around the camp by the police: ‘If they get your camera, they delete everything’. This could be an indication of a desire to hide what is going on in Moria, and in so doing to keep it away from media scrutiny.
A number of humanitarian actors also regarded the recent, high-profile arrest of Salam Aldeen, a prominent NGO manager in the field, because he shared pictures and information and was an unrelenting critic of the terrible camp conditions and the treatment of migrants. His arrest was regarded by other humanitarian actors as intended to silence those seeking to document and share what they perceived to be wrongdoing by the Greek authorities. Many also regarded his arrest and the broader practice of policing humanitarian aid workers as intended to deter other volunteers from offering humanitarian assistance.
Humanitarian actors also said that when official visitors came, they would only be shown a small part of the camp, and only after it had been cleared and cleaned. These visits, during which journalists are not allowed in, were effectively staged to present the camp in a very particular way to avoid criticism and public scrutiny. However, a difficult balance needed to be maintained between avoiding criticism, while maintaining the spectre of deterrence by ensuring the message was communicated to migrant groups particularly, as well as to domestic groups hostile to migration, about the poor conditions. As one of our research participants (a humanitarian volunteer working in the camp) said in 2019:
They don’t want to keep the camp so bad so that Greece reputation is completely ruined. When Angelina Jolie and the pope visited, they cleaned up the camp a little bit. Journalists are not let in… They don’t want to show the worst part of the camp, but they want to make sure it’s bad enough to not want to come.
Official communication thus becomes a balancing act between presenting a powerful show of deterrence for migrants, as well as those who might want to help them, and evading criticism for failing to meet the international humanitarian standards. This difficult balance is maintained by limiting disseminated information and keeping audiences separate. Paradoxically, the less that is actually known about Moria, the more these dual messages are able to be managed: criticisms can be avoided, and the spectre of detention is all the more powerful because of the element of the unknown.
Photo Credit: Knut Bry/Tinagent
The Camp as Carceral Space
Prisons also perform this balancing act of communicating different messages to different audiences, and similarly do so by controlling and limiting information that is disseminated.
It is no coincidence that Moria has been referred to repeatedly by our research participants as ‘prison-like’. This is not just because it looked like a prison with its perimeter fences, barbed wire and gates, checkpoints and police guards. Nor is it just because the camp became a space of indefinite confinement. It is also because residents were segregated, contained and screened from outside communities, their movements strictly controlled and curtailed, and information about them tightly controlled.
Carefully managing information about groups in carceral spaces – through segregation, containment and curtailing communication channels – also helps protect the presentation of these groups as deviant and in need of control and punishment. Their continued segregation and containment, in often deplorable conditions, can thus be justified.
In effect, rendering migrants invisible enables a discourse to be constructed and maintained around the migrant left relatively unchallenged by a lack of evidence to the contrary. Segregation and control of information about migrants and how they suffer is also an effective governing technique, helping to dehumanise, facilitate indifference towards them and reduce acts of solidarity.
Hiding the Harm
With the policy of silence being legislated in Greece, under the General Operation Regulation, the Greek government is authorising an environment where the suffering of migrant remains unseen hidden from society. When suffering cannot be seen, when it is confined behind prison-like barriers, and when it is kept from public scrutiny by destroying camera footage, it is easier to dehumanise and to deny that human rights violations and other harms have occurred.
Efforts to hide the suffering enables dehumanisation and reduces the migrant to a number it enables them to be presented as someone who represents a danger, rather than someone who’s in danger.
In turn, this justifies entrapping migrants in deplorable camp conditions and, paradoxically, helps justify disinterest in the harms they suffered, thus allowing harms to continue under the shroud of silence.
Gordon, E. and Larsen, H.K. (2020) ‘Sea of Blood’: The Intended and Unintended Effects of the Criminalisation of Humanitarian Volunteers Rescuing Migrants in Distress at Sea’, Disasters. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/disa.12472.
About the Authors:
Henrik Kjellmo Larsenis a PhD candidate in The School of Social Science at Monash University. He spent four months as a field coordinator doing search and rescue on Lesvos in 2015 and has spent the last six years working in the field of criminalisation of humanitarian workers, security, global governance and human rights. His research, practise and field work focus on violent borderwork, human rights and mental health of emergent groups and spontaneous volunteers in disaster areas.
Eleanor Gordonis a Senior Lecturer in Politics and International Development at Monash University. She spent 20 years working in the field of conflict, security, justice and human rights, including 10 years working in conflict-affected environments with the UN and other international organisations. Her research, teaching and practice focuses on inclusive approaches to building security and justice after conflict.
January 13, 2021
Written by Prerna Aswani
Project Lead, inHive (email@example.com)
Networks are inherently complex. And increasingly, I can’t help but think that like social media, networks are a tool that can be used both for good and bad: networks can catapult positive social change, but also have complex power dynamics embedded within them. On one hand, they are by definition exclusionary: they are usually based on members having a shared characteristic or history that others do not. These types of affiliation can grow out of all sorts of shared traits or experiences, whether it be profession, religion or educational experiences. Yet networks, as forms of social organising and mobilising also have the power of giving voice to those who are repeatedly and institutionally unheard and marginalised. The current social, economic and political climate requires us to increase our investment in harnessing the power of networks for positive social disruption and to think more deeply about networks and inclusion.
Networks for social change
By being part of a larger group, collective or network, those from historically and institutionally marginalised communities can find a safe space to express themselves and connect with a community with whom they can resist oppression. Organisations and movements that create and strengthen networks for women and minorities have enabled these marginalised voices to be taken seriously.
I have seen first-hand how these dynamics emerge through the Bhartiya Muslim Mahila Adalat (BMMA), a national mass organisation of Muslim women in India, who run centres to support women to resolve marital disputes. They provide members a sanctuary, as well as a route to tackle the multiple ways in which they have been oppressed.
Their oppressions are multifaceted and intertwined. As lower middle class women living in a highly patriarchal society, their marital grievances often go unheard both within the family and their wider communities. At the same time, as Muslim women, they belong to a minority religion in a country where family law is governed by religious tenets through Muslim Personal Law. This law enables matters of family and marriage to be legally governed by the Shariat.
Speaking to members in the Mumbai branch, they shared with me how on a personal level they felt empowered as a result of being part of this organisation, and that it has led to substantive change in their daily lives. By taking their marital disputes to the women’s centre run by BMMA, individual women have been able to negotiate a greater voice in their communities and families with the support of the collective. Furthermore, on a collective level, the BMMA has successfully advocated for women’s rights in national law by connecting with other organisations, movements and networks. They recently won a case in the Supreme Court of India to criminalise the practice of Triple Talak, where a Muslim man could legally divorce his wife by saying Talak (Divorce) three times.
The darker side of networks
The BMMA is just one example of where individuals who are marginalised along multiple identity lines come together not only to empower one another in navigate their personal challenges of marginalisation, but also effectively confront institutional discrimination.
Yet as we celebrate the power of networks that give rise to organisations, movements and other forms of collective action for their capacity to catalyse social and institutional change, we cannot ignore the ways in which networks can and have historically reinforced the unequal power structures that govern the world today. 'Old boys networks' are renowned for giving their members considerable advantages: job offers, business deals and other opportunities are unequally distributed within these networks, which by design exclude all but the upper echelons. These powerful networks are often affiliated with former pupils of elite schools and universities, hence the notorious reputation of alumni networks as elite and exclusionary.
My own work at inHive seeks in order to tackle this challenge, by democratising access to networks for young people who have traditionally not had access to them. Our work is one part of a much larger tradition of movements building and mobilising through networks. Yet it can’t be denied that on the whole, elite networks still wield the greatest social, economic and political capital. Networks of minorities and excluded groups absolutely develop a greater sense of empowerment for its members, but for the most part they tend to have lower levels of influence than established ‘old boys’ clubs’.
inHive building Alumni Networks with Health Poverty Action in Rwanda
And even within networks, movements and other forms of organising of minorities and the oppressed, complex power dynamics exist. Consider for example various anti-imperial and anti-colonial movements, where often older elite men exercised their power to silence women. Despite their vital contributions to the joint efforts, women’s interests are often falsely presented as distracting in the fight against the main enemy, leading to their side-lining at best, and exploitation, abuse and violence at worst. These dynamics were present in the recent Rhodes Must Fall protests, when women, queer and trans people were leading the conceptualisations of the underlying tenets, but were pushed out of the organising roles and the protest frontline due to misogyny, and trans- and homophobia.
The Black Lives Matter movement is a powerful show of how historically marginalised groups coming together to mobilise collective action can have a huge impact. The movement has actually served as an accelerator for alumni of hundreds of schools and universities campaigning to decolonise the curriculum, my own alma mater included. By creating networks across initiatives and causes, solidarities and synergies emerge to amplify calls for change.
The presence of minority networks is both an encouraging success and a sign that more work still needs to be done. Rather than separate networks of the elite and marginalised, we need to build connections and linkages that are based on equality, openness and active listening to enable social change. Unlike the old boys’ clubs that exist solely for the benefit of their members, we need to invest in more networks that commit to intersectional and social change.
Note: there are important distinctions between organisations advocating for social change, groups formed around certain causes and networks, and differing internal power dynamics within each. However, for the broad focus of this article around democratising these different types of structures for social change, I consider them in unison.
About the Author
Prerna is passionate about youth development, access and social mobility. She is a development consultant with a diverse set of experiences. Having spent her early career in economic consulting and then transitioned to the social sector, within the education and youth development space, she has experience of working with stakeholders across the private and third sectors.