Lampedusa is many things to many people. The thousands of lives claimed by the Mediterranean Sea make it a symbol of death. Yet, to the white, mostly European tourists crowding its sunny beaches, lulled by that same sea, Lampedusa is a metaphor for life, holidays, happiness and leisure. It has become a trope of hope for those who flee wars, famines, and a bleak future, but the small island also embodies European borders and boundaries, as well as the double face of migration policies 1 âsimilarly poised between selection procedures and hospitality. Finally, Lampedusa is an emblem of fear for many European neo-nationalist movements that see migrant landings as the prelude to an invasion. All these dichotomies are firmly implanted in the media-driven discourse (de Genova 2013; Cuttitta 2012) on the small Mediterranean island, whose narratives have long emphasised and continue to stress today the liminal nature of Lampedusa as the last outpost of Italyâbut in close proximity to other worlds. These worlds are distant and remain so in the discursive production on the sharp distinction between âusâ and âthemââthe Others, the âinvadersââwho materialise on our TV screens and fill newspaper columns. They are a menace we need to counter. At times, they briefly disappear from the media and political discourse only to reappear a short while later as scapegoats for the problems of liberal societies themselves. Since 1992, we have grown accustomed to the dialectic image of the situation; yet, on a closer look, we find that it goes back much furtherâto the colonial era. What Lampedusa seems to suggest is that reality is a multifaceted conglomeration of the past and present that we are called to study both for its tangible aspects and for the emotional and symbolic ones.
The duplication of reality through the production of an oppositional couple is part of a visual device where the self-identity is confirmed through the categorisation and identification of the Other as different from the Self. But who is the âSelfâ? This is the question we as scholars should answer, if we are to understand the reasons behind the prevailing narrative strategy. From a sociological and historical point of view, we might have to deconstruct the notion of Italian imagined community and investigate how legacies of the pastâof the colonial past and fascism, in particularâexerted considerable influence on the construction of a collective identity. Depending on the positionality of the subject, this collective identity is multiple and variable: âmultipleâ because it consists of a range of possible shared identities; âvariableâ because every positionality involves a specific genealogy of power relations. In our opinion, this intersectional perspective is crucial to understanding the multiplication of borders inside as well as outside the national frontier (Mezzadra and Neilson 2013). The border is unmistakably a space-constructing device.
Is Lampedusa Only Lampedusa? Border as Space Production
In the light of these considerations, we propose a shift from the view of Lampedusa as a mere and Italian-only border to the understanding that it is a sign of the European condition. This change of perspective can be useful for two reasons: first, according to statistics, Lampedusa is not the first port of landing; second, Italy was and continues to be one of the main gateways to Europe. Not only do data from the UNHCR indicate the Strait of Sicily as a point of arrival, but also a dramatically sharp rise in the number of people who choose the Mediterranean route to Europe. In 2016 alone, 167,091 people reached Europe from the shores of Algeria, Tunisia and Libya; 170,712, instead, arrived through Greece from Egypt, Turkey or Syria.
The Mediterranean has become an open-air cemetery: 4621 migrants died or went missing in 2016, and more than 10,000 casualties have been reported since 2014. The death toll has led some activists to replace the term shipwreck victims with desaparecidos (Drudi 2016). Migrantsâ places of origin reveal that migration is closely linked to a context of war with great social, economic and political instability: 29 percent of migrants came from Syria, 13 percent from Afghanistan. These people left their countries for an idea of Europe as the place that would provide them with a better future, economic prosperity, and a second chance. They came from Nigeria, Iraq, Pakistan, Guinea, Gambia, Sudan, the Ivory Coast; 55 percent of people arriving in Europe were men, 18 percent were women and 27 percent were minors (UNHCR 2016).
Faced with the decades-long crisis in the Mediterranean (and not only there) Europe has put up walls: intangible walls of silence and indifference; concrete blockades and militarised borders such as the ones in Ventimiglia, on the border between France and Italy; walls that marginalise migrants, reducing them to mere numbers or holding them captive to stereotypical representationsâan omen of bad luck or the emblem of terror. Finally, as both national and international laws are suspended due to the extraordinariness of the situation, walls of discrimination bring to mind a state of exception (Agamben 2003) on the one hand, and the idea of a perpetual crisis, a permanent state of emergency on the other. As if we were leaning on the threshold of the Apocalypse, and the end of the world were around the corner. Surprisingly, at a time of the worst economic crisis in decades, as the social pyramid becomes steeper and income inequality increases, so does the distance between those who are, albeit in a different manner, subject to exploitation. In this scenario, immigration and its management only engender a âgouvernementalitĂ© par lâinquietudeâ (Bigo 1998); colonial imaginaries just add to the picture. Deeply ingrained in national identities and in the concept of Europeanness itself, these imaginaries reappear in the guise of fear of the other, be they black, African, Muslim, Arab terrorists, or just plain differentâfear of the Other stealing our land, our women and then, in a symbolic/psychoanalytic perspective, our future.
Nonetheless, we must adopt a new look in the coming years, and grow out of the spectacularised narrative, the silence, and Fortress Europeâs traditional role. We must, that is, ask ourselves whether immigration as a transnational and at times transcontinental phenomenon is indeed having a major role in rewriting the cultural geography of Europe, the Mediterranean, North Africa and the Middle East. We believe this is the direction where we should be heading: beyond the legal devices, the classifications and the control practices, and towards the production of space by non-European individuals and groups. This Europe is there alreadyâa black, Muslim and Arab Europe that contains cultures and subjects regarded as non-European. In this book we aim to approach Lampedusa from this same perspective, revealing practices and strategies of counter-narrative in various fields of cultural production.
The stories of subjectivity collected by the authors of this book can help grasp the hidden meanings of spectacularisation and misrepresentation in political discourses, practices, and media coverage of the events surrounding Lampedusa. The comparison with other migrations (or their representations) at different historical times makes this approach fruitful and open to generalisation. Widening the classical notion of the border as a political, geographical and institutional entityâor as an unstable divide between groups and communitiesâthe book delves into what it is about Lampedusa that makes it a subjective border experience, and aims to present the different meanings assigned to the island by migrants, the local population, seafarers, and associative actors. As several of the chapters point out, the border defines state sovereignty at different levels, yet âBorder-Lampedusaâ is also a symbol of less questioned hidden powers. Thus, through a cultural and anthropological approach to migration, the stories in this bookâfrom interviews, documentaries and other documentsâshow the impact Lampedusa has on individuals as well as on transforming the themes of âcrisisâ and âemergencyâ generally associated with the island and any merely socio-political interpretation. Instead of a simple debate opposing responsibility (national, European, international) over time and normalisation of migration management, the contributions in this book provide not only an in-depth analysis through the lens of different empirical materials (e.g. oral testimonies, interviews, ethnographic notes, etc.) and secondary sources (e.g. literary and cinematographic documents, photographs, etc.) but also the opportunity for problematizing Lampedusa both as a European and Italian border, outside the dichotomy humanitarianism-invasion.
Book Overview
The book aims to provide new insights into the relation between subjectivity, visibility and the border. It is organised into two sectionsââSubjective and Embodied Experiencesâ and âVisibility and Memoriesâ.
The first section opens with an essay by Rosita de LuigiââThe Traces of Journeys and Migrantsâ Perspectives: The Knots of Memory and the Unravelled Plansââwhere the author describes how the migration choice generates new uncertain borders for migrants. The death journeys to Lampedusa map onto downtrodden lives and shipwrecked hopes. Life stories take unexpected routes, leaving behind traces of humanityâthe screams, silence, tears and hugs that accompany the migrantsâ journey to the urban peripheries where the reception centres are located. In the tangles of underground immigration, where forms of reciprocity, solidarity and proximity in micro contexts stand in stark contrast with the macro dynamics of power and conflict, sea stories turn into stories of land.
The interactions between the actors dealing with on-site first aid to migrants are the focus of Gianluca Gattaâs ââHalf Devil and Half Childâ: An Ethnographic Perspective on the Treatment of Migrants on their Arrival in Lampedusaâ. Based on long-term fieldwork that began in 2005 in the harbour of Lampedusa, the chapter discusses the biopolitical management of migrants intercepted in the Mediterranean Sea by the Italian authorities. Relying on his direct ethnographic experience, the author is able to focus on the migrant âbodyâ as well as the âbodiesâ of other actors involved in the dynamics of the landing phase. Disciplining, caring and observation practices by guards, humanitarian actors, media and the locals are examined, as well as the presentation of the self performed by migrants, the practices of negotiating pain, the management of space during landing procedures, and the active role of border guards in evoking or directly producing a specific image of the âarrivalsâ.
The two chapters that follow focus on two topics already addressed in Gattaâs contribution: assistance and the migrant bodies.
In âOh, Hear Us When We Cry to Theeâ, Katy Budge retraces the path of the most ancient and fundamental seafaring custom: the duty to provide assistance to those in distress. This chapter collates eyewitness accounts, gathered from diaries and personal interviews, of seafarers who have provided such assistance in the waters between Lampedusa and North Africa. The accounts provide a unique perspective on a tragic episode and illustrate that âthe impulsive desire to save human life in peril is one of the most beneficial instincts of humanity, and is nowhere more salutary in its results than in bringing help to those who, exposed to the destruction from the fury of the winds and waves, would perish if left without assistanceâ (see Cockburn 1880).
In âThe Colour(s) of Lampedusaâ, Gaia Giuliani analyses the dystopian space of Lampedusa as a representation of the hyper-real functioning (or dis-functioning) of border control. The site of biometrics and definitions of the European âimagined communityâ, Lampedusa is the conundrum of a number of colour lines/borders that have old and more recent origins: the NorthâSouth (Continental Europe vs. Mediterranean Europe), the SouthâSouth (Mediterranean Europe vs...