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Challenging Borders: Afterword: On Being Unsettled: Discomfort and Noninnocence in Border Studies

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Afterword: On Being Unsettled: Discomfort and Noninnocence in Border Studies
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“Afterword: On Being Unsettled: Discomfort and Noninnocence in Border Studies” in “Challenging Borders”

Afterword: On Being Unsettled Discomfort and Noninnocence in Border Studies

Anne McNevin

En route to the conference from which this volume emerges, I flew for the first time from New York to Butte, Montana; on to Lethbridge, Alberta; and over the Great Plains. These were the names the pilot used in his explanation of the route we would take—names that corresponded to the maps with which I was familiar. From the air, I was struck by the sheer expanse of flatness as far as the eye could see, by the patchwork grid that parceled this land into neat geometric lots, and by its apparent totality. Nothing appeared to separate square from square: no variation, no wild or unruly patches of earth, no hints of what this land might have been before its division in this way. The visual completeness of seeming domestication was breathtaking, at least for this viewer who, granted, had little sense of where or how to look for less obvious traces of difference and survival.

I was, of course, flying over lines that cross lands that are named, inhabited, and occupied in very different ways: as Blackfoot territory, as the United States and Canada, as North America and Turtle Island, to name only English-language variants. I was staring out the window at the beauty and ingenuity of lands steeped in violence and regeneration. What struck me as distinctive in its flat uniformity seemed also to capture the peculiar effects of universalization as a technique of erasure. And my immediate sense of this place, filtered through my own ill-attunement to the forms of life and land below, was wrapped up with the habits of mind and body through which erasures persist.

This volume engages critically with lines, borders, and lands from the perspective of an academic enterprise, itself implicated in the drawing of epistemological lines that divide and devalue, strike through and erase. Not least in this respect, this volume is the outcome of a conference that was uncomfortable. It should have been uncomfortable, because its academic format reflected one of the many divides between what or who is deemed authoritative and what or who is not. The title of the conference, “The Line Crossed Us,” refers most explicitly to the nineteenth-century annexation of Mexican territory by the United States—a process through which many people marked by forms of racial and colonial difference and living in what we now know as Texas came to be seen as alien to the place that was their home. From their perspective and from that of subsequent generations, when “the line crossed us,” it produced forms of nonbelonging and, later, criminality that were otherwise nonsensical. Implicitly, however, the conference title also refers to the lines that cross and constitute knowledge-producing practices in ways that intersect with concrete border lines. Disciplinary knowledge, transmitted and honed in conferences of this kind, has long served to generate and justify borders through which we come to know such things as “international relations” as something that happens between pregiven states and through which we come to distinguish “ethnography” from “history” in ways that determine what counts as evidence in land rights claims and what belongs in which museum.

Discomfort may therefore be a fitting feeling in the face of the task that we, as contributors to this volume, have set for ourselves. Feminist scholars have argued as much, noting that discomfort, like other affects too often dismissed as impediments or irrelevant to research methodologies, has productive effects: “‘turn[ing] us on’ or ‘turn[ing] us off’ to certain lines of thinking, conceptualizing, knowing and making sense.”1 At the conference itself, I felt uncomfortable delivering an address in a place I was not from and had little knowledge of, on a topic that would resonate in untold ways with those in the audience for whom the borders over which I had flown and about which I spoke were lived on an everyday basis as lines that crossed their particular bodies in painful, debilitating ways. I feel uncomfortable now, as I write this afterword—a genre that implies a summation from a hindsight perspective on the whole. Such perspectives are always partial and risk more occlusion than illumination when expressed without humility, or with the kind of humility that emanates from a position of power that is enhanced by virtue signaling. This double-edged humility is often at work in attempts to dislodge the givenness of borders, including in acknowledgements of unceded lands by non-Indigenous people that have now become commonplace, even formulaic, in certain settler-colonial contexts (though notably less so in the United States). Endorsed by audiences and institutions that are deeply implicated in contemporary colonial conditions, such rituals are as insufficient as they are sincerely felt. I count my own intervention in these pages as part of this discomforting mix of reflexivity and privilege. The value of this volume is that it calls out these tensions even as it traces and performs the borders and conventions in question. This messy business keeps us focused on what is at stake, more answerable to our claims, and exposed in our inconsistencies. This is the discomfort that rightly attends a critical colonial encounter.

It is with these productive tensions in mind that the contributions to this volume raised ongoing questions for me. What does it mean to engage borders as objects of inquiry with and without reference to the First Nation lands crossed by those borders? If, as Evan Light, Sarah Naumes, and Aliya Amarshi argue in chapter 8, the US-Canada border is a manifestation of “post-9/11 security priorities,” is it not also a manifestation of settler-colonial dispossession? If school-age children in Finland narrate the loss of Finnish territory to Russia in terms of a “phantom limb,” as Chloe Wells describes in chapter 3, how does this square with the forms of loss experienced by Sámi peoples initiated by earlier rounds of cartographic division? What do we fail to understand about post-9/11 security priorities or “the ‘geo-bodies’ of nation-states” when we fail to interrogate how they are conditioned by ongoing colonial relations?

It is jarring to read those chapters directly concerned with lines that cross peoples singled out for colonial erasure alongside those that investigate, without colonial context, policing technologies enforcing those lines against newly marked intruders and usurpers. But this reaction is also because the volume as a whole challenges the notion that inquiry into borders—critical or otherwise—is an innocent endeavor. The ways in which questions are posed and answered order knowledge in such a way as to give some experiences more weight than others and to designate relevance unevenly. That these effects unsettle the reader is one measure of the volume’s success. Another is the extent to which what or who has been cast aside as finished or irrelevant is brought to light with the kinds of affective sensitivities that produce what Ramón Resendiz and Rosalva Resendiz call in chapter 1—following Ann Stoler, Ariella Aisha Azoulay, and others—a decolonial archive.

If part of this volume’s value lies in its juxtaposition of chapters concerned with different aspects of borders, it also lies in contributions that bring different kinds of border regimes into dialogue with one another. Ryan Hall, for example, draws attention to Lakota, Dakota, and Blackfoot people, displaced by the so-called Indian Wars of the nineteenth century, whose movement from the United States to Canadian territory marked them as refugees even though they had not always left their own lands. What is at stake in conceptualizing this kind of border crossing in terms of refugeehood? What possibilities are signalled by this formulation, including for the kinds of coalitions able to resist the reassertion of national borders and ethno-national privilege in local and global contexts? As Hall notes, “Seeing Indigenous people (whose identity is generally defined by their connection to specific homelands) in the same terms as refugees (whose identity is defined by their lack of place) can . . . feel counterintuitive.” While Indigenous people sometimes express affinity with displaced peoples, identifying as refugees in their own lands,2 others displaced within their own cities and states have resisted the trope of refugeehood precisely because it is suggestive of nonbelonging. This was the case, for example, when African Americans displaced by Hurricane Katrina in 2005 insisted that they were not refugees but citizens.3 They were responding to the racialized production of refugeehood as a pejorative status—a process that has accelerated since the end of the Cold War. If Western bloc states had once received a slow drip of refugees whose escape from communist countries could be exploited for political advantage, the politicization of more recent arrivals from what has become the Global South has been far more virulent. In the case of the Blackfoot in the nineteenth century, Hall notes that the trope of refugeehood may well have been strategically deployed by the Blackfoot themselves in order to compel negotiation of a treaty with Canadian authorities. The example is a reminder of the ways in which those crossing borders, then as now, must navigate the political terrain in which their movements are read and how they deploy a range of tactics from refusal to reappropriation.

For Hall, the designation of the Blackfoot as refugees makes more sense if we understand Indigenous peoples as “transnational actors” and treaties as “transnational events.” Here, Hall is challenging the border regimes—juridical, material, and representational—that shape associations with refugees and Indigenous peoples alike. Indigenous peoples have always moved across and through different First Nation territories only later colonized by settlers. Casting such movements as domestic rather than transnational is a bordering practice that serves to reinforce the naturalness of the nation-state and, in this case, of Canada and the United States as the obvious geopolitical identities constituting most of North America. Understanding Indigenous peoples as “transnational actors” before and after settlement decentres state borders as the only relevant marker of transnational mobility. Hall’s contribution is most compelling when the space and time of transnational action with which he is concerned are extended in this way.

Since the codification of refugee status under international law in the mid-twentieth century, the transnational dimension of refugeehood has been linked exclusively to state borders such that one can only be a refugee in legal terms if a state border is crossed in the process of displacement. This is why, for displaced African Americans in the twenty-first century, the ascription of refugeehood was taken to undermine the value of their citizenship: one simply could not be a fully endowed citizen and a refugee at once. Hence another way of reading Hall’s attention to Indigenous refugees is as a provocation that challenges the reduction of refugeehood to a technical form under international law. In this reading, refugees are produced not only by exile but also by embodied and affective experiences of dispossession, exclusion, and erasure, even if a person remains, as it were, in place. Such an account of refugeehood provides an opening to consider the experiences of different groups of people (Indigenous, migrant, and racialized citizens) in relation to each other and in relation to border regimes and forms of sovereign power that pit those groups against each other in a zero-sum game for proprietary control over territory.4 This is not to suggest an equivalence in the forms of loss at stake but rather to emphasize that border regimes generate forms of violence in cross-cutting and intersectional ways and that broad coalitions might be built to resist those dynamics and to forge alternative futures.

Resisting the limits of a strictly legal account of refugeehood seems ever more important as international and domestic law increasingly becomes a means through which displaced people are denied anything approaching an intuitive notion of refuge. This is the trend that Claudia Donoso examines in chapter 7 in her account of the legal challenges to gender-based violence and gang violence as legitimate grounds for credible asylum claims in the context of the Texas side of the US-Mexico border. We could equally point to legal maneuvers deployed by European and Australian states to reduce opportunities to seek asylum and punish those who do and increasingly to prosecute those attempting to rescue migrants at sea for crimes related to people-smuggling.5 In all these cases, ever-narrowing and perversely deployed definitions of “genuine” refugee status harden attending borders between forced/voluntary, political/economic, and licit/illicit migration and therefore between deserving/undeserving and legalized/criminalized migrants. The result is a legal regime that produces illegitimacy among its target population and has become more focused on policing and excluding than providing the refuge for which the regime was ostensibly created.

Partly because of this interplay between concrete borders and the cuts of human difference that rationalize their uneven policing, critical border scholars have tended to de-emphasize the special status of refugees in favour of a more generic category of migrant. Such perspectives refuse the notion that migration can be mapped in crude binary terms of agency and force despite the dramatically different conditions that shape the contexts in which one decides to migrate and the chances one has of success. More than semantic, these interventions take seriously the productive dimension of language. As Stephan Scheel has put it, taking refugees and asylum seekers as “given realities waiting to be researched”—even in sympathetic ways—risks reproducing residual forms of humanitarian paternalism and methodological nationalism and takes as given the norms of the liberal international order that are decidedly illiberal when it comes to freedom of movement.6 Doing so then predetermines the scope of the affective and geopolitical frames in which cross-border mobility is referenced.

In order to maintain critical distance from prevailing categories and conventions, the impulse is often to generate new conceptual vocabularies. Equally revealing, however, are the terms in which those positioned on the sharp side of borders identify themselves and how longer-standing subject forms are reclaimed and reconfigured in the process. For example, refugees who have been subject to long-term incarceration by the Australian government in the course of their claims to asylum have continued to insist that they are refugees and that what it means to be a refugee is something fundamentally human, irreducible to the imprimatur of international law, humanitarian forms of objectification, or imagined forms of innocence.7 The claim “We are human” that attends migrant struggles in camps, in cages, and on borderlines around the world is likewise a resignification of humanity itself.8 The disjuncture between the claim’s common sense and the forms of inhumanity visited on migrants compelled to state the obvious shows the ways in which universal rights, including those under refugee law, have proven insufficient to deliver substantive forms of mobility justice.9

If habits of mind pursued to examine borders make a difference to the politics at stake, so too do habits of body engaged at the literal point of border crossing. In this regard, the chapter by Evan Light, Sarah Naumes, and Aliya Amarshi draws attention to the ease with which border crossers acquiesce to data surveillance and incursions on their privacy as they hand over unencrypted mobile devices for inspection by airport border guards. These routine inspections that rely on voluntary compliance become part of the rituals (like passport checks, body scans, and questioning) through which borders, border authorities, and their assumed powers come to be normalized in the course of everyday mobility. “As border crossers,” Light, Naumes and Amarshi contend, “most of us are not experts on the legal apparatus to which we submit ourselves.” Many of us are also not experts in the historical and conceptual reframing that underwrites that legal apparatus, or if we are, we choose to ignore it at the point of border crossing. Who wants to hear a lecture on the line that crossed us when everyone is tired and just trying to get through customs? Yet these rituals of crossing, in this case, from the United States into Canada normalize those identities and make it harder to imagine and recognize other relations to land, law, and collective political life—both those that exist already and those yet to be forged, including on the basis of transformed accounts of what it means to be a refugee or, indeed, to be human.

I have spent almost two decades engaged in research and writing on borders, particularly those borders policed against refugees, asylum seekers, undocumented people, and others whose mobility is criminalized. I have been slow to recognize the laws, authorities, and administrative categories I have taken for granted as starting points for critique and the ways in which that givenness serves to reproduce an apparatus of control. Disputes framed in terms of rights to enter and exit and under what conditions too often elide fundamental questions about the particular kinds of subjects around which universal human rights have been shaped in exclusionary terms and whether such rights, even if applied uniformly and humanely, might still entail enduring injustices. Disputes framed in terms of borders that might be opened or closed too often assume that bounded territory under sovereign control is the given spatial reference point for questions of mobility. Other ways of knowing land and its relationship to more-than-human worlds are dismissed in the process and further distanced from what comes to stand for political realities that shape the parameters of the possible. Such habits of mind that were always based on the habits of certain bodies now seem just as potent to me as the border-crossing rituals that Light, Naumes, and Amarshi rightly associate with the mundane ways in which structural violence is authorized and reproduced.

This combination of material and epistemic violence is, after all, what has produced the apparent extinction of the Sinixt people that Lori Barkley, Marilyn James, and Lou Stone describe in chapter 5. In this case, extinction is pursued via knowledge production and knowledge erasure as well as by overt forms of disappearance: by the wiping of territories from maps along with Native nomenclature for those lands, by the noninvitation of Sinixt delegates to the relevant arbitrations over land claims, by the nonreference to Sinixt people in acknowledgements of First Nation lands, by the designation of Sinixt people as “nonresident aliens,” and by the ongoing cultural resonance of the social Darwinist idea of peoples unsuited for survival. The authors insist on the noninnocence of academic, white, settler, and Indigenous discourses that strategically or uncritically perpetuate forms of presence and absence that are written into the maps we take for granted, the language we use, the forms of status we recognize, and the rituals of acknowledgement we endorse.

Against this background, the aesthetic, conceptual, and methodological strategies pursued in several chapters of this volume provide helpful orientations for critical inquiry. In their intervention, Leslie Gross-Wyrtzen and Heather Parrish argue for an interdisciplinary method built on both recognition and critique of the political, material, and epistemological “lines that cross us.” Their contribution reflects on the process through which a collaborative artwork emerged, with each installation of the piece representing a unique “cutting together-apart”10 of the intersecting borders—disciplinary, institutional, colonial, and more—through which borders themselves are accorded particular ontologies. The piece assembled for the conference consisted of strikingly ethereal paper columns of colour and light drawn from the material stuff of borders yet suggestive of other permutations and reconfigured possibilities. The paper columns were cut apart literally even as they formed a moving whole, fluttering intermittently as they caught drafts of air in the gallery space. The piece prompted reflection on the seduction and appeal of what is also violent and divisive, the parallel presence of generative and destructive forces in lines that are drawn in different ways, with different effects on and in particular bodies and places.

The process described by Gross-Wyrtzen and Parrish—incorporating modes of exploration, conversation, and invitation—is an attempt to open up the range of reactions and perspectives entailed in generating knowledge about borders. By contrast, the methodological commitments described in chapter 1 by Ramón Resendiz and Rosalva Resendiz in the production of their documentary film El Muro | The Wall centre the experiences and the perspectives of Indigenous activists who struggled for acknowledgement in negotiations over compensation for title holders whose lands were slated for intersection by the US-Mexico border wall. Drawing a hard line between colonizer and colonized, Resendiz and Resendiz chose from the outset of their process to refuse “any face time” to any “agent aligned with or sympathetic to the colonial/imperial goals of [Customs and Border Patrol] or the [US Department of Homeland Security]” and to give a platform only to those whom their main protagonist vetted as allies to the cause of Indigenous land rights. While I am sympathetic to this margin-to-centre approach and recognize its value in the “redress [of] asymmetric colonial injustices,” I am less convinced by wholesale distinctions between those on one side of border justice and those on the other, especially in a context in which those recruited to police the US-Mexico border as agents of government are frequently drawn from poor communities of colour policed by the very structures they are enticed to defend.11 More generally, I take seriously the concerns raised by Barkley, James, and Stone in relation to disputes between different First Nation peoples that while such disputes are conditioned by ongoing colonial injustices, identifying rightfulness in any scenario does not always map onto clear-cut lines between innocence and guilt.

If borders are messy, the impulse to engage them from nonbinary perspectives of interconnection and entanglement, whether in the queer or quantum terms that Murphy explores in his chapter, does not in and of itself signal a move in decolonizing directions. Fuzzy borderlines that ebb and flow in response to strategic imperatives have long been deployed by states and empires, for instance, as part of uneven, exceptional, and imperial forms of rule. Treaties that established the principle of sovereignty among European powers also established ambiguous legal and spatial identities in the form of extraterritoriality.12 Today, states push their borders offshore, onto islands, and into the high seas in order to evade domestic and international laws that would challenge the containment and imprisonment of people on the move or people moved forcibly to the jurisdictions in question. These deliberately ambiguous carceral geographies turn refugees into illegal aliens and prisoners of war into enemy combatants with a legal sleight of hand.13 The kinds of quantum metaphors that Murphy pursues can provide a fresh and better grasp on the spatial and temporal disjunctures that exhibit certain kinds of continuity in border policing over time. Studies of this kind can help us understand how bordering technologies actually work, including for purposes of colonization, and how the rhetoric of borders as two clear sides of a fixed borderline is part of those technologies rather than a once-was reality under contemporary assault.

The urgency of finding creative ways to articulate and appreciate these spatial and temporal complexities has only been compounded in the time between our physical presence at the conference in Lethbridge and the publication of this volume in the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic. If the pandemic focused the attention of those slow to acknowledge all manner of global interdependencies, it also precipitated a defensive mobilization of national borders, both materially and symbolically, almost as a reflex response. The pandemic revealed the relative absence of alternative space-time registers through which to respond to contagion in ways that do not simply assume the legitimacy and inevitability of prevailing borders and exceptional powers as well as their ability to preserve what remains a fantasy of impermeability. The uneven distribution of deaths, infections, and economic fallout generated by the pandemic also brought into stark relief another kind of border, or global colour line, no less pervasive than the national borders across and within which it functions but much less frequently called upon as a cartographic reference point from which to perceive other enduring and morphing forms of (racist) contagion.14 As much as borders morph in form, they also stay stuck on enduring cuts of difference hiding in plain sight. The global and local configurations of those cuts and their attachments to specific combinations of nationalism, authoritarianism, neoliberalism, colonialism, patriarchy, and capitalism are the borders we face today. Whether and how we move through them depends on who and where we are; whether and how we transform them remains to be seen. The theory and practices required to do so, from freedom of movement to survival, demand our attention in the meantime.

Acknowledgements

I thank the editors and contributors to this volume for inviting me to be part of a collective and unsettling undertaking to think in new ways about the lines that cross us and to learn with and from one another.

Notes

  1. 1. Rachelle Chadwick, “On the Politics of Discomfort,” 559; see also Sara Ahmed, Living a Feminist Life, 123.

  2. 2. Victoria Grieves, “The Seven Pillars of Aboriginal Exception to the Australian State: Camps, Refugees, Biopolitics and the Northern Territory Emergency Response (NTER).”

  3. 3. Jesse Jackson in John M. Broder, “Amid Criticism of Federal Efforts, Charges of Racism Are Lodged.”

  4. 4. Aileen Moreton-Robinson, The White Possessive: Property, Power, and Indigenous Sovereignty.

  5. 5. Daniel Ghezelbash, Refuge Lost: Asylum Law in an Interdependent World; Martina Tazzioli, “Crimes of Solidarity: Migration and Containment through Rescue,” 4–10.

  6. 6. Stephan Scheel, Autonomy of Migration? Appropriation of Mobility within Biometric Border Regimes, 218.

  7. 7. Behrouz Boochani, No Friend but the Mountains: Writing from Manus Prison.

  8. 8. Sandro Mezzadra, “Proliferating Borders in the Battlefield of Migration: Rethinking Freedom of Movement.”

  9. 9. Ulrike Krause, “Colonial Roots of the 1951 Refugee Convention and Its Effects on the Global Refugee Regime”; Lucy Mayblin, Asylum After Empire: Colonial Legacies in the Politics of Seeking Asylum.

  10. 10. Karen Barad, “Diffracting Diffraction: Cutting Together-Apart,” 168–87.

  11. 11. David Cortez, “Latinxs in La Migra: Why They Join and Why It Matters.”

  12. 12. John Gerard Ruggie, “Territoriality and Beyond: Problematizing Modernity in International Relations,” 139–74.

  13. 13. Deirdre Conlon and Nancy Hiemstra, “Mobility and Materialization of the Carceral: Examining Immigration and Immigration Detention,” 100–114; Ruth Wilson Gilmore, “Abolition Geography and the Problem of Innocence,” 223–40; Alison Mountz, “The Enforcement Archipelago: Detention, Haunting, and Asylum on Islands,” 118–28.

  14. 14. Though see Marilyn Lake and Henry Reynolds, Drawing the Global Colour Line: White Men’s Countries and the International Challenge of Racial Equality.

Bibliography

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  2. Azoulay, Ariella Aïsha. Potential History: Unlearning Imperialism. London: Verso, 2019.
  3. Barad, Karen. “Diffracting Diffraction: Cutting Together-Apart.” Parallax 20, no. 3 (2004): 168–87.
  4. Boochani, Behrouz. No Friend but the Mountains: Writing from Manus Prison. Sydney: Pan Macmillan Australia, 2018.
  5. Broder, John M. “Amid Criticism of Federal Efforts, Charges of Racism Are Lodged.” New York Times, September 5, 2005. https://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/05/us/nationalspecial/amid-criticism-of-federal-efforts-charges-of-racism-are.html. Accessed 13 Mar 2019.
  6. Chadwick, Rachelle. “On the Politics of Discomfort.” Feminist Theory 22, no. 4 (2021): 556–74.
  7. Conlon, Deirdre, and Nancy Hiemstra. “Mobility and Materialization of the Carceral: Examining Immigration and Immigration Detention.” In Carceral Mobilities: Interrogating Movement in Incarceration, edited by J. Turner and K. Peters, 100–114. London: Routledge, 2017.
  8. Cortez, David. “Latinxs in La Migra: Why They Join and Why It Matters.” Political Research Quarterly 74, no. 3 (2020): 688–702.
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  10. Gilmore, Ruth Wilson. “Abolition Geography and the Problem of Innocence.” In Futures of Black Radicalism, edited by G. T. Johnson and A. Lubin, 223–40. London: Verso, 2017.
  11. Grieves, Victoria. “The Seven Pillars of Aboriginal Exception to the Australian State: Camps, Refugees, Biopolitics and the Northern Territory Emergency Response (NTER).” In “And There’ll Be No Dancing”: Perspectives on Policies Impacting Indigenous Australia since 2007, edited by E. Baehr and B. Schidt-Haberkamp, 87–109. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2017.
  12. Krause, Ulrike. “Colonial Roots of the 1951 Refugee Convention and Its Effects on the Global Refugee Regime.” Journal of International Relations and Development 24, no. 3 (2021): 599–626.
  13. Lake, Marilyn, and Henry Reynolds. Drawing the Global Colour Line: White Men’s Countries and the International Challenge of Racial Equality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008.
  14. Mayblin, Lucy. Asylum After Empire: Colonial Legacies in the Politics of Seeking Asylum. London: Rowman and Littlefield, 2017.
  15. Mezzadra, Sandro. “Proliferating Borders in the Battlefield of Migration: Rethinking Freedom of Movement.” In Liquid Borders: Migration as Resistance, edited by M. Moraña, 17–26. New York: Routledge, 2021.
  16. Moreton-Robinson, Aileen. The White Possessive: Property, Power, and Indigenous Sovereignty. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2015.
  17. Mountz, Alison. “The Enforcement Archipelago: Detention, Haunting, and Asylum on Islands.” Political Geography 30 (2011): 118–28.
  18. Ruggie, John Gerard. “Territoriality and Beyond: Problematizing Modernity in International Relations.” International Organization 47, no. 1 (1993): 139–74.
  19. Scheel, Stephan. Autonomy of Migration? Appropriation of Mobility within Biometric Border Regimes. London: Routledge, 2019.
  20. Stoler, Ann Laura. Duress: Imperial Durabilities in Our Times. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016.
  21. Tazzioli, Martina. “Crimes of Solidarity: Migration and Containment through Rescue.” Radical Philosophy 2, no. 1 (2018): 4–10.
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