Despite declining immigration figures, consistent signs of successful “integration”, and an economic demand for labour migrants, migration continues to monopolise the Dutch political debate. Where does this obsession come from? And what would it take to finally overcome it?

In 2023, Dutch migration scholar Hein de Haas published How migration really works, which debunks common myths about the subject. The book quickly became a bestseller, but its success did not seem to have any effect on Dutch politics.

In July that year, the coalition government led by Mark Rutte collapsed because of disagreements over asylum policies. Two years later, his successor, Dick Schoof, saw his coalition fall too, after the far-right Party for Freedom (PVV) withdrew from the government. The reason? The coalition partners had failed to back the PVV’s policies aimed at cracking down on asylum. This was despite the fact that the Netherlands’ migration discourse has significantly shifted to the right in recent years.

Migration facts and figures show that there is little new or unusual going on to justify this attention. The Netherlands has been a country of immigration and emigration throughout its history. The arrival of asylum seekers is not a recent phenomenon, and dealing with diversity, including religious diversity, is an essential part of Dutch national identity. Moreover, the Dutch economy needs migration, and the integration process, as official reports show year after year, is progressing smoothly. And compared to other European countries, the Netherlands is average rather than a frontrunner when it comes to immigration or to asylum migration in particular. The percentage of first asylum applications in the Netherlands was about 0.18 per cent of the total population in 2024, compared to 0.66 per cent in Greece, and about 0.28 per cent in Germany and Belgium.

What is the obsession with migration really about, then? And where does it come from? 

The Dutch migration debate is about so much more than just migration. It reveals how society, politics, the media, and the scientific community are grappling with the rapid changes and increasing societal complexity associated with globalisation. In 2024, Prime Minister Schoof argued that there was a need for tougher migration policies because “Dutch people experience a crisis.” The perception of crisis – and the persistent use of crisis language – demonstrates that something is indeed wrong in society. This also manifests itself in “moral panic”, where migration is seen as the cause of a decline in norms and values, Dutch identity, and much more. This panic feeds narratives blaming migration for virtually every problem society experiences: asylum seekers cause the housing crisis, international students undermine the education system, and migrants are primarily responsible for security issues

Rather than being dismissed as simply irrational, this sensation of crisis should be the starting point for understanding the Dutch migration obsession.

Rather than being dismissed as simply irrational, the sensation of crisis should be the starting point for understanding the Dutch migration obsession.

A shift in political culture

Migration is often a polarising issue, and the Netherlands is no exception in this regard. In the Dutch case, however, migration is the core issue of contestation around which national political culture has changed radically. From a consensus-driven culture of pacification – the “consociationalism” theorised by Dutch political scientist Arend Lijphart – the country shifted to a culture of confrontation and “hyper-realism”, where the ability to identify and “label” problems is considered essential.

Migration was already on the political agenda long before this shift took place. But there was broad consensus on the policies to adopt, and a clear understanding that knowledge and expertise should play a central role in designing them.

This started to change with the rise of academic and businessman Pim Fortuyn in Dutch politics between 2000 and 2002. By connecting uncertainty and discontent in society with migration, multiculturalism, and Islam, Fortuyn triggered a new political logic that has only intensified since then. Although he was assassinated in 2002 and his party imploded soon after, the kind of populism Fortuyn introduced to Dutch politics was there to stay, as demonstrated by Geert Wilders’ far-right Party for Freedom (founded in 2006) and Thierry Baudet’s even more extreme Forum for Democracy (established in 2015).

Unlike in other European countries, centrist political forces never implemented a cordon sanitaire against the far right: the Pim Fortuyn List was part of a coalition government between 2002 and 2003, and the Party for Freedom provided external support to a minority government between 2010 and 2012. After a decade in opposition, Wilders’ party became the largest force in parliament and the main player in the Schoof government.

While these parties played a major role in shifting the discourse around migration, their power should not be overestimated. Their strength is, at least in part, due to the weakness of mainstream parties. None of the established political forces had a clear narrative on migration, allowing insecurities about social change to be diverted onto multiculturalism. The social-democratic and green party GroenLinks/PvdA was caught in a “progressive dilemma” between solidarity with migrants and the protection of the Dutch working classes and the welfare state; the liberal VVD was split between (primarily economically driven) liberals and (more culturally driven) conservatives; and the Christian-democratic CDA couldn’t reconcile its championing of religious diversity in general with concerns for the rise of Islam.

These ambivalent attitudes left room for right-wing populist parties to shape public narratives on migration. Even now, parties of the political centre haven’t figured out how and to what extent they should speak up against the highly provocative statements of Wilders and his party. However, the last decades have shown that not countering populist voices doesn’t help to overcome the migration obsession. On the contrary, it has enabled populist parties to focus the political attention entirely on migration and shape the Dutch public mood accordingly.

Migranticising problems

The migration obsession isn’t a product of party politics alone. Migration has become the catalyst of a broader discontent with globalisation.

The Dutch economy is very globally oriented. Its companies attract labour migrants, including “knowledge migrants”, but they also affect the countries of origin of many migrants through their impact on global inequalities, climate change, culture, and politics. Economic globalisation is therefore a major driver of social change. However, when discussing issues connected to housing, education, climate, and culture, migration is often framed as a cause rather than a consequence.

Migration has become the catalyst of a broader discontent with globalisation.

The housing crisis is a prime example of this “migranticisation”. The Netherlands has a vast housing shortage of approximately 400,000 homes, of which only a small fraction (about 50,000) would be needed for settling refugees. Yet the public debate consistently blames this shortage on asylum seekers rather than on the country’s neoliberal housing policies.

Similarly, knowledge workers and other labour migrants are held responsible for “stealing” jobs, while a broader debate is missing on how and why the Dutch economy has a structural demand for labour migration. The Dutch desire to have a strong, globally competitive economy is not accompanied by an honest conversation on the amount of migration that this economy needs. In this sense, the migration obsession is a form of “redirected behaviour” – the venting of frustration about one problem on another.

The role of statistics

This dynamic is also fuelled by how being a “migrant” (even a “second-generation migrant”, who has never migrated) or going through a process of “integration” tends to be objectified by government-compiled statistics. Few countries collect as extensive ethnic data and migration statistics as the Netherlands. For each migrant group, Statistics Netherlands (CBS) and the Netherlands Institute for Social Research (SCP) collect information on everything from influx to labour force participation and crime rate.

This information, like any type of data, contributes to identifying differences, whether negative or positive. The availability of this data enables a media logic that tends to focus on bad rather than good news. For example, crime rates will find more space in media discourse than labour market participation and contribution to the economy.

Furthermore, the media’s use of this data tends to ignore that socio-economic variables matter much more to successful “integration” than ethnic background and nationality. For example, the Netherlands Scientific Council for Government Policy showed that the crime rate among asylum seekers was actually lower than the national average when their demographic profile (age, gender) and socio-economic profile (education, language, income) were taken into account.

Yet the Netherlands has a long political and media tradition of shaping policies and public discourses on nationality and ethnicity data. While this approach can be driven by a desire for informed and evidence-based debate, it has contributed to fuelling the migration obsession.

The media effect

Aside from its use of ethnicity statistics, the media feeds the obsession in ways that are not unique to the Dutch context. Like other countries, the Netherlands has experienced over the past decades a diversification and commercialisation of its media landscape, with different channels having to fiercely compete for attention. The rise of social media has also played into the politics of attention and created echo-chambers, undermining the “control function” of media in a democratic context. As a result, the (online) media have replaced parliament as the main arena of political debate. Geert Wilders’ savvy use of X is just one example of this.

Migration perfectly suits the dynamics of the attention economy. To elicit emotions and reactions, media coverage on migration employs a combination of dramatic crisis language, exciting stories about what is wrong with current policy and what could still go wrong, stories about authorities’ failures to control flows, and reports on incidents that are blown out of proportion or “migranticised”. Social media then adds a tunnel or echo effect, whereby people’s suspicions and feelings are repeatedly reinforced.

The migration obsession thrives on the interplay between media and politics. Politics seeks to “name” a sense of crisis surrounding migration, the media shapes this feeling, and social discontent grows as a result. Readers of leading conservative newspapers like De Telegraaf and those who spend a lot of time on social media are constantly bombarded with highly “migranticised” news coverage, actively amplified by politicians. In this context, it is hardly surprising that citizens become concerned with migration.

Finally, the migration debate in the Netherlands is largely about migrants rather than with them. The lack of a counterpoint distinguishes the discussion on migration from that on other policy areas, such as farming and agriculture, where opposing perspectives are regularly granted space and attention. This means that the migration obsession can go unchecked; it can roam freely.

The poison and the cure

The migration obsession has very real effects on Dutch society. It contributes significantly to the alienation of a growing part of the population – especially people with a migration background. A 2024 study from the Social and Cultural Planning Office found signs of growing apathy amongst part of the population, triggered by the exclusionist tendencies of the debate on migration.

But there are broader consequences too. The obsession undermines the quality of policy and policymaking in the area of migration and diversity. The constant pressure, politicisation, and migranticisation create an imbalance between inflating problems on the one hand and the inability to come up with workable solutions on the other. This is manifest in the area of asylum in particular, where chaos is not a product of unmanageable migration flow but rather of bad policies, underresourcing, and suspicion towards implementing agencies. There is no asylum crisis but an asylum chaos: solving it demands better, not stricter policy.

There is no asylum crisis but an asylum chaos: solving it demands better, not stricter policy.

Inflating migration issues as a strategy of distraction also harms trust in government and democratic institutions. Today, only four per cent of Dutch citizens declare that they trust the government. The politics of fear around migration, as well as unmet expectations that the government would be able to “fix” migration and integration, has contributed to declining trust levels. In this sense, the migration obsession is a key element of a vicious circle that undermines democracy.

Overcoming the migration obsession demands more than just hope that populist and radical-right parties are voted out of power. It requires that all political parties tell a clear and honest story about migration, and why the Netherlands needs so much of it. Rather than obsessing over migration as a symptom, this story should focus on its structural roots, and open a debate on the model and direction of the Dutch economy.

Greater sensitivity and reflexivity on the part of the media are also needed to deconstruct how “migration language” is used and broader problems are “migranticised”. This does not mean there should be no debate on migration, but rather proves that we need a discourse of better quality, with much greater precision and honesty. The general public also has a responsibility to demand and foster a healthier discussion. Blaming it all on the populists is way too easy.

Whether it is politicians claiming that migration disrupts the pristine order of societies or countries being locked in a relentless race for resources, neoliberal-style competition has been the defining characteristic of human societies for many years. But in reality, cooperation and synergy are just as important for the well-being of our planet and its species – including us.

In the novel The Wall (Die Wand) by Austrian writer Marlen Haushofer, a woman discovers that she is cut off from the outside world by an invisible barrier. With no humans around and only a dog, a cow, and a cat as companions, she must survive in the mountains. Soon, time and individuality begin to dissolve and an acquiescence to the unrelenting rhythm of the seasons emerges. Interdependence becomes the key to survival.

This quiet but powerful narrative offers a stark contrast to the dominant view of nature shaped by the idea of “survival of the fittest”, the famous phrase Charles Darwin borrowed from philosopher Herbert Spencer. Though intended to describe how natural selection works, it has long since been hijacked as a cultural narrative, turning into a justification for ruthless competition and the primacy of individual success. Under neoliberalism, it has become the modus operandi of entire societies: markets reward the strong, and dependence is a sign of weakness. Far-right movements weaponise this logic and take it to its extreme, adding in cultural and racial anxieties to argue that men and women have fixed roles, sexuality exists only for reproduction, migration pollutes “pure” national and racial identities, and hierarchy and exclusion are simply part of nature’s design.

Yet biology itself offers a more nuanced and expansive picture. Competition does exist, but nature equally encompasses cooperation, interdependence, and adaptability.    

The evolutionary logic of cooperation

Other scientists offered perspectives on evolution that are radically different from Darwin’s. In his Gaia hypothesis, for example, English chemist and medical researcher James Lovelock views the Earth as a living system sustained through the synergism of plants, bacteria, animals, and atmospheric conditions.

American evolutionary biologist Lynn Margulis, who co-developed the Gaia hypothesis, laid the foundations for a broader understanding of evolution with her theory of symbiosis. Where neo-Darwinism primarily explained life through struggle and chance, Margulis added a missing element: cooperation. In her view, complex life arose not solely through elimination, but also fusion. Bacteria that once lived independently developed to live inside one another.

One of Margulis’s most groundbreaking scientific contributions was her theory that mitochondria, the “batteries” in our cells, were once independent bacteria. These microorganisms were absorbed by larger cells which, instead of breaking them down, integrated them. Similarly, chloroplasts, the site of photosynthesis in plants, originated from the absorption of cyanobacteria. These symbiotic partnerships form the basis of all complex life as we know it.

Another scientist whose research on primate behaviour challenges the competition-centred narrative is the Dutch-American ethologist Frans de Waal. In Chimpanzee Politics (1982), de Waal showed that among apes, power is maintained through coalitions, strategic alliances, and the exchange of social favours rather than sheer physical strength. In Good Natured (1996), he examined behaviours often seen as moral, such as consolation, reconciliation, and care for others, interpreting them as evolutionarily advantageous rather than purely cultural achievements. Groups built on cooperation, he found, thrive far more effectively than those ruled solely by dominance.

Sexuality and gender: A dazzling diversity

In nature, life thrives as a result of variation, including when it comes to sexual and gender expression. Yet, particularly within these realms, the natural world is often invoked in defence of “traditional” roles. Heterosexuality is claimed to be the norm of sexual relationships, and anything that deviates from it is depicted as unnatural, or even perverse and harmful. In debates around LGBTQIA+ rights, a supposed natural order is conjured that never existed in biological reality.

Nature displays an extraordinary variety of sexual behaviours that are not always linked to procreation. According to Frans de Waal, bonobos use sex to reduce tension and to restore or strengthen social bonds. In his book Biological Exuberance (1999), Canadian biologist Bruce Bagemihl points to the wealth of sexual techniques and motivations found in nature: flirting, cuddling, group dynamics, and even what humans describe as “extravagance” (though that often says more about our interpretations than the behaviour itself). For many species, sexuality is a means of strengthening social bonds, easing tensions, and fostering group cohesion rather than exercising only a reproductive function.

Among black swans, homosexual behaviour appears to offer an evolutionary advantage: homosexual pairs succeed in raising the young in 80 per cent of cases, compared with only 30 per cent of heterosexual pairs. Female Japanese macaques engage in sexual behaviour with other females, strengthening social ties within the group. Where female connections are stronger, there is often more cooperation in raising the young, which in turn increases the group’s chances of survival. In some bird species, joint parenting occurs in trios, such as two males and one female sharing the incubation and care of the chick. While these arrangements often arise from strategic cooperation rather than sexual orientation as such, they show that various social configurations exist in nature and contribute to group success.

A socially connected group counteracts exclusion and fragmentation. Sustaining relationships, care, and community is just as natural as reproduction.    

Sexuality thus fulfils a deeply social role which is just as natural as reproduction. But sexual and gender diversity also hold value in themselves, regardless of whether they serve a purpose. Nature offers numerous examples of animals that do not fit neatly into a single gender category. For instance, all clownfish are born male; only when the dominant female disappears does the largest male change into a female and take the lead. With parrotfish it works the other way around: they are born female, and as they mature, they go through various stages in which they change colour and sex. Wrasses, too, undergo sex changes – diversity simply exists.

Bagemihl underscores a simple truth: cooperation is conducive to life. Diverse relationships do not weaken social cohesion,  they enhance it. Therefore, the restrictive concept of a single “natural” form of relationship must be replaced by a broader, more inclusive vision. Emphasis on interdependence is critical, particularly amid growing societal polarisation. A socially connected group counteracts exclusion and fragmentation. Sustaining relationships, care, and community is just as natural as reproduction.    

The geography of migration

Just as gender and sexual diversity, migration is not an anomaly: we exist because of it. Migration is a social and ecological process that emerges when people are compelled by circumstance or drawn by the hope of a better life. As climate change and political upheaval render parts of the world uninhabitable, movement becomes inevitable. Like other species, humans migrate in response to shifting conditions. But while movement itself is a natural part of life on Earth, the forces driving much of today’s displacement are not. Anthropogenic climate change and the socio-economic and environmental injustices at its core are human-made. They are the product of political decisions, global inequality, and extractive systems that continue to shape who gets to move and under what conditions.

Among non-human animals, migration is an evolutionary mechanism that plays a crucial role in maintaining resilience. Migratory birds and salmon, for example, spread their genes over large distances, which raises their species’ chances of survival and strengthens ecosystems. Another example is the northward migration of cod due to the warming of the northern hemisphere. The copepod, a crucial food source for young cod, has moved more than a thousand kilometres north, prompting cod populations to follow.

The idea that a culture disappears the moment it merges with another is just as artificial as the notion that biodiversity decreases when species spread.

Not all species are as mobile. Coral reefs are disappearing, snow leopards are losing their habitats and polar bears are coming ever closer to human settlements in search of food. In nature, migration often emerges as the sole path to survival. This is true for a lot of human migration as well, but while animals migrate without moral judgment, humans who move across borders are frequently viewed as threats. Human migration becomes politicised, framed as a problem and restricted by law. This mobility is rarely recognised as an ecological response and more often presented as a threat – as the breakdown of borders, the loss of national identity, and a failure of control. Nature is then invoked as an argument against change. Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán, for instance, claimed that migration disrupts European civilisation because it is not in Europe’s nature to be multicultural. This is a conflation of biology and culture which, as we know from the past, can lead down a very dark path.

But nature knows no national borders, let alone pure origins. What is presented as original is usually nothing more than a snapshot in an endless process of mixing, movement and transformation. The idea that a culture disappears the moment it merges with another is just as artificial as the notion that biodiversity decreases when species spread.

Finding new balance

In the 1980s, James Lovelock introduced Daisyworld, a thought experiment in the form of an imaginary planet. Black and white daisies influence this planet’s climate, with the former absorbing heat and the latter reflecting it. As the sun grows warmer, the flowers respond by shifting their distribution in line with the changing temperature, in turn altering the climate. A dynamic balance emerges through feedback, as the interaction between the two types of daisies regulates the environment. This mechanism helps maintain overall planetary stability in the face of change.

Adopting a similar outlook towards migration can lead to a better balance between different communities. The Swedish municipality of Sjöbo recently started experimenting with a programme in which newcomers were paired with local mentors to help them settle into their new lives. This is how Syrian refugee Lana Alnajjar came into contact with Minette Månsson, a single mother from the region. What began as practical support grew into mutual involvement and a friendship that benefited both families. Minette, with experience of motherhood in Sweden, supported Lana during her pregnancy, for example, with language and in navigating local institutions. The programme was eventually embraced as a permanent policy.

Without such support, people remain trapped in vulnerable positions; for instance, in homes that are too small or in temporary jobs without rights. In schools where language education is treated as a secondary priority, children of immigrants face many difficulties and are socially excluded. This is precisely why it is necessary to strengthen local communities in their capacity to accommodate newcomers. From providing inclusive language education and decentralised reception to fostering an urban sense of belonging that is independent of nationality, governments should prioritise global citizenship.

Approaching migration from this perspective means acknowledging that newcomers are to become part of the social fabric. There is a call for policies based on shared ownership of the spaces we inhabit together. Just as the daisies in Daisyworld regulate their environment through dynamic feedback, human societies can find stability not in stasis but in ongoing change and mutual adaptation. Cultures mix, grow, fade and reemerge in new forms, and it is in this movement that social balance can be nurtured.

As human beings, we are capable of adapting, but our mental elasticity is limited. When change is postponed and accumulated, we become unsettled. Fear of loss (of place, possessions, or certainty) runs deep, often reinforced by capitalist ideals that reward ownership and intensify that fear. This is why a discourse of nostalgia for an idealised past appeals to so many voters. The “tradwife” movement is just one example: a fantasy of safety from a past that is simply not true. The task of progressive politics is to turn the inevitability of change into something people can accept and embrace.

Cultures mix, grow, fade and reemerge in new forms, and it is in this movement that social balance can be nurtured.

Redefining self-interest

Of all animal species, humans are the only ones who treat raw materials as possessions. In our globalised economy, a tree gains value once it is cut down and processed into planks rather than when it provides oxygen or shelters birds and insects. This economy reflects our uniquely human capacity to assign abstract value and ownership.

Other animals mark territory, gather objects or attain privileges within their social hierarchy. But abstract ownership as it exists in the human economy? No. What Arthur Schopenhauer called representation, we have turned into economy: a mental construction we have mistaken for reality. According to the German philosopher, the world appears to us as an image, shaped by our senses and conceptual frameworks. Ownership works the same way. We treat land, air, water, and even life itself (the expression “meat production” says it all) as if they can belong to someone.    

No other species claims natural resources, let alone trades or sells them. Still, we cling to the ideal of the autonomous individual whose freedom is defined as their independence. Capitalist systems assume that people act in their own self-interest. But as Robin Wall Kimmerer, a botanist and a professor at the State University of New York, asks: What exactly is the “self”? In her book The Serviceberry (2024), she writes that if you acknowledge that your body, breath, food, and land are inseparably tied to the world around you, self-interest takes on an entirely different meaning.

Russian-American writer Ayn Rand celebrated the belief in radical self-interest and independence as an ideal. In her view, concern for others was subordinate to autonomy, empathy a sentiment to be avoided, and dependence something to be minimised. But Arthur Schopenhauer thought differently, regarding compassion as the very core of moral behaviour. What Rand saw as strength or independence, Schopenhauer viewed as an illusion. Where Rand glorified the autonomous individual, Schopenhauer emphasised that the distinction between self and other is nowhere near as sharp as we think.

Wall Kimmerer envisions a more relational economy in which humans are aligned with nature’s interests, and where a deep care for plants, animals, air, soil, and water is understood to nurture us in turn. If compassion becomes the foundation of our economy, what, how, and for whom we produce will stem from an understanding of interdependence, not a misguided sense of autonomy.

This kind of economy may seem abstract at first glance, yet it’s already finding expression in concrete policy across Europe. In France, clothing repairs are subsidised; the Swedish government has reduced VAT on repair work, and a number of German villages are investing collectively in solar energy. In the Netherlands, a citizens’ cooperative is buying farmland to protect biodiversity, while Finland has experimented with a basic universal income. To the west, Portugal has enshrined the right to rest. In Germany, Switzerland, and the Netherlands, waste is seen as a resource: phosphates are now being extracted from sewage sludge and reused. Public spaces are being redesigned for social encounters rather than mere flow.

The circular economy is also a clear reflection of intelligent production, use, and re-use, as well as proper waste disposal. According to the principle of extended producer responsibility, whoever makes something is also responsible for what happens to it. The idea is simple: if sustainable choices are cheaper than polluting ones, people will adjust. However, the outcome is uneven in practice. Companies often keep any cost savings and wealthier households benefit the most. Governments also struggle with how to define what counts as sustainable. For instance, when the UK sought to reduce VAT on energy-saving materials, the European Court of Justice overruled the measure for being too broad. The road to a relational economy demands more than ideals. It requires political clarity and determination.

Political scientist Sabine Nuss argues that real change needs a different distribution of power and ownership. She calls this “economic democracy”: workers gain more influence, public conditions are attached to companies that receive tax money, and collective control must be exerted over what is of collective importance. Market logic, she says, is not neutral but the result of years of deregulation. Without the collective approach, the circular economy remains a facade. Citizens keep paying, employers suppress wages for their own benefit, and workers get temporary, insecure contracts. At the same time, profits are kept private while the risks affect the public. According to Nuss, economic democracy is essential to safeguarding justice, and a failure to redistribute ownership leads to rising inequality and a growing risk of social disruption.

Interconnected life    

Ideas like posthumanism, the Anthropocene, ecocentric thinking, and the Symbiocene have come to shape contemporary thought. What they share is the insight that humanity is part of an interconnected web of life. From this perspective, collaboration with the Earth is not an idealistic goal but a necessity for survival.

The natural world is relational, and so are we. This awareness needs to be translated into politics. If Europe is serious about creating a liveable future, compassion and connectedness must become the pillars of public policy. Compassion is not an optional extra or a weakness; it is a form of intelligence that helps us survive as a species. That is the story we should be telling.        

The meandering ribbon of the Bug River passes through Poland, Ukraine, and Belarus, following stretches of one of the most controlled borders of Europe. The river, known for its unique ecosystem, is the site of growing political tension and a worsening humanitarian crisis. Once a symbol of coexistence between nature and human civilisation, the Bug is now a political battlefield, flanked by heavy barriers and fallen trees.

The Bug River forms a natural border between Poland and parts of northwestern Ukraine and southern Belarus. It is a lifeline for ecosystems, but is now caught in the crossfire of politics and security. In a bid to strengthen its eastern frontier, in September 2024, Poland started work on a 172 km-long electronic surveillance barrier near the border with Belarus that follows the course of the river. While the barrier is framed as a matter of national security, its construction has led to large-scale deforestation. Surveillance poles equipped with motion sensors and cameras now dot the landscape. Once a seamless ecological corridor, the banks of the Bug River now mark a dividing line. 

The 2021 migration crisis deepened the rift between Belarus and Poland, effectively ending their joint environmental efforts. Since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine and Belarus’s role as a co-aggressor, any remaining cooperation on ecological protection along the Bug River has ground to a halt. 

The result? A stark rise in deforestation, pollution, and disruption of animal migration routes. The increasing militarisation of the border leaves scars on the landscape that may be difficult – or even impossible – to heal. Without renewed dialogue and cross-border conservation initiatives, the Bug’s fragile biodiversity could soon be irreparably damaged. 

A lifeline of Eastern Europe 

Stretching almost 800 kilometres across Ukraine, Belarus, and Poland, the Bug River is one of Eastern Europe’s most significant transboundary waterways. It originates in western Ukraine, near the village of Verkhobuzh in the Podolian Upland, and winds through the lowlands of Brest and the Pribugh Plain. In Poland, it joins the Narew River and eventually feeds into the Vistula, whose waters reach the Baltic Sea. 

The river’s course is geopolitically meaningful: nearly half its length runs through Poland, while about 20 per cent flows through Belarus. Ukraine accounts for over a quarter of the river’s drainage basin. But beyond geography, the Bug holds a more profound historical significance – it has served as a political boundary for more than half a century. 

After World War II, the Bug River became part of Poland’s eastern border, separating it from the Ukrainian and Belarusian Soviet republics. Today, it marks not only national borders but also the frontiers of the European Union and the Schengen Area. 

When the Belarusian government began weaponising migration in response to EU sanctions, Poland declared a state of emergency in its border regions. 

Ecologically, the Bug is one of Europe’s last remaining wild rivers – a rare, unregulated waterway that still flows in a largely natural state. It forms a vital ecological corridor, supporting a rich mosaic of habitats for fish, birds, amphibians, and aquatic plants. Its largely untouched banks provide critical resources for local communities and serve as natural filters, purifying water and maintaining regional biodiversity. The Bug River Valley encompasses several protected areas, including Natura 2000 sites, highlighting its natural importance. 

However, the lack of cross-border cooperation on environmental protection between Poland and Belarus and increasing border militarisation has led to logging, pollution, and the disruption of animal migration patterns. 

Threats of border militarisation 

Over the years, activity along the border has left a mark on the local ecosystem. While the level of patrol and surveillance has fluctuated with the political climate, at times easing to allow for cross-border cooperation, including on ecological initiatives, the past four years have seen a steady worsening in conditions. The rate of environmental damage has escalated since 2021, while the humanitarian crisis has deepened.  

When the Belarusian government began weaponising migration in response to EU sanctions, directing people from countries in the Middle East, Asia, and Africa towards the EU with false promises of easy access, Poland declared a state of emergency in its border regions. 

That same year, a barbed wire barrier was installed along the border, including across the riverbanks. The impact was immediate and devastating: many animals became fatally entangled in the concertina wire while migrating or seeking water. The injuries were often gruesome; deep lacerations caused immense suffering. Although the wire began to be dismantled in late 2024, its environmental cost remains, with leftover fragments continuing to harm wildlife. 

Now, a new phase of border surveillance infrastructure building is underway. Plans include the installation of approximately 1,800 camera poles, 4,500 day-night and thermal cameras, and various sensors to detect physical movement. The project also involves laying 200 kilometres of power and data transmission cables and constructing the foundations for around ten telecommunication containers. Thousands of trees have been felled along a 15-meter-wide strip on the Polish side of the river, including in the ecologically valuable Podlasie Switzerland reserve, to make space. 

Poland’s border protection laws exempt such projects from environmental assessments. Although contractors are meant to consult Regional Environmental Protection Directorates, deforestation has already extended into sensitive natural areas, destroying habitats vital to many bird species. 

Professor Maciej Karpowicz, a hydrobiologist at the University of Białystok, emphasises that large-scale logging along the river can increase the risk of hydrological droughts, cause bank erosion, and destabilise the riverbed. Without trees to act as natural barriers, pollution levels in the Bug’s waters might rise, degrading water quality. Poland has among the fewest renewable freshwater resources in Europe. Water scarcity is a growing problem this year: the beginning of 2025 was exceptionally dry, with minimal snowfall in the mountains and critically low river levels. As of April, the outlook remains bleak: Poland’s National Geological Institute highlights low water conditions across 12 of the 16 voivodeships. 

Maciej Cmoch, ornithologist and author of a book on the Bug, notes that riparian forests are being lost due to logging next to the river. “Fortunately, the cut strip is relatively narrow but includes trees and shrubs growing beside the river,” Cmoch warns. “These are valuable habitats for many birds that now face loss of breeding, resting and lurking sites.”  

The situation causes suffering for other species. Izabela Kadłucka, biologist and president of the coalition of foundations Niech Żyją! (“Let Them Live!”), stresses the river’s role as an ecological corridor. “The Bug River allows species to migrate. With such extensive changes, migration will be seriously disrupted, first during construction and later as organisms struggle to adapt,” she says. “The river is also a crucial watering place and a shelter in extreme weather. Now, it is losing these functions. Aquatic organisms will suffer from rising water temperatures and the loss of shade.” 

Poland: stopping migration at all costs 

Despite the environmental and financial costs involved in securitising the border, the number of people attempting to cross the Bug is not high. According to an investigation published by Oko.Press in December 2024, the Polish Border Guard prevented 395 people from illegally crossing the Polish-Belarusian border along its river section last year – a relatively small number in the broader context of migration. As stated by the Podlaskie Voivodeship Branch of the Border Guard, in 2024, officers recorded nearly 30,000 attempts to cross the border between the two countries illegally. 

The Polish government’s priorities became clear in March 2025 when the parliament approved plans to temporarily suspend asylum applications in case of direct security threats. Humanitarian organisations have condemned the move. Grupa Granica, a solidarity network of humanitarian aid groups on the Polish-Belarusian border, states: “The statistics show that the Polish-Belarusian border is mainly crossed by people from countries gripped by conflicts and crises. Poland will cease to be the first safe country in the EU for them. Those seeking refuge in Europe, deprived of the opportunity to apply for international protection in Poland, will be pushed into the grey zone. Smugglers and human traffickers will benefit.” 

Despite the environmental and financial costs involved in securitising the border, the number of people attempting to cross the Bug is not high.

Polish and international NGOs insist that the right to seek asylum is a fundamental human right that must not be revoked, regardless of geopolitical pressures. While the European Union has urged Poland to respect human rights and ensure access to humanitarian organisations, the political rhetoric across Europe continues to harden. 

It was apparent in the lead-up to Germany’s federal election this February, and in the ongoing presidential campaign in Poland. Border protection and migration control have become dominant campaign themes. “Security” is the promise repeated most. Yet the human and environmental costs of these policies remain largely ignored. 

Belarus’ environmental information blackout 

While Poland prioritises border security over ecological concerns, Belarus has imposed strict information controls on environmental issues. After the 2020 protests related to the non-recognition of the presidential election results, authorities closed all NGOs, and many environmental activists were put behind bars. Around the same time, Belarus withdrew from the Aarhus Convention, which grants the public rights regarding access to information, participation, and justice in environmental matters. 

The available information on the pollution of the Bug River does not give a full picture of the scale of the environmental problem. The website of the Ministry of Natural Resources and Environmental Protection of the Republic of Belarus (Minprirody) publishes quarterly data on surface water monitoring. However, this information is presented in an inconvenient text format, which makes it difficult to identify clear trends and patterns. 

Before the Russian invasion of Ukraine started, Belarus, Poland and Ukraine cooperated on transboundary environmental protection. Experts exchanged water quality data, conducted joint monitoring, and shared expertise. Interaction took place not only between official state institutions, but also between NGOs and environmental activists. One such example is the Bug Unites Us project: the organisers proposed to create canoeing routes on the Bug River through Ukraine, Belarus and Poland. The project received financial support from the EU: 1.4 million euros were allocated for its implementation in 2014-2020 within the framework of the cross-border cooperation programme “Poland-Belarus-Ukraine”.  

Two places were identified between Poland, Belarus, and Ukraine where, during the tourist season, it would be possible to pass border controls and cross the river border on kayaks. However, due to the tense geopolitical situation, the international routes never got off the ground. Rafting is now only done within each country. 

Environmental activists from Poland, Belarus, and Ukraine have also joined forces to oppose the E40 waterway project: a more than 2000-kilometre shipping route along the Vistula, Pripyat and Dnieper rivers to connect the Baltic and Black Seas. They have repeatedly held protests against the plan’s implementation, with the activity peaking in 2018. Officials (both Polish, Ukrainian and Belarusian) were actively working on the E40’s development from 2016 to 2019. Activists argued however that it would have destroyed the unique nature of the Polesie region. A report by Save Polesia – a coalition of civil society organisations from Poland, Ukraine, Belarus, and Germany – reveals that the planned waterway would threaten nearly 200 internationally protected areas across the three countries, including several Natura 2000 sites. 

The suppression of environmental information in Belarus is directly linked to the government’s fear of protests.

As relations worsened between the three countries, the E40 project was eventually frozen, making it a rare example of how political tensions can serve to prevent further damage to ecological features.  

In any case, the involvement of activists from Belarus ceased after the government’s crackdown on NGOs following the 2020 protests. Reports are still being issued, but only by groups in Poland and Ukraine, which signed an agreement on border water management as early as 1996. The Polish-Ukrainian Boundary Waters Commission conducts monthly surveys on the Polish and Ukrainian sides. In recent years, the two countries have used different methodologies, which has made creating joint reports difficult. However, there is the prospect of facilitating better cooperation – Ukraine is now introducing water monitoring in accordance with the requirements of the EU Water Framework Directive. Additionally, in March 2025, the EU and Ukraine launched the EU4Green Recovery East programme, which, among other goals, supports the reduction of water pollution and better cross-border cooperation. 

The suppression of environmental information in Belarus is directly linked to the government’s fear of protests. In 2017, citizens opposed the construction of a battery factory near the Bug River, fearing high lead emissions. Despite protests, the plant began operations in 2020. Given past environmental scandals – including 8,000 tonnes of lead waste illegally dumped in the Zeleny Bor village – locals have little trust in government assurances about safety. 

Belarusian legislation theoretically protects the environment, but enforcement is weak. The available data on water pollution suggest serious contamination from nitrogen, phosphates, and heavy metals. However, authorities provide no details on pollution sources or specific locations, making independent analysis impossible. 

Another looming crisis is the state of Belarus’ wastewater treatment facilities. Many cities in the Bug basin still rely on Soviet-era equipment from the 1980s. These outdated systems no longer effectively filter pollutants. Prior to 2020, EU funding helped modernise wastewater treatment in some cities, such as Brest. But since sanctions halted cooperation, other cities, such as Kobrin, have been left with crumbling infrastructure. If wastewater treatment facilities fail, raw sewage could spill into the Bug, contaminating the Vistula, which is a tributary of the Baltic Sea. 

Can politics and nature coexist? 

While Belarus restricts environmental transparency and Poland prioritises border security, the Bug River silently bears the consequences. History has shown that political tensions push ecological concerns into the background, where they remain until the damage is beyond repair. The failure to cooperate on environmental protection and the militarisation of the border are leaving scars that will last for generations. Deforestation, pollution and habitat destruction are not temporary side effects but permanent losses that will shape the future of this region. As climate change accelerates and biodiversity dwindles, true security is not just about fortified borders, but also about safeguarding ecosystems. 

Elsewhere in the world, rivers like the Canadian Magpie and New Zealand’s Whanganui have been granted legal personhood, allowing them to fight for their right to exist and thrive. The Bug River, despite its ecological significance, has no such protection. It cannot speak for itself, especially when confronted with arguments of national security and political necessity. 

But as the political landscape surrounding the Bug River becomes increasingly fraught, the health of the Bug River is not just a matter of national interest – it is a shared responsibility that transcends borders and divisions. 

This article was produced with the support of Journalismfund Europe. 

In an effort to stop the far right’s rise, political parties in Europe have often tried to dismiss the issues articulated by these forces while adopting parts of their agenda. As recent elections clearly showed, this approach does not work. We must reimagine our own solutions to the problems that have allowed the far right to thrive, but first we need to forget the lessons we have picked up blindly.

An uncanny feeling came over me as I followed the second round of the French presidential election in 2022. The results from the overseas departments were shocking: the far-right candidate Marine Le Pen won a resounding majority of votes in the same constituencies that only a fortnight before (with the notable exceptions of Mayotte) had displayed a clear preference for the leftist Jean-Luc Mélenchon. This seemed to defy common perceptions about the causes of support for the far right. After all, people could not have become racist or acquired a new political identity in just two weeks.  

It may be tempting to explain this result away as a “protest vote” or an “anomaly”. But we could gain much deeper insights by taking the advice of Black feminist thinker bell hooks and adopting the perspective of the margins to better understand the centre, rather than the other way around. What if what happened in the French Caribbean could provide a clue to dissect what we have right before our eyes? 

To many, the proposition that we could actually learn something from the far right may seem disconcerting. Have we not learned too much from it already? Yes, in a sense. But can we not learn better? As Stuart Hall noted in his 1988 essay “Learning from Thatcherism”, “the issue, now, is not whether, but how to rethink.” The far right shares some of the characteristics that Hall attributed to Thatcherism: the ability to recognise and address problems others choose to ignore, a readiness to question established assumptions and make them obsolete, and the capacity to impose its policies on others and shape the world in its image. In most Western societies, the political centre is readily incorporating increasingly big chunks of the far-right agenda. The question, now, is not whether, but what lessons we learn.  

Searching for questions  

What is the “far right” anyway? It cannot be defined by substance. Far-right parties and movements across Europe come in all shapes and hues, whether in terms of their economic policies (from market liberal to protectionist), religious affinities (from radically secularist to religious fundamentalist), or even attitudes towards Jews (from traditionally antisemitic to some of the best friends of Israel). Not even a family resemblance!  

A topographical definition cannot be helpful either. Using “far right” as a label for those occupying positions more extreme than the respectable centre-right could once have worked. But the term has become increasingly dubious as far-right policies and discourses take the mainstream by storm, most notably with regard to migration. This is happening not just in countries where far-right leaders are in power, like Hungary or Italy, but also in some others that are run by centre-right (Austria, Poland), centrist (France), or centre-left (Denmark) governments. Moreover, the far right has captured the discourse of European institutions whose decisions contribute to the incremental “Orbánisation” of EU migration policy. Thinking of the far right as “extreme” – that is, alien to the centre by definition – is a habit as entrenched as it is misleading.  

Taking Nietzsche’s advice – “only that which has no history can be defined” – I propose to understand the far right in the function of what it does: a historical force that, unless stopped, is set to play a central role in our current conjuncture. The task at hand is not to seek solace in definitions, but to unpack and explain this role.  

We must take an honest look at the problems it articulates and unpack these articulations.

Even some of the most convincing available interpretations of the far right fall short of this objective. Within the classical Marxist framework, far-right politics could be seen through the lens of class issues disguised as identity issues. In other words, stable identities are presented as a displaced answer to economic precarity. But is it all just about the economy and “false consciousness”? Concepts such as agonism (popularised by political theorist Chantal Mouffe) or post-democracy (coined by political scientist Colin Crouch) help us see the far right as a call for collective agency, a revolt against the lack of real choice in the system that pretends to be democratic. This interpretation leads us further, but there is still a way to go. The analyses of scholars such as Vincent Tiberj concerning “farrightisation from above” (elites) rather than “from below” (voters) are well supported by data and highly illuminating in different contexts. True and useful, yet still insufficient.  

To learn from the far right means to make a next – and risky – step. It means that we must take an honest look at the problems it articulates and unpack these articulations. What needs to be done is the exact opposite of what the political centre has been doing so far. The mainstream learns from the far right by adopting an ever-growing part of its agenda as its own. This is learning by rote: repeating answers without really understanding the questions. The challenge is to disentangle the two levels. Only thus can we hope to learn lessons of our own choice and not simply prefabricated ones.  

Rejecting the “utopia’’  

The farmers’ demonstrations that swept across Europe in the first half of 2024 were a result of a long history of discontent. Notably, both the far right and the political mainstream shared two crucial assumptions about the movement: that the protests were primarily against the European Green Deal, and that the far right was best fit to represent the farmers’ cause.  

Yet not all these protests were associated with the far right, and resistance to environmental regulations was only a part of their agenda. Three themes emerged in almost every instance: environmental regulations, perceived threats of foreign competition (be it from Ukraine, Canada, South America, or other EU member states), and a fall in production profitability. Across the continent, many farmers struggle to get by, and the number of family farms across Europe is dropping inexorably, while the ultimate beneficiaries of EU subsidies are large-scale agroindustrial players.  

Moreover, protests also took place outside of the EU (in the UK, India, and Canada, for example), where farmers are not affected by the European Green Deal. And although discontent with environmental regulations was a part of the farmers’ grievances in some countries, this was not always the case. Other topics, like trade policies and unfair or disadvantageous purchasing practices (by supermarkets or governments), were at times the main drivers of farmers’ movements.  

The choice of the European Green Deal as the symbol of the protests at the expense of other demands was, in fact, a question of convenience. It is easier to water down or defer some environmental regulations than to address the underlying problems that make those rules unbearable in the first place. Getting real about the farmers’ protests means acknowledging that.  

How can we articulate the need for order and security without compromising the values of hospitality and openness?  

But we also need to understand the power of anti-regulation sentiment. It is precisely this factor that created an elective affinity between farmers’ protests and the far right in many countries. Resistance to overregulation, a feeling of being stifled by what David Graeber called “the utopia of rules”, is something most of us are familiar with. And, nowadays, it is one of the pillars of the far right’s affective economy.  

Thus, we must ask ourselves: can we imagine another kind of green deal in Europe that would not rely to such an extent on regulations to achieve its goal? But the more serious, broader question is: how can we organise our social life and policymaking beyond the “utopia of rules”? And can resistance to overregulation be articulated in different ways and by political forces other than the far right?  

Migration and the politics of fear  

“But they should abide by Polish law, shouldn’t they?” I would hear this question every now and then during the 2015 electoral campaign, which coincided with the climax of the refugee crisis. With my academic mindset, I would read it as a sign of subtle – and in most cases, unconscious – racist prejudice. Shouldn’t everyone, citizen or not, abide by the law? Why assume that refugees would be more prone to breaking it? The same mindset suggested that the only appropriate answer to such questions is to debunk them. The way out, I believed, was education.  

But that question was once asked in my hometown by an old friend – a local politician and lifelong left-winger. Unconventional by current standards of the urban left with her love of hunting, in politics she has always been passionate about social justice and individual freedoms. And yet, she was asking the question in earnest. I struggled to make sense of that.  

Public attitudes towards migration have their ebbs and flows, but a certain reluctance to accept migrants and refugees is on the rise across Europe. This is generally perceived as a reflection of xenophobia – a desire to protect a collective self, be it “Polish culture”, French “Republican values”, or “our European way of life”. The fear of the Other, in short. The political mainstream and the far right both take this fear for granted and thus have a similar reading of the migration issue. But this is not the whole story.  

Since 2015, I have been following public opinion polls and other research on attitudes towards migrants and refugees in Poland. Surprisingly, there was a clear majority in favour of accepting refugees throughout most of this period. Including words like “Arab” or “Muslim” in the questions did not change much. Only in two cases would the level of support be significantly lower, to the extent that it could flip the outcome and produce an anti-refugee majority. First, when the question was formulated with reference to the European Union and Poland’s external obligations. Second, when there was a migration crisis.  

It is not that our answers have become obsolete; we are looking in the wrong direction.

A migration crisis is, first of all, the image of chaos: pictures of people storming the borders, stories of migrants behaving in uncivilised ways, and images circulating in the media, amplified by politicians, clickbait headlines, and retweetable slogans. What kind of anxiety does such a mediatic and political context produce? It may be articulated as a fear of the Other, but more fundamentally, is it not about something we are all afraid of – the spectre of anomy and insecurity?  

Arguably, much of this perception is stateproduced: asylum seekers cross borders illegally because the state itself is actively depriving them of other possibilities. The perceived anomy is enhanced by the media and compounded by whatever sources of insecurity are already in place, including social and economic precarity (jobs and housing, for instance) and other causes of collective anxiety. This, however, does not make the problem less real. There are genuine racists in town, to be sure, but they are not a swing constituency. Framing any reluctance to accept migrants or refugees as caused by racism can only strengthen the far right. You cannot educate people out of their fundamental emotional needs. And there is a universal human need for order, as much as there is a universal need for liberty.  

Hence, the second pillar of the far right’s affective economy is the fear of anomy. If we want a decent and humane migration policy, we have to address that. Our second question, thus, reads: how can we articulate the need for order and security without compromising the values of hospitality and openness?  

Of dignity and identity  

“I would not expect to hear anything interesting from a middle-aged man, and yet here you are,” a friend said to a colleague with whom she had just finished a research project. An innocent joke, by any account. No offence taken and none intended. The male friend does not even remember the situation (I asked him the other day). And yet, what can and what cannot pass as an innocent joke is always revealing of broader social structures. We cannot start learning from the far right until we examine closely the way they respond to and remake current discourses of gender and, of course, nation.  

Far-right milieus define themselves as defenders of the nation. Both their membership and their voters tend to be predominantly male, and among young men, they are often the group with the greatest appeal. Far-right leaders and politicians, both men and women, tend to speak in favour of traditional family values and gender arrangements. This seems to justify the mainstream perception of the far right as nothing more than a backlash, both against European cosmopolitanism and women’s emancipation; an embodiment of chauvinism and toxic masculinity. Leaving aside the valueladen terminology, this account is largely consistent with the far right’s self-understanding.  

But there is more to the picture. In order to understand far-right notions of gender and nation, we should look at how these two dimensions are represented in the mainstream. Statements such as “Poles have not grown up with democracy” or “Hungarians are a racist society” reveal that the supposedly cosmopolitan liberal centre is not free from explaining the world in terms of nations and their qualities. Interestingly, this is the same framework evoked by the far right when they speak of asylum seekers from the Middle East as being fundamentally incapable of civilised conduct (“Muslims/Arabs are so-and-so, that is why we can’t let them in”). Both sides paradoxically agree that certain ethnic or national identities are somehow not worthy of respect. The far-right backlash is thus not just resistance to cosmopolitanism or Europeanisation; it is also a reaction to the perception of being construed as a “despised identity”.  

And what about gender? How does the mainstream relate to the perceived affinity between masculinity and far-right politics? “For the sake of democracy, men could vote a few years later and women earlier,” suggested a left-wing sociologist interviewed by a liberal newspaper shortly before the 2023 Polish elections. Raising the voting age for the male population would disenfranchise young men, perceived as the crucial constituency for the far right. A similar proposition to “save” democracy from the “male, testosterone-driven, nationalist political project” was put forward by another liberal public intellectual in 2019: “I have a simple idea to suspend men’s voting rights for three terms […]. They would not be able to vote, but they could be elected.” (She has repeated this idea several times since.)  

Once again, this position resonates with how the far right speaks of migrants. It argues that, contrary to the claims of humanitarian NGOs, the bulk of asylum seekers are not families with children, but “young men”, not really deserving empathy. What both sides have in common is the cultural framework in which men, and especially “young men”, are somehow not worthy of respect. Here, again, the far-right reaction is not merely resistance to the advent of gender equality but also a backlash against what it perceives as being viewed as a “despised identity”, and consequently a defence of one’s own worth by passing the disrespect on to others.  

The politics of recognition has become a zero-sum game, where respect given to some people must be taken away from others. Passing the disrespect on to other individuals or groups is one possible answer to the experience of being disregarded. But can we imagine a different kind of redistribution of dignity?  

We must learn to unlearn  

In all three cases above, there is a tacit accord between the far right and the political centre, and mainstream perceptions of the far right echo the far right’s self-understanding. This situation leaves us with only two ways of dealing with the far right: either keeping it out of the game (cordon sanitaire) or adopting parts of its agenda in a doomed effort at containment. As a result, the far right can be kept out of the centre (for a time), but this does not prevent the centre from drifting further and further to the right. A dubious victory, if any.  

But there is another path, and it begins with unlearning. The first task is to unlearn what we take for granted about the nature of the far right’s appeal. Then we need to unlearn the received wisdom about how to deal with the far right. And finally, we must unlearn much of what we know about the problems and social grievances of our times: it is not that our answers have become obsolete; we are looking in the wrong direction.  

Once we have done this, we can learn that protests against the European Green Deal do not have to mean a rejection of ecology, but could represent a resistance to over-regulation. That reluctance to irregular migration should not be interpreted merely as a hatred of the Other when it can be seen as fear of anomy. And lastly, that affirming masculinity and patriotism is not only a backlash, but also a call for a redistribution of dignity.  

The forward march of the far right can be stopped. But we can only achieve that feat if, instead of rejecting or parroting its answers, we start on an earnest quest for some solutions of our own. 

Since coming to power in 2019, Kais Saied has tightened his grip on Tunisia’s institutions and rolled back democratic reforms linked to the Arab Spring. His popularity feeds on resentment against sub-Saharan migrants, elites, and foreign interference. The EU, eager to curb migration and develop green energy, is turning a blind eye to his abuses.  

Tunisia is a “privileged partner” of the European Union, which has supported efforts to transform the country’s political system and stabilise its economy since the Arab Spring uprisings in 2011. Just over a year ago, the two concluded an Association Agreement and a Memorandum of Understanding to, among other things, ensure the stability of the Tunisian economy, facilitate Tunisia’s energy transition, and manage migration flows. 

However, the North African country continues to grapple with severe economic and social problems. Despite the economy doing better this year than in 2023 – partly thanks to the rebound in tourism – unemployment currently stands at 16 per cent, with a disproportionate effect on women and young people, public debt is growing, and inflation is above 9 per cent. Purchasing power has declined because salaries have remained stagnant while prices have soared: the minimum wage is around 110 euros. 

These problems are amplified by a complex political situation. President Kais Saied was reelected on 6 October following a highly controversial presidential election in which voter turnout was just 28 per cent (with only 6 per cent of young people voting). The newly re-elected president has been pursuing populist and nationalistic policies, issuing decrees with little or no involvement from advisors. This hasn’t helped his image on the international stage.  

“He is anti-politics,” said Sami Ben Abderrahmane, a retired judge. “The people believe in him as if he were a prophet. You cannot change the electoral law a year before the elections; you cannot change the rules of the game. Economically, there will be no major reforms coming.”   

During his five-year tenure, Saied appointed five different prime ministers, suspended the Parliament in July 2021 after a political stalemate and economic crisis lasting several years, and finally dissolved it in March 2022. The new constitution he introduced grants the president significantly expanded powers while simultaneously weakening the influence of Tunisia’s legislative (parliamentary) and judiciary branches. In addition, three months before the elections were to take place, Saied made changes to the electoral law in order to reduce the role played by political parties. 

The members of the Independent High Authority for Elections of Tunisia (ISIE), the institution in charge of organising elections since 2011, have been appointed directly by Saied since 2022. This has resulted in ISIE only approving three candidates to run in the presidential elections – one of which was Saied. Several candidates have challenged the decision before administrative courts. Three of them, Imed Daimi, Mondher Znaidi, and Abdellatif Mekki, won their appeals, and the court decided to reinstate them as candidates.  

However, on 1 September, ISIE rejected the binding court ruling and refused to implement it. Thus, the only candidates in the running on election day were Saied, Ayachi Zammel – who was sentenced to 12 years in prison a few weeks prior to the elections after being found guilty on several charges – and Zouhair Maghzaoui, who only received 1.97 per cent of the vote. 

These actions clearly violate the separation of powers enshrined in the democratic constitution of 2014. Indeed, critics see these measures as threatening the democratic gains made since the Tunisian revolution and the overthrow of Zine El Abidine Ben Ali’s regime in 2011, accusing Saied of an “authoritarian drift”, a “constitutional coup”, a “self-coup” or a “military-backed coup”.  

“We are returning to the dictatorial regime of the Ben Ali period, but in a much more difficult world and with a dictator who, unlike his predecessor, plays, at least rhetorically, with nationalistic, populist, and anti-colonialist ideas,” says the Spanish philosopher and writer Santiago Alba. “He is a kind of sad Gaddafi.”   

The demolition of democracy 

Unlike its neighbouring Arab countries, which also experienced massive popular uprisings in 2011, Tunisia did not immediately revert to authoritarianism or descend into civil war.  

“The impression that things were better before (under Ben Ali) goes beyond culture,” says Tunisian writer Hatem Nafti. “There was a kind of tacit agreement: secure a minimum living standard for a large part of the population in exchange for freedom. Today, the economic situation has deteriorated significantly and the number of people who are able to enjoy freedom is decreasing.”  

Many foreign observers and some of Tunisia’s political elites have celebrated the country as the Arab world’s only democracy. President Saied’s expansion of presidential powers has shaken the political system, calling into question the future of Tunisian democracy but also highlighting deep-rooted cracks in the country’s democratic framework. 

“The problem is that we knew from the get-go that he doesn’t believe in debate,” says Mustapha Tlili, a professor of modern history and civil society activist, who is a former leader of the Tunisian Human Rights League. “He doesn’t believe in experts. He doesn’t believe in elites – quite the contrary. He continues to demonise everyone, the power elites, experts, political parties, organisations, human rights associations, etcetera. He wants to demonise everyone.”

Nevertheless, after years of irritation with the country’s political elites, many Tunisians welcomed the president’s decisions. They see them as part of the fight against corruption and foreign interference. This popular support could be seen at the polls, where most of the people willing to speak to the press praised Saied for jailing members of the opposition, whom they described as “terrorists”, “corrupt”, or “doing deals with other countries”. It’s a populist discourse focused on eradicating corruption, backroom deals, and political conspiracies. 

Saied sells slogans such as “I am with the poor”, “I like the poor”, and “The rich are corrupting our neighbourhoods.” “He has created a dichotomy in which there is only good and evil; he represents good, and the others are all evil,” Tlili laments. “Those who are not with him are conspiring with foreigners and don’t want to defend the nation. He is under the impression that he is leading a war of national liberation, and he reiterates that belief whenever he appears on television or on the radio.”  

Dissenting voices in the country are being repressed, with journalists, lawyers, politicians, activists, dissidents, and human rights defenders thrown in prison. To this end, over the past two years Saied has used a controversial law that criminalises the dissemination of “false information”. Amnesty International has described Decree 54, which severely limits freedom of expression, as one of the harshest measures passed in Tunisia in over a decade. 

A young Tunisian artist, who prefers to remain anonymous for fear of being arrested (a member of his family has been in prison for several months due to his social media posts), is convinced that “this regime cannot last.” He appeared downhearted during his interview with the Green European Journal, which took place the day after the elections. “The president wants people to believe that the West, colonisation, and the European Union are to blame for everything.” 

It is true that, despite criticism, discontent, and several demonstrations during three years of repression, attempts to unseat Saied have been unsuccessful. “Fear is not the only reason, but it helps reduce opposition and even people’s degree of politicisation,” Nafti said. “One chapter of my book is entitled ‘The Twilight of Politics’. The splintering of the opposition and the fact that the regime has created its own laws, systematically disregarding checks and balances, also play a role.” 

Nafti, author of Our Friend Kais Saied (Riveneuve, 2024) and a member of the Tunisian Observatory of Populism, resides in Paris and has not travelled to Tunisia since February 2023. “Several lawyers have advised me not to return to Tunisia because I risk being imprisoned. There are people in prison on charges that are much vaguer than the ones brought against me. I received serious death threats and discovered that I was being followed outside my home in Paris.”   

When asked about Saied’s personality, he replied: “It took me more than two books to describe him. If I had to sum him up in one sentence, I would say that he is someone who is out to get revenge on the elites who never took him seriously – especially because he never received a doctorate – and who believes himself to be tasked with an almost messianic mission. Opposing him is blasphemy.” 

Tunisia on the international stage 

This situation has implications for the broader international community and for Tunisia’s relationship with Europe. Until the constitutional change in 2022, Tunisia’s main benefactors were the US, as well as the EU and its member states, which provided the country with more than 1.3 billion dollars in economic assistance each year. The US has withdrawn its aid and reprimanded Saied for his actions. Europe, for its part, has focused more on Tunisia’s ability to curb the flow of migrants than on advancing democracy in the country. Thus, at the same time as the EU was withdrawing its financial aid, it was sending funds to strengthen the border police. 

Currently, Tunisia’s main allies are Algeria and Libya, especially in terms of energy supply. For financial resources, it looks to Saudi Arabia, as well as some European countries, such as Italy, with whom it has also signed a deal to fight illegal migration. Kuwait also reaffirmed its “support for the decisions of President Kais Saied and its confidence in his ability to overcome the challenges that the country is facing and achieve the aspirations of the Tunisian people.” 

Migration pact with Europe 

The plight of migrants in Tunisia took a tragic turn in 2023. Under pressure from the Italian government of Georgia Meloni, the EU signed a Memorandum of Understanding with Tunisia in July 2023 aimed at “addressing the migration crisis in an integrated manner.” In a presidential statement made in February of that same year, Saied claimed that “the undeclared goal of sub-Saharan Africans is to change the demographic composition of Tunisia.”  

The speech, and in particular, the president’s racist comments and his espousal of the “Great Replacement” conspiracy theory – which followed months of racist social media campaigns by the regime – had immediate repercussions. Citizen mobs assaulted and robbed sub-Saharan Africans while the police carried out raids and arrests. This climate of terror led to an influx of migrants to Sfax, a coastal city in southern Tunisia and the departure point for the Italian island of Lampedusa. 

Several makeshift camps have now been set up in olive groves a few kilometres from Sfax, where sub-Saharan migrants are enduring unsanitary conditions, biding their time until they can try their luck and embark on the dangerous journey to Italy. They are often detained by the coast guard, who seize all their belongings and imprison them or take them to the Algerian or Libyan desert, where they are left without food or water and where many of them perish. The suffering extends to the local population of Jbeniana and El Amra, who live under constant threat of violence and conflict, both from the police and from the migrants themselves. The prevailing insecurity has led to widespread protests from locals, who are frustrated with the mishandling of migration in the region. 

Tunisia’s treatment of migrants is in breach of the Memorandum of Understanding with Europe, which states that the migration approach “shall be based on respect for human rights”. For this reason, Amnesty International said in a letter to the European Council: “To remain true to their human rights commitments, the EU and its Member States should reconsider their approach to cooperation with Tunisia, and take steps to address the systematic attacks on the rule of law and separation of powers in the country, the crackdown on rights and freedoms, and the violence targeting Black African asylum seekers, refugees, and other migrants in the country.” 

In a context of growing xenophobia, Tunisia effectively acts as a border agent for the EU, with Europe providing the country with financial support so that it may secure the equipment, training, and technical support necessary for migration control. This role is a key pillar of the Memorandum, with an initial 105 million euros allocated for search and rescue vessels, jeeps, radars, drones and other types of patrol equipment. 

The implementation of these controls has led to a significant reduction in migrant arrivals to Europe, down by more than 80 per cent compared to 2023. According to Romdhane Ben Amor, spokesperson for FTDES, it comes as “the Tunisian authorities have mobilised a large number of human resources, both on land and at sea, to minimise the number of Tunisians migrating to European territories. Europeans are very satisfied, that is to say, they evaluate or measure success quantitatively by the number of migrants arriving in Europe.” 

Additionally, the President has agreed to allow the return and readmission of Tunisian nationals with irregular status from the European Union, and to facilitate the voluntary repatriation of irregular migrants in Tunisia to their home countries, with assistance from the International Organization for Migration and the UNHCR. Some of these migrants are Tunisian citizens fleeing the country’s repressive policies, but others come from faraway places such as Egypt, Syria, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Bangladesh.  

“The Tunisian authorities do not provide figures on deportations, but these happen at Tabarka airport, a region bordering Algeria,” Ben Amor explains. “It’s a calm place; there is no activity, there are no planes except for the planes carrying the deportees. Which means there are no witnesses to the deportations. 

“Therefore, Europe has essentially green-lit violations against migrants in Tunisia. The European Union turns a blind eye to what is happening in Tunisia, with cautious statements that fail to criticise the abuse of human rights. They fall short of addressing the situation in Tunisia, so the European Union is legitimising what is happening there. The UN rapporteurs, for example, are more direct and have clearer messages.”  

Green strategy 

Another key area of European interest in Tunisia is its potential for green energy development. Aware of Tunisia’s renewable energy potential, the European Union has signed the Green Energy Transition Memorandum, which outlines a strategy to enhance sustainable growth and job creation in the area. This partnership will help strengthen the security of energy supply and provide citizens and businesses with low-carbon energy at competitive prices. 

In addition, within the framework of the Connecting Europe Facility, the EU has committed 307.6 million euros for the development of ELMED, a power line allowing Tunisia and Italy to trade low-cost renewable electricity, and up to 150 million euros for the construction of Medusa, a submarine cable that will use fibre optic technology to connect 11 countries around the Mediterranean. These projects will combine grants from the EU budget and loans from the European Investment Bank (EIB). This partnership will also address the instruments and regulations needed to enable Tunisia to export renewable energy and other products to the EU in view of the introduction of the Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism (CBAM). 

Obviously, the European Union will be closely monitoring developments in Tunisia. After the elections and despite the adverse outlook, Tunisians express a certain optimism that the situation can change.  

“There are two interpretations or visions of what is happening: some say that the regime of Kais Saied is merely a phase, that such periods are a necessary part of the democratic learning process; others say it signals the end of the Revolution and see it as a step backwards,” says a cartoonist known as Z, author of the blog Debatunisie and a critic of the regime. “As an optimist, I’d rather embrace the first view.”  

What do we do with our borders? The right-wing shift in the European political climate in recent years has meant a higher degree of securitisation. At the same time, some are calling for border controls to be reduced or even abolished. Perhaps the answer lies in a change of perspective; a new outlook free from the shackles of capitalism and inspired by degrowth.

Recent national and European elections have marked a shift to the right in European politics. While the far-right Rassemblement National (National Rally, RN) failed to win a majority in France’s parliamentary election, it will still be the most represented party in the French Parliament. In other European countries, such as Italy, Finland, and the Netherlands, radical right forces have formed coalition governments.

One of the driving factors behind the success of right-wing forces has been their framing of migration as a key security issue. In the run-up to the European elections, a survey in Germany found that 41 per cent of the population considers refugees, immigration, asylum politics, and integration as the most important problem for the European Union. This widespread perception of out-of-control immigration to the EU has also led once-moderate political forces to promise stricter border enforcement and rapid deportations, in an (often unsuccessful) attempt to take votes away from the far right.

In December 2023, France passed a controversial bill toughening its immigration policies, while in March this year, the centre-right European People’s Party (EPP) expressed its support for Rwanda-style deportation deals with non-EU countries. Moreover, In April, the EU adopted the new Asylum and Migration Pact after eight long years of negotiations; and shortly before the European elections, Brussels signed a new agreement to contain immigration from Lebanon.    

Right-wing narratives have also linked migration to climate change. While far-right forces are known for their scepticism towards anthropogenic climate change, they have progressively shifted away from pure denialism towards instrumentalising global warming and ecological crises for political purposes. These narratives advocate for tighter border protection by casting migrants as responsible for environmental degradation and framing climate-induced migration as a security threat.

Ahead of the 2019 European elections, the Rassemblement National’s Jordan Bardella stated that “borders are the environment’s greatest ally; it is through them that we will save the planet.”

This emergent discourse of “ecobordering” draws on (neo-)colonial, racialised, and neo-Malthusian logics to present borders as environmental protection and climate solutions. As researchers Joe Turner and Dan Bailey explain, the aspiration behind ecobordering is to “obscure the primary driving causes of the ecological crisis in the entrenched production and consumption practices of Global North economies”, blaming ecological degradation in the Global South instead.

Through the divisive strategy of scapegoating “the other”, these narratives seek to hide responsibilities for a long history of colonialism, exploitation and violence that extend into the present.    

Inaction and militarisation

In recent years, the degrowth movement has increasingly taken issue with global power dynamics and structural drivers of inequality. There is a growing understanding that if degrowth does not converge with demands from the Global South, it risks turning into an “inward-looking, provincial, localised, and eventually exclusive project” that perpetuates the “imperial mode of living” of the Global North.

However, degrowth has yet to develop a comprehensive border perspective that goes beyond local solutions like open localism. Such a perspective must take into account the capitalist system’s fundamental need for borders, as well as the rise of ecobordering narratives.    

In the current capitalist system, the “deep hegemony of borders” is perceived as common sense across a wide spectrum of political actors. In Europe, for example, liberal and progressive actors have justified increased border protection with the need to protect and promote “our European way of life”.

If it wants to challenge the capitalist system of global exploitation, degrowth needs to call into question the border apparatus through which this system protects and perpetuates itself.

The mainstreaming of securitisation discourses has also led to higher spending in the border security and surveillance industry. In 1990, there were no fences at the external borders of the EU/Schengen area. In 2014, the length of border fences was 315 km. By 2022, it was 2,048 km – 13 per cent of the EU’s external land borders. 

A degrowth border perspective should be built on the acknowledgement of historic and present-day responsibilities, as well as principles of solidarity and humanity.

Reflecting this shift in border policies, the budget for the European border and coast guard agency Frontex rose by 2,763 per cent between 2005 and 2020. From 2021-2027, the agency will be provided with 5.6 billion euros – a 194 per cent increase compared to the previous budgetary cycle. Rich countries currently spend 2.3 times more money on border securitisation than on climate finance.

Given that one of the aims of degrowth is to downsize those branches of the economy that are socially and ecologically harmful, border enforcement needs to be put under the spotlight. Indeed, besides its huge human costs, the border security industry has been found to be “profiteering from climate change”. While prospects of climate-induced migration have played a role in border securitisation, another important factor is the nexus between fossil fuel firms and border policing: the same private industries that provide border protection to rich countries also offer their services to the oil industry. This shows how “climate inaction and militarised responses to its consequences increasingly work hand in hand.”    

Degrowth and freedom of movement

So far, degrowth has engaged only marginally with the topic of borders and (im-)migration. In his book Degrowth (2018), Giorgos Kallis dedicates a small section to the issue, dismantling the claim by American economist Herman Daly that immigration poses a threat to a steady-state (or post-growth) economy. ‘

According to Daly, the population growth associated with migration inflows leads to more economic growth. Daly draws on American ecologist Garett Hardins’ “lifeboat ethics”, which claims that each state, similarly to a boat, can only take a certain number of people before exceeding its social and ecological capacities. Kallis rejects that assumption based, among other things, on the observation that countries are not closed containers whose environmental impacts are confined to their national boundaries. He concludes that there is no ecological case for closed borders and no evidence that immigration poses a risk to degrowth.

At the same time, Kallis warns against understanding degrowth as being in favour of open borders, as such a policy might fundamentally undermine the nation-state. While its role continues to be debated within the degrowth community, the state is still seen by many as an essential actor for a social-ecological transformation. The call for open borders or the slogan “No borders, no nation” has also been criticised from the Left for acting as an “empty provocation” that risks to steer and increase existing fears around the competition for public goods, leading to anti-immigration sentiments and the rise of the far-right. 

Drawing attention to the narrow scope of the ongoing debate around degrowth and borders, German sociologist Miriam Lang argues that it is not enough to simply ask for open borders. According to Lang, such a call must consider and criticise how the “imperial mode of living” of rich countries, its associated North-South relationships, and the dominant understanding of a good life are linked to the overall structural crisis of capitalism and the current climate catastrophe.

This debate shows that degrowth still needs to develop a coherent border perspective as part of its project of deep socioecological transformation. What is clear, however, is that a degrowth case for open borders cannot be based on neoliberal or utilitarian considerations that frame immigration as a solution to demographic decline, ageing populations, or a shortage of skilled labour. Rather, a degrowth border perspective should be built on the acknowledgement of historic and present-day responsibilities, as well as principles of solidarity and humanity.

Concrete proposals could include providing safe passages, revising visa and residence laws, and building necessary social infrastructures. The money currently being spent for the securitisation of borders could be redirected towards socially useful projects to assure that everyone has the right to decent housing and the means to adapt to the consequences of climate change.

Global freedom of movement entails the right to move, but also the right to remain – that is, the assurance that one’s livelihood is not endangered by the advance of the capitalist system and the economic growth of rich countries. A degrowth border perspective based on these principles can act as a strong counter-proposal to the divisive narrative of ecobordering.

The violence and oppression against Palestinians in Gaza and the discrimination and surveillance against migrants trying to cross European borders have more in common than meets the eye. What can transnational grassroots solidarity achieve in the fight against institutionalised violence? Journalist Francesca Spinelli spoke with a Belgian activist of the international Freedom Flotilla Coalition, which has opposed the illegal blockade of Gaza since 2010.

Created in 2010, the Freedom Flotilla Coalition (FFC) is an international grassroots solidarity movement working to end the illegal Israeli blockade of Gaza. Their new mission – to deliver 5,500 tons of humanitarian aid to the people of Gaza – is set to leave Turkey soon and head towards Gaza. The journey is expected to last between three and six days, but Israel may attempt to intercept the flotilla. During a previous FFC mission in 2010, ten people were killed following an intervention by the Israeli armed forces. This time, several hundred people from around thirty different countries are participating in the mission, including Belgian activist Rosy. A member of the No Border movement, opposing the existence of borders and advocating for freedom of movement, she analyses the numerous links between the situation in Palestine and that at the borders of the European Union. Rosy did not wish to disclose her full name so as not to compromise her safety.  

UPDATE: On 27 April, the mission was temporarily halted after Guinea Bissau decided to remove its flag from two vessels.

Francesca Spinelli: Could you tell us about your activist background and what encounters or experiences led you to take part in the FFC mission?  

I’ve been an activist on the issue of borders and migration for years, mainly in Belgium, but also at various borders in Europe, including Greece and Bosnia. I’m also involved in a campaign launched a few years ago, Abolish Frontex, which brings together many different movements. More recently, I’ve been in the Mediterranean Sea through rescue NGOs. It was through this latter network, which connects activism and work at sea, that I heard about the Freedom Flotilla Coalition mission. It made a lot of sense for me to participate in this operation, not only because the sea can also be a means of liberation and political action, but because I wanted to connect the struggle against state borders and violence at European borders to the struggle in support of the Palestinian people. 

There are many similarities between what is happening in Palestine and the situation at the EU’s external borders. Let’s start with the most visible aspect: violence. 

The violence perpetrated by certain states against certain categories of civilians – Palestinians on one hand, and migrants on the other – is increasingly high, and these states are increasingly taking full responsibility for it. The narrative is very similar: dehumanising the other, normalising hate speech, all to justify violence. A binary vision is created: Israel against the Palestinians, or rather against Hamas, as if all Palestinians were members of Hamas. Reality is simplified by presenting people as homogeneous masses: the “migrants” invading Europe and attacking “European identity.” The flip side of dehumanising discourses is identity discourses advocating the superiority of certain cultures, certain people. If some lives are deemed more valuable than others, it grants a free pass to all forms of violence. This is what happened in Europe during World War II, and before that during colonialism, the effects of which are still visible today. As for Israel, it’s been a colonialist project from its inception. The violence we observe today doesn’t arise out of nowhere; it cannot be understood or fought against from an ahistorical perspective. 

When we talk about violence, we’re talking about weapons. 

Yes, and here too, there’s a common thread linking Israel to the EU: the military-industrial complex. Violence at the borders and in Gaza is carried out within the framework of increasing militarisation, using cutting-edge technology, all to the benefit of European and Israeli companies. The Database of Israeli Military and Security Exports (DIMSE) shows the extent of Israeli exports to the EU in this field. Conversely, there are numerous European companies that supply arms to Israel. In recent months, there has been a growing call to end arms sales to Israel, along with direct actions by activists targeting these companies. In France and Germany, legal actions have been initiated by lawyers and NGOs. 

The Israeli arms industry is particularly favoured by Frontex, the European Border and Coast Guard Agency. Can you tell us more about this?  

Since its establishment in 2004, Frontex has contributed to the militarisation of the EU’s external borders. Mandated by European governments, it promotes a securitised view of migration, portraying migrants as a threat that Europe needs to defend against. A portion of its enormous budget (it’s the most funded European agency, with €845.4 million euros in 2023) is used to purchase weapons and surveillance technologies, including from Israeli companies, as highlighted by journalists and researchers. It’s also worth noting that some technologies are tested on the population of Gaza before being sold abroad, particularly to European countries and Frontex. And the latter will first test these technologies at the borders before using them on the whole population. This applies to surveillance technologies, such as drones or data extraction technologies. What we observe in Gaza, at EU external borders, and increasingly on EU territory, is a policy of ultra-surveillance and ultra-control, driven by the desire to know in detail the identity, profile, and movements of each person, and to classify people as desirable or undesirable. 

What we observe in Gaza, at EU external borders, and increasingly on EU territory, is a policy of ultra-surveillance and ultra-control.

Another similarity between the two contexts we are analysing, and it is also one of the major political issues today, is precisely this desire to control the movements of certain categories of people.  

Yes, the siege of Gaza, the act of confining people and preventing them from controlling their own lives and movements, is exactly what European governments are attempting to impose on migrants by denying them access to EU territory or detaining them while awaiting deportation. They share the same vision: the global population is divided based on where one is born. The right to move or to stay, the right to dignity and life, are determined by place of birth. This link established between nationality and the right to entry, a right governed by the visa system, is inherently colonialist. Thus, walls have become a symbol of the confinement of Palestinians in Gaza, but also of EU migration policies. It’s crucial to emphasise that these barriers, which continue to multiply, are not just physical. There are administrative barriers, laws, and provisions whose sole purpose is to prevent people from living with dignity. 

As we were saying, these policies of confinement and exclusion are based on the idea that some lives are worth less than others. Fundamental rights, theoretically universal, are increasingly violated by governments that no longer feel obligated to respect court decisions. Isn’t there another parallel to be drawn here between Israel and the EU? 

Israel has twice ignored a decision of the International Court of Justice, which called on the government to take all necessary measures to ensure that Palestinians receive humanitarian aid. Similarly, an increasing number of European governments are disregarding court decisions requiring them to respect the fundamental rights of asylum seekers. This is particularly evident in Belgium, where despite thousands of court decisions, authorities have failed to provide accommodation for thousands of asylum seekers, forcing them to sleep rough. The actions of governments defy comprehension. The law is ignored, violated. As activists, as organisations, we may denounce, gather evidence, testimonies, and statistics, but politicians persist in their actions. There is a real breakdown of the social contract. 

The global population is divided based on where one is born. The right to move or to stay, the right to dignity and life, are determined by place of birth. This is inherently colonialist.

One of the objectives of the FFC mission is to provide vital humanitarian aid to Gaza. However, it is not solely a humanitarian mission, as the goal is also to highlight the illegal occupation of Gaza. We know that the tension between humanitarianism and political stances has sometimes created fractures within movements supporting migrants. What is your take on this? 

The question of whether humanitarian aid is colonialist has often been raised, rightly so. For me, it is not inherently colonialist. If someone needs help, we help them – that’s solidarity. But within this aid, it’s essential to question the system, the policies that have made this aid necessary. If we don’t, we’re trying to maintain our vantage position as aid-givers, and that’s where it becomes problematic. The FFC has been very clear on this point: aid is necessary but not sufficient. We must ensure that it ceases to be necessary by addressing the root causes of the situation. In general, it’s important to engage in self-criticism, to investigate the colonialist mechanisms that we have internalised. 

Seeing so many people from different countries coming together to defend a common cause is a powerful example of internationalist solidarity. Do you observe the same internationalisation within movements that fight against border regimes and for freedom of movement? 

I’m not used to seeing such figures – thousands of tons of humanitarian aid, hundreds of participants, all the money invested in this mission. These are numbers we don’t see in local groups. I realise that without such a massive fundraising effort, without this intense administrative work, we cannot achieve a result as powerful as that of the FFC. Internationalism requires a lot of organisation, travel, money, and this can be a limitation for movements fighting against border regimes. That being said, collaborations exist between groups and movements from different countries, even continents. This is the case, for example, within the Abolish Frontex campaign, which includes groups from Senegal and Morocco. It’s also the case within the No Border movement, which consists of many initiatives in different countries. 

I would like to add that an action will be all the stronger if common objectives are accompanied by a diversity of tactics and methods. The No Border movement, for example, is a grassroots, non-institutionalised movement, very close to anarchism if not completely anarchist. It rarely engages in dialogue with governmental institutions. But in some cases, such as sea rescues, even a small organisation will have to comply with a whole series of laws, and “play the game” to be active. The objective is the same, but the methods are different. 

Through your participation in this mission, you hope to draw the attention of Belgian politicians to their responsibility regarding what is happening in Gaza – a pressure all the more important as federal elections are fast approaching. Specifically, what measures would you like Belgium to take? 

Israel has to be sanctioned for its war crimes and its failure to respect the decisions of the International Court of Justice. Belgium, along with many other states, should have long ago ceased all economic, political, and academic collaboration with Israel. Furthermore – but all of this is interconnected – Belgium must also absolutely respect the “cordon sanitaire” established about thirty years ago to prevent the far right from communicating in the media and normalising its hate speech. This line is crumbling, and it’s very worrying. 

The brutal outcome of the 2010 FFC mission reminds us that this new mission is not without risks. Despite this, you wish to show to those who follow you, who read your testimony, that it is possible and necessary to get involved. What would you like to tell them to encourage them?  

When we come together, we can accomplish anything. Obviously, when embarking on this operation, we were aware of the risks. There is fear, but there is also a tremendous amount of determination and solidarity. I extend a warm invitation to come together, to awaken solidarity, and to take action, because solidarity is the most beautiful flame that keeps us alive. Faced with all this violence, we will continue to fight for the freedom of all, and we will do so with our fists raised. We live in this world, and we are collectively responsible for what happens in it.

The agreement signed in Cairo aims to stop migration flows at a time when Egypt’s dire economic situation, the prolonged civil war in Sudan, and Israel’s indiscriminate destruction of Gaza are making Egypt a point of departure towards Europe for Egyptians and transit migrants alike. Deal after deal, the EU is outsourcing migration control, with little consideration for human rights.

A delegation of five European prime ministers, led by EU Commission President Ursula von der Leyen, signed a 7.4 billion euro deal in Cairo, Egypt, on 17 March. It was timely: the EU is preparing to finalise its New Pact on Migration and Asylum, one that will see Egypt added to the list of countries serving as fundamental assets of Europe’s border offshoring framework. 

In recent years, the different crises affecting the Middle East and East Africa have caused a doubling in the number of migrants fleeing from Egypt. The surge in arrivals onto Italian shores back in 2022 led the EU Commission to launch the first phase of an 80 million euro border management programme with Egypt. Since then, the EU’s efforts to contain migration from the North African country have only intensified.  

On 23 January, Josep Borrell and Egyptian Foreign Minister Sameh Shoukry shook hands in Brussels to commemorate the 20th anniversary of the Association Agreement between the European Union and Egypt. In October 2023, Egyptian officials had visited the headquarters of Frontex, the European Border and Coast Guard Agency. Shortly after, as the Israeli offensive in Gaza forced Palestinians to escape into the south of the Strip near the border with Egypt, Ursula von der Leyen stressed the need to “support Egypt through the current crisis and establish a firm [migration control] partnership.”  

Since then, scant official details have been released, until the deal was sealed on 17 March. In the past weeks, human rights groups had warned that by signing an agreement with Egypt the EU would “risk complicity in abuses” towards migrants, and that the New Pact on Migration and Asylum – which is complemented by similar border control deals with other third countries – will likely “set back European asylum law for decades to come”. 

Rising pressure 

With a population of around 109 million, Egypt is the largest country in North Africa and the Middle East. Political unrest and deep economic woes over the past decade resulted in record annual inflation of 39.7 per cent in August last year. Although this is projected to drop to 26.7 per cent this year, Egypt’s inflation is expected to remain the highest in the region until 2028. 

The economic crisis has pushed tens of thousands of Egyptians to seek opportunities in Europe. In 2022, 21,753 Egyptians made it into the Union. According to the International Organization for Migration, that made Egypt the top source country for Europe-bound migrants. This is a new phenomenon, according to the Egyptian demographer Ayman Zohry. “We do not have an established trend of migration from Egypt to Europe [as we do from] the Maghreb countries”, he says. Instead, Egypt has historically been known as a major hub for transit migrants.   

Egypt currently hosts about 9 million migrants, “most of them transit migrants that are stuck here, wanting to go to Europe”, according to Zohry. Most of these are Sudanese who fled the country as it descended into civil war in April 2023. But Egypt is also a transit hub for people fleeing from the Horn of Africa and, more recently, the war in Gaza.  

The latest reports from humanitarian organisations such as UNRWA claim that at least 1.7 million people in Gaza have been internally displaced since the start of the Israeli offensive. That equates to more than 80 per cent of the population. Most of them fled to Rafah, the southern area of the Gaza Strip close to the border with Egypt, which Israel had designated a “safe zone”. However, Israel’s repeated threats of a land invasion caused many Gazans who had relocated to Rafah to attempt to cross into Egypt. That prompted Egypt to start building a 21-square-kilometer “walled enclosure” next to the border that would accommodate more than 100,000 people in the event that Israel attacked the south of the Strip. The rising hostilities along Egypt’s border with Israel, coupled with the country’s economic issues, means that “the ability of Egypt to keep these transit migrants is decreasing,” Zohry argues. The EU, however, does not seem eager to welcome them. 

Cash for containing departures 

Von der Leyen announced in a letter to EU leaders in December that the Union’s top priority in the creation of the new migration and asylum framework was the strengthening of the bloc’s external borders. With regards to Egypt, the two main ways in which the partnership will be implemented are by enhancing surveillance capacity on both the Mediterranean coast of Egypt and its border with Libya, and by cooperating over the return of “irregular” migrants to their home countries.  

Human Rights Watch has led the efforts in denouncing the EU’s strategic partnership with Egypt. In a letter to the Commission’s president, it warned of Egypt’s hostile environment for migrants and refugees. Claudio Francavilla, Human Rights Watch’s EU advocacy associate director, told the Green European Journal that “for years, [the organisation] has documented a wide range of abuses by Egyptian authorities and civilians against Black African migrants, asylum seekers, and refugees, including arbitrary detention and physical abuse, sexual violence, racism, [and] lack of access to basic health and education services.” He highlights how, for example, Egypt has created barriers to protection for Sudanese trying to flee the conflict, and committed refoulement by forcibly returning Eritreans without assessing their asylum claims. 

However, Egyptians themselves could be among the worst affected by the EU partnership. “Providing a highly abusive government with dual-use surveillance technology and training on how to use it heightens the risk that it may be used for internal surveillance and targeting of opponents,” says Francavilla. The 2022 deal, according to Human Rights Watch, has “contributed to pervasive corruption and mismanagement by the Egyptian government, which in turn has led to a dire economic situation” and produced conditions that are driving Egyptians to leave. The letter from the rights group also claims that instead of “calling out the serious abuses by the Egyptian government, European governments and institutions have decided to reward Egypt’s leaders.”  

Egyptians themselves could be among the worst affected by the EU partnership.

These concerns, Francavilla argues, are not limited to the Egypt case. “The list [of EU migrant deals with third countries] is unfortunately likely to grow, as EU governments and institutions insist on concluding ‘cash for containing departures’ deals, with little if any regard for the migrants’ and asylum seekers’ fate.” He adds that it will limit progress on human rights and democracy in countries of origin and transit more broadly.   

Outsourcing is the new normal 

Over the past decade, efforts by EU member states to prevent migrants and asylum seekers from reaching their borders have intensified, according to Sara Prestianni and Elena Bizzi from EuroMed Rights, a network of human rights groups. “One strategy to reach this goal [is to fund] programs for third countries’ coast guards and border police, and striking untransparent deals with undemocratic countries and authoritarian regimes,” they say. 

Libya has served as a laboratory for border externalisation practices in which the EU’s responsibility for handling migration is outsourced. Gaddafi’s overthrow in 2011 culminated in a state of semi-anarchy, and migrants left for Europe in increasing numbers. This prompted the EU to launch Operation Sophia in concert with the Fayez El-Sarraj-led Government of National Accord, in which a naval force was sent to Libya to neutralise attempts by migrants to cross the Mediterranean to Europe.  

Admiral Enrico Credendino, commander of Operation Sophia, told journalists in 2017 that the deal with El-Sarraj was intended to “create a Libyan system capable of stopping migrants before they reach international waters”. This would absolve the EU of legal responsibility on pushbacks, he added. “As a result, it will no longer be considered a push-back because it will be the Libyans who will be rescuing the migrants and doing whatever they consider appropriate with the migrants.” 

Since the Libyan experiment, the EU has struck numerous other deals with third countries to keep migrants and refugees far from European borders. First came the EU-Turkey deal in 2016, which led to the rise of shootings and beatings of Syrian asylum seekers by Turkish guards.  

Then came funding to Morocco, such as the 500 million euros agreed in the wake of the Melilla massacre in 2022, when Spanish and Moroccan border guards shot rubber bullets and teargas at some 1,700 migrants and asylum seekers kettled into a small holding yard on the Morocco-Melilla border, causing a stampede that, according to some estimates, left at least 37 migrants dead. Since the package was announced, organisations such as Walking Borders claim to have witnessed “increasingly militarised and violent migratory controls against migrants” as well as “an increase in the mortality rates of the boats that have left [Morocco]”.  

In July 2023, Tunisia and the European Union signed a memorandum of understanding on “a strategic and global partnership” that echoes the deal with Egypt. In the months since, EuroMed Rights claims to have recorded multiple forms of abuse by Tunisian authorities against sub-Saharan migrants, including physical violence, firearms use, engine removal and boat collisions. “These kinds of externalisation policies and deals push people on the move to find other, more dangerous migratory routes to escape border controls, thus leading to more violence and deaths,” EuroMed Rights says. “According to official data, since 2014, almost 30,000 people have died or gone missing in the Mediterranean Sea trying to reach Europe.” But the real number, the group says, is likely much higher.  

EuroMed Rights is afraid that the next EU Pact on Migration and Asylum will “maintain the dangerous concept of ‘safe third countries’ to enable Member States to return asylum seekers despite the risk of human rights violations.” In fact, besides Egypt’s onboarding as a strategic partner, the Pact also seeks to prevent migration flows coming from other strategic areas.  

As for the Balkans, Albania has agreed to host two migrant processing centres on its territory that will be run by Italy, and Bosnia and Herzegovina is set to receive 6.4 million euros in funding for a project that will focus on improving integrated border management. Meanwhile, the EU and Spain have agreed to pay Mauritania’s government 210 million euros to prevent transit migrants departing the West African country towards Europe. 

The proliferation of these offshoring deals led civil society organisations and human rights groups such as EuroMed Rights to cooperatively launch the campaign #NotThisPact in December 2023. More recently, on 14 February 2024, 81 civil society organisations called on MEPs to reject the EU’s Pact on Migration and Asylum at the EU Parliament’s Justice Committee (LIBE) vote. 

Migrants as a security threat 

The idea for a new Pact on migration first took root almost four years ago following von der Leyen’s claim in September 2020 that “migration is complex. The old system no longer works”. It is expected to see the light before the EU elections in June. This new Pact will differ from the previous one in three fundamental ways. First, border procedures to deal with asylum requests will be accelerated; second, member states will jointly introduce shared-responsibility mechanisms; and third, they will develop mechanisms for regulating “crises”. 

The Pact’s drafts contain no explicit references to border externalisation, says Alberto Neidhardt, senior policy analyst at the European Policy Center. “However, you could make the argument that in order to make the Pact sustainable, the number of arrivals will have to be kept low, and member states will, for that reason, seek to outsource responsibility to third countries.”  

The change in EU migration policy reflects a broader shift to the right among European governments.

The rhetoric used by von der Leyen to explain the motives for the “comprehensive partnerships” between EU member states and non-members has been cause for concern. In a letter, she wrote: “Those who have no right to come to Europe must know they will not be allowed to stay.” EuroMed Rights has said that the wording of the letter securitises the movement of people. “Migrants are treated as a security threat, with a security/military approach rather than a protection approach.” 

This wording is not accidental, the group points out: “It is important to remember that these policies are implemented by member states, with the support of tech and security companies.” A Cambridge University investigation in 2018 found that security advisory groups are “closely linked to companies and institutions that win EU-funded security projects”. Neidhardt argues that “to implement all of these new reforms you need a lot of funding. These lobbies or security companies will likely try to benefit from increased budgeting for border management purposes following the Pact.” Frontex, the largest EU agency, saw its budget skyrocket from 142 million euros in 2015 to 754 million euros in 2022.  

Neidhardt is not surprised by the securitisation of EU migration policy and the growth of security agencies and lobbies. “I think it would have been unrealistic to expect policymakers to come up with reforms protective of the right to asylum and protection in Europe. That is just not the political environment nor the age in which we live.”  

Human Rights Watch’s Francavilla echoes this, arguing that the change in EU migration policy reflects a broader shift to the right among European governments. “The EU is de facto implementing the migration policies sought by the far right, contributing to legitimising those groups and arguably helping them to succeed. We have argued that the EU’s migration obsession is shaking the credibility of the bloc’s commitment to its human rights obligations, affecting, in turn, the EU’s credibility as a principled international player.” 

Back in Egypt, demography experts know that the EU’s so-called new vision is not the answer. “Migration flows are like water flows, you cannot stop them,” Zohry states. “Even if you try to build fences, migrants fleeing from hardship will not stop trying to reach their destination.” 

Often seen as a happy place shielded from polarisation, Swiss politics is not immune to xenophobia and hostility towards green policies. An interview with Green member of the Swiss National Council Delphine Klopfenstein Broggini.

In October’s general election, the populist far-right Swiss People’s Party (SVP) cemented its position as Switzerland’s largest political force, receiving 28.55 per cent of the vote for the National Council, the lower house of the country’s federal parliament. In a country with a reputation for stability and moderation, a political party campaigning against “woke madness” and “mass migration” has come out on top amidst anxiety about immigration, the war in Ukraine, and the conflict in the Middle East. Meanwhile, the Greens – who made the biggest gains in the 2019 elections – saw their share of the vote fall back below 10 per cent.  

With similar rightward shifts happening across Europe and the Greens on the receiving end of far-right rhetoric, the Swiss Greens’ experience offers useful lessons and caveats ahead of the EU elections in 2024. A conversation with Delphine Klopfenstein Broggini, a Green member of the Swiss National Council since 2019 and recently re-elected in the Geneva constituency, helps us unpack them.  

Benjamin Joyeux: What was the backdrop to the latest Swiss elections and what is your takeaway from these results overall? 

Delphine Klopfenstein: The general international climate marked by multiple crises – the pandemic, Russia’s war in Ukraine, and more recently the Israel-Hamas war – has had major repercussions in Switzerland, as it has elsewhere. This backdrop has bred fear, which has fuelled populist far-right politicians. Securitarian and isolationist rhetoric resonates most in times of war. 

Two major issues dominated the campaign: immigration and xenophobia, and inflation and the cost of living. Immigration is the SVP’s favourite topic and it’s quite clearly what led them to win the election. They really leaned into this issue and reawakened their old openly racist and xenophobic demons. They distributed racist leaflets – for which they were called out by the Federal Commission Against Racism – saying that all foreigners are thieves. Sadly, in today’s climate, the SVP wins with this type of campaign. 

Did the SVP target foreigners in general or Islam in particular? And what were their policy proposals? 

No, their campaign wasn’t targeted against Islam but against immigrants from Africa. For example, they sent every household a leaflet that showed a photo of black migrants on the Italian island of Lampedusa with a big red cross over it, next to a photo of a blonde family in a Swiss field [with a big green tick over it]. The SVP really targeted “foreigners” in the broadest sense. In Switzerland, Islam is much less of a topic than in France.  

The SVP’s main policy proposal was to close the borders and stop accepting refugees, especially asylum seekers. They played on fears of waves of people supposedly invading Switzerland, when in fact the numbers remain very low. They consider foreigners the source of all ills for the country, and they say so openly. For instance, all drug trafficking is supposedly only due to the presence of foreigners. This overt racism is really worrying. 

Is this rise of the far right also linked to the question of freedom? Greens are often accused of wanting to stop people from living their lives as they wish, whereas the far right portrays itself as defending the freedom to travel, to eat, to enjoy life.  

Yes, absolutely. The Greens are frequently perceived as going around banning things, punishing people, and lecturing everyone. In this context, there was a huge wave of “greenbashing” during the campaign, especially when it came to leading by example. Various “false” scandals surrounding the behaviour of Greens in positions of power conveniently emerged. The far right engaged in a great deal of anti-green manipulation about our supposed lecturing and threat to freedom, which damaged us. More than anything, this shows that we’re ruffling feathers.  

If as Greens we talk about the cost of living or health insurance, we amplify the Socialists’ voice.

But it was really migration and xenophobia that were at the heart of the campaign, together with the underlying idea that by closing the borders, with far fewer foreigners, we’ll be able to live well in Switzerland. For the far right, it’s about finding scapegoats – migrants, in this case – and then building every argument from there. 

And what about the other big campaign issue, the cost of living crisis? 

The debate on the cost of living saw the Greens somewhat sidelined; the Socialists struck a chord. With high inflation and rising energy prices in particular, it was a hot topic. But above all, at the heart of the debate was the increasing cost of health insurance, which is already too high and keeps climbing. Everybody pays a set rate, regardless of their income. If this system works poorly, it’s because powerful health insurance lobbies refuse any reform. The price of insurance regularly goes up, reaching very substantial sums. For an average family, it can easily cost CHF 2000 [around 2070 euros] a month.  

It’s something that the Socialists really focused on. The Greens have also been very vocal on this issue: we want to create a single, public health insurance fund with the cost indexed to incomes, so that you pay in proportion to what you earn, and this fund would be run by the state. We said this during the campaign. But as we’re not associated with this issue, it got little coverage.  

It’s the same problem when it comes to health, where we have good proposals and are the only party talking about prevention, but we don’t get a hearing. Political scientists have looked at this: if as Greens we talk about the cost of living or health insurance, we amplify the Socialists’ voice. Likewise, when the Socialists talk about the climate, for example, they amplify the Greens’ voice. That’s why during the campaign we tried our best to stick to our issues, those with which we’re associated. 

So there’s the general climate, and then there’s this wave that’s very hard to stop internationally: the rise of unhinged populist politicians, like the newly elected President of Argentina Xavier Milei, who wants to “take a chainsaw” to institutions. The SVP followed the same playbook with a dirty campaign based on disinformation in which they pushed the boundaries of the law to get people talking about them. 

Did the Covid-19 pandemic also influence the results? Because at the time there was much debate about protecting civil liberties, which the far right really exploited.  

The Greens may have lost some support at the time but, more than anything, this context really fuelled the far right. The fiercest Covid sceptics, the biggest opponents of public health measures were most often found on the far right rather than on the left in general or among the Greens in particular.  

Restrictions on civil liberties were far less severe in Switzerland than in other European countries. There were of course times when families and friends couldn’t get together and young people were fined in a pretty appalling fashion. But it was mainly the far right who exploited this. There were, for example, far-right demonstrations with people marching against Covid protection measures while carrying big cow bells. The Greens were not really associated with the measures taken by the Federal Council because we were not part of it. From time to time, we were fairly critical of certain aspects of these policies. However, there is no doubt that this pandemic period really weakened society, and a weaker society is less inclined to turn to green policies that offer change.  

As shown by the fear and threat of Covid, then the war in Ukraine, and now the Israel-Hamas conflict, when people feel their security is threatened, they don’t want change. Greens are not associated with protection (or isolationism) as an immediate response to this longing for security.  

What’s very distinctive about the SVP is that behind this so-called protection it offers lies a very neoliberal foreign policy. It has, for example, been very active in supporting free-trade agreements with Indonesia and the Mercosur states, which is very disloyal to the Swiss agricultural sector that the SVP claims to defend. By supporting these agreements, the party is willing to bring in palm oil from the other side of the world to the detriment of local rapeseed oil. It’s totally hypocritical and incoherent. 

Is it because this issue is not associated with civil liberties that the SVP can appear to be protecting the Swiss while favouring economic freedom? Meanwhile, the Greens are portrayed as anti-business. 

When the Greens say that we can’t outsource all our CO2 emissions by manufacturing abroad and that we want to manufacture on Swiss soil by developing local jobs, our opponents try to discredit our arguments, and the SVP has led a real disinformation campaign against us.  

We should of course keep in mind that in 2019 the Greens made unprecedented gains in the elections. We went from 11 to 28 seats out of 200. No party had ever risen so spectacularly in Switzerland. That’s why it was called a “green wave”. The Green Liberals also made gains, while the SVP and the Socialists went backwards, and the centre stalled. Four years later, we only lost five seats in the end, going from 28 to 23 and maintaining a fairly high level of support. These election results were the Greens’ second-best in their history. We have to put things into perspective. 

How did it go on your patch in Geneva? 

The Liberals lost a lot of votes and did badly in Geneva. Of Geneva’s 12 representatives in Bern, the Greens have two, as do the Liberals, the SVP, and the populist MCG. The Socialists have three. So we’re still playing with the big actors. 

The elections for the Council of States [the upper house] saw an alliance between the right and the far right, which marked a major first. On the one hand, you had the traditional right [the Liberals and the Centre party], going by the name of Entente; on the other, the populist and far right, represented by the SVP and the MCG, a xenophobic party that’s pro-public sector employees, as lots of its members are police officers. It’s a party that’s unique to Geneva, fairly old, very male-centred, and built around a rejection of cross-border commuters.  

This alliance between the right and the far right has been very painful for the Centre, which, despite this, has a very humanist wing. When the leadership of the Centre wanted to get together with the SVP and the MCG, there were lots of resignations among more moderate members. They had agreed to support the two best-performing parties at the end of the first round. Except they hadn’t expected these to be the SVP and the MCG. So the Entente, long dominant in Geneva, was overtaken by the far right, which had never previously been very strong in Geneva. We then had a second round with two extremists facing off against two incumbents, the Socialist Carlo Sommaruga and the Green Lisa Mazzone. [In the 12 November runoff, Carlo Sommaruga and the MCG’s Mauro Poggia were elected]. 

Paradoxically, the very serious situation in which we found ourselves in Geneva, with xenophobes in the second round, re-energised the campaign, with many public declarations of support: for instance, the feminists behind the strike on 8 March, who never used to take sides, came out in support of the Left and the Greens. As did the tenants’ movement and various communities – Kurds, Eritreans, etc. 

We need to work on simpler, more direct and more desirable messages.  

What’s unique about Geneva, where there was a turnout of 41 per cent, is that half of the population can’t vote. We’re the canton with the most foreigners. In the end, we have just 40 per cent of half the population voting. So these elections can appear as having limited representation.  

Who are these Green Liberals who got over 7 per cent of the vote? 

The Green Liberals were born in 2007 out of a split in the Greens in Zurich. They are a party more focused on the economy, consumption, and so on, with a vision of taxation and economics that is much further to the right. But the Green Liberals remain very close to the Greens on social issues, same-sex marriage, minority rights, etc. In western Switzerland, they have never really managed to break through, except in the Canton of Vaud with Isabelle Chevalley, a politician who was more to the right.  

The Green Liberals were pretty much non-existent in Geneva. Then, a year ago, a group was formed and began to achieve modest success by encroaching on the Centre party’s turf and taking votes from us along the way. They’ve been getting good results, but there’s a quorum for sitting in the Grand Council [the Canton of Geneva’s legislature] and they missed out with 6.5 per cent of the vote [they needed 7 per cent]. Their only member of the National Council lost his seat. Now they have nobody and they’re in free fall. 

Do you think these election results are a taster of things to come for the rest of Europe? 

For me, it’s more than anything a continuation, because at the recent local elections in Germany [in Bavaria and Hesse], the Greens and the Left went backwards while the far right surged. And in Luxembourg, too, the Greens came unstuck. So there’s a general wave that hasn’t spared Switzerland. There is little we can do in the face of this general climate of fear and closed-mindedness. 

But, in my eyes, the other big lesson from these elections is that what Greens say and fight for ruffles feathers: our ideas and proposals entail new lifestyles, new behaviours, and that worries people. Our greatest challenge is to ensure that what we’re saying is reassuring. Our vision for society – with much more solidarity, new ways of getting from A to B, and so on – inspires me. But we have to remain consistent and we undoubtedly have to simplify what we’re saying. We stick as closely as possible to what scientists are saying on the climate, but it often takes us a while to explain things, and people don’t always have time, unfortunately. So we need to work on simpler, more direct and more desirable messages.  

It’s true that we say things that many people don’t want to hear, like the fact that in 30 years’ time there will be hardly any glaciers left in Switzerland. But what we’re saying is being twisted more and more, particularly when it comes to all the bans that we allegedly want to bring in. And yet I’ve been in politics for 15 years and haven’t written a single proposal to ban anything. We get caricatured a lot. We won so many seats in 2019 that it put a target on our backs. We haven’t managed to overcome this. So, without a doubt, we must rethink how we say things and, above all, not let others define us. 

Are we now seeing a cleavage emerge across Europe between Greens and the far right? 

Yes. We are witnessing clear dichotomies that reveal systematic divides: climate justice versus right-wing populism; open societies versus closed-mindedness; conservatism versus progress; feminism versus patriarchy, and so on.  

Humans have always moved across regions and continents. Yet how that happens today is increasingly dystopian, heavily bound within the nation-state and capitalist logic. Even as migrants endure militarised, inhumane systems and are called a threat to Europe’s “way of life”, they are also courted as indispensable for the economy. Aleksandra Savanović invites us to step back and, shedding the confines of preconceived ideas about future and progress, imagine together a more utopian migration.

Migration is one of today’s most powerful, and most entrenched, imaginaries. The word conjures up images of walls, borders, police, uncertainty, destitution, misery, and death. Migration is most commonly discussed as a menace, an unwanted but “necessary evil”, a reluctant sacrifice offered at the altar of economic health.  

Political discourse around migration is saturated with fear. Migrants are framed as both a crisis, a threat to our identity, here to “destroy our way of life”, and as unfair adversaries in the labour market, here to “take our jobs”. Encouraged by far-right narratives, which see migration as a symptom of today’s globalised, free-rein capitalism, public concerns are directed first and foremost at the protection of national borders, to protect our way of life, our jobs. The rhetoric is nostalgic, longing for those good old times of (sovereign!) nations, family wages, and (white) male bread-winners – no matter that sovereignty, family wages, and decent jobs were only available to some.  

To a certain extent, the European Union’s policy reflects these sentiments. In fact, the term “European way of life” has emerged as the new official narrative of the EU since the 2019 European elections. Its approach is above all practical, forged through compromise among EU member states as (economic) liberals championing more “market” and diversity clash with social conservatives claiming to protect “traditional” – or supposedly non-capitalist – institutions like the family and nation, often alluding to ethnic purity. But even right-wingers must admit – although not explicitly – that without a steady influx of foreign labour, most EU countries would soon be facing economic collapse. They therefore accept immigration but want more filtering and fewer rights for immigrants. A scandal in Poland relating to hundreds of thousands of working visas being issued in return for bribes, which took place while anti-immigration party Law and Justice (PiS) was in power, is a case in point. The ostensible paradox is illusory.  

A false dichotomy  

The supposed dichotomy between capitalism and the nation-state – as that between family and capitalism – is a false one. As philosopher Nancy Fraser puts it, capitalism must be understood as an institutionalised social order on par with feudalism rather than solely a mode of production based on exploitation.¹ It could not exist without incorporating and relying on the existing systems of politics, nature, and social reproduction. It is nation-states that hold the “extra-economic means” – to use the terminology of Marxist political theorist Ellen Meiksins Wood² – of political, judicial, and police/military power through which capitalism’s supposedly independent economic “mechanisms” can be put to work.  

The situation is no different in the context of a globalised economy. More than ever, global capital depends on the uneven development of nation-states. It “feeds on” the differentiation of social conditions among national economies and exploitable low-cost labour regimes. The nation-state is not an innocent bystander but the instrument of this differentiation.  

Sociologist Melinda Cooper argues that economic liberalism and the new social conservatism in fact represent two sides of the same, capitalist, coin.³ Drawing from Marx’s Grundrisse, she theorises that capitalism is constituted by an unrelenting movement to overcome its limits, to subsume everything under its law of value, and simultaneously by an equally powerful counter-effort to impose them. The migrant – as cheap labour – is thus produced in the interplay between the unrestricted reach of capitalism and the necessary confining borders of nation-states. In other words, the positing of the nation-state as foundational at the same time as (relatively) permitting migration and movement across its borders is what constitutes the migrant as cheap labour.  

Dystopian outlook: Fortress Europe  

Fortress Europe, or the Mediterranean graveyard, as an increasingly realistic vision and outcome of Europe’s migration policy, comes as a direct expression of this capitalism-inherent contradiction. Between “more market” and “more border protection”, the EU opts for both.  

Between “more market” and “more border protection”, the EU opts for both.

The EU’s “historic” migration deal announced in June 2023 intends to strike a balance between the two. On the one hand, it introduces a new two-track filtering system, separating prospective and non-prospective immigrants right at the border: those deemed unlikely to be accepted are subjected to stricter procedures, more easily rejected, and shipped away to basically anywhere the country deems appropriate (including places with documented human rights abuses). On the other hand, the EU prescribes “mandatory solidarity”: the obligation to relocate some 30,000 successful applicants per year across the continent. Each country has the possibility to either take in migrants or pay 20,000 euros for each person they reject. The money collected would go into a common fund to be used to finance undefined projects abroad.  

Though undefined, one may easily surmise what those projects are. During her visit to Tunisia with Italian far-right Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni in July, EU Commission President Ursula von der Leyen promised to “support Tunisia with border management”, for which the EU will provide 100 million euros. Similar funding schemes and agreements to outsource migration management and detention facilities abound. A report from 2021 found that the EU and its member states fund the construction of detention centres, conduct other detention-related activities (like the training of guards), and advocate for detention in 22 countries in the Balkans, Africa, Eastern Europe, and West Asia, thus emulating the heavily criticised Australian model, with the intention to eventually establish offshore processing facilities. The privatisation of migrant detention is already in progress.  

The same goes for border protection. The EU funnels significant funds into bolstering personnel and installing sophisticated technologies at borders, including thermal cameras, motion sensors, drones, and sound cannons for surveillance and deterrence. Member states have so far built close to 1800 kilometres of walls on their borders, and the EU is under increasing pressure to start financing these endeavours.  

Inside Fortress Europe, however, movement is encouraged and in some instances even idealised, praised as one of the EU’s success stories (as in the case of Erasmus+). Whereas immigration from outside of Europe is set to destroy the “European way of life”, intra-EU migration is seen as advancing it. Nevertheless, it is framed in similarly functional terms, to be conducted only when there’s a need (i.e. when national workers are hard to come by).  

Against this backdrop, calls for reform such as those proposing a drastic increase and expansion of circular migration schemes to encompass third-country nationals beyond those with visa-free travel (and intra-EU migrants) appear short-sighted, if not utilitarian and discriminatory. In this manner, liberal thinkers such as Branko Milanović propose schemes that could range from those presently existing in Gulf countries – where foreign workers have no rights whatsoever – to those that offer migrants a wider set of rights but only for limited periods of time.⁴ Aware that his solution is bound to produce an underclass, he nevertheless prefers it to Fortress Europe.  

However, the morally dubious perspective that discusses migration only in terms of what Europe “needs” is equally dystopian, not to mention that it fails to take into account the cost of all that “circulation” for those doing it or propose ways to approach the upcoming mass climate migration.  

Progressive utopias

Fortress Europe certainly isn’t the only dystopia out there. In light of the climate crisis, new concepts of communal life are cropping up everywhere. From Saudi Arabia’s plan for smart city The Line to billionaire Peter Thiel’s autonomous city “somewhere in the Mediterranean”, the future looks grim. So what if we turn the tables? What if, instead of marching towards dystopia, we put on utopian lenses?   

What if, instead of marching towards dystopia, we put on utopian lenses?

The supposed “end of history” – the idea that humanity has evolved to its final political and economic system in capitalist liberal democracy, as “there is no alternative” – also meant the “end of future” in philosopher Franco Berardi’s terms,⁵ or the “end of utopia” in sociologist Rastko Močnik’s.⁶ It heralded the rejection of utopias, seeing them as dangerous projects, irrational and escapist, or even potentially totalitarian.  

Underpinning this idea of the end of history is the modernist pairing of utopia and progress,⁷ the marriage of utopian impulses with the view of history as a linear succession of stages, each better than the last. At the pinnacle of progress, no higher stages are to be found; there is nowhere further to go.  

We now know that history never ended. In fact, we are living through its turbulent “return”. We also know that utopias didn’t end either. They simply got a sort of dystopian overhaul. We didn’t stop imagining other worlds (there are plenty of worse worlds we can think of); we stopped imagining better ones.  

Countering the modernist framing of utopia, the work of philosopher Ernst Bloch decouples utopias from the idea of progress. After all, the notion of progress is inseparable from various kinds of subjugation: patriarchy, colonialism, imperialism, and exploitation, to name just a few. Bloch sees utopia as a critical analysis of conventional constructions (or imaginaries) of reality, time, and the possible – a critical negation of that which merely is and a challenge to assumptions about what is possible and impossible in the present. In Blochian philosophy, the future is open; it is presented not as a blueprint but rather as a direction, a horizon.  

New horizons

Following Bloch in his search for non-progressive utopias, his insistence on the possibility of change and the role of subjects within it (as opposed to current trends of leaving human subjects out and counting on objects, nature, or technology), and his emphasis on processes – on the becoming, rather than on being – we could try sketching out other migration policy directions.  

A place to start is turning away from utilitarian approaches that permit migration on the basis of need – like labour shortages or ageing populations – and, instead, taking a proactive, subject-centred view on migration futures.  

A radical examination of what the EU is and should be about is indispensable to avoid the apartheid-shaped ditch we are headed to if Europe becomes home to a two-tier system of citizenship. What exactly are those “European values” so tirelessly vaunted? At the moment, it seems to be an arbitrary selection of characteristics Europe wants to be known for – like democracy, the rule of law, and economic prosperity – which omits inconvenient ones like domination, exploitation, colonialism, fascism, and the ongoing brutal treatment of migrants. Another trope, the need to preserve a European “way of life”, a post-modern fascist favourite phrase and an official EU narrative, now acts as a suitable replacement for the overly problematic “blood and soil” justification. Identitarian reasoning is thus central to the EU’s thinking on migration, which is therefore bound to fail.  

A radical examination of what the EU is and should be about is indispensable to avoid the apartheid-shaped ditch we are headed to.

Moving away from a focus on ethno-nationalistic or even cultural bonds and instead building communities united around common goals – such as ecological sustainability, quality health care, and social protections – would shift the EU from a dystopian outlook to the realm of utopia. This scenario would also imply reconsidering citizenship laws – a step European elites seem unwilling to take.  

Curiously, however, the Serbian government might.⁸ Serbia recently adopted amendments to its citizenship law that would, if passed, allow immigrants and asylum seekers to receive Serbian citizenship after just 12 months of temporary residence. Responding to the move, EU officials warned that harmonising Serbia’s migration policy with the EU’s is essential for the functioning of the visa-free regime currently in place.  

In their book The Dawn of Everything, David Graeber and David Wengrow offer a convincing rebuttal of the common wisdom that human societies advance from one stage to another in a linear “progressive” fashion.⁹ In fact, humans have shifted between hierarchical and egalitarian forms of organisation for millennia, consciously building and destroying social orders. Graeber and Wengrow identify three basic social freedoms: freedom to disobey; freedom to move away; and freedom to create and transform social orders. These are found across cultures and centuries, facilitating the ability of pre-modern peoples to leave behind – by transforming, destroying, or simply abandoning – social setups that have become inappropriate or unwanted.  

In contrast to the modern (Western) concept of individual freedom, where to be free means to be self-sufficient and as such is insepara ble from private property, for the indigenous societies of America, individual freedom was embedded within structures of care; it implied that people permitted each other to live without fear of falling through the cracks. So why not re-examine the very foundations of our social environments?  

What if, instead of investing in detention centres, we invest in elaborate social infrastructures that facilitate immigration by providing appropriate shelter, subsistence, and guidance? What if we use existing infrastructures not for profit-making but for humanity-saving purposes? What if we allow the creation of autonomous communities that develop their own avenues for migration among themselves? Dystopian avenues are already here, so why not try for utopian ones as well? What if we are no longer compelled to own but rather to take care of, to look after, to become custodians of our shared social and natural wealth? This future has no script. There’s no certainty about how it goes. It’s entirely open-ended.  

Perhaps, then, the most crucial step to be taken lies in the realm of imagination, in an effort to radically challenge the notions of what is possible, to break away from collective, socially engineered, and subsequently naturalised ideas about what can and cannot be achieved. What happens next is in our hands.

1. Nancy Fraser & Rahel Jaeggi (2018). Capitalism: A Conversation in Critical Theory. Cambridge, Oxford, New York & Boston: Polity. ︎
2. Ellen Meiksins Wood (2002). The Origin of Capitalism. London & New York: Verso. ︎
3. Melinda Cooper (2019). Family Values: Between Neoliberalism and the New Social Conservatism. New York: Zone Books.  ︎
4. Branko Milanović (2019). Capitalism, Alone. Cambridge & London: Harvard University Press. ︎
5. Franco Berardi (2011). After the Future. Chico: AK Press. ︎
6. Rastko Močnik (1995). How Much Fascism? Ljubljana: Studia Humanitaria Minora. ︎
7. Thoughts on utopia and its interpretation in Blochian terms I owe to conversations with Maja Kantar and her unpublished work. ︎
8. However, the move is certainly much more utilitarian than utopian (which doesn’t mean it has no utopian potential): it most probably comes as an effort to keep Russian citizens, or rather their successful businesses, in the country (between 40,000 and 100,000 of them, depending on the estimate, moved to Serbia on the eve and just after the Russian invasion of Ukraine, opening up to 5000 businesses). ︎
9. David Graeber & David Wengrow (2021). The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity. London: Allen Lane. ︎