One of the things Natasha King’s No Borders does best, besides present a clear history of the struggles for freedom of movement in Calais and Athens, is to account for ambivalence, difference, and fluidity. Among the ambivalences, or contradictions, King acknowledges are: the author’s positionality as insider/outsider and researcher/activist, the struggle for representation versus autonomy (pointing out what’s wrong in the system and seeking amends while also being other to it), the agency of migrants in taking flight and resisting the border versus the coercion and control that have conditioned their movements, and the ambivalence of equality itself.
The imperfections, negotiations, and pitfalls within the ways that Europeans with papers (both activists and aid workers) express solidarity with non-Europeans stuck in border zones––for example, reproducing racial or gender hierarchies, are woven through King’s every account in a way that is refreshingly straightforward.
King’s migrant-centric account of agency and resistance does not ignore the trauma and lack of freedom within border sites as well as border crossings. As she acknowledges, people die trying to cross the border. However, throughout her writing, she sensitively provides testimony to the ways in which violence, coersion, and hurt can exist alongside resistance, autonomy, solidarity, and love. No Borders is testament to how denying migrant agency in the name of migrants’ subjugation and oppression is itself violent and effacing.
The author quotes an email exchange with someone living in Calais that describes how the term “activist” is often racially and class charged; reserved for the people assisting those who are crossing clandestinely, rather than those who are doing the crossing themselves. King thus writes:
“I define activism as doing which either intentionally or otherwise potentially transforms or escapes the state. As such, everyone who does such things is an activist, and everyone I talk about in this book is an activist.” (17)
As a further instance of ambivalence, while actions by European activists or humanitiarians might unwittingly reproduce hierarchies, they also, at many times, provide support and refuge to migrants, and even contribute to political change.
There is no way for a person with papers to express solidarity with a person without papers, within a system that dominates and organizes hierarchically, in a way that is not fragile and close to conflict. Asserting the potential for solidarity, despite its inherent complications, is aligned with what King describes as radical anti-racism.
Having lived and worked in some of the same places King writes about, I have felt the freedom, autonomy, and vitality that she ascribes to border spaces. Most of the people I met who frequented these spaces––with or without papers––had their own experience of the solidarity, beauty, and autonomy the author at times expresses––experiences that coexisted with pain, deprivation, and trauma. I knew people who having successfully crossed to the UK from Calais, expressed a certain nostalgia for the jungle and the togetherness it represented––what King describes as collective community organization, or the mobile commons. I quote Ahmed, who I met in one of Calais’ jungles: “I don’t like this place, but I love these people so much.”
King presents border spaces as they are, dynamically––in their confusion, irresolution, and life; inbetween destruction and creation. Effective action seems to depend on embracing ambivalence rather than solving it, which also includes embracing conflict through dismissing reductive definitions of agency, rights, solidarity, resistance, and positionalities. The way to move past exclusion and oppression is to live, and act, within all the conflicts and contradictions that King so acutely describes.