visAvis no. 6

No. 6 - 2012

Voices on Asylum & Migration

No. 6 2012

Indhold /Content

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Leder / Editorial The origin of migration - its consequences and other realities... – R. Ferguson Statements – The Trampoline House

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Violence/Vold En personlig beretning om politivold i Center Avnstrup – Haron Durani WE – Ghayath Almadhoun Rejsen til Irak – Ahmed Jabari Flygtning i eget land – Barbara Bohr Sproget er en dræbermaskine – Sylvester Roepstorff

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Papers/Papirer So, this is Denmark? – Ann Sofie Brink Pedersen and Liv Nimand Duvå Permanent Residence – Farhiya Khalid I brevet stod der at jeg skulle klippe mit pas over – Liv Nimand Duvå Allowed to stay. Forced to leave. – Katerina Piscakova Hvorfor det er vigtigt, vi kommer hinanden ved – Marie Markwardt

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Resistance/Modstand Vi tabte og vi vandt - en læsning af bogen om Kirkeasyl – Liv Nimand Duvå Nationens grænse og det kommende fællesskab - dansk og europæisk asylaktivisme i et transnationalt perspektiv – Søren Rafn An appeal for change – Sami Sabet The Autonomy of Migration: Understanding migration as a social movement – Jens Pfeifer and Søren Rafn / interviewing Sandro Mezzadra Women and the system of masculinity – Diyar Molayi Sex and Nobel – Patrick

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Memories/Minder Resten af dit liv – Birgithe Kosovic Balkans, sweet Balkans! – Denny Pencheva Fallen angel of civilization – Ina Serdarevic When Elena came to Denmark – Salvatore Paolo De Rosa The past doesn’t always fit - a compilation of incomplete memories from Sandholm and Brøns – Farhiya Khalid

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Translations

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No. 6 2012

Leder Kære Læser

I skrivende stund er der få dage til, at regeringens embedsmandsudvalg fremlægger sine anbefalinger til, hvordan mulighederne for at leve og arbejde uden for centrene, skal føres ud i livet. Vi frygter desværre, at der kommer begrænsinger på hvem, der får denne mulighed, særligt om den bliver gjort afhængig af, om man samarbejder med politiet om ‘frivillig’ hjemsendelse. Ligesom vi ikke må glemme, at der er en forskel på en ret og en mulighed. Retten til at bo og arbejde uden for lejrene må følges op af en reel mulighed for et liv i samfundet.

Lejrene gør folk isolerede og passive. Men det betyder ikke, at mange mennesker ikke kan overkomme disse udfordringer, bryde isolationen og handle. Vi har set flere protester i den senere tid. Såvel afghanske som sudanesiske folk, der søger asyl i Danmark har organiseret demonstrationer foran Christiansborg. Og i skrivende stund har en gruppe syriske kurdere, der holdes fast i asylsystemet på trods af, at alle kan se det syriske regimes forbrydelser, påbegyndt en sultestrejke. Når dette nummer af visAvis er udkommet, vil også initiativet Out of the Camps! have afholdt en “Walk out of the Camps!”, hvor folk, der bor i og udenfor lejre i Danmark i fællesskab udtrykker en protest mod asylsystemet og et håb om blot den lille reform, at alle, der søger asyl, får en reel mulighed for at leve og arbejde i samfundet.bl Det er stadig visAvis’ fornemste opgave at ændre debatten om asyl og migration. Vi vil skabe en anden form for offentlighed, hvor flygtninge og migranter kan komme til orde som ligeværdige deltagere i asyldebatten. Første skridt på denne vej er naturligvis at gøre lige deltagelse mulig internt i visAvis. Som vi ofte pointerer, er dette meget vanskeligt, fordi folk inden- og uden for asyllejrene er så forskelligt positionerede i samfundet. Vi må konstant evaluere og justere måden, vi laver visAvis på.

Som noget nyt mødes vi derfor til ”visAvis Hours” hver torsdag kl. 16-18 i Trampolinhuset på Nørrebro, hvor vi diskuterer og arbejder sammen om de historier, vi bringer i visAvis. Alle, der har lyst til at være med eller er nysgerrige, er mere end velkomne! Desuden har vi med stolthed lanceret vores nye webmagasin, der løbende udgiver artikler og dermed gør det muligt for flygtninge og migranter, der lever i konstant usikkerhed om den nærmeste fremtid, at komme til udtryk her og nu. Se mere på www.visavis.dk og følg os på Facebook!

Dette nummer begynder med to artikler om migration og om det danske asylsystem. “De grundlæggende årsager til migration skal adresseres – ikke symptomerne,” skriver R. Ferguson i indledningsartiklen, der efterfølges af et unikt vidnesbyrd om det danske asylsystem: Den offentlige høring i Trampolinhuset, hvor folk fra de danske asyllejre talte ud om deres situation.

Herefter præsenterer vi temaet Vold om asyl- og migrationsrelaterede overgreb, som vi desværre i stigende grad oplever, at vores venner i de danske asyllejre udsættes for. Temaet Papirer sætter fokus på vanskelige forhold og situationer for nye og gamle statsborgere i Danmark. Forhold og situationer, der ikke blot gælder tidligere asylansøgende, men også danske statsborgere med mere end dansk oprindelse – og som vidner om, at opdelingen mellem “dem” og “os” rammer vores nærmeste og dermed også os selv.

Som altid handler visAvis også om Modstand. I dette tema beskriver og informerer vi om aktivistiske praksisser i Danmark og resten af verden i en ambition om at sammentænke det teoretiske og praktiske niveau.

Vores særlige opmærksomhed vil altid være på migranters egne kampe, da vi ønsker at være en platform for de modstandsstemmer, der allerede findes, men som nævnt sjældent høres. Og som altid består visAvis af en lang række forskellige typer af tekster, herunder også litterære tekster og visuelle bidrag, der skildrer temaerne asyl og migration på en anden måde.

Vi afslutter dette nummer med temaet Minder, som er en række personlige og poetiske refleksioner, der bl.a. kredser om, hvordan det forbliver en del af ens liv og identitet – også selv om man anskuer sin flugt eller migration i retrospektiv.

Vi er stolte over at kunne præsentere dette nummer af visAvis. Og vi vil gøre alt, hvad vi kan, for at trænge igennem til en bredere offentlighed og derigennem forsøge at ændre måden at tale og tænke om asyl og migration på. Med dette nummer er det lykkedes os at gøre visAvis til et gratis tidsskrift, og vi håber derved at kunne nå ud til flere mennesker. Vi håber, at mange læsere vil støtte op om denne bestræbelse og hjælpe os med at udbrede kendskabet til visAvis. Flygtninge og migranter er en uomgængelig del af vores samfund og deskal høres i en demokratisk offentlighed!

Rigtig god læsning! visAvis

No. 6 2012

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Editorial Dear Reader,

At the time of writing, we are only a short while away from the day, when the government’s official committee will present its recommendations on how the ability to live and work outside the camps should be implemented. Our fear is that there will be limitations on who gets this opportunity, especially if it is made dependent on whether one cooperates with the police about deportation. Just as we must not forget that there is a difference between a right and an opportunity. The right to live and work outside the camps must be accompanied by a genuine opportunity for a life in the society.

The camps make people isolated and silent. But that does not mean that certain people are not able to overcome these challenges, break the isolation and take action. We have seen several protests recently. Both Afghan and Sudanese people seeking asylum in Denmark have organized demonstrations in front of Christiansborg (The Parliament). And at the time of writing, a group of Syrian Kurds who are held firmly in the asylum system, in spite of the fact that the crimes committed by the Syrian regime are clear to everyone, started a hunger strike. At the time of publishing of this issue of visAvis, the initiative Out of the Camps! will already have held the “Walk out of the Camps! ‘where people living in and outside the camps in Denmark will protest together against the asylum system and express their hopes for that little reform, that anyone seeking asylum should have a real opportunity to live and work in the society. visAvis’ most fundamental task is still to change the debate on asylum and migration. We want to create another form of public, where refugees and migrants can be heard as equal participants on the asylum debate.

The first step in this path is obviously to make equal participation possible within the internal structure of visAvis. As we often point out, this is very difficult because people inside and outside of the asylum camps are so differently positioned in society. We must constantly evaluate and adjust the way we make VisAvis.

As something new we therefore meet at ´visAvis Hours’ every Wednesday from 16-18.00 in the Trampoline House on Nørrebro. Here we discuss and work together on the stories we bring in visAvis.

Anyone who is curious or wants to be a part of visAvis is more than welcome! Additionally, we have proudly launched our new web magazine that continuously publishes articles. Thereby we make it possible for refugees and migrants who live in constant uncertainty about their near future to express themselves here and now. Visit us on www.visavis.dk and on Facebook!

This number begins with two fundamental articles on migration and on the Danish asylum system. “The root causes of migration must be addressed - not the symptoms”, R. Ferguson writes in the opening article, followed by a unique testimony about the Danish asylum system: The public hearing in the Trampoline House, where people from the Danish asylum camps were speaking out about their situation.

Hereafter we present the theme ‘Violence’ on asylum and migration related violence, which we increasingly witness that our friends in the Danish camps are exposed to. The theme ‘Papers’ focuses on the difficult conditions and situations for new and old citizens in Denmark. Conditions and situations that not only apply to the former asylum seekers, but also to Danish citizens with more than only the Danish origin – this testifies that the division between ‘them’ and ‘us’ inflects on our close friends and therefore us.

As ever, visAvis is also about ‘Resistance’. This theme describes and informs us about activist practices in Denmark and internationally with the ambition to integrate the theoretical and practical level. Our special attention will always be on the migrants’ own struggles, and we want to be a platform for the opposing voices that already exist but, as mentioned, are rarely heard. And as always visAvis consists of a wide range of different types of texts including literary and visual contributions, depicting themes of asylum and migration in different ways. We end this edition with the theme ‘Memories’, a series of personal and poetic reflections, which among other things revolves around how having migrated remains a part of one’s life and identity – even if you view your escape or migration in retrospective.

We are proud to present this number of visAvis. And we will do our best to come across to a broader public and thereby try to change the way we talk and think about asylum and migration. With this issue we have succeeded in making visAvis into a free magazine and we thereby hope to be able to reach more people. We hope that many readers will support our pursuit and help us with publicizing visAvis. Refugees and migrants are an inescapable part of our society and must be heard in a democratic public!

Enjoy your reading! visAvis

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Kolofon Om visAvis visAvis er et tidsskrift om asyl og migration, menneskers bevægelser over grænser og de udfordringer, der er forbundet med dette. Vi arbejder for at forbedre debatten omkring asyl og migration ved bl.a. at bringe tekster af folk, der søger asyl. visAvis er et civilt projekt, hvor folk med og uden statsborgerskab i Danmark mødes om at skabe en alternativ offentlighed. visAvis er desuden et webmagasin.

Se www.visavis.dk og følg os på Facebook.

Her finder du visAvis Som eksperiment forsøger vi fra dette nummer at gøre prisen på visAvis frivillig.

Vi modtager derfor med glæde donationer på kontonummer: Reg. Nr. 7851 Kontonr. 3285805

Redaktion / Editorial Group Ann Sofie Brink Pedersen Casper Øbro (design & layout) Denny Pencheva Laura Na Blankholm Nielsen Lilith Gimbel Liv Nimand Duvå (ansvarshavende) Nicoline Sylvest Simonsen Nikolaj Houmann Mortensen Paula Nimand Duvå Rasmus Pedersen Salvatore Paolo De Rosa Shadia El Dardiry Søren Rafn Sylvester Roepstorff ‘visAvis is /visAvis er Ahmed Ismail Bakier Ahmed Jabari Anders Abildgaard Andreas Christensen Annemette Friis Nielsen Barbara Bohr Birgitte Kosovic

About visAvis visAvis is a magazine on asylum and migration, the movement of people across borders and the challenges connected to this. We work to improve the debate on asylum and migration, among other things by publishing texts that people seeking asylum want to share. visAvis is a civilian project where people with and without citizenship in Denmark meet to create an alternative public space and debate. visAvis is also a web magazine. See more on www.visavis.dk and follow us on Facebook.

How to get visAvis As an experiment, the prize on visAvis will from this issue on, be obtional. We are therefore happy to receive any donation on our account: Reg. Nr. 7851 Accountnumber. 3285805

Björg Helgadóttir Bodil Signe Wedele Caroline Enghoff Mogensen Cecilie Beck Kronborg Christina Marie Jespersen Christina Wendelboe Devid Parsa Diyar Molayi Dorte Naomi Farhiya Khalid Farshad Gita Ghei Ghayath Almadhoun Haron Durani Heidi Erschbamer Ina Serdarevic Jean Claude Gakimbiri Jens Pfeifer Jeppe Wedel-Brandt Jimmy Joachim Hamou Juan Katerina Piscakova Kipanga Lise Olivarius Lone Dalgas Rasmussen Lone Nikolajsen L-Man Maja L. V. Lange

Marie Markwardt Marie Sauer-Johansen Mia Isabel Edelgart Mohamad Khadel Mohamed GT Mohamed MM Morten Buchardt Otarebill Paula Bulling Patrick Pil Rasmussen Power R. Ferguson Said Hassan Sandro Mezzadra Saman Salami Sami Sabet Sandra Lori Petersen Sanja Siljak Sara Houmann Mortensen Sarah Hamilton Sigrid Astrup Simon Væth Shaheen M. Mohammadi Suleman Hoshmand

No. 6 2012

Info

Kontakt / Contact

Bank account / Bankkonto Jyske Bank Reg. Nr. 7851 Kontonr. 3285805 CVR-nr. 33788827 IBAN........: DK4978510003285805 SWIFT: JYBADKKK ISSN: 1904-528X Tryk: Specialtrykkeriet Viborg

Meet us every Thursday 16-18 in Trampolinhuset Mød os hver torsdag 16-18 i Trampolinhuset Skyttegade 3, 2200 Copenhagen N www.visavis.dk visavis.contact@gmail.com

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Illustrations by Sigrid Astrup

Oversættelse på side 78

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The origin of migration – its consequences and other realities…

People migrate like birds around the world. Some people flee to Denmark, where they are put in camps and isolated from local Danish residents. People seeking asylum in Denmark are conceived of and discriminated against as if they constituted a uniform mass of people. I believe interaction and communication between Danish citizens and people living in camps in Denmark is necessary if we are to overcome the problem of discrimination and the problems that cause migration.

by R. Ferguson The world is in an era of apocalypticism that was prophesized hundreds of years ago; political unrest and wars are growing and affecting nations every single day around the planet. No one seems to be able to bring solutions to this situation. Even the United Nation’s mission of ensuring stability and peace around the world by means of its Security Council is failing.

The result is hunger, unemployment, delinquency, poverty and displacement of populations from one region to another, from one country to another, and even from one continent to another.

The current state of the world makes some people’s life a misery. When you are facing a curtain of laws and bureaucratic processes that makes a mess of your future, you start questioning your own existence. Why go on living if you have no future and if you do not know if you will ever be accepted as a member in the country in which you live? Some people lose their youths in their search for a better place to live and fulfill their ambitions. Some people even lose their lives during this process. And the law calls these people migrants!

I believe we need to ask these people why they migrate like birds. We need to ask these people where they originate from, if they have a life, and if they have blood like other human beings? We must ask the people seeking asylum in Denmark if it is a pleasure for them to leave their countries where they have a right to be called citizens?

Migration has been a major source of population growth and cultural development in the history of some countries in the world. But other countries underestimate the potential power of cultural development brought by migration. This applies to the Danish Government and its efforts to make it difficult for migrants to live in Denmark. Some Danish extremists say they do not want Danish culture to change. This is expressed through the closing of borders when it concerns people with cultural backgrounds other than Danish. However, one should bear in mind the fact that no culture in the world will never face changes.

There is no such thing as a uniform culture in one nation for all its generations. The world is not static; it changes and new things happen. And those things affect the universe as a whole. If Danes do not want other cultures to mix with their own culture, they should not even visit other parts of the world. They risk returning to Denmark with new experiences learnt out there... However, out there is where a culture reinforces and renews itself.

Denmark is strict on immigration. People who come from other places in the world are considered a disturbance to the nation. However, far from being a social burden, when people migrate from one country to another, they have the potential to stimulate economic growth and reduce poverty. In today’s Denmark, an asylum seeker is perceived as a piece of rotten meat - someone who is illiterate and criminal. The status

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and education he or she brings along with them does not matter. Each and every asylum seeker is put in the same camps as if they were all alike. And they are ‘handled’ in a certain manner and separated from the rest of the community. I believe we should remember that these people are people like everybody else - with blood and water in their system. It is entirely possible that none of them has ever wished to be in a situation such as the one they are in now. It is time for us to support people who are seeking asylum in Denmark, talk to them about what they have been through, counsel them, and inspire them to look at life from a different angle: one that reminds them that there is still hope of a better life! Instead of subjecting them to discrimination by means of laws that are extremely difficult to live up to.

When I have considered asylum seekers’ situation in Denmark, I have noticed that most of the local population does not want to live together with migrants - especially not those migrants who are still waiting for their case to be processed and are living in camps.

For the locals, an asylum seeker is a poor, low-status person, an illiterate person with no manners, probably someone without a home in their country of origin - a primitive person. Asylum seekers are isolated and placed far from the rest of the people in the towns where camps are located. Some asylum seekers spend many years waiting in the camps; they are forced to see the same things every day, they are entertained by cleaning practices, basic computer lessons and language lessons.

In the case of the Auderød Centre, it has been decided that from 2012 there will be no public transport (bus number 325) to bring asylum seekers from the camp to Frederiksværk train station. The decision has been taken because local residents in Frederiksværk have complained to the local authorities about asylum seekers disturbing the peace in the area. The decision was taken by the local authorities in order to respond favorably to the complaint from the Danish population in Fred-

Illustrations by Sigrid Astrup

eriksværk. Now, imagine what will happen to these families that are living in camp Auderød. Do they have the right to live like others? To cover up this conflict, it has been suggested to people living in Camp Auderød that shops covering basic needs will be opened within the camp’s premises in order to solve the problem of transportation to Frederiksværk. But asylum seekers need to get out of the camps once in a while - not only for shopping, but also because they need to take their mind off things. Seeing the same things every day and staying in the same place together with the same people does not change anything. It does not add any value to a human being’s life.

So, what do you do if you are one of the people in camp Auderød? As a person living in camp Auderød, how do you react to this decision? And how would you feel about this kind of treatment in a country where the route from the camp to Frederiksværk is often windy, snowy and rainy? This treatment is inhuman. And making life difficult for asylum seekers does not stop others from coming to Denmark. Migration should be handled on the basis of its causes instead of on the basis of its results; the root cause of migration must be addressed - not the symptoms. The solution to the flow of human beings all around the world is the establishment of peace in those specific countries or regions where those who flee come from. In addition to this, local residents’ wrong perception of migrants will never change to the better if these two groups are not allowed to live together. The local population will never get used to asylum seekers as long as asylum seekers are kept away from the locals. Unless people are brought together, the idea of asylum seekers as a group of primitive people will never change or disappear...

An asylum seeker who has now been living in a camp for two years recently asked me: “What is best: living as an asylum seeker in a camp or serving a sentence in prison? There is no difference!”

No. 6 2012

I am an invisible man. No I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywoodmovie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fibre and liquids – and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they only see my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination-indeed, everything and anything except me.

From the Prologue of ”Invisible man” 1952 by Ralph Ellison

Illustration Casper Øbro

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Oversættelse på side 79

S TAT E M E N T S What is wrong with the Danish asylum system? What can be done to improve it? This was the title of a public hearing organized by the user-driven culture house, The Trampoline House, on the 27th of May, 2011.

The following text is a collage of statements from the event.

by The Trampoline House

“ “ “ “ “ “

Because asylum seekers are not criminals, the police should have nothing to do with the asylum system.”

There are no limits to the waiting. Not even murders stay in prison without knowing how long they will remain there.”

According to the Dublin convention, it is only possible to seek asylum in one country within the EU. That is a big problem for one of my friends. At the moment, he lives in Camp Sigerslev and he has been in Denmark for one year, but all his documents are in Greece. The police doesn’t do anything about it.” e Danish government claims that the asylum seekers have a lot Th of rights, but the reality is different; they play with their hopes. I have never seen the politicians in the camps. If they went there, they would maybe see how things are and change it, but they don’t show interest in that.”

I t is a very big problem that the camps are so isolated from the big cities. It’s like those societies where the sick and infected people are on one side and everybody else is on the other side.” major problem is medication. When you consult a nurse, you are A only given pain killers - no diagnosis or actual help.”

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illustration by Casper Øbro

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “

esterday there was a guy in Camp Sigerslev who committed Y suicide because he could not endure all the waiting.”

When you receive a negative asylum response, the police can come and get you and put you in a closed camp anytime.”

The juridical system demands proof, but for people who are suffering from traumas it is difficult.”

The fact that more than five people are living in the same room is inhumane and unfair. Even animals have better circumstances.”

If the Danish government would allow people to work, it would help the economy of this country. We are people from many fields, and we are willing to work. It’s not rational to keep an educated human being in a camp and give him pocket money.”

One day, when I had to wait for the bus because it was five minutes late, all the Danes were very upset, which shows that time is important for everybody. But for us it’s not a question of five minutes.”

Most of the people, who come to Denmark, only come because they have problems in their home countries – they don’t just come here to stand in line waiting for food. They don’t need food, clothes and so forth, they just need to be safe.”

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VIOLENCE/VOLD

Translation on page 79

En personlig beretning om politivold i center Avnstrup

Dokument fra Midt- og Vestsjællands Politi

af Haron Durani Mandag d. 23. maj kl. ca. 22.45.

Dansk røde Kors Center Avnstrup.

Omkring 30 mennesker er samlet i computerrummet i stuen. Jeg sidder ved en af computerne og ser tv på nettet. En kurdisk mand har tidligere på dagen, omkring kl. 16, henvendt sig i stedets reception. En medarbejder i receptionen spurgte, hvad denne kunne hjælpe ham med. Han sagde, at han gerne ville have, at medarbejderen ringede til politiet, da han havde psykiske problemer og gerne ville køres væk fra stedet. Omkring kl. 17 kommer politiet og siger til ham, at han skal sove på sit værelse, og at de ikke kan tage ham med, da han ikke har gjort noget. Lidt efter står den samme kurdiske mand igen i receptionen, nu med en kniv. Han truer personalet og spørger dem blandt andet om, hvorfor de ikke har ringet efter politiet og ikke passer deres arbejde ordentligt. En anden kurder, der er til stede, tager kniven fra ham. Personalet ringer til politiet.

Fire politibiler ankommer. De lægger kurderen i håndjern, tager ham ind i et andet lokale, slår ham og sprayer ham i hovedet med peberspray. Bagefter tager de ham ud i en patruljevogn. En af betjentene kommer tilbage til receptionen med en hund. Alle tilstedeværende står roligt og kigger. Herefter vender betjenten om og begynder at gå tilbage mod udgangen. En person der står til venstre for mig siger: “Fuck det danske politi”, hvorefter betjenten med det samme kigger over på mig. Han går ud af lokalet og vender tilbage med en anden betjent. De har stadig hunden med. Betjenten med hunden stiller sig i den anden ende af lokalet. Den anden betjent går hen til mig og siger på en aggressiv måde: “Hvad laver du? Du har ingen respekt for det danske politi. Kom nu. Kom nu.”

Han skubber til mig fire gange, hvorefter jeg falder ned på gulvet, hvor jeg lander på ryggen. Jeg prøver at rejse mig, men i mellemtiden sætter den anden betjent hunden fri. Den løber over og bider mig i ryggen. Jeg er halvt oprejst og råber adskillige gange: “Hold op, det smer-ter, jeg kan ikke” både på dansk, tysk og engelsk.

Jeg tager med den ene hånd fat i betjentens håndled,

VIOLENCE/VOLD mens jeg med den anden forsøger at åbne hundens mund. Den bider mig i fingrene. Herefter bliver hunden taget væk af en af betjentene. Jeg bliver taget med ud til patruljevognen. Her presser de mit hoved mod bilen, tager mine hænder om på ryggen og lægger mig i håndjern. “Undskyld, hvad har jeg gjort forkert?”, siger jeg. Betjentene går 3-4 meter væk, går så igen tilbage til mig og presser mig ned mod bilen. Den ene betjent åbner døren på patruljevognen og presser mig ind på bagsædet. Lidt efter bliver en anden mand af afghansk herkomst sat ind på bagsædet af en anden bil. Herefter

Fuck det danske politi kører bilerne væk.

Efter omtrent 200 meters kørsel stopper vi på en parkeringsplads. En blå politibus stopper også på parkeringspladsen. Betjentene stiger ud af bilen og taler om, hvad de skal gøre. “Hvad skal vi sige til centralen,” siger den ene. “En person har en kniv – ham tager vi med.

Den anden slår mig med hovedet – ham tager vi med.

Den sidste person er routine – ham tager vi også med,” siger den anden. En person kommer over til mig med en lygte og lyser på min ryg. Han lyser og bliver sur.

Herefter kører alle bilerne mod Roskilde Politistation.

Mens de kører, spørger jeg, “Hvad har jeg gjort forkert – måske I har misforstået noget?” Betjenten på det forreste passagersæde vender sig om og slår mit hoved ind i bildørens rude. “Måske vi har misforstået hinanden,” siger jeg, “jeg har ikke nogen konflikt med politiet.”

“Nu har du en konflikt,” siger betjenten og slår igen mit hoved ind i bilruden. Herefter siger betjenten:

Dokument fra Midt- og Vestsjællands Politi

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“Hvorfor rejser I ikke tilbage til jeres hjemland?”, og slår endnu engang mit hoved ind i ruden, så hans ene negl ridser et sår på siden af min næse. Han roser hunden, der er placeret bagerst i bilen, “Freddie har været dygtig i dag.”

Herefter ankommer vi til stationen. Jeg bliver taget med ind og presset ned på gulvet. Betjentene tager deres ting, trækker min trøje op og tager billeder af min ryg, hvor sårene fra hundebidet tydeligt ses. Jeg bliver smidt ind i en detentionscelle. Efter 45 minutter kommer fire betjente og en mand i civil ind i cellen.

Manden i civil er læge og undersøger min ryg. “Det ser okay ud,” siger han. Betjentene tager min skjorte af mig og tager billeder af ryggen. Jeg får lov til at gå på toilettet, hvor jeg kan vaske mine sår med varmt vand og toiletpapir. jeg tilbringer natten i cellen.

Næste dag kommer en betjent, som siger, at der vil komme en tolk. Omkring klokken elleve bliver jeg hentet og ført ind i et kontor sammen med tolken og betjenten. Her fortæller jeg min historie. “Vi har en anklage mod dig. Du har slået en betjent med hovedet,” siger betjenten. ”Hvordan kan jeg slå en betjent med hovedet,” spørger jeg, ”når jeg har siddet på en plads ved computeren?” Han stiller flere spørgsmål til episoden. Jeg spørger, hvorfor de ikke bare kigger på overvågningskameraet og siger til tolken: ”Jeg har ikke lyst til at snakke med den køter.” Betjenten siger: “Ok, så laver jeg bare rapporten færdig.” Han printer den ud og beder mig om at skrive under. Jeg spørger, om jeg kan få en kopi af rapporten, men det kan jeg ikke, så jeg underskriver ikke. Jeg kommer tilbage til cellen. Efter tre kvarter, klokken 13.45, får jeg mine ting og kan gå.

Efter næsten et halvt år venter jeg stadig på at få sagen afgjort. Det er ikke min skyld, at jeg er her. Jeg er et ordentligt menneske.

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Oversættelse på side 80

Poems from Asylansökan, 2010

by Ghayath Almadhoun

WE We, who are strewn about in fragments, whose flesh flies through the air like raindrops, offer our profound apologies to everyone in this civilised world, men, women and children, because we have unintentionally appeared in their peaceful homes without asking permission. We apologise for stamping our severed body parts into their snow-white memory, because we have violated the image of the normal, whole human being in their eyes, because we have had the impertinence to leap suddenly on to news bulletins and the pages of the internet and the press, naked except for our blood and charred remains.

We apologise to all those who did not have the courage to look directly at our injuries for fear they would be too horrified, and to those unable to finish their evening meals after they had unexpectedly seen fresh images of us on television.

We apologise for the suffering we caused to all who saw us like that, unembellished, with no attempt having been made to put us back together or reassemble our remains before we appeared on their screens. We also apologise to the Israeli soldiers who took the trouble to press the buttons in their aircraft and tanks to blow us to pieces, and we are sorry for how hideous we looked after they aimed their shells and bombs straight at our soft heads, and for the hours they are now going to spend in psychiatrists’ clinics, trying to become human again, like they were before our transformation into repulsive body parts that pursue them whenever they try to sleep.

We are the things you have seen on your screens and in the press, and if you made an effort to fit the pieces together, like a jigsaw, you would get a clear picture of us, so clear that you would be unable to do a thing.

Translation: Catherine Cobham

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DESERT

No. 6 2012

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Translation on page 80

Rejsen til Irak Vi bringer her en desperat beretning fra Irak, hvorfra en afvist asylsøger kort tid efter hjemsendelsen skriver om deportationen fra Danmark samt følelsen af at være fremmed, uforstående og utilpasset i Irak efter 10 års ophold i det danske asylsystem. af Ahmed Jabari Det er i dag onsdag d. 8. juni, og det er knap to uger siden, at jeg blev deporteret fra Ellebæk-fængslet i Sandholmlejren til Irak. Det er 10 år siden, jeg forlod Irak, men nu opholder jeg mig igen i min gamle hjemby Kirkuk. Jeg genkender ingen, folk er blevet gamle, gaderne og bygningerne er ødelagte efter bombesprængninger, busruterne er lavet om og der er rejst nye bygninger og broer overalt. Jeg kan ikke finde rundt, ved ikke, hvor jeg er, og hvor jeg er på vej hen. Jeg tror, at mit problem er, at jeg integrerede mig mere i det danske samfund, end hvad normalt er. Jeg lærte dansk, fik danske venner og havde aldrig forestillet mig, hvad der ville ske, hvis jeg en dag måtte forlade alt det. Her i Irak tænker folk kun på penge. Mine slægtninge forstår ikke, hvordan det kan være, at jeg ikke har udrettet noget gennem de sidste 10 år af mit liv. ”Hvad har du lavet i Danmark? Har du et hus, en bil, penge?”, spørger de mig.

Og hvad skal jeg svare? De forstår ikke, at uden et CPRnummer har man ingen muligheder i Danmark, uden CPR-nummer er man intet værd. Jeg vil nu beskrive, hvordan de sidste par uger er forløbet, for at vise, hvordan det danske asylsystem virker, og hvordan det egentlig føles at blive deporteret.

Jeg forstår ikke, at et europæisk land som Danmark, der tager i krig for at lære andre nationer om menneskerettigheder, selv kan bryde dem i sådan grad. Jeg mener, vi er i Danmark!

Normalt har jeg haft mødepligt hos Dansk Røde Kors i Sandholmlejren hver anden torsdag mellem kl. 13 og 15. Selvom jeg var bange for politiet, fordi jeg sidste år var blevet anholdt med henblik på udvisning, og pga. rygter om, at irakere hjemsendes for tiden, fik en ven overbevist mig om, at der ikke ville ske noget. Jeg meldte mig altså, men da politibetjenten fandt mit navn på listen, ringede han efter flere betjente. De tog mig med til afhøring på kontoret, anholdte mig og førte mig vi-

dere til Ellebæk. Eftersom jeg har haft psykiske problemer og normalt tager antidepressiv medicin, kom to sygeplejersker nogle dage efter og sørgede for, at jeg blev indlagt på Hillerød Hospital, da min psykiske tilstand var så dårlig, at de ikke mente, at jeg kunne blive i Ellebæk. Jeg nåede kun at være på hospitalet en enkel nat, og fik kun talt kort med lægen, inden fire civilbetjente dagen efter troppede op på hospitalet og førte mig tilbage til Ellebæk. Jeg forstår ikke, at et europæisk land som Danmark, der tager i krig for at lære andre nationer om menneskerettigheder, selv kan bryde dem i sådan grad. Jeg mener, vi er i Danmark!

Da jeg kom til Ellebæk, var jeg træt og forvirret, fik sovet et par timer, inden politiet ved en nitiden igen hentede mig. Jeg blev kørt sammen med syv andre afviste asylsøgende til et ukendt sted, hvor et gammelt fly ventede på os. Vi fik ikke at vide, hvor vi blev fløjet fra, men turen endte i Stockholm Lufthavn hvor et stort fly ventede på afviste asylsøgende fra Sverige, Norge, Finland og Danmark. Så vidt jeg ved, er det ikke lovligt for politiet at fragte os til Stockholm uden pas eller opholdskort, men det danske politi har gjort mange ulovlige ting, som den normale dansker ikke aner noget om. Eksempelvis blev min mobiltelefon stjålet i Ellebæk-fængslet. Jeg satte stor pris på den, men da jeg sagde, at jeg ville have den tilbage, sagde politibetjenten bare, at de ikke kunne finde den, og at de kunne give mig en lille erstatning, der overhovedet ikke dækkede telefonens pris.

Onsdag d. 25. maj, kl. to om natten, en uge efter, jeg meldte mig hos Dansk Røde Kors, blev alle os afviste asylsøgende fra Irak fløjet fra Stockholm til Baghdad.

Vi var omtrent 55 samt over 100 betjente om bord på flyveren. Ingen af de skandinaviske betjente turde at bevæge sig ud af lufthavnen i Baghdad. De sender os tilbage, fordi regeringen har vurderet, at Irak er sikkert, men betjentene tør ikke engang vove sig ud af lufthavnen. Der er åbenbart forskel på mennesker i forhold til vigtigheden af deres sikkerhed. I Baghdad Lufthavn blev vi holdt tilbage uden mulighed for at drikke eller spise. Først klokken ni om aftenen blev jeg endelig kørt med tre andre mod oliebyen Kirkuk, som vi nåede kl. tre om natten. Grænsekontrollen holdt os tilbage, så vi måtte blive siddende på gaden til kl. fem om morgenen, inden vi kunne køre videre mod Kirkuk.

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Collage by Rasmus Pedersen

Da jeg nåede Kirkuk, der førhen havde været en ren og pæn olieby, blev jeg fuldstændig chokeret. På trods af Saddam Husseins diktatoriske styreform, havde han dog formået at holde byerne rene og pæne. Med den nuværende regering var Kirkuk komplet ødelagt.

Jeg kunne ikke få mig selv til at stige ud af taxaen, så jeg kørte videre mod byen Sulaimanya i Kurdistan, hvor jeg vidste, at en af mine venner, som blev udvist i forbindelse med Kirkeasyl i Brorsons Kirken i 2009, bor. Jeg fandt ham, og vi brugte noget tid sammen, inden det gik op for mig, at der intet er for mig her i Irak.

Jeg er mindst lige så fremmed her, som jeg var i Danmark. Samme eftermiddag ville jeg tage en langdistancebus tilbage til Kirkuk, men da chaufføren krævede 400 dinar for busturen, blev jeg tosset, fordi jeg troede, at han ville snyde mig. Jeg tænkte på, hvordan den samme bustur i 2011 kostede 1 dinar. Jeg havde svært ved at forstå, at der var gået 10 år. Jeg kunne ikke tage mig sammen. At være i Irak føltes som en drøm.

Jeg tog altså bussen tilbage til Kirkuk, hvor jeg stadig opholder mig. Hver dag chokeres jeg ved synet af byen. Alt er ødelagt efter bomberne, jeg kender ingen ansigter, og jeg kan ikke længere finde rundt. Da jeg ankom til byen, tog jeg over for at hilse på en ven, der har en butik, hvor han sælger juice, is og saft, men til at starte med kunne han slet ikke genkende mig. Han var også blevet ældre, havde gråt hår og fuldskæg. Jeg tog derfra, og kunne ikke længere finde ud af, om jeg var i København eller Kirkuk. Jeg begyndte at blande tingene sammen. Pludselig fik jeg et opkald fra Danmark – det gjorde mig rigtig dårlig. Jeg forstod ikke,

Alt er ødelagt efter bomberne, jeg kender ingen ansigter, og jeg kan ikke længere finde rundt. at jeg var i Irak men fik opkald fra en fra Danmark. Jeg ville tage en metro, men kunne ikke finde den og begyndte at græde, mens jeg talte i telefon. Jeg vaklede på fødderne og følte, at jeg var ved at besvime. Samtidig må der have været sket noget med min mobil, for jeg kan huske, at jeg genstartede den, og datoen viste 2005, hvilket gjorde mig endnu mere usikker. Jeg blev ked af det og vidste ikke, hvilket år vi var i. Til sidst fik jeg taget en taxa ud til min søsters hus. Det gik op for mig, at jeg ikke havde sovet i 48 timer. Mit hoved hamrede, som ville det eksplodere, og jeg faldt i søvn lige så snart, jeg fik lagt mig ned.

Da jeg vågnede dagen efter, havde jeg det en smule bedre. Men jeg kan stadig ikke tilpasse mig. Jeg havde aldrig forestillet mig, at jeg skulle forlade Danmark.

Konstant kommer der slægtninge på besøg for at spørge mig om, hvad jeg har udrettet i Danmark. Jeg kan ikke lide kritik, og slet ikke når de ikke forstår, hvad det vil sige at være uden CPR-nummer i Danmark.

Jeg ved ikke, om jeg kan holde til det, og begynder at blive bange for, at jeg er ved at blive tosset. Jeg kan ikke skrive mere. Jeg er træt af mig selv og føler ikke, at jeg er noget værd. Det føles som at være en taber i livet. Tak for alle de gode, dejlige, hyggelige dage, som jeg har haft med jer, søde venner i Danmark.

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Translation on page 81

Kære borger.

I henhold til den russiske lovgivning om militærtjeneste kommanderer jeg dig hermed til at møde op på det nærmeste militærkontor…

Sådan lyder de første ord i indkaldelsesbrevet til den russiske hærs frygtede obligatoriske værnepligt. Vold, ydmygelse og mobning – eller et liv i skjul? Det spørgsmål må tusindvis af russiske mænd i den værnepligtige alder spørge sig selv, når de modtager indkaldelsen. For dem, som ikke kan bestikke sig fra det, kræver det opfindsomhed ikke at blive opdaget. Hver dag begynder flugten forfra.

FLYGTNING I EGET LAND af Barbara Bohr Andrei, 24 år, parkerer sin cykel et stykke fra metroen og går langsomt nærmere den store sovjetiske, søjledekorerede metroindgang. Langs vejen sidder ældre kvinder og faldbyder varer fra deres små landbrug udenfor Sankt Petersborg. Andrei køber et æble, mens han stopper og betragter indgangen, hvor en tætpakket menneskemængde vælter ud ad svingdørene. Nogle mødes, andre haster videre i snevejret. Da der bliver mere stille, får Andrei med det samme øje på dem. To mænd i diskret soldateruniform forsøger at stampe varme i fødderne og deler en cigaret. Engang imellem puffer de til en stor schæferhund, som de holder i en tyk snor. Da en ung mand haster forbi dem, tager en af soldaterne i ham. Der bliver ikke sagt noget, men den unge mand trækker nogle papirer ud af sin taske, og mændene betragter dem længe. Andrei kaster æbleskroget fra sig. Han havde håbet, at vejret havde skræmt vagterne væk i dag. Nu må han cykle hele vejen ud til sin mor i snevejret, for de to soldater derhenne kommer han helt sikkert aldrig forbi.

Hele kroppen gør ondt, men ingen blå mærker. Kort sagt: De er professionelle En hverdag på flugt

Andrei er 24 år og bor i Sankt Petersborg. Hans hverdag er, ligesom så mange andre unge russeres, præget af flugt og angst. Andrei forsøger som mange andre tusinde unge, russiske mænd i den værnepligtige alder fra 18–27 år, at undgå den obligatoriske 1-årige værnepligt. ”Jeg er en flygtning i mit eget land. Jeg skal passe på, når jeg går ned i metroen, og nogle gange må jeg opgive og vende om. Jeg cykler for at undgå offentlig transport og befærdede steder, og jeg kan ikke rejse til udlandet eller søge gode jobs. Jeg føler mig som en kriminel, selvom jeg i virkeligheden bare forsøger, at undgå det egentligt kriminelle – nemlig militærets behandling af unge rekrutter.”

Det russiske militær har længe været berygtet for at være et brutalt sted, med et hierarki, som bygger på ydmygelse og vold, hvor de ældre i militæret hævner sig på de sidst ankomne. Dette berygtede hierarki kaldes på russisk for Dedovshchina, som kan oversættes til “bedstefaderens mobning af egne efterkommere”. En 19-årige rekrut, Sychyov, måtte i 2005 få amputeret begge ben, efter at hans overordnede havde tvunget ham til at sidde på hug i en smertefuld stilling og banket ham systematisk i tre timer. En anden ung rekrut valgte i august 2011 at beskrive rekrut-tidens traumatiske oplevelser via små korte opdateringer på Twitter. Her beskrev han, hvordan flere sergenter inddrog rekrutternes løn og bankkort. Og om den gentagende vold skrev han: “Hele kroppen gør ondt, men ingen blå mærker. Kort sagt: De er professionelle”. Den unge rekrut blev hurtigt tvunget til at fjerne og undskylde sine beskrivelser, men de historier han fortalte cirkulerer nu mellem blogs på nettet og taler et tydeligt sprog om vold og psykisk terror i et sygt system: “Mellem disse fire vægge bliver vores telefoner stjålet og vi bliver slået og løjet for. Og uden for disse vægge foregår et normalt liv, som på en anden planet”, skrev han.

Disse historier er langt fra enestående eksempler på de elendige forhold og den meningsløse vold i militæret. Også Andrei kender til lignende fortællinger: “Jeg har selv venner, som har været i militæret og efterfølgende har fortalt mig skrækkelige historier. Selvfølgelig kan man være heldig og have en god værnepligt. Men for de flestes vedkommende er det dybt traumatiserende. Det gør dig til en robot”, siger Andrei. Og tilføjer at det er særligt svært, hvis man stikker ud fra mængden i sin politiske overbevisning eller seksuelle orientering. For mange bliver presset for stort, hvilket en høj selvmordsrate blandt rekrutterne vidner om. Amerikanske Time Magazine skrev i juni 2010 at omkring 150 soldater hvert år begår selvmord i det russiske militær, og at det ofte skyldes brutal vold mod rekrutter. Det officielle antal på omkring 150 selvmord er offentliggjort af det russiske forsvarsministerium og frygtes at være langt højere i virkeligheden.

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Altid på vagt

Andrei beskriver sig selv som et livsglad og positivt menneske. Men kampen for at undgå at skulle i militæret har overtaget hans liv: “Det skaber jo alle mulige fobier konstant at være på flugt. Jeg er altid på vagt. Jeg føler mig bange og nervøs det meste af tiden, og det begynder at grænse til det paranoide.”

Mange unge føler især begrænsningen ved ikke at kunne rejse til udlandet. For hvordan kan de ændre noget i Rusland, når de ikke kan få lov til at rejse ud og se andre verdener, mens de endnu er unge? I visse tilfælde er de unge ikke værnepligtige, når de studerer.

Men så snart de er færdige - hvilket unge russere hurtigt er, da det er dyrt at studere længe - er de igen i hærens søgelys. Organisationen International Movement of Soldier’s Mothers giver gode råd til, hvordan foræl-

Det skaber jo alle mulige fobier konstant at være på flugt. Jeg er altid på vagt. Jeg føler mig bange og nervøs det meste af tiden, og det begynder at grænse til det paranoide. dre til unge, russiske mænd kan undgå at skulle sende deres barn i militærtjeneste. Forslagene er blandt andet at registrere sig på en anden adresse og at tage til lægen, for at finde en sygdom, som kan fritage sønnerne fra militærtjenesten. Men er de ikke så “heldige” at lide af en sygdom eller at kende en højtstående politiker, som kan trække i nogle tråde, er korruptionen den eneste mulige vej.

Sommetider betaler de unges familier op til 250.000 rubler (ca. 45.000 Dkr) til en semi-hemmelig organisation, der får læger til at udstede falske dokumenter.

Dokumenterne fungerer som bevis for, at den unge fysisk eller psykisk ikke er egnet til militærtjenesten.

Det er rigtig mange penge for den almindelige russer, og mange er ikke i stand til at samle så stort et beløb for at bestikke sig ud af situationen. De må i stedet ty til mere desperate løsninger.

Illustration by Simon Væth

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23-årige Oleg fortæller om, hvor ydmygende det var, da han for nylig måtte stemme dørklokker hos venner og bekendte for at samle penge til de falske dokumenter. Han er homoseksuel og lægger ikke skjul på at det er direkte farligt for ham at aftjene sin værnepligt i det meget homofobiske russiske militær.

Det lykkedes ikke at indsamle et stort nok beløb, og Oleg må derfor, ligesom Andrei, foreløbig altid være på vagt og forsøge at gemme sig for militærets folk.

Finder militærets mænd en ung mand uden de fornødne papirer på sig, tager de ham sommetider med på stedet. Mange unge ankommer til militæret midt om natten og uden at få tid til at medbringe deres ejendele. Systemets brutalitet og manglende respekt for den enkeltes rettigheder går også igen i den proces, som Andrei skulle igennem, før han blev erklæret egnet og modtog en militærindkaldelse: ”Jeg har en alvorlig skulderskade, som de fuldstændig ignorerede, og jeg fik i det hele taget ingen rigtige sundhedstjek, selvom det er påkrævet.”

Ligeglad med korruption

Andrei forklarer hvordan de penge, som mange unge og deres familier betaler for at slippe for militærtjeneste ofte ender hos selvsamme militær, og på den måde er med til at finansiere hele det korrupte system. Militæret kender til de falske papirers eksistens, men gør altså intet for at bekæmpe korruptionen og gøre hæren til et bedre sted at være. For nylig erklærede Ruslands Præsident Dmitry Medvedev og Premierminister Vladimir Putin, at hæren skal gennemgå en større modernisering, hvor en stor del af rekrutteringen fremover skal baseres på frivillige. Der har også været tale om lønforhøjelse til soldaterne. Spørgsmålet er bare, om der er handling bag ordene. I mellemtiden venter Oleg, Andrei og tusindvis af russiske mænd på at slippe for den evige angst og få lov til at være unge.

Skribenten har været bosat i Rusland i et år, og artiklen er lavet på baggrund af interviews med gode venner.

Andreis og Olegs rigtige navne er kendt af redaktionen.

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Sproget er en dræbermaskine

Af Sylvester Roepstorff

V

i ved, at sprog er magt.

Den, der har sproget i sin magt, har magt over sjælene. Men sproget har også en magt i sig selv, der forfører selv den mest bevidste (mis)bruger af sproget.

Victor Klemperer var en mere bevidst sprogbruger end de fleste: Han var professor i romansk filologi i Dresden og hele sit liv en outsider i dette miljø. Han stod for en fransk inspireret oplysningsfilosofi over for en tysk national og romantisk sindet tradition. Med en umådelig energi og stædighed registrerede han både det moralske og sproglige forfald i tredivernes og fyrrernes Tyskland, men blev i sin levetid, der strakte sig indtil 1960, ikke særlig kendt for det arbejde.

Med udgivelsen af sine omkring 4.000 dagbogsblade, der begyndte at komme i 1996 (på dansk i 2000: Jeg vil aflægge vidnesbyrd til det sidste), kom han med ét på alles læber.

Ud af disse dagbøger sprang også det værk, som vi først nu efter 64 år har på dansk: LTI. Lingua Tertii Imperii. Det tredje Riges sprog. En filologs notesbog.

En løgn er langt stærkere, jo mere sandhed den indeholder.

Men selv Klemperer gik ikke ram forbi. Han blev også inficeret af den sproglige virus. “Giften findes overalt. Den spredes med LTI’s drikkevand, ingen går fri”. Ikke engang filologen selv, han, der var så bevidst og satte så mange kræfter

ind på at tale ærligt og sagligt, formåede helt at tale med egen stemme: “Du ser alting gennem jødiske briller”, sagde han på et tidspunkt til sin kone. Hun satte ham straks på plads: “Nu begynder selv du at anvende det jødiske særsprog”.

Han blev flov, og kunne straks se hvad der var sket. Det nazistiske sprog havde også magt over den sprogbevidste oplysningsmand. Det havde også sneget sig ind bag alle humanistens parader.

Det sprog, han beskriver, er som et navnløst væsen, der har besat alle, der bruger det.

Tale er handling

Klemperers bog viser med utallige eksempler, at sproget baner vejen for forbrydelser. Tale er handling. Klemperer gør op med den uvidenhed om sprogets magt, der hersker hos dem, der bevidstløst fyrer løs med dødbringende (ord) våben. Alle hans analyser peger på, at sprog kan dræbe, uden at sprogbrugeren er opmærksom på det.

Det er, som om skyldfriheden er smittebærer for denne virus. Det sprog, som totalitære magthavere bruger, bliver til våben, som den almindelige borger ustraffet kan bruge.

Sproget er ikke kun et instrument i et totalitært system og det afspejler ikke bare en tilstand. Det skaber den også. Sproget banede vejen for Det Tredje Rige. “Konstruktionen af det ariske menneske har sine rødder i filologien”, som han siger, og for at nå til et niveau, hvor selv udryddelseslejre er blevet lovlige, skal der doceres i små mængder i lang tid. “Ord kan virke som bittesmå doser af arsenik. De

sluges ubemærket, de synes ikke at have nogen virkning, men efter nogen tid viser giftens virkning sig alligevel”.

De intellektuelle

Men det er ikke den menige Tysker der står først, når Klemperer deler anklager ud. De intellektuelle var de største forrædere. Igen og igen er det de dannede og lærde, der står for skud, og ofte er det for deres tilknytning til romantikken.

Jo mere man kendte til den tyske litteraturhistorie, desto mere lokkende kunne betegnelsen Det Tredje Rige forekomme. Tysk litteratur indeholdt, ifølge Klemperer, forjættelser om noget hinsides. Noget der overskred hele den dennesidige prosaiske tilværelse – forestillinger om noget fuldkommengørende, noget der kunne efterfølge hedenskabet og afløse en fordærvet kristendom. Derfor var det mindst lige så slemt for Klemperer at befinde sig imellem professorer og studenter, der syltet ind i disse metafysiske forestillinger sugede antisemitismen til sig, som det var at være iblandt det nazistiske småborgerskab. – Der kan ikke herske megen tvivl om, at det var en perverteret udgave af romantikken, som nazisterne realiserede, mens alt det antinazistiske potentiale, der også lå i romantikken, er noget Klemperers oplysningsfilosofi ikke har blik for.

De intellektuelle brugte – dengang såvel som i dag – både teknologiog sportsmetaforer i beskrivelsen af mennesker og menneskelige forhold. Når hjernen – for at tage et moderne eksempel – bliver til en harddisk, indtryk bliver input og ytringer til output er vi inde i samme sproglige felt, som Klem-

Translation on page 82

perer beskriver. Desuden formåede nazisterne at underbygge deres racistiske menneskesyn med videnskabelige fakta. Videnskabsfolk og videnskabsjournalister, der ikke kender til videnskabskritik, har det jo også i dag med at glemme, at fakta ikke altid er vejen til sandhed.

For – som Klemperer skriver – “En løgn (og det har den fælles med vittigheden) er langt stærkere, jo mere sandhed den indeholder” (207).

Teknologimetaforerne havde til formål at gøre soldaterne mere effektive, men også til at udgrænse dele af menneskeheden. Når man sammenligner mennesket med en maskine, umenneskeliggør man det. Det samme sker, hvis man (som i dag) sammenligner det med et dyr: En hund eller en abe. I 2009

VIOLENCE/VOLD

kom litteraten Isak Winkel Holm for skade at citere Pia Kjærsgaard for at sige, at indvandrere formerer sig som rotter. Det var imidlertid forkert. Hun havde sagt, at ”de fremmede formerer sig som kaniner”. Det kom der en længere sag ud af. I dette eksempel er det ikke kun dyre-analogien, der er dadelværdig, det er mindst lige så meget hendes betegnelse ’de fremmede’.

At ekstreme darwinister kalder mennesket for en abe er også et eksempel på en form for anti-humanisme. For i yderste konsekvens – og det er den Klemperer beskriver – er det ingen forbrydelse at dræbe dyr eller maskiner.

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de kan føre til mord. Han skærper vores sprogfornemmelse. Han lærer os desuden, at sproget altid bærer en politik, en ideologi og en magt, der udfører kraftfulde handlinger. En så radikal oplysningstænker som Klemperer kan derfor også bruges i dag imod de radikale oplysningstænkere, der i den fri ytringsfriheds navn, f.eks. nægter at tale om ’tonen’ i sproget. Hvis man nægter at tale om de små detaljers diskrimination, har man også åbnet muligheden for at indføre diskriminerende love og undertrykkende institutioner.

Victor Klemperers bog lærer os, selv de små detaljer i yderste tilfæl-

Victor Klemperer: LTI. Lingua Tertii imperii. Det Tredje Riges sprog.

En filologs notesbog. Efterskrift, noter og oversættelse af Henning Vangsgaard. Forlaget Tekst og tale, 2011. – Se også: www.klemperer.dk

Klemperer viser, at enhver sprogbruger har tendens til at glide med på den til enhver tids herskende sprogbrug – uden helt at vide hvor farlig en mission man selv er deltager i. “Sejrherrernes sprog ... man taler det ikke ustraffet, man indånder det og lever efter det” (232). Dengang såvel som nu.

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Oversættelse på side 83

So, this is Denmark We all met and made friends months ago in the Trampoline House. We cried, hugged each other, jumped in the air and celebrated when we received the good news; Dara, Hakim and Farshad were recently granted asylum in Denmark. A new life began. None of us knew what this life would bring. Some weeks ago, we got together at Liv’s place to talk about the experiences Dara, Hakim and Farshad had had after being granted asylum in Denmark. Here is a collection of the thoughts and insights discussed that Friday afternoon.

by Ann Sofie Brink Pedersen and Liv Nimand Duvå They are not jealous. They are disappointed.

Dara: They read my documents in the court and asked me two or three questions. Then they told me that I should leave the room while they discussed my case. I waited for half an hour. When I returned to the room, my lawyer and my translator were crying. I was shocked. Oh my God, why are they crying?, I thought, maybe the answer is negative. When they told me that I would be granted asylum, I cried too. My first thought was, oh my God, I cannot see my family, never again.

Hakim: I have been nervous all my life. I was waiting for the answer and when I got it, I was shocked.

People came and congratulated me and I bought cake for everybody in the camp. Some of the people in the camp were happy. Some of them didn’t say anything. Maybe they were jealous. A lot of people have been in the camp for many, many years. I was only there for one year and then I was granted asylum. I feel sorry for the others, but I can’t help them.

Dara: When I think of them, I get very upset. I didn’t like to tell people in the camp that I was granted asylum. In Sandholm, I didn’t tell anyone.

Farshad: They’re not jealous, they’re disappointed. No one comes to Denmark to seek asylum for enjoyment or fun. We leave our families, our culture, our everything. Many of us have the same problems, but then one person is granted asylum and the other one isn’t. It’s important to get a residence permit. Then your mind relaxes. When you are in the camp, you’re just waiting for the answer every day. The rules make it very important to gain asylum.

Dara: Yes, to be granted asylum means that you are. You’re alive; We can see you. It’s a very good feeling. And when you’re granted asylum, you can stay here. In a safe place; I’m just looking for a safe place. Where nobody asks me about religion or about my passport; where nobody asks me about anything that I don’t want them to ask me about.

Many of our neighbours were pigs

Hakim: When you’re granted asylum, you face a new culture. It’s difficult; when I was in the camp, my mind was closed, because I was nervous. I only had contact with people who were in the asylum center. I felt like I was smaller than Danish people; like Danish people felt that they were better than me.

One of the reasons I felt like this

is that the asylum center is located so far away from the village - seven kilometers. And who is out there…

The people who work with the land or animals. Many of our neighbors were pigs out there. It’s like foreigners who come to Denmark are bad people. During the one year and two months I was in the camp, I didn’t learn much about the culture, I wasn’t in contact with people and now I am shocked.

Dara: Because I have an education, I was told to start school in Copenhagen after living two or three months in the camp. But some people are in the camp for six months before they get out of there. One of my friends came out of the camp after four or five months and when we arrived in Copenhagen, she exclaimed ‘so, this is Denmark?’

I am not shy - It’s a new problem

Hakim: People seeking asylum don’t come to this country because they love it. I’m not saying that it’s not a lovely country, but many people come here because they have problems in their own country.

And a lot of people seeking asylum can’t relax here because they feel that they are not equal to others.

They aren’t equal because they had to leave their country. Many people seeking asylum feel bad because they can’t go back. But for me, I try to make friends with people, to be

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Illustration by Simon Væth

equal to them and find a nice life here. I’m Kurdish, and in Syria that means that I’m not at the same level as the Arabs. The relationship between Kurds and Arabs are like the

no I’m, the same, I’m Hakim, I’m me. relationship between foreigners and Danes. But I will learn Danish.

And in one year, I’ll study to become a designer. It’s not true that we’re not the same, foreigners and Danes. I try to remove this idea by saying no, I’m the same, I’m Hakim, I’m me.

Farshad: When you’re granted asylum, the key to progress is language. If you learn the language, day by day, you can start your life.

But in the camps, you’re not allowed to learn Danish if you’re more than 25 years old. Then you’re only offered English classes inside the camp. When you get out of the camp, you’re new and you don’t know the language. I’m educated, I know English. But I don’t know Danish. And when I receive mail, it’s all in Danish.

Dara: Usually, I’m not shy. It’s a new problem. It’s difficult for me, because I want to speak Danish with people. I don’t want them to think, Oh, she is a new one, she

doesn’t speak our language, where is she from? I don’t want it to be so that the first thing people ask me is, where are you from? Because of that, I don’t like to speak English.

My mind also needs food

Dara: I can’t yet decide for myself. Yesterday, I talked to the local authorities in my municipality and all the time, one of them was telling me: you have to! You should!

Because I am telling you! You have to move, because you are a woman and there are three men living in that house. I thought this was not an Islamic country. I’m a woman, but I’m comfortable there. I said, OK, I will move, but give me time. They said, No, we can’t do this and… You know at that time, I felt like someone broke my heart.

All the time, I say that, I love these people – more than my own people.

Because I’m comfortable here. And because it isn’t important if you are a woman or a man here. Here you have freedom. But yesterday, they told me that because I’m a foreigner, I don’t have freedom. Where can I find it? Where can I be free? When can I choose; I want to live here!

Farshad: The municipality in which you live puts lots of pressure on you. They say, you have to do this.

Like with Dara. The first time she came to her new house, she said I can’t live here. They said, this is the

rule. And now they changed it. Now she has to move to a new place.

Dara: I had to go to the psychiatric hospital again, because the local authorities put so much pressure on me. And I felt left alone in the new room. I felt like the room would beat me, eat me. They send me to the hospital and now I am on a high dose of antidepressants. In Iran, I had everything. I had a house, I exercised, I had a car, I went to the theatre. I spend a lot of money on everything. But I wasn’t happy. I had everything, but I was not free. In the Iranian court they told me that because I was a woman, I couldn’t do this and that… I want freedom. I want to live a free life. I want respect as a woman. I want to be at the same level as men. This is what I want from Denmark, not food.

A little food is enough for me. But my mind also needs food.

Dara, Hakim and Farshad are assumed names. The real names of the interviewees are known by visAvis’s editorial board.

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Rights and duties for new residents in Denmark Municipality and accommodation • Immigration Service decides which municipality a new residentshould live in.

• The municipality is responsible for providing the new resident with appropriate accommodation.

• If the accommodation rent is higher than half of the household income, the municipality must support the household financially.

Integration programme and integration contract • The municipality offers new residents an integration programme. The programme is drawn up in collaboration with the resident, and the municipality and the new resident enter into a binding integration contract agreement.

• The contract agreement must contain a plan for the resident’s first three years in Denmark.

The programme includes Danish language education and initiatives aimed at finding work or beginning an education.

• If a person enrolled in an integration programme wants to move to another municipality, it is conditional on whether the other municipality accepts taking over the responsibility for the integration programme. The other municipality is not obliged to provide accommodation.

Introductory benefits • New residents who cannot provide for themselves have the right to special financial assistance called an introductory benefit. This benefit requires participation in the integration programme and work availability (actively seeking employment and accepting a job if one is offered). In some cases, receiving public assistance can have negative consequences for obtaining the permanent residence permit.

• If the person in question does not participate in the integration programme, it may have consequences for her or his introductory benefit. However, under special circumstances the programme may not be offered nor required as a condition for receiving the introductory benefit. These circumstances include: if the person has a physical or mental handicap, and if the person has been subject to torture or severe traumatisation.

Registration, including healthcare card (sygesikringsbevis) • New Danish residents receive a civil registration number (cpr.-nummer) and a healthcare card that, among other things, provides access to the services of the public healthcare system.

More info • For more information about the rights and obligations of new residents in Denmark visit www.nyidanmark.dk.

• If you have received a residence permit and have questions related to this, you are welcome to drop by for social counselling in the Trampoline House, Wednesdays between 5-7 PM. • Be aware of changes in the rules as of October 3, 2011 due to new Danish government.

by Den Sociale Rådgivning Trampolinhuset illustration Casper Øbro

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Oversættelse på side 82

Permanent Residence

by Farhiya Khalid Permanent residence means that a refugee or immigrant can live and work in Denmark indefinitely. To obtain permanent residence one has to have resided in Denmark for at least seven years, complete the integration exam by passing a test in Danish and prove that you have had full time employment for 2 ½ years. Many refugees in Denmark live a life without permanent residency or citizenship, thus living a life without basic rights and opportunities. Refugees without permanent residency can be deported if the basis for their stay lapses. They are not allowed to vote or stand for election. They have problems obtaining entry visas to several countries within and outside the EU and they have no access to certain jobs in the public sector. Foreigners with temporary residence can renew their permit, if the basis of their permit is still valid. But if the condition is no longer present, or if the situation in a refugee’s home country has improved, the permit can be repealed.

You live in a constant risk of losing the right to live in Denmark.

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Translation on page 84

I brevet stod der at jeg skulle klippe mit pas over En beretning om at være født ind i en juridisk gråzone, om pludselig at få taget sit statsborgerskab fra sig. Om at blive illegal og nægte at tage den danske indfødsretsprøve; nægte at skulle bevise, at man er god nok til at fortjene den identitet man har.

Artiklen er skrevet på baggrund af en samtale med en nær ven. af Liv Nimand Duvå

det. Familien bosatte sig i Albertslund, hvor en læge overbeviste Jakobs mor om vigtigheden i, at der udelukkende blev talt dansk i hjemmet, så Jakob kunne blive et rigtig integreret barn. Derfor taler han hverken polsk eller pakistansk, men kunne ved skolestart flydende dansk. Sidenhen begyndte vi begge på Avedøre Gymnasium, hvor det kun lige var på et hængende hår, at han kunne komme med på studieturen. Han havde nemlig ikke noget pas. Men så er vi allerede sprunget nogle vigtige led over.

Der må være sket en fejl, fik Jakob som 15årig af vide, da der lillejuleaftensdag, som han fejrede med sin polske mor i Albertslund, dumpede et brev ind af døren. Jakob var ikke længere dansk, men international statsborger. ”Jeg havde aldrig tænkt over det med at være dansk, for det var jo bare fundamentet for hvem jeg var.

Pludselig blev det taget fra mig og så var jeg international statsborger, som jo bare er en betegnelse for ikke at være noget. Det var en kniv i ryggen.”

Velkommen til Polen

dag bliver han på daglig basis tvunget til at forholde sig til, at han ikke er dansk. Når han lægger den opholdstilladelse i lommen, som han nu efter ti år har fået tilkæmpet sig; og når der bliver talt indvandrerpolitik, bliver han konstant mindet om, at han ikke kan blive en del af det danske Danmark.

Jakobs far kommer fra Pakistan og som en af 70ernes gæstearbejdere tog han i en tidlig alder til Danmark, hvor han startede en succesfuld forretning i København. Jakobs mor kommer fra Polen. Hendes vej til Danmark var mest af alt drevet af eventyrlyst og tilfældigheder. Hun mødte Jakobs far ved sin venindes bryllup i Danmark og så var det jo bare lige sådan der, som Jakob formulerer

Vi spoler tilbage til den føromtalte lillejuleaftensdag, hvor Jakob får at vide, at han ikke er dansk. Han har altid haft dansk sygesikring, fødselsattest og samme rettigheder som andre. Men det tog politimesteren fra Ringsted sig ikke af, han undskyldte blot: “For mig føltes det rigtig voldsomt at få at vide, at du ikke er det, du igennem hele dit liv har troet du var. I brevet stod der, at jeg skulle klippe mit pas over. Ikke noget med sådan får du dansk pas og sådan og sådan skal du gøre, bare undskyld, du er ikke dansk, der er ikke noget at gøre.”

I Jakobs første år på gymnasiet gik torsdagene (hvor danske offentlige serviceinstanser har lang åbningstid) med at blive sendt fra den ene til den anden instans: “På sådan en torsdag i udlændingestyrelsen sad jeg bare og lavede ingenting, spildte min tid, inden jeg endelig kom op til skranken.

Og så siger de, nej, du skulle have haft den gule formular og ikke den lyserøde. Jeg blev sendt fra ministerium til ministerium og var hele farveregisteret igennem, inden de igen sendte mig til politiet, der igen henviste mig til udlændingestyrelsen… og så fik jeg bare nok.” enne bureaukr a t i s k e venteposition varede det meste af 1.g.

Jakob lod det ligge sommeren over, inden 2.g’s studietur nærmede sig. Han havde ikke noget pas, for det havde han jo klippet over, som han havde fået besked på og da han igen havde taget turen frem og tilbage mellem instanser og da behovet for et eller andet form for papir, han kunne rejse med, blev kritisk presserende, tog han op til den polske ambassade, for at forhøre sig om mulighederne for at få polsk pas. Her skulle han blot udfylde et par papirer. Et par dage senere kunne passet afhentes: “Og da jeg kommer derop siger fyren i skranken: Velkommen til Polen, vi er glade for at have dig.

Og jeg tænker bare: What – kan nogen være glade for at have mig? Og så var jeg bare polsk. Og nu er jeg polsk. Og lige meget hvad jeg gør, kan jeg ikke blive dansk.”

På studieturen klarede Jakob sig med det polske pas, men juridisk set var han illegal. Han havde intet visum, opholdstilladelse eller

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ret til at bo i Danmark, men gik stadig på gymnasium og modtog SU. Jakobs forældre havde aldrig haft problemer med at opholde sig i landet og ingen kunne gennemskue, hvordan hans sag hang sammen.

Generel forvirring og det bureaukratiske helvede afholdt ham fra at forsøge igen. Til sidst fik hans mor dog gennemtrumfet, at han i det mindste skulle have en opholdstilladelse. Han beskriver, hvordan han tog op på politistationen og med fuldstændig rolig stemmeføring fortalte manden i skranken, at han var illegal og ikke havde papirer på at være i landet. Til sidst kunne politibetjenten dog godt se alvoren

Jeg kan huske en børnefødselsdag, hvor jeg blev spurgt om, hvor jeg kom fra. Jeg svarede, at jeg kom fra Føtex, for jeg havde lige været i Føtex og købe gave med min mor.” og Jakob ender på et kontor, hvor han forklarer sig, hvorefter politibetjenten beder om et kopi af hans visum, så der kunne blive lavet en permanent opholdstilladelse: “Hvad, har du slet ikke hørt efter, siger jeg, jeg har ikke noget visum. Din arbejdstilladelse, din midlertidige opholdstilladelse, fortsætter hun. Jeg har intet. Og det forstod hun bare slet ikke. Men så siger hun, at vi bare må sende det uden dokumenter, men at jeg skal betale 2000 kr. i administrativt gebyr. Du får ikke en krone, siger jeg, det er jer der skylder mig penge for al den tid jeg har spildt på det her. Jeg blev ved med at diskutere, indtil hun bare sendte ansøgningen uden jeg betalte noget.”

Der gik to år før der kom svar.

I mellemtiden var Jakob begyndt på DTU og man kunne sige, at han førte en dansk voksen og ansvarlig tilværelse. Men den danske stat manglede beviser. I brevet pegede man bl.a. på, at Jakob ikke havde bestået den danske indfødsretsprøve, men da papirerne to år tidligere var blevet udfyldt, var prøven ikke blevet nævnt. I mellemtiden kom det eneste tiltag

fra VK-regeringens side, der har gavnet Jakobs sag, nemlig at man kan søge om opholdstilladelse på baggrund af igangværende dansk uddannelse. Og så fik Jakob sin danske opholdstilladelse efter næsten ti år, men statsborgerskabet ville indebære en bestået indfødsretsprøve og den kunne han aldrig drømme om at tage. Ingen har kunne forklare ham, hvad der gik galt og hvorfor han ikke kunne forblive dansk statsborger. Han mener at det ville være absurd, at skulle gå op til en prøve, for at bevise sin identitet, bevise at han kan begå sig i det danske samfund, som han på godt og ondt altid har været en del af.

Global fremmed

Ser man bort fra juridisk status, er Jakob på mange måder meget mere dansk, end hvad man ville forvente af en, der har oplevet den danske stat fra en af dens mest bureaukratiske sider. Han mener selv, at han sætter meget mere pris på at være dansk end så mange andre – og han er heller ikke bleg for at erklære sin kærlighed til Danmark og danskheden. Jeg må blankt indrømme, at et statsborgerskabsindehavende individ som mig, der benytter enhver given lejlighed til at ytre mig kritisk om nationalstaten, bliver noget stram i betrækket af en sådan ytring. Til trods for at være et offer for den danske stat, kommer Jakob nemlig til at bekræfte den logik, han også selv siger, at han er imod. Han mener dog, at en som mig, der ikke har prøvet at blive behandlet som en minoritet, sjældent tænker over den følelsesmæssige konsekvens, det medfører. Og han lægger da heller ikke skjul på, at det er en form for ambivalent kærlighed til danskheden, der hænger nøje sammen med lysten til at passe ind i et fællesskab, man tidligt er blevet ekskluderet fra: “Mange af de børn jeg voksede op med i Albertslund spejlede sig i deres racistiske forældre. De havde alle mulige meninger om indvandrere, men kendte ikke en eneste.

Dengang tænkte jeg ikke over, at jeg ikke var som de andre. Jeg kan huske en børnefødselsdag, hvor jeg blev spurgt om, hvor jeg kom fra.

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Jeg svarede, at jeg kom fra Føtex, for jeg havde lige været i Føtex og købe gave med min mor.”

Da han blev ældre, fandt han hurtig ud af, at man selvfølgelig ikke kan komme fra Føtex – og at man slet ikke kunne få noget job i Føtex, når man hedder Jakob Tariq. Derfor tog han navneforandring til Jakob Larsen og der kom med det samme svar på alle jobansøgningerne. Selvom det efterfølgende ikke har været noget problem at få arbejde, fortryder han i dag navneforandringen. Han føler, at han bukkede under for et system, der ikke ville have ham: “At jeg er den jeg er, har været en rigtig vigtig erkendelse for mig. Jeg har prøvet at passe ind, men mine værdier fortæller mig, at det værste man kan gøre er, at lave om på sig selv for at passe ind.”

Efter ti år fik Jakob sin opholdstilladelse, men selv opholdstilladelsen er endnu ikke, som den burde være. Under nationalitet står der pakistansk, selvom hans forældre fik besked på, at Jakob ikke måtte lære hverken polsk eller pakistansk og han derfor i dag ikke har forbindelse til Pakistan og desuden har polsk pas. Han har sendt tre ansøgninger for at få sin status ændret til polsk, men der er endnu ikke kommet svar, ligesom ingen har været i stand til at forklare ham, hvorfor han som 15årig pludselig mistede sit statsborgerskab.

Han er træt af at kæmpe for sin ret til at eksistere og overvejer at flytte til udlandet. Måske Tokyo eller New York. For som han siger, vil han meget hellere føle sig fremmed der, hvor han rent faktisk er fremmed, end her, hvor han har sine rødder, burde høre til og føle sig velkommen.

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ALLOWED TO STAY

Getting asylum in Denmark. Does that mean you’re able to choose your own life? For some it is not a happy ending, but merely an extension of a frustrating process.

FORCED TO LEAVE

This is a story about leaving the camp and being forced to live far away.

Illustration by Jimmy

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by Katerina Piscakova The night before I sat down to write this article, I received a facebook chat message from a friend: “Hello, are you busy? I just wanted to talk to you ‘cause I’m in a fuckin’ bad mood”.

“So, come over. I can’t really chat now, cause I’m just cooking dinner”, I replied.

“I’m in my camp...”. And then the discussion went on about how long it takes to go from Sandholm to Copenhagen, when the last bus is leaving and so on. Just ordinary kind of issues to deal with, when one of the two friends is a common citizen and one an asylum seeker in Denmark.

When my friend came, I encouraged him to tell me what was wrong. “I am beginning to hate my life here. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck.” We are standing outside on the street on a cold, foggy November night smoking one cigarette after another, while he explains his situation to me.

He recently received a positive verdict in the asylum proceedings, but the future itself does not look that positive afterall. “I want to stay here! I would rather spend all my life in the camp, than go to that stupid fishermen’s city.” I can hear the anger and see the desperation in his eyes. I suddenly see no power in my friend, whose name as a matter of fact happens to be Power.

His hair has gone gray even though he is younger than me. I have some real respect for this 22 year old, former student of Aleppo University in Syria. He is Kurdish and he is proud of it. He often says that the only time he feels ashamed, is when he has to admit, that he cannot read and write in his mother tongue, as it has been forbidden in all of the countries where more than 40 million Kurds are living, to speak or write their own language.

It has been nearly six months since Power had to leave his previous, stable, calm and happy family-life in Aleppo. After participating in some of those extremely “televised”, yet still hopeless, revolutionary actions against current Syrian establishment, he became a thorn in the side of the local secret police. “At my last demo, police came and chased us through the university, hitting people. I ran away and I lost my university notebook. I managed to escape but several of my friends were arrested. Since that day, I couldn’t come home anymore, because I had some information that the police needed. They were looking for me in my house and in my room they found much information about me and also a Kurdish flag, which is forbidden in Syria, you know.”

Whenever we go through his story together for the purpose of this article, I am on the verge of crying.

Even though I try to see things from his point of view, I cannot imagine exactly how it must feel, not knowing anything about your future at all and not being able to talk to your family and friends, as you know it might put them in danger.

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“Last time my father called me, he only called to say that I can not answer any calls from his old number, that he will call from different numbers and then we ask each other: how are you – good – how are you – good. It is always short like this.“ Whenever Power talks about his mother he looks so vulnerable. Back in Syria, she is a political activist fighting for the rights of the Kurdish people. “If somebody was to get a political asylum, it should be her, not me”, Power once said, “but she would never do it, she would rather die in her country, than live like we do in the camps with nothing sorted out and no life. I hate that I am here. I should be there. Many young men are leaving Syria now, but they shouldn’t make the same great mistake as I did. I want to be there fighting too, but it wasn’t my decision to leave. ” It was his father’s decission. When Power was hiding from the police in his best friend’s house, his father came to tell him, to be ready to leave the country at any moment. He neither told Power where he would go and how - nor for how long. “So I was just in the house all the time, waiting. Just before leaving the house by some unknown car, I went to the kitchen and cried for a short while. I couldn’t even say goodbye to my mother. I haven’t spoken with her since I left. It would be too difficult. She would cry too much - and me too maybe” The car brought him to the border between Syria and Turkey. He ran across the border to a turkish village, where he stayed about one and a half day. He then left for another city, where a truck was waiting for him. “I didn’t know where I was going, through which countries I was going to travel or how long it would take. I was just sitting in the back of a truck with three African guys, who were all talking the same language I didn’t understand, and I was so scared. We were allowed to leave the car a few times during the night in the forest, to take a piss and smoke a cigarette. After I don’t know how many hours, I could suddenly see a Danish flag and I finally knew where I was. The driver brought me to Allerod train station and gave me 100 DKK for a taxi, which I entered and which took me to Sandholm immigration camp, where I applied for asylum soon after.“ Luckily it “only” took five months of waiting in the Sandholm camp until Power was granted asylum. “They were asking me so many questions. One of them was regarding where in Denmark I would like to live. I told them that I didn’t care. I just wanted to be close to the university, so I could finish my studies.” Anyway, what seems to be a happy ending is just the beginning of a new chapter. Everyone who is granted asylum is assigned a social worker, who is to inform and assist the person in relation to moving out from the camp to the new destination – that is how it works in theory. In reality, a week before moving, Power had hardly any information about the place where he is probably going to live for, next three years. He only knew that it had been decided for him to move to a little town called Ribe, about 300 km away from everything and everybody he has grown fond of, in this new life of his in Denmark.

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Translation on page 86

Hvorfor det er vigtigt, vi kommer hinanden ved En læsning af Hannah Arendts Nationalstatens forfald og menneskerettighedernes ophør

Da vi i dag knapt kan forestille os et menneske, der ikke indgår i et samfund, er vi også tilbøjelige til at overlade dette menneskes skæbne til det pågældende samfund; et menneske er i praksis ikke mere værd end det samfund, det kommer fra.

Af Marie Markwardt Menneskerettigheder gælder kun for mennesker, hvis pas har den rigtige farve, antyder den tysk-amerikanske filosof og politiske tænker Hannah Arendt (1906-75) i et af sine hovedværker Det Totalitære Samfundssystems Oprindelse. Kapitlet Nationalstatens Forfald og Menneskerettighedernes Ophør fremlægger en analyse af konsekvenserne af nationalstatens gradvise nedbrud i løbet af det 20. århundrede, som den dag i dag desværre stadig er aktuel: De rettigheder, som er givet ethvert menneske i kraft af dets blotte eksistens, fungerer kun juridisk og i praksis, hvis dette menneske er borger i en stat, der betragter det som en borger, og som forpligter sig og har evnen til at beskytte det. Men frem for alt kan et menneskes rettigheder og omstændigheder afhænge af noget så simpelt – men dog altafgørende – som medmenneskelighed og menneskelige fællesskaber.

Verdenskrigene og opløsningen af nationalstaten

Arendt bygger især sin analyse på tiden omkring de to verdenskrige; hun beskriver, hvordan nationalstatsmodellen ikke var i stand til at tage vare på det store antal af flygtninge, der fremkom som følge af verdenskrigene, og hvordan det efterhånden blev tydeligt, at denationalisering af statsborgere var et magtfuldt våben for de totalitære stater. Ved at fratage en befolkningsgruppe deres nationale rettigheder, sikrede man også, at ingen kunne garantere dem deres menneskerettigheder, og dermed blev det muligt for en stat effektivt at forfølge grupper, der tidligere havde været en del af det statslige fællesskab.

Europas fattigdom, krise og uroligheder efter 1.

Verdenskrig var en udfordring for nationalstaten. Selv mere velhavende europæiske samfund var præget af en stemning af mistillid, og store befolkningsgrupper mistede på kort tid deres livsgrundlag, hvorfor migra-

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tion syntes at være den eneste mulighed. Forsøg på overnationale tiltag til beskyttelse af minoritetsgrupper i kombination med de store mængder af flygtninge, migranter og statsløse betød, at nationalstaten i sin hidtidige form begyndte at vakle. Den fine balance mellem nationale interesser og statslige juridiske institutioner blev forskudt, og der skete ikke mindst en holdningsændring blandt de nationer, der nød beskyttelse af en stat: Nationens bedste blev til enhver tid bestemmende for statens handlen og lovens udformning. Dette havde radikale konsekvenser for de enorme befolkningsgrupper, der ikke kunne finde beskyttelse under en stat; de var uønskede, hvorend de kom hen, og der var kun lovløshed og kz-lejren tilbage til dem, konkluderer Arendt. Uden menneskerettigheder var de reduceret til det hun kalder abstrakt nøgenhed.

Menneskerettighederne og samfundet

Menneskerettigheder, som Arendt taler om dem, bunder i de rettigheder, der først blev formuleret under Den Franske Revolution i 1789, og som betød, at samfundets love ikke længere udgik fra Gud og ikke var betinget af de privilegier, som gennem historien var tilfaldet nationer eller samfund, men nu havde mennesket som sit udgangspunkt. Hun mener at kunne se et historisk paradoks i vores moderne forståelse af menneskerettighederne, fordi det abstrakte menneske, som rettighederne i deres grundlæggende idé skulle gælde for, faktisk ikke synes at eksistere, idet alle mennesker indgår i en form for samfund, hvor småt eller primitivt dette end måtte være. I dette forhold finder hun årsagen til staternes manglende håndtering af flygtninge og statsløse i kølvandet på verdenskrigene samt den radikale tilsidesættelse af menneskerettighederne i det 20. århundrede: Idet et menneske manglede sin egen regering og måtte falde tilbage på et minimum af rettigheder, var der heller ingen autoritet eller institution til at beskytte det. Da vi i dag knapt kan forestille os et menneske, der ikke indgår i et samfund, er vi også tilbøjelige til at overlade dette menneskes skæbne til det pågældende samfund; et menneske er i praksis ikke mere værd end det samfund, det kommer fra. Således kan vi tillade os at sende afviste asylansøgere tilbage til Irak, selvom Udenrigsministeriet fraråder alle rejser dertil grundet sikkerhedssituationen.

Det altafgørende fællesskab

Menneskerettighederne hos Arendt er ikke så meget de konkrete, historiske forløbere til det, der i dag udgør FN’s Menneskerettigheder, men i langt højere grad en begrebsliggørelse af fællesskabet, der er umisteligt. De voldsomme tab, som forfulgte nationaliteter og statsløse lider, udgår fra og ender i en radikal fællesskabsløshed, der betyder, at mennesket mister sin offentlige identitet og reduceres til en abstrakt nøgenhed. Når mennesket ikke er en del af et samfund, er der intet sted på Jorden, hvor det kan ytre sig og påberåde sig sin tales relevans og dermed tilkæmpe sig rettigheder.

Denne sondring mellem mennesket som offentligt væsen og mennesket i sin abstrakte nøgenhed, der ikke bare har tabt sit hjem, men også sit potentiale for at gøre modstand eller ytre sig, kan kun fungere, hvis man som udgangspunkt accepterer Arendts skarpe op-

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deling mellem mennesket i den private og offentlige sfære. Aktiv deltagelse i samfundet og engagement i politiske forhold er for Arendt altafgørende for menneskets mulighed for at udfolde sig, og hensættelsen til total privathed er derfor lig med berøvelse af en afgørende del af den menneskelige eksistens. Mennesker er ikke født lige, men det bliver de, idet de ytrer og engagerer sig og indgår i et samfund.

Menneskerettigheder er således relationelle og kan kun sikres gennem samfundets eller andre mennesker anerkendelse. Derfor er der kun én mulighed for at undergrave og bekæmpe fratagelsen af statslige men-

...frem for alt kan et menneskes rettigheder og omstændigheder afhænge af noget så simpelt – men dog altafgørende – som medmenneskelighed og menneskelige fællesskaber. neskerettigheder i statslig regi; det eneste subversive potentiale, mennesket kan benytte sig af, er kriminalisering. Hvis mennesket begår kriminalitet, kan samfundet ikke længere ignorere det, fordi det udgør en trussel mod det etablerede fællesskab.

Men selv dette kan ikke sikre et menneske mod at blive udstødt af samfundet, og derfor er det eneste våben, mennesket kan benytte sig af, den betingelsesløse anerkendelse af medmennesket: “I want you to be” - “Jeg vil have, at du skal være,” skriver Arendt, idet hun citerer Augustin. I yderste konsekvens eksisterer der for Arendt derfor et potentiale for oprør mod reduktionen til abstrakt nøgenhed og tab af menneskerettigheder: Medmenneskeligheden og anerkendelsen af sine medmenneskers betydning og vigtighed.

Man kan kritisere Arendt for ikke at lægge vægt på det enkelte menneskes potentiale for at ytre sin stemme og påkalde sig menneskerettighederne; for menneskerettighedernes primære eksistensberettigelse er, at de kan træde ind, når der ikke er andet tilbage end mennesket, og alt er taget fra det. Men samtidig skitserer hun en åbning, en mulighed for påkaldelse af menneskerettigheder, når de juridisk og faktisk er fraværende, og denne mulighed og dette potentiale ligger i fællesskabet. Netop derfor er det så vigtigt at blive ved med at læse Arendt. Naturligvis ikke mindst på grund af hendes stadig meget aktuelle analyse af en verden, der undergår en stigende globalisering med det resultat, at de traditionelle nationalstater fortsat synes at være en gammeldags løsning på nye og konstant skiftende udfordringer, men især fordi hun minder os om, at menneskerettigheder er andet og mere end jura.

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Vi tabte og vi vandt – en læsning af bogen om Kirkeasyl

af Liv Nimand Duvå I forrige nummer af visAvis bragte vi en omtale af bogen Kirkeasyl – en kamp for ophold kort før dens udgivelse på toårsdagen for rydningen af Brorsons Kirke i København. Kirken havde i knap tre måneder været hjemsted for 282 afviste irakiske asylansøgere. Projektet kan trods den brutale politirydning umuligt affejes som mislykket, hvilket både bogen og denne omtale kredser om.

En elegant grafisk opsætning skaber rammen for bogens 316 siders forskelligartede tekster fordelt på syv afsnit, hvor forskellige syn på dansk asylpolitik kobles til selve Kirkeasyl-projektet. På den måde er der ikke blot tale om en beskrivelse af selve projektet, for “Kirkeasyl kastede lys over konsekvenserne af den hårde kurs mod verdens flygtninge,” som det står i bogens sidste tekst.

Nære relationer som modstandspraksis

Omtalen af bogen i visAvis blev fulgt af en citatcollage.

Nu, et halvt år efter, hvor bogen er udkommet, må der igen citeres for at kunne beskrive den insisterende nødvendighed bag mange af bogens udtryk. De forskellige genrer - fra dagbogsnotater, personlige beskrivelser og fotos til nøgterne beskrivelser af arbejdsgrupper, taler og teoretiske overvejelser - er præget af behovet for at dokumentere. I bogens første afsnit, Livet i Kirken, beskriver Said således, hvordan lejrlivet stod i stærk kontrast til oplevelserne i kirken: “I al den tid, jeg har boet i danske asylcentre, har jeg mødt folk fra hele verden, men ikke nogen danskere. I Brorsons Kirke fik jeg mulighed for at blive venner med danskere i alle aldersgrupper.”

I en anden tekst forklarer Rojda: “Det føltes, som om vi ved at gå med i kirken tog ansvaret for vores eget liv, til trods for at der jo stadig var meget, vi ikke kunne gøre. Og vi følte os trygge i kirken. Vi stolede på folk.”

I aktivisternes dagbogsnotater får man også en god fornemmelse af dagligdagen i kirken, som spændende vidt fra, hvordan “M lavede morgenmad til mig. (…) Vi spiste kogt æg, feta og ristet brød, og han fortalte mig om tomatplanterne, der engang groede på de flade tage i Bagdad,” Andre gange lurer sammenbruddet lige om hjørnet som en konsekvens af de nære relationer aktivisterne opbyggede til de pressede irakere:

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“Der var en kvinde der var ked af det, imens de stod og skændtes. Hun rystede på hovedet og så trist ud, og da jeg rørte hendes ben, satte hun sig ved siden af mig og græd.

Jeg kan ikke huske, hvad hun hedder, men nu smiler hun til mig, hver gang jeg ser hende. Da jeg kom hjem til A og K kl. 22, kunne jeg ikke lade være med at græde.”

Personlige beretninger som disse følges op af teoretiske og praktiske overvejelser, f.eks. om de antiracistiske praksisser, der lå til grund for den daglige gang i kirken: “Kirkeasyls fysiske rum gjorde op med den kropslige og sociale adskillelse, som asyllejrpolitikken medfører. (…) Ved at have noget i klemme og derved engagere sin krop og sine følelser i en relation fralægger man sig privilegiet i at være uberørt. Et privilegium, der opretholder opdelingen mellem neutrale hjælpere og markerede ofre.”

Således kortlægges den interne organisering af livet i kirken. Selvom intentionen var et opgør med dem og os, er det hele tiden klart, hvilken form for kirkeborger der udtaler sig. Dette peger på, at arbejdet med og mod den interne magtrelation ikke kunne undgå at blive præget af aktivisterne og irakernes forskellige samfundspositioner, hvilket kirkerydningen ses som en manifestation af: “Et fællesskab, der den nat bliver ødelagt af politiets kæder, slag og magt. (…) Vi bliver delt op i dem, der er spærret inde i kirken og ikke kan undslippe politiets overgreb, og dem, der sidder ned og ved, at politiet på et tidspunkt vil holde op med at slå. Vi holder op med at høre sammen.”

Mediestrategi

Selvransagelsen, der fulgte i kølvandet på rydningen, dokumenteres i bogens sidste afsnit, Vi tabte og vi vandt.

Kirkeasyl fik massiv presseomtale og satte asylpolitikken til diskussion, men kravet om opholdstilladelse blev ikke indfriet. Pressegruppens arbejde beskrives nøgternt og kan næsten ses som en slags strategisk vejledning til kommende projekter. Afsnittet giver af og til udtryk for, at den offentlige opmærksomheden omkring 282 af de mennesker, der ellers er gemt væk fra offentligheden, var en sejr sig selv. Bogens omslag er da også et foto fra den folkelige demonstrationen mod rydningen, hvor 25.000 gik på gaden. Danmark blev råbt op og konsekvenserne af den danske asylpolitik blev fremvist i en overskuelig ramme for en broget offentlighed, hvor næstekærlighed og anstændighed kom i fokus, som det ses i talerne af Carsten Jensen og Brorsons Kirke-præsten Per Ramsdal. Den overordnede humanistiske appel i afsnittets blødere dele står umiddelbart i skarp kontrast til den billedlige dokumentation af politivold - fotografier af blodige sår og grønne mærker, som kunstgruppen AW har samlet under billedserien Mærker, samt et stort foto af godt femten væbnede betjente, der med køller tæsker løs på siddende demonstranter, der forholder sig passivt.

Passiviteten var en del af en strategisk overvejelse:

Illustration: Misja Thirslun Krenchel

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”Vi havde holdt møder i ugevis og havde lagt en strategi i tilfælde af en rydning. Vi skulle iscenesætte begivenheden, så politiet tydeligt fremstod som brutale og illegitime, hvis de kom. Det kunne bedst gøres ved, at de fremstod aggressive, mens vi fremstod passive. Hvis de stod op, og vi sad ned. Hvis de tæskede, og vi tog imod.”

I medierne hørte man efterfølgende om væbnede politibetjente, der tæskede løs på demonstranter, der kæmpede for medmenneskelighed. Det holder bogen med sin billeddokumentation fast i. Projektets mediestrategiske forløb samt rydningen blev altså ikke kun forstået som en fiasko, men også som en sejr i kraft af den offentlige afsløring af systemets brutalitet.

Mindesten eller brugsgenstand

Et halvt år efter udgivelsen må man nødvendigvis spørge, hvordan bogen bidrager til det samlede projekt. Hvis man går med på præmissen om, at Kirkeasyl ikke skal afsluttes og indkapsles, men bruges til at se frem mod nye asylaktivistiske bevægelser, er de selvrefleksive tekster klart bogens stærkeste. I stedet for at fremstille en mere intern selvkritik har man på godt og ondt valgt at appellere bredt og stadig forpligte en større offentlighed gennem rørende personlige beretninger. Dog vil jeg mene, at et ottende afsnit med fokus på nye tiltag havde været på sin plads. Bogen har en tendens til at ville afslutte de gode initiativer. Læserens ansvar for at undgå at gøre bogen til en mindesten er derfor stort. Det er ikke en bog, der bør lukkes.

Den skal ligge fremme og huske os alle på, hvor grelt det trods en ny regering stadig står til på asylområdet. Mange af teksterne leverer vigtige strategier for en ny tilgang til asylpolitisk handling. Og de skal bruges.

Så længe Kirkeasyl – en kamp for ophold anses som en værdifuld brugsgenstand frem for et lukket værk, der sørges ved en gang om året, er den et indsigtsfuldt og uomgængeligt supplement til en af de vigtigste begivenheder i dansk asylpolitisk historie.

“Kirkeasyl – en kamp for ophold”, 315 sider med foto og illustrationer, Bogforlaget Frydenlund, 2011.

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Translation on page 88

Nationens grænse og det kommende fællesskab – dansk og europæisk asylaktivisme i et transnationalt perspektiv Kan aktivister og migranter sammen skabe radikalt kritiske og demokratiske alternativer til de nationale fællesskaber, der baserer sig på eksklusion? Artiklen ser nærmere på asylaktivistiske fænomener som Kirkeasyl, Trampolinhuset, visAvis og den europæiske NoBorder-bevægelse og overvejer potentialet for en ny måde at skabe identitet og fællesskab på. af Søren Rafn Begivenhederne omkring Brorsons Kirke i København sommeren 2009, hvor aktivister og afviste irakiske asylansøgere søgte tilflugt og stillede krav om opholdstilladelse til irakerne under betegnelsen Kirkeasyl, gjorde en ting meget tydeligt: De nationale forestillede fællesskabers identitetsskabelse baserer sig på eksklusionen af ’den Anden’, med flygtningen og migranten som den eksemplarisk fremmede skikkelse, der kontinuerligt ekskluderes gennem sin inklusion. Det nationale fællesskab synes at have udviklet en afhængighed, hvor migranter paradoksalt nok er den afgørende støttepille, som fællesskabets sammenhængskraft beror på. Ifølge Giorgio Agamben har folket, f.eks. det nationale folk, gennem Vestens historie konstitueret sig ved eksklusion, f.eks. af flygtningen. Folket opfatter sig som en naturlig enhed, men det må forme sig som et komplet fællesskab gennem gentagne eksklusioner.

Folket beror således på en mangel, der evigt må suppleres. En mangel f.eks. danske asyllejre kan udgøre et supplement til i kraft af deres dobbeltplacering i periferien af Danmarks geografiske landskab og centralt i det danske mediebillede.

Lejren er et omdrejningspunkt i mediebilledet, mens dens beboere

er gemt af vejen for offentligheden og genstand for mediernes omtale.

Kirkeasyl tydeliggjorde i første omgang dette ved at overskride lejren og dens beboeres placering i periferien af det danske landskab. Ved at folk, der søgte asyl, så at sige trådte ’indenfor’. Tæt på og blandt os i byen. Som hovedpersoner. Men delvist også som statister. For ganske vist var irakerne synlige blandt os, men stadig som en grad af passive subjekter. Irakerne blev kendetegnet som en gruppe af børn, gamle, syge og forfulgte. Og ved at blæse disse tragiske offerskæbner op til at være selve billedet på tilstanden i dagens Danmark kom et andet generøst Danmark til syne. Et Danmark, der opfordrede til at vise ”storsind” og ”barmhjertighed”, men hvor ”retten til at sende flygtninge hjem” stadig var ”grundlæggende”, som ordene lød i socialdemokraten Svend Aukens tale ved en demonstration for irakerne. Og med cementeringen af denne grundlæggende nationale ret blev byen scene for en kamp i en ren dansk indramning. Det ene Danmark mod det andet Danmark med den enkelte iraker som kampplads. Hvem er hun? Hvor kommer hun fra? Lyver hun? Har hun dræbte familiemedlemmer? Er hun en sand flygtning, vi bør vise nationalt storsind over for? Diskus-

sionen forblev groft sagt inden for en sproglig undertrykkelseshorisont, der tvang det enkelte offer frem i medierne, for at bede suverænen om beskyttelse med henvisning til sin elendighed. Statens grundlæggende ret til at behandle uønskede mennesker som andenrangsindivider blev aldrig for alvor forfægtet. Begivenhederne tydeliggjorde ikke blot den eksklusionsbaserede måde at skabe national identitet på, ved at de afviste irakere flyttede rykkede ind blandt os, men ved at de rykkede ind blandt os og blev fastholdt i de underkastedes offerrolle og talt på vegne af.

Dette er selvfølgelig en firkantet og uretfærdig dom over en unik politisk begivenhed. Man kunne påpege, at den rene danske indramning af kampen om de afviste irakere, og det realpolitiske krav om ophold til netop disse (frem for til alle), tog afsæt i og respekterede den enkelte irakers konkrete livssituation, hvilket også vil sige den nationalstatslige ramme, hvor forandring var en reel mulighed, frem for en mere global politisk tilgang. Man kunne stadig hævde, at debatten om Kirkeasyl var med til at gøre irakerne til passive subjekter. Men også svare, at Kirkeasyls repræsentanter tog ansvar for at aktivister og asylansøgere er eks-

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tremt ulige positionerede i samfundet og i det politiske liv – og påpege, at jeg med perspektivet her glemmer at se på den indre organisering og interaktion blandt aktivister og migranter i kirken (se anmeldelsen af Kirkeasyl – en kamp for ophold i dette visAvis). Denne hårde realitet må man bevidst forholde sig til.

Den vil også hjemsøge den form for asylaktivisme, der ønsker at

Illustration by Paula Bulling

overskride den nationale rammefortælling.

Det betyder ikke, at nationalstaten er eviggyldig og ukritisabel. Agambens Arendt-inspirerede blotlæggelse af en gråzone mellem vestlige demokratier og totalitarisme er ikke en teoretisk fantasme, men en virkelighed, der udfolder sig for øjnene af os,

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skønt vi med lidenskab fortsætter med at tro, at den blot er et historisk sidespring og ikke som sådan strukturelt relateret til nationalstaten. Højredrejningen hos de europæiske centrum-venstre partier vidner herom. Grænsen og dens voldelige logik er i dag rykket ind i hjertet af det politiske rum. Samtidig flyt-tes den(s kontrol) konkret længere væk, f.eks. til Europas

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ydre grænser og ind i det afrikanske kontinent for EU-landenes vedkommende. Det er en kompleks problematik, der kun kan behandles overfladisk her: Finansielle strømme flyder frit ind og ud over grænser, mens den menneskelige bevægelse over grænser bliver vanskeligere for utallige. Som Arjun Appadurai har påpeget, bliver migranter genstande for statens egen frygt for marginalisering under globaliseringens pres. Samtidig er de og deres arbejdskraft nødvendige, hvis national økonomisk suverænitet skal opretholdes. Nødvendige, men uvelkomne. ’De’ er en uomgængelig del af ’os’ og gør dermed vores forsøg på at drage en grænse mellem ’indenfor’ og ’udenfor,’ mellem ’dem’ og ’os’, bittert og fortvivlet.

Bevidstheden om at skellet mellem “dem” og “os” forvitres, er et interessant sted at knytte an aktivistisk, hvis den nationale rammefortælling skal overskrides. Jeg vil her kort komme ind på to permanente aktivistiske projekter i København, som jeg selv er del af og mener, man med god mening kan anskue i forlængelse af Kirkeasyl: visAvis og det brugerstyrede kulturhus for asylsøgere og danskere, Trampolinhuset. Begge disse projekter har som kendetegn at de skabes med flygtninge

perspektiv, som det er svært ikke at sympatisere med. Samtidig kan Trampolinhuset potentielt skabe et alternativt rum hinsides nationens og lejrens vekselvirkende logikker, hvor grænsedragningen mellem ’dem’ og ’os’ som sådan sættes ud af spil. Huset faciliterer sociale, kulturelle og politiske arrangementer, hvor alle skal kunne deltage på lige fod, og tager udgangspunkt i den enkeltes situation, ved at tilbyde f.eks. advokathjælp og sprogundervisning. visAvis bringer bl.a. tekster om migration i et globalt perspektiv og udgør en platform for, at flygtninge og migranter kan træde ud af offerrollen og udtrykke sig uden at blive talt på vegne af.

Alt sammen ideelt set. Det er for tidligt (for mig) at komme ind på mere end disse projekters principielle begrænsning og potentiale.

Ingen af dem har en eksplicit holdning til f.eks. nationalstaten, men begge har en ambition om at skabe betingelser for lige deltagelse i bevidsthed om deltagernes meget ulige positioner i samfundet. Projekterne hjemsøges naturligvis af grænser og eksklusion, men har som deres opgave altid at være på vej mod lige og demokratisk deltagelse. I denne proces brydes grænser ned, mens nye grænser og konflikter opstår. Og identitet må skabes på den hårde måde. Det be-

Kan identiteterne ’aktivist’ og ’migrant’ overskrides med skabelsen af en flerfoldig og åben politisk subjektivitet til følge? Kan denne hårde identitetsdannelse skabe alternativer til den eksklusionsbaserede nationale identitetsdannelse? og migranter og eksplicit har til formål at overskride offergørelsen.

Trampolinhuset åbnede på Nørrebro i København i november 2010 og er et kulturhus, hvor folk, der søger asyl, kan træde ud af lejrens ødelæggende isolation og genopbygge sig som mennesker, uanset deres fremtidige distinktion – et

tyder ikke, at nationalstaten fritages eller at grænsen er naturlig, men at nedbrydningen af grænser ikke er ensbetydende med, at en undertrykt frihed trænger op gennem overfladen. Det er vanskeligt at sige, hvad nationalstaten skal erstattes af, men det legitimerer næppe et sygdomsplaget sys-

tem.

I denne optik fristes man til at udråbe den asylaktivisme, der forsøger at gribe intervenerende ind i nationalstatsordenen, for vor tids avantgarde. En fortrop i civilsamfundet, der har sammenhænge mellem stat, suverænitet, globalisering og migranters retsløshed og prekære arbejdssituation samt det vigtige i migranters selvrepræsentation for øje. Arendt, og Agamben i forlængelse af hende, har peget på flygtningen som en avantgardefigur, når denne nægter både at lade sig hjemsende og blive assimileret som statsborger. Hermed kunne man pege på en potentiel alliance mellem transnationalt funderet aktivisme og migranter. Spørgsmålet er imidlertid om denne alliance er mere end teoretisk? Og om det ikke i praksis vil munde ud i et overgreb, hvis man projicerer avantgardefiguren over på migranter, når migranters selv repræsentation samtidig må forstås som noget fundamentalt i aktivisme? Ikke at den aktivistiske politiske forestilling er uvæsentlig. Det der finder sted i hovedet på aktivisten tæller med.

Men aktivisten må åbne sig radikalt mod den mulige Anden, hvis politiske forestillingsverden langt fra nødvendigvis udgør et match.

Dette skal ikke forstås som en åbning mod en essentialiseret Anden, der i sig selv rummer en sandhed i kraft af at være et undertrykt væsen. Den radikale åbning mod den mulige Anden er ikke det samme som at tilpasse sig eller forherlige denne, men betegner snarere et møde, hvor både den ene og den andens forestillingsverden er på spil. Det er præmissen for en fælles, men alt andet end konfliktløs, skabelse af identitet. Spørgsmålet er: Kan identiteterne ’aktivist’ og ’migrant’ overskrides med skabelsen af en flerfoldig og åben politisk subjektivitet til følge? Kan denne hårde identitetsdannelse skabe alternativer til den eksklusionsbaserede nationale identitetsdannelse?

Den europæiske, transnationale asylaktivisme er i det perspektiv et af samtidens mest interessante politiske fænomener, hvor politisk radikalitet og radikal demokratisk

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interaktion vikles ind i hinanden.

Dette kommer bl.a. til udtryk ved såkaldte Border Camps iværksat af aktivister fra det såkaldte Noborder network, der består af forskellige grupper, som kan regnes til en større bevægelse. Heriblandt den relativt nye Welcome to Europe – the border is the problem, der skriver: “Vi er en del af Noborderbevægelsen, vi udfordrer grænsen og alle andre mekanismer af migrationskontrol. Fri bevægelse – i hele verden! er vores råb og krav.” Med adresse til nationalstaten og grænsen som sådan frem for en bestemt nations adfærd.

Sammenhængen mellem politisk radikalitet og radikal demokratisk interaktion er slående i brochuren Infopoint, der beskriver bordercampen i 2009 på den græske ø Lesbos (et transitpunkt for mange migranter på vej til Europa) og er et stærkt vidnesbyrd om aktivisterne og migranternes fælles kamp mod det europæiske grænseregime. Som det hedder i indledningsartiklen: “Vi tror, det er vigtigt at organisere og styre den antiracistiske kamp sammen med dem, der er mest påvirket af angrebene fra et racistisk samfund.” Eller som det bliver udtryk om effekten af det velkomstcenter, aktivisterne havde oprettet på øen: “Som resultat var det

muligt at stille spørgsmål ved distinktionen mellem ’de europæiske aktivister’, ’migranterne’ og ’flygtningene’. Det var muligt at komme ud over individualiseret rejse og kamp. Folk der involverede sig i projektet skabte en informationskorridor, der hjalp med at ophæve grænser, med at sprede en håbefuld forpligtigelse til at yde modstand – og med at skabe muligheden for at sige ’Nej!’ til grænseregimet.”

Det betød dog ikke, at ’aktivisterne’ kunne ignorere de ulige positioner deltagerne imellem. “For os indebærer sådanne kampe forsøget på at komme ud over barrieren mellem ’dem’ og ’os’, at blive bevidst om egne privilegier, og at anerkende tilgangene, behovene og kravene fra folk, der har forskellige baggrunde og status i samfundet.” Aktivisterne tog sig af praktiske forhold og organiserede mad, sprog, juridisk støtte, lægehjælp og meget mere. Men der blev også skabt et fælles sprog omkring grænser og nationer. “Hvor jeg skal gå hen, det ved jeg ikke. Men så længe du er i live, går du. Du kommer ikke til at stoppe. Du går bare. Til hvor du end kommer. Så hvor vi går hen og kommer til, vi ved det ikke.

Bare at vi går fremad, vi går ikke tilbage”, som Mr. X udtrykker det poetisk, eller som Milad appellerer:

“Slip venligst flygtningene fri og stands de grænser og giv os vores rettigheder.” Artiklerne rummer flere lignende udsagn. Man kunne dog påpege, at der er tale om aktivisternes interviews med migranterne. En af beretningerne bliver ledsaget af et metaagtigt efter skrift: ”Vi går indtil ingen-grænser!” Her undrer man sig som læser over, hvem der i grunden taler.

Alligevel bliver man ramt af forundring som læser. Hvordan er dette fælles transnationale rum opstået? Jeg spørger på baggrund af møder med venner fra de danske asyllejre, hvor jeg sjældent oplever, at folk påkalder en principiel ret, f.eks. til fri bevægelighed, men derimod en af og til andægtig holdning til den suveræne stat, Danmark.

I et enkelt tilfælde i Sandholmlejren, hvor jeg adspurgt for en gangs skyld ekspli-citerede min holdning til asyl og migration, blev jeg (måske rimeligvis) kaldt for naiv af en gennem mange år afvist flygtning, der simpelthen hævdede, at det var de forkerte, der fik tildelt asyl i Danmark (jeg undgik efterfølgende at kalde ham for naiv).

Har ’verdensborgerfølelsen’ hos migranterne i Infopoint-brochuren med en særlig stemning under border-campen at gøre? Eller med det faktum at migranterne her mødte

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et et velkomstcenter frem for en grænsebetjent? Eller simpelthen fordi de stadig var på vej til at overskride denne og ikke var ankommet til en stat som asylansøgere?

Og omvendt, gør lejren og asylsystemet mennesket til det Agamben kalder for homo sacer, et nøgent liv, der ikke betyder noget som helst og højst kan bede suverænen om nåde? På samme måde som irakerne i Brorsons Kirke ikke kunne andet end at bede staten om barmhjertighed?

Lad mig afslutningsvis dvæle ved den begrebsliggørelse af migranten og migration, der kan være med til at åbne den politiske forestillingshorisont. Agambens homo sacer-figur indfanger dehumaniseringen i asyllejren, men betegner samtidig et slags politisk nulpunkt, som vi må bevæge os videre fra. Avantgarde-figuren er omvendt for fjern fra de socioøkonomiske strukturer, der også er med til at indramme migranters bevægelse. Et alternativ findes i begrebet ’migrationens autonomi’, der anerkender strukturelle forhold ved migration, men afviser at disse kan indkapsle migration fuldstændigt.

Migration kan ikke reduceres til fænomener som ’push’ og ’pull’, men må også forstås fra bevægelsens synspunkt.

Manuela Bojadžijev og Serhat Karakayali understreger, at grænsen ikke er et statisk bolværk og grænseregimet ikke udvikler sig af sig selv, men indoptager migrationens dynamik – og forholder sig fleksibelt til bevægelsen. Migranter udgør således ikke en passiv ’reservearbejdshær’, som kapitalen blot flytter rundt på (for at nævne et mere marxistisk begreb om migration).

Omvendt pointerer Bojadžijev og Karakayalı, at migranter ikke skal ses som en slags avantgardister, der aldrig lader sig standse af grænser: ”At forstå migrantpraksisser som en form for subversiv Anden til nationalstater, eller endda til kapitalisme, er ikke svaret.” Men migranter, og migration som sådan, slipper uden om reguleringer. ’Migrationens autonomi’ skal dog ikke forstås som et strengt fænomenologisk begreb, men et til dels strategisk koncept, der ikke kun handler

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om at give plads til migranternes egne kampe, men også er tænkt som et muligt fundament for en bredere bevægelse omkring migration. Begrebet har en styrke i ikke at projicere en identitet over på den enkelte migrant, hvilket dog i en grad også efterlader mig uforløst. Den hårde konkrete identitetsdannelse er stadig afgørende for en kommende transnational politisk bevægelse og vil fortsat anfægte. Som Bojadžijev og Karakayalı spørger: ”Hvordan skal man forholde sig til migranters egentlige subjektivitet, når den udtrykker sig selv som en radikal selv-offergørelse, tilsyneladende i kontrast til tesen om autonomi?” Ligesom de understreger det væsentlige i, at en ny social bevægelse omkring migration skaber lige muligheder for både migranter og ikke-migranters frigørelse fra deres faste identiteter. ’Migrationens autonomi’ projicerer altså ikke som homo sacer- og avantgardefiguren en bestemt identitet over på migranter, men kan betegnes som et strukturelt begreb, der giver plads til noget uden for strukturen. Spørgsmålet er om vi ikke herfra må bevæge os videre mod en mere fænomenologisk beskrivelse af, og berøring med, de konkrete migranter, der naturligvis ikke er ensbetydende med en beskrivelse af ’den sande Anden’, som delegitimerer teori. Begreber er også våben, selvfølgelig. I dag er det ind-

lysende, at aktivisme på asyl- og migrationsområde må udfoldes, og den hårde fælles identitetsdannelse skabes, blandt migranter – ofte stærke mennesker, men skrøbelige i forhold til samfundets offergørelse. Tilsvarende må nye teoretiske begreber og værktøjer for mig at se udvikles blandt migranter og aktivister, hvis begreberne skal være med til at åbne horisonten for at danne identitet på en radikalt anden måde end inden for den nationale orden, som vi alle – forskere, migranter, aktivister og civile – på en gang må gøre modstand mod og skabe radikalt demokratiske alternativer til.

Agamben, Giorgio, Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998 Appadurai, Arjun, Fear of small numbers: An essay on the geography of anger, Durham: Duke University Press, 2006.

Arendt, Hannah, We Refugees, The Menorah Journal, 1943 Bojadžijev, Manuela og Serhat Karakayali: Recuperating the Sideshows of Capitalism: The Autonomy of Migration Today, e-flux 17, 2010. www.e-flux.com/journal/view/154 Infopunkt – During NoBorder Lesvos 2009: w2eu.net/files/2010/03/Infopoint.pdf Welcome to Europe– the border is the problem: http://w2eu.net

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T H E AU T O N O M Y O F M I G R AT I O N : U N D E R S TA N D I N G M I G R AT I O N A S A S O C I A L M OV E M E N T The following conversation is the outcome of an email correspondence with Sandro Mezzadra and visAvis. It presents some of the main concepts in a new perspective on migration Mezzadra has helped create. Mezzadra is Associate Professor of Political Theory at the University of Bologna. He has published extensively on the subjects of citizenship, migration and postcolonialism. His most recent publication is The Borders of Justice with Étienne Balibar and Ranabir Samaddar

by Jens Pfeifer and Søren Rafn

S

andro Mezadra, one of the key concepts in your works on migration is autonomy of migration. We consider this a very important and useful concept and have published a number of texts in our magazine which somehow are related to it. However, we would like to introduce the concept of autonomy of migration to readers of visAvis more thoroughly.

We would like you to tell us about it.

To speak of an “autonomy of migration” means to understand it as a social movement in the literal sense of the words and not as a mere response to economic and social malaise. Many activists and scholars today share this basic definition of the autonomy of migration, taken from a book by Dimitris Papadopoulos, Niamh Stephenson, and Vassilis Tsianos (Escape Routes, 2008). The autonomy of mig-

ration approach does not ignore, of course, the relevance of social, legal, political, cultural, and economic structures when framing migratory experiences.

It rather considers the social process and movement of migration (and not migrants individually considered) as a creative force within these structures.

This produces a specific gaze on migration, one that looks at migratory movements and conflicts in terms that prioritize the subjective practices, the desires, the expectations, and the behaviors of migrants themselves. Since theoretical supporters of the autonomy of migration often have been criticized for romanticizing migration, it is important to add that we always kept in mind the ambivalence of these subjective practices and behaviors.

When migration is considered as a social movement, new dispositifs of domination and exploitation are forged within it as are new practices of liberty and equality. The autonomy of migration approach, in this regard, needs to be understood as a

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distinct perspective from which to view the subjective stakes within the struggles and clashes that materially constitute the field of the migratory experience. It does not lead to down-playing the role of power relationships within this field; rather, it is intended to open up a new angle on these very relationships, emphasizing resistance and struggle as their constitutive elements.

As far as I am personally concerned, I have tried (especially in an essay that has recently come out in English, “The gaze of autonomy”) to further develop the autonomy of migration approach in relation to the role played by (labor) mobility in the history and in the contemporary reality of capitalism as well as to the topic of production of subjectivity under capitalism. Labor mobility has always been a contested field in historical capitalism: to put it in a very general way, capital’s solicitation of labor mobility has always gone hand in hand with manifold attempts to filter, to curb, and even to block it. It is also by keeping the misunderstandings about “romanticizing” migration in mind that I stressed in my recent writings that autonomy of migration is also a specific angle on exploitation.

I think that we really need to overcome the polarity in critical migration studies between an economic consideration of migration under the headline of “exploitation” and a more positive view, mainly proposed by cultural studies theorists, who highlight migrants’ hybridity and “cosmopolitanism from below”. While many critics of the autonomy of migration approach tend to identify it with this second view, I basically understand it as a contribution to a deeper understanding of the reality of migrants’ exploitation. But I also criticize any “economistic” understanding of this latter concept. Maybe it is here that my “workerist “autonomist Marxist” background is most clear in my discussion of the autonomy of migration. In the early 1960s Italian workerism attempted to develop Marx’s statement that capital is not “a thing” but “a social relation”, emphasizing the constitutive element of antagonism and of labor subjectivity within the very structure of capital. This opened up a very different angle on “exploitation” from traditional Marxist analyses, one that makes an “economistic” and “objective” rendering of the concept impossible. My work can be understood as an attempt to further develop this view of exploitation with regard to labor mobility and migration.

The concept has been very influential but has also, as you indicate, been criticized by both scholars and activists. Can you tell us about the reception of the concept and your responses to the critique?

And how is it possible to maintain the use of the concept in a situation of economic crisis that seemingly limits and determines the movement of migrants?

As I was already saying, one of the main critiques of the autonomy of migration approach is that it romanticizes migration. It may well be the case that, especially in the early formulations of the idea, the emphasis on migrants’ subjectivity was sometimes too unilateral.

As far as I am concerned, I can say that this emphasis was pretty much necessary in the 1990s in Italy, where processes of criminalization and stigmatization of migrants were met by widespread discourses of victimization on the part of the ‘left’ and Catholic solidarity movements. The emergence of migrants’ subjectivity was a result of struggles, and in those years I simply tried to contribute to the development of those struggles, both as an activist and as a scholar. This is the background of my personal elaboration of the theory of the autonomy of migration. When I have further developed this theory, as part of an ongoing transnational discussion among activists and scholars in the last decade, I have become aware of the misunderstandings associated with the very label “autonomy of migration”, and as I was saying before I have tried to take some of the criticism into account.

Moreover speaking of autonomy of migration does not mean to understand migration independently of structural determinations. It means to look at these determinations from the point of view of what escapes them, of the subjective moments that allow migrants to resist, to struggle, or simply to negotiate them. The current economic crisis is a good illustration of this point. It is clear that the crisis makes life difficult for migrants. It was so for Mexican migrants in the US after the crisis of 1929, and again for the Gastarbeiter in West Germany after the crisis of 1989, just to mention two important examples. But it is also true that migrants are resisting against the crisis. They are resisting in Europe when they refuse to leave the countries where they have been living for years even if they get fired or receive a deportation order. But they are

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I think that we really need to overcome the polarity in critical migration studies between an economic consideration of migration under the headline of “exploitation” and a more positive view, mainly proposed by cultural studies theorists, who highlight migrants’ hybridity and “cosmopolitanism from below”. also resisting in the Gulf States where many of them fly back to India for a while only because the existence of dense and flexible migratory networks allows them to “re-schedule” their migratory experience. And these are again only a couple of examples, to which it is important to add the continuity of a migration that takes place outside the legally established routes. Living in Italy, on the Mediterranean, this is a story one is confronted with everyday, with the tragic costs that you well know.

You say that talking about autonomy of migration means to understand migration as a social movement. At the same time you underline that we should not romanticize migration and perceive the migrant as kind of ‘avant-garde’ figure. How should we understand this? Is autonomy of migration mainly a strategic concept or an empirically based assumption? And how should we perceive the individual migrant if we consider migration as autonomous?

I like to say, to again pick up a word I used before, that the autonomy of migration nurtures a specific gaze on migrants and migration. You ask me whether the autonomy of migration must be understood as a strategic concept or an empirically based assumption. In a way it is both, but if you consider it as a gaze it is to be located somewhere between the two… The autonomy of migration approach has inspired a lot of empirical research, and has a strategic meaning in the sense that it points to the crucial relevance of struggles of migration, which means struggles around mobility and borders, for any contemporary social movement. But it does not foreclose the space for other critical investigations of migration, such as more traditional analysis centered upon racism, violations of human rights, or contestations of citizenship. It invites to consider the results of such analysis from a political angle that looks at the

technologies of power and exploitation that target migrants as always embedded in a wider context within which they are challenged by the subjective “excesses” that crisscross the field of migration. Needless to say, the concept itself of autonomy is deeply ambivalent.

One thinks of its use as a slogan in radical movements that define themselves as “autonomous”, but it should never be forgotten that the concept of individual “autonomy” is the cornerstone of liberal theory. To speak of the “autonomy” of individual migrants would mean to stitch onto migrants the liberal figure of the autonomous individual, which is of course not the aim of proponents of the autonomy of migration approach. From the point of view of this approach individual migrants are enmeshed in the materiality of migration, which is in turn characterized by moments of autonomy that exist in tension with powerful structural determinations. It is from this materiality that a multiplicity of subject positions emerges and it is within this material field that the subjectivity of individual migrants is produced.

Can you tell us about autonomy of migration in relation to what you and many others consider an extremely flexible global migration regime? How should we understand the role of the concept of the nation state and the question of sovereignty in this global context?

Well, first of all I think it is necessary to say something more about the very phrase “global migration regime”.

What is meant by this phrase is not the emergence of a migration regime that applies smoothly to the global scale. It rather refers, at least in my use, to the contradictory and fragmentary formation of a body of knowledge within disparate epistemic and political communities (such as the International Organization of Migration or the International Centre for Migration Policy Development) that are influencing migration

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Translation page 107

illu stration Ca

policies across diverse geographical scales to a greater and greater extend. The fantasy of a “just in time” and “to the point” migration, which dominates this body of knowledge and corresponds to the current processes of flexibilization of capital’s accumulation, nurtures the evolution of migration policies in many parts of the world. “Neutral” patterns of risk calculation and management, administrative techniques of control, technical standards, ‘capacity building’ programs forged within these communities circulate across the globe, prompting the adoption of “migration management” schemes in tune with “neo-liberal” governance. Having said this, the implementation of these schemes differs in important ways in different parts of the world.

There are at least two reasons why we should not abandon the concept of sovereignty in our critical analysis of current developments of migration policies. Firstly, because nation states continue to be important actors here, although they are more and more embedded in assemblages of power that transcend them. Secondly, because the working itself of “neo-liberal” schemes of migration management is predicated upon the continuous production of “sovereign” effects to establish the unitary framework of their operations.

Many of the people making visAvis are migrants living in camps in a quite homogenous nation – isolated from society and with few possibilities for movement and for taking part in everyday life. It seems easier to apply a more Giorgio Agamben-inspired analysis to our context and understand migrants as naked, stripped lives with very limited possibilities of action. And the question arises: How can we understand and use the concept autonomy of migration in this given context? We would like a consideration of this question from your point of view.

I should repeat here that at least in my elaboration of the concept the autonomy of migration is not a dogma, nor is it a “universal” theory to be applied every-

sper Øbro

where without modifications. In my own experience, it first came out of an engagement with movements and struggles of migration in Italy in the 1990s. It was then refined in a series of ongoing conversations with French, German, and other European friends and comrades, and was eventually “tested” and enriched in discussions with scholars and activists based in such diverse locations as the U.S., Argentina, Australia, and India. These are the geographical coordinates of my own elaboration of the autonomy of migration, which does of course neither mean that the “theory” is valid only in the countries I mentioned nor that it fully explains migration in those locations! There is a complex politics of knowledge production at play here…

On the one hand I know too little of the situation in Denmark, and on the other I am too respectful of activists and migrants based there to say something meaningful about the Danish situation. What concerns me about what you call a “Giorgio Agamben-inspired” analysis is the fact that while it definitely provides powerful tools of denunciation of the dispossession and wholesale stripping of migrants and refugees, it also certifies their impotency. Trying to connect the condition of migrants with transformations of the society as a whole, to anticipate the emergence of social movements challenging the existence of the “quite homogeneous nation” that becomes a prison for migrants, and to locate the evolution of migratory policies in Denmark in a wider European context, can be the first steps in the direction of a different analysis.

But I am fully aware that these are very generic statements. I hope we will soon have a chance to continue the discussion in a face-to-face way.

TRANSLATIONS

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Billeder af: Paula Nimand DuvĂĽ

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An appeal for change

by Sami Sabet

On the 10th of November 2011 400 Afghan asylum seekers and some Danish friends demonstrated in front of the Danish parliament. The reason was a deep dissatisfaction with the treatment of their applications for asylum in Denmark.

It is striking that the rights of asylum seekers are not respected in a democratic society like the Danish. It is clear to everyone that demonstrating is a human right. You have to fight for your rights when they are violated.

A statement from the demonstrators was send to the members of The parliament on the morning of the demonstration. However, in the four hours that the demonstration lasted, from 1pm till 5pm, there was no response from inside the building.

A press-release was sent out, but no mainstream media reported from the demonstration. A camera crew was documenting the event, but it never aired on TV. I am very disappointed by the fact that the demonstration had no apparent effect. The answer from the officials is still none. The Danish government remains silent about the situation. I wish that we will get a response from them soon, and that it will be in favor of the asylum seekers facing war and misery in their native country.

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Hugo Ball in Cubist costume from Marcel Janco

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WOMEN AND THE SYSTEM OF MASCULINITY When I try to see the world through a woman’s point of view I begin to understand her as being subjected to the thuggery of the masculine system. Will she feel the loss of the importance of her gender? This is a brief reflection on gender roles in the Middle East focused on Kurdish women.

by Diyar Molayi The opinions and ideas on gender are chained to ancient ideologies. A woman’s demands and ideas are intertwined in this system. This condition must make women feel like strange beings. And this strangeness is one of the reasons for women’s alienation in society.

When a woman sees the place assigned to her by society, she will be shocked. She might stare without being able to do anything except watching herself being controlled, raped and reduced. I see two typical reactions to this oppression: Some women accept this system as a gift from God, without thinking about their destiny. Another group of women never agree with the system. They always confront it and fight for their rights. And the masculine system uses different kinds of violence against them.

Because my thinking differs totally from society, I, as a man, see myself in the trench fighting the system.

I am fighting against the way society always differentiates between the two genders. As I see it, many men neglect this.

I am writing this article to show just one side of the massive violent treatment against women in the Middle East – and especially the Kurdish women, who are oppressed both because of their gender and their origin. I felt upset by this inequality and therefore began my research. I started reading theories on gender and collected information from society, family and friends.

I found out that the oppression of women is a part of the masculine system. In the masculine system the presence of femininity is seen as a crime.

In the small system of the family, the men have the authority to reject or approve the decisions of the women. She is not supposed to have an opinion and participate in decisions. She must follow her husband’s, dad’s, or brother’s orders. And in that situation I only see silence in the face of that woman. All women’s property, privileges, her way of talking or walking, and many other things are colored by the man’s oppressive power.

After deep thinking about these issues, I could not accept this old unequal system. Many men wanted me to treat women like they did, tried to make me agree with their opinions and deal with my female family members in the same way as they do. That is why I,

and many other men and women, who think the same way as I do, reject the masculine system and will forever disagree with everything this system implies.

In most of the Middle Eastern countries women are oppressed physically and mentally. Women are being deprived of their human rights. In some countries girls are circumcised and women being stoned. Authorities and the government support most of this violence against women. Often the families carry out this violence, but the power of government and societal authorities are behind them, supporting these kinds of actions against women.

Besides these very violent oppressive structures, many other things are going on, such as marriage by force, underage marriage by force, women being swapped between two families, etc. According to Islamic law, girls can get married when they are nine years old. The girl has to accept the way her husband wants to deal with her, and she must fulfill her husband’s wishes according to old traditions. I cannot describe them all here, but I would like to mention one very problematic thing: The woman is considered the privilege of a man. For this reason some men also see it as their privilege to take the life of their wife.

In my point of view, a woman is not the privilege of anyone. The privilege of the woman is her freedom.

We must try hard to fight for freedom and equality and support women’s struggle in the Middle East.

I cannot understand how anyone can consider another person’s body as their honor. Often men dream of having sex with a beautiful woman and of seeing her naked body parts. But when that man gets angry or is in a fight, he uses the names of the female body parts as swear words. Even when men swear to another man they use women’s body parts as swear words.

I really don’t understand why people would do such a thing. We degrade the woman by using her body parts as swear words? I don’t understand why!

It is necessary that we start a revolution against the current system. Women have to gain equality and men have to join them in their struggle to gain a just society.

Half of the world’s population is, after all, women – and the other half was born from them.

Translated from kurmanji by Shaheen M. Mohammadi

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Sex And Nobel

Illustration by Jimmy

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Sex And Nobel...

by Patrick Only humanity can violate human rights.

The human right to be human – this theorem seems to be not rebuttable. But only at first glance. Any human society is built on the exploitation of man by another man.

Apparently, such is our nature. Someone has to live badly, so someone can live well.

These boundaries include: class, gender, religion, you name it. And those located on other sides of the border” since they may not necessarily be on opposite sides, but rather on different sides of the border are not always in confrontation, but no one can argue that they and others have equal rights and should have equal opportunities. We have many examples in history and even in our time of how one society colonizes and exploits the other.

Perhaps many have heard of the Nobel Prize, maybe even more so about the Nobel Peace Prize. What does this have in common with sex? “Just not explicitly about sex, but rather in the absence of it.” Three women won the Nobel Peace Prize by not having sex. But let us take a step back and make a little digression in history.

The role of personality has always been fundamental in history. In spite of sociopolitical development, humanity generally speaking remains quite a primitive herd.

Without a leader, this herd could never be able to move. In every society there are individuals disagree with the existing world order or status quo and have the ability to move or motivate to the masses to change social injustices. Some of them entered into

the annals of history and just became legends or you can even say icons.

The first documented person was Moses.

According to the Bible we can assume that he was born in approximately 1617 BC. He did not just observe how his people lived in the land of Egypt, he was also upset by their slave status. He stood up against the Pharaoe and led the Hebrew people to the Promised Land, although he died before the end of this journey.

In the following text I would like to mention Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948). He was one of the leaders and ideologists of the movement for independence of India from Britain. His philosophy of nonviolence (satyagraha) influenced the movement of supporters of peaceful change. His name in India has the same reverence as the names of saints. As the spiritual leader of the nation, Gandhi fought all his life against religious strife and violence, but in his later years he became a victim of it.

I also want to mention Martin Luther King (1929-68). He was the most famous African-American baptist preacher, brilliant orator, a leader of the movement for civil rights for black minority in the United States. King became the first world famous activist for black civil rights, against discrimination, racism and segregation. He received the Nobel Peace Prize, but was killed by his ideological opponents.

Furthermore, we cannot ignore Nelson Mandela: South Africa’s first black president, one of the most prominent activists in the struggle for human rights

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In “ Lisistrata”, a piece about a woman who was able to stop the prolonged and bloody war between Sparta and Athens, the method is pretty clever and effective: women’s “sex strike”.

The voice of the women of Liberia was heard, the war was over, one of the worst dictators of the world Charles Taylor had fallen and was brought in to face of the international tribunal. during apartheid. He spent 27 years in prison for his beliefs and actions. He later became a recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993.

I also want to mention another winner of the Nobel Peace Prize: Andrej Sakharov. He participated in the creation of the most lethal weapons, the hydrogen bomb, but later became one of the most famous human rights activists in the former USSR. He was several times persecuted for his actions and beliefs.

The Nobel Peace Prize this year was given to three women. However, the reason for why they handed out the prize to these women was very vague. Two of them are from Liberia. They stopped a civil war which lasted for 15 years and took more than 200.000 lives.

The war in Liberia was stopped with Lisistrata’s method, described by one of

the Greek comedy writers, Aristophanes in 411 B. C. In “ Lisistrata”, a piece about a woman who was able to stop the prolonged and bloody war between Sparta Athens, the method used was pretty clever and effective: womens’ “sex strike. “sex strike”.

Two thousand, four hundred, twenty two years later, the war began in Liberia. One of this years winners, Leymah Gbowee was a 17-year-old girl. She worked as a trauma counselor with the the former child soldiers of soldiers of dictator Taylor’s army. The more she worked with them, she started to realize that they too were desperate victims because of the war. One day she went with her associates to the fish market, where trade was mostly done by women. They wore white t-shirts, the symbol of their movement, and began to sing and pray in order to persuade other women to teach their men-warriors in a simple and clear way: No peace - no sex.

After some time Leymah Gbowee involved in its network representatives of other confessions. The voice of Liberian women was heard, the war was over, one of the worst dictators of the world Charles Taylor had fallen and was brought in to face the international tribunal.

Our world is still far from perfect, and will probably never will be. But I do believe, because because people exist who really do care about other people around them – we are not quite hopeless.

Make love, not war.

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RESTEN. .. AF . . . DIT .. LIV..

Birgithe Kosovic er dansk forfatter med familierødder i det tidligere Jugoslavien. Hun har modtaget flere store priser i Danmark for sine romaner.

“Resten af dit liv” er skrevet til visAvis.

af Birgithe Kosovic Målet

”Når først du er blevet flygtning en gang, vil du være det resten af dit liv.”

Under gymnastiksalens høje loft på Norreport Skolan i Ystad gjaldede en kakofoni af stemmer, musik, råben og båtten. Nede på bænken sad drengen og holdt vejret. Det var meningen, at han skulle have været med ude på gulvet, for han var holdets bedste angriber, men han havde vredet om på foden og måtte holde sig på bænken i aften. Han hed Edhem, og han boede sammen med sine forældre og et gadekryds (fra et pensionat for dyr, som var løbet hjemmefra, eller hvis ejere ikke ville have dem) i et betonbyggeri i udkanten af byen. Fra altanen havde de udsigt over en mægtig græsplæne med et gyngestativ, en lille sandkasse og en anden lang betonbygning med endeløse rækker af altaner. Der havde de boet i snart tre år (siden flugten fra Bosnien).

Henne ved målet kastede angriberen sig frem. ”Skjut dock!” skreg Edhem. ”Få bollen i målet!”

Edhem så angriberen falde langsomt frem mod målet.

Over ham slap bolden hans fremstrakte fingre. Roligt drejende, som en klode, der roterer om sig selv, svævede den frem gennem rummet. ”Arh!” jamrede Edhem og bed sig i knoerne. Fra rækken bagved mærkede han blikket på sig fra den gamle mand. Han kendte godt mandens ansigt. Hans forældre hilste altid på ham, når de mødte ham i byen, men han vidste ikke, hvad manden hed. Gennem øjenkrogen syntes han at kunne se, hvordan den gamle bøjede sig ned mod ham, men bolden svævede, stadig cirklende om sig selv, frem mod målmandens hånd. Det føltes, som om en hånd lagde sig bagfra på Edhems skulder, og det irriterede ham. Han havde det, som om han næsten kunne nå bolden, netop som den kolliderede med målmandens hånd, og som – stadigt drejende

om sig selv – skiftede retning – som et særligt følsomt væsen, der veg fra enhver berøring. Lydløst drev den frem mod nettets store, slappe masker. Det ruskede i dem, da bolden ramte dem og styrtede til gulvet – og ansigterne bagved på tilskuerpladserne kom til live igen og brød ud i et dyrisk brøl.

Efter kampen møvede folk sig gennem korridorerne ud mod den frie, friske luft. På vejen passerede Edhem og hans venner den gamle mand fra rækken bagved. ”Du skal ikke være ked af, at vi tabte i dag,” sagde manden gebrokkent. ”Det gør hverken fra eller til.”

Edhem så på manden og smilede halvt til sine venner, forlegen over den gamles brækkede svensk. Så sagde manden, på det sprog, som Edhem kun talte med sine forældre derhjemme og med bedsteforældrene i telefonen; ”Når først du er blevet flygtning en gang, vil du være det resten af dit liv.”

En vittighed

Folk gik forbi på den vintermørke gade, mens Julie stod i den gamle gade med ryggen lænet mod husmuren og kiggede op på vinduerne øverst i huset overfor. Det var næsten ikke til at forstå: Deroppe boede hun og hendes mand, Henrik, i en to-etages lejlighed under taget.

Fra vinduerne var der udsigt til byens tårne og spir, og i køkkenet var lågerne af mahogni. I de fire måneder, de havde boet der, havde hun næsten hver aften stået i vinduet deroppe og kigget ned på neonskiltet over butikken, der solgte brugte plader og cd’er. Det forestillede en rund, sort plade med en pickup. Kanten langs pladen og pickuppen var bøjet i gul neon, der hele tiden tændte og slukkede og tændte. Det var, som om det skilt tilhørte hende. Ligesom de skæve trapper og gulve og de gamle døre. Ligesom dørkarmene på gulvet, der var slidt halvt af efter de mange fødder, der havde trådt på dem. Hun tænkte på, hvor mærkeligt det er, at alle disse tegn på brug i begyndelsen søges

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... RESTEN

. ..

afværget, rettet op på og lappet – kun for senere at blive skattet som netop det, der giver stedet dets helt egen skønhed, ja, dets sjæl. Måske, tænkte hun og trak kraven op om ørerne, elsker man bare det højst, som ikke er tilstræbt eller har fået sin form med henblik på et bestemt formål, en eller anden slags perfektion.

Måske knytter vi os tværtimod netop til de ting, der ikke får mening i kraft af noget andet, som de skal leve op til eller passe med. Ting, som udelukkende består i kraft af sig selv. Hvorfor, tænkte hun – hvorfor er det netop disse ting, der nærmest udtrykker en ligegyldighed over for alt og alle, der indgyder os følelsen af at høre til?

Hun skuttede sig og så op på vinduerne. Henrik var deroppe for at hente deres billetter til biografen. De havde været ude at gå en tur, og om lidt skulle de ind at se en film. Hun mærkede sine hænder i lommerne.

Hun vidste, at hun ville forlade ham. Måske allerede i aften.

Otte år senere sidder hun foran ham på en restaurant i den samme gade. Han siger et eller andet, som får hende til at le. Han lægger til med en ekstra pointe, der får hende til at skrige af grin, indtil hun opdager, at de andre gæster bliver stille og forbavsede kigger på hende. Mens hun ser sig om, rømmer sig og vender sig mod tallerkenen igen, går det op for hende, hvordan alting er skredet en gang til. Som dengang, den aften, da hun forlod ham, fuld af panik, fuld af raseri, uden evne til at fatte eller gøre om noget som helst ud over det ene: at komme væk. Dengang var det, som om hun havde opdaget en gletsjer i alt. Den gav efter og skred.

Det trådte igennem i alt. En gigantisk omdannelse af gamle former fandt sted. Og efter alt det store – en stilhed, der med nænsom barnestemme hviskede – aldrig mere – aldrig mere kan du vende tilbage – aldrig mere kan du blive den samme – aldrig mere vil du kende et sted, hvor du vil høre hjemme.

Men otte år senere føler hun sig alligevel hjemme igen i denne gade. I hvert fald holder hun stadig af butiksskiltet med den gule pickup og husene med de skæve vinduer og døre. ”Jeg elsker dig sgu,” siger hun til ham. ”Du er den

AF.

. DIT .

bedste eks-mand, man kan få.”

De skåler.

Så siger hendes eks-mand noget. Hvad var det, han sagde? Hvad var det for en tone, der var i hans stemme?

Var det ikke lige netop... Dirrende kan hun mærke det hele igen: hvordan hun den sidste dag tav, mens han sagde noget til hende, der føltes som en lussing. Hun stod og kiggede ned i gulvet, som om hun kunne smage blod i sin mund. Som om, at hvis hun trak vejret igen, ville alt gå i stykker. Og mens hun sidder der ved bordet og ser på hans skjortebryst, bliver det klart, at alt, hvad der er sket, og alt, hvad hun har følt, og alt, hvad de nogensinde har gjort ved hinanden, vil hun være i stand til at mærke resten af sit liv. At livet ikke består af en række stuer, en suite, hvor man går raskt fra rum til rum mod nye, storslåede fremtider; nej, for der er kun én stor dagligstue, og der, hvor der engang stod en kommode, søger man stadig hen og står og fumler med skuffens håndtag selv mange år efter, at den blev fjernet. Hun ved det, men har ikke opdaget det endnu. ”Så var det da også godt, at vi blev skilt.”

Ordene slipper ud af hendes mund så hurtigt som et svirp med en pisk. Hun ser op til hans ansigt på den anden side af bordet. Hun kan ikke se væk igen. Hun ved ikke, om det bare er en grovkornet vittighed, hun lige har sagt.

Han rejser sig nu. Han betaler regningen og insisterer på at gøre det for dem begge. Imens forsøger hun at sige en masse. Han vifter hende væk. ”Gå,” siger han og går ud på gaden. ”Gå, Julie.” Han standser op og ser hende i øjnene. ”Jeg sagde: Gå! Forstår du det? Jeg vil ikke se dig igen.”

Han går ned ad gaden. Hun løber efter ham. ”Gå! Lad mig nu være. Jeg sagde, du skulle gå!”

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LIV .. .

Mælk

Med lukkede øjne trykkede hun på en knap, som udløste en række bip i røret, og efter det første ring i den anden ende blev der svaret: ”Det er Charlotte.” ”Hm.” En tid var der stille. De lå begge i hver deres seng. ”Hvordan har du sovet?” spurgte hun.

Lise kunne høre hende trække vejret. ”... Jeg vågnede mange gange.”

Lise lå på ryggen. Sengens flade dannede sit hvide kvadrat omkring hende. Hun tog sig til næseroden og masserede sig kort. ”Mmm,” brummede hun bekræftende.

Hver morgen, når Charlotte vågnede, ville hun springe ud over altankanten. Hver morgen ringede Lise til hende.

Stadig med lukkede øjne lod hun fingrene hvile ved næseroden og lagde hånden over sin kind, mens hun trak vejret dybt ind. ”Fortæl mig, hvad du skal i dag.”

Engang havde Charlotte ryddet op i sin mors kælderrum og fundet det brev, som hendes far havde skrevet den dag, da han gik ud i søen og druknede sig. De kunne ikke finde ham. De troede, at han havde hængt sig ude i skoven. De gik ud og kiggede efter ham i træerne. Det var over 20 år siden, men da hun rørte ved papiret, var det, som om hun kunne høre ham sige de ord, han havde skrevet, og lyden af hans stemme, dens skælven, fik hende til at løbe op ad trapperne. Det var omkring fire måneder siden nu. Siden da havde hun fået denne trang til at kaste sig ud over altankanten hver morgen.

Hun havde også siddet med alle sine knive foran sig på spisebordet. Hun havde skrevet sit eget brev. ”Jeg skal ud på universitetet.” ”Hvad skal du derude?” ”Jeg skal tale med min vejleder. Jeg mødte ham i kantinen i sidste uge. Han sagde, at han kun havde nogle få kommentarer.” ”Havde han læst ’Underbevidst viden’ færdig?.” ’Underbevidst viden’ var Charlottes speciale i psykologi. ”Ja.” Lise så altankanten for sig og de ottekantede betonfliser dernede. De to etager ned kunne være hvilke som helst to andre etager ned. Det var fornemmelsen af tyngekraften, der gjorde dem til noget særligt. Denne overnaturlige energi, der, uden at man kunne se det, herskede i det tomme rum. Og suget i mellemgulvet.

Synet af alle husene, der omgav betonfliserne; hele den før så stillestående gård, som uden varsel havde fået en fælles retning: Op! Op! Op! – mens fliserne jog hende i møde.

De vidste begge, at det både var en flugt og en venden tilbage – og at det ikke var den rigtige løsning.

Lise kunne høre Charlotte trække vejret. Hun så op i loftets hvide, enkle kvadrat. ”Hvad så, har du nogen fornemmelse af, hvad han vil sige?.” ”Han spurgte mig, om jeg havde tænkt på at søge støtte til at skrive en ph.d.” ”Altså –” Lise smilede til loftet – ”er han glad for den.”

Charlotte fik altid topkarakterer, og Lise var stolt af hende. Nogle gange forekom det hende, at det var Charlotte, der havde lært hende det vigtigste af alt: at spørge mere, at lytte mere, at høre folk fortælle ting, hun ikke havde forestillet sig om dem. Det var på en gang logisk og ulogisk, at Charlotte, der længtes så inderligt efter døden, samtidig var den, der indgød Lise så fortættet en livsfylde. Som om, tænkte hun, mens hun med et fraværende blik ind i væggen trak dynen op over den nøgne skulder – som om alt meningsfuldt kun udspringer af lidelse. Men hun vidste godt, at det var en falsk modsætning til glæde og meningsløshed.

Efterhånden vågnede de begge helt. Nu kunne Charlotte stå op og spise morgenmad og gennemføre alle de helt almindelige ting, de fleste dage består af.

Lise gik ud i køkkenet og fiskede mælkekartonen ud af køleskabet. Hun stod foran det store vindue med udsigt til huset overfor og mærkede den kolde, fede mælk trænge ind mellem læberne og ned gennem hende, hvor den efterlod sig et koldt spor, som næsten gjorde ondt.

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Balkans, sweet Balkans!

Many claim that globalization destroys identity, but does it really?

Interviews with four Balkan students in Gothenburg showed that globalization, in the form of migration, serves to strengthen rather than weaken both national and regional identities.

by Denny Pencheva People say that there is no place like home. That home is where the heart is. Having in mind that nowadays it seems like everybody is moving, I decided to write an essay and explore whether mobility proliferates the image of home, or rather than obscuring it The Balkans is a unique region in Europe. Consisting of different states, each with its unique language, culture and religion, it is often labeled as a contact zone, a bridge between the East and the West. Identities in the Balkans have always been problematic: a possible reason could be the strong nationalism, which was key feature of the Balkan states’ policies throughout the centuries. The various wars in the region displaced large groups of people and this made the issue of identity even more problematic.

I decided to interview four international students living in Gothenburg, who all: Are of Balkan origin – from Bulgaria/Turkey, Greece, Albania. Are young and highly educated have lives defined by mobility and transnationalism.

A is a man, 28-years-old, Bulgarian and & Turkish citizen.

B is a 25-year-old male and also a Bulgarian & Turkish citizen.

Iphgenia is a 25-year-old Greek woman.

Alban is a 27-year-old Albanian male.

It is important to mention that A and B are so-called ‘Bulgarian-Turks’ who were forced to leave Bulgaria with their families in 1989, when they were children.

They have two official names and passports – one Bulgarian and one Turkish. Not wishing to have a third name, they asked not to be given pseudonyms, like Iphigenia and Alban.

To move or not to move?

Migration involves both the wish to migrate and the realization of this wish.

Iphigenia deliberately emphasized that the current economic situation in Greece was the main reason for taking this decision. However, her family helped her significantly as she did not have enough savings to live

in Sweden. Thus, she made the decision to live abroad, but also had the luck to actually be able to do so.

Migration should also be analyzed in the light of restrictive immigration policies. An interesting quote from Alban demonstrates this: “I was only 18, my adrenaline was really high and the easiest alternative was Italy. I first tried the US, but they didn’t grant me a visa. So the second alternative was Italy. But no real pressure ... just the feeling of improving my chances with a better knowledge abroad.

That’s it”. He did not really want to become an Italian citizen, although he admitted that it would ease his traveling within Europe. After all, he has dedicated ten years of studying, working and paying taxes there so he is definitely not against the idea of double citizenship.

Can I see your passport, sir?

Having in mind that A and B possess two passports with two different names, I was curious about how they present themselves to authorities, in airports, at border controls, etc.

A: “I always present myself with my Turkish identity. [But, if the question is with which identity card I present myself], it differs from time to time. For instance I am using my Bulgarian ID in Sweden since Bulgaria is in the EU. Sometimes having dual citizenship affects me, because in some cases I have to show proof of my two nationalities. But unfortunately I have different surnames in my passports and it creates some confusion for the authorities”.

B: “I use my Bulgarian passport in Europe but sometimes they ask me about the Turkish one, mostly at the Bulgarian or Turkish borders. I don’t want to feel attached to a particular country and I don’t care about a piece of paper or to be called by my Bulgarian or Turkish name! But still I didn’t change my Bulgarian name … I didn’t dare. Just didn’t want to waste time with that.

Home, sweet home

And which country did they perceive as being their home?

A answered: “I was born in Bulgaria. Yes, I perceive Bulgaria as my home but I should say that it is much

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more like a second home, since I have spent almost 20 years in Turkey and almost all of my family lives in Turkey”. Still he admitted that he goes back to their family house in the Rhodope Mountain every summer and that he loves the nature and peace of it.

B: “We moved to Turkey when I was 3, in 1989. That’s how I got my passport. We moved with the mass migration. I don’t remember much of it, just some images of a huge crowd. My grandfather or father suffered the pain, not me. I am trying to evaluate objectively. I still don’t think it was a politically correct step to take for Bulgaria, but I’m not a politician or a strategist. They were all of a sudden forced to move from their motherland. So my home is actually some utopian land … no man’s land. Home is where you eat your food!”

Alban added: “Tirana is my spiritual home. Contrary to what one would expect, mobility strengthened my perception about home and identity. I almost cry when I hear old Albanian songs, I am not joking. If I speak with my heart, emotionally, my identity and my home is Albania. But … (there is always a but) when I go to Italy I really feel part of their society – I have lived and worked 10 years there! Home for my heart and my soul (Albania) and home for better prospects (any wealthy country in the world). If you ask me which one I will choose … I would answer: I will first try the heart alternative, and if it fulfills also the prospects alternative it is perfect, if not I will chose the wealthy country, which might be Sweden …”

It is worth mentioning that all four were flexible when I asked if home is only where you are born, or whether it can also be created. They all said that home can be created elsewhere as long as you manage to create a “homey” atmosphere (family, friends, and Balkan food).

Indeed, even though home can sometimes be insecure or fail to provide the necessary career opportunities, it is still constantly reproduced abroad and re-made by cultural means. In simple words: home is where you make it.

“We are the same from what we drink to the way we think”.

Many claim that globalization destroys identity, but I disagree. My findings from this field study have led me to believe that, on the contrary, it proliferates identities.

Through their experiences of living in a country other than that of origin, the four interviewees actually strengthened their national identity, and – perhaps even more interestingly – developed a kind of common Balkan identity. Alban puts it in a very good way: “We are the same from what we drink to the way we think”.

Iphigenia explains what makes her feel at home here in Sweden: “mostly having friends from the Balkans, because all Balkan nations are almost one and the same, and I actually realized that since after I came to Sweden.” B. adds: “I am still the small kid on the Balkan mountains of which green is not even the breadcrumb of the Swedish. The rock is heavy on its own place!”

(Meaning: you will always belong to the place you were born). I thanked him for helping me out with the interview, and I was really touched when he answered: “It was great to talk to someone from my “home”.

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Fallen angel of civilization For every achievement of the modern era, there are individuals or groups paying for the negative outcomes of someone else’s benefits.

But what are the philosophical and practical implications hidden on the dark side of a well-organized society? In her article, Ina Serdarevic analyzes the mechanism that turns asylum seekers into awaiting ghosts. Inspired by art, literature and history, she exposes the god of progress in his nudity.

by Ina Serdarevic

May the negative baby boy be born no one, never, nothing, no.

If doctors prescribe joy and health baby sad, baby sick with no childhood or youth.

May the negative baby boy be born no one, never, nothing, no.

If in the light of justice all the guilt had been found out, baby good, baby bad, sower of the seeds of confusion. (af Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio: Christmas Carol)

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The Angel of New stands as a marginalized citizen. He is frozen in time. He is stigmatized. He is a culturally and politically constructed figure for the sake of positive development.

There are about 500 asylum seekers currently living in Denmark who have been rejected and who, for one reason or another, cannot be sent back to their home countries. For a small yet consistent number of them, this means remaining in an eternal position of anticipation, passively awaiting a new beginning. There are several examples of refugees and asylum seekers who have been frozen in this deportation state for 10 to 15 years.

free will and fixated to linger between past and future by the strong and still paralyzing forces of Progress.

But how can Progress be such a numbing force? How come it propels the angel towards the future without even allowing him to enter the present? I want to take a closer look at this doublefaced and quite doubtful force we refer to as Progress, which despite its apparently benevolent nature, does not cease to produce devastating human sacrifice.

A painting by the German-Swiss painter, Paul Klee, named ”Angelus Novus” (meaning The Angel of New), shows an angel, caught in time and space by a violent storm. The painting seems to be a fitting metaphor for the state of legal and physical limbo of asylum seekers in Denmark. The German-Jewish philosopher, Walter Benjamin, who owned the painting for many years, describes it in the 9th thesis of his essay ”Theses on the Philosophy of History”:

First, let us state what we understand as Progress. Most dictionaries and definitions agree that it is more or less a movement towards a goal, a development or a growth, a steady improvement, as of a society or civilization.

But it is also clear to us that not everybody is included in this movement and that certainly not everyone is able and allowed to enjoy the benefits of an improving development. The benefits are many and they include among others: money, cars, vacation, entertainment, hospitals, gyms, democracy. They are positive and do not allow for negative intermissions. Everything in a progressive society needs to be positive.

Wants to be positive. The asylum policy in Denmark thus serves a positive movement onward and forward and everything is adjusted as to secure this movement for the common good. The common good is exercised through a national policy that neither recognizes the political and practical circumstances in the home country of the asylum seekers, nor acknowledges their legal and physical limbo in Denmark.

”The painting shows an angel looking as though he is about to move away from something he is fixedly contemplating. His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned towards the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress. ” In my opinion, there seems to be a peculiar familiarity in this description and image, and I cannot help associating it with the above mentioned fate of asylum seekers. They are like the Angel of History, purged of

It is never without unfortunate incidents that humanity may continue its course forward, its Progress. There is no advancing without occasional drawbacks, no Progress without sacrifice. One could take as an example the Challenger spaceship explosion in 1986. The mainstream reactions were, at first, shock and sorrow, and later on as the questions started accumulating, an attempt to explain or to legitimize the accidents and the victims in the name of Progress was done, by proclaim-

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ing something like: ”We owe it to the fallen pioneers”.

President Ronald Reagan explained in his speech immediately after the explosion how ”we are all mourning” and feeling ”the loss as a nation”, which of course is not true. It is only the dead crew-members and their nearest relations who are the real victims. But wrapped in the ideology of ’common good’, ‘common goals’ and Progress, it becomes a common sorrow and can only be legitimized as such.

sacrificed on the Aztecan altars were for the prosperity of their own community a long time ago. And Azua continues: ”The appropriate thing for a God when he is almighty is to make himself invisible. The God that moves cars does not even have a name, and only by approximation he is called ’freedom of circulation’ or ‘privacy’. We know some of the saints that surround the God but they bear functional names, such as ‘automobile consortium’, ‘toll motorways’ or ‘leisure industry’.”

In the case of legitimizing the refugee camps and the asylum limbo, one could argue that ”we owe it to our ancestors who built this nation from nothing” or simply that ”we owe it to society”. How could we ever open the borders and jeopardize what we have fought so hard for? How could we ever hazard our own wellbeing? Risk our Progress? Sacrifices obviously have to be made. There seems to be a general and actual ac-

The question is:

The painting seems to be a fitting metaphor for the state of legal and physical limbo of asylum seekers in Denmark. ceptance of sacrifice, which stems from a kind of blind trust in Progress, which is obeyed and worshipped as if it was God. There are other gods who go by the names of Revolution, Future, Development and Technology but they are all related to Progress. ”To think that our religion, Faith in Progress, is more benevolent than the ones of the so-called primitive people, is just another product of prudishness.”, writes the Spanish philosopher and writer Felix de Azua. The fallen ones in the name of Progress; the dead astronauts in the Challenger explosion, or the locked up refugees in the camps, are as necessary for the economic life as those

Which God is the one who puts human beings in camps? What kind of God or belief is able to justify the inhumane treatment of asylum seekers, if not the God of Progress of our society in whom we so helplessly trust? Polish sociologist Zygmunt Bauman stated in his work Modernity and the Holocaust that looking at holocaust is looking into a mirror and not looking at a momentary barbarity. This somewhat radical observation could likewise apply to the issue of Progress and human sacrifice. For there will always be storm-blown angels, victims of someone’s or something’s wellbeing and progress, as long as we are using the Progress and the common good dialectic to legitimize marginalization, exclusion, deprivation, neglect and abuse.

The Angel of New stands as a marginalized citizen. He is frozen in time. He is stigmatized. He is a culturally and politically constructed figure for the sake of positive development. He is a negative, and therefore isolated element in a society, any society, which needs and wants to be only positive.

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When Elena came to Denmark When Elena came to Denmark with her family, she was only six years old. With the eyes of a child, she lived the adventure of leaving one world for entering into another. Back then, life in Sarajevo was beautiful until a dark veil was dropped on the existence of all, in what has gone down in history as the Balkan War. When she tells her story the memory filtered by time dances the movement of the search for meaning. What remains in the end is the feeling of her changing identity and, for us, the account of what it meant to be a child and a refugee from Bosnia in Denmark in 1992.

by Salvatore Paolo De Rosa

I was born in Sarajevo on 27th of March 1987. When I left I was five years old, it was in February 1992.

We lived in a district called Ilidza in the suburbs of Sarajevo. I don’t remember the beginning of the changes, but I was told that the first shootings started in March 1991, and everybody thought these were fireworks because it was the end of Ramadan and maybe the Muslims were celebrating. But then it turned out that these were the first gun fires being shot from the mountains. The first thing I remember is the fact that we had to move away from the house because the area was not secure. So my parents brought us to the house of my grandmother, while they were living everywhere. Maybe I don’t even remember some things because I repressed them, but what comes out in my imagination is me not being extremely sad for moving away from the house, because I liked spending time with my grandmother. What made me sad, when I found out, was that my house burned. One day my mother came back and she said: “There is nothing left because the house burned”.

When the shootings were really

bad, all the people of the building would go down in the basement and we were sitting there for hours, and everybody would bring blankets and candles, and we played cards.

I remember other children being there, and the beauty was that even under these harsh conditions my grandparents and my parents managed to make it not scary but a little cozy, like cozy atmosphere. It was at that time my parents thought of escaping from the Balkans. First we wanted to go to Holland, because we had relatives there. But then my mother accidentally saw a commercial on television that said that Denmark took refugees, and there was a telephone number for the people interested. When my father came back that day, my mother said: “Listen, I know you want to go to Holland where your brother is, but I also saw this commercial, and it seems easy, it seems good”.

The conditions of Denmark and Europe in the nineties, when the civil war started in Bosnia, were different. I think, as far as Denmark is concerned, the government was more leftist, and this was not even a question of left and right, because I think there was a consensus in Denmark among all the parties to take refugees. They were thinking:

“This is really a catastrophe” - imagine that such a war and big massacres were happening in Europe. I think they felt more closeness and a duty to take refugees in and to help them. I don’t think it was for the need of labour, because it was not really structured when the refugees came here. We were all gathered in one big gym hall for weeks, because they didn’t know what to do with us. I think genuinely it was more out of solidarity, because these refugees where Christian or Muslim people but still “white”, South European, and some of the Danish people would go to the Yugoslavian countries a few years before on vacation. So imagine what they thought: “This is where we spent our summer and now they are shooting“, it gives you a different perspective if it was in a village of Afghanistan that you would never go to anyway.

My father went first, and after a short time he noticed that even if it was chaotic it was still organized, like an organized chaos to come to Denmark. It seemed good, so he called my mother and said: “Listen, come”. My father stayed in Denmark, and we came maybe two months after. I think at that age I understood I was about to leave the

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country indefinitely. It was difficult to leave Sarajevo and to leave my grandmother, because the last day with my father’s mother we were praying together in the living room, where she had an orthodox icon in a corner. When we kissed she gave me a picture of her, and I remember going out from the house smiling and waving to my grandmother and grandfather, and this was sad because she was crying a lot.

I remember coming here… the first hug with father and to see mother so happy. We arrived in southern Denmark, and then by bus to Copenhagen. My father was living in a gym about 10 km from Copenhagen. My first picture in Denmark was taken in the gym, it was the carnival, ‘fastelavn’, and all of us were dressed up. They arranged games for the children, while the adults were doing nothing and waited for their situation to be discussed. Because already then all the procedures for seeking asylum started, and Danish authorities had to interview each family to know their story, and according to the story they would be given asylum. I remember there were different kinds of asylum and my parents were carefully thinking which story to give to these authorities just to maximize their chance to get the

best sort of asylum. In the end, we got the asylum that permitted us to stay. I think they told the truth, they told the story as it was. I think they would have said anything just to maximize the result, and that’s why today I don’t blame people who say “I was tortured”, because either way, fleeing from your country is one big torture. I don’t like putting degrees on how much torture you have been a victim of.

The Danish authorities were just incredibly sweet people. They felt compassion, it was not like: “Fuck, new refugees are coming” like it is today, I can imagine. At that time it was different. There is something I learnt after: when everything was happening, they made massive nationwide campaigns in the cultural sphere to help the refugees from Bosnia. All the musicians gathered and made a cd for Bosnia, and people would donate so much money.

All the Danish children gathered the toys they didn’t need to donate to the refugee children. The whole country was one big ball of compassion.

At that time, this was the beauty, they understood that most probably all the people would be given asylum, so it was not a long in-between process where you either could get the asylum or you

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couldn’t, as it is today, and that’s why we started to go to school shortly after. In the Ebeltoft refugee camp we lived in house number two. We stayed there for a long time, almost three years. We had a president of the refugee camp, a speaker, and we had different people doing different activities, making the camp more beautiful. Every week each family would receive money and we could also go out and shop. Things like rice and flour were given. Everybody in Ebeltoft knew about the new families in town, and when my parents went to Danish supermarkets and they spoke their own language, people would look at them in a strange way but smiling and saying “welcome”. In the beginning I never heard of anybody being subject to racist attacks or discrimination. People were so curious, and sometimes a journalist would come to the camp and would talk to people, interview them, be friends. The first friends of my parents were these people who were just curious. Journalists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, people had different motives for becoming friends, but for my parents these motives didn’t matter so much, as long as the people were good.

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The past doesn’t always fit

A compilation of incomplete memories from Sandholm & Brøns

by Farhiya Khalid When memories are created, moulded and sink into a mind, the parts are shattered into pieces.

Some recollections stay hidden in the pockets of the psyche, waiting to resurface, while others linger - not only in oneself but in other people as well.

With my family many memories have been shared the past 19 years. I came to Denmark in 1993 with two siblings and my mother. Being nine years old at the time, my days were filled with a feeling of absence. Absence of a father, a playground I knew and a language I understood.

In the sharing of these memories and feelings we were sure of one thing; we remembered differently. And some of the memories weren’t completely our own. It was a time where we all experienced a new kind of vulnerability and this shaped shared memories. Some of these recollections were hard to distinguish and some even harder to claim as one’s own.

Talking to my mother, my sister and my brother has been part of the process of reshaping my

remembrance as well. A time of doubt, regret and anguish for one had oddly enough been a time of bliss for another. This text is an attempt to compile some of these undigested reminiscences. Incongruence will stand uncontested.

A Mother – Yellow barracks

“The barracks were always yellow. An earthly kind of yellow. Sandholm, they called it. And so did I. We were many from the Horn.

It is the month of April in 93’ and many have fled.

We are too many in Camp Sandholm so the Red Cross has been forced to put us in the main barrack. A large rectangular building. This makes the place seem even smaller. We sat and slept on thin mattresses that divided the floor between us. We have nothing but bed sheets as curtains to shield privacy. I am on the floor with my children. They are fine. Curious but also nervous - I’m not sure.

So many strangers in one room. I was afraid it would last forever. But it did not. Thank God.” The daughter – Coats and blankets

“I was amazed. It was in the spring and still snow-

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Foto by Paula Nimand DuvĂĽ

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ing. I hadn’t seen snow, ever - only ice. It was cold in this country. We came in light sweaters and froze our asses off.

But as soon as we came to the camp, we were given coats, socks and blankets. The clothes were given to my mother in plastic bags with the Red Cross logo. Everything was white; a petty coat, socks, underwear, blankets. It was warmer that way. White sheets and white blankets. This country felt cold. I don’t really remember Sandholm. I wasn’t allowed to go out much. But the cafeteria I bear in mind. I loved the cornflakes and showing our blue cards to the kitchen folks. That’s what it was – a laminated blue card with a picture of me, my sister and brother. My mother had her own.

We showed our cards every time we collected our food.

I remember it being an odd experience, receiving small rations food. The small size of things; tiny milk cartons and even smaller boxes of jam.

I put a couple in my pockets once but they weren’t really playthings, so I threw them out.”

The eldest - Stay inside

“Sandholm was a tough place. We lived on the floor for a couple of days. Soon after, a room became vacant. We stayed in a narrow hall with small rooms on each side. There was a TV area on each floor - but we weren’t allowed to go there.

Only men sat there, talking and smoking a whole lot. Many stories circulated and slander was quite common. A young girl had been molested and nobody knew who the culprit was. That talk went on for days. All men were potential rapists.

In the daytime, we hung around the playground with some other Somali children. As soon as darkness fell, we were in our room. I guess my mother was terrified that something would happen to us. The problem was that nobody really understood each other. Not many spoke English, so we stuck to the other Somalis.

I had a Bosnian friend for a couple of days – a girl with long pale hair. I think she was about eight or nine years of age. I braded her hair a couple of times and she let me play with a doll she had. I wasn’t allowed to visit her family’s room.

She had some brothers and a father so it wasn’t safe. But she didn’t understand a word I said, so we never spoke about it.”

The son – Camp on the countryside

“We arrived at Brøns. It was really something else compared to Camp Sandholm. Brøns was this village on the countryside in the southern part of Denmark. Houses surrounded the camp. Danish people actually lived close by.

We were many children in Brøns. Huge Somali families stayed there. Some had been there for

Foto by Paula Nimand Duvå

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Foto by Paula Nimand Duvå

years. We were the newest bunch along with a family of five.

My sisters were quickly registered at the camp’s Red Cross school. They learned Danish words from day to day and made friends. I was only five years old, so I was too young to join. I cried a lot when they left for school - I missed them.”

The eldest - Goats and horses

“Going to school in Brøns, ate a lot of energy.

Some of the kids had been there for a long time. I was a bit annoyed that they could speak Danish.

I was used to being the smartest in class. All of a sudden I couldn’t say a word.

But after school, we usually went to a farm close by. The family that lived there had several goats and a couple of horses. We weren’t that nice to them. We chased them around and pulled their tails. They hated being ridden and that’s exactly what we did. The horses were too big and that scared us. We felt safer chasing goats. We were used to them from back home. I feel a bit guilty now – but I didn’t know better at the time.”

The son – Who speaks Danish?

“A boy from the school made fun of us, because we couldn’t understand Danish. How could we?

We had almost just landed in this strange country. After a while I remember realizing that his vocabulary was pretty limited. “Hey” and “When is the bus arriving”, in Danish. Small phrases he had learned in a month’s time, but we learned pretty quickly as well. He stopped teasing us.

It only took a couple of weeks, before we made new friends. The school was a good place to make them and those kids had all kinds of good ideas.

We cut out black garbage bags, stuck them on four long sticks to make tents.

Even an old brick house with nothing left standing but the chimney, was a playground. It had been there for years and grass was growing on all sides of it. We jumped through it and tried to get out through the narrow base. We got stuck a couple of times and scraped our knees and elbows till they bled. It was pretty claustrophobic in there. It’s amazing we kept trying.”

The younger daughter - A lost family

“There was this family of five or six children at the camp. We used to play with them daily. My sister always fought one of their boys and my mom cut her hair off so she could fight him without getting it pulled. The kids showed us all the awesome places to play – the huge lake, the apple trees we used to climb and most importantly; the goat shed.

Their father was a famous musician back in Somalia, we were told. We felt pretty sorry for them after a while though. They had lived there for years when we came to the camp – and they stayed behind when we left. For some reason they were refused asylum in Denmark. People said it was because they were from a tribe that didn’t seem Somali. They were pretty light-skinned and seemed Arab-like but they spoke Somali fluently. We didn’t stay in touch. They live in England now, I’ve heard. I guess everybody had their own challenges and the headaches that follow. Everything in the camp was surely temporary – even the friendships .”

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World people, Asylum seekers, Writers, Painters, Creatives, Photographers – make your mark, unite. Get your word & story out!

Contact us at info@visavis.dk or find us at The Trampoline House every Thursday at 16 -18 pm

Skyttegade 3 · DK-2200 · København N · Danmark · www.visavis.dk · info@visavis.dk is a magazine on asylum and migration, the movement of people across borders and the challenges connected to this. We work to improve the debate on asylum and migration, among other things by publishing texts that people seeking asylum want to share. visAvis is a civilian project where people with and without citizenship in Denmark meet to create an alternative public space and debate.

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Frontera, etching

by Fernando Martí

Frontera, etching by Fernando Martí of Justseeds Artists’ Cooperative, www.justseeds.org.

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Indholdsfortegnelse af oversættelser Content of Translations

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Årsagerne til migration – konsekvenserne heraf og andre virkeligheder... – R. Ferguson Statements – Trampolinhuset

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[Violence/Vold] A personal account of police violence in Center Avnstrup – Haron Durani VI – Ghayath Almadhoun The journey to Iraq – Ahmed Jabari A refugee inside his own country – Barbara Bohr Language is a killing machine – Sylvester Roepstorff

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[Papers/Papirer] Så, det her er Danmark? - Ann Sofie Brink Pedersen og Liv Nimand Duvå Dokumenter – Farhiya Khalid In the letter it said that I should cut my passport in two - Liv Nimand Duvå Ret til at blive. Tvunget til at rejse. – Katerina Piscakova Why it is important that we care about each other – Marie Markwardt

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[Resistance/Modstand] We lost and we won - a reading of the book on Church Asylum – Liv Nimand Duvå The borders of the nation and the coming community - Danish and European asylum activism in a transnational perspective – Søren Rafn En appel om forandring – Sami Sabet Migrationens autonomi: At forstå migration som en social bevægelse – Jens Pfeifer og Søren Rafn / interview med Sandro Mezzadra Kvinder og det maskuline system – Diyar Molayi Sex og Nobel – Patrick [Memories/Minder] The rest of your life – Birgithe Kosovic Balkan, dejlige Balkan! – Denny Pencheva Civilisationens faldne engel – Ina Serdarevic Da Elena kom til Danmark – Salvatore Paolo De Rosa Fortiden stemmer ikke altid overens - En samling af ufuldstændige erindringer fra asyllejrene Sandholm og Brøns – Farhiya Khalid

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TRANSLATIONS

Årsagerne til migration – konsekvenserne heraf og andre virkeligheder...

Mennesker bevæger sig rundt om kloden som fugle. Nogle flygter til Danmark, hvor de anbringes i lejre og isoleres fra lokale danske borgere. Mennesker, der søger asyl i Danmark, bliver set på og diskrimineret imod, som om de udgjorde en ensartet mængde. Jeg mener, at interaktion og kommunikation mellem danskere og mennesker, som lever i asyllejrene i Danmark, er nødvendig, hvis vi skal løse problemet med diskrimination og de problemer, der er årsag til migration. af R. Ferguson Verden befinder sig i en apokalyptisk æra, som der blev afsagt profetier om for hundreder af år tilbage, og politisk uro og krige tiltager og påvirker nationer overalt på kloden hver dag. Ingen ser ud til at kunne finde løsninger på denne situation. Selv ikke FN kan løse problemerne gennem sin mission om at sikre stabilitet og fred rundt om i verden ved hjælp af Sikkerhedsrådet. Resultatet er sult, arbejdsløshed, ungdomskriminalitet, fattigdom og forflytninger af befolkninger fra én region til en anden, fra ét land til et andet og endda fra ét kontinent til et andet.

Verdens nuværende tilstand ødelægger menneskers liv. Når man står ansigt til ansigt med love og bureaukratiske processer, som ødelægger ens fremtid, begynder man at stille spørgsmålstegn ved sin egen eksistens. Hvorfor skal man leve videre, hvis man ikke har nogen fremtid, og hvis man ikke ved, om man vil blive accepteret som et medlem af samfundet i det land, hvor man bor? Nogle mennesker mister deres ungdom i denne proces. Og loven kalder disse mennesker migranter! Jeg tror, vi bliver nødt til at spørge dem, hvor de kommer fra, om de har et liv og om de har blod i årene lige som os andre? Vi må spørge disse mennesker, som søger asyl i Danmark, om det er en fornøjelse for dem at forlade de lande, hvor de har ret til at blive kaldt for borgere.

Migration har været en stor kilde til befolkningstilvækst og kulturel udvikling i mange lande gennem historien. Men andre lande undervurderer den potentielle kraft, der er indeholdt i den kulturelle udvikling, som immigration bringer med sig. Således forholder det sig med den danske regering og dens anstrengelser for at gøre det vanskeligt for migranter at leve i Danmark. Der findes danske ekstremister, som siger, at de ikke ønsker, at dansk kultur skal ændres. Det giver sig udtryk i lukningen af grænser for mennesker med kulturelle baggrunde, som er anderledes end den danske. Men man skal huske, at der ikke findes nogen kultur i verden, som aldrig ændrer sig. Der er ingen lande, hvor der eksisterer en ensartet kultur, som spænder over alle generationer. Verden er ikke statisk; den ændrer sig, og nye ting sker. Og disse ting påvirker universet som helhed. Hvis danskere ikke ønsker, at andre kulturer skal

blande sig med deres egen kultur, bør de ikke tage ud at besøge andre dele af verden. De risikerer at komme tilbage til Danmark med nye erfaringer... Men det er trods alt ude i verden, at en kultur forstærker og fornyr sig selv.

Danmark fører en hård linje over for immigration. Mennesker, som kommer fra andre steder i verden, bliver anset for at forstyrre nationen. Men i stedet for at være en social byrde, kan mennesker, der emigrerer fra ét land til et andet, stimulere økonomisk vækst og nedbringe fattigdom. I dagens Danmark anses en asylansøger for at være et stykke råddent kød eller en person, der ikke kan læse og skrive, og som er kriminel. Den status og uddannelse, som han eller hun har, betyder ikke noget. Alle asylansøgere bliver anbragt i de samme lejre, som om de alle var ens. Og de bliver ’håndteret’ på en bestemt måde og adskilt fra resten af samfundet. Jeg mener, at vi bør huske, at disse mennesker er mennesker som alle andre – med kroppe, der indeholder blod og vand. Det er højst sandsynligt, at ingen af dem nogensinde har ønsket at komme i den situation, som de er i nu.

Det er på tide, at vi støtter mennesker, som søger asyl i Danmark, taler med dem om, hvad de har været igennem, rådgiver dem og inspirerer dem til at se på livet fra en anden vinkel – en vinkel, der minder dem om, at der stadig er håb om et bedre liv! I stedet for at udsætte dem for diskrimination ved hjælp af love, som er ekstremt vanskelige at leve op til.

Når jeg har betragtet asylansøgeres situation i Danmark, har jeg lagt mærke til, at størstedelen af den lokale befolkning ikke ønsker at leve sammen med migranter – specielt ikke de migranter, som stadig venter på, at deres sag skal blive behandlet, og som bor i lejre. For de lokale er en asylansøger en fattig person med lav status, én der ikke kan læse og ikke har nogen manerer, sandsynligvis én som ikke ejer et hjem i sit eget land – en primitiv person. Asylsøgere er isolerede og placeret langt væk fra resten af befolkningen i de byer, hvor lejrene ligger.

Nogle asylansøgere bruger mange år på at vente i lejrene. De er tvunget til at se de samme ting hver dag, og de beskæftiger sig med rengøring, basal computerundervisning og sprogundervisning.

Ved Auderød-centret er det blevet besluttet, at der fra 2012 ikke vil være nogen busforbindelse (bus nummer 325), som asylansøgere fra lejren kan

tage til togstationen i Frederiksværk.

Denne beslutning er taget, fordi lokale beboere i Frederiksværk har klaget til de lokale myndigheder over, at asylansøgere forstyrrer freden i området. De lokale myndigheder har handlet således for at imødekomme klagerne fra den danske befolkning i Frederiksværk. Gad vide, hvordan dét føles for de familier, som lever i Auderød-lejren? Har de ret til at leve lige som andre? For at dække over konflikten, er det blevet foreslået beboerne i lejren, at der kan åbnes butikker med basale varer i lejren for at løse transportproblemet. Men asylansøgerne har brug for at komme ud af lejrene indimellem – ikke kun for at handle, men også fordi de har brug for at få tankerne afledt. At se de samme ting hver dag og at bo på det samme sted sammen med de samme mennesker, ændrer ikke noget. Det tilfører ikke nogen værdi til et menneskes liv.

Så hvad gør man, hvis man bor i Auderød-lejren? Og hvordan ragerer man på denne form for behandling i et land, hvor vejen fra lejren til Frederiksværk ofte er vindblæst, og hvor det sner og regner? En sådan behandling af mennesker er inhuman. Og at gøre livet vanskeligt for asylansøgere forhindrer ikke andre i at komme til Danmark. Migration bør behandles ud fra dens årsager, i stedet for på basis af dens resultater. De grundlæggende årsager til migration skal adresseres – ikke symptomerne. Løsningen på strømmen af mennesker over hele verden er skabelsen af fred i de specifikke lande og regioner, hvor de flygtende kommer fra. I øvrigt vil lokale borgeres forkerte opfattelser af migranter aldrig ændre sig til det bedre, hvis disse to grupper af mennesker ikke får lov til at leve sammen. Den lokale befolkning vil aldrig vænne sig til asylansøgere, så længe asylansøgere holdes adskilt fra de lokale.

Medmindre mennesker bliver bragt sammen, vil idéen om asylansøgere som en gruppe primitive mennesker aldrig blive ændret eller forsvinde...

En asylansøger, som nu har boet i en lejr i mere end to år, spurgte mig for nylig: ’Hvad er bedst: At leve som asylansøger i en lejr eller at aftjene en straf i et fængsel? Der er ingen forskel!’.

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Statements Hvad er der galt med det danske asylsystem og hvordan kan det forbedres? Sådan lød titlen på den offentlige høring, som det brugerstyrede kulturhus Trampolinhuset afholdte d. 27. maj 2011. Vi bringer her en collage af ytringer fra dagen.

af Trampolinhuset “Asylansøgere er ikke kriminelle og derfor burde politiet ikke have noget med asylsystemet at gøre.”

“Der er ingen grænser for ventetiden. Ikke engang drabsmænd er i fængsel uden at vide, hvor lang tid de skal blive der.” ”Ifølge Dublin-konventionen er det ikke muligt at søge asyl i mere end et EU-land. Dette er et stort problem for en af mine venner. For tiden bor han i Camp Sigerslev. Han har været i Danmark i et år, men alle hans dokumenter er i Grækenland.

Politiet gør intet ved det.”

“Den danske regering giver udtryk for, at asylansøgere har mange rettigheder, men virkeligheden er anderledes; de leger med vores håb. Jeg har aldrig set politikerne i lejrene. Hvis de kom, ville de se, hvordan tingene forholder sig. Men det gør de ikke.”

“Det er et meget stort problem, at lejrene er så isolerede fra de store byer. Det er ligesom et samfund, hvor de syge og inficerede er i den ene ende og alle andre i den anden ende.”

“Lægehjælp er et kæmpe problem. Hvis du er hos sygeplejersken, får du kun smertestillende, ingen diagnoser eller rigtig hjælp.”

“En fyr i Sigerslev begik i går selvmord fordi han ikke kunne udholde al ventetiden.” ”Når man får afslag på sin asylansøgning, kan politiet til hver en tid komme og hente en.”

“Det juridiske system forlanger beviser for éns historie, men for folk, der lider af traumer, er det ofte svært.”

“Det faktum, at fem mennesker bor på samme værelse, er hverken humant eller retfærdigt. Selv dyr har bedre forhold.”

“Hvis den danske regering ville tillade os at arbejde, ville det hjælpe dette lands økonomi. Vi er mennesker fra forskellige fagområder og vi er villige til at arbejde.

Det er ikke rationelt at holde uddannede folk inde i lejre og give dem lommepenge.”

“En dag, hvor jeg måtte vente på bussen fordi den var fem minutter forsinket, var alle danskerne oprørte, hvilket viser, hvor vigtig tiden er. For os er det ikke et spørgsmål om fem minutter.

“De fleste, der kommer til Danmark, kommer udelukkende, fordi de har problemer i deres hjemlande, de kommer ikke bare for at stå i kø og vente på mad. De har ikke brug for mad, tøj og så videre, de har brug for at være i sikkerhed”.

A personal account of police violence in Center Avnstrup

by Haron Durani Monday May 23 at around 22.45. The Danish Red Cross Centre Avnstrup.

Around 30 people are in the computer room on the ground floor. I am sitting at one of the computers, watching TV on the Internet. A while earlier, around 4 o’clock, a Kurdish man came to reception. A member of staff asked how he could help him. The man asked the member of staff to phone the police because he had mental problems and wanted to be taken away from the asylum centre.

Around five o’clock the police arrive and tell him that he must sleep in his room and that they cannot take him with them because he has not committed a criminal act. A short while later the same Kurdish man turns up at reception again; he now has a knife. He threatens the staff and asks them why they have not phoned the police and why they are not doing their job. Another Kurdish man takes the knife from the man.

The staff phones the police again.

Four police cars arrive. They put the Kurd in handcuffs, take him to another room, hit him and spray pepper spray in his face. Then they put him in a patrol car. One of the officers returns to the reception with a dog. All the people present in

the room are watching calmly. The police officer then begins walking towards the exit. A person to the left of me says: “Fuck the Danish police,” and the officer immediately looks at me.

He leaves the room and returns together with one more officer. They have brought the dog with them. The officer with the dog stands at the other end of the room. The other one approaches me and says, in an aggressive way: “What are you doing? You have no respect for Danish police. Come on. Come on.” He pushes me four times, and I fall to the floor and land on my back. I try to get up, but the other officer releases the dog. It bites me in my back. I am half-standing and yell several times: “Stop, it hurts, I can’t...” both in Danish, German and English. I grab the officer by his wrist and try to open the dog’s mouth with my other hand. It bites my fingers. Then one of the police officers takes the dog away, and then they take me to the patrol car. They press my head against the car, place my hands on my back and put me in handcuffs. “Excuse me, what have I done wrong?” I ask. The officers move three or four meters away, then they come back and press me against the car. One of the officers opens the patrol car’s door and presses me into the back seat. After a short while another man, who is from Afghanistan, is put in the back seat of another car. We then drive away.

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After around 200 meters we stop at a parking lot. The officers get out of the car and talk about what they are going to do.

“What are we going to say to the station?” one of the officers asks. The other officer answers: “One of them has a knife – we’ll bring him along. The other one hit me with his head – we’ll bring him along as well.” Another person approaches me with a torchlight and looks at my back. He gets angry. Then all the cars drive towards Roskilde Police Station.

While we are driving, I ask: “What have I done wrong – maybe you’ve misunderstood something?” The officer in the passenger seat in front of me turns around and bangs my head against the car window. I say: “Maybe we’ve misunderstood one another – I don’t have a conflict with the police.”

“Now you have a conflict,” the officer says and bangs my head against the car window again. He goes on: “Why don’t you go back to your own countries.” He bangs my head against the car window once again, and his nail inflicts a wound on the side of my nose. He praises the dog, that is sitting at the back of the car: “Freddie has done well today.”

Then we arrive at the police station. They take me inside and press me down on the floor. The officers pull up my sweater and take photographs of my back, where the wound from the dog bite is clearly visible. I am thrown into a detention cell. After 45 minutes four officers and a man in civilian clothes enter the

VI af Ghayath Almadhoun

Vi, der er spredt i stumper, som hænger i luften som regndråber, undskylder på det kraftigste overfor alle i denne civiliserede verden, enkeltvis, individ for

cell. The man in civilian clothes is a doctor. He examines my back. “It looks okay,” he says. The officers take off my shirt and take photographs of my back. I am allowed to go to the toilet, where I can wash my wounds with hot warm water and toilet tissue. I spend the night in the cell.

The next day an officer comes into the cell and tells me that an interpreter will join us. Around eleven o’clock I am taken to an office together with the interpreter and the officer. I tell my story to them.

“We have a charge against you. You hit an officer with your head,” the police officer says. I answer: “How can I hit an officer with my head when I am sitting at a computer?” He asks me more questions about what happened. I ask why they do not simply take a look at the CCTV tape, and I tell the interpreter: “I don’t feel like talking to that bastard.” The officer says: “OK, then I’ll just finish the report.” He prints it out and asks me to sign. I ask if I can have a copy of the report, but that is not possible, so I do not sign. I am taken back to the cell. After three quarters of an hour, at 13.45, they give me back my things, and I can leave.

After almost six months I am still waiting for the case to be decided. It is not my fault that I am here. I am a decent human being.

individ, mænd, kvinder og børn, at vi helt uforvarende er dukket op i jeres trygge hjem uden tilladelse. Vi undskylder for de aftryk som vores indvolde efterlod i jeres snehvide hukommelse, og for at vi har ridset billedet af det normale og hele menneske i jeres øjne, og for at vi skamløst er sprunget ind i nyhedsudsendelserne og ud på siderne på nettet og i aviserne, nøgne bortset fra vores blod og vores forkullede lig. Vi undskylder overfor alle, som ikke turde se direkte på vores sår af frygt for at de ville blive rædselsslagne, overfor alle, der ikke kunne spise deres aftensmad færdig efter at være blevet overrasket af nye billeder af os i fjernsynet. Vi undskylder for det ubehag, vi har vi har pådraget alle jer,

der har set os sådan, usminkede rester og stykker, der ikke blev sat sammen, inden vi viste os på skærmen. Vi undskylder også overfor de israelske soldater, der havde den besværlige opgave at trykke på aftrækkeren i deres fly og tanks for at sprænge os i stykker. Undskyld det hæslige syn, vi var, efter at I havde sigtet direkte på vores hoveder, og de timer I nu må tilbringe på psykiatriske klinikker for igen at blive de mennesker, I var, inden I forvandlede os til de frastødende kropsdele, der forfølger jer når I skal sove. Vi er de ting, man kan se på skærmen og i aviserne, og hvis I anstrenger jer for at samle resterne som i et puslespil, får I et klart billede af os, så klart at I ingenting vil kunne gøre mere.

The Journey to Iraq Here we bring a desperate account from Iraq wherefrom a rejected asylum seeker, a short time after his repatriation, writes about his deportation and his consequent feeling of alienation, incomprehension and inability to adapt in Iraq after 10 years in the Danish asylum system.

by Ahmed Jabari Today is Wednesday the 8th of June and almost two weeks have passed since I was deported to Iraq from Ellebæk prison in Center Sandholm. Ten years have passed since I left Iraq, but I now stay in my old hometown Kirkuk again. I do not know anyone, people have gotten old, the streets and the buildings are ruined from bomb explosions, the bus routes have changed and new buildings and bridges have been erected. I cannot find my way around; I do not know where I am and where I am going. I think that my problem is that I integrated myself into the Danish society to a greater extent than people normally do.

I learned Danish, made Danish friends, and I never thought about what would happen if I one day had to leave all that behind. Here in Iraq people only think about money. My relatives do not understand why I have not achieved anything during the past 10 years of my life. “What have you been doing in Denmark? Do you have a house, a car, money?” they ask me. And what am I to answer? They do not understand that you have no opportunities in Denmark without a CPR-number (civil registration number), that you are worth nothing when you do not have a CPR-number. To show how the Danish asylum system works and how it really feels to be deported, I will now

describe how the past weeks have unraveled.

I was usually obligated to appear before the Danish Red Cross in Center Sandholm every second Thursday between 1 pm and 3 pm. Although I was afraid of the police because I was arrested for the purpose of deportation last year and because of rumors saying that Iraqi people were being deported, a friend convinced me that nothing would happen. Thus, I appeared, but when the police officer found my name on the list he called more officers. They brought me to the office to interrogate me, arrested me and brought me to the Ellebæk prison. Because I have had psychological problems and I normally take antidepressive medication, two nurses, who showed up a couple of days after I was taken to Ellebæk, had me sent to Hillerød Hospital, considering my psychological condition too grave for me to stay in Ellebæk. I only stayed in the hospital for one night and I only spoke briefly with the doctor before four civil officers showed up at the hospital and took me back to Ellebæk. I do not understand how a European country like Denmark, which goes to war to teach other nations about human rights, at the same time violates these human rights to such an extent. I mean, we are in Denmark!

I was tired and confused when I arrived in Ellebæk, and I slept for a couple of hours before the police came and picked

TRANSLATIONS

me up around 9 pm. Together with seven other rejected asylum seekers, I was driven to an unknown place where an old plane was waiting for us. We were not told to where we were flying, but the trip ended at Stockholm Airport where a big plane was waiting for rejected asylum seekers from Sweden, Norway, Finland and Denmark. As far as I know, it is not legal for the police to fly us to Stockholm without a passport or proof of residency, but the Danish police has done a lot of illegal things that the ordinary Danish person has no idea about. For example, my phone was stolen in the Ellebæk prison. I really valued that phone and when I said that I wanted it back, the police officer just told me that they could not find it, and that they would give me a small compensation that did not at all cover its price.

Wednesday the 25th of May at 2 am, a week after I appeared before the Danish Red Cross, all of us, the rejected asylum seekers from Iraq, were flown from Stockholm to Baghdad. We were about 55 and more than 100 police officers aboard the plane.

None of the Scandinavian police officers dared to exit the airport in Baghdad. They send us back because the government considers Iraq safe, but the officers do not even dare to leave the airport. Apparently, there is a difference between people when it comes to the importance of their safety. We were detained in the airport of Baghdad without eating or drinking.

It was not until 9 pm that three others and me were finally driven towards the oil city Kirkuk, which we reached at 3 am.

The boarder control detained us, so we had to stay sitting in the street until 5 am before we could drive further into Kirkuk.

When I reached Kirkuk, which was formerly a nice clean and oil city, I was totally shocked. Despite Saddam Hussein’s dictatorial system of government, he had managed to keep the cities nice and clean. With the current government Kirkuk was completely ruined. I could not make myself get out of the taxi, so I drove further towards the city of Sulaimanya in Kurdistan where I knew that a friend of mine, who was expelled in connection to Kirkeasyl (Church Asylum) in Brorsons Kirken in 2009, lived. I found him and we spent some time together until it occurred to me that there is nothing for me here in Iraq.

I am just as much a stranger here as I was in Denmark. The same afternoon I wanted to take a long distance bus back to

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Kirkuk, but I got angry when the driver demanded 400 dinar for the bus trip, because I thought that he wanted to cheat me.

I thought about how the same bus trip cost 1 dinar in 2001. I had a hard time understanding that ten years had past. I could not pull myself together. To be in Iraq seemed like a dream.

So, I took the bus back to Kirkuk where I am still staying.

Every day I am shocked by the sight of the city. Everything has been ruined by the bombs, I know no faces and I can no longer find my way around. When I arrived in the city, I went to say hello to a friend who has a shop where he sells juice and ice cream, but in the beginning he did not even recognize me. He had also gotten older; he had grey hair and a full beard. I left and no longer knew whether I was in Copenhagen or Kirkuk. I started mixing things up. Suddenly, I received a call from Denmark, which made me feel very bad. I did not understand that I was in Iraq while at the same time receiving a call from someone in Denmark. I wanted to take the underground railway, but I could not find it and I started to cry while I talked on the phone. My feet were staggering and I felt like I was about to faint. Meanwhile something must have happened to my mobile phone because I remember that I restarted it, and that the date showed 2005. And that made me even more insecure. I became upset and I did not know what year it was. At last I managed to take a taxi to my sister’s house. It occurred to me that I had not slept for 48 hours, my head was hammering as if it was about to explode, and I fell asleep as soon I lay down.

I felt a little better when I woke up the day after. But I still cannot adapt. I never imagined that I would have to leave Denmark. Constantly, relatives visit me to ask me what I have accomplished in Denmark. I do not like to be criticized, especially not when they do not understand what it is like to be without a CPR-number in Denmark. I do not know if I can stand it, and I am starting to worry that I am going crazy. I cannot write anymore. I am tired of myself and I feel like I am worth nothing. I feel like I am a loser in life.

Thanks for all the good, lovely, cheerful days that I have had with you, sweet friends in Denmark

A refugee inside his own country Dear citizen. According to the Russian law on military service I hereby command you to report to the nearest military office…

That is the first sentence of the official letter drafting young men to the Russian Army’s feared military service. Violence, humiliation and bullying, or a life in hiding? Thousands of Russian men in the draft-eligible age are forced to ask themselves this question when they receive the draft letter. For those who cannot bribe themselves out of the problem, it takes inventiveness not to be caught. Everyday the fleeing and hiding starts all over again.

by Barbara Bohr Andrei, 24 years old, parks his bicycle close to the metro and walks slowly closer to the big Soviet, column-decorated metro entrance. Elderly women sit along the road offering products from their small vegetable plots outside Saint Petersburg. Andrei buys an apple as he stops and watches the metro entrance.

A horde of people pours out through the swing doors. Some people meet, others hurry away into the thickening snowstorm. When all falls quiet, Andrei notices them right away: Two men in discrete military uniforms are trying to stamp heat into their feet while sharing a cigarette. Once in a while they push and pull at the string of a German Shepherd. As a young man hurries by one of the military men quickly grabs him. No words are spoken, but the young man quickly pulls some papers out of his bag, and the two uniformed men study each paper for a long time. Andrei throws away the apple core. He had really hoped that the weather had scared the uniformed watchmen away. Now he has to bicycle through the snowstorm to visit his mother. There is no chance he will be able to pass the guards at the entrance.

An everyday life in refuge

Andrei lives in Saint Petersburg in Russia. His everyday life is, like for so many other young Russian men, characterized by

fear and escape. Like thousands of young Russian men in the draft-eligible age from 18 – 27 years, Andrei is trying to escape the one-year long military service. ”I’m a refugee in my own country. I have to be careful when I go into the metro, and sometimes I have to give up and turn around. I bicycle to avoid public transportation and busy streets, and I cannot travel outside Russia or apply for a normal job. I feel like a criminal, even though I’m actually just trying to avoid the real criminal act – the way the military treats its recruits.”

The Russian military has long been notorious for its brutal hierarchy where the older soldiers take revenge on those who arrived last. This notorious hierarchy is called Dedovshchina, which loosely translates into, ”The grandfather’s bullying of his own descendants”. A 19-year old recruit named Sychyov had to have both his legs amputated after his superiors had forced him to sit in a painful position and beaten him systematically for 3 hours. In August 2011 another young recruit chose to describe the traumatic experiences from his time as a recruit via small updates on Twitter. In his updates he explained how a number of sergeants would collect the salary and credit cards of the recruits. About the continuous violence, he wrote: ”My whole body is aching, but no blue marks. In short: they are professionals”. He was quickly forced to remove - and publicly excuse - his Twitter posts. But the stories, that he told, are now cir-

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culating on blogs, and they speak a clear language about violence and psychological terror in a sick system:”Between these four walls our phones are stolen and we are beaten and lied to. And outside these walls there is a normal life going on, like on another planet.” he wrote.

These stories are far from singular examples of the horrible conditions and the meaningless violence of the Russian military. Also Andrei knows stories like these: ”I have friends who have been in the military and have subsequently told me horrifying stories. Of course you can be lucky and experience an okay conscription. But in most cases it is deeply traumatizing. It transforms you into a robot” says Andrei. It is especially hard if you stand out of the crowd for your political beliefs or by sexual orientation. For many the pressure becomes too hard to bear, which a very high suicide rate among the recruits makes particularly visible. The American Time Magazine wrote, in June 2010, that around 150 soldiers commit suicide each year in the Russian military - often due to the brutal violence against the recruits. The official number of 150 suicides is released by the Russian Defense Ministry and the actual number is feared to by much higher.

Always on guard

Andrei describes himself as a happy and positive person. But the fight to avoid the army service has taken control of his life: “It creates all sorts of phobias - being in constant escape mode. I’m always on guard. I feel scared and nervous most of the time, and it is starting to border on paranoia.”

Many young men dodging the draft feel the limitations the strongest when it comes to the inability to travel outside of Russia. How can they change anything in

TRANSLATIONS

Russia when they cannot leave the country and see other worlds while they are still young? In certain cases the young men are exempted from military duty while they are studying. But as soon as they finish their studies, which happens quickly in Russia since it is expensive to study, they are back in the army’s searchlight. The organization Movement of Soldier’s Mothers gives advice on how parents of young men can avoid sending their sons to the army. Recommendations are, among others, to register at another address or to go to the doctor, to find a disease that can keep the sons away from military service. The ones not so “lucky” as to have a disease or to know a high ranking politician who can pull some strings, are left with bribery as a last solution.

Sometimes the young men’s families pay up to 250.000 rubles (about 45.000 Dkr) to a semi-secret organization in which doctors issue fake papers. The fake papers prove - in one way or another that the young man is either physically or psychologically incapable of serving in the army. But it is a lot of money for a regular Russian family. Many are simply not able to collect such an amount and bribe themselves out of the problem.

Instead they are left with desperate measures.

The 23-year-old Oleg tells about how humiliating it was when he had to ring the doorbells of friends and acquaintances to collect enough money for the fake papers. Oleg is homosexual and is certain that it would be very dangerous for him to do military service in a Russian army notorious for its homophobic views. Oleg didn’t succeed in collecting enough money, and is therefore, like Andrei, forced to be on constant guard while hiding from the military’s men patrolling the streets.

If the military’s men find a young

man without the required papers they sometimes draft them on the spot. Many young people arrive at the army that way – in the middle of the night, without a chance to bring belongings or to inform their relatives. The brutality of the system and the lack of respect for the rights of the individual also show in the process which Andrei had to go through, before he was declared suitable and received a draft letter: “I have a serious shoulder injury which they completely ignored. Actually I never received any of the mandatory health checks.”

Indifferent on corruption

Andrei explains how the money that many young men and their families pay to avoid the military service often end up in the pockets of that same military, and in this way actually ends up financing the whole corrupt system. The military knows about the existence of the fake papers, but does nothing to fight the corruption and make the military a better place to be. Recently Russia’s President Dmitry Medvedev and Prime Minister Vladimir Putin announced that the military is soon to undergo a great modernization where the new recruits are to be based on volunteers, and where there should be a salary raise for the soldiers. But the question is whether their words will be brought into action. In the meantime Andrei, Oleg and thousands of young Russian men are waiting for a life without fear in which they are allowed to be young.

The writer has lived in Russia for a year and the article is written on the basis of interviews with good friends.

The real names of Andrei and Oleg are known by the editors.

Permanent Ophold Permanent opholdstilladelse betyder, at man som flygtning eller indvandrer må bosætte sig og arbejde i Danmark på ubegrænset tid. For at opnå tilladelsen skal man blandt andet have opholdt sig i Danmark i mindst syv år, have gennemført integrationseksamen ved at bestå en prøve i dansk og dokumentere at man har haft fuldtidsbeskæftigelse i 2½ år.

En del flygtninge i Danmark lever en tilværelse uden permanent ophold-

stilladelse eller statsborgerskab og dermed også en tilværelse uden en række grundlæggende rettigheder og muligheder. Flygtninge uden permanent opholdstilladelse kan udvises hvis grundlaget for deres ophold bortfalder.

De kan hellere ikke stemme eller stille op til folketingsvalg, de har problemer med at opnå indrejse visa til en række lande i og udenfor EU, og de har ikke adgang til bestemte job i det offentlige.

Udlændinge med tidsbegrænset opholdstilladelse kan få deres opholdstilladelse forlænget, hvis forudsætningerne for deres opholdstilladelse stadig er gældende. Men hvis forudsætningen ikke længere er til stede, eller hvis forholdene i en flygtnings hjemland forbedres, kan opholdstilladelsen ophæves. Man lever altså i en konstant risiko for at miste retten til at bo i Danmark.

Language is a killing machine We know that language means power. Whoever has language in his power has power over the souls.

But language also has a power in itself which seduces even the most conscious of its (ab)users.

by Sylvester Roepstorff Victor Klemperer was a more aware user of language than most peope. Klemperer, a professor in Romance philology in Dresden, remained an outsider in his environment his whole life. He was a supporter of a French inspired philosophy of Enlightment as opposed to a German national and Romantically disposed tradition. With a tremendous portion of energy and stubbornness, he kept a record of both the moral and the

linguistic decay in Germany throughout the 1930’s and 40’s.

However he did not manage to become known or noted for his work in his lifetime which ended in 1960. With the publication of about four thousand diary pages, which started appearing in1996 (in Danish in 2000: Jeg vil aflægge vidnesbyrd til det sidste), he was on everybody’s lips. And now for the first time a work, written 64 years ago, can be found in Danish, which originates from these diaries: LTI. Lingua Tertii Imperii. Det tredje Riges sprog. En filologs notesbog (LTI. Lingua Tertii Imperii.

No. 6 2012

TRANSLATIONS

Language of the Third Reich. A philologist’s diary). Not even Klemperer was able to escape from it. He too was infected by the lingustic virus. ”The poison is all around us. It is spread by the drinking water of the LTI and no one is spared.” Not even the philologist himself who was so very conscious and who put so much effort into speaking in a neutral manner without any colouring, was able to speak in his own voice. ”You see everything through Jewish spectacles”, he once said to his wife, who in turn put him in his place straight away: ”Now even you are starting to use the specific language of the Jews”. He was embarrassed and could immediately see what had happened.

The Nazi language had also gained power over the linguistically aware man of the Enlightment. It had snuck in behind all of the humanist’s parades. This language which he is describing is like a nameless creature which has possessed everyone who is using it.

Speech is action Klemperer’s book shows us in numerous examples that language paves the way for criminal acts. Speech is action. Klemperer subverts the ignorance regarding the power of language, which prevails among those who are mindlessly firing away with deadly (word)weapons. All of his analyses call attention to the fact that language can kill without the speaker being aware of it. It is as if the absence of guilt were a carrier of this virus. The language used by the totalitarian men of power becomes a weapon which the common man is able to use with impunity.Language is not only an instrument in a totalitarian system and it does not only reflect a certain condition; it also helps to create the system. Language paved the way for the The Third Reich. ”The constructing of the Aryan man is rooted in philology”, he says; and he adds that in order to reach the point at which even extermination camps become legal, small doses over a long period of time are crucial. ”Words can seem like tiny doses of arsenic. They go down unnoticed and seem not to have any effect and yet, after some time the impact of the poison starts to show.”

The intellectualsHowever, it is not the common German who is the primary target of Klemperer’s accusations. The intellectuals were the biggest traitors. Time and time again it is the cultured and the learned who come under fire and often it is due to their affiliation to Romanticism. The more one was acquainted with the literary history of the period, the more enticing the idea of the Third Reich would seem. According to Klemperer, German literature contained promises of something beyond, something that exceeded the entire worldly prosaic existence - something tantalizing which could follow paganism and replace a corrupt Christianity. Therefore, it was worse for Klemperer to find himself among professors and students who, pickled inside metaphysical conceptions, soaked up the antisemitism, than to stay with the Nazi lower middle-class. There is not much doubt that the Nazis carried out a perverted version of Romanticism, but Klemperer’s philosophy of Enlightment makes him blind to all the anti-Nazi potential equally

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-held within Romanticism.The intellectuals used - at the time as well as today - both technology and sport metaphors in their description of humans and the human condition. When – to take a modern example - the brain turns into a hard drive, when impressions become inputs and utterances become outputs, we find ourselves in the same linguistic field as described

by Klemperer. Furthermore, they managed to substantiate their racist view of human nature by means of scientific facts.

Scientists and science journalists even nowadays who are not familiar with scientific criticism tend to forget that mere facts do not always lead to the path of truth. Because - as Klemperer states - ”a lie (and this is what it has in common with the joke) is much stronger the more truth it contains” (207).The technology metaphors were intended to make the soldiers more efficient but also to marginalize parts of humanity. When a human being is compared with a machine, it is dehumanized. The same thing happens if one compares it to an animal: a dog or an ape. In 2009 the asspciate professor in literature man of letters, Isak Winkel Holm, was unfortunate enough to quote politician Pia Kjærsgaard as having said that immigrants breed like rats. However, this was incorrect. She had said that foreigners breed like rabbits. The incident resulted in a lengthy case. In the given example it is not only the animal analogy which seems blameworthy but also the term ”foreigners”. The fact that extreme Darwinists are equating the human being with the ape is another example of this type of anti-humanism. The logical conclusion thus turns out to be - and this is exactly what Klemperer is addressing - that there is no crime in killing an animal or a machine.

Victor Klemperer’s book teaches us that even tiny details in the most radical cases can lead to murder. He sharpens our sense of language. In addition, he teaches us that language always carries a policy, an ideology and a power. All of which can bring about very vigorous deeds. A radical thinker of the Enlightment of such vast proportions as Klemperer can therefore even today be employed against all the radical thinkers of the Enlightment who, in the name of the freedom of speech, refuse to speak about ”the tone” in the language. If one declines to speak of the discrimination within the smallest details, the possibility of imposing discriminatory laws and oppressive institutions arises.Klemperer shows us that each user of a language has a tendency to go with the flow of any given period’s ruling usage - entirely without knowing how dangerous the mission in which one plays a part. ”The language of the victors ... one does not speak it exempt from punishment, one breathes it in and lives according to it.” Then as well as now.

Victor Klemperer: LTI. Lingua Tertii imperii. Det Tredje Riges sprog. En filologs notesbog. Postscript, notes and translation by Henning Vangsgaard. Forlaget Tekst og tale, 2011. – See also: www.klemperer.dk

Så, det her er Danmark?

Vi mødtes allesammen og blev venner for måneder siden i Trampolinhuset. Vi græd, omfavnede hinanden, hoppede rundt og fejrede da vi modtog de gode nyheder; Dara, Hakim og Farshad fik alle for nylig tildelt opholdstilladelse i Danmark. Et nyt liv begyndte. Ingen af os vidste, hvad dette liv vil byde på. For et par uger siden mødtes vi hos Liv og talte om Daras, Hakims og Farshads oplevelser med at få opholdstilladelse i Danmark. Her er en samling af tanker og insigter, der blev diskuteret den fredag eftermiddag. af Ann Sofie Brink Pedersen and Liv Nimand Duvå De er ikke jalous. De er skuffede.

Dara: De læste mine dokumenter i retten og stillede mig to eller tre spørgsmål. Og så fortalte de mig, at jeg skulle forlade lokalet imens de diskuterede min sag. Jeg ventede en halv time. Da jeg kom tilbage, græd min advokat og tolk. Jeg var rystet. ”Oh my God, hvorfor græder de?” Jeg tænkte, ”måske er svaret negativt.” Da de fortalte mig, at jeg havde fået opholdstil-

ladelse, græd jeg også. Min første tanke var, ”oh my God, nu kan jeg ikke se min familie, aldrig mere.”

Hakim: Jeg har været nervøs hele mit liv.

Jeg ventede på svaret, og det rystede mig da jeg modtog det. Folk kom og lykønskede mig, og jeg købte kage til alle i lejren.

Nogle af folkene i lejren var glade. Andre sagde ingenting. Måske var de jalous.

Mange har opholdt sig i lejren i mange, mange år. Jeg var der kun et år og så fik jeg opholdstilladelse. Jeg har ondt af de andre, men jeg kan ikke hjælpe dem.

Dara: Når jeg tænker på dem bliver jeg meget oprevet. Jeg havde ikke lyst til at fortælle folk i lejren, at jeg havde fået opholdstilladelse. Jeg fortalte det ikke til nogen.

Farshad: De er ikke jalous, de er skuffede.

Ingen kommer og søger asyl i Danmark for fornøjelse og sjov. Vi forlader vores familier, vores kultur, vores alting.

Mange af os har de same problemer, men så får én person opholdstilladelse og en anden får ikke. Det er vigtigt at få opholdstilladelse. Så slapper dit sind af.

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Når du er i lejren venter du bare på svaret hver dag. Reglerne gør det meget vigtigt at få opholdstilladelse.

Dara: Ja, at få opholdstilladelse betyder, at du er. Du lever – ”vi ser dig”. Det er en rigtig god følelse. Og når du får opholdstilladelse, kan du blive her. Et trygt sted.

Jeg søger bare et trygt sted, hvor ingen udspørger mig om min religion eller mit pas - hvor ingen spørger mig om noget som jeg ikke vil have, at de spørger mig om.

Mange af vores naboer var grise.

Hakim: Når du får asyl står du overfor en ny kultur. Det er svært. Da jeg var i lejren var mit sind lukket fordi jeg var nervøs.

Jeg var kun i kontakt med de folk, der var i asylcenteret. Jeg følte, at det var som om, at jeg var mindre end danskere - som om danskere følte, at de var bedre end mig. Én af grundene til, at jeg følte dette er, at asylcenteret er placeret så langt væk fra landsbyen – syv kilometer.

Og hvem er derude?.. folk, der arbejder med landbrug eller dyr. Mange af vores naboer var grise derude. Det er som om, at udlændinge, der kommer til Danmark er dårlige mennesker. I løbet af det år og to måneder jeg opholdt mig i lejren, lærte jeg ikke meget om kulturen - jeg var ikke i kontakt med mennesker og nu er jeg chokeret.

Dara: Fordi jeg har en uddannelse, blev jeg bedt om at starte i skole i København efter jeg havde boet to eller tre måneder I lejren. Men nogle mennesker er i lejren i seks måneder før de kommer ud derfra. En af mine venner kom ud af lejren efter fire måneder, og da vi ankom til København udbrød hun ”så, det her er Danmark?”

Jeg er ikke genert – det er et nyt problem

Hakim: Folk, der søger asyl kommer ikke til det her land, fordi de elsker det. Jeg

TRANSLATIONS

siger ikke, at det ikke er et skønt land, men mange mennesker kommer her, fordi de har problmer i deres eget land.

Og mange mennesker, der søger asyl kan ikke slappe af her, fordi de føler, at de ikke er ligestillet med andre. De er ikke lige, fordi de blev nødt til at forlade deres land. Mange mennsker, der søger asyl, har det dårligt, fordi de ikke kan tage tilbage. Men jeg prøver at blive venner med folk, at være lige med dem og finde et godt liv her. Jeg er kurdisk og i Syrien betyder det, at jeg ikke har samme status som araberne. Forholdet mellem kurdere og arabere er som forholdet mellem udlændinge og danskere. Men jeg vil lære dansk. Og om et år vil jeg læse til designer. Det er ikke sandt, at vi ikke er ens, udlændinge og danskere. Jeg forsøger at fjerne denne ide ved at sige ”nej, jeg er som dem, jeg er Hakim, jeg er mig”.

Farshad: Nøglen til fremgang når du får asyl er sprog. Hvis du lærer sproget, kan du dag for dag starte dit liv. Men i lejrene tillades du ikke at lære dansk hvis du er over 25 år gammel. Så bliver du kun tilbudt engelskundervisning inde i lejrene. Jeg er uddannet, jeg kan engelsk. Men jeg kan ikke dansk. Og når jeg modtager post, er det hele på dansk.

Dara: Normalt er jeg ikke genert. Det er et nyt problem. Det er svært for mig fordi jeg gerne vil tale dansk med folk. Jeg vil ikke have, at de tænker ”Nå, hun er en ny en, hun taler ikke vores sprog, hvor er hun fra?” Jeg vil ikke have, at det første folk spørger mig om er, “hvor er du fra?”

Af denne grund kan jeg ikke lide at tale engelsk.

Mit sind har også brug for næring

Dara: Jeg kan stadig ikke bestemme selv.

I går talte jeg med de lokale myndigheder i min kommune og én af dem sagde hele tiden til mig ”du skal! Du burde! Fordi jeg siger det! Du skal flytte, fordi du er en kvinde og der bor tre mænd i det hus.”

Jeg troede ikke dette var et islamisk land. Jeg er en kvinde, men jeg har det godt der. Jeg sagde, ”OK, jeg flytter, men giv mig tid.” De sagde, ”Nej, vi kan ikke gøre det her og...” Ved du hvad? På det tidspunkt følte jeg, at nogen havde knust mit hjerte.

Jeg siger hele tiden ”Jeg elsker disse mennesker – mere end mit eget folk.”

Fordi jeg er komfortabel her. Og fordi det ikke er vigtigt om du er kvinde eller mand her. Her har du frihed. Men i går fortalte de mig, at fordi jeg er fremmed, har jeg ikke frihed. Hvor kan jeg finde den? Hvor kan jeg være fri? Hvornår kan jeg vælge; her vil jeg bo!

Farshad: Kommunen, som du bor, i lægger meget pres på dig. De siger ”du skal gøre det her.” Som med Dara. Den første gang hun kom til det nye hus, sagde hun ”jeg kan ikke bo her”. De sagde, “sådan er reglen”. Og nu har de ændret den. Nu skal hun flytte til et nyt sted.

Dara: Jeg blev nødt til at komme på psykiatrisk hospital igen, fordi de lokale myndigheder lagde så meget pres på mig. Og jeg følte mig alene i det nye værelse. Jeg følte, at rummet ville slå mig, fortærre mig. De sendte mig på hospitalet og nu er jeg på en høj dosis antidrepressive. I Iran havde jeg alt. Jeg havde et hus, jeg trænede, jeg havde en bil, jeg gik i teatret. Jeg brugte mange penge på alt muligt. Men jeg var ikke glad. Jeg havde alt, men jeg var ikke fri.

I den iranske ret fortalte de mig, at fordi jeg var kvinde, kunne jeg ikke gøre det og det... jeg vil have frihed. Jeg vil leve et frit liv. Jeg vil have respekt som kvinde. Jeg vil have samme status som mænd. Det er hvad jeg ønsker mig fra Danmark, ikke mad. En smule mad er nok for mig, men mit sind har også brug for næring.

Dara, Hakim og Farshad board er dæknavne. De rigtige navne på de interviewede er kendt af visAvis redaktion.

In the letter it said that I should cut my passport in two An account of being born into a juridical grey area, of suddenly being deprived of one’s citizenship, of being illegal, and of refusing to take the Danish nationality test. The article is written against a background of a conversation with a close friend.

by Liv Nimand Duvå An error must have occurred. Thus Jakob was told at the age of 15, when on the day before Christmas Eve, he received a letter at his mother’s place in Albertslund. Jakob was no longer a Danish citizen. ”I had never thought about being Danish. It was simply the foundation of my identity. Suddenly it was taken away from me, and I was an international citizen, which is the same as being nobody. It was a stab in the back.”

At the present moment he is forced on a daily basis to take a stand on not being Danish. When he places the residence permit, which he finally won after 10 years, in his pocket, or when immigration policy is being mentioned, he is reminded that he cannot become a part of the Danish Denmark.

Jakob’s father comes from Pakistan. As one of the migrant workers of the 1970’s, he went to Denmark at an early age and

started a successful business in Copenhagen. Jakob’s mother is Polish and was primarily driven to Denmark by the love of adventure and by chance. The two of them met each other at a wedding in Denmark. The family took up residence in Albertslund where a doctor convinced Jakob’s mother of the importance of the monopoly of the Danish language in their home.

Therefore, Jakob does not speak Polish nor Urdu, but he was already able to show a fluency in Danish when starting school.

Later on, we enrolled in the same high school where he was nearly refused admission to the study tour. The fact was that he did not have a passport. But now we have already skipped a few important links.

Welcome to Poland Going back to the above mentioned day before Christmas Eve, Jakob learns that he is no longer Danish though he has always had health insurance, birth certificate and the same rights as everybody else.

No. 6 2012

TRANSLATIONS

”It felt tremendously heavy to be told that you’re not what you’ve always thought you were. In the letter it said that I should cut my passport in two. Not a word about obtaining a Danish passport, only sorry, you are no longer Danish and there is nothing you can do about it.”

During his first years in high school, Jakob would spend Thursdays (Thursday is the day the Danish public institutions have long opening hours) being sent from one office to the other: ”On such a Thursday at the Danish Immigration Service, I would just sit around and do nothing, wasting my time until I could finally step to the counter. And then they would go, no, you should have had the yellow form and not the pink. I was sent from one ministry to another, and had to go through the whole range of colours before I was sent back to the police, who in turn referred me to the Immigration Service... and then it was just too much.”

The bureaucratic knocking-about lasted for most of the first year of high school. Jakob let it rest during the summer until the high school’s study tour got closer, and it thus became too urgent to get hold of travel documents. He visited the Polish embassy in order to examine his possibilities of obtaining a Polish passport. At the embassy he simply completed a couple of forms and a few days later the passport could be collected: ”Welcome to Poland, we are happy to have you here, said the guy at the counter, when I went over there again. I just thought: what - can someone really be happy to have me? And just like that, I was Polish. And now I’m polish. And at the same time, no matter what I do, I simply cannot become Danish.”

On our study tour Jakob got by with his Polish passport but juridically he was illegal. He neither had a visa, a residence permit, nor the right to live in Denmark, but was still going to high school and receiving SU (State Educational Grants). His family had never had any problems living in Denmark, no one was capable of seeing through his case and the bureaucratic hell prevented him from trying once again. At last, his mother managed to force through, him getting a residence permit. He describes to me how he went to the police station and ended in an office where he calmly explained that he was illegal and without papers, after which the officer demanded a copy of the visa in order to issue a permanent residence permit: ”What, haven’t you listened to me at all, I asked, I don’t have a visa. Your work permit, your temporary residence permit, she continued. I don’t have anything, I replied. And she just didn’t get that. Then she said that we were forced to send the application without documents and that I had to pay an administrative charge worth 2000 DKK. I refused to pay and kept on discussing until she agreed to send the application without payment.”

Two years passed before he got a response to the application – a rejection of the residence permit because Jakob did not pass the Danish nationality test. When the application had been sent two years earlier, nothing about the test was men-

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tioned. In the meanwhile, Jakob had begun his studies at DTU (Technical University of Denmark) and the only measure taken by the VK-government, which was of use to Jakob’s case, namely applying for permit on the basis of an ongoing Danish education, turned out in his favour. He obtained his residence permit after almost 10 years but a possible citizenship would imply a nationality test, which Jakob could not even dream of taking. He finds that it would be absurd to take a test as to prove one’s identity and ability to get on in the Danish society.

Global stranger In spite of his legal status, it is clear to Jakob that he appreciates being Danish much more than many others, and he is not afraid to declare his love to Denmark and Danishness, despite being ”a victim” of the strict immigration policy of the Danish state. Me myself, I have difficulties understanding this tribute to Danishness while in Jakob’s opinion someone like me, who has not been treated as a minority, is less likely to think about the emotional consequences, it entails. He does not want to hide the fact that this love of Danishness is an ambivalent one, as it is closely connected with a desire to fit in a community which he has been excluded from: ”Many of the children I grew up with in Albertslund mirrored themselves in their racist parents. They held all sorts of opinions about immigrants, but did not know a single one. At that time, I did not give much thought to being different from the rest. I remember a birthday party where I was asked where I came from. I replied that I came from Føtex (Danish supermarket) because I had just been there buying presents with my mother.”

However, when Jakob grew older he learned that it is not possible to come from Føtex, and that it is certainly not possible to get a job there if one’s name is Jakob Tariq. For that reason he changed his name to Jakob Larsen, and the answers to the job applications started arriving. Today he regrets: ”The fact that I am what I am has been a really important acknowledgment for me. I have tried hard to fit in, but my values tell me that the worst thing one can do is to change oneself in order to adapt to one’s surroundings.”

After 10 years Jakob finally had his residence permit, but even the permit still isn’t how it is supposed to be. The nationality indicated in his passport is Pakistani, although his parents were told not to teach him the language, and even though he is not at all in touch with Pakistan and his passport is Polish.

He has prompted three more applications since, as to change his nationality status to Polish, but they still remain unanswered, just like no one has been able to explain to him why he at the age of 15, suddenly lost his citizenship.

He is tired of fighting, and is considering moving abroad. Because, as he says; he would much rather feel like a stranger in a place where he in fact is a stranger, than here where his roots are, where he is supposed to belong and feel welcome.

Ret til at blive. Tvunget til at rejse.

At få asyl i Danmark. Betyder det, at du er i stand til at vælge dit eget liv? For nogle er det ikke en lykkelig slutning, men blot en forlængelse af en frustrerende process. Dette er en historie om at forlade lejren og være tvunget til at flytte langt væk. af Katerina Piscakova Aftenen før jeg satte mig ned for at skrive artiklen her, modtog jeg en besked på facebookchatten fra en ven: ”Hej, har du travlt? Jeg ville bare snakke med dig, fordi jeg er i fucking dårligt humør.” ”Så kom herover. Jeg kan ikke lige chatte nu, fordi jeg er ved at lave aftensmad”, svarede jeg.

“Jeg er i lejren…”

Og så fortsatte diskussionen om, hvor lang tid det tager at tage fra Sandholm til

København, hvornår den sidste bus går og så videre. Bare den slags almindelige problemer, man må forholde sig til, når den ene af to venner er en almindelig borger og den anden asylansøger i Danmark.

Da min ven kom, opfordrede jeg ham til at fortælle mig, hvad der var galt. ”Jeg hader efterhånden mit liv her. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck.”

Vi står ude på gaden en kold, tåget novemberaften og ryger den ene cigaret efter den anden, mens han forklarer sin situation for mig.

For nylig modtog han en positiv kendelse i sin asylsag, men fremtiden ser alligevel ikke så lys ud. ”Jeg vil blive her! Jeg vil hellere tilbringe hele mit liv i lejren end tage til den åndssvage fiskerby.”

Jeg kan høre vreden og se fortvivlelsen i hans øjne. Jeg kan pludselig ikke se nogen kraft i min ven som rent faktisk hedder Power.

Hans hår er blevet gråt, selv om han er yngre end mig. Jeg har stor respekt for denne her 22-årige tidligere studerende ved Aleppo-universitetet i Syrien. Han

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er kurder og stolt af det. Han siger tit, at han kun skammer sig, når han må indrømme, at han ikke kan læse og skrive på sit modersmål, da det er forbudt for kurdere at tale og skrive deres eget sprog i alle de lande, hvor mere end 40 millioner kurdere lever.

Det er næsten seks måneder siden, Power måtte forlade sit tidligere, stabile, rolige og lykkelige familieliv i Aleppo.

Efter at have deltaget i nogle ekstremt medieeksponerede, men dog stadig håbløse revolutionære aktiviteter mod det nuværende syriske regime, blev han en torn i øjet på det lokale hemmelige politi. ”Til min sidste demonstration kom politiet og jagtede os gennem universitetet, mens de slog folk. Jeg stak af og mistede min notesbog. Det lykkedes mig at undslippe, men flere af mine venner blev arresteret. Efter den dag kunne jeg ikke komme hjem, fordi jeg lå inde med nogle oplysninger, som politiet ville have.

De ledte efter mig i mit hus, og på mit værelse fandt de en masse oplysninger om mig, og også et kurdisk flag, som jo er forbudt i Syrien.”

Hver gang vi sammen gennemgår hans historie med tanke på artiklen her, er jeg på nippet til at græde. Selv om jeg prøver at se tingene fra hans side, kan jeg ikke forestille mig præcis, hvordan det må føles, overhovedet ikke at vide noget om sin fremtid og ikke at kunne tale med sin familie og sine venner, fordi man risikerer at bringe dem i fare. ”Sidst min far ringede til mig, ringede han kun for at sige, at jeg ikke må besvare

TRANSLATIONS

nogen opringninger fra hans gamle nummer, at han vil ringe fra andre numre, og så spørger vi hinanden: Hvordan har du det – godt – hvordan har du det – godt.

Det er altid sådan, kort.”

Når Power taler om sin mor, ser han så sårbar ud. I Syrien er hun en politisk aktivist, der kæmper for det kurdiske folks rettigheder. ”Hvis nogen skulle have politisk asyl, skulle det være hende, ikke mig”, sagde Power engang, ”men hun ville aldrig gøre det, hun vil hellere dø i sit land end leve, som vi gør i lejrene, uden styr på noget og uden noget liv. Jeg hader at være her. Jeg burde være dér. Mange unge mænd forlader Syrien nu, men de skulle ikke begå samme store fejl som mig. Jeg vil også være dér og kæmpe, men det var ikke min beslutning at forlade landet.”

Det var hans fars beslutning. Da Power skjulte sig for politiet i sin bedste vens hus, kom hans far og fortalte ham, at han skulle være parat til at forlade landet når som helst. Han fortalte hverken Power, hvor han skulle hen, hvordan eller i hvor lang tid. ”Så al den tid var jeg bare i huset og ventede. Lige før jeg forlod huset i en fremmed bil, gik jeg ud i køkkenet og græd lidt. Jeg kunne ikke engang sige farvel til min mor. Jeg har ikke talt med hende, siden jeg forlod landet. Det ville være for svært. Hun ville græde for meget – og det ville jeg måske også.”

Bilen kørte ham til lufthavnen, og Power tog til Tyrkiet, hvor en lastbil ventede på ham.

”Jeg vidste ikke, hvor jeg skulle hen, gennem hvilke lande, jeg skulle rejse, eller hvor lang tid, det ville tage. Jeg sad bare bag i lastbilen med tre afrikanske fyre, der alle sammen talte et sprog, jeg ikke forstod, og jeg var så bange. Et par gange i løbet af natten fik vi lov til at forlade bilen for at pisse og ryge i skoven. Efter jeg ved ikke hvor mange timer, kunne jeg pludselig se et dansk flag, og endelig vidste jeg, hvor jeg var. Chaufføren satte mig af på Allerød Station og gav mig hundrede kroner til en taxa, som jeg steg ind i, og som kørte mig til Sandholmlejren, hvor jeg kort tid efter søgte asyl.”

Heldigvis tog det “kun” fem måneders ventetid i Sandholmlejren for Power at få asyl.

“De stillede mig så mange spørgsmål.

Et af dem handlede om, hvor i Danmark jeg gerne ville bo. Jeg sagde, at jeg var ligeglad. Jeg ville bare være tæt på universitetet, så jeg kunne færdiggøre mine studier.”

Hvorom alting er, hvad der ligner en lykkelig slutning er kun begyndelsen på et nyt kapitel. Alle, der får asyl, får også tildelt en socialrådgiver, som skal oplyse og hjælpe personen i forhold til at flytte fra lejren til den nye destination – sådan fungerer det i teorien. I virkeligheden vidste Power - en uge før han skulle flytte - stort set ingenting om det sted, hvor han højst sandsynligt skal bo de næste tre år. Han vidste kun, at det var blevet bestemt, at han skule flytte til en lille by ved navn Ribe, omkring 300 kilometer fra alt og alle, han er kommet til at holde af i sit nye liv i Danmark.

Why it is important that we care about each other A reading of Hannah Arendt’s “The Decline of the Nation-State and the End of the Rights of Man”

by Marie Markwardt The Rights of Man or human rights only apply to people whose passports have the right colour, is what the German American philosopher and political theorist Hannah Arendt (1906-75) suggests in one of her major works, The Origins of Totalitarianism. The chapter The Decline of the Nation-State and the End of the Rights of Man submits an analysis of the consequences of the gradual decline of the nation-state during the 20th century, which is unfortunately still relevant today: The rights which are given to every human being by virtue of its mere existence will only work legally and in practice if this human being is a citizen of a state which consider it to be a citizen, and which commits itself to, and has the capacity for protecting the citizen. But above all, the rights and circumstances of a human being may depend on something as simple – yet so crucial – as humanity and human communities.

The World Wars and the decline of the nation states

Arendt bases her analysis especially on the time of the two World Wars; she describes how the model of the nation-state was not capable of taking care of the huge number of refugees which resulted from the World Wars, and how it gradually became obvious that denationalisation of citizens was a powerful weapon for totalitarian states.

Depriving a section of the population of their national rights ensured that no one could guarantee their human rights, and thus it became possible for a state to efficiently persecute groups which had earlier been a part of the national community. The poverty, crisis and unrest in Europe after World War I were challenges to the nation-state. Even wealthy European societies were marked by an atmosphere of mistrust, and in a short time large sections of populations lost their basis for life which made migration seem the only possibility. Attempts to create supranational initiatives for pro-

tection of minority groups in combination with the huge numbers of refugees, migrants and stateless persons meant that the nation-state in its form up till then started to reel. The delicate balance between national interests and state juridical institutions was dislocated and a change of attitude took place among the nations which received protection of a state: The benefit of the nation would at any time decide the actions of the state and the wording of the law. This had radical consequences for the enormous sections of population which could not get the protection of a state; they were unwanted wherever they went and only lawlessness and the concentration camp were left for them, Arendt concludes.

Without human rights they were reduced to what she calls abstract nakedness.

Human rights and society

Human rights as Arendt refer to them, originate in the rights that were first formulated during the French Revolution in 1789 and which meant that the

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laws of society were no longer given by God and conditioned by the privileges which through history had fallen to nations or societies, but now had Man as their basis. She finds that there is a historical paradox in our modern understanding of human rights because the abstract individual, who the rights in their basic idea were meant for, does not seem to exist, because all individuals form part of some kind of community however small or primitive it might be.

In this condition she finds the cause of the states’ lack of handling of refugees and stateless persons in the wake of the World Wars, as well as the radical disregard of human rights in the 20th century: When an individual lacked its own government and had to fall back on a minimum of rights, no authority or institution were there to protect it. As today, we can hardly imagine a person not forming part of a community, we are inclined to leave the destiny of this person to the community in question; an individual is in practice not worth more than the community it comes from. Thus we can allow refused asylum seekers to be sent back to Iraq though the Ministry of Foreign Affairs advises everybody not to travel there because of the security risk.

The crucial community

Arendt’s human rights are not so much the specific historical precursors of what is today the UN Human Rights Declaration, but far more a conceptualization of the community which is inalienable.

The violent losses, which persecuted na-

tionalities and stateless persons suffer, arise from and end in a radical lack of community, causing the human being to lose its public identity and be reduced to an abstract nakedness. When a human being is not a part of a community, there is nowhere on Earth where it can express itself, and invoke the relevance of its speech and thereby win rights. This differentiation between the individual as a public being and the individual in its abstract nakedness, having not only lost its home but also its potential for resistance or expressing itself, will only work if Arendt’s sharp division between the individual in the private and public spheres is accepted as the basis. To Arendt, active participation in community and commitment to political conditions, are crucial to the possibility of the individual to expand, and the removal to complete privacy is therefore equal to deprivation of a crucial part of human life. Human beings are not born equal, but they become so as they express and commit themselves and form part of a community.

Thus human rights are relational and can only be ensured through the recognition from the community or other human beings. There is therefore only one possible way of undermining and fighting the deprivation of national human rights within the state; the only subversive potential individuals may make use of, is criminalization. If the individual commits a crime, society can no longer ignore it because it poses a threat to the established community.

But even this cannot secure an in-

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dividual against being ostracized and therefore the only weapon an individual can make use of is, the unconditional recognition of the fellow human being, “I want you to be”, Arendt writes, quoting Augustine. In the most extreme consequence, a potential for rebellion against the reduction to abstract nakedness and loss of human rights therefore exists for Arendt: Humanity and recognition of the meaning and importance of fellow human beings.

Arendt can be criticised for not attaching enough importance to the potential of each individual for expressing its voice and invoking human rights; because the human rights’ main reason for being is that they can intervene when there is nothing left but the individual and everything else has been taken from it. But at the same time, she outlines an opening, a possibility of invoking human rights when they are juridically and actually absent, and this possibility and this potential lie in the community. This is exactly why it is so important to keep on reading Arendt. Of course, especially because of her still very relevant analysis of a world undergoing an increasing globalization with the result that the traditional nation-states continue to appear an old-fashioned solution to new and constantly changing challenges, but also – and especially – because she reminds us that human rights are more than just law.

We lost and we won – a reading of the book on Church Asylum A reading of Hannah Arendt’s The Decline of the Nation-State and the End of the Rights of Man

by Liv Nimand Duvå In the previous issue of visAvis we brought a review of the book Kirkeasyl – en kamp for ophold (Church Asylum – a struggle for residence). This was just before the book was published on the two-year-anniversary of the clearance of the Bronson’s Church in Copenhagen.

For almost three months the church had been a home for 282 rejected Iraqi asylum seekers. Despite the brutal police clearance, it is impossible to brush aside the Church Asylum initiative as a failure.

This is the main argument of the book and of this review.

An elegant graphical layout creates the frame for the book’s 316 pages of diverse text materiel that are spread on seven passages, within which different views on Danish asylum politics are connected to the Church Asylum project specifically.

In this way, the book is not merely a description of the project; “Church Asylum sheds light on the consequences of the harsh treatment of the world’s refugees”, as is written in the last text of the book.

Close relations as resistance practice The book review in visAvis was accompanied by a collage of quotes. Now, half a

year later, the book has been published and it remains necessary to quote in order to describe the continued relevance of the arguments presented inside the book. The different genres - from diaries, personal stories and photos to practical descriptions of working groups, speeches and theoretical reflections - are characterized by the need to document.

Thus, in the first passage of the book, Life in the church, Said describes how camp life stood in strong contrast to the experiences in the church: “During the time I have lived in Danish asylum centers, I have met people from all over the world, but no Danes. In Brorson’s Church I was given the opportunity of making friends with Danes of all ages”.

In another text Rojda explains: ”Being involved in the church felt like taking responsibility for our own life, despite the fact that there were, of course, many things that we still couldn’t do.

And we felt safe in the church. We had trust in people”.

In the activists’ diary you get a good sense of the daily life in the church, ranging wide from: “M made me breakfast. (…) We ate boiled

eggs, feta and toasted bread and he told me about the tomato plants that used to grow on the flat roofs in Baghdad”.

In other situations, a breakdown is lurking just around the corner as a consequence of the close relationships that the activists established with the pressured Iraqis: “There was a woman who was sad while they argued. She shook her head and looked depressed, and when I touched her leg, she sat down next to me and cried. I can’t remember her name, but now she smiles at me every time I see her. When I visited A and K at 10pm I couldn’t help crying”.

Personal stories like these are followed up by theoretical and practical reflections on, for instance, the anti-racist practices that formed the basis for daily life in the church: “The physical space of Church Asylum broke with the bodily and social separation that the asylum camp policy implies. (…) By being trapped and thereby engaging ones body and feelings into a relation, you let go of the privilege of being unaffected. A privilege that maintains the split between neutral helpers and

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marked victims”.

In this way the internal organization of the life in the church is mapped. Despite the intention of breaking away from the idea of them and us, it remains clear what kind of church resident that speak.

This illuminates the fact that the work with and against internal power relations could not avoid being marked by the different societal positions of the activists and the Iraqis. The church clearance is a manifestation of this: “A community, that was destroyed that night by the chains, strokes and power. (…) We are divided into those who are locked up in the church and who cannot escape the assaults of the police, and those who sit down and know that the police will eventually stop beating. We no longer belong together”.

Media strategy

The self-examination that followed in the aftermath of the clearance is documented in the last passage of the book, We lost and we won. Church Asylum received massive press coverage and put asylum politics under discussion, but the demand for residence permits was not met. The work of the press group is soberly described and could almost be seen as a strategic guide for future projects.

The passage sometimes gives the impression that public awareness about the lives of 282 human beings, who would be otherwise kept away from the public, was a victory in itself. Thus, the cover of the book is a photo from the popular demonstration against the clearance, where 25.000 people marched the streets.

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Denmark was called to attention and the consequences of the Danish asylum politics were presented within a frame that was clear to a diversified public. As visible in the speeches of Carsten Jensen and the priest from Brorson’s Church, Per Ramsdal, charity and decency were put into focus. The overall humanistic appeal in the softer parts of the passage is in sharp contrast to the figurative documentation of police violence – photos of bloody wounds and green bruises that the artist group AW collected in the series of pictures Mærker (Marks), and a big photo of around fifteen police officers who, with clubs, beat up sitting and passive demonstrators. The passiveness was part of a strategic plan: ”We had had meetings for weeks and we had planned out a strategy in case of the clearance. We should orchestrate the event so that the police, if they came, would clearly appear brutal and illegitimate. It worked the best if they appeared aggressive while we appeared passive. If they stood up, and we sat down. If they beat and we received” Afterwards, the medias told about police officers who beat up demonstrators fighting for humanity. With its photo documentation the book sticks to this.

The media strategic process of the project and the clearance were not merely seen as a failure. The public disclosure of the brutality of the system was a victory to the project.

Memorial stone or useful tool

project. If you accept the premise that Church Asylum should not be completed and enclosed, but used as an example for new asylum activist movements, the self-reflexive texts are clearly the strongest in the book. Instead of presenting an internal self-criticism, the editors have, for better or worse, chosen to appeal broadly and target a broader public through touching personal stories. However, I think that a chapter 8, focusing on new initiatives, would have been appropriate. The book tends to describe the initiative of Church Asylum as a closed chapter. Therefore, the reader is left with the great responsibility of avoiding that the book turns into a memorial stone.

It is a book that should not be closed.

It should be placed in the foreground, and it should remind us of how terrible the asylum situation is, despite the new government. Many of the texts provide important strategies for a new approach to asylum political action. As long as Kirkeasyl – en kamp for ophold (Church asylum – a struggle for residence) is considered a useful tool and not a completed work, which people can use to mourn an important event once a year, then it is an insightful and essential supplement to one of the most important events in the Danish asylum political history.

Kirkeasyl – en kamp for ophold (Church Asylum – a struggle for residence), 315 pages with photos and illustrations, Bogforlaget Frydenlund, 2011

Six months after its release one must ask how the book contributes to the overall

The borders of the nation and the coming community – Danish and European asylum activism in a transnational perspective Is it possible for activists and migrants together to create radical-critical and democratic alternatives to national communities that are based on exclusion? This article examines asylum activist phenomenons like Church Asylum, the Trampoline House, visAvis, and the European Noborder Movement, and considers the potential for a new way of creating identity and community.

by Søren Rafn In the summer of 2009, a group named Church Asylum, which consisted of activists and rejected Iraqi asylum seekers, took refuge in Brorson’s Church in Copenhagen. The group demanded residence permits for the Iraqis, and the action made one thing evident: the identity formation of nationally imagined communities is based on the exclusion of the Other. This is exemplified by the continuous exclusion of the refugee or migrant via inclusion processes. Seemingly, national communities have developed a dependency on migrants as the paradoxically crucial pillar that ensures its cohesion. According to Giorgio Agamben, the people, e.g. the national people, has throughout the history of the West constituted itself by exclusion, e.g. by exclusion of the refugee. The people understands itself as a natural unit, but

it has to give shape to itself by repeating exclusions. In this way the people depends on a lack that must be compensated for eternally. As an example, Danish asylum camps compensate for this lack because of their dual location in the geographic periphery of Denmark, and in the centre of the media picture.

The camp is a pivotal point in the media, although residents of camps are hidden from the public sphere and only spoken of in the media.

To begin with, Church Asylum made this exclusion from the public sphere evident by transgressing the camp and the location of its residents in the periphery of Denmark. People seeking asylum, so to speak, stepped ‘inside’. Close to, and among us, who live in the city. As main characters. But partly also as walk-ons.

The Iraqis were truly visible among us, but still as a kind of passive subjects.

They were marked as a group of children, old people, sick, and persecuted. And, by blowing up these tragic victim destinies as the true picture of the current condition of Denmark, a different and generous Denmark appeared, a Denmark that encouraged “magnanimity” and “mercy” while still stating “the right to deport refugees” as “fundamental”- like the Social Democrat Svend Auken did in his speech at a demonstration in favour of the Iraqis. And with the reinforcement of this fundamental national right to deportation of unwanted refugees, the city became a scene for a struggle within an exclusive Danish framework. One Denmark against another Denmark with the individual Iraqi as the battlefield.

Who is she? Where does she come from?

Is she lying? Have her family members been killed? Is she a true refugee towards whom we should show national magnanimity? This discussion remained,

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roughly speaking, within a linguistic horizon of suppression that forced the individual victim to stand forward in the media to ask the sovereign for mercy while referring to his or her misery. The state’s fundamental right to treat unwanted human beings as second rate individuals was never seriously questioned. The events did not only make evident the exclusion-based way of establishing identity because the rejected Iraqis moved in among us. The exclusion was illuminated because the Iraqis moved in among us and were kept in the victim role of the suppressed and spoken on behalf of.

Of course, this is an unjust and rigid judgement of a unique political action.

One could rightfully point to the fact that the exclusive Danish framework of the struggle of the rejected Iraqis, and the practical political demand for residence permits for this group (instead of for all), took its departure in the life situation of the individual Iraqi person, and referred to the frame of the nation state as a realistic scene for change instead of approaching the issue from a global political point of view. However, one could still claim that the debate on the Iraqis made it possible to turn the Iraqis into passive subjects. And, on the other hand, an answer to this claim could be that the Church Asylum representatives took responsibility for the fact that activists and asylum seekers are extremely unequally positioned within society and political life – and that the perspective that I put forward here leaves out the inner organization and interaction between activists and migrants in the church (see the review of Church Asylum – a Struggle for Residence in this issue of visAvis). The unequal societal and political positions of people with citizenship and people seeking asylum is a reality that will also haunt those kinds of asylum activism that seek to transgress the national frame story. Thus, the unequal positions must be acknowledged. The right turn of the European centre-left parties testify to this. Today, the border and its violent logic have moved closer to the heart of the political space. At the same time (the control of) the border has concretely been moved further and further away – when it comes to the EU countries, for instance, it has been moved to outer borders and into the African continent.

This is a complex issue that can only be dealt with here in a superficial manner: financial streams unrestrictedly cross borders while human movement across borders becomes still more difficult for a vast number of people. As Arjun Appadurai has pointed out, migrants become subjects of the state’s own fear of marginalization under the pressure of globalization. At the same time, the migrants and their working power are necessary for the nation state if its sovereignty is to be maintained. Migrants are necessary, but unwelcome. ‘They’ are an unavoidable part of ‘us’ and, for this reason, our attempts to draw a line between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’, between ‘them’ and ‘us’, are bitter and desperate.

In an activist perspective, it is interesting to link up to the awareness of a weath-

ering division between ‘them’ and ‘us’ if the story of the nation state is to be transgressed. Here, I will briefly touch upon two permanent activist projects in Copenhagen, which I am a part of myself, and which I believe can be seen as extensions of Church Asylum: visAvis and the user-driven culture house for people seeking asylum and Danes, The Trampoline House. What characterizes the two projects is that they are created in close collaboration with refugees and migrants. Moreover, these projects explicitly aim to transgress victimization. The Trampoline House opened in Nørrebro, Copenhagen, November 2010. It is a culture house where people seeking asylum can step out of the devastating isolation of the camps and rebuild themselves as human beings, regardless of their future destination – a perspective that is hard not to sympathize with. Furthermore, Trampoline House has the potential to create an alternative space beyond the logic of the nation state and the camps where the demarcation between ‘them’ and ‘us’ is ruled out. The house facilitates social, cultural, and political events that allow everyone to participate on equal terms. Moreover, the house is based on the individual’s situation nd offers legal counselling and language classes. visAvis publishes texts on migration in a global perspective and is a platform from where refugees and migrants can step out of the victim role and express themselves – without someone speaking on behalf of them.

Ideally speaking. It is too early (for me) to touch upon more than these projects’ fundamental limits and potentials. None of them has an explicit approach to, for instance, the nation state. However, both of the projects have the ambition of facilitating equal participation, despite the fact that it is obvious that the participants are very unequally positioned within society. The projects are, of course, haunted by borders and exclusion, but their task is to move towards equal and democratic participation. In this process, borders are demolished while new borders and conflicts arise. And identity must be created in the hard way, without an excluded reference point. This does not mean that the nation state is excused, or that the borders of the nation state are perceived as natural. But it underlines the fact that border demolition does not necessarily imply that suppressed freedom pops up and breaks through the surface. It is hard to say what should be put instead of the nation state, but this fact does not legitimize a disease-ridden system.

From this point of view, it is tempting to label that kind of asylum activism that seeks to intervene in the nation state order as the contemporary avantgarde. A vanguard in civil society that is aware of the connections between state, sovereignty, globalization, the migrants’ precarious status with regard to their legal position and work situation, and the importance of migrants’ self-representation. Hannah Arendt, and Agamben, who builds on Arendt’s ideas, has denoted the refugee that refuses to be deported and refuses to assimilate as

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citizen as a kind of avant-garde figure. In that way one could imagine a potential alliance between transnationally based activism and migrants. But the question is whether this alliance is anything but theoretical? Would it not almost result in a violation if the avant-garde figure was projected onto migrants if migrant’s self-representation is considered crucial in activism? This is not to say that the activists’ political imagination is unimportant. What goes on in the the activist’s head does count. But the activist must keep an open mind towards a potential other whose political imagination does not necessarily match the activist’s own political imagination. This should not be understood as a concept of an essentialised other who contains a truth because he or she is an oppressed human being. The radical acceptance of the possible other is not the same as adapting to, and glorifying the other. It rather signifies a meeting where both the one and the other’s imagination is at stake.

This is the precondition for a common, but not a conflict-free, way of identity making. The question is: is it possible to transgress the two identities ‘activist’ and ‘migrant’ by the help of creating a many-sided and open political subjectivity? Can this identity formation, that is so hard to bring about, give birth to alternatives to the exclusion-based national identity formation?

In this perspective, European transnational asylum activism is one of the most interesting contemporary phenomenons.

Here, political radicalism and democratic interaction are intertwined. This is, for instance, manifested in the so-called Border Camps which are organized by the Noborder Network and consist of different groups related to a larger movement. Among these groups are the quite new Welcome to Europe – the border is the problem that proclaims: “We are part of the Noborder movement, challenging borders and all other mechanisms of migration control. Freedom of Movement – worldwide! is our cry and demand.” In that way the movement addresses the nation state and the border instead of a specific nation’s behaviour.

The connection between political radicalism and radical democratic interaction is remarkable in the brochure Infopoint about the border camp in 2009 on the Greek island Lesvos (a transit point for many migrants heading for Europe). It is a strong testimony of the activists’ and migrants’ common struggle against the European border regime. As stated in the brochure’s first article: ”We believe that it is important to organize and lead the anti-racist struggle together with those who are affected the most by the attacks of a racist society.” Or as it is said about the effect of the welcoming centre that he activists established on the island: ”As a result, it was possible to question the distinction between ‘the European activists’, ‘the migrants’, and ‘the refugees’. It was possible to overcome individualized travel and struggle. People who involved themselves in the project created a corridor of information that helped to abolish borders, spread hopeful commitments of

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resistance – of the possibility of saying ”No!” to the border regime.”

However, this did not mean that the ‘activists’ could ignore the unequal positions among the participants: ”For us, such struggle includes efforts to overcome barriers between us, to become aware of our own privileges, and to recognize the approaches, needs and demands of people who have a different background and status in society.” The activists sorted out practical matters, and organized food, translations, legal support, medical care and much more. But a common language about boundaries and nations was also created. ”Where I have to go, I don’t know. But as long as you are alive you will be walking. You are not going to stop. Just walking. Till wherever you arrive. So where we are going to arrive, we don’t know. Just that we are going to forward, we are not going to back”, as Mr. X expresses it poetically, or like in the appeal of Milad: ”[P]lease, let the refugees free and finish these borders and give us our rights.” The articles contain several similar statements. However, one might point out that these articles are based on interviews with the migrants made by the activists. One of the stories is accompanied by a meta-like postscript: ”We are walking until noborder!” One wonders who is really speaking.

Still, one is astonished as a reader. How did this transnational space arise? I ask this question against the background of meetings with friends from the Danish asylum camps. I rarely experience people claiming a fundamental right like, for instance, freedom of movement. Rather, they now and then express attentiveness to the sovereign state Denmark. In one case in the Sandholm Camp an asylum seeker who had been rejected through many years asked me about my opinion on asylum and migration and, for once, I spoke explicitly abut this. He (maybe rightfully) called me naive and simply stated that it was the wrong people who were given asylum in Denmark (afterwards, I avoided calling him naive).

Does the sense, among the migrants who participated in the Border Camp, of being world citizens arise out of a special atmosphere of the Border Camp? Or does it relate to the fact that the migrants who took part met a welcoming centre instead of a border officer? And the other way around: does the camp create what

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Agamben calls homo sacer, a naked life that does not mean anything and cannot do anything but ask the sovereign for mercy? Just like the Iraqis in Brorsons Church could not to do anything but ask the state for mercy?

Let me conclude by dwelling on the conceptualization of the migrant and migration that can possibly widen the political imagination. Agamben’s figure homo sacer captures the dehumanization in the asylum camp, while signifying a political zero point from which we should move on. On the other hand, the avant-garde figure is too distant from the socioeconomic structures that also frame the movement of migrants. An alternative to Agamben’s figure of homo sacer and the refugee as an avant-garde figure is the concept of ‘autonomy of migration’. This concept acknowledges the structural factors of migration but rejects the idea that these explain migration on their own. Migration cannot be reduced to effects of ‘push’ and ‘pull’ dynamics. Migration must also be understood from the viewpoint of the movement itself. Manuela Bojadžijev and Serhat Karakayali emphasizes that the border is not a static bulwark, and that the border regime does not develop by itself. The border absorbs the dynamic of migration – and reacts flexibly to the movement. Thus, migrant’s are not only a reserve army of labour moved around by the forces of capitalism (a more marxist concept of migration). On the contrary, Bojadžijev and Karakayali stress that migrants should not be perceived as avant-gardists who cannot be stopped by borders: ”Perceiving migrant practices as a subversive Other to nation-states, or even to capitalism, is not the answer.”

However, migrants and migration as such do evade regulations. Nevertheless, Autonomy of Migration should not be understood as a strict phenomenological phenomenon, but is partly a strategic concept. It does not only provide space for migrant’s own struggles, it is also meant to be a possible foundation for a broader migration movement. A strength of the concept is that it does not project an identity onto the individual migrant.

However, this leaves me somehow unfulfilled. The hard concrete way of identity making is still crucial to a future transnational political movement. And the question of identity-creation will go on challenging activists. As Bojadžijev and

Karakayali ask: “[H]ow should one relate politically to the actual subjectivity of migrants when it asserts itself as radical self-victimization, seemingly contrary to the thesis of autonomy?” Furthermore, they emphasize the importance of a new social migration movement to create equal opportunities for migrants as well as non-migrants to liberate themselves from their fixed identities.

Autonomy of migration does not project a certain identity like the homo sacer or the avant-garde figure onto migrants.

It can be seen as a structural concept that leaves space outside the structure.

From this point on, we ought to move to a more phenomenological description of, and contact with, the concrete migrants. This, of course, is not the same as a description of ‘the true Other’ that abandons theory and philosophy of the concept of the Other. Tools are also weapons. Thus, asylum and migration activism must be unfolded among migrants and the hard common identitycreation must be created together with migrants. Migrants are often strong people, but fragile in relation to society’s victimization. As I see it, new theoretical concepts and tools must correspondingly be developed among migrants and actvists if they are to widen the horizon of a radically different way of identity making. A radically different way than the one of the national order that we must all – researchers, migrants, actvists, and civilians – resist and create radically democratic alternatives to.

Agamben, Giorgio, Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998 Appadurai, Arjun, Fear of small numbers: An essay on the geography of anger, Durham: Duke University Press, 2006.

Arendt, Hannah, We Refugees, The Menorah Journal, 1943 Bojadžijev, Manuela og Serhat Karakayali: Recuperating the Sideshows of Capitalism: The Autonomy of Migration Today, e-flux 17, 2010. http://www.e-flux.com/ journal/view/154, Infopunkt – During NoBorder Lesvos 2009: http://w2eu.net/files/2010/03/ Infopoint.pdf Welcome to Europe – the border is the problem: http://w2eu.net/

En appel om forandring af Sami Sabet D. 10. november demonstrerede 400 afghanere og nogle danske venner foran det danske parlament. Årsagen var en dyb utilfredshed med behandlingen af deres ansøgninger om asyl i Danmark.

Det er bemærkelsesværdigt, at asylansøgeres rettigheder ikke respekteres i et demokratisk samfund som det danske. Det er klart for enhver, at det er en menneskeret at demonstrere. Du har ret til at kæmpe for dine rettigheder, når de krænkes.

Om morgenen på dagen for demonstrationen sendte demonstranterne et statement til folketingets medlemmer. Men i de

fire timer demonstrationen varede fra kl. 13 til kl. 17, var der ingen respons indefra bygningen.

En pressemeddelelse blev udsendt, men ingen mainstreammedier rapporterede fra demonstrationen. Et kamerahold dokumenterede begivenheden, men det blev aldrig sendt på TV. Jeg er meget skuffet over, at demonstrationen ikke havde nogen umiddelbar effekt. Svaret fra officiel side er stadig nej. Den danske regering forbliver stille omkring situationen. Jeg ville ønske, vi ville få en respons fra dem snart, og at den ville være til fordel for de asylansøgere, der står overfor udsigten til krig og elendighed i deres oprindelseslande.

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Migrationens autonomi: At forstå migration som en social bevægelse Den følgende samtale er resultatet af en emailkorrespondance mellem Sandro Mezzadra og visAvis. Formålet er at præsentere nogle hovedbegreber i den nye måde at anskue migration, som Mezzadra har været med til at skabe. Mezzadra er lektor i politisk teori ved Bologna Universitet. Bag sig har han omfattende publikationer om emner som statsborgerskab, migration og postkolonialisme. Hans seneste udgivelse er “The Borders of Justice” med Étienne Balibar og Ranabir Samaddar. af Jens Pfeifer og Søren Rafn Sandro Mezzadra, et af nøglebegreberne i dine værker om migration er migrationens autonomi. Vi betragter det som et meget vigtigt og brugbart begreb, og har offentliggjort en række tekster i vores tidsskrift, der på en eller anden måde er forbundet til det. Vi vil dog gerne introducere visAvis’ læsere mere grundigt til begrebet migrationens autonomi. Vi vil gerne have dig til at fortælle os om det.

At tale om en “migrationens autonomi” betyder at forstå den som en social bevægelse i ordets bogstavelige forstand og ikke slet og ret som et svar på økonomiske og sociale onder. Mange aktivister og forskere deler i dag den grundlæggende definition af migrationens autonomi, som er taget fra en bog af Dimitris Papadoulos, Niamh Stephenson og Vassilis Tsianos (Escape Routes, 2008). Migrationens autonomi ignorerer selvfølgelig ikke sociale, juridiske, politiske, kulturelle og økonomiske strukturers relevans for udformningen af migrante oplevelser.

Begrebet betragter snarere migrationens sociale proces og bevægelse (og ikke migranter individuelt betragtet) som en kreativ kraft inden for disse strukturer. Det skaber et særligt blik på migration; et blik, der ser på migrante bevægelser og konflikter på måder, der prioriterer migranternes egne subjektive praksisser, former for begær, forventninger og opførsler. Da teoretiske tilhængere af migrationens autonomi ofte er blevet kritiseret for at romantisere migration, er det vigtigt at tilføje, at vi altid holder ambivalensen ved disse subjektive praksisser og opførsler for øje.

Når migrationen betragtes som en social bevægelse, skabes der nye dispositiver af dominans og udbytning såvel som nye friheds- og lighedspraksisser inden for migrationen. Autonomitilgangen til migration må i den forbindelse forstås som et særskilt perspektiv, hvorfra de subjektive indsatser inden for de kampe og sammenstød, der materielt udgør den migrante erfarings felt, kan betragtes. Det fører ikke at nedtone den rolle, magtrelationer spiller inden for dette felt; det har snarere til hensigt at åbne en ny vinkel på netop disse relationer ved at lægge vægt på modstand og kamp som deres grundlæggende elementer.

Hvad angår mig personligt, har jeg forsøgt (især i det essay, der for nylig er udkommet på engelsk, “The Gaze of Autonomy”) yderligere at udvikle autonomi-tilgangen til migration i forhold til den rolle, (arbejds)mobilitet har spillet i forhold til kapitalismens historie og nutidige virkelighed, såvel som til emnet produktion af subjektivitet under kapitalismen. Arbejdsmobilitet har altid været et omstridt felt i den historiske kapitalisme: For at formulere det meget generelt har kapitalismens anmodning om arbejdsmobilitet altid gået hånd i hånd med mangfoldige forsøg på at filtrere, tøjle og endog forhindre den.

Det er også ved at holde misforståelser om ”romantisering” af migration for øje, at jeg i mine seneste skriverier har understreget, at migrationens autonomi også er en særlig vinkel på udbytning.

Jeg tror virkelig, at vi i kritiske migrationsstudier bliver nødt til at overvinde polariteten mellem en økonomisk betragtning af migration under overskriften “udbytning” og et mere positivt syn, hovedsageligt fremsat af cultural studies-teoretikere, der fremhæver migranters hybriditet og ”kosmopolitanisme fra neden”. Hvor mange kritikere af autonomi-tilgangen til migration har en tendens til at identificere den med sidstnævnte syn, forstår jeg den grundlæggende som et bidrag til en dybere

forståelse af den virkelighed, som udbytningen af migranter er. Men jeg kritiserer også enhver ”økonomistisk” forståelse af dette begreb. Måske er det her, at min ”arbejderistiske” eller ”autonome marxistiske” baggrund er tydeligst i min diskussion af migrationens autonomi. I de tidlige 1960’ere forsøgte den italienske arbejderisme at udvikle Marx’ udsagn om, at kapitalen ikke er en ”ting”, men en ”social relation” ved at understrege antagonismens og arbejdssubjektivitetens konstituerende element inden for selve kapitalens struktur. Det åbnede en vinkel på ”udbytning”, der var meget forskellig fra traditionelle, marxistiske analyser; en vinkel, der umuliggør en ”økonomistisk” og ”objektiv” udførelse af begrebet. Mit arbejde kan forstås som et forsøg på yderligere at udvikle dette syn på udbytning i forbindelse med arbejdsmobilitet og migration.

Begrebet har været meget indflydelsesrigt, men har også, som du antyder, været kritiseret af både forskere og aktivister. Kan du fortælle os om modtagelsen af begrebet og dine svar på kritikken?

Og hvordan er det muligt at opretholde brugen af begrebet i en økonomisk krisesituation, der tilsyneladende begrænser og bestemmer migranters bevægelse?

Som sagt går en af hovedkritikkerne af autonomi-tilgangen til migration på, at den romantiserer migration. Det er givetvis tilfældet, især i de tidlige formuleringer af begrebet, at vægten på migranters subjektivitet sommetider var for ensidig. Hvad mig selv angår, kan jeg sige, at denne vægt på migranters subjektivitet var temmelig nødvendig i 1990’ernes Italien, hvor kriminaliserings- og stigmatiseringsprocesser af migranter blev mødt med omfattende offergørelsesdiskurser fra ’venstrefløjens’ og de katolske solidaritetsbevægelsers side. Opkomsten af migranters subjektivitet var et resultat af kampe, og i de år prøvede jeg simpelthen at bidrage til udviklingen af de kampe, både som aktivist og forsker. Det er baggrunden for min personlige udarbejdelse af teorien om migrationens autonomi. Når jeg yderligere har udviklet denne teori som del af en igangværende transnational diskussion blandt aktivister og forskere i det seneste årti, er jeg blevet opmærksom på de misforståelser, der associeres med netop etiketten ”migrationens autonomi”, og som jeg sagde før, har jeg prøvet at tage noget af kritikken i betragtning.

Desuden betyder det at tale om migrationens autonomi ikke at forstå migration uafhængigt af strukturelle bestemmelser.

Det betyder at se på disse bestemmelser fra en synsvinkel, der ligger i det, der undslipper dem, i det subjektive øjeblik, der tillader migranter at gøre modstand mod, kæmpe mod eller bare forhandle dem. Den nuværende økonomiske krise er en god illustration af denne pointe. Det er tydeligt, at krisen gør livet svært for migranter. Sådan var det for mexicanske migranter i USA efter krisen i 1929 og igen for Gastarbeiter’ne i Vesttyskland efter krisen i 1989 bare for at nævne to vigtige eksempler. Men det er også rigtigt, at migranter gør modstand mod krisen. De gør modstand i Europa, når de nægter at forlade de lande, de har levet i i årevis, selv hvis de bliver fyret eller modtager udvisningsordrer. Men de gør også modstand i Golfstaterne, hvor mange af dem flyver tilbage til Indien i et stykke tid kun fordi, eksistensen af tætte og fleksible migrante netværk gør det muligt for dem at omlægge deres migrante oplevelse. Og det er igen kun et par eksempler, hvortil det er vigtigt at føje kontinuiteten af en migration, der finder sted uden for de legalt etablerede ruter. Når man bor i Italien, ved Middelhavet, er det en historie, man bliver konfronteret med hver dag med de tragiske omkostninger, I kender så godt.

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Du siger, at det at tale om migrationens autonomi betyder at forstå migration som en social bevægelse. Samtidig understreger du, at vi ikke bør romantisere migration eller opfatte migranten som en slags avantgardefigur. Hvordan skal vi forstå det? Er migrationens autonomi hovedsageligt et strategisk begreb eller en empirisk baseret antagelse? Og hvordan bør vi opfatte den individuelle migrant, hvis vi betragter migration som autonom?

Jeg kan godt lide at sige, for igen at slå ned på et ord, jeg har brugt før, at migrationens autonomi fremmer et særligt blik på migranter og migration. I spørger mig, hvorvidt migrationens autonomi må forstås som et strategisk begreb eller en empirisk baseret antagelse. På en måde er det begge dele, men hvis man betragter det som et blik, kan det placeres et sted mellem de to... Den autonome migrationstilgang har inspireret en masse empirisk research og har en strategisk betydning i den forstand, at den påpeger den afgørende relevans ved migrationens kampe, hvilket vil sige kampe omkring mobilitet og grænser, for enhver nutidig social bevægelse. Men det udelukker ikke rum for andre kritiske undersøgelser af migration, som mere traditionelle analyser koncentreret om racisme, krænkelse af menneskerettigheder eller anfægtelse af statsborgerskab.

Det indbyder til overvejelser omkring resultaterne af sådanne analyser fra en politisk vinkel, der ser på de magtens og udbytningens teknologier, der er rettet mod migranter som altid indlejrede i en bredere sammenhæng, inden for hvilken disse udfordres af de subjektive ”overfloder”, der går på kryds og tværs af migrationsfeltet. Det siger sig selv, at begrebet om autonomi i sig selv er dybt ambivalent. Man tænker på, hvordan det bliver brugt som slogan i radikale bevægelser, der definerer sig selv som ”autonome”, men det bør aldrig glemmes, at begrebet om individuel ”autonomi” er hjørnestenen i liberal teori.

At tale om individuelle migranters ”autonomi” ville betyde at påhæfte migranten det autonome individs liberale figur, hvilket selvfølgelig ikke er målet for fortalerne for autonomi-tilgangen til migration. Fra denne tilgangs synspunkt er individuelle migranter viklet ind i migrationens materialitet, som til gengæld er kendetegnet ved øjeblikke af autonomi, der eksisterer i spændingsforhold med magtfulde, strukturelle bestemmelser.

Det er fra denne materialitet, at en mangfoldighed af subjektspositioner opstår, og det er inden for dette materielle felt, at individuelle migranters subjektivitet produceres.

Kan du fortælle os om migrationens autonomi i forhold til, hvad du og mange andre betragter som et ekstremt fleksibelt, globalt migrationsregime? Hvordan skal vi forstå nationalstatsbegrebets rolle og spørgsmålet om suverænitet i denne globale sammenhæng?

Ja, først og fremmest synes jeg, det er nødvendigt at sige noget mere om netop frasen “globalt migrationsregime”. Hvad der menes med denne frase er ikke opkomsten af et migrationsregime, der gnidningsløst kan overføres på en global målestok.

Det henviser snarere, i hvert fald hos mig, til den modsætningsfyldte og fragmentariske formation af en vidensmasse inden for forskelligartede epistemiske og politiske fællesskaber (såsom Den Internationale Migrationsorganisation eller International Centre for Migration Policy Development), som påvirker migrationspolitik på tværs af diverse geografiske inddelinger i større og større udstrækning. Fantasien om en ”lige til tiden”- og ”ind til benet”-migration, som dominerer denne vidensmasse og svarer til de nuværende processer med fleksibilisering af kapitalens akkumulation, nærer migrationspolitikkers evolution i

mange dele af verden. ”Neutrale” mønstre af risikoberegning og ledelse, administrative kontrolteknikker, tekniske standarder og ’kapacitetsopbygningsprogrammer’, der er skabt inden for disse fællesskaber, cirkulerer på tværs af kloden og tilskynder til indførelsen af ordninger for ”migrationsmanagement” i tråd med en ”neoliberal” styring. Når det er sagt, adskiller implementeringerne af disse ordninger sig dog fra hinanden i forskellige dele af verden. Der er mindst to grunde til, at vi ikke bør opgive suverænitetsbegrebet i vores kritiske analyse af de nuværende udviklinger af migrationspolitikker. For det første vedbliver nationalstater med at være vigtige aktører her, selv om de er mere og mere indlejret i monteringer af magt, der overskrider dem. For det andet er ”neoliberale” ordninger for migrationsmanagement baseret på en vedvarende produktion af ”suveræne” effekter til at etablere de ensidige rammer for deres operationer.

Mange af de, der laver visAvis er migranter, der bor i lejre i en ret homogen nation – isoleret fra samfundet og kun med få muligheder for bevægelse og for at tage del i hverdagslivet. Det virker lettere at overføre en mere Giorgio Agamben-inspireret analyse på vores sammenhæng og forstå migranter som nøgne, afklædte liv med meget få muligheder for handling. Og spørgsmålet rejser sig: Hvordan kan vi forstå og anvende begrebet migrationens autonomi i denne sammenhæng? Vi kunne godt tænke os en overvejelse af det spørgsmål fra dit synspunkt.

Her bør jeg gentage, at i hvert fald i min udformning af begrebet er migrationens autonomi ikke et dogme og det er heller ikke en ”universel” teori, der kan anvendes overalt uden modifikationer. I min egen erfaring udløb det først af et engagement i bevægelser og kampe i Italien i 1990’erne, blev så forfinet gennem en serie af løbende samtaler med franske, tyske og andre europæiske venner og kammerater og blev endelig ”efterprøvet” og beriget gennem diskussioner med forskere og aktivister med base så forskellige steder som USA, Argentina, Australien og Indien. Det er de geografiske koordinater for min egen udarbejdelse af migrationens autonomi, hvad der selvfølgelig hverken betyder, at ”teorien” kun er gyldig i de lande, jeg har nævnt, eller at den fuldt ud forklarer migration på disse steder! Der er en kompleks vidensproduktionens politik på spil her...

På den ene side ved jeg for lidt om situationen i Danmark, og på den anden side har jeg for meget respekt for aktivister og migranter med base her til at sige noget meningsfuldt om den danske situation. Hvad der bekymrer mig ved det, I kalder en ”Giorgio Agamben-inpireret” analyse er, at mens den absolut giver magtfulde redskaber til at fordømme den måde, hvorpå migranter og flygtninge berøves og i stor stil afklædes, så bekræfter den også deres afmagt. At prøve at forbinde migranters vilkår med samfundets transformationer som helhed, at foregribe opkomsten af sociale bevægelser, der udfordrer eksistensen af den ”ret homogene nation”, der bliver til et fængsel for migranter og at lokalisere de migrante politikkers evolution i Danmark i en bredere europæisk kontekst kan være første skridt i retning af en anderledes analyse. Men jeg er helt bevidst om, at det er meget overordnede udtalelser. Jeg håber, vi snart får mulighed for at fortsætte diskussionen ansigt til ansigt.

Kvinder og det maskuline system Når jeg prøver at se verden gennem en kvindes øjne, begynder jeg at forstå hende som værende underlagt det maskuline systems brutalitet. Vil hun ikke føle et tab af betydningen af sit køn?

Dette er en kort refleksion over kvinderoller i Mellemøsten med fokus på kurdiske kvinder. af Diyar Molayi Meninger og ideer om køn er tæt knyttet til forældede ideologier. En kvindes krav og hendes idéer er viklet tæt ind i dette system. Dette vilkår gør, at kvinder føler sig som en udenforstående. Denne

outsider rolle er grunden til kvinders fremmedgørelse i samfundet.

Når en kvinde ser den plads, samfundet har tildelt hende, vil hun blive chokeret.

Hun vil måske stirre uden at være i stand til at gøre andet end at se sig selv blive kontrolleret, voldtaget og reduceret. For

mig at se er der to typiske reaktioner på undertrykkelsen: Nogle kvinder accepterer dette system som en gave fra gud uden at tænke over deres skæbne.

En anden gruppe af kvinder er aldrig enige med systemet. De fortsætter med at konfrontere det og kæmpe for deres

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rettigheder, og det maskuline system udfører forskellig slags vold mod dem.

Fordi min måde at tænke på er totalt afvigende fra samfundet, ser jeg mig selv som en mand, der kæmper mod systemet fra en skyttegrav. Jeg kæmper mod den måde, hvorpå samfundet altid kreerer forskelle mellem de to køn. Som jeg ser det, forsømmer mange mænd dette.

Jeg skriver denne artikel for at vise bare en enkelt side af den massive voldelige behandling af kvinder i Mellemøsten – og specielt kurdiske kvinder som er undertrykt både af deres køn og deres baggrund. Uligheden gjorde mig oprørt og har fået mig til at påbegynde min forskning i emnet. Jeg startede med at læse teorier om køn og samlede information fra det omgivende samfund, familie og venner. Jeg fandt ud af, at undertrykkelsen af kvinder er en del af det maskuline system. I det maskuline samfund er det feminine set som en forbrydelse.

I det lille system, som familien udgør, har mænd autoritet til at afvise eller godkende afgørelser truffet af kvinder. Det er ikke forventet, at hun har en holdning og deltager i diskussioner. Hun skal følge sin mands, fars eller brors ordrer.

Og i den situation ser jeg kun stilhed i kvindernes ansigter. Alle kvindeting, privilegier, hendes måde at tale og gå på og mange andre ting er farvet af mænds

undertrykkende magt.

Efter at have tænkt nøje over disse problematikker, kunne jeg ikke acceptere dette gammeldags ulige system. Mange mænd ville have mig til at behandle kvinder ligesom de selv gjorde og forsøgte at få mig til at være enig i deres holdninger og behandle mine familiemedlemmer ligesom de behandlede deres. Dette er grunden til, at jeg og mange andre mænd og kvinder med den samme tankegang frasiger sig det maskuline system og for altid vil være uenige i alt, som det står for.

I de fleste lande i Mellemøsten er kvinder fysisk og mentalt undertrykt.

Kvinder bliver frarøvet deres menneskerettigheder: I nogle lande bliver piger omskåret og kvinder stenet. Autoriteter og regeringer støtter det meste af volden mod kvinder. Ofte er det familien, som udfører denne form for vold, men de styrende organer står bag dem og støtter denne behandling af kvinder.

Ud over disse meget voldelige og undertrykkende strukturer foregår en mængde andre ting, såsom tvangsægteskab, tvangsgiftning af mindreårige, kvinder som byttes imellem to familier osv. Ifølge islamisk lov kan piger blive gift, når de er ni år gamle. Pigen skal acceptere den måde, hvorpå hendes mand ønsker at bruge hende, og hun skal efterkomme

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hans ønsker i overensstemmelse med gamle traditioner. Jeg kan ikke beskrive dem alle her, men jeg ønsker at nævne én meget problematisk ting: Kvinden regnes for at være mandens privilegium.

Dette medfører, at nogle mænd også ser det som deres privilegium at dræbe deres kvinder.

Efter min mening er en kvinde ikke nogens privilegium. En kvindes privilegium er hendes frihed. Vi må forsøge at kæmpe for fred, frihed og lighed og støtte kvinders kamp i Mellemøsten.

Jeg kan ikke forstå, at nogen regner en anden persons krop som deres ære. Ofte drømmer mænd om at have sex med en smuk kvinde og om at se hende nøgne kropsdele. Men når denne mand efterfølgende bliver vred eller er i et skænderi, bruger han navnene på kvindelige kropsdele som bandeord. Jeg forstår virkelig ikke, hvorfor mennesker kan finde på at gøre sådanne ting. Vi nedværdiger kvinden ved at bruge hendes kropsdele som bandeord? Jeg forstår ikke hvorfor. Det er nødvendigt, at vi starter en revolution mod det nuværende system.

Kvinder skal opnå lighed og mænd må slutte op om kampen for et retfærdigt samfund. Halvdelen af verdens befolkning er nu engang kvinder – og den anden halvdel er født af kvinder.

Oversat af Shaheen M. Mohammadi

Sex og Nobel Overvejelser omkring kvindelige Nobel Fredspris-vindere, “sex strejker”, krig, fred og kærlighed. af Patrick Ingen ud over mennesket kan bryde menneskerettigheder.

Menneskets ret til at være menneske – denne læresætning synes ikke at være til at modsige. Men det er kun ved første øjekast. Ethvert menneskeskabt samfund er bygget ved, at et folk har udnyttet et andet folk. Det er åbenbart naturligt. Nogle skal leve dårligt, så andre kan leve godt. På trods af vores udviklede teknologi kan intet bryde disse grænser imellem mennesker, eksempelvis race, klasse, religion og hvad man end kan forestille sig. Befolkninger, der lever på hver side af en grænse, er ikke altid i konflikt, men ingen kan argumentere for, at de nødvendigvis har de samme rettigheder, eller skal have samme muligheder. Vi har mange eksempler i historien og sågar i nutiden på, at samfund kolonialiserer og udnytter andre samfund.

De fleste har hørt om Nobelprisen, specielt Nobels Fredspris.

Hvad har den med sex at gøre? Ved første øjekast intet, men det har den så sandelig. Bare med omvendt fortegn: med fuldstændig seksuel afholdenhed. Tre kvinder har vundet Nobels Fredspris ved ikke at have sex. Men før vi kommer tilbage til det, så lad os træde et skridt tilbage og foretage en lille historisk ekskursion.

Enkelte personligheder har altid spillet en fundamental rolle i historien. Til trods for vores socio-politiske udvikling forbliver mennesket generelt en primitiv flok. Uden lederen kan flokken ikke bevæge sig. I ethvert samfund er der individer, som ikke er enige i den eksisterende struktur, og har evnerne til at lede masserne til at gøre op med uretfærdigheden. Nogle af dem er blevet indskrevet i de historiske annaler, blevet legender, du kan ligefrem kalde dem ikoner.

Den første af sådanne dokumenterede personer var Moses.

Ifølge bibelen må vi formode, at han blev født i ca. år 1617 fvt.

Han observerede ikke bare hvordan hans folk levede I Egypten, men blev oprørt over deres status som slaver. Han rejste sig imod Faraoerne, og ledte det Hebræiske folk til det hellige land, selvom han selv døde før enden af denne rejse.

I det følgende vil jeg gerne nævne Mahatma Gandhi (18691948). Han var en af lederne og ideologerne af bevægelsen for Indiens selvstændighed fra Storbritannien. Hans ikke-volds filosofi (satyagraha) påvirkede bevægelsen, der støttede op om fredelig forandring. I Indien nævnes hans navn med den samme ærefrygt som navne på helgener. Som spirituel leder af nationen kæmpede Gandhi et helt liv imod religiøs ufred og vold, men på hans gamle dage blev han selv et offer for netop dette.

Jeg vil også nævne Martin Luther King (1929-1968). Han var den mest kendte afroamerikanske baptistpræst, en genial taler, en leder af bevægelsen for civile rettigheder for den sorte minoritet i USA. King blev den første berømte aktivist for sortes civile rettigheder imod diskrimination, racisme og segregation. Han modtog Nobels Fredspris, men blev slået ihjel af hans ideologiske modstandere.

Jeg vil nævne yderligere en mandlig vinder af Nobels Fredspris: Andrej Sakharov. Han var med til at fremstille det mest dødbringende våben, hydrogenbomben, men blev senere en berømt menneskerettighedsaktivist i det tidligere Sovjetunionen. Han har flere gange været forfulgt for hans handlinger og overbevisninger.

Nobels Fredspris blev sidste år givet til tre kvinder. To af dem er fra Liberia. De stoppede en borgerkrig, der havde varet i 15 år og kostet mere en 200.000 liv.

Krigen i Liberia blev stoppet med Lisistratas metode, beskrevet af en af de græske komedieforfattere Aristophanes i år 411.

I ”Lisistrata”, et stykke om en kvinde, der formår at stoppe en lang og blodig krig imellem Sparta og Athen, er metoden både klog og effektiv: kvinders ”sexstrejke”.

2422 år senere, da Nobelpris-vinder Leymah Gbowee var 17 år gammel, startede den første krig i Liberia. Hun arbejdede som traumerådgiver for tidligere børnesoldater fra diktator Taylors hær. Jo mere hun arbejdede med dem, desto mere blev hun klar over, at de også var ofre og desperate på grund af krig. En dag tog hun sammen med sine medaktivister til fiskemarkedet, hvor de fleste handlende var kvinder. De bar

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hvide t-shirts, symbolet på deres bevægelse, og begyndte at bede og synge for at overtale andre kvinder til at belære deres mande-krigere ved en helt enkel metode: Uden fred ingen sex.

Med tiden involverede Leymah Gbowee kvinder med andre trosretninger i bevægelsen. Kvinder i Liberia blev hørt, krigen var overstået, og en af verdens værste diktatorer Charles Taylor faldt, og blev bragt for Den Internationale Straffedomstol for krigsforbrydelser (ICC).

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Vores verden er stadig langt fra perfekt, og det vil den sikkert aldrig blive. Men jeg tror på grund af eksistensen af mennesker der virkelig bekymrer sig om andre mennesker omkring dem – at vi ikke er helt uden håb.

Make love, not war.

THE REST OF YOUR LIFE Birgithe Kosovic is Danish author with family roots in the former Yugoslavia. She has received several grand awards for her novels. “The rest of your life” is written for visAvis.

by Birgithe Kosovic “Once you have become a refugee, you’ll be one for the rest of your life”.

Under the high ceiling in the gymnasium at Norreport Skolan in Ystad a cacophony of voices, music, yelling and honking resounded. The boys sat on the benches holding their breaths. As the team’s best attacker, he was supposed to be on the floor, but he had wristed his foot and had to stay on the bench tonight.

His name was Edhem and he lived together with his parents and a cross-breed dog (retrieved from a kennel for dogs that have run away from home or whose owners do not want them anymore) in a concrete building in the outskirts of town. From their balcony they could see a big lawn with a swing, a small sandbox and another long concrete building with endless rows of balconies. They had lived there for three years (since their escape from Bosnia).

The attacker threw himself forward in front of the goal.

“Shoot”, Edhem screamed. “Get the ball into the goal!”.

Edhem saw the attacker slowly falling in front of the goal.

The ball let slip of his outstretched fingers. Slowly turning, as a globe spinning around, the ball hovered through the room.

“Damn!”, Edhem moaned and cracked his knuckles. From the row behind he felt the glance from the old man. He knew the man’s face. His parents always said hello to him, whenever they met him in town, but he didn’t know the man’s name. Through his eye hook he seemed to see how the old man leaned forward towards him, while the ball hovered, still circling around itself, towards the goalkeepers hand. It felt as if a hand was placed on Edhem’s shoulder from behind, and it annoyed him. He felt like he could almost reach the ball at the moment it collided with the goalkeeper’s hand – and when it – still turning around – changed it course- as some kind of sensitive creature.

Soundlessly, it flew forward against the net’s big, slack meshes. They were shaken when the ball hit them and fell to the floor, and the spectators’s faces behind them burst into an animal roar.

After the match, people pushed through the corridors out into the free, fresh air.

On their way Edhem and his friends passed by the old man from the row behind. “Don’t feel sorry about losing today,” the man said brokenly. “It makes no difference”.

Edhem looked at the man and gave his friends a half smile being embarrassed by the old man’s poor Swedish. Then the man said something in the language that Edhem only used when talking to his parents and grandparents on the phone: “Once you have become a refugee, you’ll be one for the rest of your life”.

window looking down at the neon sign above the record store with used records and CDs. It was a black round record with a pickup. The rim of the record and the pickup were in neon lights - constantly lighting and extinguishing and lighting. It was as if that sign belonged to her like the crooked stairs and floors and the old doors. Like the door frames on the floor that were worn halfway because of the many feet which had stepped on them. She thought about the oddness of all these signs that, to begin with, people want to have fixed but later cherish for being precisely what they are because they provide the place with its unique beauty, yes, it’s soul.

Maybe, she thought and pulled her collar up around her ears, maybe you just love the things you didn’t wish for the most or the things that have a certain purpose or certain perfection.

Maybe it is the other way round; we become attached to those things that stand alone having nothing to be measured with or against.

Why, she thought, why is it these things that almost express indifference towards everything and everyone which give us the feeling of belonging?

She shook herself and looked up at the windows. Henrik was up there getting their cinema tickets. They had been out taking a walk, and in a short while they were going to the movies. She felt her hands in her pockets. She knew that she would leave him, maybe already tonight.

Eight years later she sits in front of him in a restaurant in the same street. He says something that makes her laugh.

He comes up with an extra point that makes her scream with laughter, until she notices that the other guests turn quiet and look at her with surprise. While looking around, she clears her throat and continues eating when she realizes how everything has progressed once again. As back then, the night where she left him, filled with panic, anger, without any ability to comprehend or do anything else but one thing – get away. Back then it felt as if she had discovered a glacier in everything. It gave in and slipped, which permeated everything. A giant conversion of old shapes emerged. And afterwards – a silence that, almost like a gentle child’s voice, whispered – never again – never again – can you return – never again will you be the same – never again will you know a place where you belong.

But eight years after, she still feels at home in this street. At least she still cares for the shop sign with the yellow pickup and the houses with the crooked windows and doors.

“Damn, I love you”, she says to him. “You’re the best ex-husband one can get”.

They toast.

Then her ex-husband says something. What did he say? What kind of tone was in his voice? Was it not exactly…Quivering she feels it all again:

On the dark winter road, people passed by while Julie stood with her bag against the house’s wall, looking at the top windows of the house across the street. It was hard to believe that up there she and her husband, Henrik, lived together in a two-storey apartment under the roof. From the windows they could see the city’s towers and spires, and in the kitchen the doors were made of mahogany. Almost every night, in the four months they had lived there, she had been standing in the

How she went silent that last day, while he said something to her that felt like a smack. She stood there and looked down on the floor as if she could taste blood in her mouth. As if everything would break if she took another breath. And while she is sitting there by the table looking at his shirtfront, it becomes clear that everything that has happened and everything that she has felt and everything that they have ever done to each other she will feel all that for the rest of her life. That life consists of rooms en suite that you enter quickly room by room

The Goal

A Joke

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towards new brilliant futures. NO, because there is only one living room and you still search for the place where the dresser used to be, fiddling with the drawer handles even though the dresser was moved years ago.

She knows that, but hasn’t noticed it yet.

“Then it was a good thing that we got divorced”.

The words come out of her mouth as fast as flicks of a whip.

She looks at his face across the table. She can’t look away. She doesn’t know whether she just delivered a coarse joke.

Now he gets up. He pays the bill and insists on paying for the both of them. Meanwhile she tries to say a lot of things.

He waves her away.

“Go away”, he says and goes out on the street.

“Go away, Julie”. He stops and looks into her eyes. “I said leave! Do you understand that? I don’t want to see you any more”.

He leaves. She runs after him.

“Go away, let me be. I told you to go!”.

Milk

With her eyes closed, she pressed a button that triggered a number of beeps in the handset and after the first beep, at the other end of the line, someone answered: ”It’s Charlotte”. ”Hm.” It went quiet for a while. They were both lying in their beds. ”How did you sleep?”, she asked.

Lise could hear her breath. “…I woke up several times”.

Lise was lying on her bag. The bed formed a white square around her. She touched her nose and gave it a short massage. ”Mmm,” she growled affirmatively.

Every morning when Charlotte woke, she wanted to jump over the balcony’s edge. Every morning Lise called her.

Still with her eyes closed, she let her fingers rest on her nose and put her hand on her cheek, while breathing.

“Tell me, what you’re doing today?”.

Once when Charlotte had been cleaning her mother’s basement, she had found the letter which her father wrote the day he drowned himself in the lake. They couldn’t find him. They thought he had hanged himself in the woods. They went out looking for him in the trees. It was more than twenty years ago, but when she touched the paper, it was as if she could hear him read the words and hear the sound of his voice. The way it shivered made her run up the stairs. It happened was about

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four months ago. Ever since she had felt a need to jump over the balcony’s edge every morning. And she had sat with all her knives in front of her by the kitchen table. She had written her own letter.

“I’m going to the university”.

“What are you going to do there?”

“I have to speak with my councilor. I met him in the canteen last week. He said that he only had a few comments”. ”Has he read ‘Subconcious Knowledge’?”

‘Subconscious Knowledge’ was Charlotte’s psychology thesis. ”Yes”.

Lise imagined the balcony edge and the octagonal concrete tiles underneath. Those two storeys down could be any two storeys down. It was the feeling of gravity that made them special.

This supernatural energy which invisibly floated around in the empty space. And the suck in the diaphragm. The vision of the houses surrounding the concrete tiles – the silent yard, which all of a sudden got a mutual direction – Up! Up! Up! While the tiles reached out for her.

Both of them knew it was an escape and a return – that it wasn’t the right solution.

Lise could hear Charlotte breathing. She looked into the ceiling’s white, simple square.

“So do you know what he’s going to say?”.

“He asked me, wether I had thought about applying for a PhD.” “That’s why,” Lise smiled to the ceiling, “He’s happy about it”.

Charlotte always got top marks, and Lise was proud of her.

Sometimes it seemed as if Charlotte was the one who taught her the most important stuff: to ask more, to listen more, to hear people telling her things about themselves that she would never had dreamt about hearing. It was both logical and illogical at the same time that Charlotte wanted to die so badly, because she gave Lise so much in life. ‘As if everything important comes from suffering,’ she thought to herself while she pulled her cover over her naked shoulder and looked into the wall with an absent glance.

But she knew that it was something artificial opposite to joy and meaninglessness. Little by little, both of them became awake. Now Charlotte could get up, eat her breakfast and go through all the day’s rituals.

Lise went into the kitchen and took out a box of milk. She stood in front of the big window facing the houses on the other side and felt the cold, fat milk penetrate through her lips and down inside her, where it left a cold trail which almost hurt.

Balkan, dejlige Balkan!

Mange påstår at globalisering nedbryder identitet, men er det virkelig tilfældet? Interviews med 4 studerende fra Balkan i Göteborg, der viser at globaliseringen, særligt i relation til migration, er med til at styrke national og regional identitet frem for at gøre den svagere.

af Denny Pencheva Man siger, at der ikke er noget så godt som at være hjemme. At hjemme er, hvor ens hjerte er. Jeg synes, det efterhånden ser ud som om, at alle rejser rundt, og derfor har jeg besluttet at skrive et essay for at undersøge, om mobilitet forstærker idéen om et ”hjem”, eller om idéen snarere bliver sløret.

Balkan er en enestående region i Europa.

Den består af forskellige stater med hver deres sprog, kultur og religion, og den bliver ofte omtalt som en kontaktzone mellem øst og vest. Identitet på Balkan har altid været problematisk; en mulig grund hertil er den stærke nationalisme, som har været en af de vigtigste egen-

skaber i balkanstaternes politik gennem århundreder. De forskellige krige i regionen har forflyttet store grupper af mennesker, hvilket har gjort identitet endnu mere problematisk.

Jeg besluttede mig for at interviewe fire internationale studerende i Gøteborg som alle: stammer fra Balkan og repræsenterer fire lande: Bulgarien/Tyrkiet, Grækenland og Albanien.

Er unge og højtuddannede.

Er karakteriseret ved mobilitet og transnationalisme.

A er en 28-årig mand, som er bulgarsk og tyrkisk statsborger.

B er en 25-årig mand, som er bulgarsk

og tyrkisk statsborger.

Iphigenia er en 25-årig kvinde fra Grækenland.

Alban er en 27-årig mand fra Albanien.

Det er vigtigt at nævne, at A og B er såkaldte “bulgarske tyrkere,” som blev tvunget til at forlade Bulgarien med deres familier i 1989, mens de var børn.

De har to officielle navne og pas – et bulgarsk og et tyrkisk. Idet de ikke ønsker at have et tredje navn, bad de om ikke at blive udstyret med pseudonymer såsom Iphigenia og Alban.

At rejse eller ikke at rejse?

Migration betyder både ønsket om at migrere og erkendelsen af dette ønske.

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Iphogenia understreger tydeligt, at den nuværende økonomiske situation i Grækenkand var hovedårsagen til, at hun tog denne beslutning. Men hendes familie hjalp hende meget, da hun ikke havde nok opsparing til at bo i Sverige. Så hun tog beslutningen om at bo i udlandet, men hun var også så heldig at være i stand til at gøre det.

Migration må også analyseres i lyset af restriktive immigrationspolitikker. Et interessant citat fra Alban demonstrerer dette: ”Jeg var kun 18 år gammel, min adrenalin var meget højt oppe, og det nemmeste var at vælge Italien. Jeg prøvede først USA, men de ville ikke give mig et visa. Et andet alternativ var så Italien.

Jeg blev ikke presset til det – jeg havde bare følelsen af, at jeg ville forøge mine chancer, hvis jeg fik en større viden ved at rejse til udlandet – det var dét, det handlede om.” Han ønsker egentlig ikke at blive italiensk statsborger, selv om han indrømmer, at det ville gøre det lettere for ham at rejse i Europa. Han har trods alt brugt ti år på at studere, arbejde og betale skat et andet sted, så han er bestemt ikke imod idéen om at få dobbelt statsborgerskab.

Må jeg se Deres pas, hr.?

Med tanke på, at A og B har to pas, hver med to forskellige navne, er jeg nysgerrig efter at vide, hvordan de præsenterer sig over for myndigheder i lufthavne, ved grænsekontroller og så videre.

A: ”Jeg præsenterer altid mig selv med min tyrkiske identitet, men hvis det drejer sig om med hvilken identitet, jeg skal identificere mig, så er det forskelligt fra gang til gang. Jeg bruger for eksempel min bulgarske identitet i Sverige, fordi Bulgarien er medlem af EU. Nogle gange betyder det noget, at jeg har dobbelt statsborgerskab, fordi jeg somme tider skal fremvise bevis på mine to nationaliteter. Jeg har desværre forskellige navne i mit pas, og det kan godt være forvirrende for myndighederne.”

B: ”Jeg bruger mit bulgarske pas i Europa, men nogle gange spørger de mig om det tyrkiske – det sker oftest ved de

TRANSLATIONS

bulgarske og tyrkiske grænser. Jeg ønsker ikke at føle mig bundet til et specielt land, og jeg er ligeglad med et stykke papir og ligeglad med, om jeg bliver kaldt mit bulgarske eller tyrkiske navn! Men jeg har dog ikke ændret mit bulgarske navn... Jeg turde ikke. Og jeg ønskede ikke at bruge tid på det.”

Hjem, kære hjem

Og hvilket land anser de for at være deres eget?

A: ”Jeg blev født i Bulgarien. Ja, jeg anser Bulgarien for at være mit hjemland, men det er meget mere som et andet hjem, idet jeg har boet i næsten 20 år i Tyrkiet, og næsten hele min familie bor i Tyrkiet.” A fortæller dog også, at han tager til familiens hus i Rhodopebjergene hver sommer, og at han elsker naturen og den fred, der er i den.

B: ”Vi rejste til Tyrkiet, da jeg var 3 år gammel – i 1989. Det var sådan, jeg fik mit pas. Vi rejste sammen med massemigrationen. Jeg husker ikke meget af, hvad der skete – kun nogle minder om en stor menneskemængde. Min farfar eller far oplevede smerten – ikke mig. Jeg prøver på at vurdere tingene objektivt. Jeg synes stadig ikke, at det var et politisk korrekt skridt at tage fra Bulgarien, men jeg er ikke politiker eller strateg. De blev allesammen lige pludselig tvunget til at rejse fra deres eget land. Så mit hjem er faktisk et utopisk land – et ingenmandsland.

Hjem er, hvor du spiser din mad!”

Alban tilføjer: ”Tirana er mit åndelige hjem. I modsætning til, hvad man skulle tro, så har mobilitet forstærket min opfattelse af hjem og identitet. Jeg græder næsten, når jeg hører gamle albanske sange – det gør jeg virkelig. Hvis jeg taler fra hjertet og følelserne, så er min identitet og mit hjem Albanien. Men... (der er altid et men), når jeg tager til Italien, føler jeg virkelig, at jeg er en del af samfundet – jeg har boet og arbejdet dér i 10 år. Mit hjertes og min sjæls hjem er Albanien, og mit hjem med bedre fremtidsudsigter er et hvilket som helst rigt land i verden. Hvis du spørger mig, hvilket, jeg ville vælge, så svarer jeg: Jeg ville først prøve dér, hvor mit hjerte er, og hvis det

også opfylder fremtidsudsigterne, er det perfekt. Hvis ikke, ville jeg vælge det rige land, som godt kunne være Sverige...”

Det er værd at nævne, at alle fire interviewofre var fleksible, da jeg spurgte dem, om hjem er, hvor man er født, eller om det også kan skabes. De siger alle, at hjem altid bør være noget positivt, og at det kan skabes andre steder, så længe man lykkes med at skabe en hjemlig atmosfære (familie, venner og mad fra Balkan).

Selvom ”hjem” sommetider kan være et usikkert sted eller ikke, kan have de nødvendige karrieremuligheder, så bliver det konstant reproduceret i udlandet og genskabt ved hjælp af kultur. Med enkle ord: Hjem er, hvor du skaber det. ”Vi er ens fra, hvad vi har brug for af væske, til den måde, vi tænker på”

Mange hævder, at globalisering ødelægger identitet, men jeg er uenig. Mine resultater fra dette studie i felten har fået mig til at tro, at det tværtimod forstærker identiteter.

Deres erfaringer med at bo i et land, som ikke er deres eget, har faktisk forstærket deres nationale identitet og, hvad der måske er endnu mere interassant, de har udviklet en form for fælles Balkan-identitet. Alban udtrykker det på en god måde: ”Vi er ens fra, hvad vi har brug for af væske, til den måde, vi tænker på.” Iphigenia forklarer, hvad der får hende til at føle sig hjemme i Sverige: ”Det vigtigste er at have venner fra Balkan, fordi alle Balkan-nationerne næsten er ens, og jeg opdagede faktisk, at det var sådan, da jeg kom til Sverige.” B tilføjer: Jeg er stadig det lille barn i bjergene på Balkan, som er så meget grønnere, end hvad man kan finde noget sted i Sverige.

Stenen er tung, hvor den står!” (Man vil altid tilhøre det sted, hvor man er født).

Jeg takker ham for at hjælpe mig med interviewet, og jeg er meget rørt, da han svarer: ”Det var dejligt at tale med én fra mit eget land.”

Civilisationens faldne engel For hver bedrift i den moderne æra er der grupper eller individer, der betaler for den negative konsekvens af andres goder. Men hvad er de filosofiske og praktiske konsekvenser skjult på den mørke side af et velorganiseret samfund? I sin artikel analyserer Ina Serdarevic de mekanismer, der forvandler asylansøgere til ventende spøgelser. Inspireret af kunst, litteratur og historie blotlægger hun fremskridtets gud i dens nøgenhed. af Ina Serdarevic Må det negative drengebarn blive født ingen, aldrig, intet, nej.

Hvis der af lægerne foreskrives glæde og sundhed baby trist, baby syg uden barndom og ungdom

Må det negative drengebarn blive født ingen, aldrig, intet, nej.

Hvis i retfærdighedens lys al skylden bliver opdaget baby god, baby dårlig som lægger forvirringens frø Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio, Julesang

Der bor i øjeblikket cirka 500 asylansøgere i Danmark, som af den ene eller anden årsag ikke kan blive sendt tilbage til deres hjemland. For et lille, og dog konsistent antals vedkommende betyder dette at være fastlåst i en evig tilstand af anticipation, passivt afventende en ny begyndelse. Der er adskillige eksempler på asylansøgere, der har været frosset i

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TRANSLATIONS

denne udvisningsposition i 10 til 15 år.

Et maleri af den tysk-schweziske kunstner Paul Klee, som bærer navnet ”Angelus Novus” (Englen af det Ny), skildrer en engel, fanget i tid og rum af en voldsom storm. Maleriet synes at være en passende metafor for den tilstand af juridisk og fysisk limbo, som ansylansøgerne i Danmark befinder sig i.

Den tysk-jødiske filosof Walter Benjamin, som var maleriets ejer i mange år, beskriver det i den niende tese i sit skrift Historiefilosofiske Teser: ”Maleriet viser en engel, der ser ud til at flytte sig væk fra noget, som han så stift beskuer. Hans øjne er stirrende, hans mund er åben, hans vinger er spredte. Det er således, at man kan forestille sig Historiens Engel. Hans ansigt vender i retning af fortiden. Hvor vi opfatter en kæde af begivenheder, ser han en enkelt katastrofe, hvor vragrester bestandigt dynges sammen og bliver kastet foran hans fødder. Englen vil gerne blive, vække de døde og gøre alt det til en helhed, som er blevet smadret. Men en storm blæser over fra Paradis; den har sat sig fast i hans vinger med en sådan brutalitet, at englen ikke længere er i stand til at lukke dem. Stormen driver ham uimodståeligt ind i fremtiden, mod hvilken hans ryg er vendt, mens dyngen af ruiner vokser helt op i skyerne. Denne storm er hvad vi kalder fremskridtet.”

Der synes at være en besynderlig familiaritet i forhold til denne beskrivelse og afbildning, og jeg kan ikke lade være med at associere den med de førnævnte asylansøgeres skæbne. De er, ligesom Historiens Engel, berøvet den fri vilje og dømt til at dvæle imellem fortid og nutid på baggrund af Fremskridtets stærke, men alligevel lammende kræfter. Men hvordan kan Fremskridtet være en så lammende kraft? Hvorfor driver det englen ind i fremtiden uden så meget som nogensinde at lade ham træde ind i nutiden? Jeg vil i det følgende se nærmere på denne tvetydige og tvivlsomme kraft, som vi referer til som Fremskridtet og som på trods af sin tilsyneladende godgørende natur vedbliver med at producere et overvældende menneskeligt offer.

Lad os som det første gøre rede for, hvad vi forstår ved Fremskridt. De fleste ordbøger og definitioner er enige om, at det mere eller mindre er en bevægelse hen imod et mål, en udvikling eller en vækst, en støt forbedring i forhold til et samfund eller civilisation. Men det bliver også klart for os, at ikke alle er inkluderede i denne bevægelse og at bestemt ikke alle har mulighed for og lov til at nyde godt af fordelene ved en opbyggelig udvikling. Fordelene er mange og de indbefatter bl.a.: penge, biler, ferie, underholdning, hospitaler, motionscentre, demokrati. De er positive og afsætter ikke plads til negative afbrydelser. Alt i et progressivt samfund har brug for at være positivt. Ønsker at være positivt. Den danske asylpolitik tjener således en positiv bevægelse videre og fremad og alt er tilpasset i overensstemmelse hermed for at kunne sikre denne bevægelse for det fælles bedste. Det fælles bedste bliver udøvet gennem en nationalpolitik, som hverken anerkender de politiske og praktiske omstændigheder i asylansøgernes hjemland eller vedkender sig deres juridiske og konkrete limbo i Danmark.

Det er ikke uden uheldige hændelser, at menneskeheden får lov til at holde kursen og viderebringe Fremskridtet. Der kan ikke være nogen fremrykning uden lejlighedsvise skyggesider, intet Fremskridt uden offer. Man kunne som eksempel tage eksplosionen i Challenger rumskibet i 1986. De mest almindelige reaktioner var indledningsvist chok og sorg, men senere

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hen da spørgsmålene startede med at hobe sig op, gjorde man forsøg på at forklare og legitimere ulykkerne og ofrene i Fremskridtets navn ved at proklamere noget i retning af, at ”vi skylder de faldne pionerer det”. Præsident Ronald Reagan forklarede i sin tale umiddelbart efter eksplosionen hvordan, ”vi alle bærer sorg”, og føler ”tabet som en nation”, hvilket selvfølgelig er usandt. I virkeligheden er det kun de omkomne besætningsmedlemmer og deres nærmeste, der er de rigtige ofre. Men pakket ind i ideologier om ”det fælles bedste”, ”fælles mål” og Fremskridt bliver det til en fælles sorg og kan tilsvarende også kun legitimeres som sådan.

Hvad angår flygtningelejrenes og asyllimboets berettigelse, kunne man argumentere for, at “vi skylder det til vores forfædre, der byggede denne nation op fra ingenting” eller simpelthen, at “vi skylder det til samfundet”. Hvordan kunne vi dog nogensinde åbne grænserne og sætte alt det på spil, som vi så længe har kæmpet for? Hvordan kunne vi nogensinde bringe vor egen velstand i fare? Risikere vores Fremskridt?

Der må åbenbart foretages ofringer. Det ser ud til, at der en generel og regulær accept af ofringer, som synes at stamme fra en slags blind tro på Fremskridtet, der bliver adlydt og tilbedt som var det Gud selv. Der er andre guder, som går under navnene Revolution, Fremtid, Udvikling og Teknologi, men de er alle beslægtede med Fremskridtet. “At tænke sig, at vor religion, Tro på Fremskridtet, er mere godgørende end de såkaldte primitive folks, er blot endnu et biprodukt af snerperi.”, skriver den spanske filosof og forfatter Felix de Azua.

De faldne i Fremskridtets navn: de døde astronauter i Challengereksplosionen eller de indespærrede flygtninge i lejrene, er ligeså nødvendige for samfundsøkonomien, som ofrene på de aztekiske altre var det engang for velstanden i deres eget samfund. Og Azua tilføjer: “Det mest behørige for en Gud, når han er almægtig, er at gøre sig selv usynlig. Guden, som flytter biler, har ikke engang et navn, og kun tilnærmelsesvis bliver han betegnet som “bevægelsesfrihed” eller “privatlivets fred”. Vi kender nogle af helgenerne, der omgiver Guden, men de bærer funktionelle navne såsom ”bilkonsortium”, “betalingsmotorveje” eller “fritidsindustri”.

Spørgsmålet er:

Hvilken Gud er det, der sætter mennesker i lejre? Hvilken slags Gud eller tro er i stand til at retfærdiggøre den umenneskelige behandling af asylansøgere, hvis ikke Fremskridtets guddom i vores samfund, til hvilken vi så hjælpeløst overgiver al vores tillid? Den polske sociolog Zygmunt Bauman påpeger i sit værk Modernitet og Holocaust, at det at se på holocaust er at se ind i et spejl og ikke at beskue et momentant barbari. Denne noget radikale observation kunne lige såvel gælde spørgsmålet om Fremskridtet og det menneskelige offer. For der vil altid være stormblæste engle, ofre for nogens eller nogets velvære og fremskridt, så længe vi benytter os af Fremskridts- og det fælles bedste-dialektikken til at legitimere udgrænsning, ekskludering, berøvelse, vanrøgt og misbrug.

Englen af det Ny står som en marginaliseret borger. Han er frosset i tid. Han er stigmatiseret. Han er en kulturelt og politisk konstrueret figur i den positive udviklings tjeneste.

Han er et negativ, og derfor isoleret element i et samfund, ethvert samfund, hvis eneste ønske og behov er at være positivt.

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Da Elena kom til Danmark Da Elena kom til Danmark med sin familie, var hun kun seks år gammel. Gennem et barns øjne oplevede hun den spænding, der eksisterer ved at forlade én verden til fordel for en anden.

Dengang var livet i Sarajevo smukt, indtil en skygge faldt over alles eksistens, som senere blev kendt som den del af historien, der fik navnet: Balkankrigen. Når hun fortæller sin historie, bevæger mindet sig gennem tid i en erindringsdans, der søger en mening.. Hvad der i sidste ende forbliver, er fornemmelsen af hendes skiftende identitet. Og, for os, en beretning om hvad det betød at være barn og flygtning fra Bosnien i Danmark i 1992.

af Salvatore Paolo De Rosa Jeg blev født i Sarajevo den 27. marts 1987. Da jeg flygtede, var jeg kun fem år gammel, det var i februar 1992. Vi boede i den bydel, der hedder Ilidza, en forstad til Sarajevo. Jeg husker ikke begyndelsen af forandringerne, men jeg har fået fortalt, at de første skyderier startede i marts 1991, og alle troede til at begynde med, at der var tale om fyrværkeri, fordi det var afslutningen på ramadanen, og rygterne sagde, at muslimerne fejrede deres helligdage. Men så viste det sig, at disse var de første snigskytter, der skød fra bjergene. Det første, jeg husker, er det faktum, at vi måtte flygte fra vores hjem, da området var usikkert. Mine forældre tog mig hjem til mine bedsteforældre, mens de selv boede forskellige steder. Måske er der visse detaljer, jeg ikke husker, fordi jeg har fortrængt dem, men i min forestilling var det ikke sørgeligt at skulle forlade huset, fordi jeg godt kunne lide at tilbringe tid sammen med min bedstemor. Hvad der til gengæld gjorde mig trist var, da jeg fandt ud af, at vores hus brændte ned. En dag kom min mor tilbage og sagde: ”Der er intet tilbage, alt er brændt ned.”

Når skyderierne var meget slemme, gik alle folk ned i bygningernes kældre og søgte ly. Her sad vi i timevis, og alle havde taget tæpper og lys med, og vi spillede kort. Jeg husker, at der var mange andre børn at lege med, og mine forældre og bedsteforældre formåede at skabe en hyggelig stemning, der ikke var karakteriseret af angst. Da be-gyndte mine forældre allerede at tale om, hvordan vi kunne flygte fra Balkan. Først snakkede de om Holland, for dér havde vi i forvejen slægtninge, men så så min mor tilfældigvis en reklame på TV, der handlede om, at Danmark tog imod flygtninge, og de reklamerede med et telefonnummer, man kunne ringe til for at få yderligere info.

Da min far kom hjem, fortalte min mor ham om reklamen og sagde: ”Jeg ved godt, du gerne vil til Holland, hvor din bror er, men jeg har på fornemmelsen, at der er godt her.” Vilkårene i Europa og Danmark i 90’erne, da krigen i Bosnien startede, var anderledes. Regeringen, for eksempel, var langt mere venstreorienteret, og det var i øvrigt ikke så meget et spørgsmål om højre eller venstre - da der blandt alle fløjene var bred enighed om, at man skulle gøre noget ved denne konflikt. Jeg tror, de tænkte: ”Det her er virkelig en katastrofe” - bare tanken

om, at sådanne massakrer og den slags krig foregik i Europa! Jeg tror, de følte en anden form for nærhed og en pligt til at tage imod flygtninge og hjælpe dem.

Jeg tror ikke, andre interesser spillede ind, såsom behovet for arbejdskraft, især fordi det var en uventet situation. Vi var alle samlet i kæmpe gymnastiksale i ugevis, fordi de ikke vidste, hvor de skulle gøre af os. Jeg tror, Danmark agerede ud fra solidaritet. Vi var en god blanding af både kristne og muslimer, men vi var stadig “hvide”, vi var sydeuropæere, og få år inden rejste danskere på ferie til Jugoslavien. De må have tænkt: ”Her har vi tilbragt vore ferier, og nu er der krig”, det må give mennesker et andet perspektiv i modsætning til nutidige konflikter som i Afghanistan, for eksempel, som kan virke mere fjerne.

Min far rejste først til Danmark, og kort tid efter kom vi, min søster, min mor og jeg. Jeg tror, jeg i den alder forstod, at jeg skulle forlade landet på ubestemt tid. Det var svært at forlade Sarajevo, og den sidste nat bad jeg med min bedstemor i hjørnet af stuen, hvor der hang et ikon af Jesus. Hun kyssede mig efterfølgende og gav mig et billede af sig selv og jeg husker, hvordan jeg vinkede til hende og hvor triste hendes øjne var, og hvor meget hun græd. Jeg kan huske, det første gensyn med far, da vi kom til Danmark, og det varme knus, han gav mig, og jeg erindrer tydeligt billedet af, hvor lykkelig min mor var over, at vi alle fire var sammen igen. Min far boede midlertidigt i en gymnastiksal ca. ti kilometer uden for København.

Det første billede, der blev taget af mig, var til fastelavn, som også blev afholdt i gymnasiksalen. De arrangerede spil og leg for børnene og klædte os ud, mens de voksne ikke havde så meget at tage sig til, ud over at sidde og vente på, at deres sag ville blive diskuteret af myndighederne. Hele proceduren om asylansøgningen var allerede skudt i gang, og myndighederne skulle interviewe hver enkelt familie for at rapportere om dennes historie og senere tage stilling til, på baggrund af den, hvilken slags asyl, familien ville få. Mine forældre var, som så mange andre, påpasselige med, hvilken historie de berettede, for at sikre sig, at de kunne maksimere deres chancer for at få permanent opholdstilladelse.

Jeg tror, de fortalte sandheden og fortalte historien, som den var. Men dog

ville de forøge chancerne for at blive i det sikre land, og det er derfor, jeg i dag ikke bebrejder folk, der påstår, at de har været udsat for tortur, for uanset hvad er det tortur i sig selv at skulle forlade sit hjemland. Jeg bryder mig ikke om at sætte grader på, hvor meget tortur, man har været offer for. Erindringen om de danske myndigheder er blid og medfølende.

Det føltes ikke som om, de tænkte: “Fuck, der kommer nye flygtninge”, som det lader til at være tilfældet i dag. På det tidspunkt var det anderledes. Jeg fandt også ud af, at i kulturlivet lavede de massive landsdækkende kampagner for at hjælpe flygtninge fra Bosnien. Mange musikere samledes og lavede en CD til ære for os, og folk donerede penge. De danske børn samlede det legetøj, de ikke længere legede med, og gav det væk til os. Hele landet var én stor bobbel af barmhjertighed.

På det tidspunkt, og dette er det smukke ved det, indså man straks, at alle disse mennesker ville få asyl, så på den måde undgik man en lang og drænende proces, hvor man ikke ved, om man får asyl eller ej, som det er tilfældet i dag. Derfor startede børnene i skole kort tid efter. I flygtningelandsbyen i Ebeltoft boede vi i hus nummer to. Vi blev der i lang tid, næsten tre år. Vi organiserede os og fik en landsbyformand og en talsmand, og forskellige mennesker havde forskellige opgaver. Vi forsøgte at istandsætte flygtningelandsbyen for at gøre den mere smuk. Hver familie modtog penge, og vi havde tilladelse til at forlade landsbyen og handle ind selv. Ris og mel fik vi foræret. Alle i Ebeltoft havde hørt om disse nye tilflyttere, og når mine forældre tog i danske supermarkeder og talte serbo-kroatisk, kiggede folk underligt på dem, men smilte stadig og bød dem velkommen. I begyndelsen hørte man aldrig om racistiske bemærkninger eller diskrimination. Folk var nysgerrige, og engang imellem kom der journalister og interviewede folk og endte med at blive venner med dem. De første danske venner, mine forældre fik, var disse mennesker. De var bare nysgerrige. Der var journalister og Jehovas Vidner, folk havde hver deres motiver for at indgå i venskaber, men for mine forældre var det mindre vigtigt. Det, der betød noget, var, at disse mennesker var gode og havde et godt hjerte.

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Fortiden stemmer ikke altid overens En samling af ufuldstændige erindringer fra asyllejrene Sandholm og Brøns af Farhiya Khalid Når erindringer skabes, formes og synker ned i bevidstheden bliver enkeltdelene slået itu. Nogle minder bliver gemt i sindets lommer, ventende på at komme tilbage, mens andre hænger ved – ikke kun én selv, men også i andre.

I min familie er mange minder blevet slået itu de seneste 19 år. Jeg kom til Danmark i 1993 med to søskende og min mor. Jeg var 9 år gammel og mine dage var fyldte med en følelse af fravær.

Fraværet af en far, en legeplads jeg kendte og et sprog jeg forstod.

Når vi deler minderne og følelserne, er en ting sikkert; vi husker forskelligt.

Og nogle af minderne er ikke helt vores egne. Tiden bærer præg af, at vi alle erfarede en ny form for sårbarhed. Det har skabt en fragmenteret erindring. Nogle af disse minder er svære at skelne og sværere endda at kalde for sine egne.

At tale med min mor, min søster og min bror har været en del af en proces. med at genfinde min erindring. En tid med tvivl, fortrydelse og kvaler for den ene, havde underligt nok været en tid med fryd for den anden. Denne tekst er et forsøg på at samle nogle af disse ufordøjede minder. Uoverensstemmelser vil stå ubestridte.

Moren – Gule barakker

“Barakkerne var altid gule. En jordagtig gul. Sandholm, kaldte de det. Og derfor gjorde jeg det også. Vi var mange fra Afrikas Horn.

Det var april måned 93 og mange var flygtet. Vi var for mange i Sandholmlejeren, så Røde Kors var nødt til at forflytte os til hovedhuset. En stor rektangulær bygning. Det fik stedet til at synes endnu mindre. Vi sad og sov på tynde madrasser, som opdelte gulvet mellem os. Vi har intet andet end lagener som gardiner til at skærme vores privatliv.

Jeg var på gulvet med mine børn. De er ok. Nysgerrige, men også nervøse – jeg er ikke helt sikker. Så mange fremmede i et rum. Jeg var bange for at det ville vare evigt. Det gjorde det ikke. Gud ske tak og lov/Heldigvis.”

Den yngste datter – Frakker og tæpper

“Jeg var målløs. Det var forår og det sneede. Jeg havde aldrig set sne, aldrig nogensinde – kun is. Der var koldt i dette land. Vi kom i tynde bluser og hundefrøs.”

Men ligeså snart vi kom til lejren fik vi frakker, sokker og tæpper. Tøjet blev givet til min mor i plastikposer med Røde Kors’ logo. Alting var hvidt; en simpel frakke, sokker, undertøj, tæpper. Det var varmere på den måde. Hvide lagener og hvide tæpper. Dette land føltes koldt.

Jeg husker ikke rigtig Sandholm. Jeg fik ikke lov til at gå ud så ofte. Men cafeteriet husker jeg. Jeg elskede cornflakes og at vise vores blå kort til køkkenpersonalet. Det var et lamineret blåt kort med et

foto af mig, min søster og bror. Min mor havde sit eget. Vi viste vores kort, hver gang vi hentede vores mad.

Jeg husker det som en underlig oplevelse at modtage de små madrationer. Alle tingenes lille størrelse; små mælkekartoner og endnu mindre bøtter med marmelade. Jeg kom engang nog-le i min komme, men det var ikke rigtigt legetøj, så jeg smed dem ud.”

Den ældste – bliv indenfor

“Sandholm” var et hårdt sted. Vi boede nogle dage på gulvet. Kort efter blev et værelse ledigt. Vi boede nogle dage i en smal gang med små værelser på begge sider. Der var et tv-område på hver etage, men vi måtte ikke at gå derhen. Der var kun mænd, som snakkede og røg en helt masse. Mange historier cirkulerede og sladder var ret almindeligt. En ung pige var blevet forulempet, og ingen vidste hvem gerningsmanden var. Snakken fortsatte i dagevis. Alle mænd var potentielle voldtægtsmænd.

I dagtimerne hang vi ud på legepladsen med nogle andre somaliske børn. Så snart mørket faldt på, var vi på vores værelse. Jeg tror min mor var rædselsslagen for, at der skulle ske os noget.

Problemet var at ingen rigtigt forstod hinanden. Der var ikke mange, der talte engelsk, så vi holdte os til de andre somaliere.

Jeg havde en bosnisk ven nogle få dage – en pige med langt lyst hår. Jeg tror, at hun var omkring otte eller ni år. Jeg redte hendes hår et par gange, og hun lod mig lege med en dukke hun havde.

Jeg måtte ikke besøge det værelse, som hendes familie havde. Hun havde brødre og en far, så det var ikke sikkert.

Men hun forstod ikke et ord af, hvad jeg sagde, så vi talte aldrig om “det”.

Sønnen – En lejr på landet

“Vi ankom til Brøns. Det var virkelig noget andet i forhold til Center Sandholm. Brøns var denne her landsby i den sydlige del af Danmark. Der lå huse omkring lejren. Der boede faktisk danske mennesker i nærheden.

Vi var mange børn i Brøns. Der boede kæmpe somaliske familier. Nogle havde været der i flere år. Vi var den nyeste flok sammen med en familie på fem.

Mine søstre blev hurtigt registreret i lejrens Røde Kors-skole. De lærte danske ord hver dag og fik venner. Jeg var kun fem år gammel, så jeg var for ung til at være med. Jeg græd meget, når de tog i skole – jeg savnede dem”.

Den ældste – geder og heste

“Det krævede en masse energi at gå i skole i Brøns. Nogle af børnene havde været der længe. Jeg var lidt irriteret over at de kunne tale dansk. Jeg var vant til at være den dygtigste i klassen. Plud-

selig kunne jeg ikke sige et eneste ord.

Men efter skole gik vi ofte over på en gård i nærheden. Familien, der boede der, havde en masse geder og nogle enkelte heste. Vi var ikke så søde ved dem.

Vi jagtede dem rundt og hev dem i halen.

De hadede at blive reddet på og det var præcis, hvad vi gjorde. Hestene var for store og det skræmte os. Det var mere sikkert at jagte geder, for dem var vi vant til hjemmefra. Jeg føler mig lidt skyldig nu – men jeg vidste ikke bedre dengang.”

Sønnen – Hvem taler dansk?

“En dreng fra skolen gjorde nar af os fordi vi ikke forstod dansk. Hvordan skulle vi kunne det? Vi var næsten lige landet i dette mærkelige land. Jeg husker, at det efter nogen tid gik op for mig, at hans ordforråd var ret begrænset. ”Hej” og ”Hvornår kommer bussen”. Små fraser, som han havde lært på en måneds tid, men vi lærte også hurtigt. Derefter drillede han os ikke længere.

Det varede kun nogle få uger, før vi fik nye venner. Skolen var et godt sted at møde dem, og de havde alle mulige gode ideer. Vi sprættede sorte affaldssække op og satte dem på fire lange pinde for at lave telte.

Selv en gammel ruin, hvor kun skorstenen var tilbage blev til en legeplads.

Ruinen havde været der i årevis, og der voksede græs over det hele. Vi hoppede igennem den og prøvede at komme ud gennem det smalle hul. Et par gange sad vi fast og fik hudafskrabninger på vores knæ og albuer. Det var ret klaustrofobisk derinde. Utroligt at vi blev ved med at prøve.“ Den yngste datter – En forsvundet familie

“Der” var denne her familie med fem eller seks børn i lejren. Vi legede med dem dagligt. Min søster sloges med en af dreng-ene, og min mor klippede hendes hår af, så hun kunne slås uden, at der blev revet i det. Børnene viste os alle mulige fede steder at lege – en gigantisk sø, æbletræet vi klatrede i og allervigtigst; gedeskuret.

Vi fik at vide, at deres far var en berømt musiker i Somalia. Men efter nogen tid fik vi dog ret ondt af dem. De havde boet i lejren i årevis, da vi ankom – og de blev tilbage, da vi flyttede. Af en eller anden grund blev de nægtet asyl i Danmark.

Folk sagde, at det var fordi de var fra en stamme, der ikke så somaliske ud.

De var ret lyse i huden og så arabiske ud, men de talte flydende somalisk. Vi holdte ikke kontakten. De bor i England nu, har jeg hørt. Jeg går ud fra, at alle havde deres egne problemer med de konsekvenser, der følger.

I lejren var alting midlertidigt – selv venskaberne.”

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