Prefiguration, strategic interaction and political belonging in undocumented migrant and solidarity movements

ABSTRACT

This article investigates how ‘prefigurative politics’ and strategic interactions of undocumented migrant and solidarity movements shape different forms of political belonging. The overall objective is to show that the latest insights in social movement theory may help us understand how, when and why ambivalent notions of political belonging are enacted within such activisms. First, I argue that we need a social movement perspective of ‘prefigurative politics’ to grasp the autonomous performances of undocumented migrant and solidarity movements, and second that we need to problematise the contexts of these movements as dynamic, strategic interactions of various players, rather than static environments. Using empirical illustrations from the ‘We Are Here’ (WAH) movement in Amsterdam, I show that it is exactly in the ambivalent performance of prefigurative and strategic action that such social movements establish their complex and changing relations to regimes of in-/exclusion, and notions of political belonging such as citizenship. The empirical material in this article is based on qualitative interviews, supplemented with evidence from newspapers and internet materials.

KEYWORDS:

• Prefiguration
• undocumented migrants
• strategic interaction
• political belonging
• citizenship

Introduction

In the last decade, the study of undocumented migrant¹ protests has grown steadily (Ataç 2016, 629). While the phenomenon is not new – think of the 1990s Sans-Papiers movement in France – the visibility of such protests has increased dramatically. Visualising their protests strategically against urban backdrops (Swerts 2017), undocumented migrants – together with a variety of citizens – have squatted churches and occupied public spaces (Ataç 2016), set up solidarity camps and organised cross-country protest marches (Johnson 2015) and lobbied national and local politics (Ataç, Rygiel, and Stierl 2016) to advance their causes. Despite their differences, these protesters all try to bring ‘attention to their long-term presence in states where they live with the constant threat of deportation’ (McNevin 2009, 163). A scholarly debate revolves around whether such activisms should be perceived as new and creative politics of belonging – challenging the legitimacy of current border regimes and citizenship regulations – or rather, reflect claims to be included into established categories, thereby reinforcing the still powerful logic of the nation state (McNevin 2007, 2009).

Despite the contentious and collective character of these protests, cross-fertilisation between studies of undocumented migrant and solidarity mobilizations and social movement theory has been surprisingly limited (see Ataç, Rygiel, and Stierl 2016 for a notable exception). This article aims to show how two of the latest insights in social movement theory, a prefigurative perspective and a strategic interactionist approach, may help us understand how undocumented migrant and solidarity movements shape (sometimes ambivalent) notions of political belonging in their actions. The main question this article addresses is: How do prefigurative acts and strategic interactions of undocumented migrant and solidarity movements shape different forms of political belonging?

Insights from social movement studies are relevant for two reasons. First, research into (undocumented) migrant mobilisations (Johnson 2015; Papadopoulos and Tsianos 2013; Tyler and Marciniak 2013) suggests that by taking a too narrow perspective of politics – as necessarily involving a challenge to existing power holders (Brisette 2016, 111) – we lack the analytical tools to capture autonomous, innovative and less instrumental forms of social reproduction and acts of ‘everyday politics’ (Yates 2015, 1) as part of such protests. By drawing parallels with the wave of the post-2010 square protests, I particularly use a social movement perspective of ‘prefigurative politics’ to argue that political contestation can also be seen as the everyday living of alternatives rather than a pure act of claim making (Brisette 2016; Maeckelbergh 2011; Yates 2015). Such prefigurative practices by undocumented migrants and their allies defy the dominant logic of the state by creating an alternative, lived experience of political agency and solidarity in the here and now (Ibid). Second, if we want to understand how undocumented migrant and solidarity protests relate to established categories of political belonging such as citizenship, we need a dynamic theory of the political environment in which they operate. Social movement theory's recent interactionist perspective allows us to approach contexts of movements as dynamic configurations of players rather than static, homogenous environments or structures (Duyvendak and Jasper 2015; Jasper 2004, 2006, 2012, 2015). By taking these two perspectives on social movements together, I show that it is exactly in the ambivalent performance of prefigurative and strategic actions that such movements establish their complex and changing relations to existing regimes of in-/exclusion, and notions of political belonging such as citizenship.

In order to illustrate my argument, I use examples from the ‘We Are Here’ (WAH) refugee² and solidarity movement in Amsterdam. WAH's continuous presence since late 2012 provides ample opportunity to observe both the internal prefigurations and changing political interactions, in relation to processes of political belonging and notions of citizenship. The involvement of various players (such as Amsterdam's mayor, city council and state secretary) over the years, and the strategic choices they make, not only shows how WAH's tactics correlate with constantly changing political settings and dynamics, but also how various political players are interlinked in overlapping political arenas. Studying this case also helps us better understand how migration debates at the European and national level are linked to local developments, players and strategies (and vice versa). Moreover, compared to activisms in for example Germany, Austria, France or Belgium, Dutch groups are relatively understudied (for exceptions see Amaya-Castro 2015; Dadusc 2016).

The empirical material presented in this article is based on semi-structured interviews with thirteen people (one duo-interview) that were conducted between late 2015 and early 2017. Interviews were held with Dutch supporters and refugee activists and lasted between 45 min and 2,5 h. All names of interviewees have been changed to guarantee anonymity. Additionally newspaper articles and websites were used for accurately placing events in the group's life cycle.

In the following section, I first position my argument in a wider debate on political belonging and citizenship in migration studies. I discuss the way in which undocumented migrants and their allies are contesting citizenship regimes, and the paradoxes they encounter in doing so. In the last two sections, I demonstrate why we need a social movement perspective that pays attention to both the autonomous practices of movements, and the way they strategically manoeuvre in different political arenas (Jasper 2006) in order to fully comprehend their diverse politics of belonging.

Political belonging and contestations of citizenship in undocumented migrant and solidarity protests

In her work on contesting citizenship, McNevin (2006, 2007, 2009, 2011) defines political belonging as ‘a dynamic ordering principle that structures different kinds of political communities across time and space’ (2011, 15). Past and present ordering principles have in common that ‘they contribute to how we perceive the context in which we act politically and the authority we have for doing so’ (2011, 15). Political belonging does not only construct a common identity and authority for acting politically, it also specifies ‘the limits of that community – the boundaries of identity and the realm of not belonging’ (2011, 15). For McNevin, political belonging is inherently dynamic, but specific forms can take on hegemonic, and therefore relatively static meaning. Citizenship – when understood as legal rights that are inherently tied to the territorial and imagined boundaries of the nation-state – may be perceived as such a hegemonic, yet relatively narrow, form of thinking about and a technique for policing the boundaries of political belonging (Johnson 2015; McNevin 2007, 2011; Tonkiss and Bloom 2015; Tyler and Marciniak 2013). Despite its current dominant status, a ‘broader perspective [on belonging] denies citizenship a natural or essential status and opens a conceptual avenue from which to approach it as a dynamic and contestable identity’ (McNevin 2011, 16).

Yet because of its current dominant status, thinking outside of the idea of belonging as citizenship is very difficult. Often we think ‘that the political work and action migrants undertake must be, and is always, expressed in terms of an aspiration to citizenship status, and that only once this status is attained (…) other politics [can] occur’ (Johnson 2015, 954). Scholars also reinforce this idea because they lack a vocabulary to describe such activisms outside a ‘citizen-noncitizen binary’ (Tonkiss and Bloom 2015, 838; see McNevin 2009, 166). Acknowledging contentious acts of undocumented migrants as political phenomena remains especially problematic as long as we see the assumed goal (citizenship) as prerequisites for acting politically in the first place. Activists and scholars alike struggle to capture how protests often simultaneously renounce and reproduce the boundaries of belonging they are contesting (McNevin 2007, 2013; Tyler and Marciniak 2013, 146).

McNevin (2009, 166) points out three levels on which contestations of citizenship by undocumented migrants and their allies may be understood. The first level ‘relates to the formal legal status that citizenship implies and attempts to extend that status to those who lack an automatic entitlement to it’ (2009, 166). On the second level, rather than attempting to extend citizenship rights to larger groups of people, the legitimacy, meaning and ‘common sense’ (McNevin 2009, 166) of that status are questioned. This form of contestation questions citizenship as being naturally tied to, and representational of, certain groups and territories through the use of ‘racialized and gendered discourses’ (McNevin 2009, 166). The third and last level of contestation is most far-reaching and concerns ‘acts which rupture the very terms of reference to which our conceptions of political belonging are limited’ (McNevin 2009, 166). Here, acts of contestation can mean moving, in the words of Papadopoulos and Tsianos (2013, 179), ‘after citizenship’: the forming of new subjectivities and solidarities between people, self-organised, autonomous relationships of belonging and power away from the dominating logic and policing institutions of the nation state (Ataç, Rygiel, and Stierl 2016; McNevin 2009, 166; Papadopoulos and Tsianos 2013). On this level, contestation moves beyond an understanding of politics as a challenge to existing power holders/structures, and into a realm of what I call prefigurative practices (Brisette 2016, 111–116). In sum, the search for political belonging in relation to the activism of undocumented migrant and solidarity movements can embody everything ranging from claim making on existing power holders and established categories to living ‘prefigured alternatives’ (Yates 2015, 4) outside of that dominant subject-object relationship between state and citizens, for example by creating alternative, self-supportive situations in the ‘here and now’ (see Maeckelbergh 2011, 3). The concept of such prefigurative politics will be thoroughly investigated in the next section.

In practice, many protests fuse several levels that McNevin (2009) distinguishes. Nordling, Sager, and Söderman (2017, 723) for example coin the notion of ‘in between’ spaces developed through activist practices of undocumented migrants and supportive citizens in Malmö:

[C]itizenship (or residence permits) are mobilised as tools or goals, while other parts of the struggle are more focused on creating life situations and spaces that function independently of residence permits, as well as trying to push for other conceptualisations of justice and belonging through everyday practices (…)

Swerts (2017) develops a similar notion of ‘liminal politics’ in the use of urban space in the struggles of undocumented immigrants in Brussels and Chicago: ‘[O]n the one hand [they] contest the existing distribution of rights, privileges and places governed by illegality/legality and, on the other, prefigure configurations of political membership, identity and belonging beyond this binary’ (Swerts 2017, 15). In both Swerts’ (2017) and Nordling, Sager, and Söderman’s (2017) research, undocumented migrants and their allies create certain ‘thresholds’ to do politics that may sometimes be perceived as ambivalent (McNevin 2013), occupying a position between the subversion and reaffirmation of citizenship logics. Ambivalence however, according to McNevin (2013), has the potential to operate here ‘less as a handicap or a prelude to becoming political than as a productive resource that plays a part in being political’ (197, italics in original).

Despite the contentious character of undocumented migrant mobilizations, explicit theoretical links between social movement studies and studies of undocumented migrant/solidarity mobilizations are underdeveloped, and the fields ‘have thus far remained largely separate’ (Ataç, Rygiel, and Stierl 2016, 530). When social movement theory is applied to mobilizations, classic political opportunity, framing and resource perspectives are often used to explain movement successes/failures, or understand contentious repertoires that movements use to make claims on the state (Ataç, Rygiel, and Stierl 2016; Bloemraad 2017; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly 2001). While such perspectives problematise the political context of movements more explicitly than most migration scholars do, they often remain within an overly static conceptualisation of such contexts, and particularly of the state. Moreover, they fall short of addressing the ways in which undocumented migrants and their allies are innovative agents that create new ways of acting and forms of belonging and solidarity that are not necessarily aimed at the state. By integrating recent, more agentic and dynamic approaches to contention into already existing critical migration scholarship, I will demonstrate that the interplay between the prefigurative impulse of ‘being the change’ (Engler and Engler 2014, 30) and the constantly changing interactions with various political players creates a richer framework for understanding how, when and why ambivalence in the search for belonging occurs. The next sections will look into such prefigurative and strategic practices.

The ‘prefigurative politics’ of We Are Here

In the wake of the post-2010 square protests (Occupy, Arab Uprisings, 15-M movement, anti-austerity protests), some social movement scholars have found ‘prefigurative politics’ to be a useful category. While prefiguration (a concept introduced in new-left writings in the 1970s: see Boggs 1977) has many definitions, a common core of meaning involves the following points: 1) prefiguration is about trying to eliminate the boundaries between the political goals and the means of reaching those goals, 2) prefiguration is about actively living out the change one would like to see and alternative life worlds yourself, rather than simply demanding that change from others and 3) prefiguration is about doing point 1 and 2 in an organisational format (spatially and interpersonally) that is a representation of the society one wishes to create (see Engler and Engler 2014; Graeber 2013, 23; Maeckelbergh 2011; Rohgalf 2013; Van de Sande 2013, 230; Yates 2015). 230 In sum, prefigurative politics is about the idea that ‘if people want to create a more egalitarian political system, they must embody this goal in daily movement practices’ (Maeckelbergh 2014, 2).

In terms of empirical topics, anti-capitalism, anti-austerity and alter-globalization are over-represented in the study of prefiguration (Graeber 2013; Maeckelbergh 2011; Sande 2013; Yates 2015). Undocumented migrant and solidarity movements have hardly been studied explicitly from a prefiguration perspective. Yet, research shows migrant and solidarity protests to be remarkably prefigurative in character. When scholars talk about ‘acts of citizenship’ (Isin 2008) or the way in which non-citizen led protests ‘are powerful in their imagination of a coming politics’ (Johnson 2015, 963), they are pointing at prefigurative political practices. While there is overlap between the notion of prefiguration and the everyday, performative dimensions of such protests that critical citizenship scholars have pointed out (Bhimji 2014; Blokland et al. 2015), I argue that the concept of prefigurative politics stresses more prominently that leading a more normal life is already (partly) enacted in the organisation of a movement itself. Moreover, studying protests as prefigurative politics gets beyond labelling them as predominantly migration or citizenship phenomena, acknowledging their broader character as bottom-up, democratic alternatives that create solidarities between many different groups.

This ‘Do It Yourself’ attitude towards activism seems at first to stand in contrast to the instrumental logic of most social movements theory. While strategy and prefiguration are often perceived as antithetical, or ideologically opposed positions in movements (Engler and Engler 2014; Maeckelbergh 2011; Yates 2015), recently scholars have observed that movements actually combine both elements. Yates (2015, 19) for example argues that many movements combine ‘prefiguration’ with ‘strategic’ survival: ‘Prefiguration involves combining the imaginative construction of “alternatives”, within either mobilisation-related or everyday activities, with some strategic attempt to ensure their future political relevance’. Bailey et al. (2018) notice a similar development in many post-2008 mobilizations in response to the economic crisis in Europe, where ‘the pragmatic adoption of prefigurative politics’ (2018, 17) was combined ‘with more conventional goals, actions and actors, in a somewhat contradictory manner’ (2018, 17).

Using illustrations from the WAH movement, the discussion below will illustrate how ‘prefigurative politics’ can be used as a tool to understand the autonomous orientations of undocumented migrant and solidarity movements, and provides insight into alternative forms of belonging that may emerge out of such politics. The section first introduces the general context in which WAH emerged, and subsequently analyzes two events (the setting up of a protest-camp and, more prominently, the occupation of a church) as sites where prefigurative politics play out. I particularly highlight the role of visualisation, the horizontal organisation and the actualisation of a different lifeworld across these sites and analyze them as elements of a prefigured form of belonging.

The WAH refugee and solidarity movement emerged in September 2012, when a tent camp was set up in the Western part of Amsterdam. The camp followed an earlier camp in the spring of 2012 in Ter Apel, a registration centre for asylum seekers, as well as a point of departure for those who are ‘rejected’. After being refused asylum several times, some refugees (mainly of Somali and Iraqi backgrounds) set up a protest camp, to call attention to the inhumane treatment that they were subjected to both during and after asylum procedures.

The matter was more politicised when a camp (re-) emerged in similar spirit in the capital of Amsterdam. A great deal of media attention was generated, primarily because the sight of a self-organised protest of undocumented people was unknown to the Dutch public landscape. The dominant idea of the undocumented person as somebody who is unknown and invisible,³ was challenged by the approximately 60–80 refugees who chose to expose themselves as a political group. That particular visibility was aimed at what activists refer to as a lacuna (‘asielgat’) in Dutch asylum policies. They were protesting the fact that a considerable number of rejected asylum seekers cannot be expelled from the country, but are basically denied an existence (and thus ‘disappear’) while staying on Dutch territory. This lacuna arises because asylum seekers cannot present ‘satisfactory’ evidence of their country of origin, but cannot be sent back because the Dutch government does not expel people to proven dangerous areas, or because countries refuse to take back residents who have fled.

Within days of setting up the camp, spontaneous acts of solidarity emerged from citizen-residents. Supporter Brian summarised the unique and spontaneous protest-character of the tent camp as follows:

The experience of the tent camp, and similar activities, was that if you join forces, you can be safe from harassment. You can be visible, that was the jump to the media of course. The tent camp as an open protest (…) And by being visible, it is already mediatized and it becomes already political in a certain sense (…) They had to rely on their own (…) And on the good relations with people who came to help (…) That was power, that was spontaneous social organizing, that was movement.⁴

On 30 November 2012, the mayor of Amsterdam decided to evict on the basis of a supposed threat to public order and hygiene and offered the refugees a one-month stay in a (homeless) shelter in Amsterdam and ten surrounding municipalities. As one of the activist refugees, George, said: ‘That offer was all tactics just to divide the group’. Another activist refugee, Jonathan, agreed: ‘[It] was divide and rule. As long as we are being divided, the problem will be solved’.⁵ Most refugees refused, insisting on staying visible and together. They were subsequently arrested, but released shortly thereafter. On 2 December 2012, an empty church was occupied by a coalition of the ‘tent-camp group’, the Amsterdam squatter movement and other citizens. Unlike the camp, which lacked all basic facilities, the church offered possibilities for the protest, even though it remained a rough site. Supporter Judith described how the building became a centre of activity and innovative ideas:

The ‘refuge church’ was so strong because it was a visualization of this group and therefore the problems that they tried to address (…) In a way, to speak in biblical terms, it was a safe haven. And it pulled in many people who were in similar situations. And not only refugees or asylum seekers, but also volunteers and residents, also politicians, everybody came to the refugee church! It was really an occupation of space. It was just … it was very new

Indeed, in the weeks leading up to Christmas the so-called ‘refuge church’ (‘vluchtkerk’ in Dutch) grew into a symbolic site of struggle for refugees, and at the turn of the year 2013, the heavily mediatised term ‘vluchtkerk’ was probably known to most Dutch citizens. The ‘refuge church’ drew in an extensive influx of new refugees as well as supporters, including church-members, academics, doctors, artists, celebrities, but mostly ordinary people who drove in from all over the country to assist with security, groceries, cooking but also organising (political and entertainment) events. The relatively open and horizontal character of the movement allowed many different people to get involved.

While the church was in the first place a place to live for the refugees, it also was the stage for a bigger political struggle and within days came to be labelled a ‘humanitarian occupation’ (Anna, interview). As the movement's website – managed by refugees and supporters – mentioned during those early months: ‘It is all about visibility (…) The refuge church is (…) in itself a political statement’.⁶ According to some supporters the ‘vluchtkerk’ (and WAH in general) was about setting an example, showing how a different world was possible. Supporter Eve for example mentioned:

Sometimes it is just better to show how things should be done, and that is of course what WAH has been doing from the beginning (…) I think you should say: Ok, this is what you [the politicians] are supposed to be doing, but you’re not doing it, so we’ll show how you can offer solutions for these kinds of problems

The prefigurative character (the visualisation, horizontal nature and lived alternative) was extremely important in both the early formation and the explosive resonance of WAH in late 2012. For refugees WAH provided a strong sense of belonging that negated their experiences of living on the streets, being alone and vulnerable. Jonathan explained: ‘These are people, you know, I can find closure [with]. These are people I can find comfort with. It is a place where I don't have to explain myself (…) this is where I’m not alone’. Moreover, through being together and visible as one group, they were able to creatively move the political and media landscape, creating a fundamental experience of agency in the present, which was a negation of their experiences of non-agency. These prefigurative ideas are also reflected in the main credo of the group in those early days: ‘We want to live a normal life’. I am not arguing – nor were respondents – that life in the ‘vluchtkerk’ was a ‘normal’ life, far from it. But the aspiration ‘to live a normal life’ was not only a future goal, but also something that can be enacted in the here and now, as long as people act and work together. That prefigurative attempt at enacting a more empowered life was essential to what WAH was doing. As Dadusc (2016, 279) argues, refugees from WAH went ‘from silent subjects, who need to hide and who used to live under conditions of constant fear, to active and powerful collectives, able to organize their own struggle (…) opening free spaces of both contestation and socialisation’.

The name of the group – ‘We Are Here’ – also reflects a disruptive, albeit ambivalent, prefigurative spirit, as it embodies a desire to be ‘accepted’ but also an awareness that being here is an established fact. Brian mentioned: ‘It is not a slogan, it is a reality, that you can't deny. At the same time it is ambiguous, because your existence is denied by the state’. This form of belonging comes close to something ‘after citizenship’ (Papadopoulos and Tsianos 2013, 179), as it forms ‘a constituent power that creates and takes the right to stay, which leads to an alternative form of political community, where belonging is not associated with the nation-state’ (Schwiertz 2016, 623). Yet, ‘We Are Here’ can also be read as a demand for recognition. We are reminded here of McNevin’s (2013) ambivalence: sometimes contradicting contestations of citizenship on different levels can create productive, rather than only negative tensions.

For supporters, similarly, the occupation provided a means to contribute directly to making a ‘normal life’ for refugees less of a utopia. Supporter Anna mentioned the importance of this concrete and appealing way of ‘doing’ activism, and how it contrasted with the more conflictive nature of some of the street-protests she witnessed (and the lack of dialogue in them): ‘In the refuge church it was like: all support was welcome (…) It was so concrete, we tried to make it so concrete how you could help, how you could be a part of this protest’. As such, the occupation was not only a reflection of a political will to change society in the future through strategic means, it was also an ‘exemplaric practice’ (Maeckelbergh 2011, 14) of solidarity and belonging beyond citizenship and the staging of another possible world.

We Are Here's strategic interactions

No movement is purely prefigurative. Whether it is a conscious decision or an emerging reality, all movements have to make choices between prefigurative attempts at being the change, and more instrumental, strategic approaches to change (Engler and Engler 2014). Rather than seeing these perspectives as antithetical, we should approach them as concurrent and constantly shifting orientations that fulfill different purposes within movements. Which forms of belonging are shaped in activism is thus a result of complex balancing between the internal lifeworld politics (Smucker 2014) of movements and the more instrumental, interactive processes with other players (Engler and Engler 2014; Yates 2015).

As Ataç, Rygiel, and Stierl (2016, 536) write, it is therefore crucial to avoid ‘isolat[ing] the dynamics of movements (…) from contextual factors’. Or to put it more strongly with Jasper's words, the idea of ‘contextual factors’ outside of movements is a misleading ‘structural trick’ (2004, 5) that obscures that ‘what matters most are the many players out there, each with their own goals, choices, and actions’ (Jasper 2012, 22). Thus, ‘contexts’ or structures are actually ‘shifting coalitions of players’ (Jasper 2012, 22) that constantly – and strategically – do (or don't do) things. These insights are important for the question about belonging. If contexts are dynamic configurations of players rather than static structures, undocumented migrant and solidarity movements develop relationships with different (state) players. Moreover, because contexts are constantly shifting configurations of players that evaluate and change their strategies, claim making is also relatively unstable, ambivalent and can easily change.

Acknowledging that undocumented migrant and solidarity movements are not only shaped by ‘external’ opportunity structures but rather that such ‘structures’ are also ‘influenced and shaped’ (Ataç, Rygiel, and Stierl 2016, 536) by movements is a starting point, but it still tends to reify everything outside of movements as simply ‘out there’ and without agency (Jasper 2012, 22). It remains too ‘movement centric’ (Duyvendak and Fillieule 2015, 296), focusing almost solely on the actions of movements and positing them as always ‘distinct from’ and opposing a ‘given’ context (Jasper 2004, 2006). We therefore need to shift our focus to the study of interactions between players. Duyvendak and Jasper (2015) show that what is often seen as the government, is made up of a wide range of governmental players (such as courts, mayors, municipalities, parties) that not only interact independently with social movements, but also often have contradictions of their own. In order to understand what players do, which resources and skills they mobilise and how they enact (or break) certain rules in interactions, we therefore need to break down the state (Duyvendak and Jasper 2015).

I will illustrate these points by another series of events in the life of WAH. First, I introduce the general dynamic of the political arena in which WAH operated by highlighting the strained relationship between local and national government on the issue of asylum policies. I will then shortly revisit the early episode of WAH's existence (tent-camp and church-occupation), but this time using a lens of strategic interactionist action. This will illustrate how, parallel to the prefiguration of a better life, the behaviour of governmental players and their troubled interactions shaped an ambivalent strategy of claim making already from WAH's early beginnings. Last, I show how in the six months after the occupation of the church, the interactions between various governmental players and WAH changed to such an extent, that it led to an acceptance of state provided shelter by the WAH-group. The purpose of this section is to demonstrate how different acts of belonging – for example fighting for local shelter or demanding policy change – are at least partly shaped by the strategic behaviour of other players, can sometimes happen concurrently, and also change over time.

The dynamic of the political arena in which WAH operates was dominated by a strained relationship between local and the national government over the topic of asylum policies. Much of this dynamic is governed by an Administrative Agreement of 2007 between the national government and the Association of Netherlands Municipalities (Kos, Maussen, and Doomernik 2016, 361), which prohibits municipalities from giving emergency shelter to undocumented asylum seekers. The national government would, from 2007 on, commit to ‘improv[ing] the asylum procedure and departure arrangements and (…) take responsibility for migrants awaiting their removal’ while ‘[i]n return, municipalities would close the emergency reception centres’ (Kos, Maussen, and Doomernik 2016, 361). This, in theory, should lead to a situation in which no new undocumented persons would end up living on the streets. However, due to the ‘lacuna’ described earlier, national policies proved not to be ‘watertight’ at all, and many municipalities are still confronted with ‘un-expellable’ migrants (Kos, Maussen, and Doomernik 2016, 361). Because shelter is a municipal responsibility and asylum a national one, a political deadlock emerged in which many ‘Dutch municipalities have chosen to circumvent or resist the implementation of measures intended by the national government to install a strict asylum regime’ (Kos, Maussen, and Doomernik 2016, 362).

Especially in the first year of WAH, these tensions proved to be extremely important in the interactions between the national government, the municipality of Amsterdam and WAH and had an impact on claims and acts of belonging. WAH's ultimate claim was mainly aimed at the national political arena: ‘Leading a normal life’ (next to prefiguring it) had to come from the The Hague, rather than from Amsterdam. Their major claim was to be acknowledged as a group with agency and rights, rather than be left ‘in limbo’, and to be able to influence asylum policies. Refugee activist George mentioned: ‘The municipality was not responsible for our problems. The public prosecution service was responsible, the Immigration minister’.

In the first half-year, during the occupation of the church, no significant national political breakthroughs were realised. State secretary of Justice and Security Teeven kept saying that he did not see any gaps in asylum policies and that there were provisions in the form of so-called ‘Freedom Limiting Locations’, where refugees would be allowed if they agreed to ‘voluntary return’. Moreover, Teeven kept warning the mayor of Amsterdam that allowing camps/squats or temporary shelter measures would create ‘false hope’ (Het Parool, November 22, 2012). Teeven could maintain this position, because in the 2012 coalition agreements, labour party PvdA – traditionally backed by a multi-cultural constituency – had agreed on stricter asylum policies in exchange for other policy gains. Many supporters felt that this overriding power dynamic in The Hague blocked WAH from running a successful national lobby. Supporter Sarah summarised a feeling shared by most respondents: ‘The PvdA has gone under in total powerlessness because they don't dare to step out of the coalition agreements’.

Nevertheless, WAH had employed a dual strategy of politicising the problem both on a national policy level and locally from the early beginnings. Refugee-activist Jonathan even mentioned: ‘We divided ourselves in these two categories’. Demanding shelter provisions from the municipality was as important as running a national lobby. Moreover, the demand for shelter could strategically also have benefits in WAH's national ambitions. In a letter to newspaper Het Parool (October 3, 2012) addressed at mayor Van der Laan, two supporters wrote:

Municipalities can easily destroy these blossoming self-organizations by making it into a public disorder problem or by evicting them (…) But they can also realize that this is a unique opportunity to recognize that municipalities and refugees on the street have a shared problem

The letter ended with an invitation to ‘seize the opportunity they [refugees] are offering you’. It also asked the mayor to organise shelter, and that – teaming up with other municipalities – he should call on the Minister to ‘end a policy in which “un-expellable” people are dumped on the municipalities’ side of the fence’. Especially in the beginning of WAH, there was a strong hope among many that the city of Amsterdam could be of help. George mentioned how he appreciated that the mayor acknowledged refugees’ right to demonstrate: ‘It would be difficult without [the city of] Amsterdam. Amsterdam is a big city and we got a lot of support from its citizens’. Moreover, if WAH could ally with the municipality, showing they had partly overlapping goals – ending a suffocating Administrative Agreement – pressure could be mobilised to get the problem more prominently on the government-agenda. Jonathan mentioned: ‘If you have shelter, you know, he [the mayor] could stick his neck out and do that, then national government would be like: maybe it can be done differently?’ Supporter Adam also said:

Tactically speaking, I think it is better to demand shelter first. Once that shelter is given (…) it becomes a problem of the state, because it is going to cost a lot of money. I think once you reach that, the state is a lot more willing to see: how are we really going to solve this problem?

On the other hand, while a bare necessity, there was also concern expressed in some interviews that a focus on shelter could paradoxically backfire. It ran the risk of compromising WAH's visibility and agency, which was a key factor in making the wider policy-problem politically tangible, and also important in terms of prefiguring alternative ways of belonging. Supporter Paul summarised this paradox perfectly:

Exactly because we as volunteers, but also as a movement as a whole, put our energy much into shelter, and because that is slowly paying off now, the most important issue of a just asylum policy (…) has been pushed to the background

Some refugees also feared that accepting emergency shelter would risk terminating the unity of WAH because they would most likely be separated. It could destroy the bonds of solidarity and networks they had carefully built up and would probably not really solve anything in the long run. George said: ‘If you have one place, you have the morals to go against policy (…) If we stay together, that's most powerful’. Moreover, claiming a right to shelter is less emancipating compared to a claim of being recognised as part of a demos or ‘living a normal life’, as it suggests ultimate dependence on the dominant order. To put it starkly, for some people, demanding shelter could mean patching up a much deeper systemic problem. Adam said: ‘There were so many opinions about what the overall goal was: was it shelter, or was it a watertight asylum policy, or something in between?’ This is reminiscent of McNevin’s (2009) notion of different levels of contestation in undocumented migrant/solidarity protests, in which the ‘depth’ of demands is variable, ambivalent and different claims on citizenship are concurrent and sometimes even conflictual.

After the mayor evicted the occupied ‘refuge church’ in May 2013, during the summer and autumn interactions between WAH and the municipality began to increasingly tilt towards negotiations about a possible shelter. There were numerous reasons why this happened. First, many refugees became increasingly worn out after living in squatted buildings for almost a year and needed rest, for example to work on their asylum cases. Second, after the eviction, the hope that there were quick solutions to WAH's problems was waning fast, when it became increasingly clear that national politics was not going to intervene, or at least allow the municipality to give shelter to the group. Paul for example made a link between increasingly lobbying the municipality for shelter and lacking success in The Hague:

For a large part we put our efforts into lobbying on Amsterdam (…) because a roof over your head was always a bigger priority than national politics. But also because we felt over the years that The Hague is completely adamant.

Moreover, during the second half of 2013, the municipality seemed to be shifting position to some extent. During the occupation of the ‘refuge church’ the mayor had been constantly evading municipal responsibility by saying that ‘[t]he cabinet can intervene, because giving [municipal] shelter is not allowed, and it's also not entirely clear if that is even what the refugees want themselves’ (Het Parool, April 3, 2013). After the eviction, he seemed to recognise that this movement was not going to go away, and that no sufficient policy changes from The Hague could be expected any time soon. When WAH squatted a new building, the municipality became more closely involved and allowed that refugees set up a temporary contract with the respective housing association. The municipality now indirectly supported the group with food through the Salvation Army, paid for a company to improve security, arranged for all asylum dossiers to be re-examined and even mentioned it would not obstruct private initiatives to assist the group (Het Parool, October 2, 2013). Generally speaking, this also led to closer and more frequent interactions between municipal civil servants and WAH, who were now sometimes invited to the mayor's office. According to Jason:

At a certain moment it got through with the municipality (…) that a real movement had emerged and the “genie would not go back in the bottle” (…) [T]hey were much more on top of it

The mayor was indeed in a difficult position. Locally, he was attacked by a left-leaning city council and his own party PvdA (not least because of increased lobbying by WAH): he should fix the situation and prevent a humanitarian crisis. Moreover, a poll had shown that 80% of Amsterdam residents felt that the municipality should provide shelter (Het Parool, March 20, 2013). On the other hand, the mayor, who was considered a heavyweight in his party, would not risk open conflict with the national government by simply giving (unauthorised) shelter, because it would unsettle relations in the government coalition and jeopardize the precarious situation his own party was already in nationally. As a result, the mayor became increasingly involved as a linchpin in finding a solution that would satisfy WAH's (shelter) needs, but would not upset relations in the government coalition.

Still, it came as a surprise for many, when the mayor succeeded in November 2013 to strike a deal with state secretary Teeven to provide a six month shelter in a former prison in Amsterdam-South, a pilot project where refugees could work on their future. The move was surprising because it seemed the state secretary had finally shifted position, indirectly recognising the ‘lacuna’ in national policy, and effectively bending the rules of the Administrative Agreement. Media spoke of a ‘master stroke’ by the mayor and a ‘majestic gesture’ by the state secretary (Het Parool, December 6, 2013). The deal could be struck because the prison would formally be run by the state, not the municipality, or as the mayor kept on carefully saying: ‘with state secretary Teeven as landlord’ of the building (Ibid). Supporter Jason mentioned it was a very smart move: ‘He made Teeven an accomplice. He didn't provide shelter, Teeven did (…) And he got rid of the problem of people living on the streets’. With governmental backing, the mayor hoped he could convince WAH to take the offer.

Virtually all interviewees mentioned that the proposition of the so-called ‘Havenstraat-shelter’ was a dilemma and a pivotal point for WAH as a movement. For refugees, the main issue was a fear of moving to a former prison with guards and something resembling a detention regime; an experience that many had been through multiple times and would not prefer over living in squatted buildings. Moreover, they agreed that they would only go together as one group: Solidarity was always more important than the offer of six months shelter. One refugee said: ‘If people break our unity, we are nowhere’ while another felt that ‘a prison is a prison; they want you to disappear’ (Het Parool, November 29, 2013). On the other hand, refugees also felt some pressure to seize the offer as a breakthrough. Many people for example called on Jonathan: ‘Everyone was saying: van der Laan is trying his very best. What will the public of Amsterdam say about it if we say “no” to this?’ When word got out that WAH was thinking about refusing the offer, on the 30 November 2013, the mayor came out to the squatted ‘refuge office’ to convince refugees they had nothing to fear. In a passionate speech, the mayor finally convinced the group to sign up. Earlier however, he had already made it clear that if they would refuse, ‘they will waste a lot of goodwill with many people, and also with me’ (Het Parool, November 28, 2013) and that there would be no new offer.

Some supporters, like Stella, remembered they hoped the refugees would accept the offer out of concerns for their health, while others apparently tried to convince refugees because it was ‘strategically important’ (Jason, interview). Others felt that accepting the offer would compromise the much needed visibility and autonomy of the movement to keep pressure going. Anna for example expressed: ‘I was very much against it (…) It completely undermines the protest (…) People were put in a prison under state supervision’. Paul mentioned he understood very well why refugees went along, but he also for the first time felt a division in WAH:

[T]hat was also the moment when it became clear that it was no longer a political movement that was aiming for changing national politics, but that they [refugees] were simply demanding shelter (…) The refugees all understood those theories about “if you are not visible, then nobody will do anything for you” (…) [T]hey also saw: it won't change a damn thing

Ultimately, a group of approximately 60–70 refugees were not allowed in the ‘Havenstraat-shelter’, according to the municipality because they were not part of the original group that started in the ‘refuge church’. They went on to squat new buildings, effectively splitting up WAH into sub-groups. Until today, refugees continue to live in various squatted buildings in Amsterdam, using the name ‘We Are Here’, but their visibility has been diminished.

In this section, I showed that in order to fully understand how different acts of belonging (i.e. from claiming shelter to demanding systemic change) are shaped, we need to look at the constantly changing interactions that movements have with a wide range of (governmental) players. Moreover, and relating back to the main research question, the two previous empirical sections showed that both prefigurative and strategic approaches can coexist in one movement. Ambivalence between different approaches may sometimes be a handicap, but can also be productive, because they shape different, yet complementary forms of political belonging.

Conclusion

In this article, I tried to answer the question: ‘How do prefigurative acts and strategic interactions of undocumented migrant and solidarity movements shape different forms of political belonging?’ I showed that using social movement theory helps us to better understand how belonging in such activisms is made into a political act. By using a lens of ‘prefigurative politics’ I showed how ‘living a normal life’ could be partly enacted in the here and now rather than by simply demanding it from others: uniting, being visible and creating autonomous spaces gave an empowering experience that such ‘a normal life’ (or approximation) is possible, which in turn strengthens the ultimate goal of fighting for ‘a normal life’. As such, people of WAH with their allies had to ‘prefigure’ themselves first as a group and as political agents, before claiming a right to a normal life and entering the conventional political realm was even possible. This finding underscores research that argues that belonging and being political should not exclusively be defined in relation to and in the idiom of established categories such as citizenship. We are prone to miss these prefigurative practices as political because, in the words of Papadopoulos and Tsianos (2013, 188), ‘we are not trained to perceive them as “proper” politics and, secondly, because they create an excess that cannot be addressed in the existing system of political representation’.

A ‘prefigurative politics’ approach also links the study of undocumented migrant and solidarity activisms to broader patterns in activism. Migrant and solidarity activisms can thus be seen not as isolated ‘migration’ phenomena, but as contestations related to bottom-up alternatives to the perceived crisis of democracy, such as the post-2010 square movements. Yet, the case also shows that activists (-scholars) should avoid romanticising the reach of prefiguring alternatives, but instead position prefigurative politics strategically within a wider array of tactics that take the movement's environment seriously.

On the other hand, the case study showed that such an environment is neither a contextual structure nor a homogenous actor, but rather a dynamic set of players with their own choices and strategic actions. WAH got caught in the interplay between national and local politics, and changes in the behaviour of other players shaped the choices, directions and behaviour of the movement. As a result of shifting positions of other players, WAH had to choose between directions that entailed different acts of belonging on what McNevin (2009) would call different ‘levels’ of contestation. This study shows how such acts of belonging – for example fighting for shelter or trying to gain recognition and systemic change – are at least partly shaped by the strategic behaviour of other players, can sometimes happen concurrently, and change over time. These findings also mark a contribution to future research agendas: An interactionist perspective not only helps us to locate ambivalence in these protests, it also offers a framework for approaching the questions of how, when and why change occurs within such struggles. It teaches us to avoid an overly movement centric approach, but also to avoid reifying a movement's environment as a structural factor.

Combining empirical illustrations from the We Are Here movement with the latest insights in social movement studies helps us understand that undocumented migrant and solidarity activisms neither conform to purely ‘autonomous’ perspectives, nor to theories that only stress rights-based claims. Prefigurative, autonomous acts and claims on various state actors happen concurrently, and may lead to ambivalent notions of political belonging within the same movement. However, the case showed that such ambivalence between approaches can create not only negative, but also productive tensions. In order to understand how, when and why ambivalence or changes occur in the shaping of political belonging, it is vital to look at the everyday living of alternatives, as well as the constantly changing interactional dynamics of the arena in which claims are being made.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my supervisors Marlies Glasius and Imrat Verhoeven for their support and helpful comments. Also, I would like to thank all the respondents for the insights they gave me, as well as the two anonymous reviewers for their useful comments and suggestions.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Notes

1 I prefer the term ‘undocumented’ over the often used ‘irregular migrant’, because ‘irregular migrant’ denotes something ‘abnormal’ and shifts attention onto the body of migrants, instead of (inter-) national systems of regulation. Moreover, ‘undocumented’ seems the most fitting term in relation to the empirical case (see McNevin 2011, 19–20).

2 Despite the ‘technical/juridical’ inaccuracy, in the empirical parts I will refer to WAH-members as ‘refugees’ rather than ‘asylum-seekers’ or ‘undocumented migrants’, because respondents preferred it. In more general theory/policy contexts, I will use the term ‘undocumented’.

3 Estimations of undocumented people living in the Netherlands vary between 62.320 and 113.912 (Van de Sande and Muijsenbergh 2017, 649). This number contains not only ‘failed’ asylum seekers.

4 Interview/newspaper/website quotes are translated from Dutch, unless stated otherwise.

5 Original interview in English.

6 http://www.devluchtkerk.nl/over-ons/visie-en-werkwijze, visited on 10-2-2013.