Human Territoriality
Text: Henk van Houtum
Design: Giliane Cachin
Publisher: Edition Patrick Frey, 2020
Exhibition Views
(...) The spectacle of the border should give the impression of a clearly identifiable entity with objective and unchangeable borders that is meant to last for eternity. Knowing, at the same time, that there is no border in history that has not disappeared, the creation of a border is hence, as philosopher Peter Sloterdijk argues in his book Spheres, precisely this: a big NO against the death of the nation. It is a testament to the desire for eternal life: the border gate as a gate to heaven on earth. Seen in this light, a territorial border is, in fact, a faith or a belief; a border is an ideology that is believed in, whose walls and pillars act as the fundament of one’s own temple. A great deal of the attractiveness of the border ideology seems to be that, through such visible co-constructing and bordering of a community, especially if one has the opportunity to act as a co-maker, to have a voice, in the collective outcome and direction of the common narrative, the self gains the shelter of a meaningful, collective identity in the world. It creates a national home, a refuge with doors that can be closed, and thus a reassuring, comforting and secure distance from what is imagined to be a chaotic or hostile outside world. So, even though it is often realized that the nation, created and bounded by borders, is an imagined community, a fantasy of the collective, and doomed to disappear, it is still seen as a necessary one by many.
Yet, what is seen as truth in one domain can be a lie in the space and/or eyes of an Other. And whatever conventional reality exists in one’s own domain may be a doomed image or fantasy in the domains and/or eyes of the Other. It implies that the constitution of a shared space – with a shared narrative, and fantasy, and a shared truth – may create an immediate satisfaction, and temporarily fill an existential void or emptiness in us, but, as our interaction with others is inherently dynamic, the consequence is a never-ending desire for appropriation and control of one’s own truth.
Maybe it is precisely because of this dependency on persistent symbolic and discursive communication that borders are often landmarked with great morphological and spectacular presence. Clearly, this visibility strategy is successful. Because the borders that uphold the national temple are a favorite object of admiration, curiosity, worry and anxiety and thus an attention-grabbing spectacle that attracts media stories and camera clicks. In some cases, photography is not
allowed, which only serves to increase the holy power, secrecy and anxiety that these socially constructed lines drawn in the sand provoke. Interestingly, although there is no ur-border in terms of its morphological appearance or imaginary status – a wall, a gate, a door, a tree, a river, a line in the sand can all be borders –, borders often seem to be built in the same recognizable form and shape: as thick walls or spiky fences. It is as if a secret, universal agreement had been made to decide what a border should look like and how it should be built, notwithstanding its actual effectiveness, namely as tough and potent obstructions that evoke classic images of mighty fortresses and castles.
At the same time, the photos of these broken borders are also a good reminder of how we train our eyes perhaps too much on the spectacle and physical materiality of borders – the fences and the walls – and on the discursive and often violent practices and meanings that occur at or are attached to borders. In many ways, this is understandable. Our time is witnessing an exponential growth in the number of border walls, something that indeed demands a thorough academic investigation and explanation. In this age of globalization, shifting borders, rising conflicts and migration there seems to be much longing to nostalgia for the imagined loss of shared values and norms, and much emphasis on the control and protection of borders. Loud calls for “thick and beautiful walls”, or claims that ever-higher walls are needed to protect “ourselves”, no matter whether they are effective or not, often come across as clear and attractive electoral messages to many.
Yet, what this zooming in on the material manifestations – which often coincides with rhetorical blasts by populist leaders – does not show, is the much more latent and invisible paper reality of visa borders, that are not guarded by men with guns but by bureaucrats with pencils. It is these paper borders that help sustain a powerful feudal inequality in the mobility of human beings. Clearly, some passports are more equal than others. So, it is in these mundane embassies that most of the actual border violence takes place. For this is where people are being discriminated against on the basis of a lottery of birth and condemned to journeys of life and death even, paradoxically, when they wish to seek refuge. The toughest borders on this planet are thus not made of iron fences or concrete walls, but made of paper, created and decided upon in ordinary offices of embassies across the world, far away from the media’s zoom lens and the populist eye of political leaders. (...)
Henk van Houtum, 2020