Politics of fear, stories of hope
Aaron Banks, a wealthy contributor to the Leave campaign for Brexit in the UK has recently been accused, among other things, of using his insurance company employees to search for images of migrants to create social media ads against migration. These images can be read as an attempt to provoke nationalist sentiment and fear about an overwhelming influx of migrants who are faceless, nameless, but somehow also decidedly un-British. In the US mid-term elections last week, Trump’s last ditch efforts to mobilise the Republican base appeal to racist and xenophobic fears about migrants from the south. In South Africa, the main opposition party, the Democratic Alliance, just released a policy position paper that blames migrants for crime, unemployment and scarcity of public services. Brazil just elected a president who publically and repeatedly told another State senator that he wouldn’t discuss a policy issue with her because she was so ugly that “wasn’t even worth raping”. There are mounting examples that drawing the boundaries of who belongs and who does not can pay off in terms of gaining political power.
Political narratives about who belongs, and who has legitimacy to set the agenda establish categories of difference with violent consequences. In South Africa, prominent politicians have been partly responsible for provoking anti-foreigner riots. In the US, in the week leading up to the midterm elections, there were a series of violent attacks on those Trump claimed were ‘enemies of the people’.
These examples are not new or unique. Yet there is something deeply disturbing about the turn towards a highly-polarised politics of blame that gathers force through mobilising a mixture of rage, fear and hate amplified through increasing pervasive social media. Migrants and refugees are particularly politically convenient scape goats for social ills. Other groups are also targeted on the basis of religion, race, gender, sexuality, ability, etc. To move past these political narratives of exclusion is not easy because there are vested interests behind maintaining and extending these exclusions. To challenge this requires research that goes beyond just describing the problem.
The everyday experiences of migrants trying to make a life for themselves (and their families) are often invisible. Part of what is missing is the stories of how people negotiate the ordinary experiences of finding work, a home, and becoming part of the community where they live. The nuances of these experiences go unrecognised because they don’t always conform to the wider political narratives and stereotypes about how migrants should be.
At the same time, for those positioned in opposition to migrants and refugees by the political narratives, there is also a lack of space to express their own everyday experiences. This sense of not being heard and the frustrated entitlement to it is a contributing factor to the politicians’ success with mobilising hatred and fear of an ‘other’.
With the support of a Marie Sklodowaska Currie Individual Fellowship at the Centre for Trust, Peace and Social Relations (CTPSR), Coventry University, I am wading straight into the middle of these dynamics. For the next two years, I will be working with both ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ groups: using storytelling to give them a space to articulate their everyday experiences. Starting with these everyday experiences of what it is like to negotiate your way towards the life that you want, and what makes that hard, I intend to use the storytelling process to try and articulate a different basis for conversation. How can the different groups involved, pitted as against each other by the wider political narratives, create their own conversations rooted in their actual experiences. What can these conversations open up or close down in terms of responding to the wider political narratives?
With each group, we will first work through a carefully facilitated personal storytelling process to allow them a space to tell their stories. Then the groups will come together to watch each other’s stories (if they decide to share them publically), and to see what can emerge. Together, the groups will have the opportunity to design a public event to take forward what they think is important, coming out of their stories and their conversations.
This kind of work cannot happen in isolation: it is extremely important to work through partnership with organisations with established and on-going relationships with migrants and refugees and others in the places involved. While storytelling is an important part of how to challenge the wider narratives of exclusion, people need support in a variety of ways to deal with the complexities of building their lives. I am fortunate to have the opportunity to partner with the Adonis Musati Project in Cape Town and with and Migrant Voice in the UK. With these partners, alongside CTPSR, the next two years should offer a chance for ground-breaking research that is urgently needed in a context where fear and anger are the political weapons of choice.
This blog will accompany the process: the ups and downs, the difficulties (there will be many) and triumphs (hopefully there will be some!). I will blog about the process of storytelling as well as the issues we are addressing through the process.
The more a politics of fear gains currency, the more real stories from diverse people are needed — to help us find hope.
