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Outside the international : Roma, Europe, and the leaky valves of modernity Thorpe, Benjamin 2010

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Outside the International: Roma, Europe, and the leaky valves of  modernity by Benjamin Thorpe A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS in The Faculty of  Graduate Studies (Geography) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) December 2010 © Benjamin Thorpe, 2010 Abstract In the wake of  the 2008 Italian census of  Roma and declaration of  a state of  emergency in the regions of Lazio, Campania and Lombardy, I ask why it is that attempting to 'solve' the Roma 'problem' has become such a politically expedient strategy for parties across the political spectrum and throughout Europe. I address this question through the lens of  'the international', and the ways in which Roma have repeatedly been produced as its outside: the other against which the European order is defined. This creation of  an outside  to  Europe  within  lies  at  the  heart  of  the  recent  upsurge  in  borderwork  conducted  at  non- traditional borders within Europe, and exposes an important paradox: the 'problem' of  outsiders exposed by vacillating borders demands 'the international'  be re-secured, and yet it  is the very securing of  'the international' that both creates these outsiders and portrays shifting borders as a threat. I take Italy as my case study to examine how this interplay works to construct Roma as other, interpret this otherness as a threat to the integrity of  the Italian state, and demand the spatial removal of  Roma (into regulated camps), thus reaffirming their otherness. I therefore suggest that though the freedoms promised within the frame of  the international are seductive, perhaps we ought to look elsewhere for our utopias if  we are not to perpetuate a system of  exclusions within Europe. ii Table of  Contents Abstract.........................................................................................................................................................................ii Table of  Contents......................................................................................................................................................iii List of  Tables..............................................................................................................................................................vi List of  Figures...........................................................................................................................................................vii Acknowledgements.................................................................................................................................................viii Epigraph......................................................................................................................................................................ix 1 Introduction..............................................................................................................................................................1 Themes of  Analysis..............................................................................................................................................5 Structure..................................................................................................................................................................9 2 Locating the International...................................................................................................................................13 Scripting the International.................................................................................................................................14 The International...........................................................................................................................................14 Delimiting the International........................................................................................................................17 The Territoriality of  the International.......................................................................................................20 (Re)regulating Space............................................................................................................................................24 Shifting Territorialities..................................................................................................................................24 Disciplinary Space and the Scandal of  Raison d'État..............................................................................26 The Security Apparatus.................................................................................................................................29 State Borders and National Security................................................................................................................32 Nation..............................................................................................................................................................32 Borders............................................................................................................................................................37 iii Security............................................................................................................................................................41 Conclusions..........................................................................................................................................................45 3 From Minority to Migrant: The (Dis)involvement of  Roma in the European Project............................49 The Rise and Fall of  Roma as National Minority..........................................................................................52 The Politicisation of  Antiziganism.............................................................................................................52 National Self-determination.........................................................................................................................53 Institutional Multinationality........................................................................................................................57 Nazism.............................................................................................................................................................61 The Resurgence of  European Interest in Roma............................................................................................66 The Return of  the National (and not so National) Minority.................................................................66 EU Acquis.......................................................................................................................................................73 Citizenship Directive.....................................................................................................................................76 European Roma Summit..............................................................................................................................81 Roma as the Migrant Inside...............................................................................................................................85 Scalar and Historical Myths of  Enlightenment........................................................................................85 In Liminal Drift..............................................................................................................................................87 Conclusions..........................................................................................................................................................89 Haunting the Dreams of  a United Europe...............................................................................................89 From Minority to Migrant............................................................................................................................92 4 Italy and the Emergenza Nomadi.......................................................................................................................95 Roma and Italy.....................................................................................................................................................98 From the Middle Ages to World War II....................................................................................................98 Post-war Immigration.................................................................................................................................101 Political Response........................................................................................................................................104 iv The Emergenza Nomadi.................................................................................................................................108 Lead-up..........................................................................................................................................................108 State of  Emergency.....................................................................................................................................114 Census............................................................................................................................................................119 Nomad Camps.............................................................................................................................................123 Casting Roma Outside the International......................................................................................................128 Coup d'État...................................................................................................................................................128 The Nomad..................................................................................................................................................133 (Re)writing the International.....................................................................................................................137 Conclusions........................................................................................................................................................139 5 Conclusions..........................................................................................................................................................144 Asserting and Abrogating the Limits of  the International...................................................................144 Antiziganism as State Violence.................................................................................................................146 The Complicity of  'Europe'.......................................................................................................................147 European Dreams and Nightmares...............................................................................................................149 References................................................................................................................................................................153 Appendix: Glossary of  European Institutions..................................................................................................190 v List of  Tables Table 1: Estimated numbers of  Roma in Europe......................................................................................................3 vi List of  Figures Figure 1: Time-line of  European institutions’ engagement in Roma issues........................................................68 Figure 2: Time-line of  Emergenza Nomadi and European responses...............................................................109 Figure 3: Clearance of  Casilino 900 camp, Rome..................................................................................................112 Figure 4: Roma camp ablaze in Ponticelli, Naples on May 14th..........................................................................115 Figure 5: Roma census form from Naples..............................................................................................................120 Figure 6: Displacement of  Roma from Casilano 900 camp.................................................................................127 vii Acknowledgements This thesis has taken longer to complete than I ever intended, and I must thank all those who stuck by me through all  the missed deadlines. Most particularly  I  thank my supervisor Merje Kuus, without whose excellent advice, generous criticism and supreme patience I should still  be lost  today.  I  also thank my second reader, Gerry Pratt, for encouraging me in the topic and agreeing to lumber herself  with the task of  reading the final product. Thanks to Craig Jones for also reading the thesis, and to Craig and Mike in solidarity. I learned a lot from the graduate seminars I was fortunate enough to participate in, including those chaired by Merje, Gerry, Derek Gregory, David Ley and Dan Hiebert, and a particular debt is owed to the latter for enabling me to attend a formative workshop on migration in Victoria. I thank all those whose  works  I  have  drawn on  in  the  pages  that  follow,  and  apologise  wholeheartedly  where  I  have misinterpreted their words. All errors, whether of  reasoning, judgement or omission, are entirely my own. Lastly, I thank my family and friends for all their love and support. viii Epigraph The danger is that a global, universally interrelated civilization may produce barbarians from its own midst by forcing millions of  people into ... the conditions of  savages. Arendt, 1966:302 One of  the essential characteristics of  modern biopolitics (which will continue to increase in our century) is its constant need to redefine the threshold in life that distinguishes and separates what is inside from what is outside Agamben, 1998:77 [U]ncertainty about the notion of  frontiers...has destabilized the differentiation between friends and foes, insiders and outsiders, and opened the door for the possibility to think about friendship and human rights all over the world, but also for the possibility of  outsiders inside, of  enemies within, of  the importation of  the chaotic tendencies reigning outside. Bigo, 2005:50-1 In principle, at least, modern political life cannot exist outside the modern international, even though this is exactly where some might insist that a lot of  political life does indeed find its place; or, more precisely, where a lot of  political life finds its place both inside and outside the modern structures of  international relations, on boundaries that do not quite work as the categories of  modern political analysis suggest they ought to work. Walker, 2010:23 ix 1 Introduction On 16 September 2010, a one-day European Council summit convened to discuss EU common foreign policy  was  enlivened  by  a  dramatic  lunchtime  spat  between  French  President  Nicolas  Sarkozy  and European Commission President José Manuel Barroso. The hour-long exchange, audible from the corridor (EurActiv, 2010b), was described by British Prime Minister David Cameron as 'lively' (Traynor, 2010c), by Luxembourg Prime Minister  Jean-Claude Juncker  as  'virile'  (EurActiv,  2010b),  and by Bulgarian Prime Minister Boyko Borisov as 'an intense exchange of  sharp words' (Traynor, 2010c) and 'a big argument – I could  also  say  a  scandal'  (Castle  & Bennhold,  2010;  Dnevnik,  2010);  the  German chancellor,  Angela Merkel, drily reported that 'the lunch was good – but only regarding the food' (Castle & Bennhold, 2010). The disagreement concerned Barroso's criticism of  Sarkozy's programme of  expulsion of  Roma from France, to which Sarkozy reacted 'violently'. EurActiv (2010b) reported that: 'A low-point [in the argument] was apparently reached when Barroso refused to apologise for [European Commissioner Viviane] Reding's statements comparing France's Roma expulsions to the deportation of  Jews in World War II. [Barroso] reportedly described Sarkozy's attempt to “create agitation” around Reding's comments as “useless rhetoric”.' (EurActiv, 2010b: n. pag.) The statement in question was made two days earlier (on 14th September 2010) by Reding, the European Commissioner for Justice, Fundamental Rights and Citizenship and Vice-President of  the Commission, at a midday press briefing: 'I personally have been appalled by a situation which gave the impression that people are being removed from a member state of  the European Union just because they belong to an ethnic minority. This is a situation I had thought Europe would not have to witness again after the Second World War.  I  have made crystal-clear my doubts about the  legality  of  the  French measures. ... This is not a minor offence. After 11 years of  experience in the Commission, I even go further: this is a disgrace. … my patience is wearing thin. Enough is enough.' (Reding, 2010: n. pag.; European Commission, 2010b: n. pag.) Reding's statement had already provoked an angry response, with French European affairs minister Pierre Lellouche, complaining that 'The tone she took...is not the manner one uses to address a great state like 1 France, which is the mother of  human rights' and that Reding's 'passion exceeded her rationale' (Davies, 2010), and Sarkozy caustically suggesting that (the Luxembourgian) Reding 'take the Roma with her to Luxembourg' (The Independent, 2010; Traynor, 2010b). This  exchange acts  in  three  key  respects  as  a  microcosm for  the  disproportionately  significant position that  Roma issues occupy in contemporary European politics.  Roma, the ethnic minority long known by the (usually, but not necessarily) pejorative exonym 'Gypsy', are usually estimated at numbering between  10  and  12  million,  and  are  invariably  introduced  as  'the  largest  ethnic/national  minority  in Europe'. This should not distract, though, from the extremely slim proportions of  the population that Roma constitute in most states outside of  South-East Europe (see Table 1).  The Sarkozy set-to firstly illustrates the tendency for states to develop discriminatory policies to deal with Roma, in this case the French collective expulsions of  more than 1 000 Roma in less than a month (Eubusiness, 2010). Though vigorously denied by the French government, with Sarkozy announcing that 'of  course we are not aiming at a given ethnic population', and that 'there has been no form of  discrimination whatsoever' (Traynor, 2010c),  the  discriminatory  nature  of  the  expulsions  was  quite  evident  from  the  outset,  and  all  but confirmed by a leaked administrative circular from the French Ministry of  the Interior dated 5 th August 2010, which ordered that: '300 camps or illegal settlements must be evacuated within three months; Roma camps are a priority.  ...It  is  down  to  the  préfect  [state  representative]  in  each  department  to  begin  a systematic dismantling of  the illegal camps, particularly those of  the Roma.' (Ministère de l'Intérieur, 2010; Prochasson, 2010; Willsher, 2010) Secondly, we see the positioning of  such policies, implicitly by the actors involved and explicitly by media and commentators, as populist actions pandering to a xenophobic or racist Right. In this instance, this is manifest in Belgian MEP and former prime minister Guy Verhofstadt's comment that it is unacceptable for politicians  to  be  'tempted  by  populist,  racist  and  xenophobic  policies'  (Willsher,  2010),  or  The Independent's (2010) editorial line that 'the ballot box beckons, and the hunt for the votes of  the fearful and prejudiced is on'. Thirdly, European institutions, in this case the Commission, but widely reported 2 European State Official number of Roma (year of  last census) Estimated numbers of Roma Mean estimate % of  total population Albania 1 261 80 000 - 150 000 115 000 3.59% Andorra 0 0.00% Armenia No data available 100 - 300 200 0.00% Austria No data available 20 000 - 30 000 25 000 0.30% Azerbaijan No data available 2 000 2 000 0.02% Belarus No data available 10 000 - 70 000 40 000 0.41% Belgium No data available 20 000 - 40 000 30 000 0.28% Bosnia and Herzegovina 8 864 (1991) 40 000 - 60 000 50 000 1.31% Bulgaria 370 908 (2001) 700 000 - 800 000 750 000 9.74% Croatia 9 463 (2001) 30 000 - 40 000 35 000 0.79% Cyprus No data available 1 000 - 1 500 1 250 0.12% Czech Republic 11 718 (2001) 150 000 - 300 000 225 000 2.18% Denmark No data available 1 000 - 10 000 5 500 0.10% Estonia 542 (2000) 1 000 - 1 500 1 250 0.09% Finland No data available 9 000 - 12 000 10 500 0.19% France No data available 300 000 - 500 000 400 000 0.64% Georgia 1 744 (1989) 2 000 - 2 500 2 250 0.05% Germany No data available 70 000 - 140 000 105 000 0.12% Greece No data available 180 000 - 350 000 265 000 2.36% Hungary 190 046 (2001) 400 000 - 800 000 700 000 6.93% Iceland 0 0.00% Ireland 22 435 (2006) 32 000 - 39 000 35 500 0.80% Italy No data available 120 000 - 160 000 140 000 0.23% Latvia 8 205 (2000) 8 000 - 20 000 14 000 0.60% Liechtenstein 0 0.00% Lithuania 2 571 (2001) 3 000 - 4 000 3 500 0.10% Luxembourg 0 100 - 500 300 0.06% Malta 0 0.00% Moldova 12 280 (2004) 15 000 - 200 000 107 500 2.68% Monaco 0 0.00% Montenegro 2 601 (2003) 13 500 - 25 000 19 250 3.20% Netherlands No data available 30 000 - 46 000 38 000 0.23% Norway No data available 2 500 - 11 000 6 750 0.14% Poland 12 731 (2002) 15 000 - 60 000 37 500 0.09% Portugal No data available 40 000 - 100 000 70 000 0.65% Romania 535 140 (2002) 1 200 000 - 2 500 000 1 850 000 8.56% 3 European State Official number of Roma (year of  last census) Estimated numbers of Roma Mean estimate % of  total population Russian Federation 182 617 (2002) 450 000 - 1 200 000 725 000 0.51% San Marino 0 0.00% Serbia 108 193 (2002) 400 000 - 800 000 600 000 6.31% Slovak Republic 89 920 (2001) 380 000 - 600 000 490 000 9.07% Slovenia 3 246 (2002) 7 000 - 10 000 8 500 0.42% Spain No data available 650 000 - 800 000 725 000 1.60% Sweden No data available 35 000 - 50 000 42 500 0.46% Switzerland No data available 25 000 - 35 000 30 000 0.40% The Former Yugoslav Republic of  Macedonia 53 879 (2002) 135 500 - 260 000 197 750 9.88% Turkey 4 656 (1945) 500 000 - 5 000 000 2 750 000 3.71% Ukraine 47 600 (2001) 50 000 - 400 000 225 000 0.48% United Kingdom 4 096 (2001) 200 000 - 300 000 250 000 0.40% UNMIK Kosovo 45 745 (1991) 25 000 - 50 000 37 500 3.34% Total estimates 6 152 700 - 15 980 300 11 166 500 1.35% Table 1: Estimated numbers of  Roma in Europe (Source: Cahn & Guild, 2008:82-3) simply as 'the EU', are both implicitly and explicitly held to defend a more just ethic, the universalist and cosmopolitan counterweight to states’ parochial and nationalistic concerns. Reding is unequivocal in her defence of  'the Commission's role as  guardian of  the Treaties',  and the un-Europeanness of  France's actions: 'Let me be very clear: Discrimination on the basis of  ethnic origin or race has no place in Europe.  It  is  incompatible with the values on which the European Union is  founded ...  I therefore find it deeply disturbing that a Member State calls so gravely into question, by the actions of  its administration, the common values and the law of  our European Union.' (Reding, 2010: n. pag.; European Commission, 2010b: n. pag.) While  the  power  and  competence  of  European  institutions is  a  source  of  debate,  particularly  given France's position as a founding member, the idea that they 'naturally' speak and act from a more just and somehow 'higher' level rarely is. While Reding's invocation of  the Holocaust drew criticism of  tactlessness from many European leaders and media outlets, at the Council summit only Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi had spoken 4 in defence of  Sarkozy on the substance of  the conflict (EurActiv, 2010b).  Berlusconi's support was no surprise: the previous day, he had announced his support for the French measures in an interview with the French newspaper Le Figaro, applauding Sarkozy for being 'fully conscious' of  a 'Roma problem [which] is not  specifically  French,  but  concerns  all  the  countries  of  Europe'  (Mougeotte  &  Heuzé,  2010;  The Economist, 2010). It is even less surprising in light of  an August 21st 2010 interview his Minister for the Interior,  Roberto  Maroni,  gave to the  Italian newspaper  Corriere  Della  Sera in  which Maroni  said  that 'Sarkozy is right but he is certainly not new', that France is 'doing nothing but copying Italy', and pointed triumphantly to 2007 expulsions of  Roma by the mayor of  Rome, 'who was not Jean-Marie Le Pen but [the leftist] Walter Veltroni' (Salvia, 2010; EurActiv, 2010a). Berlusconi and Maroni's words give a flavour of  the familiarity of  both the construction of  Roma issues as a 'problem', and of  exclusionary state tactics taken in response to this 'problem'. In short, they point towards the worrying unexceptionality of  the exceptional measures taken by France against Roma, and the extent to which antiziganism (that is, the exclusionary discrimination of  Roma) has become institutionalised in European politics. In 2001, Nicolae Gheorghe and Thomas Acton wrote that 'the twenty-odd racist killings and 400 house-burnings [of  Roma] we recorded for 1990-1 were but the swallows of  the high summer of  murder and mayhem that the 1990s became' (p.50). The increase in antiziganist violence of  both state and society (including paramilitary and vigilante forces  that  blur  the  lines  between  the  two)  across  Europe,  from  France  and  Italy  to  Hungary (OSCE/ODIHR, 2010), the Czech Republic (ECRI, 2009) and Northern Ireland (Amnesty International, 2009a), force us to once again re-evaluate the past to account for the present, and heightens the urgency of questions as to why it is Roma who are excluded, why their exclusion might be politically expedient, and why despite the increased involvement of  European institutions, their exclusion is worsening today. Themes of  Analysis It is to Italy, and the exclusions of  Roma wrought by figures like Berlusconi and Maroni, that I turn as I develop my argument. As Maroni indicates, many of  the political moves made by France in relation to its 5 Roma population were prefigured by very similar moves by Italy in the preceding years, both in substance (here too collective expulsion was used, in defiance of  EU law) and in tone. If  anything, the public airing of  antiziganist sentiment by political actors was and is even more brazen in Italy. However, I do not wish to pathologise exclusion to Italy (or to France, or any other particular region where latent antiziganism has flared up in the political spotlight), nor to what is too easily known as the 'racist Right', and I certainly do not mean to attribute any essential victimhood to Roma. Rather, I look at the complicity of  the majority, and of  what we might think of  as Europe, in creating and supporting political systems and landscapes that require and legitimate an excluded minority. While I do not wish to deny the contextual factors that make Roma, above other groups, the target of  such discrimination, explanatory power must be given not to this context, but to the system in which it takes on meaning: thus, when I look at the political identity of  Roma, I wish to do so in terms of  the political ontology within which such an identity makes sense. When asking, as Judith Butler (2004:57) puts it, 'under what conditions some human lives cease to become eligible for basic, if  not universal, human rights', I wish to simultaneously ask how rights come to be thought of  as basic or universal (or even human), and in what way this framing might be implicated in their suspension; that  is,  in what ways the denial  of  rights  to and insecuritisation of  Roma might constitute the seamy underside of  the very rights and securities we cherish. In short, and following Janet Lyon (2004:518), I wish to look at the ways in which 'the figure of  the “Gyspy”...reveal[s] something about the leaky valves of modernity'.  I  am  therefore  every  bit  as  concerned  with  the  well-intentioned  as  with  the  malicious interventions in Roma issues, and most concerned of  all with the underlying rationality that supports both. Three recurring and interrelated themes run through this attempt to make sense of  what I take to be the institutionalisation of  Romani discrimination. The first of  these is the way in which Roma are held to inhabit a political identity outside of  the international. By this I mean the way that the absence of  a territory in which Roma constitute the majority population is interpreted as signifying their statelessness (both figuratively and literally) or deterritorialisation, such that they 'fall through' the categories through which politics is constituted, and are hence held to be incommensurate with the political axes by which 6 notions like home, belonging, security and freedom are constructed. As R.B.J. Walker writes, 'In some respects, it may seem utterly absurd or at least practically irrelevant to speak about anything being outside the modern system of  states. In other respects,  it  may be perfectly obvious that much of  contemporary political life exceeds the bounds of  this particular framing of  where and what political life must be.' (Walker, 2010:10, emphasis in original) Thus, we might look at the way in which Roma are held to 'exceed...the empirical categories through which [we] take stock' (Lyon, 2004:522) of  ourselves, and thus constitute what Dipesh Chakrabarty  (2000:148) calls the 'unmanageable excess' of  the European political system. This excessiveness relies on a certain singularity, or flatness, of  politics: an affirmation of  the  limits of  politics so familiar it is barely noticed. However, as Karena Shaw (2008:39) writes, '[w]e do not have sovereign states because they are inevitable or necessary,  but  because  their  inevitability  and  necessity  have  been  produced;  we  have  been  and  must continue to be convinced of  them'. Thus I shall pay attention to the delimitation of  the international, and the ever-trickier reconciliation of  the bounds of  state and of  nation, each transforming in complex and contradictory ways, yet each aligning to produce narratives of  who belongs in certain places and who does not. While I wish to ground this delimitation in very real border crises, particularly the crisis of  'illegal immigration' of  Roma, I do so on the understanding that what is being defended is not merely the territory of  this or that state, but the very territoriality of  the international. I wish therefore to look at the ways that Roma are produced not merely as out-of-place, but as place-less, outside the logic by which we have come to think of  people occupying place. The second theme concerns the manner in which this delimitation produces Roma as a threat to security. This is most obvious in the exclusions wrought by drawing political lines such that those that transgress them are automatically constructed as objects of  security; one might look at the way in which 'the very idea of  “asylum”, once a matter of  civil and civilized pride, has been reclassified as a dreadful concoction of  shameful naivety and criminal irresponsibility' (Bauman, 2004:57), or in which 'secessionist movements...are increasingly being redefined as terrorists, or, at the very least, as dangers to local, regional, and global stability'  (Elden,  2009:149).  'Securitisation theory'  (Buzan et  al,  1998)  holds that objects  of 7 security are created in order to construct some sort of  existential threat against which actors like Sarkozy or Berlusconi justify taking emergency measures, and applying restraints on democracy, in the name of  the nation-state (although Bigo (2002) is surely right to insist that securitisation is just as often democratic as it is extra-democratic). However, while I am broadly sympathetic to this line of  analysis, I fear that explaining the  political  salience  of  a  certain  'threat'  purely  in  terms  of  the  rhetorical  sway  of  politicians  risks neglecting important questions of  why such rhetoric 'sticks', and why rational arguments against it don't. It is not that the public is ignorant, but that framing security concerns in the syntax of  the international resonates with a set of  familiar truths. This taps into an even more worrisome issue: that treating the objects  of  securitisation  (in  this  case,  Roma)  as  perfectly  innocent  and  arbitrary  stooges  that  cynical politicians demonise for their own gain is to miss our own complicity in framing them as stooge. This attitude,  termed 'scapegoat theory'  by Hannah Arendt (1966:5),  'upholds the perfect  innocence of  the victim, an innocence which insinuates not only that no evil was done but that nothing at all was done which  might  possibly  have  a  connection  with  the  issue  at  stake'.  In  fact,  the  scapegoat's  identity  is intimately related to the issue at stake, their demonisation as threat to the nation and state; it is with this in mind that I seek to explore the marginal political identity of  the outsider-insider as the gunpowder that gives the construction of  Roma as an object of  security its political fire-power. The third theme that I wish to work with is the presence of  regulation in the exclusion of  Roma. That is to say, it is not a problem of  a lack of  government regulation, but a problem of  this regulation itself (though I wish to keep both 'government' and 'regulation' as broadly conceived as possible). This might at first seem counterintuitive: as Martin Kovats noted in 2001, '[t]he rapid pace of  change and increase in attention by authorities claiming to support and protect Roma/Gypsy people and their culture and identity appears a progressive departure from the crude intervention or hostile neglect characteristic of  national policies  in  recent  decades'  (p.94).  However,  this  assumption  is  not  borne  out  empirically.  As  the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe's Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights  (OSCE/ODIHR, 2008:7)  concedes,  '[i]n  spite  of  the rather large number of  international  and 8 national Roma-related initiatives, these have not alleviated, in proportion to the resources invested, the continuing social  and economic inequalities,  marginalisation,  racism, and discrimination experienced by Roma and Sinti'. I suggest that we should at least entertain the reverse hypothesis: that the exacerbation of Romani discrimination has occurred not despite a mushrooming of  Roma initiatives,  particularly  from European institutions and non-governmental organisations (NGOs), but because of  it. To account both for this proposition and its counterintuitive nature, I wish to look at the ways in which interventions in Roma issues constitute state violence, that violence which, 'because it always presents itself  as pre-accomplished' (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987:447), is rendered non-violent. Structure My analysis proceeds in three movements. In Chapter 2 I introduce and examine the theoretical literatures that inform my study. I delve further into the historical production and reproduction of  a political identity 'outside the international',  and address what this might mean in a world in which the nation-state, that fundamental building-block of  the international, is commonly seen as 'too small to serve as an effective unit of  coordination in an increasingly internationalised world, too large and remote to be a plausible and legitimate  unit  of  identification'  (Brubaker,  1996:2).  Focusing  on  the  contemporary  dislocation  and disaggregation of  state borders that is  often held to support  such a view, I look at the tension these developments create between transcending the international and reasserting it, and the way in which these tensions have ratcheted up the pressure (and the stakes) for those caught outside the international. All  too  often  Roma  histories  are  instrumentalised  either  as  proof  of  their  Indic  (and  thus definitively non-European) roots, or as illustrations of  their eternal discrimination. I seek to simultaneously avoid and critique such stories  by  instead (in  Chapter 3)  examining the twentieth century relationship between Roma and the international that lends such histories their political currency. I outline the shift in political identity of  Roma in Europe from being one national minority among many at the start of  the century, to their position by its end as an exceptional 'migrant' population who require 'special treatment' 9 wherever in Europe they alight. Taking a broad conception of  'Europe', I wish to look at the development of  the EU and its growing concern for Roma in the context of  comparable political orderings of  the past, from the Minorities Treaties signed in the aftermath of  the First World War and secured by the League of Nations to the 'institutional multinationality' (Brubaker, 1996) of  the Soviet Union, and its 1920s-30s policy of  korenizatsiia,  or  'indigenisation'.  I  offer  a  critical  assessment of  the  assumption that  European-level politics  exhibits  some  kind  of  anti-nationalistic  essence  that  might  rescue  Roma  from  the  'natural' discrimination  of  the  state.  I  draw  upon  treaties,  laws  and  resolutions  of  states  and  supranational organisations, governmental and non-governmental reports,  and historical secondary source material in order to make my case. In Chapter 4 I show the ways in which the theoretical framework developed in Chapter 2 can be brought to bear on Italy's 2008 declaration of  a state of  emergency in relation to its Roma population. I use this as a case study to examine the way in which Roma are constructed as a threat that both enables and requires the state to exercise extraordinary measures. I look at the effects of  both the conflation of Roma issues with immigration in general, particularly the recent wave of  Romanian migration to Italy, and the official (though highly misleading) definition of  Roma as 'nomadic'. I also look at the measures that the state of  emergency legitimated, including a racial census and harsh new immigration laws, and seek to explain why it is that such exclusionary state tactics can bring political success to actors like Berlusconi and Maroni.  Newspaper  articles,  reports  from  a  host  of  Roma-  and  human  rights-related  NGOs  and supranational  institutions,  and published Italian laws and statutes all  inform my analysis.  While  NGO reports and reports from European institutions (including the EU, pushed into action by Italy's apparent breaches of  European law) were keen to present themselves as apolitical (often to their detriment, as we shall see), in media reports the reverse was often true; so as not to exaggerate exclusionary rhetoric, I draw more from the sober, centre-left Corriere Della Sera and la Repubblica than from Berlusconi's more incendiary right-wing mouthpieces.  Where English versions  were not  readily  available  (generally  for Italian media reports and legislation), I used translation software; however, the continuing solidification of  English as the 10 lingua franca of  the NGO sphere ensured that neither primary nor secondary sources and documents were difficult to obtain in English. I  conclude  by  discussing  what  the  discrimination  of  Roma might  tell  us  about  the  European political  landscape,  and  its  relationship  with  the  international.  I  attempt  to  pull  together  the  threads running through each of  the preceding chapters, before asking what implications they contain for efforts to  secure  Roma  rights,  or  indeed  efforts  to  reconfigure  European  politics  in  some  putatively  less exclusionary formation. My focus on the international  as a tool for comprehending Romani discriminations in Europe today is twofold. Firstly, I wish to bring discussion of  the international as a set of  spatial ideals to bear on discussion of  the practices by which the territoriality of  government is performed. In terms of  the former, I lean heavily on political theory, both in the discussions of  the international (in which I an particularly indebted to R.B.J. Walker) and in Michel Foucault's discussion of  the progressive spatial conceptions of sovereignty.  In  terms  of  the  latter,  I  draw upon  recent  concerns  both  in  political  geography  and in interdisciplinary literatures on 'borderwork' that have looked at the empirical complexity in the territoriality of  government that (necessarily) clear-cut political ideals conceal. In making this connection, I do not wish to rehash critiques that political theory is insufficiently geographical or insufficiently complex to accurately describe the territorialisation of  politics. Rather, I look to the explicitly spatial theorisations of  political community as ideals that inform our taken-for-granted political ontologies in crucial ways, but as ideals that are  also necessarily  unreachable  models  of  how politics  should  be territorialised.  That  is,  they  are  not exposed by but themselves illuminate (indeed, they define) the inadequacies of  the international. Secondly, I hope to show that reports detailing how the world has moved on from the truths of  the international (through new borders, new technologies, new political formations) or how the world  should move on from the truths of  the international (on behalf  of  a borderless, post-national world) tend to avoid sustained  engagement  with  complex  histories  that  might  complicate  their  narrative  of  the  novelty  of departing from the ideals of  the international. Furthermore, such accounts often rely on unspoken notions 11 of  freedom and liberty that are embedded in the very international framework they seek to transcend. Though  I  too  am  critical  of  the  exclusions  of  the  international,  I  believe  that  it  is  only  through understanding  the  meaning  and  the  conditions  of  production  of  a  political  identity  'outside  the international' that we might begin to imagine landscapes in which this identity makes less sense, worlds in which being Roma does not necessitate exceptional measures, in which the freedoms of  society are not secured by the exclusion of  those deemed unsociable. I say begin to imagine, not through any false sense of modesty, but because the vagueness of  these aspirations is a direct result of  skipping too eagerly past what exactly  it  is  that  such  utopias  are  designed  to  remedy.  As  Karena  Shaw (2008:2)  notes,  '[t]here  is  a consistent lack of  clarity in these emerging literatures [exhorting us to 'rethink the political'] about what this might involve, or indeed why we might want to do it'. So, before we may begin to imagine different (or at least to try to imagine different), we must understand what and why we are imagining  against; that is, before we start inventing new utopias and utopianisms, we need to address the utopian aspirations that we are saddled with today, and the ways in which they are bound up with certain distinctly dystopian realities. 12 2 Locating the International What is it that makes Roma so uniquely threatening that governing powers must take exceptional measures to address the issues they are held to pose? In order to answer this question, I shall explore the production of  a political landscape in which their status as 'outsider-inside' is made (or, more to the point, fails) to make sense. I argue firstly that this political landscape, which informs notions as fundamental as liberty, freedom and security, relies upon a conception of  'the international' that does not merely allow for but in its very expression demands the production of  its own limits. I examine these limits both theoretically, as compromises between universalist aspiration and particularistic practice, and spatially, as the 'clean' borders that define an ideal political landscape even as they conspicuously fail to describe political reality. In the second section, I turn to Michel Foucault's (2003; 2007; 2008) explicitly spatialised analyses of  both the disciplinary apparatus of  government developed in sixteenth and seventeenth century Europe (and its invention of  raison  d'État, or 'state reason')  and the security apparatus that  emerged in the eighteenth century. Third, I then approach the incorporation of  'nation' into the demands of  statehood as the pivot point around which we might more clearly see the territorial relationship between the international and Foucault's discussion of  shifting modes of  regulation. Specifically, I look at the tensions between struggles to assert the international and to supersede it in Foucault's analyses, in the complexities of  present-day state borders, and in the construction of  outsiders-inside as objects of  security. Though it  is  often presented as timeless  and universal,  the international  is  merely one specific iteration of  the spatiality of  sovereignty, its 'territoriality'.  As John Agnew (1994:65) writes, 'the spatial scope of  political organization has not been set for all time in a particular mould'. The international is not the first set of  ideals to connect the idea of  political rule to the control of  territory, and neither, in all probability,  is  it  the  last.  It  is  from this  point  between the  assumed ever-presence  and the  inevitable obsolescence of  the ideals of  the international that we might best see tensions over state borders and the processes that challenge them (most visibly, migration); tensions that might be expressed in terms of  the 13 persistence of  the international as ideal and its persistent infraction in practice. If  asserting the existence of a  gap between state rhetoric and practice seems overly familiar  (or even clichéd),  perhaps this  should suggest to us that  the issue is  not simply one of  living in exceptional times, prompted by some new technology  or  form  of  political  organisation  looming  ominously  over  our  heads,  but  rather  one  of structural failures to consummate our ideals (of  what borders are and how they are distributed) in practice. The relationship between government and the production of  politically ambiguous subjects has been illuminated in recent years by Giorgio Agamben's (1998; 2005) (and through him, Carl Schmitt's) theorisation  of  the  state  of  exception as  a  form of  state  power.  Though I  am sympathetic  to these arguments, I am attempting a somewhat different line of  reasoning here. I am less interested in the manner in  which  the  state  demonstrates  its  sovereignty  by  declaring  the  exception than  in  the  spatiality  of sovereignty  that  such  exceptions  reveal.  There  is  nothing  pre-given  or  natural  about  the  tying  of sovereignty to unitary, territorial nation-states in which inside in clearly distinguished from outside; thus, there is nothing inherently 'exceptional'  about the abrogation of  this regime. Thus my analysis  of  the political exceptionality of  the outsider-inside focuses more on the initial constitution of  an outside-inside model, engaging debates over the spatial transformations of  border practices, precisely what state borders might  mean today  and how these  transformations  are  reconciled  with  a  set  of  truths  that  frame any apparent breach in traditional borders as a matter of  national security. Scripting the International The International The frame through which I analyse the contemporary political landscape is that of  'the international', the set of  ideals of  the form that political community should take. In its most condensed form, and following R.B.J.  Walker (1993; 2006; 2010), I take it  to signify  the normative  ideal  that political community is  defined by singular borders. These clean borders ideally divide equally singular territories, each of  which plays host to its own state (claiming sovereign power), nation, culture, language, and so on. This ideal is most often traced 14 back to the mid-seventeenth century, and specifically to the 1648 Peace of  Westphalia, which tends to be 'understood as something like a founding constitution of  the modern international' (Walker, 2010:274), and 1651 publication of  Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan (1968); often too it is uncovered in Niccolo Machiavelli's 1532  treatise  The Prince  (2003),  and  occasionally  even  in  antiquity  (see  Garst,  1989  on  modern (mis-)interpretations of  Thucydides’ History of  the Peloponnesian War). However, taken descriptively as an expression of  these formations, the international has a far shorter genealogy: it  was named by Jeremy Bentham (1843) in the late eighteenth century, and has only really made sense as an explanatory category since the nineteenth century Italian and German unifications 'that confirmed the “nation-state” as the paradigmatic political unit' (Agnew, 1994:64; c.f. Walker, 2010:274n41). Influential works in 1939 by E.H. Carr (2001) and in 1948 by Hans Morgenthau (1968) helped convert the politics of  the international into an entire field of  study, and inspired a litany of  epistemological and methodological debates, all the while solidifying the terms of  the international as the ontological ground on which such debates were to be understood (Agnew, 1994). The imperfections of  the international as representation of  the world  were always, and remain, relatively clear: for instance, it is a truism that '[t]he distribution of  claims to nationhood converges  very  awkwardly  with  the  distribution of  claims to  statehood'  (Walker,  2010:48).  Today,  the international in its descriptive guise is hotly contested on one side by those who believe that globalisation, or  a  new  cosmopolitanism,  or  some  new  form  of  empire  are  making  (or  have  already  made)  the international obsolete; and on the other side by those who assert the continued relevance of  nation-states and the state system. However, the international as ideal and the naturalised 'truths' that follow from it are rarely noticed, let alone contested. We blithely accept that states and state power are inherently territorial, that nations are entitled to – and, indeed, are consummated by – states, that languages divide nations, that international politics is qualitatively different to domestic politics, and so on. This is what Agnew (1994:55) means when he writes that our conceptions of  space and spatiality 'are not explicit in the sense of  terms we  are  self-conscious  about'.  Such  assumptions  form the  unseen  tramlines  within  which  the  debates concerning the international's supposed obsolescence take place (Bigo & Walker, 2007). 15 The enduring power of  the international to dictate our political truths, in the face of  its obvious imperfections as an empirical model, might be explained by two lines of  reasoning, one explicit and one implicit. Firstly, we should recognise the explicit liberatory potential that lends the international its elegance and charm: 'The resolution of  questions about political community in early-modern Europe has proved to be enormously satisfying. It offers scope for both the diversity of  human experience, and for the pursuit of  universality within a particular community. ...As an account of  history, as a guide to political  practices  that  we have not  only  come to take  for  granted,  but  can still  see  as liberating in many parts of  the world, ...[the international] carries enormous political and moral weight' (Walker, 1990:170) We can see both in those claims that wish to defend the political status quo and in more radical claims for sovereignty over land by indigenous groups or fights for independence by persecuted minorities; both by those seeking to construct an ever-more-watertight regime of  rights for all and by those seeking nationally or racially defined purity within states; that freedoms are defined  through the frame of  the international: each of  these disparate parties has seen in the international  a path to liberation. The second, implicit explanation for the enduring power of  the international is that it is so ingrained in our political ontologies that we are overcome by a 'sense of  the teleological necessity of  the system of  states that must eventually provide the condition under which the modern state might be enabled and perfected' (Walker, 2010:274). It is associated with stories of  modernity that share its teleological model of  history and its anxiety over anything that appears to contradict it  (the premodern, the rogue state, the terrorist,  the barbarian, the gypsy; it is difficult to disentangle whether modernity or the international is being broached more flagrantly from case to case). The imperfections of  the international are reinterpreted as its promise, if  only we take the  required  action  to  secure  it.  The  sense  of  constant  refinement,  striving  towards  an  ideal  form perpetually just out of  reach, unites the model of  history and the necessity of  an outside to be overcome, and dictates against any vision that falls outside the limits it sets, into terrain that is by definition premodern and dangerous. 16 Delimiting the International Of  course,  'the  international'  is  but  one  theorisation  of  the  way  we  interpret  (European)  political landscapes. It is one of  what Didier Bigo and RBJ Walker (2007:729) call a 'well-bred family of  debates' and  narratives  seeking  to analyse  and account  for  this  landscape,  among whom we might  also  name 'Westphalianism',  'statism',  'modernism',  'territoriality'  (Sack,  1986),  'constitutional  nationalism' (Hayden, 1999),  the 'national order of  things' (Malkki,  1995), and many others besides.  Though their respective emphases differ, each share the recognition (sometimes critical, sometimes celebratory) of  the territoriality of  sovereignty, its coincidence with statehood and nationhood, and the expression of  its contours in clearly defined, explicitly spatialised borders. I speak of  'the international' in preference to other formulations not because I harbour any doubts about the validity of  these analyses (though I prefer to think of  territoriality in slightly different terms, as I explain below), but simply because the international better suggests to me that the issue is not one of  individual state actions or nationalisms or sovereignty disputes or even inter-state formations, but rather one of  the discursive field in which these phenomena make sense (c.f. Feldman, 2005). Thus, for instance, it is not about the 'freedoms' that statehood or independence or secure borders or transnational citizenship purport to generate, but the structure within which these 'freedoms' become meaningful. After all, even the 'sovereign state' is only sovereign insofar as it is 'subject to the necessities of systemic  behaviour  that  make  state  sovereignty  possible'  (Walker,  2006:62),  prime  among  them  its bounding and its recognition of  the essential multiplicity of  state sovereignty (that is,  the state  system). These conditions, so often either entirely unrecognised or ignored as platitudes, form the structure within which politics gains meaning, the structure within which we feel, dream and act. It is at this plane too that political questions of  right and wrong, proper and improper, legitimate and illegitimate, are formulated.  If  we are to accept Max Weber's (1972) classic definition of  the state as the human community that successfully claims the monopoly of  the legitimate use of  violence within a given territory,  then the  logic  of  statehood  depends on establishing a division between legitimate  'state violence' necessary for the security of  all and illegitimate non-state violences. It is not that states must 17 occasionally be violent, but that they must define when violence is legitimate and necessary and when it is not. If  one ignores the question of  legitimacy and reduces violence to terror, one soon reaches unsettling conclusions: 'States clearly operate in ways that terrify.  The terrorism of  nonstate actors is a very small proportion of  terrorism taken as a whole, with states having killed far more than those who oppose them.' (Elden, 2009:xxi) Clearly then, violence is not an issue of  quantifying terror exerted, but of  whether this terror is held to support political community or undermine it. As a simple illustration of  this, we might compare the hidden violence of  impeding travel at state borders (a violence that often becomes lethal when such borders are aquatic),  held  to  be  a  necessary  'security  measure',  to  the  mere  existence  of  sans-papiers  or  'illegal immigrants', rendered violent (and therefore provoking a violent response, in this case forcible expulsion) simply by their political definition as out-of-place. When violence is conducted by nation-states operating within the state-system, it is not judged but instead aided and abetted by those instruments we call the law. International law, 'by identifying the state as a territorial organization and accepting that violation of  its boundaries is inseparable from the idea of aggression against  the  state  itself'  (Paasi,  2005:21),  has  in  a  very  real  sense  drafted the  tenets  of  the international  into  law.  Not  that  this  is  a  new development:  in  1835 Alexis  de  Tocqueville  (2003:380) reported caustically that 'the dispossession of  the [American] Indians is effected in a regular and, as it were, quite legal manner', in no small part because their expulsion helped reconcile the legal sovereignty of  the United States with its 'manifest destiny', in both its territorial and national incarnations. Like Lady Justice armed with sword in one hand and scales in the other, state violence is marked out by its self-legitimating (even self-necessitating) character: 'it [state violence] consists in capturing while simultaneously constituting a right to capture. It is an incorporated, structural violence distinct from every kind of  direct violence' (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987:448) In short,  '[s]tate violence is  different from other  forms of  violence precisely  because it  produces  the 18 conditions  of  its  own necessity'  (Shaw,  2008:167).  The international  thus  both  confers  entitlement  to monopolies over violence, force and order, and asserts 'the necessity of  these monopolies in order to deter or prevent any other form of  violence, force and order' (Bigo & Walker, 2007:729). Just as the violence of  the international is of  a different form to 'direct' violences that might be judged before the law, the limits of  the international are of  a different form to the limits of  the nation- state, or supranational associations of  states. In Walker's (2010:46) claim that '[m]odern forms of  political life project a possible perfectability [sic] in the organization of  human life within the state that coexists with other  states  within  a  system of  states  that  is  assumed to  be  coextensive  with  a  wider  humanity',  his deliberately studied and 'longish formulation' (p. 47) betrays a concern that these scales of  analysis not be divorced from one another. Claims about the state are not singular (as they are often treated) but contain within them claims about 'humanity', and vice versa. This connection is simultaneously one of  the chief liberatory moments of  the international and one of  its chief  shortcomings: that '[a]s citizens, we aspire to universal values, but only on the condition that we tacitly assume that the world out there is in fact a realm of  particular  states'  (Walker,  1993:154).  This  omnipresent,  always  unsatisfying  compromise  between universal  aspiration and particularistic  practice  constitutes the limits  of  the  international,  limits  clearly present  in  two of  modern history's  seminal  pronouncements on the political  life  and liberty of  man. Firstly, one can see in the 1789  Declaration of  the Rights of  Man and of  the Citizen  (National Assembly of France, 1789), even in its title, an uncomfortable conflation of  the universal extension of  human rights (Art. 1:  'Men are born and remain free and equal in rights')  with the supersession of  divine sovereignty by national sovereignty  (Art.  3:  'The  principle  of  all  sovereignty  resides  essentially  in  the  nation').  It  was therefore, writes Hannah Arendt, a compromise between Man and Citizen: 'The same essential rights were at once claimed as the inalienable heritage of  all human beings and as the specific heritage of  specific nations, the same nation was at once declared to be subject to laws, which supposedly would flow from the Rights of  Man, and sovereign, that is, bound by no universal law and acknowledging nothing superior to itself. The practical outcome of  this contradiction was that from then on human rights were protected and enforced only as national rights' (Arendt, 1966:230) 19 The Rights of  Man, despite their 'natural, inalienable and sacred' (National Assembly of  France, 1789) character, were therefore premised upon membership of  a nation-state. This compromise was most clearly exposed in times of  stress, as 'it turned out that the moment human beings lacked their own government and had to fall back on their minimum rights, no authority was left to protect them and no institution was willing to guarantee them' (Arendt, 1966:291-2). Second, Judith Butler (2004:86) makes a similar argument with regard to the  1949 Geneva Conventions  on the  rights  of  man in times  of  war,  which 'extends “universal” rights only to those imprisoned combatants who belong to “recognizable” nation-states, but not to all people'. Here again, the reconciliation of  'universal' and 'human' with the political system that might secure those rights has resulted in their tacit truncation, and limits to the international thereby set. This  is  not  to  invalidate  such  agreements  –  as  Walker  (1993:158)  writes,  '[if]  modernist  and  statist resolutions of  the relations between citizenship and humanity seem increasingly inadequate, it is certainly easy enough to imagine worse possibilities' – but merely to highlight the bounds that enable them to be made. The Territoriality of  the International The spatial component of  these limits is not solely abstract, but embodied by the all-too-real lines that define our political landscapes and architecture: the territoriality of  politics, what politics is and how political community  is  to  be  organised.  For  Robert  Sack  (1986:1),  territoriality  is  'a  spatial  strategy  to  affect, influence, or control resources and people, by controlling area', it is the spatiality not just of  sovereignty, property  or  jurisdiction,  but  of  all  of  these  and  more,  the  spatiality  of  politics  itself.  However,  his description of  territoriality is  one in thrall  to the same binaries as the international;  though it  may be 'turned on and off' (p. 1-2), it exists in discrete, clearly bounded and singular form. When applied at the level  of  the  state,  this  'territoriality'  describes  precisely  the  international's  'clean'  lines  and spaces  (see below)  in  which  a  monopoly  of  power  applies  simultaneously  and congruently  to a  territory,  nation, 20 culture, language and ethnicity, and such arrangements – known as states – account for all the world's territory. Crucially though, Sack (1986:3) allows that '[t]erritoriality...is an historically sensitive use of  space'; it is neither timeless nor universal. I wish to account for this by using 'the international' to refer to the specific spatiality of  politics it mandates, and allowing 'territoriality' a broader meaning to describe any spatiality of politics, include those that preceded the hegemony of  the international, and those that may come (indeed, may have already begun) to supersede it. I have said that within the international, borders should be singular; that is, they should aggregate together in clean lines. Walker expresses this more fully: 'While  the  boundaries  of  modern  political  life  are  multiple,  expressible  in  all  the  familiar categories of  polity, society, culture, economy, security and liberty,  they appear as singularity, as converging  or  superimposed  on  the  same  spatially  and  legally  defined  ground.  It  is  this apparent singularity that is often taken to mark the primary distinction between modernity and the overlapping jurisdictions  of  the  medieval  Europe,  and to have been the distinguishing achievement of  the modern state as the expression of  both sovereign authority and national community.' (Walker, 2010:35, emphasis added) This singularity finds expression in three key characteristics of  modern borders. Firstly, the borders that demarcate  the  international  are  not  only  'horizontal'  lines  that  mark  the  shared  edges  of  juxtaposed sovereignties,  but also 'vertical'  lines that mark the edges of  'levels'  of  sovereignty,  separating national politics from supranational and sub-national politics. Thus Bigo and Walker (2007:728-9) argue that the bordering of  the state should be 'understood as the line drawn between discrete hierarchical levels quite as easily as between horizontal jurisdictions of  inclusion and exclusion'. Secondly, though it is tempting to see the  drawing of  all  such lines as  parochial,  defensive  tactics,  'both the  possibility  and the authority  of modern states rests on the plausibility of  the claim that the kind of  politics enabled within their boundaries can be reconciled with some wider world' (Walker, 2010:37). It follows that modern borders have a certain ambivalence: they do not simply divide sovereignties (whether territorially or hierarchically), but also ensure communicability  across sovereignties  such that politics  may be conducted between states and between levels of  government. Thirdly, modern borders are sharp; like the dualisms riven throughout modernism, 21 their clarity is comforting. Their sharpness confirms the 'naturalness of  the boundaries between internal and external, of  a dialectic of  openness and closure at work within and without the modern state' (Bigo & Walker, 2007:729). When we see inside and outside blur, just as when sovereign jurisdictions appear to overlap (horizontally or vertically), just as when the congruence of  borders is in doubt, anxieties are quickly and inevitably raised over security, identity and even the ability of  politics to function. Singular borders by definition imply equally singular spaces, as polity, territory, community and a host of  other realms aggregate together to form the type of  territorially defined nation-states so easily visualised in political maps. Agnew (1994; 2003) terms this representation of  space as a mosaic of  states the  'territorial  trap',  built  on three  related assumptions:  'that  modern state sovereignty  requires  clearly bounded territorial spaces', 'that there is a fundamental opposition between domestic and foreign affairs' (that is, between politics inside and outside the state), and that 'the territorial state acts as the geographical container of  modern society' (Agnew, 2003:53). While these tenets are certainly part of  the international, they seem to underplay the constitutive ties that bind state, sovereignty and territory (to say nothing of nation, society and the rest). As Stuart Elden (2009:xxx) writes, '[s]tates are territorial, certainly, but the territorial aspect is not a mere container for state action'. Rather, it is its condition of  possibility: in Henri Lefebvre's  (1991:280) formulation,  '[s]overeignty implies  “space”':  that  is,  'state power endures only by virtue of  violence directed towards a space' (here we might think again of  Weber's definition of  the state). Modern state sovereignty does not merely require or inhabit territory, it is inseparable from it. Like borders, then, space within the international is flattened so that it appears as singularity; it is monopolised by state and  sovereignty.  Insofar  as  history  is  allowed,  it  too  takes  place  within  these  spaces;  spaces  might (occasionally) splinter or unite, promoting or relegating the significance of  extant borders, and borders may (very occasionally) be redrawn; however, the foundational singular nature of  these spaces and their reliance on an inside/outside dichotomy is simply projected back into a timeless past. In Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari's (1987) formulation, such lines and spaces constitute 'striated' (that is, ordered) space, which exists in contradistinction to the 'smooth' (un-ordered, formless) space that it is 22 constantly trying to conquer. 'One of  the fundamental tasks of  the State', they write, 'is to striate the space over which it  reigns' (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987:385). In such smooth space, there is no monopoly of power, violence is neither directed toward nor proceeds from control of  territory, and populations and their various metrics fail to be territorially distinct. In short, we see smooth space when and where the daunting multiplicity of  space ceases to be hidden. This apparent chaos accords with the 'anarchy' that Thomas Hobbes saw outside state sovereignty: 'Hereby it is manifest, that during the time men live without a common Power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called Warre; and such a warre, as is of  every man, against every man. ... Whatsoever therefore is consequent to a time of  Warre, where every man is Enemy to every man; the same is consequent to the time, wherein men live without other security, than what their own strength, and their own invention shall furnish them withall. In such condition,  there is  no place for Industry;  because the fruit  thereof  is  uncertain;  and consequently no Culture of  the Earth; no Navigation, nor use of  the commodities that may be imported by Sea; no commodious Building; no Instruments of  moving, and removing such things as require much force; no Knowledge of  the face of  the Earth; no account of  Time; no Arts; no Letters; no Society; and which is worst of  all, continuall feare, and danger of  violent death; And the life of  man, solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short.' (Hobbes, 1968:186) It is remarkable how Hobbes' description, originally published in 1651, resonates with current discourses of  failed or rogue states, lawless tribal areas, and refugee or nomad camps (I shall explore the latter in greater depth in Chapter 4). Only under state sovereignty is civilisation possible; outside of  its rule man is reduced to a decidedly pre-modern, even primitive barbarism. We see here the dual nature of  the limits of the  international,  'framed  spatially  as  “security”  and  “international  anarchy”  and  temporally  as “development”'  (Walker,  1993:147).  The  conquering  of  smooth  space  is  framed  not  as  a  matter  of supremacy (as is war between states) but as a matter of  order, in the tradition of  colonisers, missionaries and, latterly,  those  undertaking  humanitarian  interventions.  As  Walker  (2010:47)  writes,  modern  politics  'is predicated on the assumption that all of  humanity, all the peoples of  the world, can be brought within the jurisdiction of  some modern sovereign state that can itself  find its proper place within the community of modern nations, within what is now often called the multilateral world of  the international, so that the modern individualized political subject can find its home, its space for freedom under the necessity of  law'. 23 The striation of  space is, in other words, a moral imperative. The narrative of  the progressive march of  striated space across the globe is a compelling one, but raises questions as to why this mission was not long ago accomplished, whether its completion has been prevented by surreptitious growths and irruptions of  smooth space, and if  so, how and why. I suspect, with Zygmunt Bauman (2004:122),  that  such a mission is  necessarily  incomplete;  that  '[t]he  idea of  a civilization that has completed the effort to civilize (brought to an end the job of  cleaning, the bustle of ordering and the search for beauty) is as incongruous as that of  a wind that does not blow and a river that does not flow'. If, following Deleuze and Guattari (1987), striated space only exists insofar as it is defined against smooth space, it must create smooth space even as it destroys it; or, to put it in different terms, since the international requires limits, its delimitation in effect creates its own outside. This necessary shortfall would rule out the possibility of  universalism, instead siding with Étienne Balibar's (1994:197) assertion of the impossibility of  'fixing the boundaries within which all human beings could possibly be gathered'. It is the  very  fixing  of  the  boundary,  the  renewal  of  'the  distinction  between  order  and  chaos,  law  and lawlessness,  citizen  and  homo  sacer,  belonging  and  exclusion,  useful  (=  legitimate)  product  and  waste' (Bauman, 2004:33), that ensures the continued existence of  an outside to the international. (Re)regulating Space Shifting Territorialities If  the histories of  state are spatially circumscribed by the international, the histories of  sovereignty – that is, the very workings of  power – are totally disavowed: instead, '[s]overeignty appears fixed, without history' (Walters, 2002:577). As a corrective to this, I turn to Foucault's (2007) history of  sovereignty; or, better to say, of  'the reflexive prism in which the problem of  the state appeared' (Foucault, 2007:276), since Foucault too was talking not of  the state itself  but of  the manner in which it is conceived and the ideals that the state is to be held to, and since he uses the term 'sovereignty' in the quite different sense of  absolute rule by a singular, transcendent sovereign by way of  a juridical apparatus. Foucault (2007:12) was clear that 24 while each conception of  sovereignty was inherently spatial, each invoked a different conception of  how exactly sovereignty was to be territorialised; it is precisely these territorial implications that I wish to explore. Foucault (2007) uses three broad modes to describe the changing regulation of  society. Starting in the  Middle  Ages,  he  first  describes  the  absolute  'sovereignty'  that  rules  by  way of  a  juridical apparatus premised on a binary division between the prohibited and the permitted, a divine conception of  law and power, and a pastoral relationship between governor and governed. The second mode, which began to gain ascendancy  with  the  late-sixteenth/early-seventeenth  century  invention  of  raison  d'État  (or  the  art  of government), is a disciplinary apparatus whereby the figure of  the culprit weighs more heavily in law and his or her punishment (and its potential corrective power) assumes greater significance. The third mode, which came to the fore in the eighteenth century, is a security apparatus in which a calculation of  cost is applied to judgement before the law, such that 'instead of  a binary division between the permitted and the prohibited, one establishes an average considered as optimal on the one hand, and, on the other, a bandwidth of  the acceptable that must not be exceeded' (Foucault, 2007:6). Whereas the rejection of  the  juridical idea of divine,  naturalistic  laws  of  government  enabled  the  development  of  the  disciplinary raison  d'État,  a consciously human 'governmentality' (what Foucault (2007:348) terms a 'governmentality of  the politiques'), it is only with the significant modification of  the latter into a 'governmentality of  the économistes' (ibid.) that accompanied the shift into a  security apparatus that we start to see 'some of  the fundamental  lines of modern and contemporary governmentality' (ibid.); that is, that which we refer to today when we use the term 'governmentality'. It is under the juridical apparatus that the political effectiveness of  sovereignty begins to be thought of  in terms of  its spatial distribution, particularly its ability to induce a series of  circulations – 'circulation of  ideas, of  wills, and of  orders, and also commercial circulation' (Foucault, 2007:15). In this series, we see the intensely spatial 'superimposition of  the state of  sovereignty, the territorial state, and the commercial state'.  However,  while  we  can  see  the  establishment  of  a  'spatial  understanding of  the  possibility  of political community' (Walker, 1990:172) and the beginnings of  singular space, this 'capitalisation' of  space 25 meant that territory became the chief  metric for state power. This was based on and, in turn, encouraged a distinctly pre-modern expansionism and dreams of  a last Empire, a future state of  total domination that would herald the Second Coming of  Christ and the end of  History (Foucault, 2007:260). Borders were thought of  fluidly as frontiers whose location, far from being fixed, was a measure of  the fortunes of  the state. Disciplinary Space and the Scandal of  Raison d'État This was to change with the invention of  the 'new governmental rationality of  raison d'État, which was broadly formed during the sixteenth century, [and which] defined the state and separated it out as both a specific and an autonomous, or relatively autonomous, reality' (Foucault, 2008:4). Foucault is speaking of the replacement of  divine laws for governing all people with self-consciously human ('autonomous') laws for governing  a people, such that '[t]he state only exists through and for itself, and it only exists in the plural' (Foucault, 2008:5). Raison d'État was developed and entrenched both internally through the invention of  'police' (in the very different sense the word had at the time) apparatuses by which the state might more fully  regulate  its  population  and territory  and 'bring...about  the  internal  growth  of  the  state's  forces' (Foucault,  2007:365)  and  externally through the  establishment  of  a  system of  alliances  that  secured  a 'balance of  power' between the states of  Europe (since the modern state 'only exists in the plural'); 'In other words, the art of  government is deployed in a field of  relations of  forces. I think this is the great threshold of  modernity of  this art of  government.' (Foucault, 2007:312) References  to  Westphalianism today  play  heavily  on  the  latter,  external  element  of  raison  d'État,  and certainly the 1648 Peace of  Westphalia was pivotal in displacing dreams of  expansionism and empire to the colonies, so that within Europe state glory was instead thought of  in terms of  the state's internal power. As Foucault (2007:44-5) writes, '[t]he first action of  discipline is in fact to circumscribe a space in which its power and the mechanisms of  its power will function fully and without limit'. The result was an explicit politicisation  of  the  state's  territory,  a  recognition  in  line  with  the  dictates  of  the  international  that 26 '[t]erritory is more than merely land, but a rendering of  the emergent concept of  “space” as a political category: owned, distributed, mapped, calculated, bordered, and controlled' (Elden, 2007:17). The corollary to this is that outside the state's own space of  unlimited power (that is, its newly clarified and solidified territory), the state must engage in an 'international' politics in which its power and objectives are highly limited, setting up a division between domestic and international politics that continues to underpin our understanding of  political space. Inter-state competition was no longer over a (newly hardened) set of borders, but between them; 'growth' was displaced from space to state. Absent any eschatological dreams of  a last Empire, we are instead confronted with 'a perspective in which historical time is indefinite,...a perspective of  indefinite governmentality with no foreseeable term or final aim' (Foucault, 2007:260). Thus the perpetuity of  Immanuel Kant's (2003) perpetual peace, in which humanity is united not in one state, but in a universal system of  states. Whereas  the  juridical  apparatus  was  premised  upon  the  implementation  of  divine  laws  and principles  of  nature,  the  recognition  of  such  laws  as  merely  instruments  of  government  under  a disciplinary apparatus gave the state an unprecedented power: the  coup d'État, in the seventeenth century sense of  'a suspension of, a temporary departure from, laws and legality' (Foucault, 2007:261). The  coup d'État does not compromise but rather is built into the fabric of  raison d'État, since under raison d'État 'it is necessary to command, not by following the laws, but commanding the laws themselves, which must adapt to the present state of  the republic,  and not the state to the laws' (von Chemnitz, 1712:26; quoted in Foucault, 2007:280n.23). Coup d'État remains the exception – the disciplinary society requires that the law be upheld as  a  rule  – but it  is  an institutionalised exception.  Coup d'État is  justified as  a  response to 'necessity over and above the law' (Foucault, 2007:262), the necessity of  'the state's salvation' (ibid.:263). The space opened up between law and 'necessity' is precisely the space that allows the state to co-opt the law in state violence, the covert counterpart to the coup d'État's brazen theatricality. But while the former is general, the latter is particular, creating in its execution a space of  exception that cannot help but fracture the  state.  As  soon  as  we  have  both  singular  space  and  singular  borders,  the  foundations  of  the 27 international, we also have the exception, a rewriting of  the space of  law that compromises the unity of the state in the name of  the state, and an outside to the international, a lawless exterior to the striated space strung together by '[t]reaties of  reciprocity and international agreements [that] have woven a web around the earth' (Arendt, 1966:294). It  is  important  to  mention,  given  the  extent  to  which  the  international  appears  timeless  and inevitable, and to which it directs our ideas of  what freedom, politics, community and humanity (to name but four) might be, that at the end of  the sixteenth and the beginning of  the seventeenth century raison d'État was considered a controversial, even scandalous, innovation. In 1647, as the Peace of  Westphalia was being negotiated, the German historian Bogeslaw Philipp von Chemnitz wrote: 'Every day we hear an infinite number of  people speaking of  raison d'État. Everyone joins in, those buried in the dust of  the schools as well as those with the responsibilities of  public office.' (von Chemnitz, 1712:1; quoted in Foucault, 2007:240) This talk is mirrored in a significant literature in these decades discussing the merits or heretical qualities of raison d'État, both directly and through the figures of  les politiques, those concerned with 'what a government must do and on what rationality  it  must rest'  (Foucault,  2007:246),  and Machiavelli,  who was held to represent the ungodliness of  an art of  government based not on Christianity but on the all-too-human reasoning of  those in power (Foucault, 2007; see Holden & Elden, 2005). This controversy should perhaps bring into focus that  raison d'État, and by extension the international (to which I have tried to draw the links), was a 'historically specific resolution' to a set of  specific 'questions about the character and location of political community as these were articulated in early-modern Europe' (Walker, 1990:168-9). My contention is neither that these seventeenth-century resolutions nor that the political questions themselves are by now outdated, but (more modestly) that they are 'historical' at all: that they represent responses to particular questions and not statements of  eternal truths.  The consequent implication (or accusation) is that the spatial resolution of  political community under raison d'État continues to 'set the conditions under which accounts of  historical possibility within states have been possible at all' (Walker, 1993:127); and that our 28 unwillingness  to  review  (or  even  treat  historically)  these  conditions  actively  produces  the  apparent 'inevitability and necessity' (Shaw, 2008:39) of  the international. The Security Apparatus However, for Foucault the disciplinary truths of  raison d'État were eclipsed, or at least partially superseded, by the eighteenth century ascent to prominence of  a new 'security apparatus' that modified the conception of  government in several important ways. At its most fundamental, it implies an economisation of  the logic of  law and government. The security apparatus constitutes 'a new art of  government, still in terms of reason, of  course, but of  a reason that was no longer raison d'État, or which was not only raison d'État, and which was, to put things more precisely, raison d'État modified by this new thing, by this new domain that was emerging: the economy' (Foucault, 2007:348). 'Reason' was no longer to be thought of  in terms of  the rationality of  the sovereign, but instead 'the rationality of  those who are governed as economic subjects' (Foucault, 2008:312); a rationality that was to be accessed through the conglomeration of  these subjects into a population, which one could know and manage through the new field of  national statistics. This meant that one could govern at a level removed: 'The central point of  the panopticon [the chief  technology of  the disciplinary apparatus] still functions, as it were, as a perfect sovereign. On the other hand, what we now see is [not] the idea of  a power that takes the form of  an exhaustive surveillance of  individuals so that they are  all  constantly  under  the  eyes  of  the  sovereign  in  everything  they  do,  but  the  set  of mechanisms  that,  for  the  government  and  those  who  govern,  attach  pertinence  to  quite specific phenomena that are not exactly individual phenomena, even if  individuals do appear in a way, and there are specific processes of  individualization' (Foucault, 2007:66) Crucial here is the idea of  directness. The disciplinary 'perfect sovereign' dreams of  total, direct control over their subjects, such that each individual deviation is spotted and punished accordingly. The government ruling through security, however, aspires not to total control but to optimal control: through indirect control (via proximate phenomena), it dreams of  a population whose range of  desires are optimal for the state, such that deviance may be pre-emptively averted. This shift requires a recognition that the limitation of 29 government is separate from, and does not necessarily entail, the limitation of  government power: 'an essential characteristic of  this new form of  government is the organisation of  numerous and complex internal mechanisms whose function – and this is what distinguishes them from raison d'État – is not so much to ensure the growth of  the state's forces, wealth, and strength, to ensure its unlimited growth, as to limit the exercise of  government power internally' (Foucault, 2008:27). This  internal  limitation  occurs  on  one  side  in  the  application  of  the  question  of  utility  to government itself  – for what and within what limits government is useful, and when it is not useful – and on the other side in the assertion of  the original rights of  man; it is on this latter side that we must situate the  1789  Declaration  of  the  Rights  of  Man and  of  the  Citizen  (Foucault,  2008:pp39-40).  One can see  the Declaration as a turning point of  sorts: the moment that the state becomes necessary for the production of freedoms rather than their inhibition. It is one example of 'the appearance in this new art of  government of  mechanisms with the function of  producing, breathing life into, and increasing freedom through additional control and intervention. That is to say, control is no longer just the necessary counterweight to freedom, as in the case of panopticism: it becomes its mainspring.' (Foucault, 2008:67) This new conception of  the relationship between state and freedom 'entirely overturn[s and] marginalize[s]' (Foucault, 2007:354) the idea of  'police' as the regulation of  the population; this job will now be taken over by a new series of  regulatory mechanisms, operating indirectly, while 'police' (now in its modern sense) will be left to take care of  the elimination of  disorder so that these mechanism can function properly. In other words, we have a division such that freedom is produced  both by a more indirect form of  government within order, and by the still-very-much direct form of  government of  disorder. My claim here is that it is the displacement of  direct control onto a particular sub-set of  the population, its exceptionalisation, that is the enabling condition for our apparent freedoms. The new emphasis on the population as an object of  indirect rule might seem at first glance to suggest a broad 'transition from a “territorial state” to a “population state”' (Foucault, 2007:363; see also Elden, 2007); indeed, Foucault (2007: 11) entertains the thought before deciding that 'this is not the point 30 and I don't think it holds together'. It is 'not the point' because it ignores the territoriality of  the so-called population state's administration, and it does not 'hold together' because it implies a total break from raison d'État and disciplinary structures in general, when in fact both continue to underpin a security apparatus, albeit in modified form. Regarding the former, Foucault (2007:20) contrasts the perfectibility of  function of  disciplinary space in which the perfect sovereign might have complete control, with the probabilistic control of  space in a security apparatus. For Foucault, as paraphrased by Elden, 'While  discipline  operates  through  the  enclosure  and  circumscription  of  space,  security requires the opening up and release of  spaces, to enable circulation and passage. ... Discipline is centripetal, while security is centrifugal; discipline seeks to regulate everything while security seeks  to  regulate  as  little  as  possible,  and,  rather,  to  enable,  as  it  is,  indeed,  laissez  faire; discipline  is  isolating,  working  on  measures  of  segmentation,  while  security  seeks  to incorporate, and to distribute more widely.' (Elden, 2007:4; citing Foucault, 2007) The state that exercises control not through rules and regulation, but rather through the production of freedoms and the management of  desire, achieves this by way of  '[a] whole range of  new technologies – “technologies of  freedom” – ...that seek to govern “at a distance” through, not in spite of, the autonomous choices of  relatively independent entities' (Rose, 2000:324, emphasis added). A prime example might be the passport, securing the freedom of  movement based on a probabilistic calculation of  net benefit to the state, yet allowing the state to retain a degree of  control (in the issuance and withdrawal of  passports, the blacklisting of  certain persons or nationalities, and so on). The territorial implication is the abandonment of  'total' border controls in which the state might dictate the precise spatiality of  its population, and the dispersal of  the instruments of  border control away from the border itself: in short, the erosion of  the international's  singular borders. I shall look further at this renegotiation of  the nature and location of borders under a security apparatus in the following section. Regarding Foucault's second point, that talk of  the 'population state' does not 'hold together', the persistence of  raison d'État can be seen in the direct control exercised in times and places of  disorder. The spatial implication of  this is  the retention of  disciplinary space to deal with such disorder: just as the 'Roman camp was revived at the end of  the sixteenth and the beginning of  the seventeenth century' 31 (Foucault, 2007:15-6) as a model for the disciplinary town, so the camp appears in the security apparatus as an  exceptional  tool  for  dealing  with  disorder,  most  obviously  embodied  by  the  prisoner  of  war,  the Untermenschen of  the Nazi state, the refugee or the nomad. Disciplinary space does not merely coexist (albeit as exception) with the more flexible territoriality of  the security apparatus,  it is the condition of  its possibility. It is important to clarify that while Foucault clearly implies a general historical progression of modes of  sovereignty, he is careful to refute any notion of  wholesale epochal transition, arguing to the contrary that 'security is a way of  making the old armatures of  law and discipline function in addition to the specific mechanisms of  security' (Foucault, 2007:10, emphasis added). Though he appears to reject the Hegelian term Aufhebung to describe these shifts (Foucault, 2008:28), its expression of  the tension between preservation and supersession seems to fit well with the way in which each mode both revolts against and draws upon pre-existing modes of  regulation. State Borders and National Security Nation If, as I have suggested, to speak of  a population state is to miss the point, this is not to imply that the population of  a  state  did  not  play  a  crucial  part  in  the development  of  a  security  apparatus,  and its modulation (rather than replacement) of  the ideals of  the international. Foucault's contention is that the development of  this new means of  government cannot be separated from the development of  a new object of  government: a distinct, statistically 'knowable' population. As he puts it, '[n]o longer the safety (sûreté)  of  the Prince and his territory, but the security (sécurité) of  the population' (Foucault,  2007:65). However, today it is not population but nation that is afforded equal billing with state, a more loaded term that collects a whole set of  emotive criteria of  belonging – language, culture, ethnicity – under the auspices of  the singular nation-state.  Ethnos (imagined historical community of  descent and affiliation) and  demos (political  community)  have  been (albeit  necessarily  imperfectly)  conflated.  The  result  is  that  today,  as Rogers Brubaker (1996:10) writes, '“Nation” is so central, and protean, a category of  modern political and 32 cultural thought, discourse, and practise that it is hard indeed to imagine a world without nationalism'. Nationalism, that powerful process of  defining who does not belong, is one of  the chief  modes through which the international creates its constitutive outside, picking apart the borders of  nation and state to reveal politically ambiguous (and therefore dangerous) outside(r)s inside. All too often we are guilty of  naturalising the hyphen of  the nation-state and thereby glossing over the work that went into its construction, work that 'endow[ed] the territorial state with the legitimacy of representing the “character” or “will” of  the nation' (Agnew & Corbridge, 1995:83). Indeed, for Matthew Sparke, the hyphen is what precisely imbues nation and state with their territorialising imperative: 'The  hyphen  in  nation-state  has  traditionally  symbolized  the  reciprocal  consolidation  of national  homelands  and  state  territories  ...  As  a  text-spanning  symbol  of  space-spanning phenomena,  the  hyphen  in  nation-state  came  to  represent  two  mutually  reinforcing geographical  processes.  On  the  one  side  were  the  diverse  state  practices  such  as  border policing, migration control, and planning that regulated territorial belonging. On the other side were the modern space-producing social and cultural dynamics that, in generating taken-for- granted  national  landscapes,  national  monuments,  national  maps,  and  so  on,  gave  state regulation its space and place of  legitimacy' (Sparke, 2005:xii-xiii) As we have seen, the territorialisations of  state have a far longer history than their marriage to nation. I therefore prefer to highlight in Sparke's consolidative processes the hyphen's vitalising function: it represents an injection of  biopolitics into the territoriality of  state. Once the sanctity of  the sovereign had been dispatched by the establishment of  raison d'État, there was a certain disinvestment of  authority in power: rulers clung on to the means of  government, but had lost the legitimacy conferred by representing a higher power. This created the vacuum into which the nation confidently strode: from the 1789 Declaration of  the Rights of  Man and of  the Citizen onwards, revolutionary politics was necessarily concerned with reinvesting the state with moral authority, only this time it was issued not by God but by the nation (or rather, as we have seen, an uncomfortably ambiguous nation/citizenry). The development of  a security apparatus, which asserted 'the rationality of  those who are governed as economic subjects' (Foucault, 2008:312), proceeded hand in hand with this mass political enfranchisement. The incorporation of  nation into state was set in place by the nineteenth-century popularisation of 33 an organic, naturalised model of  the state, solidifying the international's suggestion that states be seen as unitary political actors when viewed alongside other such states. Ideologically, this model owed much to Friedrich Ratzel's late nineteenth century writings on geography, which saw nation, culture and state not as distinct entities, but as different aspects of  a unified organism. Materially, the elevation of  nation to its hyphenated glory alongside state was fuelled by the contemporaneous democratisation of  the category to the proletariat in the late nineteenth century: as John Agnew writes, 'National  economy  making  through  the  extension  of  national  railway  systems  and  the reorganization of  economic space to accord greater centrality to national markets and finance was combined with the spread of  literacy in vernacular languages and universal elementary education to produce an enhanced sense of  national difference and exclusivity on the part of mass publics. Nationalism was no longer just for élites.' (Agnew, 1998:95) This idea of  the united, organic nation-state might also be seen alongside the emergence of  the modernist, undivided and self-conscious subject in the same period, which was seen to be echoed fractal- like at the scale of  the state. A doctrine of  personal liberty was simply transposed from the self  to the nation-state  (and  vice  versa).  This  move  has  long  since  lost  its  aura  of  novelty  or  strangeness,  and continues to define the political orthodoxy today; for instance, one might consider Franjo Tudjman's (the campaigner for and first president of  an independent Croatian nation-state) assertion that: 'Every nation, no matter what its size or character,  has the natural and historic right to its sovereignty and its place in the human community, just as the individual has in society ... Only a free and sovereign nation,  like a fully  developed and free human being,  can give its  full contribution to the world.' (Tudjman, 1990:289; quoted in Hayden, 1999:74) Just as the modern man must take possession of  himself  and insist on being held personally responsible for his actions in order to be free (as opposed to the premodern man subject to a divine hierarchy in which he has no say), so the modern nation must show its ownership of  full state apparatus and sole sovereignty over a territory as evidence of  its freedom. Again, we see a link between a security apparatus premised on rational economic subjects and a politics of  the international. However, there have always been significant problems in marrying up nations to states, problems 34 that might be divided into three broad categories. The first of  these is that state populations are rarely homogeneous, and so asserting the primacy of  one particular nation invariably creates both diasporic and minority populations located in the 'wrong'  state (see Chapter 3 on how this process occurred in the aftermath of  the First World War). Second, the fuzziness of  'nation' as a concept has invariably tempted 'internal' nations to reject allegiance to their assigned nation and state, and instead seek to upgrade regional structures of  governance into independent sovereignty. Third, and most serious, are those (like Europe's Roma) whose lack of  territorial political representation renders them aberrantly territorial, outside of  the logic of  the international. The light that defined Europe's population as a set of  nations that belonged to particular states was thus the same light that defined certain people as no longer merely 'other', but either 'out of  place' or, in the worst case, categorically 'place-less'. This latter process can be seen in the nineteenth century development of  antiziganism and anti- Semitism couched not in terms of  the 'ordinary racism that takes the traditional form of  mutual contempt or hatred between races...[or a] hostility that is directed toward...a mythical adversary', but of  a modern, state  racism premised instead upon a concern for the health and security  of  one's  own race  (Foucault, 2003:158): 'Demagogues  readily  portrayed  Jews  as  rootless  cosmopolitans  or  allied  with  the  nation’s enemies in a European world dividing into parochial nation-states. There was no longer a space for ethnic and racial difference within the boundaries of  states. Jews were dangerous polluters of  national homogeneity and disrupted a presumed natural order in which racial groups and states are mutually dependent.' (Agnew, 2003:96) One could say precisely the same of  Europe's Roma, and indeed there was an accompanying 'shift in representations of  Gypsies during this period from hazy and inscrutable natural subjects to objects of  a discourse of  legislation,  prosecution,  and control'  (Lyon, 2004:524). Occupying an ambiguous position outside of  nationhood but imposing upon the state's territory, trapped between  ethnos and  demos,  these outsiders-inside  posed  difficult  questions  regarding  the  extension  of  the  state,  impelled  to  either inclusionary (regulation) or exclusionary (expulsion) solutions in order to secure the international; either 35 way, their essential difference was not in question. Thus, the definition of  outsiders-inside through a modern state racism was the corollary of  the territorialisation of  nation:  the clean lines by which explicitly  nation-states were divided on the map were mirrored in the lines marking biological caesuras in the population by which states could better govern (Foucault, 2003). In sum: viewed in light of  the progressive and profoundly territorial association of  nation with state, the international was institutionalised by an apparatus of  security that took population as its object. However, as we saw in the previous section, viewed in light of  the territoriality of  politics, the international owes more to the disciplinary spatialisation of  raison d'État than it does to the more nuanced territoriality of  a security apparatus. This is the discrepancy identified by Elden: 'the period Foucault is  analysing as the emergent moment for population [in  The Birth Of Biopolitics] simultaneously sees the appearance of  the category of  territory in its modern sense. [//] This is not the shift Foucault sees.' (Elden, 2007:12-3) Elden's point is that though Foucault (2007) talks of  the establishment of  a state system in the seventeenth century (in this, though his reasoning in more nuanced, he shares a Westphalianism with current orthodoxy in International Relations), when he talks of  the birth of  biopolitics (Foucault, 2008) he rather leaves this territorial concern behind, and the Peace of  Westphalia is instead read as the point at which the primary concern of  government switched from territory to population. The development of  an apparatus of  security is at once  marks  the  birth  and  death  of  the  territoriality  of  the  international.  This  ambiguity  in  Foucault's  work  is important for two reasons. First, it feeds into difficulties distinguishing between two qualitatively distinct engines  for  the  creation  of  outside(r)s  to  the  international:  those  produced  by  the  reassertion of  the international squeezing out a residual excess, the limit condition by which it might define itself  (if  we see the international working through a security apparatus); and those created by the struggle to transcend the international  and reconfiguring these very  limits  (if  we see the international  as  being modulated by a security apparatus). Rather than favouring one engine and debunking the other, I prefer to look at the tensions in their coexistence. Second, this ambiguity is  where we must situate the problems in marrying 36 nation up to state:  at  the same moment that  the  normative (if  not  actual)  borders  of  the nation are synonymised with the normative borders of  the state, the latter are being reterritorialised in a series of complex ways (many of  which relate to its new-found dependence on population) that escape the clean lines of  the international. It is to these complex re-borderings that I now turn. Borders The ambiguous position of  the international in relation to the modes of  government that it might be supposed to express can be seen 'on the ground' in contemporary tensions over what state borders are, and where there lie. The recent explosion in literature on borderwork should alert us to a certain vivification of borders, for so long treated as dead lines whose function was so obvious as to be literally unremarkable except in terms of  their  location. These studies (see, for example, Coleman, 2007; Kumar Rajaram & Grundy-Warr, 2007; Newman & Paasi, 1998; Newman, 2006; Parker & Vaughan-Williams et al, 2009; Van Houtum et al, 2005; Vaughan-Williams, 2009; Walters, 2002; 2006) explore  how exactly modern borders function, thereby urging us to 'think about boundaries less as sites at which very little happens except the separation of  one political  community,  or  state,  or  condition,  from another,  than as  very  active  sites, moments and practices that work to produce very specific political possibilities of  necessity and possibility on either side' (Walker, 2010:32). This move, less a reorientation toward than an animation of  'borders', is the first step towards recognising a political ontology in which borders might not simply be naturalised as unitary, infinitely sharp lines; indeed, the more one studies the border-as-practice, the more one sees the inadequacy of  the border-as-ideal, and the international in general as a model for our political landscapes. Political  'crises'  sparked by borders  that  fail  to  be  unitary  or  sharp  are  a  pointed indication  that  this recognition is by no means general, and of  the gap between borderwork literatures and popular perception. Nevertheless, there is a mounting body of  evidence that suggests a spiralling away – an ever widening oscillation,  or  Aufhebung,  that  retains  contact  points  with  the  old  order  –  from  the  ideals  of  the international to a new territoriality; a move reflected both at the level of  ideal and in more concrete shifts 37 in border practices that exceed the necessary gap between aspiration and reality. Such changes are clearly not captured by tired debates over the obsolescence or persistence of borders, states or both in a globalising (in whichever sense this is taken) world. Indeed, the explosion of literatures on borderwork might best be contextualised as arising from dissatisfaction with such theses, which found favour in the late 1980s and early 1990s as scholars were confronted with the vertiginous collapse of  the geopolitical certainties of  the Cold War (see, for example, Ohmae, 1990) and dramatic acceleration of  financial flows across borders (see, for example, Virilio, 1986). Reactions to such works asserting the continued relevance of  states were often more concerned with debunking 'globalisation' (see, for example, Hirst & Thompson, 1999) than with assessing changes in what 'state sovereignty' might itself mean in different historical circumstances. Today, the dust has settled somewhat and borderwork literatures reject simplistic binaries in favour of  describing the daunting complexity of  borders. As Balibar (2006:2) writes, 'we find ourselves in a geo-historical situation in which the location of  the border, and therefore also its concept, is a complex and equivocal notion'. To take the first of  these notions, the location of  borders, one can readily see a dispersal of  border practices both inside and outside the state. For instance, the second of  a triptych of  documents outlining changes to the government of  the UK's borders, Securing the UK Border: Our Vision and Strategy for the Future, states that: 'The  border  has  traditionally  been understood as  a  single,  staffed  physical  frontier,  where travellers  show  paper-based  identity  documents  to  pass  through.  This  twentieth  century concept can be subject  to abuse ...  [and]  will  not  deal  effectively  with the  step change in mobility that globalisation has brought to our country. We believe a new doctrine is demanded, where controls begin offshore and where we use information, intelligence and identity systems to allow scrutiny at key checkpoints on the journey to and from the UK.' (Home Office, 2007:3) Thus borders are multiple, and are not always found on 'traditional' border lines; in fact, finding borders takes  on  a  new  level  of  difficulty  (and  imagination),  since  'they  are  increasingly  ephemeral  and/or impalpable:  electronic,  non-visible,  and  located  in  zones  that  defy  a  straightforwardly  territorial  logic' (Parker & Vaughan-Williams et al, 2009:583). This is not to say that such borders are aterritorial, but that 38 they obey a new and unfamiliar territoriality, for as Deleuze and Guattari insist (even if  it is occasionally forgotten  amongst  their  acolytes),  'deterritorialization...always  occurs  in  relation  to  a  complementary reterritorialization' (1987:54; Elden, 2009). This reterritorialisation plays out in lines that are premised less on the disciplinary focus on raison d'État than on the more flexible, probabilistic territoriality of  a security apparatus, and involves an economisation, technicisation and delegation of  border practices. In relation to the control of  the movement of  people, these border changes might be subdivided into externalisations such as  the  partial  outsourcing  of  European  border  controls  or  the  bilateral  negotiation  of  'readmission agreements'  with  non-EU  states  (Boswell,  2003;  Andrijasevic,  2006)  and  internalisations such  as  the subcontracting of  border controls to either regular police forces or  commercial carriers (Walters, 2006; Guild, 2006) or requirements made by state institutions of  valid identity documents in order to access the services they offer (Faure Atger, 2008). Each of  these developments is intensely spatial, and although there is  uncertainty  over  where  one  chooses  to  see  the  border  (the  institution,  the  database,  or  even  the biometrically coded migrant body?), this is largely dependent upon how exactly one defines 'border'. This ambiguity feeds into the second of  Balibar's equivocal complexities, that of  the very concept of  the border. Borderwork literatures argue for a shift from conceptions of  the border as a wall (thus, 'Fortress  Europe')  or dyke (holding back floods,  inundations,  tidal  waves or tsunamis  of  migrants)  to conceptions  of  the  'smart'  border  as  a  checkpoint,  dual-coded as  liberal  for  economic  travellers  and restrictive  for  security  threats  (Sparke,  2006).  The  territoriality  of  this  division  is  no  longer  one  of homogeneous blocks of  people separated by a single line drawn in the ground or through the sea, but of  a multiple border conduct a constant sifting to divide welcome travellers from unwelcome ones, a net that is spatio-temporally specific rather than fixed and constant (Coleman, 2007). It is based not on total control, but rather on optimal control: maximum economic benefit for minimum (but not zero) security risk. Even territories themselves resist any simple bounding, as ambiguous, legally exceptional spaces at air- and sea- ports,  immigrant detention centres, and off-shore enclaves designed to retain territorial sovereignty but escape from asylum, tax or other traditional obligations of  state territory (Andrijasevic, 2006) gerrymander 39 borders of  territories in complex and occasionally fanciful ways. The result of  these forced de-linkings is a disaggregation of  border function, a fracturing of  the set of  jurisdictions that were once synonymous (at least territorially) with the state. In short, the notion of  the border as a single line separating unitary inside from common outside looks increasingly outmoded; instead, Nancy Fraser (2009:5) points towards 'novel forms of  “intermestic” politics, practiced by new, trans-territorial, non-state actors, including transnational social movements, intergovernmental organizations, and international nongovernmental organizations' (see also  Kearns,  2008).  The  unwieldiness  of  Fraser's  neologisms  attests  to  the  unfamiliarity  of  the reterritorialisation of  politics, and the fundamental reconceptualisation of  borders that it entails. We  can  visualise  the  transformations  in  the  location  and  conception  of  borders,  and  the consequent opening of  politically ambiguous or irregular spaces, either in terms of  the localised ambiguity of  frayed borders, termed 'margins', 'marches' (Walters, 2002) or Möbius strips (Bigo, 2005;  2007), or in terms  of  the  more  general ambiguity  of  borders  per  se in  a  security  apparatus  in  which  checkpoints proliferate, and borders are 'no longer the shores of  politics but...the space of  the political itself' (Balibar, 1998:220; Balibar, 2009). While the former signifies the failure of  state borders to adhere to the clean lines of  the international, in which nation, state and sovereignty coincide in a single territorial line, the latter expresses more clearly  the absolute incommensurability  of  a  territoriality  of  the international  with an emergent territoriality of  the security apparatus. However, while there is certainly a great deal of  truth in such conceptions, there is also a great danger than this fetishisation of  the newness of  supposedly post- modern borders both neglects the continued relevance of  the international in defining notions of  security and seriously oversells the extent to which the clean borders and spaces of  the international ever described political practice; I shall say a few words on the latter before turning to the former in greater depth. If  one looks at a time before the territoriality we so eagerly find in the Peace of  Westphalia finally began (with the nineteenth century unifications of  Italy and Germany) to bear resemblance to reality, the insufficiency of sharp,  clean  borders  in  describing  political  reality  is  self-evident  (c.f.  Agnew,  2008).  Even  in  the  late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, bordering practices were considerably more complex than their political 40 representations as clean lines allowed: to take but three examples, the development of  the passport as a means of  surveillance and control (Torpey, 2000), externalisations of  the border via the imposition of  visas (Zolberg, 1999; Walters, 2006) and even biometry (Maguire, 2009) all have longer histories than is often allowed (Agnew, 2008). However, just as such liberalisations were underpinned by the assumption that the international's  configuration  of  territoriality  was  what  had  ultimately  to  be  preserved,  so  today  the international continues to inform vital matters of  national security. Security 'Security' is most often thought of  in terms of  the preservation of  the state, and spatialised as the defence of  the territory over which it claims a monopoly on violence and authority: 'The concept of  “security” is  closely associated in the field of  international  relations with defending the integrity of  the state's territorial space. But this has not signified defence of human, cultural, or ecological security, except incidentally. What is at stake is the survival and maintenance of  the sovereignty of  the state over its territory.' (Agnew, 1994:60) However, I wish to argue along slightly different lines: that the vitalisation of  state sovereignty by the nation shifted the terms of  security, and hence also its spatiality. With the moral authority of  representing a nation came a moral responsibility to assure a specifically  national  security. If  the security of  the modern polity has since the Middle Ages been a territorial concern, the security of  the biopolity (Kelly, 2010) is no less so, but is additionally concerned with the territorial congruence of  nation with state. In Mark Kelly's (2010) terms, it is concerned with the alignment of  the geopolitical and biopolitical borders of  the state. Such an alignment is  of  course impossible,  both practically  (since the definition of  nation always produces an excess)  and  ideologically  (since  security  must  be  balanced  by  economic  concerns  for  cross-border movement, an equation complicated by 'smart borders' claiming to do both (Sparke, 2006), but an equation nonetheless). However, the impossibility of  such an alignment does not prevent it being idealised: there is a certain dramatic irony that even as it is becoming blindingly obvious that the marriage of  nation and state no longer suffices to express contemporary political identities, this very marriage continues to be called 41 forth in the service of  narratives of  'national security'. As Bigo (2007:10) writes, '[t]he ghost of  the enemy within is haunting this geopolitical vision in search of  simple explanations and clear distinctions between “us” and “them”, “friends” and “foes”, “good” and “evil”, “inside” and “outside”'. The state must thus strike a balance between allowing geopolitical and biopolitical borders to diverge, thus implementing the probabilistic  territoriality  of  the security  apparatus,  and realigning them (or being seen to be trying to realign them) when the resultant politically ambiguous outside(r)s-inside are too clearly visible, for in the light of  day they are an affront to national security. I wish to briefly consider both sides of  this balance, before moving on to the construction of  the political  identity  of  Roma as necessarily  antagonistic  to national security (not of  this or that state, but national security per se). Strategies  for  securing  the  nation-state  inevitably  reassert  the  familiar  lines  and spaces  of  the international. Immigration crises are announced, territorial sovereignty (of  one's own state at least) avowed, the erosion of  national culture bemoaned, and economic plans that amount to 'creat[ing] British jobs for British  workers'  written  (Brown,  2007).  Recourse  is  made  to  international  law,  which  is  supremely conservative in its preservation of  extant political borders, often in defiance of  the local reality of  political community.  As Elden  (2009:147)  notes,  '[t]he  problem  under  international  law  tends...to  be  one  of protecting borders wherever they are, rather than recognising their artificial nature in many places'. The 'irregular' spaces that inevitably result from such inflexibility, whether the unrecognised breakaway state that  has  de  facto but  not  de  jure  sovereignty  (a  biopolitical  but  not  geopolitical  entity)  (Kolossov  & O'Loughlin, 1998) or the 'failed' state where the reverse is true (a geopolitical but not biopolitical entity) (Jackson, 1990), are held to be deeply problematic for the security of  all states, and thus in extremis demand the intervention of  the  international  community.  Indeed,  since  such interventions  serve to secure  the international, they may be presented as 'peace-keeping' missions: theirs is a lawful violence. Similarly, we might see the discriminatory treatment of  Roma, 'illegal immigrants' and others trapped in political limbo between geopolitical and biopolitical borders as lawful violence as it too serves to assert the normative congruence  of  these  borders.  As Deleuze  and  Guattari  (1987:448)  write,  '[t]here  is  lawful  violence 42 wherever violence contributes to the creation of  that which it is used against, or as Marx says, wherever capture  leads  to  the  creation  of  that  which  it  captures'.  Today,  just  as  in  1919  (see  Chapter  3),  the imposition of  the international as the normative ideal for global 'security' and civilisation functions not despite the clear incongruence of  nations and states, but because of  them. It is true, then, that we see a rejuvenation of  sorts of  the rhetoric of  the international. As Rogers Brubaker (1996:2) notes, we have witnessed 'not the anticipated eclipse but the spectacular revival and rebirth of  the nation-state and the national idea in Europe'. However, I contend that its very spectacularity hides something rather different in its shadow. By publicising and making a spectacle of  efforts to reassert the international, the state distracts attention from times and places when the international is  not, and perhaps even cannot, be asserted. Thus we should see the 'series of  “asylum crises” occurring throughout the Euro-Atlantic world in the 1990s, especially when the refugees at issue are Roma' (Cahn & Vermeersch, 2000:72), and persisting through the 2000s, as occupying the same axis as the liberalisation of  European borders  for,  and economic reliance on,  EU-affiliated migrants.  Or,  if  we focus  on the 'asylum crises' themselves, we might look at the 'huge disparity between the number of  people refused asylum and the number who are either removed by the Immigration Service or make a voluntary departure' (Amnesty International,  2006:5; see also National Audit Office, 2005; Ellermann, 2009), a disparity that 'leaves a number of  people in an ambiguous legal status that defies clear-cut categorizations between citizens and non-citizens'  (Paoletti,  2010:15)  and  confirms  Matthew  Gibney  and  Randall  Hansen's  (2003:2) characterisation of  deportation as 'both ineffectual and essential'.  We might take particular note of  the publicity afforded deportation order statistics and the security rhetoric that celebrates their increase, and the  contrasting opaqueness and unavailability  of  actual  deportation statistics  and the rhetorical  silence surrounding  non-deportation  (Paoletti,  2010).  Or,  if  we  take  Italy's  2008  declaration  of  a  state  of emergency with the 'Nomad Emergency Decree' (see Chapter 4), we might note the discrepancy between its prominence in the newly elected government's pacchetto sicurezza ('security package') and the smallness of its actual jurisdiction. In each of  these examples, the spectacle of  the state's assurances of  the international 43 are undermined by the considerably less spectacular but arguably more pervasive departure from the ideals of  the international. In other words, the dazzle of  the spectacular imposition of  the international allows for (indeed, requires) the subversion of  the international in its shadow. The combination of  the ongoing reliance upon the international to inform our notions of  security and the tendency for states to defy it in practice only exacerbates the production of  ambiguous outsiders- inside  who  fall  outside  the  logic  of  the  international,  trapped  in  an  interstitial  limbo  between  the geopolitical and biopolitical borders of  the state. These outsiders-inside (the most conspicuous of  whom are Roma) are corporeal reminders of  the limits of  the international, exposing the compromises we make between universal aspiration and particularistic practice. They 'demarcate the boundaries of  society, beyond which lie those who do not belong' (Sibley, 1995:49, emphasis added); they 'constitut[e] the borders of  the modern, the rational, the sovereign, the state' (Shaw, 2002:62, emphasis added). In short, they both embody and expose the limits of  the international as a means of  ordering political life. However, the extent to which the outsider is perceived as not merely alien, but actively threatening requires further attention. For outsiders-inside clearly are objects of  security: they fall the wrong side of  the line that separates those who are entitled to rights (as citizens, Europeans and humans), from those who threaten those rights and whose entitlements are therefore curtailed. Rather than dismissing the 'threat' outsiders-inside are held to pose as insular, parochial or even racist, we should perhaps admit that the prospect of  a new configuration of  sovereignty signified by the outsider-inside is threatening, insofar as it threatens the long-dormant truths of  the international, and destabilises our very idea of  what dearly held concepts like freedom, security and identity – concepts that underpin feelings of  threat and safety – might be. This perception of  threat is perhaps best seen as the response to the 'deterritorialization of  certainty and identity' (Elden, 2009:7), the dissipation of  the presumed truths and order of  the international. Julia Kristeva, in her analysis of  abjection, or the casting-out that lies at the heart of  the production of  the inside/outside dichotomy, writes that: 'It is thus not lack of  cleanliness or health that causes abjection but what disturbs identity, 44 system, order. What does not respect borders, positions, rules. The in-between, the ambiguous, the composite.' (Kristeva, 1982:4) For Sibley too, it is the ambiguity that causes discomfort: 'The mixing of  categories...creates  liminal  zones  or spaces of  ambiguity  and discontinuity. ...For  the individual  or  group socialized into believing that  the  separation of  categories  is necessary or desirable, the liminal zone is a source of  anxiety.' (Sibley, 1995:32-3) If  one defines safety by way of  a separation of  inside and outside, then any breakdown or uncertainty in the line that makes this separation does, in a very real sense, impair security. Balibar (2006:7, emphasis in original)  writes  that  'the  historical  hegemony  of  the  nation-state  was  constructed  around  an  ideal differentiation between security and war : the police dealt with strangers, and the war concerned enemies'. It follows that to confuse inside and outside is to brings the conditions of  war – Hobbes ’ anarchy – and malign 'enemies' uncomfortably close to home. Robbed of  the territoriality we rely on to distinguish those we share an affinity with from those who challenge this affinity, we see only a dizzying darkness. Gearóid Ó Tuathail (1997:103) calls  this a 'geopolitical vertigo',  fittingly summoning the bodily fear of  political uncertainty. It is the misfortune of  the outsider-inside to be the manifestation of  this uncertainty, and hence the object of  this bodily fear. Conclusions It is  easy when speaking of  the supersession (however partial this may be) of  the territoriality of  the international,  intimately  connected  to  emergent  forms  of  governmentality  and  manifest  in  the disaggregation and dislocation of  borders, to imply that the 'old order' is simply 'the way things were'. This is not my argument, and to this end I have tried to engage with the history of  this order, triangulated through the ideals of  the international, Foucault's historical analysis of  shifting regulatory apparatuses, and the impossibility of  fully implementing the territorialities they specify. The 'old order' represented by the international  was never simply the way things were,  though it  was for a period of  time the dominant 45 conception, in Europe, of  how things ought to be. Equally, I am not convinced that this time has expired: indeed, it is in the very oscillation between, on the one hand the rhetoric and spectacle of  the international, and on the other hand an apparent willingness of  states to act according to a new spatial configuration of sovereignty (based on a markedly different political ontology to that prescribed by the international), that we ought to situate the contemporary intensification of  the production of  politically ambiguous outsides inside and outsiders inside, and the feelings of  threat that they provoke. In this oscillation, which takes place within the very apparatus of  government as much as it does within society,  we see a  jarring of  truths:  security  as  the  singularity  of  borders versus security as  the proliferation of  checkpoints; freedom as the inverse of  state (the absence of  controls) versus freedom as the product of  state (passage through controls), identity as state subject versus identity as consumer of states.  There  is  no  easy  resolution  to  these  tensions,  just  as  there  is  no  easy  way  to  match  up  the international with specific modes of  regulation. The progressive institutionalisation of  a security apparatus simultaneously  challenges  the  geopolitical  adherence  to  the  international  (through  the  importation, exportation and dual-coding of  borders) and demands biopolitical adherence to the international (through its adoption of  state racism as the means by which the reconcile the bounds of  nation and state, and its promotion of  a  rational  economic subjectivity  that  has  encouraged the  treatment  of  states  as  unitary actors). The consequence of  these tensions is that it is by no means certain what concepts like 'safety' or 'security' might entail, let alone how they are to be achieved. It is no surprise, then, that we see an anxious imperative to define insides, political communities inside which we can function, and civilisation flourish, protected  from  the  anarchy  outside.  In  this,  we  might  best  see  regionalisms,  nationalisms  and Europeanisms not as  antithetical,  but as  intimately inter-related endeavours.  However,  as  long as such schemes are drawn in the clean lines and spaces of  the international, they will always be outsiders at the limits, the collateral damage when universal aspirations are compromised in the name of  particular practice. There is a risk that drawing conclusions in this way is at best bleak, and at worst fatalist, consigning the  outsider  to  discrimination  whichever  direction  he,  she  or  indeed  society  turns,  and  furthermore 46 appearing to justify such discrimination as inevitable rather than condemning it.  Of  course it  must be condemned, but only so long as we realise our own complicity in the violence that lies behind it. It would be rank hypocrisy to condemn the construction of  an outside while revelling in the freedoms that such an action secures for the inside, and yet the extent to which these elements are divorced and naturalised makes such hypocrisy a commonplace,  perhaps even downgrading the charge to naïveté.  My hope is  that by exposing the structures that firstly constitute the set of  political identities and landscapes that we inhabit, and secondly code certain identities and formations as inherently problematic, or threatening, we might begin to defuse the affective load of  such ontologies. We might also be a little more informed when we try to  imagine  alternative,  less  exclusionary  utopias  and  –  more  importantly  –  utopian isms:  that  is,  the structures within which concepts like inclusion or exclusion become meaningful. The task is daunting both in nature and scope, and yet the alternative – persisting with a notion of  sovereignty entirely conditioned by the international  – is,  I  have argued,  an unsatisfactory  and severely limiting  model  of  the  political present, let alone any utopian dreams we might allow ourselves. In Europe today, many of  the most influential accounts of  shifts in sovereignty centre on the role of  'Europe' itself, portrayed as a new political actor in its own right and, moreover, a new type of  political actor that is immune to, or at least predisposed to counteract, the nationalistic exclusions of  individual states. Indeed, many of  the claims to 'humanity' made on behalf  of  the international, particularly those expressed as 'human rights', are proclaimed most explicitly and enthusiastically by the set of  institutions we understand as 'Europe', or 'the EU'. It is to these claims that I now turn, seeking to interrogate whether 'Europe' is quite so new as we are so quick to assume, either historically or typologically; and furthermore whether its laudable universalist aspirations aren't as much subject to compromise by particularistic practice as those of  states. As I have argued here, a firm stance at the limits of  the international is the best place from which to conduct such an analysis. Indeed, if  Council of  Europe Commissioner for Human Rights Thomas Hammarberg is right to say that the treatment of  non-nationals by European states, expressly including 'Roma and Sinti',  'constitutes a litmus test for states’ effective observance and respect of  the 47 fundamental human rights principles' (Hammarberg, 2009a:4), then it is the only place to conduct such an analysis.  If  there  is a test of  human rights principles being run, it is not the limits of  the rights being judged, but the limits of  humanity, and of  the political framework by which we have come to make sense of  humanity. 48 3 From Minority to Migrant: The (Dis)involvement of  Roma in the European Project The  relationship  between  Roma  and  the  international  has  long  been  fraught.  Throughout  a  history stretching back to the fifteenth century of  various ordinances issued by European governments in order to protect society from 'gypsies' and 'vagabonds' (see, for example, Fraser, 1992), the figure of  the gypsy has typically  been called forth to express the limits  of  nation and culture,  decency and lawfulness,  via  its abjection (c.f. Sibley, 1995). The Gypsy was invariably, and often by their very definition, both out of  place and  out  of  time  (that  is,  premodern,  uncivilised).  Moreover,  these  axes  fed  into  each  other:  the backwardness of  the Gypsy was rationalised by emphasising that they were not of  Europe, that their roots were elsewhere; while their unwelcomeness was justified by way of  their purported inability to function in, or 'adapt to', modern society. The heady cocktail of  limit-signifiers loaded onto the Gypsy can be taken two ways:  taken as  an amalgamated whole,  one  can see  a  certain symmetry  between society's  fears  about foreigners, strange customs and dubious morality coalescing in the figure of  the gypsy, and society itself coalescing with the categories of  nation, culture, territory and polity. With this frame, we begin to see the contours of  how the (abjection of  the) gypsy is intimately bound up with the creation of  the modern European nation-state and the ideals of  the international. Taken apart, one can trace individual histories and geographies of  the association of  Roma with, say, paganism, or vagrancy, or foreignness, or racial inferiority, or any of  a multitude of  signifiers that have at various times, in various places, helped to define what society is through defining what it is not. Needless to say, these histories are long, complex, uneven, and horrendously interwoven. If  it  is  reductive to treat Roma exclusion ahistorically,  glossing over the spatio-temporal shifts in exactly what has defined them as 'alien' to European society at and in various points, it equally seems insufficient to tighten the frame of  analysis to individual signifiers without looking at the interplay between them, and their relation to European society at large. In this chapter I focus on the relationship between Roma and the international in twentieth-century Europe.  I  take a  roughly chronological  approach,  tracking first  the stretching of  political  assumptions 49 fomented in the nineteenth century across the entire European continent, a process that reached both its apotheosis and its ultimate rejection in the Nazis' murderous enforcement of  the exclusions inherent in the international. Second, I turn to the contemporary contortions of  the political landscape, in which we see both  the  resurrection  of  minority  rights  discourses  in  which  Roma  are  a  conspicuous  presence  in European politics, and the contradictory treatment of  Roma not as minority but as the eternal migrant. Third, I discuss what this might mean both for our assumptions of  European enlightenment and for the fate of  European Roma. By the 'eternal migrant', I mean the person whose migration is not an event (the émigré, the tourist), but an  identity – they are not merely out of  place, they are absolutely so: unplaceable. Zygmunt Bauman (2004:80) refers to this class as 'the human waste of  the global frontier-land, and “the outsiders incarnate”, the  absolute  outsiders,  outsiders  everywhere  and  out  of  place  everywhere  except  in  places  that  are themselves out of  place – the “nowhere places” that appear on no maps used by ordinary humans on their travels'.  The recent spate of  violence and exclusionary  rhetoric  directed at  Roma (see Chapter  1,  and Chapter 4 for extended discussion of  the Italian case) attest to the growing extent to which Roma are made to exemplify this marginal political identity. And yet this trend feels somehow contradictory, or at least counterintuitive. There is  a feeling, uttered less in frustration than simply incomprehension, that this should not be so: that we are too modern, postmodern  even;  that  states  and  nationalism  are  passé;  that  multiculturalism  or  regionalism  or cosmopolitanism is  now the  order  of  the  day  and that  intolerance  of  difference  is  merely  the  most stubborn of  debris from a discredited age. This is the sentiment that Kate Brown is expressing as she lays out the apparent paradox: 'One would think that at the dawn of  the globalizing twenty-first century, we would have lost the impulse to divide people by bloodline, to draw physical and legal boundaries and place some people within and others out. Yet this is the legacy of  both the furious motion of  the first half  of  the twentieth century and the encroaching boundaries of  the second half.' (Brown, 2004:234) At first glance, the European project would appear to be the epitome of  enlightened post-statism: a union 50 of  nations, a celebration of  diversity, and an economic philosophy premised on rewarding mobility rather than restricting it. In this view, the responsibility to ensure respect of  minority rights rests 'naturally' at the European level,  beyond the reach of  abusive nationalisms; therefore,  as  the institutions that represent Europe grow stronger, so minority rights must grow more secure. As Tony Judt (1996) writes, '[i]t is the very rationality of  the European Union ideal that commends it to an educated professional class which, in east and west alike, sees in “Brussels” an escape from hidebound practices and provincial backwardness'. However, as Brown suggests, and as I seek to expand upon in this chapter, this assumption is not borne out by the history of  European engagements with Roma through the twentieth century. On one hand, contemporary Roma integration programmes have greater provenance than is often allowed, as is clear if  one looks at the two great supranational European projects of  the inter-war years, the League of Nations and the Soviet Union. Indeed, it was the latter's 'promising combination of  philosophical ambition and administrative power' that Judt (1996) was comparing to modern 'Europe'. On the other hand, the twentieth century has equally been marked by the successive failures of  such projects, and by extension a consistent failure to prove 'Europe' any better than national governments at protecting minorities. Rather than attribute the failure to secure Roma rights to the powerlessness of  the League of  Nations or the reticence of  the EU, both verdicts that serve to invite technical solutions, I ask whether Europe (or, more precisely, those supranational bodies that have purported to act in its name) is quite so predisposed to act in the ultimate interests of  Roma as such arguments presume. By holding up to the light our faith in Europe as a site – the site – at which Roma rights may be won, I hope to be able to answer Mit’a Castle- Kanĕrová's (2003:21) question as to 'why, despite the desire to be open and pluralistic, the EU has become enamoured with the identification of  migrants as refugees', and with the simultaneous identification of Roma as migrant-refugee par excellence. 51 The Rise and Fall of  Roma as National Minority The Politicisation of  Antiziganism The point at which I wish to start my analysis is the point at which nation and state congealed (see chapter 2), and antiziganism started to draw on a political (and therefore, ultimately 'rational') definition of  Roma as existing outside of  this grid. An important early move in this direction was the interest taken by both philologists and Indologists in tracking, through the examination of  Romani dialects, the Indian origins of Europe's Roma. Though not the first to posit this connection, Johann Rüdiger's 1782 study was 'the first to display the evidence and the analysis' (Matras, 2004:57) for this it; his scientific reasoning might be judged by his professed 'hope that by using the plumb line of  philology I was able to facilitate and safeguard the journey across the history of  the Gypsies' (Rüdiger 1990:84; quoted in Matras, 2004:58). The nineteenth century saw an explosion of  such studies, as a romantic emphasis on the importance of  'roots' converged with what might be called the scientisation of  race. Some of  this work was, as might be expected, explicitly antiziganist. Equally though, many railed against such intolerance, none more so than Rüdiger himself  who was gravely concerned that 'nowhere have [Roma] obtained full civil status and equality with the rest of  us humans – to which they are naturally entitled...This is still a political inconsistency, which our enlightened century should be ashamed to tolerate' (Rüdiger, 1990:47-9; quoted in Matras, 2004:58). This  scientific  discourse  was  reinforced  by  literary  narratives  that  reaffirmed  the  normative connections between nation (evaluated linguistically), state and territory. However, such clean connections could only ever be drawn at the expense of  the abjection of  those that did not fit this model, and were thus displaced into the position of  'national minorities'. For instance, Michael Ragussis (1995:127) notes how  'by  locating  the  origins  of  modern  Spain  in  the  conquest  of  the  Moors  at  Granada  and  the banishment of  the Jews, nineteenth-century historians and novelists alike began to use fifteenth-century Spain as  a paradigm for the birth of  a nation based in racial  and religious homogeneity'.  Importantly however,  such  narratives  of  liberation  were  also  written  for  those  minorities  who  were  otherwise disenfranchised by them, a prime example being (to stay momentarily within Spain) George Eliot's long 52 poem The Spanish Gypsy (1868) in which Gypsies, though depicted in romantic terms, are presented 'as a race in need of  a homeland' (Bardi, 2007:269). Indeed, the central tragedy of  the poem is arguably the failure  to  consummate  a  North  African  Gypsy  nation-state  (Bardi,  2007).  Such  narratives  not  only consolidated the claims to 'modern', territorial nation-states as the end-point of  a teleology of  liberation and the axes by which roots could be measured, but also served to mourn the lack of  a Roma nation-state, thereby imbuing it with a significance that would haunt the fates of  Roma through the twentieth century. National Self-determination If  the rise of  nation, and nationalism, into Rogers Brubaker's 'protean' category of  political thought was one of  the factors that led to the outbreak of  the First World War, then the creation of  successor states (ostensibly) according to the principle of  national self-determination at the 1919 Paris Peace Conference was surely the point at which the pan-European fusion of  nation and state described in Chapter 2 was institutionalised, and Roma were cemented in the position of  'national minority'. A Europe dominated by multinational, multi-ethnic and multi-lingual empires – Habsburg, Ottoman, German and Russian – had been shattered into democratic republics,  whose sovereignty was (often constitutionally) held to rest in their titular (and singular) nations; the 19 European states of  1914 had in just eight years grown in number by  half,  to  28  (Correlates  of  War  Project,  1997).  However,  this  vast  political  enfranchisement  was accompanied by a simultaneous disenfranchisement, for 'Versailles had given sixty million people a state of their own, but it turned another twenty-five million into minorities' (Mazower, 1998:42). The ethnically heterogeneous populations of  Central and Eastern Europe made it impossible to draw borders resulting in 'natural' nation-states, while the presence of  groups without states, like Roma and Jews, in precisely these regions again made vast  quantities  of  'national  minorities'  inevitable.  The exact  numbers of  Roma in Europe at this time are impossible to know and extremely difficult even to estimate; estimates for their population in 1939 range from 1 000 000 (Lutz & Lutz, 1995), to the Nazi Party's estimate of  2 000 000 (Hancock, 2004), to those sure that the Nazis’ estimate is surely an under-representation (Hancock, 2004). 53 The  exercise  of  self-determination  as  the  stated  means  of  organising  the  European  political landscape after the Great War was by no means either inevitable or endemic to Europe. Rather, it owed much to the United States President Woodrow Wilson's 'Fourteen Points' speech to Congress on January 8th 1918. Of  Wilson's Fourteen Points, the sixth through thirteenth points were concerned with applying the  principle  of  national  self-determination,  in  which the  nation's  right  to unimpeded sovereign state power was held as sacrosanct, to Europe. The fifth Point was to begin to apply this principle in European colonies (such that 'the interests of  the populations concerned must have equal weight with the equitable claims of  the government whose title is to be determined', a radical claim at the time), and the fourteenth Point  to  establish  an  'association  of  nations'  charged  with  guaranteeing  'political  independence  and territorial integrity to great and small states alike' (Wilson, 1918). In all cases, 'lines of  nationality' were to be the deciding criterion as European borders were redrawn, though precisely what constituted nationality was left ambiguous, particularly regarding the 'peoples of  Austria-Hungary' mentioned in the tenth Point (Wilson, 1918). During the Paris Peace Conference, the first five points (including the application of  self- determination in the colonies) were dropped in negotiations, but despite their reservations Britain and France acquiesced over the remainder of  Wilson's Points, and a raft of  new 'successor states' to the old Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian Empires was born. Wilson's Points, first addressed to an American audience, are perhaps best seen as a diagnosis of the War within a framework, and to a population, that accepted unquestioningly the 'manifest destiny' of the (American) state and people. The War, for Wilson, was caused by the 'lack of  congruence between nations and states' (Barkin & Cronin, 1994:120), and so this was where the remedy lay also. The political landscape of  Europe had to be fixed, in the double sense that it had to be both corrected and locked into place (Smith, 2006). However, it quickly became apparent that transposing 'lines of  nationality' into state borders was a more difficult task than had been anticipated, particularly to Wilson, who would later regret that 'When I gave utterance to those words [that all nations had a right to self-determination], I said 54 them without a knowledge that nationalities existed, which are coming to us day after day ... You do not know and cannot appreciate the anxieties that I have experienced as the result of many millions of  people having their hopes raised by what I have said.' (quoted in Heater, 1994:8; in Lynch, 2002:426) Wilson  had  accounted  for  neither  the  complexity  of  the  concept  of  self-determination,  which  he conceived 'as an imprecise amalgam of  several standards of  thought associated with the notion of  self- government, democracy (“consent of  the governed”) and the “principle of  nationalities”' (Trifunovska, 1997:178;  citing Pomerance,  1982:1),  nor for the complexity of  the distributions of  such nationalities. Consequently,  '[o]f  the  nation-states  that  resulted  [from the  Paris  Peace  Conference],  none  possessed anything even approaching the ethnic homogeneity of  the old European nations that had served as models for their political constitutions' (Arendt, 2006:181), and so the 'millions of  people' who had had their hopes raised by Wilson were to be let down violently by their redefinition as 'national minorities' in what was now a foreign (to them) land. This violence was amplified by the fact that rather than being the 'absolutely impartial' process that Wilson had assured it would be, negotiation amongst the Allied Powers ensured that 'self-determination'  was applied only selectively,  such that  Anschluss between Germany and Austria was vetoed, Hungary intentionally truncated, and Italy granted the Austrian territories it was promised under the 1915 Treaty of  London. Nevertheless, the ideology of  self-determination had successfully implanted the notion of  ownership of  the state and territory by the majority nation; an ideology that continues to hold sway throughout Europe today. The  foreignness  of  the  national  minority  was  not  not  incidental  to,  but  a  product  of,  the proclamation of  national self-determination. As Robert Hayden (1999:81) writes, 'the ideology of  national sovereignty, of  the right to national self-determination, effectively requires such discrimination [between nationalities],  for  without  it,  the  boundaries  of  the  majority  nation  cannot  be  maintained'.  It  was immediately apparent that one of  the chief  tasks of  the organisation that sprung from Wilson's fourteenth point, the League of  Nations, was to act as guarantor of  the rights of  national minorities, and thereby counterbalance the 'natural' trend towards their discrimination. The need for such a guarantor was most 55 keenly felt by those peoples who 'formed a majority in no country and therefore could be regarded as the minorité[s]  par  excellence,  the  only  minorit[ies]  whose interests  could be defended only  by  internationally guaranteed protection'; I have pluralised Hannah Arendt's (1966:289) argument because it applies not just to Europe's Jews, of  whom she is speaking, but also its Roma. (Indeed, one could push the case further, since  the  British  government's  Balfour  Declaration  of  1917,  supporting  Zionist  claims  for  a  Jewish homeland in Palestine, had already devised an alternative solution for Europe's Jewish population.) The form this guarantee took, meanwhile, was the Minorities Treaty (the first of  which, and the template for all subsequent treaties, was the Polish Treaty, signed on June 28 th 1919), the signature of  which was made a precondition for diplomatic recognition of  each successor state. The victorious powers, including Italy, were naturally exempt from having to sign such treaties, as 'minority safeguards were deemed unnecessary for  politically  mature  Western  European  states  who  could  be  relied  upon  to  fulfil  the  “standard  of civilization”' (Jackson Preece, 1997b:82). However, rather than proving a workable preventative to discrimination, the Minorities Treaties instead simply codified it. As Arendt (1966:275) writes, '[t]he Minorities Treaties said in plain language what until then had only been implied in the working system of  nation-states, namely, that only nationals could be citizens, only people of  of  the same national origin could enjoy the full protection of  legal institutions, that persons of  different nationality needed some law of  exception until or unless they were completely assimilated  and  divorced  from their  origin'.  Meanwhile,  the  'law  of  exception'  that  the  treaties  were supposed to guarantee was undermined by the League of  Nations' failure to enforce it. Whether a failure of  competence or of  will,  the League proved unable to act upon complaints from minorities (Jackson Preece, 1997b). The safety net of  legal recourse to a higher order of  justice for minorities thus turned out to be illusory,  securing nothing more than the exceptionality  – the essential  foreignness – of  those it purported to protect, chief  among them the universally foreign Roma. 56 Institutional Multinationality While the victorious Allied Powers dictated the terms of  national self-determination at the Paris Peace Conference, further east similar terms agreed by the Central Powers and Bolshevik Russia at Brest-Litovsk had already created a new batch of  nation-states. Though it was to be short-lived, the Treaty of  Brest- Litovsk, signed on March 3rd 1918, instituted new states along national lines, granting independence to Finland,  Estonia,  Latvia,  Lithuania  and  Ukraine.  Though  the  independence  of  Ukraine,  like  that  of Armenia, Georgia and Azerbaijan who independence was granted around the same time, was to last only a few years, the uncontested sovereignty of  the former four states was guaranteed by the combination of  the Bolshevik ceding of  territorial claims at Brest-Litovsk and the subsequent defeat of  Germany and Austria- Hungary, who under the Treaty were to 'determine the future status of  these territories in agreement with their population' (Art. III, Peace Treaty of  Brest-Litovsk, 1918). The conditions in the Treaty mandating the return of  deported nationals by Russia (Art VI) show that these populations, and therefore also their new states, were thought of  in 'national' terms. However,  perhaps  the  most  pertinent  example  of  the  institutionalisation  and,  crucially, territorialisation of  'nation' as a technology of  government, a technology that was to work to systematically exclude the deterritorialised 'minorities', occurred not outside the Soviet Union but inside it. Here too 'self- determination' was proclaimed, according to the philosophy that only through 'self-determination can any formerly oppressed nation shed its legitimate mistrust of  larger nations' (Vareikis & Zelenskii, 1924:59; quoted in Slezkine, 1994:434). Although 'nation' might not have been aligned with 'state' as it was further west,  it  was  inextricably  fused  with  the  notion  of  territorial  sovereignty,  in  the  philosophy  of  what Brubaker calls 'institutional multinationality': 'to suggest that nations and nationalism flourish today  despite the Soviet  regime's ruthlessly antinational  policies ...  is  to get things exactly  backwards. ...  Although antinational ist,  those policies were anything but antinational. Far from ruthlessly suppressing nationhood, the Soviet regime pervasively institutionalized ... territorial nationhood and ethnic nationality as fundamental social categories. In doing so it inadvertently created a political field supremely conducive to nationalism.' (Brubaker, 1996:17, emphases in original) 57 These  policies  included  censuses  designed  to  extract  nationalities  from  a  largely  agrarian  peasant populations  whose  language,  religion  and  culture  were  not  easily  defined,  let  alone  tabulated  and transposed. The ambiguity these censuses revealed was interpreted as dangerous, both in terms of  evincing a  lack  of  'development'  and  of  potential  counter-revolutionary  sympathies  that  would  eventually necessitate mass deportations (Brown, 2004). For example, the 1926 census 'reveal[ed] large numbers of people who did not speak “their own language”[; s]uch communities were considered “de-nationalized” by ethnographers and not entirely legitimate by party officials and local elites: ... [they] were expected, and sometimes forced, to learn their mother tongue irrespective of  whether their mothers knew how to speak it' (Slezkine, 1994:428). This 'interpretation' of  ethnographic census data was intensely spatial, involving 'the dramatic reconception of  space, and consequently of  lives, by means of  national taxonomies which transformed  zones  of  cultural  contingency  into  cogently  packaged  nation-states'  (Brown,  2004:229). Except that the units of  government were not 'states' as the rest of  Europe had been taught to understand them, but something new and different: 'the distinctiveness of  the Soviet nationality regime [lay] in its unprecedented displacement of  nationhood and nationality,  as  organizing  principles  of  the social  and political order, from the state-wide to the sub-state level'  (Brubaker, 1996:29). This scalar displacement nevertheless  retained  the  'sense  of  “ownership” of  the  republics  by  ethnocultural  nations'  (Brubaker, 1996:46) that solidified the connection between nation and territory, even if  sovereign control remained located at a higher level. Just  as  the application of  self-determination across Europe had de-nationalised Roma into the condition of  national minority, so too were Roma in the Soviet Union (from 1925) accorded the status of 'national minority', meaning that they could, as Alaina Lemon (2000:82) notes, 'enter “tsygan” ['Gypsy'] on the line for “nationality” (natsional'nost') on internal passports'. Unlike elsewhere in Europe, however, in the Soviet Union the category of  'national minority' was mutually exclusive with the categories of  'nation' and 'ethnic  group'.  Under  Stalin's  classificatory  system,  as  Lemon (2000:82)  explains,  '“[n]ations”  were  to 58 possess  four  characteristics  in  common  (language,  culture/worldview,  territory,  and  economy)  while “national  minorities”,  more flexibly,  need not  possess all  of  these';  'ethnic  groups'  were  still  less  well endowed with the characteristics of  the nation. In theory, these distinctions were merely academic, since (initially at least) 'all nations – indeed all nationalities no matter how “backward” [an officially recognised property of  nationality] – were equal because they were equally sovereign, that is, because they all had the same rights' (Slezkine, 1994:416). This was justified by a slogan of  Lenin's that was to be eerily echoed (in reduced form) by a later Union, that 'the surest way to unity in content was diversity in form' (Slezkine, 1994:420). Indeed, according to the official policy of  korenizatsiia, or indigenisation, 'the affairs of  all ethnic groups at all levels – from union republics to clan soviets – were to be run by the representatives of  those local groups' (Slezkine, 1994:433). Thus, in 1926 the All-Russian Union of  Gypsies was established, 'with the  goals  to unite  Roma,  protect  their  interests  and raise  their  cultural  level'  (European Roma Rights Centre, 2005:47; citing Demeter et al, 2000:205), and in the years following several Romani collective farms (kolkhozy) were set up (European Roma Rights Centre, 2005:48), though by 1932 only 25 'Gypsy kolkhozov' had been created (Marushiakova & Popov, 2008). Hoewever,  as  Yuri  Slezkine  (1994:433)  wryly  notes,  in  practice  'most  indigenization campaigns assumed republic-controlling...nationalities  to be more indigenous  than others'.  By the  mid-1930s,  this caveat has ascended to the status of  rule, and national minorities, far from being granted the political and cultural  autonomies of  korenizatsiia,  became seen as potentially dangerous elements in society. In 1933 alone, thousands of  Roma from large Soviet cities were deported to Siberia, and many more were charged (often with espionage or 'speculation with currency') at extra-judicial tribunals in this period (European Roma Rights Centre, 2005:49-50; citing Bessonov, 2002). By the census of  1937, only 2 211 were prepared to declare themselves as 'tsygan', down from 61 000 in the 1926 census (ibid.). In 1938 all publication of Romani  language  literature  was  halted,  the  All-Russian  Union  of  Gypsies  liquidated,  and all  Romani language schools closed (European Roma Rights Centre, 2005). These education reforms were in line with a general closure of  classes and schools catering to 'people without state-administrative formations (or 59 living beyond them) – for instance Armenians (living beyond the Armenian Soviet  Socialist  Republic), Poles, Germans etc. finishing with Kurds, Assyrians and Roma' (Marushiakova & Popov, 2008). Clearly, a hierarchy had effectively been applied that privileged the larger ethno-territorial units; republic-controlling nations occupied the apex, while those nationalities who had no territory were conversely deprived of legitimacy. Thus, 'the  Jews  became  a  true  nation  after  the  creation  of  the  Jewish  Autonomous  district  in Birobidzhan. “By acquiring their own territory, their own statehood, the toiling Jews of  the USSR received a crucial element that they had lacked before and that had made it impossible for them to be considered a nation in the scientific sense of  the term.”' (Slezkine, 1994:444-5; quoting Dimanshtein, 1935:77) It is clear that the legitimacy of  a nation was intimately tied to its territorial expression in the terms of  the international.  As Slezkine (1994:439,  emphasis  in original)  writes,  '[i]t  turned out ...  that  the Jews and Gypsies  were  different  (but  not  that different)  from everybody  else'.  Indeed,  Soviet  Roma  never  did become a 'nation in the scientific sense of  the term', as their continued lack of  territory meant that they were  destined  to  remain  'national  minority'  at  best.  Meanwhile,  the  line  drawn  under  the  policy  of korenizatsiia  meant that 'national minority' or 'ethnic group' status no longer held any attraction: instead, even when such minorities were not be persecuted as potentially dangerous threats (Brown, 2004), they were seen and treated as inferior, such that 'national minority' became a derogatory term in the Soviet Union (European Roma Rights Centre, 2005:206). In the self-determination rationalities that prevailed (though in differing senses) in the Soviet Union and across the new self-described nation-states that now tiled the rest of  Europe, the position of  'national minority' thus consistently promised more rights than it delivered. This was doubly so for Roma, who in both cases were left in the cold through their lack of  territorial recognition: since politics was in the end decided by polities, they were left with no voice. Moreover, since voice had been tied to place (through the messy reconciliation of  language with nationality), Roma were left both home-less and, for the first time, unable to find a new home. As Arendt (1966:293-4) says, this 'had next to nothing to do with any material problem of  overpopulation; it was a problem not of  space but of  political organization'. Europe had in 60 very short order grown an impenetrable skin that had locked Roma out of  the potential legitimation of being a 'nation', since nations had states, and seemingly locked them in to the position of  national minority. However, the rights this definition of  foreignness conferred were soon found to be mostly illusory, and even the illusion was rapidly fading. Nazism The rhetoric of  security that status as national minority came packaged with was disposed of  in dramatic fashion  by  the  genocides  of  six  million  Jews  (the  Shoah)  and of  the  order  of  a  million  Roma (the Porrajmos) perpetrated by Nazi Germany. Though the Nazis rigorously codified their discrimination in the ('scientific') language of  race, there was no doubt that the political classification of  these groups as national minorities made them vulnerable to the application of  racial caesuras; it is no coincidence that the two racially-defined groups targeted for extermination were national minorities not only absent from their state, but lacking political affiliation to any state. Homing in on the lack of  'unity' of  a people who did not obey the form of  the territorial nation-state, Heinrich Himmler in his 1938 decree Bekämpfung der Zigeunerplage ('Combating the Gypsy Plague') warned of  Gypsies’ 'mixed blood', and 'stressed the need for the police to send returns on all  Gypsies to the Reich Central Office'  (Fraser, 1992:259; citing Döring, 1964:58-60). These prejudices found 'scientific' legitimation in a report written by the Director of  the new 'Research Centre for Racial Hygiene and Population Biology', Robert Ritter, in 1940, which stated that Roma were: 'a people of  entirely primitive ethnological origins, whose mental backwardness makes them incapable of  real social adaptation ... The Gypsy Question can only be solved when the main body of  asocial and good-for-nothing Gypsy individuals of  mixed blood is collected together in  large  labour  camps  and  kept  working  there,  and  when  the  further  breeding  of  this population of  mixed blood is stopped once and for all.' (in Müller-Hill, 1988:57; quoted in Fraser, 1992:260) As is clear from Ritter's logic, the Nazis' belief  in the natural connection between blood and soil meant that only a territorial solution to the Gypsy and Jewish 'questions' (Zigeunerfrage and Judenfrage, respectively) would suffice. 61 A succession of  three territorial solutions were proposed. The first of  these found voice most clearly in a strong Zionism, which for Nazis was simply the logical extension of  the admission of  racial difference  that  being  Jewish  entailed.  As  Arendt  (2006:60)  tells  us,  'all  leading  positions  in  the  Nazi- appointed Reichsvereinigung [der Juden in Deutschland, the 'Reich's Association of  the Jews in Germany'] were held by Zionists...because Zionists, according to the Nazis, were “the 'decent' Jews since they too thought in 'national' terms”'. A marker of  the penetration of  the discourse of  the international was that Zionism was not simply imposed by the Nazis,  but was supported by minorities seduced by the prospect of  a nation-state: 'the German Jews themselves thought it would be sufficient to undo “assimilation” through a new process of  “dissimilation”, and flocked to the ranks of  the Zionist movement' (Arendt, 2006:58-9). Here  too  we  must  bracket  the  later  (circa  1940),  fanciful  plan  to  deport  European  Jews  en  masse  to Madagascar, because it operated on precisely the same logic. The very fact that the idea was floated attests to the allure of  a 'perfect' territorial solution. The second territorial solution under Nazism was the forcible ghettoisation of  Roma and Jews, followed by their eviction into concentration camps. This was in fact put into place rather early for Roma: in December 1937 the Reich Minister of  the Interior announced a policy of  'preventative crime control by the police', detailing that concentration camps would be used to deal with 'asocial elements' like Roma (Fraser,  1992:262).  There  was  no  longer  any  suggestion  of  sovereign  self-rule  in  ghettoisation  and concentration camps: rather than the national minority ascending to nation-state, wherein it may control its own law, it was descending to a level where the state of  exception that decided its law was translated into a space of  exception. As Giorgio Agamben (1998:168-9) writes, '[t]he camp is the space that is opened when the state of  exception begins to become the rule'. The ghetto/camp was a more efficient, if  imperfect, solution to the minority question: the alignment of  the racial caesurae that the state drew in the population with strictly observed territorial borders helped to allay fears of  miscegenation and espionage within the Nazi state, but these minorities remained both a drain on precious state resources and an existential threat to its purity. 62 These fears were to be finally and absolutely eliminated with the third territorial solution: the Final Solution, commonly dated to the Wannsee conference of  January 20 th 1942, though references to 'the final solution of  the Gypsy question' (die endgültige Lösung der Zigeunerfrage) had circulated since 1937 at least, and in Himmler's 1938 Decree 'Combating the Gypsy Plague' the phrase was openly printed (Hancock, 2004). At Wannsee, Reinhard Heydrich, entrusted with co-ordinating the Final Solution, included Roma along with Jews in his interpretation of  it (Fraser, 1992:263). Though exact figures are impossible to know, it is estimated that 'something between a half-million and a million-and-a-half  Roma and Sinti were murdered in Nazi Germany and occupied Europe between 1939 and 1945' (Latham, 1995:2; quoted in Hancock, 2002:28; Heine, 2001). Brenda and James Lutz (1995) estimate that 60-65% of  the Roma population were killed in SS Zones 1 and 2 where German authorities had the greatest freedom of  action, and around 16% of  the population in SS Zone 3, a discrepancy largely owing to obstructionism by Bulgaria and Romania, each of  which had large Roma populations. Like Zionism, genocide was a 'perfect' solution in that the end- state was the elimination of  minorities, such that racially pure nation-states could hold sovereign power over what was unquestionably 'their' population. The  technology  that  these  genocides  relied  upon  was  denationalisation,  such  that  'national minorities' with theoretical recourse to minority rights became simply stateless persons whose lives were protected by no-one and who, therefore, could be killed with impunity (c.f. Agamben, 1998). Within Nazi Germany, denationalisation of  minorities was swiftly accomplished in the second of  the Nuremburg Laws, the 'Reich Citizenship Law', passed on September 15 th 1935, removing citizenship from all non-Aryans. In Nazi-occupied Europe during the war, denationalisation was the inevitable first step in the persecution of Roma and Jews: as Arendt (2006:138) says. '[i]n nearly all countries, anti-Jewish action started with stateless persons'. The pathological territoriality of  both Roma and Jews was no longer to be tolerated, but reduced to a far simpler expression: one either belonged to a nation-state, or simply did not belong. Non-belonging, technically  coded  as  statelessness,  was  contagious:  '[t]he  difference  between  a  naturalized  citizen  and stateless resident was not great enough to justify taking any trouble, the former being frequently deprived 63 of  important civil rights and threatened at any moment with the fate of  the latter' (Arendt, 1966:285). Living without the protection of  the law, the stateless were deprived too of  the means to observe it, since '[t]he stateless person, without right to residence and without the right to work, had of  course to constantly transgress the law' (Arendt, 1966:286). The stateless were thus criminal almost by definition, and criminal with a permanence and certainty that justified their detention and murder. Extricated from the 'web woven around the earth' of  international treaties guaranteeing various national rights, the fate of  the stateless confirmed in the most horrific circumstances that 'whoever is no longer caught in [this web] finds himself out of  legality altogether' (Arendt, 1966:294). The tying of  the fates of  Roma and Jews by the Nazis drew on a historical doubling, both in terms of  their regulation and representation. Janet Lyon outlines the logic by which both Roma and Jews were held  to  be  'unequal  to  the  tasks  of  modern  citizenship'  (Anderson,  2001:126):  '[b]oth  groups  were diasporic; both were deemed to follow the laws of  insular culture rather than the civil  laws of  a self- reflexive polity;  and both were seen to exist in a state of  internal exile and to present drains on local resources and potential threats to national character' (Lyon, 2004:527). This has served to cast them as (unequal) allies, perhaps nowhere more clearly than in Bram Stoker's  Dracula (1897). Bardi (2007) shows how the threat posed by Dracula's allegorical Jewishness and his Szgany (Gypsy) accomplices is not so much metaphysical as hyperphysical, with blood playing the part not of  metaphor but subject in Dracula's vampiric schemes. The power relation visible between Dracula and his loyal Szgany speaks though to a difference in their respective representations: the Gypsy is more primitive and somehow closer to nature, a facet which means that unlike Jewish figures, 'Gypsy figures operate both as threatening foreign “others” who evoke or embody anxiety and, paradoxically, as powerful objects of  desire or identification' (Bardi, 2007:6). Even the Nazis' gathering of  Roma and Jews together as both non-Aryans and genocide-targets has its caveats, not least in its territorial legacy: 'while Jews can still imagine that they have learnt from the Holocaust that only having a place of  their own can protect them from a repetition, for Roma the lesson is the opposite. For them the twentieth century Holocaust abolished the protection of  the mehalla, the ghetto, the 64 segregated  pariah  nomadism,  and the  other  sanctuaries  that  emerged  as  refuges  after  the holocaust of  the sixteenth century.' (Gheorghe & Acton, 2001:68-9) Thus, while Zionism may have been sufficiently recovered from its Nazi affiliations to today signify some kind of  existential opposition to Nazism, no such stance exists for Europe's Roma, who remain trapped by exactly the political landscape that the Nazis so passionately believed in. 'Exactly', though, perhaps does not quite capture the twin senses in which Nazi policy paradoxically constituted both the logical extension of  the international and at the same time its abrogation. Firstly, faith in the political ideal of  the territorially-defined, racially pure state in Nazism was expressed via Ratzel's notion of  Lebensraum,  a concept that fused state, space and population along the familiar lines of  the international  (Smith, 1980).  However, at the same time, '[t]he Nazis had a genuine and never revoked contempt for the narrowness of  nationalism, the provincialism of  the nation-state' (Arendt, 1966:3-4). This ambition constituted a fundamental break with the geopolitical truths Ratzel was working with, chief among them a break with the logic of  raison d'État (within Europe) as outlined by Foucault: 'Raison d'État...accepts that every state has its interests and consequently has to defend these interests, and to defend them absolutely, but the state's objective must not be that of  returning to the unifying position of  a total and global empire at the end of  time' (Foucault, 2008:6) The Nazis’ Third (or, equally revealingly, 'Thousand Year') Reich, drawing on the legacies of  the Holy Roman (First Reich) and German (Second Reich) Empires, clearly did not accept this premise. It attempted to implement  raison d'État  internally by so intimately binding itself  to its population that its regulatory institutions were explicitly designed to protect (and, controversially, improve) the health of  the nation-state as an entirety, while externally abrogating  raison d'État  by refusing the balance that ensured the essential plurality of  the modern state in favour of  Empire. The second sense in which Nazi policy both drew on and broke with the international relates to its conception of  non-nationals. The expression of  nation has always required an other in order to define itself  over  and  against;  in  this  way,  antisemitism  or  antiziganism  are  perfectly  consistent  with  the 65 international. However, as Arendt writes, 'the  elimination  of  Jews  from  the  international  scene  had  a  more  general  and  deeper significance than antisemitism. ...  Nazism, even without antisemitism, would have been the deathblow to the existence of  Jewish people in Europe; to consent to it would have meant suicide, not necessarily for individuals of  Jewish origin, but for the Jews as a people.' (Arendt, 1966:21-2) That is to say, it was the absoluteness of  the exclusion of  the other, the strict enforcement of  congruence of  nation, race and state such that a German Jew or Roma was a literal impossibility, that constituted the ultimate crime of  Nazism before one even considers the antisemitism and antiziganism attendant with the Aryan doctrine of  superiority. Their intolerance was not merely a systematised violation of  the liberal ideal of  tolerance whereby one suffers the foreign other (such tolerance in fact requires a degree of  violation to remind us of  the moral cost of  toleration), but rather a wholesale rejection of  this ideal, an absolute and collective refusal to suffer the other. For Arendt, the genocides perpetrated by the Nazis are crimes not of the laws of  nations, as individual discriminations and injustices might be, but of  the laws of  the comity of nations: 'an altogether different order is broken and an altogether different community is violated' (Arendt, 2006:272).  Under  Nazism,  no  longer  was  Roma's  position  as  national  minority  the  source  of  their persecution;  rather,  the  position  of  national  minority  itself  was  destroyed  (or  at  least  disallowed  to purportedly  non-territorial  minorities  like  Roma  and  Jews),  casting  those  Roma  who  survived  the Porrajmos in a new and uncertain position. The Resurgence of  European Interest in Roma The Return of  the National (and not so National) Minority In the decades following the Second World War, the tag of  'national minority' quietly disappeared from view: as Jennifer Jackson Preece (1997a:347) writes, '[a]fter 1945, national minority rights lost their hitherto independent  standing in international  relations  and were  subsumed within the  newly  created universal human rights regime...[and f]or the remainder of  the Cold War, very little international attention was given to  the  problem of  national  minorities  and what,  if  any,  rights  they  might  legitimately  claim'.  At  the 66 European level,  all  meaningful  international  or  supranational  cooperation was  limited to the  explicitly economic sphere. In the West, Roma issues rarely took centre stage, as might be expected for such small numbers of  Roma relative to the population (see Figure 1). In the East meanwhile, where the vast majority of  Europe's Roma found themselves behind the newly formed Iron Curtain, state authorities attempted to 'solve' the Roma question another way, namely through their forced assimilation. This took different forms in different states: in some states Roma held on to their Stalinist title of  ethnic group, while in others Roma were  denied separate  'nationality'  status at  all  (even 'ethnic  group'  status),  as  in  Czechoslovakia  which insisted that Roma were instead people 'maintaining a markedly different demographic structure' (quoted in Fraser, 1992:278). Across the Eastern bloc, 'integration' programmes were run that included prohibition of nomadism, forced population dispersal and transfer, coerced sterilisation of  women and the dissolution of Romani organisations on the basis that they had 'failed to fulfil their integrative function' (ibid.). As Angus Fraser (1992:278) notes, '[i]ntegration was conceived as the unconditional surrender of  the Gypsies, who were looked on as a primitive, backward and degenerate people'; thus, while Roma were educated in state schools, they were in the main placed in schools for the mentally ill,  a practice that lingers even today (Amnesty International, 2010a).  The fall  of  the Iron Curtain and the resumption of  cross-European migration triggered a re- evaluation of  minority issues, and specifically a new-found concern that their mistreatment might be a potential source of  regional instability and conflict. The result of  this was that in the 1990s the regulation and integration of  minorities  came to be seen as a matter not just  for domestic  politics,  but also for international legislation (Jackson Preece, 1997b). This re-engagement of  Europe with minority politics was to push Roma issues further to the forefront of  European politics than they had ever been before (see Figure 1), though it was far from clear what type of  minority politics was to be pushed, and what place Roma would have within it.  The Council of  Europe's (1993; see Appendix for overview of  European institutions) Recommendation 1203 'on Gypsies in Europe' attests to this ambiguity in its assertion that: 'A special place among the minorities is reserved for Gypsies. Living scattered all over Europe, 67 68 69 Figure 1: Time-line of  European institutions’ engagement in Roma issues 70 not having a country to call their own, they are a true European minority, but one that does not fit into the definitions of  national or linguistic minorities.' (Council of  Europe, 1993) At once a 'true minority' yet not a national minority at all, this strange formulation conveyed inclusive sentiment without being committing to the legal obligations to inclusionary action that the latter would entail. In this, it prefigured the warping and reconfiguration of  the political relationship between Europe and Roma that was to follow. It is important to note, though, that these obligations were only strengthened two years later by the 1995 Framework Convention for the Protection of  National Minorities. Theoretically, as a Convention of the Council of  Europe it is external to the EU; however, its very externality has meant that it has been seized upon by EU institutions as an external standard by which to judge, for example, the degree of accordance with the Copenhagen criteria (Sasse, 2005). Though its adoption is not technically mandatory, either for membership of  the Council of  Europe or the EU (France has still not signed it, and several other  states  have not  yet  ratified it),  it  is  a  measure  of  the  Convention's  tacit  embedding in the  EU accession  process  (particularly  the  Commission's  Regular  Reports)  that  all  states  applying  for  EU membership signed up soon after the document was opened for signature (Sasse, 2005; Jackson Preece, 1997a).  The Convention itself  places the protection of  national  minorities firmly back on the agenda, stating in the preamble that 'the upheavals of  European history have shown that the protection of  national minorities is essential to stability, democratic security and peace in this continent'  (Council of  Europe, 1995). However, lest this support for minorities be misunderstood, the Convention is careful to ensure that 'protection' is  secondary to 'stability'.  Specifically,  Article 21 clearly states that '[n]othing in the present framework Convention shall be interpreted as implying any right to engage in any activity or perform any act contrary to the fundamental principles of  international law and in particular of  the sovereign equality, territorial integrity and political independence of  States' (Council of  Europe, 1995). Even in this landmark in the post-war history of  minority protection, then, 'minority rights continued to be held in check by the traditional  principles  of  international  relations  -  state  sovereignty,  territorial  integrity,  inviolability  of 71 borders and the like' (Jackson Preece, 1997a:363; Elden, 2009). In fact, the re-installation of  a national minorities agenda had begun five years earlier, at the second Meeting of  the Conference on the Human Dimension of  the Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE, later OSCE; see Appendix for overview of  European institutions), held in Copenhagen in June 1990,  when the CSCE adopted the  so-called Copenhagen Document on the Human Dimension (CSCE, 1990). The Document was significant not just for its focus on national minorities – one of  its five chapters is devoted to their protection – but also for its explicit 'recogni[tion of] the particular problems of Roma (gypsies)' (CSCE, 1990:IV:40). It is a mark of  progressive institutional engagement with Roma issues that  while  this  seminal  document contains 12 words related to Roma,  the December 2003 Maastricht Decision to adopt the OSCE Action Plan on Roma and Sinti contains 5 792 (OSCE/ODIHR, 2005:13). This mushrooming of  engagement has been accompanied by the gradual institutional spilling over from the  Council  of  Europe  and CSCE/OSCE to  the  institutions  of  the  EU itself  (see  Figure  1),  today responsible for too many Roma-related actions to name. Indeed, the EU's interest in such matters might be seen to have been firmly cemented by the 1st March 2007 founding of  the Fundamental Rights Agency, an EU agency charged with integrating the sort of  rights agenda developed by the Council of  Europe within the structure (and legal  remit)  of  the EU. However,  rather than advancing an institution-by-institution overview of  supranational engagement with Roma issues (see Figure 1; see also Appendix for an overview of  the institutions themselves; Liégeois, 2007; Kovats, 2001), I examine this new engagement through a detailed examination of  three specific procedures: first the EU Acquis by which the EU sought to protect itself  from the 'new' problem that Roma posed, second the Citizenship Directive by which it sought to universalise  (and consolidate)  rights  across  the  EU,  and third  the  inaugural  European  Roma Summit convened to co-ordinate Roma action between a host of  interested political actors, including a greatly expanded NGO sector. 72 EU Acquis One major spur for this  renewal of  a 'European' commitment to tackle minority issues was the EU's impending eastward expansion, the first and largest stage of  which was to be accomplished in 2004. One of  the great fears of  the enlargement was that Western Europe would be importing 'Eastern' minority issues, the most visible (and thus, most contentious) of  which were Roma issues. These fears were twofold: that the large Roma population resident in Eastern states would necessitate the attention, time and money of  EU institutions, and that removing restrictions to migration would mean that these Roma populations would soon become uncomfortably direct problems for Western states. However, such fears miss the ways in which the EU itself  (that is, the pre-accession, 'Western' EU) was an active partner in the production of Roma as an inherently problematic population. Crucially, the EU was responsible for carving of  a specific channel via which accession was funnelled, a set of  conditions and criteria that were to control the 'return to Europe' of  the strange post-socialist states (post-Soviet even, in the case of  the Baltics) that 'Europe' was preparing to share a bed with. The concept of  this 'conditionality' was not new: since 1993, the criteria agreed upon at the 21 st- 22nd June  Copenhagen  European  Council  (the  so-called  'Copenhagen  criteria')  has  defined  (and  still defines)  the politico-economic conditions for membership in the EU. It  is  worth noting that minority protection is prominently named in the Copenhagen criteria as a condition for eligibility, though in the vaguest of  terms and alongside a washing-list of  similarly vague ideals: 'Membership  requires  that  the  candidate  country  has  achieved  stability  of  institutions guaranteeing  democracy,  the  rule  of  law,  human rights  and respect  for  and protection  of minorities, the existence of  a functioning market economy as well as the capacity to cope with competitive pressure and market forces within the Union.' (European Council, 1993:1) As Gwendolyn Sasse (2005:6) notes, this constituted 'a significant disjuncture through the explicit mention of  minority  protection'.  As  if  to  emphasise  the  exceptional  place  of  minority  rights  here,  minority protection was conspicuous by its absence in the subsequent (1997) Treaty of  Amsterdam, whose Article 73 6(1) reads: 'The Union is founded on the principles of  liberty, democracy, respect for human rights and fundamental  freedoms, and the rule of  law, principles  which are common to the  Member States.' (Official Journal of  the European Union, 1997:C340) That the phrase in the Copenhagen criteria amounts to accession conditionality is confirmed by Article 49 of  the same treaty, which states that '[a]ny European State which respects the principles set out in Article 6(1) may apply to become a member of  the Union' (ibid.). The Copenhagen criteria, then, testify both to the trepidation over potential 'minorities problems' the EU might import as it expanded eastwards, and to the ambivalence of  its response. If  there was a lopsidedness in demanding hard action to prove 'respect for and protection  of  minorities'  from applicant  states,  a  notion  that  remained  aspiration  at  best  among member states, then its uncertain place in direct accession criteria probably attests to the legal uneasiness that such a lopsidedness provoked. The  acquis  communautaire  that  was  to  be  incorporated  into  the  law  of  the  2004  and  2007 accession countries expanded the comparatively broad Copenhagen criteria into a comprehensive, 80 000- plus  page  legal  delineation  of  'European'  economic,  political  and  social  standards.  Again,  'minority protection' was a chief  concern, to be addressed under the acquis through three main mechanisms: firstly, the  adoption of  Council  Directive  2000/43/EC,  the  so-called  'Race  Equality  Directive';  secondly,  the adoption of  the aforementioned Framework Convention for the Protection of  National Minorities; and thirdly,  in  countries  with  substantial  Roma  populations,  the  'adoption  of  government  strategies  and programs for the inclusion of  the Roma minority' (Rechel, 2008:174). This last element was designed to encourage prospective member states to 'establish appropriate governmental agencies, although', as Bernd Rechel (2008:175) notes, 'it has paid less attention to actual implementation'. Or rather, it has failed to solve the  contradiction  between on one  hand 'progress'  as  defined  by  the  transposition  of  the  acquis  into national law, and the institutional reshuffling this requires, and on the other hand the absence of  any actual amelioration  of  conditions  for  Roma.  As  Sasse  (2005:9)  notes,  '[t]he  overall  assessment  [in  the 74 Commission's  Regular  Reports]  of  the  Roma  issue,  in  particular,  hovers  uncomfortably  between  the realisation that the socio-economic and political situation of  the Roma has not improved and detailed lists of  new activities and programmes targeting the needs of  the Roma'. While Sasse (2005:9) argues that this contradiction indicates that 'minority issues were not the EU's priority during the accession process', its persistence in Roma rights reports today, coupled with the preponderance of  such reports, would seem to suggest that something more is happening here. The  'minority  protection'  measures  in  the  acquis  had  three  distinct  effects  on  the  political conception  of  Europe's  Roma  'problem'.  First,  it  achieved  a  double-abjection  of  the  Roma  issue. Territorially, the focus on conditionality and the construction of  the acquis as a solution defined Roma as an Eastern problem and deflected any attention from Roma already resident in the EU, in states that did not have to demonstrate programs for their integration. Conceptually, the reliance on the acquis shifted the terrain of  the Roma issue and its potential solution from the political realm into the technical realm. The danger of  this move is that it dramatically oversimplifies the issues at stake, and 'fosters the belief  that the training and promotion of  Roma representatives should provide “responsible” partners for government and other institutions in the common task of  resolving problems',  when in fact it  is  the very lack of commonality that is the problem (Kovats, 2001:103). That is, treating 'representation' or 'inclusion' as a panacea  is  to  deny  the  political  nature  of  the  problem,  thereby  implying  that  Roma somehow 'exist “outside”  of  modern  politics'  (Shaw,  2008:207)  and exonerating  exactly  this  'modern  politics'  of  any responsibility. Secondly,  the  demand  for  exceptional  action  to  be  taken  in  relation  to  Roma  justifies  their exceptional political status, which in turn has the inevitable side-effect of  legitimating their discrimination in  society.  The  broadly  rhetorical  level  in  which  the  acquis  demands  action  may  dampen  states' implementation of  anti-discrimination legislation, but it does nothing to dampen the impression that Roma must be governed outside of  the rules for 'normal' citizens. Thirdly, it is important to note that the EU is not acting against the nation-state, but rather enlisting 75 it as a partner in this matter. As individual states’ accessions are handled independently, each state is solely responsible  for  its  compliance  with  conditionality.  The  transposition  of  the  acquis  and the  attendant adoption of  programs to address minority issues both still happen at the level of  the state. As Bernard Rorke writes, 'It remains the case that demands for justice, recognition and redistribution to promote Roma inclusion and combat prejudice matter most when a national government can be called to task to meet its most disadvantaged citizens. It is here that the oft-maligned EU has a role to play, on the one hand taking Member States to task when they fail to meet their obligations, and on the other assisting them to co-ordinate their efforts to promote Roma integration and human rights' (Rorke, 2009:15) It is clear that whatever sovereignty now rests at a European level, justice still flows through the nation- state. Just as the Geneva Convention extends 'universal' human rights only to members of  'recognisable' nation-states (Butler, 2004:86), so the EU acts through its Member States; the result is that any cracks that exist in Member States' guarantees to protect their population are not filled but widened and exposed at the European level. Citizenship Directive 'Directive 2004/38/EC of  the European Parliament and of  the Council of  29 th April 2004 on the right of citizens of  the Union and their family members to move and reside freely within the territory of  the Member States', colloquially known as the Citizenship Directive, was one major attempt to seal some of the cracks that had become increasingly apparent in the 'sector-by-sector, piecemeal approach to the right of  free movement and residence' (Official Journal of  the European Union, 2004:L158/79) within the EU. The Citizenship Directive gathered, simplified and (modestly) extended these rights to family members and registered partners, and established the right to permanent residence after five years (Official Journal of  the European  Union,  2004).  As  Sergio  Carrera  and  Anaïs  Faure  Atger  (2009:2)  note,  historically,  '[t]he enactment of  European citizenship has been substantially  shaped through the use of  one of  its main normative attributes',  that is,  the right to move and reside throughout the EU. Thus,  the securing (or 76 consolidation) of  exactly these rights in the Citizenship Directive might be seen to have crystallised this putative  European  citizenship.  More  precisely,  one  might  argue  that  'the  new  Directive  creates  the institutional preconditions for a notion of  citizenship that is more inclusive than nationality-based models of  citizenship' (Kostakopoulou, 2009:8). The twin promises of  divorcing citizenship from nationhood and of  legitimating (and, in a literal sense, legalising) transnational mobility mean that the Citizenship Directive holds particular allure for Roma, who have suffered both through their exclusion from the nation and through  the  vilification  of  their  migration.  Meanwhile,  these  same  factors  make  Roma  a  particularly pertinent case study (or, as the FRA (2009:11) would have it, 'litmus test') for examining the strength of  the Citizenship Directive, and the extent to which it  might be seen to support the notion of  a European Citizenship. Since the Directive's passing in 2004, however, the litmus paper has  not evinced the Directive's promise:  Roma continue  to be systematically  denied  citizenship in  many Member States,  and Romani immigration  continues  to  provoke  fear  and  anger.  Two  primary  failings  might  account  for  this,  one practical and one theoretical. The first, practical failing of  the Citizenship Directive lies in the failure of Member States to transpose it correctly into law. Like the 2000 Race Equality Directive (of  which, 'issues remain in terms of  some member states’ delay in transposing it into national law and/or weaknesses in the transposition'  (Halász,  2008:10)),  the Citizenship Directive's  passage from Directive to law has proven rocky: 'The overall transposition of  Directive 2004/38/EC is rather disappointing. Not one Member State has transposed the Directive effectively and correctly in its entirety. Not one Article of the Directive has been transposed effectively and correctly by all Member States.' (European Commission, 2008c:3) The  European  Commission  report  that  reached  this  verdict  mentioned  the  specific  problem  of  the 'incorrect or ambiguous' transposition of  the requirement that migrants staying longer than three months 'have sufficient resources for themselves and their family members not to become a burden on the social assistance system of  the host Member State during their period of  residence' (2004/38/EC Art 7(1b), 77 Official Journal of  the European Union, 2004:L158/93). Problems of  transposition, say the European Commission (2008c:6), 'relate mostly to setting a minimum amount regarded as sufficient and failure to take the decision on the basis of  personal circumstances'; twelve Member States (including Italy) are named as culpable. The implication of  such a gap between Directive and law is, as Carrera & Faure Atger (2009:2) note,  'the  proliferation  of  different  forms  of  European  citizenship  whose  normative  framing  and implementation  by  the  nation-states  foster  differential  treatment  that  sometimes  conflicts  with fundamental rights'. By nationalising the precise contours of  citizenship, exploiting extant and opening new ambiguities in its qualification criteria, a legal vacuum is opened up into which rights, resting as they do on the assumption of  universal citizenship, are lost. This feeds into the second, theoretical failing of  the Citizenship Directive: the failure to make EU citizenship truly European; that is, to transfer competence for its administration from the nation-state to the EU. Instead, European citizenship remains derivative of  national citizenship, as is made plain in the Declaration on Nationality of  a Member State (one of  the Declarations annexed to the Final Act of  the (1992)  Treaty  on  European  Union,  which  refer  to  the  (1957)  Treaty  establishing  the  European Community), which states that 'the question whether an individual possesses the nationality of  a Member State shall be settled solely by reference to the national law of  the Member State concerned'. As Dora Kostakopoulou  (2009:3)  argues,  this  'not  only  gives  prominence  to  the  nationality  principle,  but  also subjects  membership to the European public  to the definitions,  terms and conditions of  membership prevailing in national  publics'.  European citizenship is  not  a  stand-alone,  postnational  or transnational construction, but rather a supranational construction, in that it 'creates a thin layer of  additional rights placed on top of  the  thicker  national  citizenship and accessible  only  to those  who are  recognised as members by one of  the states of  the Union' (Bauböck, 2000:310-1). For all that it harmonises rights for the  majority  that  qualify  as  European  through  membership  of  its  constituent  states,  the  Citizenship Directive does not alter – indeed, as we have seen, its non-uniform implementation has actively reinforced – the essentially nation-statist character of  European political space. In this sense, it is not antithetical to 78 but consistent with the 'nationalization of  political space in [post-1991 East Central Europe that] left tens of  millions  of  people  outside  “their  own”  national  territory  at  the  same  time  that  it...subjected  the “national” quality of  persons and territories to heightened security' (Brubaker, 1996:55). The reaffirmation of  the rightful location of  'citizenship' at the level of  the state encourages its confusion with 'nation', such that the purpose of  citizenship laws is quite literally the definition (or production) of  foreigners- but these, of  course, are old stories. The great novelty, and great danger, of  the Citizenship Directive is its packaging of  the aggregation of  national citizenships as a new and qualitatively different entity, an association whose membership criteria tap into somehow higher standards of  justness and inclusivity; in short, the Directive's presentation of  aspiration as achievement in such a way that its shortcomings seem impossible: mirages, or else errors in implementation and administration whose solutions must lie in the technical sphere. This discrepancy between the aspiration to a 'European' citizenship and the reality of  an aggregate of  non-identical nation-state citizenships is perhaps best illustrated with reference to the conception of national autonomy that each purports to guarantee. While traditional, statist conceptions of  citizenship promise national autonomy through the  convergence of  territorial administration and nation, a European citizenship promises national autonomy through their  independence (c.f. Brubaker, 1996:40). Effectively, in this  latter  autonomy  the  nation  is  to  some  extent  (most  explicitly,  the  extent  of  Schengen-space) deterritorialised; this is why the Citizenship Directive focuses on securing freedom of  movement rights. However, as Brubaker (1996) argues, neither conception of  national autonomy can be fully realised without compromising the other. The friction between them is hottest at their limits,  when dealing with those nations that have no territorial administration to converge with. It is a mark of  the ascendency of  the autonomy  promised  by  the  nation-state  (and  the  failure  of  the  autonomy  promised  by  a  European citizenship) that these people, who would have the most to gain from the deterritorialisation of  the nation and citizenship,  are exactly  those who are in fact  most obsessively territorialised by the state.  Hayden (1999:18)  explains  how  the  Yugoslav  experience  of  the  1990s  demonstrates  that  'the  international community will accept the expulsion of  a population..., even though such an expulsion, euphemistically 79 called a “population exchange”, requires the wholesale violation of  human rights and the rejection of  the principle of  equality of  citizens'. In other words, when autonomies conflict, the freedoms of  the nation- state invariably trump all others, and the territorial solution – expulsion, exchange – is the one followed. The gap between nationalised citizenship and European aspiration may be an underside to the freedoms secured by the Citizenship Directive, but it is not a blind spot. If  rights are defined in their breach,  it  is  the  very  visibility  of  this  gap  that  suggests  that  national  citizenship  is  itself  a  right;  a fundamental right since it leads to the abundance of  rights that membership of  a nation-state confers. The Council of  Europe Commissioner for Human Rights, Thomas Hammarberg (2009b:1),  is  clear on the matter:  'It  is  not acceptable that European citizens are deprived of  their right to nationality  – a basic human right'. Those deprived of  this basic right, the stateless, 'live entirely outside of  any form of  basic social protection or inclusion' (ibid.). He is clear, too, who these stateless are: 'The Council  of  Europe  has  been a  pioneer  in  the  field  of  protecting  Roma rights.  The messages coming from its various bodies emphasise that host states should employ all possible means to end the de facto or de jure statelessness of  Roma and provide them with a nationality' (Hammarberg, 2009b:2) However regretfully it is expressed, the position of  Roma as stateless outside incommensurate with the European political landscape is clear and explicit. Until such point as they are inducted into a nationality, and thereby nationhood, the mobility of  Roma is not one that constitutes European citizenship (as conceived in  the  Citizenship  Directive),  but  one  that  bewilders (and  therefore  threatens)  it.  As  Castle-Kanĕrová (2001:118) says, '[t]he EU is not equipped to deal with the migration of  Roma for they neither correspond to any standard categorization of  refugees nor fit into the programmes of  repatriation that were set in motion after the war in ex-Yugoslavia'.  It  is  in the scramble to remedy this, to make Romani mobility comprehensible, that we should situate both Hammarberg's plea to nationalise Roma, and the tendency until such a nationalisation may be accomplished to treat them as illegal immigrant (for their migration is out of  legality), the eternal trespasser. 80 European Roma Summit In this scramble we should also place the assembly of  the inaugural 'European Roma Summit' in Brussels on 16th September 2008. The Summit was convened in the wake of  a summer of  high-profile controversies over public antiziganism and insufficient (if  not inflammatory) state responses, most notably in Italy (see Chapter 4). It brought together high-profile representatives from the European Parliament, the European Commission,  the  French  Presidency  of  the  EU,  EU member  states,  other  states  participating  in  the 'Decade  of  Roma Inclusion  2005-2015',  important  NGOs including  billionaire  philanthropist  George Soros’ influential  Open  Society  Institute, and  other  Roma-related  organizations.  The  organisers  (the European Commission and the French Presidency of  the EU) were understandably keen to market the Summit as an 'unprecedented opportunity', and while it is easy to overplay the potential for action at such events, the seriousness with which it was treated and the prominence of  its attendees lent considerable weight to claims promoting its novelty. The seeds for the Summit were sown by the Council's December 2007 acknowledgement (for the first time) of  the 'very specific situation faced by the Roma across the Union' (Council of  the European Union, 2008:14), and its call for the '[European] Commission to examine existing policies and instruments and to report to the Council on progress achieved before the end of  June 2008' (ibid.). Meanwhile, the European Parliament echoed this  call  in its  Resolution of  31st January 2008 by 'urg[ing]  the European Commission to pursue an overall strategy for social inclusion of  Roma' (Villarreal & Walek, 2008:2). The European Commission in turn, responding directly to the Council's request, published on 2nd July 2008 a 'Communication'  (European  Commission,  2008a)  and  an  accompanying  'Staff  Working  Document' (European Commission, 2008b). The Staff  Working Document, on 'Community Instruments and Policies for Roma Inclusion', urged Member States and EU institutions  to 'create synergies with other processes such  as  the  Roma  Decade'  (European  Commission,  2008b:55)  and  to  ensure  '[c]lose  and  sustainable support for and involvement of  Roma civil society in both the design and implementation of  policies and projects' (European Commission, 2008b:56). The Communication, after asserting the EU's commitment to 81 non-discrimination in general, states that: 'In  order  to  support  and  promote  a  joint  commitment  by  the  Member  States,  the  EU institutions  and  civil  society,  the  Commission  will  organise  an  EU  Roma  Summit  of  all stakeholders  in  September  2008  in  the  context  of  the  European  Year  of  Inter-Cultural Dialogue;  the  conclusions  of  the  Summit  will  be  submitted  to the  French Presidency for further consideration in the Council  of  Ministers  ahead of  the December 2008 European Council.' (European Commission, 2008a:10) We might therefore see the Summit as borne out of  the EU's institutional structure, but also borne of  a recognition that more actors must be brought into this structure in order to maximise its effectiveness. The starting point for most speakers at the conference was well expressed by one of  the highest- profile  among them, President of  the European Commission José Manuel Barroso, who provided the opening address: '[w]hat is  clear is  that they are one of  the biggest ethnic minorities in the UE [EU]' (quoted in Villarreal & Walek, 2008:4). This was later echoed by Romani Rose's previously quoted demand for 'the recognition of  Roma as a national minority in the member states' (quoted in Villarreal & Walek, 2008:16).  These  calls  for  'clarity'  and  'recognition'  of  minority  status  are  revealing  due  to  their  very necessity: they serve to bring into relief  the often murky and unrecognised nature of  the political status of Roma today.  Barroso's  use  of  the  qualifier  'ethnic'  might  be  traced on the  one  hand to  his  Western European discursive frame in which ethnicity is a potential guarantor of  rights (rather than the Soviet legacy of  'ethnic group' being the least privileged 'national' categorisation), and on the other hand to his desire to broach the subject of  race – he later impels his audience, '[l]et's not avoid the word racism here' (Barroso, 2008:3). Strikingly, neither ethnicity nor race were mentioned in the concluding 'Declaration on the Occasion of  the European Roma Summit' (European Roma Summit, 2008) signed by all conference participants. This should not detract from the ease with which all participants assumed 'Roma' as an essential, fixed category. Indeed, Barroso's next point was to quote the statistic that '77% of  Europeans think that being Roma is  a  disadvantage in  society,  on  a  par  with  being disabled (79%)'  (Barroso,  2008:2).  The comparison  certainly  reinforces  the  idea  of  Romani  identity  as  an  easily  identifiable  and  permanent 82 attribute. However, it also does more than this, for the analogy also functions metonymically, reminding us of  the various ways in which Roma are treated as disabled within society. It recalls, for instance, the history of  segregation of  education whereby Romani children are placed in 'special schools', a history (and, indeed, present) that had less than a year previous been exposed in the landmark case D.H. and Others v. the Czech Republic, settled on November 13th 2007 when the Grand Chamber of  the European Court of  Human Rights found that this practice led to lower-quality education for Romani children, and was discriminatory (see Roma Rights Journal, 2008(1), 'Roma Education: The Promise of  D.H.'; Amnesty International, 2010a). It recalls too the grisly association of  the disabled with Jews and Roma by the Nazis as those whose life could be (and was) taken on the basis of  their 'identity' alone. Despite this solidification of  Roma as political identity, much of  the rhetoric as the Summit was universalist in tone: 'Let  us  be  frank:  There  is  no  place  for  a  laissez-faire  or  business-as-usual  approach.  The Commission strongly rejects any stigmatization of  Roma. In the European Union every man, woman and child has the right to live a life free from discrimination and persecution. This is an issue of  European and universal values, as well as an issue of  fairness, social solidarity and democracy.' (Barroso, 2008:2) If  we are to be frank, we must look at two related contradictions contained in this statement, though neither is exclusive to Barroso. The first he quickly encounters: that of  reconciling the repudiation of laissez-faire government with absolving the Union he speaks of  and for of  responsibility for action; for as Barroso himself  points out, 'we must avoid giving the impression that the dramatic situation of  the Roma can be solved from Brussels. Such an approach would be irresponsible.' (Barroso, 2008:4) It is a strange sovereign indeed that may dictate values, refuse competence for their enforcement, and look disdainfully  at  the  laissez-faire  mode  of  regulation  that  this  contradiction  seems  to  necessitate.  This situation should refer us back to the Summit's goal of  opening the practice of  government to new actors, and  further  disrupt  any  notions  we  might  have  of  the  sanctity  or  difference  of  'levels'  or  scales  of 83 government. Secondly, Barroso's belief  that universal values (and, by extension, rights) are an effective way of securing particular rights might be examined more closely. This formulation has great rhetorical sway, but might be questioned along two lines. Firstly,  it  does not admit  that just as our commonalities may be universalised, so may our differences, and that the construction of  caesuras of  essential difference within the  population produces precisely this  latter  effect.  Étienne Balibar (1994) demonstrates  this  point by arguing that just as we might readily admit to sexism or nationalism as being universalistic, so too is racism; his point is that an appeal to universal values alone is not enough, that 'we can[not] effectively face racism with the abstract world of  universality[, because r]acism has already (always already) occupied this place' (Balibar,  1994:204).  Secondly,  one  might  look  further  at  the  relationship  between rhetorical  sway  and effectiveness.  Claims  to  'universal'  rights,  as  Walker  (2010:19)  notes,  constitute  'appeals  to  forms  of authority that are somehow “higher” than those expressed through secular institutions of  state and law; as if  there could be some higher authority  than that  expressed in the law, or laws,  affirming the liberty, equality and security of  modern subjects living within the modern sovereign state and system of  sovereign states'. Barroso's easy slippage from 'European' to 'universal' is indicative of  this transcendental urge, and should point toward the limits that enable the 'universal' (and, indeed, the 'European') to be defined. While one  may – even should –  aspire  to think  and even act  universally,  it  is  (paradoxically)  only  with the concession that one only has the authority to act within certain limits; thus, by seeking to transcend the international,  one  ultimately  (and  ironically)  ends  up  merely  emphasising  its  finitude.  Herein  lies  the loophole of  Barroso's Euro-versal values: the migrant who exists on their outside, who is not defended by (but instead challenges) 'our'  liberty, security and justice. I am not arguing that Barroso is  consciously constructing  this  loophole,  but  rather  that  his  (and,  broadly  speaking,  our)  formulation  allows  for  it, requires it even. 84 Roma as the Migrant Inside Scalar and Historical Myths of  Enlightenment Contrary to what the resurrection of  minority rights rhetoric and the regular place of  Roma rights on the schedules of  European political institutions might at first glance suggest, we are not seeing the belated establishment of  Roma as a League of  Nations-style national minority. Today Europe is occupied by a new political nomos, one in which Roma are not the European minority whose mobility is celebrated and whose collective rights are enshrined in treaties, but instead are the extra-communitarian migrants whose mobility is threatening and whose individual rights are weighed against security concerns. Certainly, as Rorke (2009:14, emphasis in original) notes, '[a] cursory inventory of  what  has been done by European institutions reveals them to be engaged as never before'. Both the scale and rhetoric of this new feverish engagement seems at first blush to be a welcome development,  and the 'increase in attention by authorities claiming to support and protect Roma/Gypsy people and their culture and identity appears a progressive departure from the crude interventionism or hostile neglect characteristic of  national policies in recent decades' (Kovats, 2001:94). This juxtaposition of  a progressive, protectionist European interventionism  and  a  regressive,  exclusionary  national  interventionism  rests  upon  two  axes:  a  scalar opposition whereby the exclusions of  the nation-state are counterbalanced by the inclusions of  supra- national institutions, and a historical narrative of  development whereby governmental tactics are slowly becoming more nuanced and enlightened. It is the former, scalar disjuncture that is being built upon in claims that the recent actions of  the Italian state with regard to its Roma population constitute 'a rupture in the previously existing “European consensus”, according to which “explicit racial discrimination and racist incitement has no place in the European  legal  and  governmental  order”'  (Merlino,  2009:22;  quoting  COHRE  et  al,  2008:2).  In  this schema, intervention from the higher plane of  European 'consensus' and 'order' is necessarily positive and inclusionary;  in  circular  fashion,  its  role  counteracting  statist  exclusions  therefore  casts  European interventionism as necessary in and of  itself. This view might be questioned along two lines. Firstly, one 85 might ask whether EU institutions have sufficient competences to act in direct and overt opposition to the policies of  its member states, such that this 'counterbalancing' role would be tenable. Rorke (2009:14) for one is doubtful, writing that '[s]ome of  the rhetorical and at times inchoate clamour for “Europe” to do more to address the current crisis seems oblivious to the limitations of  the competencies of  the various institutions and prone to a wider misconception that European supranational institutions can provide a panacea for ailments that are altogether more intimate'. Secondly, one might question whether 'Europe', as embodied by the various arms of  the EU, really does occupy a different plane or order from that of  its member states:  that  is,  even if  it  could negate specific  state sovereignties,  what is  the justification for believing that it would? This line of  questioning confronts '[t]he ambiguous sense of  hierarchy invoked by the notion of  “levels” [of  government]' (Walker, 1993:132), and asks whether instead of  these 'levels' being somehow tailored with their own peculiar logics and ethics, they might in fact simply reproduce self-same logics and ethics writ large (or small). Meanwhile, the historical teleology of  ever-more-enlightened governmental action, while obviously a narrative favoured by state institutions, also fails to hold up to close examination. This narrative tends to be a relatively short one, and certainly precludes histories with a rather more ambiguous moral trajectory, like the fate of  the post-Paris peace conference Minorities Treaties or of  the Soviet policy of  korenizatsiia. The evidence of  the evaluation of  the minority-protection elements of  the Copenhagen criteria and EU acquis,  particularly  as  it  related  to  Roma,  suggests  that  the  narrative  of  progress  even  precludes  the admission of  contradictory evidence; or rather, that it refuses the contradictory nature of  the evidence. It seems  that  commitment  to  the  development  of  ever-more-sophisticated  institutional  structures overshadows analysis of  these structures’ actual sophistication; success is not judged on consequence but intention. Lastly, this teleology insists that failure to improve Roma rights is evidence of  a state, region or organisation's 'backwardness' and failure to keep up with the newest legislation, when all of  the evidence would seem to suggest that the degradation of  Roma rights is a feature characteristic of  regimes present every bit as much as (if  not more so than) regimes past. If  so, it follows that in seeking to explain the 86 failure of  Roma-related policies we may have been looking in entirely the wrong place (and time). In Liminal Drift The Council of  Europe's (1993) puzzling characterisation of  Roma as a 'true' but not 'national' minority hints at shifts that have taken place in the political identity of  Roma in Europe, shifts that are not described by narratives that assume Roma rights necessarily swell both with time and with the greater involvement of 'Europe'. Just as Nazi Germany once obsessed over the purported 'mixed blood' of  Roma, which cast doubt upon their validity as a 'race', today we see an obsession over the lack of  cultural or linguistic 'unity' of  Roma, which (it is claimed) casts doubt upon their validity as a 'nation'. It has become a truism, indeed, 'it  must  be  acknowledged that  the  diversity  of  the  Roma,  Gypsies  and traveller  people  poses  significant problems'  for  the  recognition  of  any collective  identity,  and therefore  nationhood (O'Nions,  2007:20, emphasis added). One might ask why such an acknowledgement is not demanded of  Europe's other multi- cultural and multilingual nations. Clearly, we must conclude, Roma are something other than a nation; they do not fit into the European political classification system that we are familiar with. National minorities, for better or for worse, have both long histories and settled geographies; Roma, we are told, are marked by their migrations, they are 'depicted not only as people “without history” but as indifferent to recollection, living in an “eternal present”' (Lemon, 2000:3). That is, Roma are made to appear to exist outside of  the axes by which we calculate belonging; they are instead plotted on the political landscape as the migrant who seeks not home but asylum. It is in this sense that I say that Roma now exist outside the international. This status contains some very serious implications. While the national minority was conceived of very much within the state system of  rights and the law, the alien migrant today all too often finds him- and herself  cast out of  this system; as Bauman (2004:76; citing Agier, 2002) describes it, 'hors du nomos – outside  law; not  this  or that  law of  this  or  that  country,  but  law as  such'.  The migrant today lives in a condition of  'liminal drift' (Agier, 2002), in which '[t]hey are never to be free from the gnawing sense of the transience, indefiniteness and provisional nature of  any settlement' (Bauman, 2004:76). That (since the 87 agreement of  common asylum and migration policy at an EU Council meeting in Tampere in 1999) asylum claims are judged with regard to the (lack of) 'regional alternatives' available to the claimant (Geisen et al, 2007) attests to this essential contingency of  rights; the concept of  'regional alternatives'  would be an affront to the national minority. That is, while the minority is defined by their residence, the migrant is defined  by  his  or  her  mobility;  their  rights  are  not  uniform across  space  because,  in  effect,  they  are essentially (and legally) transient. This is demonstrated too by the supposedly 'blanket' nature of  'European citizenship', which suddenly appears ridden with holes when one looks at those who are in the greatest need of  it: that is, those whose rights are not already guaranteed by the state. Their rights, far from being guaranteed throughout space by a standardised citizenship, instead depend on the arcane contingencies and ad hoc arbitrations of  temporary residency procedures and the like – a legal and regulative topography that remains invisible to the majority. Of  course, this ejection from the international has not gone uncontested. What is striking, though, is that these resistance movements focus not on the unjustness of  a political landscape that discriminates so easily against those it cannot describe using the syntax of  the territorial nation-state, but instead on trying to demonstrate that  it  is  entirely  possible to use this  syntax to describe Roma. Of  course,  this decision might be justified as pragmatism, since as Nicolae Gheorghe and Thomas Acton (2001:57) write, 'in  seeking  legitimacy  for  their  struggle  Roma politicians  have  no  choice  but  to  lock  onto  the  same concepts of  human rights and anti-racism that operate in international organizations and relations between existing states'. As the concept of  national minority is ebbing in plausibility and effectiveness as a tool for securing Roma rights, attention has begun to switch to the concept of  diaspora: 'In the last few decades, Romani intellectuals have realized that being perceived as a diaspora adds more weight to political claims than being a “national  minority”. A diaspora needs a “homeland”, so to trace Romani language and culture to a single, unified place and time – to India one thousand years ago – is to validate Roma as a single people, an authentic diaspora.' (Lemon, 2000:97; see also Toninato, 2009) Even when the claim is not voiced using the term 'diaspora', the appropriation of  a homeland – even if displaced thousands of  kilometres and hundreds of  years – lends Roma a territory that begins to reconcile 88 them with discourses of  belonging comprehensible to the international. If  it potentially distances Roma from claims of  Europeanness, it does at least allow them to be plotted on the same axes as the nations and national  minorities  whose  Europeanness  is  assured,  and disavows  the  offences  of  the  asylum seeker- migrant. More ambitious dreams sometimes imagine a territorial sovereignty; to give but one example, consider '“Romasia”, a place where Roma families with similar traditions could live together as a group, bringing up their children and sending them to the local schools while preserving their ancient customs and traditions'  (EveryOne  Group,  2010b).  Here  we  see  liberation,  as  viewed  through  the  lens  of  the international;  pragmatism given way to the seductions of  the international.  It  is  difficult not to worry, though, whether buying so whole-heartedly into this path to redemption doesn't inadvertently reinforce the sinfulness of  the  migrant,  and thereby on some level  justify  the exclusions  of  those  cast  outside  the international. Conclusions The fraught twentieth century relationship between Roma and Europe, both in the specific institutions that have represented it and the political landscape they have rested upon and moulded, suggests histories both of  stasis  and change,  though in patterns  that  do not  always  accord with  received  wisdom. I  wish to conclude in both directions, touching on the  continuities in Roma-related policy in a Europe that is often held to be breaking new ground in its enlightened post-statism, and conversely also on the discontinuities in the political identity of  Roma in Europe despite oft-repeated histories emphasising the familiarity of  their discrimination. Haunting the Dreams of  a United Europe While the aspiration to, and assumption of, a somehow 'higher' and more just political plane is a common theme that runs through the EU acquis regulating the territorial enlargement of  the European Union, the consolidation of  the  rights  of  free  movement  in  the  Citizenship Directive  and the inauguration of  a 89 European Roma Summit, this aspiration is continuously undercut by the European political landscape's foundational reliance on the international.  In each case,  the continued discrimination of  Roma haunts claims of  and for a 'European', essentially inclusive ethic that might stand in opposition to the corrosive nationalisms of  individual states. Or rather, it should haunt these claims; the fact that so many are willing to look  elsewhere,  to  the  uncontrollable  resurgence  of  nationalisms,  to  technical  problems  in  the implementation of  anti-racist programmes and to the alleged intractability of  the 'problem', attests to the allure of  'Europe' as transcendent liberal ideal. I contend that unquestioning adherence to this assumption is naïve at best, and that the systematic twentieth century failure of  supranational consensuses, treaties and institutions  to  protect  the  rights  of  Europe's  most  disenfranchised  residents  suggests  that  far  from superseding states’ interests, recourse to a 'European' level has only ever enabled them to be writ large. The post-Maastricht – or post-Lisbon – EU has yet to prove otherwise. The allure of  an essentially just 'European' plane may be partly explained as the displacement of idealism from the messy coalface of  national politics, where it is subject to the vagaries of  (party-) political justice,  to  a  realm  whose  apparent  deficit  of  political  accountability  also  cuts  it  loose  from  petty parochialisms and consequently means that a sort of  moral justice might be pursued. The vast difference in the rhetoric with which actors speak of  Roma at local, national and European scales is evidence that there is  some truth to this  schema. However,  there is  also great  danger in it.  Firstly,  once Roma issues are removed from the realm of  'politics', so too are their solutions, thus enacting a technicisation of  Roma issues. The consequences of  this are a simplistic focus on 'inclusion' or 'representation' as if  these concepts were cure-alls, a tendency to evaluate programmes in terms other than their actual results and a teleological view of  progress that underplays the severity of  Roma discrimination and denies its entrenchment. All three are in plain view in the European Commission's surreally non-sequiturial statement that: 'In 2008 and 2009 there has been significant progress with regard to Roma inclusion at the European level.  The issue was on top of  the  political  agenda of  the EU institutions  and Member States and the Council conclusions in 2008 and 2009 have led to more and more concrete  calls  upon Member  States  and the  Commission  for  action.  Moreover,  they  have helped to embed the issue of  Roma inclusion firmly into European Union policy making. It 90 must  not  be  ignored  that  the  developments  in  2008  and  2009  have  not  yet  changed significantly the concrete situation and living standards of  Roma communities.' (European Commission 2010a:32-3) Secondly, the collection of  all parochialisms, exclusionary actions and injustices at the national level (and 'lower', more local levels) risks the wilful oversight of  these factors at the European level. In much the same way that the failure of  internationally-brokered Yugoslav constitutions was blamed on 'petty' Balkan nationalisms that 'turn[ed] the dream of  a united Europe into a nightmare' (International Herald Tribune, 1992:1, quoted in Hayden, 1999:83) rather than on the 'nightmarish contradictions inherent in modern European social and political thought'  (Hayden, 1999:83); evacuating 'Europe' of  the nationalisms that constitute it can result in dangerously misleading conclusions. 'Europe' has not transcended the discourses of  the international, but was made by them, of  them, and continues to be defined in relation to them: as Walker  (1993:162)  writes,  '[w]hatever  avenues  are  now  being  opened  up  in  the  exploration  of contemporary  political  identities,  whether  in  the  name of  nations,  humanities,  classes,  races,  cultures, genders or movements, they remain largely constrained by ontological and discursive options expressed most elegantly, and to the modern imagination most persuasively, by claims about the formal sovereignty of  territorial  states'.  Even  in  its  overtly  anti-nationalist  manifestations,  European  institutions  tend  to reinforce the primacy of  'nation' as a chief  category of  political identity, its continued connection to the (member) state, and the territorial expression of  both; all of  which seriously undermines their ability to resist and redress the injurious effects of  nationalism. 'The danger, then,' as Aurelia Armstrong (2008:23) explains,  'is  that  in  reacting  to  domination  through  the  defensive  assertion  of  a  subordinated  or marginalized identity, a politics of  resistance may fail to address the way in which oppressive structures are reproduced  at  the  level  of  attachments  to  forms  of  identity  which  presuppose  and  support  those structures'. If  'Europe' were to transcend such structures (if, that is, Roma were to be as European as other Europeans), it would have to do more than merely wish these structures away: it would have to find a new political  vocabulary and syntax,  it  would have to  find the 'higher'  political  plane that  it  is  all-too-often assumed to occupy. 91 From Minority to Migrant To pick out such continuities, however, is not to say that the twentieth century political history of  Roma in Europe is  solely  one of  stasis.  Far from it:  from the Paris  Peace Conference to the European Roma Summit, the political identity of  Roma has been reconfigured from the apparent security of  one among many national minorities to the permanent insecurity of  one among relatively few, but disproportionately visible,  unwelcome migrants.  The  early-twentieth  century  snapping  of  political  space  around  national territories  seemed to lock Roma, among many others,  into the  position of  national  minority,  with its imperfect but tangible regime of  rights. However, from the treatment of  Roma as existing 'outside' of politics in the EU acquis, through the Citizenship Directive's reinforcement of  the nation-state as the chief arbiter of  who is European and who is not (and who, often, is left in the limbo of  statelessness), to the European Roma Summit's appeal to European/universal rights that only make sense at their limit (and in their breach); today the precarious inclusions of  the national minority seem to have been replaced by the faint  promises,  veiled  (and  not-so-veiled)  threats  and  de  facto (if  not  de  jure)  exclusions  of  the  extra- communitarian  migrant.  When Thomas Hammarberg  (2009a:4)  describes  Roma and Sinti  as  'minority populations severely and chronically  discriminated against in most of  the Council of  Europe member states', he is associating them not with other Europe-born persons in states where they do not belong to the  majority  nation,  as  'minority  population'  would  have connoted  90  years  previous,  but  rather  (and explicitly) with 'asylum seekers, refugees and immigrants' (ibid.). While the flux of  the Great War and its aftermath looked as if  it might at least create some commonality in the uncertain modernity Europe and Europeans faced, the flux wrought by European political integration has served to loudly pronounce how very un-European and pre-modern certain people, Roma chief  among them, remain. In arguing that the political identity of  Roma in Europe has undergone a transformation in the twentieth century from minority to migrant, and that this shift has been responsible for a loosening of  the ties that secure their position as Europeans, I do not mean simply to insist on a 'return' to national minority 92 status for Roma, manifested in the implementation of  some kind of  newer and sturdier regime of  Roma minority rights.  Arendt (1966:273) is surely right to warn us that  'minorities  within nation-states  must sooner or later be either assimilated or liquidated'. As much as claiming minority status makes sense in achieving short-term goals (and important though these goals may be), as an end-point to drive toward it seems a dangerous target indeed. Nor does the embedding of  minority rhetoric in the (new) framework of 'European' institutions somehow bypass the nation-statist logic that lies behind Arendt's dichotomy; rather, as we have seen, it has merely reinforced this logic and systematised its exclusions. Both 'minority' and 'migrant'  are fatally tainted by the political framework within which they make sense, and it  is only by critically examining this framework that we might combat the exclusions that Roma endure in Europe. As Gheorghe and Acton (2001:69) argue, '[i]t is not so much that the rights of  ethnic minorities must be protected, as that ethnic majorities must be in themselves deconstructed'. Whether defined as a minority 'out of  place', or as a migrant who simply has no place, the same political landscape (and the same logic of territorially-defined nation-states) is being called forth; the twentieth century history of  Roma in Europe should teach us that the liberties promised by this political landscape rest on a highly disquieting set of exclusions. Thus far, we have looked at the exclusions that European institutions unwittingly endorse through their subscription to a set of  political assumptions that implicitly require an inclusive exclusion, or outside- inside. Equally though, we might also pay attention to the state-level exclusions that such institutions fail to prevent,  and ask why,  given the chance to demonstrate the  supposed centrality  of  human (or  indeed minority)  rights  to  'Europe',  inaction  instead  prevails.  These  questions  underlay  the  2008  emergency measures taken by Italy against its Roma population in the name of  security, to which I will now turn. My focus,  though,  shifts  from  an  examination  of  whether  'Europe'  naturally  opposes  such  parochial  or nationalistic actions, to an examination of  why nation-states themselves support them. I posit that just as the former is neither self-evident nor natural, so the latter requires serious analysis. What is it that makes the production of  Roma as an object of  security a politically expedient, and therefore 'populist', political 93 strategy?  Why might  their  very  presence  constitute  an emergency?  It  is  by  examining  precisely  those aspects of  exclusion that we most easily take for granted that we stand to gain insight into the political assumptions that make such exclusions meaningful, assumptions as vital to the (re)production of  a political ontology at the level of  the state as they are at the level of  the association of  states. 94 4 Italy and the Emergenza Nomadi While an upsurge in popular (and often violent) antiziganism and overtly exclusionary state action (and often inaction) may be traced across Europe, from France (Amnesty International, 2010e; ERRC, 2010a) to Hungary (Kulish, 2009; Dowling, 2009) and from the Czech Republic (ECRI, 2009; ERRC, 2008b) to Northern Ireland (McDonald,  2009; Amnesty International,  2009a),  some of  the bluntest rhetoric and most controversial policies have been spoken and enacted in Italy, where fears over Roma and immigration issues have coalesced into what the state terms an  emergenza nomadi, or 'nomad emergency'. The actions taken by the Italian government might be seen as a test case, both in the sense of  an EU member state openly acting in contravention of  EU freedom of  movement laws and in the sense of  a 'Western' state coming  to terms  with  the  traditionally  'Eastern'  'Roma problem'.  As  we  saw in  Chapter  1,  important precedents were set in Italy that informed the French actions of  2010, and will doubtless inform future 'Roma emergencies' elsewhere. In this chapter, I shall look at the May 2008 Nomad Emergency Decree, the census  of  Roma  it  legitimated,  and  the  acceleration  of  clearances  of  such  'settlements'  that  has accompanied its tenure. I use reports compiled by supranational institutions (see Appendix for overview of these  institutions)  and  NGOs  (including  the  European  Roma  Rights  Centre,  EveryOne  Group  for International  Cooperation  on  Human  Rights  Culture,  Amnesty  International  and  many  others), international and domestic media reports and the decrees and laws themselves to investigate the measures undertaken and the means used to justify them. My interest in these measures is not in assessing their justness, but in addressing the question of  what it was that made such measures possible, or rather, what constructed these measures as a rational and appropriate response to issues at hand. After briefly outlining the history of  Roma in Italy, a history that stretches back to the fifteenth century, I then look at the ways in which waves of  migration into Italy in recent decades, both Romani (notably from the former Yugoslavia in the 1990s and Romania in the late 2000s) and non-Romani, have circumvented this history, and instead constructed Roma as the embodiment of  immigration issues. In the 95 second section I examine in detail the 2008 declaration of  a state of  emergency, the conditions that led to it and its aftermath. Finally, and bearing in mind Karena Shaw's (2008:203) remark that 'we have too often focused on the particular violences, rather than the processes, practices and discourses through which such practices were rendered legitimate at the time', in the third section I take a step back in order to look at the emergenza nomadi as a window onto the ways in which Roma are rendered problematic, and problematic to the degree that the state of  exception must supplant the rule of  law. To this effect, I apply the theoretical framework developed in Chapter 2 to the Italian case, and look at the actions of  the Italian state in terms of  their wider significance: what is the interplay between the construction of  Roma as nomads outside the grid of  the international and the 'security measures' used to deal with them? How does the challenge that Roma/immigrant is held to represent to conventional borders so quickly translate into authorisation for the state to also broach conventional borders, by truncation the jurisdiction of  'ordinary' law? And what does this say about the influence of  the international in contemporary structures (and conceptions) of government? First though, I shall say a little about Roma in Italy. Leonardo Piasere (1993:92) argues that in Italy 'the term “Gypsy” is a Wittgensteinian cluster concept', connoting most strongly immigration, nomadism and criminality, as '[t]he images of  the “travelling Gypsy”, the outsider, the migrant, and now the refugee seem...to cluster together' (Castle-Kanĕrová, 2003:21). Indeed, in official and legal contexts, neither 'Roma' (Rom) nor 'Gypsy' (zingaro) but 'nomad' (nomade) is the preferred term. It is important to note that 'nomad' is not a particularly accurate term for describing an overwhelmingly sedentary, and moreover ethnically- (if not racially-) defined, group of  people; indeed, I shall look at the ways in which this term is not merely misleading, but pernicious. The characteristics assigned to Roma are held to be either endemic to Romani 'culture' or products of  a marginal existence,  views that can either be scornful or compassionate in tone (and are occasionally both). However, both the charitable (notably including the Catholic Church) and the intolerant  tend  to  agree  upon  the  essential  alterity  of  Roma.  Thus,  when  'security'  actions  mandate discriminatory measures for Roma, for the most part they fail to discriminate between Italian Roma and 96 non-Italian Roma, or EU citizens and extracomunitari  (non-EU citizens), or even legal and undocumented residents, and instead frequently resort to the racial distinction between Roma 'nomads', ironically rendered problematic  by  their  very  intransience,  and  normal  society.  However,  these  distinctions  do  matter, particularly  in  EU law. The 2007 accession of  Romania  to the  EU, which  guaranteed its  citizens  the unequivocal right to reside in other EU states (though see chapter 3 on the problems in implementing the Citizenship Directive [Directive 2004/38/EC]), but not (yet) the right to be employed on an equal, non- discriminatory terms in many EU states (including Italy) is  important here in two respects.  Firstly,  the modest immigration of  Romanian Roma into Italy has confused Roma issues with issues surrounding the far  larger  immigration  of  non-Romani  Romanians  into  Italy.  Secondly,  and  more  speculatively,  this confusion has allowed the state to use measures designed to control Roma to metonymically infer control of  immigration more generally. This external profusion of  associations is matched by an internal profusion of  categorisations, a doubling captured by Piasere's (1999; cited in Sigona, 2005) description of  the term zingari ('Gypsy') as a heteronym incorporating 'a world of  worlds'. Piasere is highlighting the complications in talking of  a group whose  ethnic  identities  (Roma,  Sinti,  and  a  host  of  other  self-ascribed  ethnicities)  differ  from  their linguistic identities (native Italian, various dialects of  Romanes, Romanian, various Slavic languages, and various fusions and mixtures of  these are all common), which differ from their national affiliation(s), which differ again from their citizenship (or lack thereof). I shall refer to all Roma, Sinti and related ethnicities as 'Roma', though not without a lingering sense of  the inadequacy of  such a flattening, of  the problematic nature of  naturalising such a 'relation', and of  uneasiness regarding the tendency for such a distinction to feed  into  a  racial  categorisation  of  the  Gypsy/zingari/nomad.  Statistics  that  might  enumerate  these divisions are notoriously difficult to compile, and even when available must be viewed as best estimates more intimately attached than most to the political objectives of  the organisations responsible for them. As of  2006-7 there were generally believed to be between 110 000 and 160 000 Roma in Italy (ERRC, 2008a; Liégeois,  2007),  of  whom around half  held  Italian citizenship and 20-25% held other  EU citizenship 97 (ERRC, 2008a); these figures continue to be circulated today. The  Comunita di Sant Egidio estimated that around 10-15 000 were stateless (Associated Press, 2008). It is a mark of  the conditions they are forced to live in, and their exclusion from society, that life expectancy for Roma in Italy is estimated to be just 40-45 years (Storia, 2009). Roma and Italy From the Middle Ages to World War II Roma have lived in Italy at least since the fifteenth century; in 1422 the anonymous  Cronica di Bologna records the  visit  of  a  'Duke of  Egypt'  and his  fortune-telling wife and entourage (Liégeois,  2007:19). Through the remainder of  the fifteenth century, records of  Roma in Italy became more frequent (Cahn et al,  2000,  citing Dragutinović,  2000:9),  with many Roma settling permanently and sedentarily  (Liégeois, 2007:21). Alongside records of  the existence of  Roma, we also find records of  their discrimination: when the party that visited Bologna in 1422 stopped in Forlì a little later, the Chronicon Fratris Hieronymi de Forlivio reported that they 'did not shew themselves well measured, but like unto savage and furious beasts' (quoted in Liégeois, 2007:20), and by 1500 the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I (at the time controlling much of present-day northern Italy) felt the need to issue a decree to the effect that it was not a crime to 'burn or kill Gypsies' (Cahn et al, 2000, citing Liperi, 1995:14). From 1493 to 1785, 209 anti-Gypsy decrees were issued in present-day Italy, at a rate of  0.71 per year (Piasere, 1993:94). Meanwhile, records show further migrations of  Roma into Italian territory, including a wave of  'Hungarian Gypsies' in the late eighteenth century, and of  German and Slavic Roma in the aftermath of  the First World War (Liégeois, 2007:22). Italy only emerged as a modern, unified nation-state in 1861, with Venetia and the Papal States only annexed  in  1866  and  1870  respectively.  The  modern  borders  of  Italy  (though  encompassing  Istrian territory ceded to Yugoslavia after the Second World War) were secured with the 1919 signature of  the Treaty of  Saint-Germain-en-Laye, prepared at the Paris Peace Conference. In contrast to the naturalised, pseudo-organic essences of  Westphalian states, 'creating a match between a representative landscape and 98 an Italian national identity was a difficult and obviously artificial process from the start' (Agnew, 2002:41). Thus, while one might trace the mythologising of  the Italian nation that fuels and consolidates the creation of  the Italian state in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, these imperatives have not been able to fully eclipse the 'city-regions [that] have historically provided a more powerful source for political identities than has the “nation” as a whole' (Shin & Agnew, 2008:3). The consequence of  this is that regional identities and internal borders remain unusually strong in Italy as compared to other European states, and appeal to nationalitarian rhetoric requires greater qualification that it might elsewhere. As a victorious power, and moreover as a state that 'could be relied upon to fulfil the “standard of civilization”'  (Jackson  Preece,  1997b:82),  Italy  had  no  Minorities  Treaty  forced  upon it,  despite  being intimately caught up in the Paris Peace Conference settlements that 'had given sixty million people a state of  their own, but it turned another twenty-five million into minorities' (Mazower, 1998:42). Indeed, the irredentist  claims  behind  the  post-war  Italian  annexations  could  not  but  create  as  many  minoritarian 'problems' as it 'solved'. These issues acquired a racial slant with the ascent of  power of  Benito Mussolini's National Fascist Party in 1922. In a speech to his party in 1921, a year before it gained power, Mussolini told his party: 'I want to make it clear that Fascism is dealing with the problem of  race. Fascists must occupy themselves with the health of  the race which moulds history' (quoted in Boursier, 1999:14, n8) The way in which it was to 'deal' with this problem was made clear in a 1926 circular of  the Ministry of Domestic Affairs, which 'ordered the expulsion of  all “foreign Gypsies” from the kingdom in order to “cleanse the country of  Gypsy caravans which,  needless to recall,  constitute a risk to safety and public health by virtue of  the characteristic Gypsy lifestyle”. The aim was to “strike at the very heart of  the Gypsy organism”' (Boursier, 2008:2; Ornella S., 2008) Though framed in the language of  race and public health, the absence of  any Minorities Treaty or state with an interest in protecting Roma meant that there was neither mechanism nor motive for opposing such a move; the Fascist government did not need to use any authoritarian tactics in order to implement openly 99 discriminatory measures. Italy's failure to possess a Minorities Treaty also lent a dramatic irony to the part it played in their obsolescence when, in a secret meeting with the German Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop in the build-up to the Second World War, the Italians extracted a promise from the Germans that the German minority in South Tyrol were to be resettled in the Reich. As Mark Mazower (1998:160) writes, '[t]ogether with the annexation of  the Sudetenland, this pledge ended the era of  the Minorities Treaties and opened up a more brutal approach to Europe's ethnic tensions'. Meanwhile, Italy further aligned itself  with Nazi policy by enacting race laws in September 1938 expelling foreign Jews and revoking citizenship to Jews naturalised after 1918 (Boursier, 1999). These were compounded by further laws passed in November 1938 which 'prohibited mixed marriages, expelled Jews from military service, from public office, from the civil service and subjected them to severe restrictions with regard to economic activities' (Boursier, 1999:15). While these laws do not mention Roma, in an October 1938 signed text entitled 'Declaration regarding Race',  Mussolini  wrote that  '[t]he problem of  the Jews is  no more than the metropolitan aspect  of  a problem of  a more general nature' (quoted in Boursier, 1999:15). Nevertheless, in contradistinction to the Nuremberg Laws in Germany (which, though they did not mention Roma, were quickly determined to apply to them (Lewy, 1999)), 'the laws which affected the Gypsies were those concerned with public order, the prevention of  criminality and keeping the rules and orders of  the State' (Boursier, 1999:15). Until 1940, then, the Italian regulation of  Roma was in the main limited to their sporadic arrest and expulsion, rather than any more systematic strategies (Boursier, 1999). In June 1940, Italy entered World War II allied with Germany. On September 11 th 1940, the Italian Ministry of  the Interior issued an internment order for Italian Roma, 'taking it almost for granted that the foreign ones must be refused entry or expelled' (Boursier, 1999:17). The order stated that: 'due to the fact that they sometimes commit serious crimes because of  their innate nature and methods  of  organisation  and  due  to  the  possibility  that  among  them there  are  elements capable  of  carrying  out  anti-national  activities,  it  is  indispensable  that  all  Gypsies  are controlled... It is ordered that those of  Italian nationality, either confirmed or presumed, who are still  in circulation are to be rounded up as quickly as possible and concentrated under 100 vigorous surveillance in a suitable locality in every province...apart from the more dangerous or suspicious elements who are to be sent to the islands or regions' (Bousier, 1999:18; quoted in Boursier, 2008:2) Thus, while they escaped the organised genocide of  the Jews transported to foreign death camps (though see Arendt, 2006 on Italian obstructionism in this process), Italian Roma were instead kept in internment camps on Italian soil. This is not to underplay the appalling living conditions in such camps, where severe malnutrition was standard, 'prisoners were subject to an endless number of  strict and often cruel rules for their control and supervision' (Boursier, 2008:2), and many died as a result (Cahn et al, 2000). Some were deported to, and subsequently stranded on, camps located on islands off  the peninsula (Fraser, 1992:268). Roma unlucky enough to be trapped in German-controlled parts of  Italy  (the so-called 'Italian Social Republic') after the 1943 Italian armistice with the Allies fared worse still, being rounded up and deported to German forced labour or concentration camps (Fraser, 1992:268). Post-war Immigration Following  the  end  of  World  War  II,  Hitler's  'dream  of  consolidating  Deutschtum was  realized  in  a nightmarish fashion'  (Mazower,  1998:216) as  a mass migration of  Germans constituted the bulk of  a massive  rearrangement  of  populations  so as  to achieve a greater  alignment  of  nation and state.  This realignment threw into yet starker relief  the political identity of  Roma, many of  whom were liberated from camps at the end of  the war only to be left stranded as stateless persons, unable to obtain any form of citizenship and therefore with nowhere to be resettled to (Fraser, 1992:271). Among them were Yugoslav Roma who had escaped Yugoslavia during its occupation following the April War, seeking the comparative safety of  Italy (Boursier, 1999). During  the  Italian  economic  boom of  the  1960s,  1970s  and 1980s,  immigration  to  Italy  rose significantly, first from other European states (notably Yugoslavia), and from the 1980s from Africa and Asia too (Del Boca & Venturini,  2003). Its extent can be gauged by the approximate doubling of  the immigrant  population  in  Italy  each  decade,  with  156 000  in  1971,  332 000  in  1981,  649 000  in  1991, 101 1 448 392 in 2001 and 3 891 295 in 2008 (King, 2002; OECD Statistics, 2010). While immigration into Italy is relatively diverse (in terms of  nationality of  immigrant) compared to other European states, it is possible to highlight significant streams of  immigration from Morocco, Albania, Romania, the Philippines and China through the 1990s and 2000s, and waves from (the former) Yugoslavia in the 1990s and Ukraine in the 2000s (King, 2002, istat.it, 2010). The most notable trend, though, is the recent spike of  Romanian migration into Italy. The number of  Romanians in Italy rose more than tenfold in less than a decade, from 69 999 in 2000 to 796 477 in 2008, and more than doubled in just the two years from 2006 (342 200) to 2008 (OECD Statistics,  2010),  making them the largest resident foreign community in Italy.  However, relative to other European states  this  rise in immigration is  still  relatively modest:  latest available data (2008/9) show 6.48% of  the Italian population is foreign-born, almost precisely the EU average of  6.38% (Eurostat, 2010). 'Illegal' immigration is, as its name might suggest, much more difficult to measure. The most readily available data enumerate asylum applications, showing a consistent number of  asylum applications in Italy, hovering between 10 000 and 20 000 each year from 1998 to 2007 (Eurostat,  2010) before more than doubling to 31 000 in 2008 (OECD, 2010:214). This spike represents an increase from 0.2 to 0.5 asylum applications  per  1 000  persons,  bringing  Italy  in  line  with  the  EU average  (in  2007)  of  0.45  asylum applications per 1 000 persons (Eurostat, 2010; OECD, 2010:215), though closer cooperation with Libya regarding boat interceptions (actions that have drawn severe criticism from human rights groups- see for example Amnesty International, 2010c) is reported to have led to a 90% reduction in 'illegal' sea landings in 2009  (OECD, 2010:214). However, despite their association with illegal immigration, Roma migration is poorly captured by asylum applications, since Roma tend to be dealt with through other mechanisms in Italy (Sigona, 2005). Law 390 of  24th September 1992 installed temporary permits-to-stay as the means by which refugees from Yugoslavia (many of  whom were Roma) were to be regulated,  thus sidestepping asylum procedures. During the Kosovo conflict, when even higher proportions of  refugees arriving in Italy were Roma, it became apparent that refugees and Roma were mutually exclusive categories: their presumed 102 'nomadism'  made  any  claim  to  refugee  status  (implying  exile  from a  'homeland'  Roma  were  denied) necessarily  fraudulent  (Sigona,  2003).  Instead,  temporary  protection  was  given,  which  expired  at  the 'official' end of  the conflict, leaving Roma illegal but ineligible for asylum. This hints at the difficulty in measuring (or even estimating numbers for) Romani migration. It is simultaneously both visible and invisible: 'Information on Romani migration has, if  anything, been overproduced. The arrival of  one hundred or two hundred Roma from another country can trigger front-page news coverage in the yellow press and more serious media for days. However, beyond certain particular micro- scenarios, reliable statistical data on Romani migration is largely unavailable.' (Cahn & Guild, 2008:28) The reasons for this unavailability are multiple and interlinked. Firstly,  'in an atmosphere charged with mistrust about the uses of  such data, Roma have shown a distinct reluctance to tell the census-taker or other public authorities or researchers that they are Romani' (Cahn & Guild, 2008:29). As we have seen, historical precedent suggests that they have good reason for doing so. Secondly, demographers and census- takers often, for reasons of  privacy, nationalism (that is, belief  in the primacy of  nation over ethnicity), or respect for self-declaration of  ethnicity (as noted earlier, many of  those grouped together as 'Roma' do not identify  with  the  term),  are  unable  or  unwilling  to  compile  data  on ethnicity.  Local  and often  highly complex political factors play into the motives of  both census taker and respondent (see, for example, Kolev,  1994).  Thirdly,  under  the  Schengen  Borders  Code  (Regulation  562/2006),  systematic  border controls  are  prohibited  at  internal  EU  borders,  and  under  the  Citizenship  Directive  (Directive 2004/38/EC; Official Journal of  the European Union, 2004) registry of  immigrants with local authorities can only be made compulsory for stays of  over three months; both factors which make collecting data on intra-EU migration at all, let alone intra-EU Romani migration, extremely difficult if  not outright illegal. Taken together, these factors mean that 'official' estimations of  statistics related to Roma are plagued with inadequacies, and most government officials, including the Roma and Travellers division of  the Council of Europe, tend to speak of  official and unofficial estimates of  the Romani population (Cahn & Guild, 2008), with the implicit acceptance that while the latter may contain enormous uncertainties, they tend to be more 103 accurate (or at least realistic). These qualifications in mind, it is possible to sketch out some trends regarding post-war Romani migration into Italy. While it is debatable whether, as Nando Sigona (2005) claims, Italy was by the mid- 2000s the only EU member whose post-1945 Romani immigrants outnumbered its Roma descended from the pre-1945 population, it is certainly true that unlike its rivals for that title (Austria, Germany and the Czech Republic) it the only state to fulfil this condition whose 'indigenous' Roma were not annihilated in World War II. In the boom period from the 1960s to 1980s, it is estimated that approximately 40 000 Roma came to Italy (Cahn et al, 2000:15; citing Geraci et al, 1998:25). Many came from (the former) Yugoslavia in the 1980s and 1990s as first the Cold War borders softened, and then conflict and the dissolution into ethnic  states  created  enormous  numbers  of  refugees,  including  many  Roma  who,  when  the  fighting stopped, found that they did not have a state to return to. Many too have come from Romania and, to a lesser extent, Bulgaria, since Italy's 2002 lifting of  visa requirements (Storia, 2009) in preparation for these states’ 2007 accession to the EU. As previously mentioned, it is estimated that of  the 110 000 – 160 000 Roma in Italy, half  hold Italian citizenship and a further quarter EU citizenship. However, it must be borne in mind that  while  extremely  uncertain,  these numbers  are  comparatively  small:  150 000 Roma would represent  0.25% of  the  Italian  population,  75 000  Roma  born  elsewhere  or  directly  descended  from immigrants would represent 1.93% of  the immigrant stock of  Italy, and 35 000 Romanian Roma in Italy would represent just 4.39% of  Romanians in Italy (OECD Statistics, 2010; ERRC, 2008a). Political Response In the 1980s, as Italy's 1971 switch from being a net emigration nation to being a net immigration nation (King,  2002;  Del  Boca  &  Venturini,  2003)  had  begun  to  infiltrate  the  collective  imagination  and immigration paths diversified,  making immigrants both more numerous and more visible,  immigration started to be seen as a 'problem' that demanded the state's attention. Italy's external, state borders finally began to loom larger than its internal, regional borders (Zanotti, 1993), which had the important effect of 104 fusing older regionalist political concerns with newly potent anti-immigrant political concerns (Zanotti, 1993). This tendency was exemplified by the emergence of  the northern separatist anti-immigration party Lega  Nord,  founded  in  1991  after  the  merger  of  several  northern  regional  parties.  Legally,  the  first restrictions to foreign workers came with the 1982 Ministry of  Labour decision to cease all authorizations for foreign workers from outside the European Community, and 'regularise' those already present in Italy (Calavita, 2006). However, due to the prohibitive expense of  such a regularisation on employers (who were required to 'sponsor' and repay back-taxes and social security contributions for regularisation applicants), fewer than 16 000 undocumented immigrants were regularised (Calavita, 2006). Indeed, the measure merely increased the numbers of  those now defined as 'irregular' or 'illegal', and continuing demands for seasonal labour  meant  that  the  external  border  remained  open  to  clandestine  immigration.  A  1986  law  (Law 943/1986, 'Foreign Workers and the Control of  Illegal Immigration') was little more successful, with only 107 000 out of  an estimated population of  600 000 to 1 200 000 undocumented immigrants applying for its flagship regularisation programme, largely due to employers’ vested interest in escaping health and social security contributions, and immigrants’ fears of  losing their jobs if  they applied (Calavita,  2006; citing Onorato, 1989). In 1990, the so-called 'Martelli Law' was passed, which despite putting in place a system whereby residence permits are required before work permits may be granted (a system that systematically worked  to  exclude  foreign-born  or  born-to-foreign-born-parentage  Roma  (Cahn  et  al,  2000)),  was nevertheless seen by many as too permissive (due to the possibility of  two-year work permits and four-year renewal of  said permits for illegal immigrants) and was used as 'a lightning rod against which emergent right-wing  parties  like  Umberto  Bossi's  Lega  Nord,  Gianfranco  Fini's  MSI [soon  to  become  Alleanza Nazionale] and Sylvio [sic] Berlusconi's Forza Italia launched successful campaigns for control of  the Italian state' (Merrill & Carter, 2002:168). This was not the only lightning rod to electrify their campaigns. The Italian political system had from the 1953 general election (in which the ruling Democrazia Cristiana, or Christian Democrats, forged a centrist coalition to shore up their political support) to the 1992 breaking of  the  tangentopoli  scandal that 105 triggered the demise of  the 'First Republic', worked to put centrist coalitions (led by Democrazia Cristiana) in power. These coalitions effectively excluded the Communist Left (the PCI) and the Fascist Right (the MSI) from government. This system collapsed in the early 1990s due to  tangentopoli, the uncovering of  wide- spread political corruption by the mani pulite ('clean hands') investigation that caused upheaval in the Italian political system: all four of  the parties in government in 1992 when the scandal broke were dissolved by 1998. The scale of  corruption was blamed in part on the necessity of  currying favour for the inevitable jockeying for power in the crucial post-election process of  coalition-formation. As a corrective to this, in 1993 electoral reforms were implemented designed to create 'bipolar', alternating political blocs, a system that  succeeded  insofar  as  it  allowed  the  hitherto  excluded  extreme  left-  and  right-wing  parties  into governing coalitions (Shin & Agnew, 2008). Media magnate Silvio Berlusconi took advantage of  the new electoral  system with spectacular  success as  he  'masterfully  created two separate geographical  alliances between which he [and his new party Forza Italia] was the political fulcrum' (Shin & Agnew, 2008:53): in the North, with Bossi's  Lega Nord, a regionalist anti-immigration party whose anti-system politics had in the wake of  tangentopoli given it an unexpected boost in popularity; and in the South, with Fini's post-Fascist Alleanza Nazionale. The emergence of  the Right as a powerful political force and its alliance with regionalist,  anti- immigration  parties  unsurprisingly  resulted  in  draconian  anti-immigrant  legislation.  Having  reclaimed power in the 2001 general election, in 2002 Berlusconi's right-wing alliance enacted two important pieces of  legislation. Firstly, in response to the landing in Italy of  the Tongan-registered Monica ship carrying 928 Iraqi Kurdish refugees in March, Berlusconi declared a state of  emergency, 'grant[ing] local authorities the power to imprison arrivals, limit[ing] the time for asylum hearings and eliminat[ing] appeals', as well as allowing the destruction of  boats (Pugh, 2004:57; Carroll, 2002). Second, in July the government passed a new immigration law, the so-called 'Bossi-Fini Law' (after its primary authors), which required non-EU immigrants  to be fingerprinted,  allowed the use of  naval  ships  to patrol  the coastline,  and increasing penalties for being or employing an illegal immigrant (Immigration and Refugee Board of  Canada, 2002; 106 Migration News, 2002). However, while the Right was undoubtedly responsible for worsening the lot of  the immigrant, they were not alone in this. The legislation that the Bossi-Fini Law replaced, the 1998 Turco-Napolitano Law which first mandated detention for irregular immigrants, was introduced under the previous centre- left  L'Ulivo (The Olive Tree) coalition, led by former president of  the European Commission Romano Prodi. Even after Prodi's subsequent L'Unione (The Union) coalition defeated Berlusconi's alliance in the 2006 general election, Prodi did not rescind but instead renewed the state of  emergency regarding illegal immigration (DPA, 2008). Davide Peró (2005; 2007) accounts for these cross-party continuities through a transformation of  the Left, as the traditional socialist, economic framing of  immigration that grouped immigrants and the local working class in the same category (the proletariat) and project (the struggle against exploitative economic elites) has been replaced by a cultural framing of  immigration wherein the 'commitment to the recognition of  ethno-cultural difference has translated into the coupling of  ethno- cultural  difference  with  the  provision  of  second-rate  and  marginalizing  services  and  practices'  (Peró, 2005:843).  In  short,  and  to  employ  Nancy  Fraser's  (1995)  terms,  the  liberal  shift  from a  politics  of redistribution to a politics of  recognition has been responsible for an effective dereliction of  migrants ’ interests on the Left, and a consequent slide into the same kind of  differential government that we find on the Right. Nevertheless, it is Roma who have borne the brunt of  a collective sense of  unease at the rise in immigration,  and of  insecurity at  the emergent menace of  'illegal'  immigration.  This  feeling has been fuelled by the  state's  treatment  of  Roma not  as  minority,  but  as  either  migrant or,  to  use the  state's preferred term, nomad. This is ably demonstrated by the fate of  a bill  on the protection of  linguistic minorities in Italy, which only garnered enough support to be passed after it deleted all references to Roma. As passed, Article 2 of  Law 482/1999 'Rules on protection of  historical linguistic minorities' reads: 'In implementation of  Article 6 of  the Constitution and in harmony with general principles laid down by European and International, the Republic protects the language and culture of Albanians, Catalans, Germans, Greeks, Slovenes and Croatians and those who speak French, 107 Franco-Provençal, Friulian, Ladin, Occitan and Sardinian.' (Gazzetta Ufficiale, 1999) Article  3  of  the  same  law  spells  out  'the  demarcation  of  territorial  limits'  (Gazzetta  Ufficiale,  1999) necessary for this law to be applied, implicitly justifying the exclusion of  Roma on the grounds that 'the basic  criteria  for  the  label  of  “linguistic  minority”  depend  on  the  stability  and  the  duration  of  the settlement in a delimited area of  the country, which is not the case for Roma populations...[which are] characterized in all cases by nomadism' (Italy, 2006:41, para 172). This apparent willingness to abject Roma from  minority  status,  instead  conceiving  them  in  terms  of  immigration  and  security  issues,  has reinvigorated  old  racial  discourses  and  otherings  of  Roma  and  directly  fed  into  their  heightened discrimination, both by society and the state. This situation had by the turn of  the century been highlighted by a series of  damning reports, notably the 1999 report of  the UN Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD, 1999) and the 2002 report of  the European Commission against Racism and Intolerance (ECRI, 2002), but as we shall see, these reports did very little to ameliorate the situation of Roma in Italy, or prevent the intensification of  their discriminatory treatment by the state. The Emergenza Nomadi Lead-up As a creeping trend, it is difficult to put a date on the point in time that Roma started to be consistently constructed as a 'security threat' in Italy, no longer benign but rather a malign feature of  society (or rather, alien from society). Indeed, both views exist today, just as they have always done. With these caveats in mind, I begin the story of  the escalation (from 'problem' to 'emergency') of  state tactics directed at Italy's Roma population in November 2006 (for time-line, see Figure 2), when Naples became the first of  14 cities in Italy to adopt 'Pacts of  Security'. The content, manner of  implementation and official statements regarding the purpose of  these Pacts made it clear that they were to specifically target Roma (Colacicchi, 2008). Both the Milan and Rome Pacts state that they address security 'threats' by non-citizens, while the 108 109 Figure 2: Time-line of  Emergenza Nomadi and European responses Milan Pact refers specifically to 'nomad camps' (ERRC, 2008a:19), the typical term used by the Italian state for the Roma settlements that are dotted around all Italy's big cities, whether they are sanctioned by the state (in which case basic amenities, such as electricity, are meant to be provided) or not. These Pacts were introduced not under a right-wing Berlusconi government, but under Prodi's leftist L'Unione coalition. On the 21st December 2006, a protest march against the existence of  a Roma camp near Milan ended in an arson attack on the camp in question (FRA, 2008). Attacks of  this kind were, and are, not uncommon in Italy, but this one is notable firstly because the motive was not retribution for a perceived crime, but rather merely the 'crime' of  existence; and secondly for the identities of  the protagonists: of  the 15 people charged with the assault, two were municipal councillors (FRA, 2008). In May 2007, the mayors of  Rome and Milan signed Pacts of  Security that 'envisaged the forced eviction of  up to 10 000 Romani people' (Amnesty International,  2008:171-2),  the start of  a period in which  camps  would  be  cleared  and  destroyed  'without  prior  notice,  compensation,  or  provision  of alternative housing' (Stahnke et al,  2008:6).  Walter Veltroni,  Mayor of  Rome and elected leader of  the newly formed centre-left Partito Democratico (Democratic Party) in October 2007, later announced that the result of  the Rome Pact was the removal of  over 6 000 Roma and Romanians, and the destruction of 1 000 of  their temporary shelters (Colacicchi, 2008). Following the brutal murder of  the 47 year old Italian woman Giovanna Reggiani in October 2007, which was attributed to a Romanian Roma, the government summarily deported around 200 Romanians – mostly Roma – in clear contravention of  EU law, particularly the Citizenship Directive (see Chapter 3). Prodi's government 'legalised' these actions with the 2nd November signature of  Decree Law 181/2007, amending  Legislative  Decree  30/2007  (of  6  February)  which  transposed  the  Citizenship  Directive (2004/38/EC) into Italian law, in order to allow for the expulsion of  EU citizens from Italy 'for reasons of public  safety'  (Colacicchi,  2008).  The  justification  given  for  this  amendment  was  the  occurrence  of 'episodes of  heavy violence and ferocious crime' (Stahnke et al, 2008); such was the anti-immigrant feeling that the Prefect of  Rome, Carlo Mosca, said: 110 'I shall sign the first expulsion orders straightaway. A hard line is needed because, faced with animals, the only way to react is with maximum severity.' (quoted in Hooper, 2007) As Sigona (2008:3) writes, '[i]t must also be noted that the comment did not prompt controversy'. Nor did the Decree prompt political debate, aside from claims on the Right that it did not go far enough, claims led by Gianfranco Fini who asserted that Roma 'consider  theft  to  be  virtually  legitimate  and  not  immoral...and  have  no  scruples  about kidnapping children or having children of  their own for the purpose of  begging. To talk of integration with people with a “culture” of  that sort is pointless.' (in Di Caro 2007; Sigona, 2008:9) From  the  Left,  Veltroni  keenly  'labelled  the  emergency  decree  “the  first  official  initiative”  of  the Democratic  Party  which  broke  up  the  old  dichotomy  which  sees  “security”  as  a  prerogative  of  the rightwing  and  “solidarity”  of  the  leftwing'  (Sigona,  2008:8).  In  subsequent  weeks  and  months, indiscriminate attacks and abuse of  both Romanians and Roma increased in frequency. Far from stepping in to subdue the charged atmosphere, state actors contributed to it, both in specific cases – for instance, the November 3rd bulldozing of  a Roma camp outside Rome by the city authorities (see Figure 3; Stahnke et  al,  2008;  Hooper,  2007)  –  and  general  trends,  with  police  brutality,  arbitrary  raids  and  evictions increasing markedly since November 2007, and the rate of  prosecution for anti-Roma crime decreasing markedly (ERRC, 2008a). Decree Law 181/2007 was not, however, converted into regular law before the 60-day time limit, after which Decree Laws otherwise expire. Criticism of  these actions was often just as emotionally charged as their support, with cries of fascism and racism directed at those responsible. For example, Rossana Rossanda, a well-known leftwing intellectual, said in a 3rd November 2007 interview with the left-leaning La Repubblica, 'The reaction of  the Italian government to the murder of  Mrs Reggiani was disgusting. There is no other word. I heard that police forces turned up in Romani encampments, among those miserable huts and shacks, to dismantle everything and evict innocent people. These, to me, are fascist behaviours, with no justification. I have never seen something like that [in Italy].' (quoted in Sigona, 2008) 111 Figure 3: Clearance of  Casilino 900 camp, Rome. Photo: Simona Caleo; reproduced in Colacicchi, 2008:38 The next day,  the same paper editorialised against those who 'attack the stranger just because he is  a foreigner', but distanced itself  from accusations of  fascism, which it said were 'not legitimate and justified protests,  but emotional abuse resulting from a total misunderstanding of  the situation and the serious dangers involved' (Scalfari, 2007). Wary of  'exacerbating the conflict', Stefano Rodotà (2007) writing in the same paper similarly called for zero tolerance 'against those who speak of  “beasts”, or invoke the Nazi methods'. Instead, protest was directed towards the severity of  the measures (the 'need not to show the “fierce face” [of  the state], but to recover the authority of  the central and local public authorities' (Scalfari, 2007)) and their effectiveness ('you can not put the conscience at peace with a decree and a flurry of  red cards, giving the public the dangerous illusion that the problem is resolved' (Rodotà, 2007)). Very rarely was the base conception of  Roma or immigration as an urgent and severe problem demanding some form of state intervention questioned. This tendency to question the solution but not the problem can be seen in 112 Eugenio Scalfari's (2007) editorial line warning: 'Don't be fooled into thinking that [the river of  migration] can be stopped, even if  you use a machine gun'. In  the  run-up to the  13-14th April  2008  general  election,  both Roma and immigration proved touchstone issues. While campaigning, Berlusconi called illegal immigrants 'an army of  evil' (Stahnke et al, 2008:7), again framing undocumented migrants as a threat to society. Berlusconi's new  Il Popolo della Libertà party, formed after a merger of  Forza Italia with Gianfranco Fini's  Alleanza Nazionale, won the election, forming a coalition with Umberto Bossi's Lega Nord which also fared well to finish third, 'in part by making inroads in working class areas where the left had dominated' (Wilkinson, 2008). Bossi and three other LN members (including Roberto Maroni, named Minister for the Interior) were given top seats in Berlusconi's Cabinet, with Fini appointed speaker of  the lower chamber of  parliament. On 10th May 2008, a 16 year old Romanian Roma girl in the Neapolitan suburb of  Ponticelli was found in the apartment of  a young Italian mother clutching her six-month old baby. After police stepped in to stop the girl's lynching, she was charged with attempted kidnapping and unlawful intrusion and sent to  a  correctional  facility  for  minors  (FRA,  2008:4).  The  girl,  known as  'Angelica  V.',  would  later  be sentenced to 3 years and 8 months in prison, with her judges ruling out any alternative to jail  on the grounds that she was 'fully integrated into the typical pattern of  behaviour of  the Roma culture' (quoted in EveryOne Group, 2009e). Speaking on the occasion of  her (unsuccessful) appeal in May 2009, justice office of  the city of  Naples, Alessandro Piccirillo said that: 'Romania  has  joined  the  European  Community,  and  therefore  must  comply  with  the parameters of  the Union and integrate with our culture and our laws.  The kidnapping of babies does not belong to our culture. Nevertheless, many children disappear in Italy. We do not know by whom, but it is a fact of  which we can not ignore.' (quoted in Del Porto, 2009) Piccirillo's words demonstrate the two moves that propelled this case immediately and enduringly to the forefront of  the national consciousness: firstly, the willingness to accept the event as a confirmation of  the 'Gypsy baby-snatcher' stereotype, and secondly the conflation of  Roma with Romania. Both moves portray this incident as indicative of  a larger crisis, a crisis that 'we cannot ignore'. 113 The extra-legal  'justice'  sought  for  this  crime was  immediate  and severe.  On the  night  of  the incident,  a Romanian labourer returning from work was stabbed and beaten.  The next day,  May 11 th, Roberto Maroni was widely quoted as saying, 'all Roma camps will have to be dismantled right away and the inhabitants will be either expelled or incarcerated' (Milella, 2008; Stahnke et al, 2008:6; Cahn, 2008; Mohácsi & Bedard, 2008), as violence also flared up in Milan with Molotov cocktails used in an attack on a Roma camp in the district of  Via Novara (Stahnke et al, 2008). On May 12 th, the entrance to a Roma camp in Ponticelli was doused in petrol and set on fire; throughout May 12 th and 13th Roma started abandoning isolated shacks, which were being set on fire across the district (FRA, 2008). On the afternoon of  May 13 th, a 300-400 strong mob of  locals, led by women and rumoured to have been coordinated in part by the Camorra, the Neapolitan mafia (Owen, 2008), launched an assault on one of  the biggest Roma camps in Ponticelli again using Molotov cocktails amidst more beatings and the evacuation of  smaller Roma camps into a larger camp with a police cordon (see Figure 4).  That day, the state television broadcaster RAI showed Italians in the area screaming,  'Roma out'  (Nicolae,  2009), while a poll  indicated that 68% of Italians supported the expulsion of  all Roma from Italy (Kington, 2008). Maroni responded to the attack by saying, '[t]hat is what happens when Gypsies steal babies, or when Romanians commit sexual violence' (quoted in Goldston, 2010). On May 14th two abandoned camps were also set ablaze, and on May 15th images of  the attacks made national and international news (FRA, 2008). By the end of  May 15 th, all 600 or so Roma had been forced out of  Ponticelli (FRA, 2008). In the aftermath of  the violence, Umberto Bossi declared that 'people do what the state can't manage' (La Repubblica, 2008; Wilkinson, 2008). State of  Emergency Berlusconi's government, elected on security issues, did not take long to show what it could manage. Already on May 14th the Mayor of  Milan had appointed the Prefect of  the city  (a position answerable to the Minister  of  the  Interior,  Maroni)  as  'Extraordinary  Commissioner  for  the  Roma  Emergency'  (FRA, 2008:12), the first reference to 'emergency' conditions. On 16th May, the new government announced its 114 pacchetto  sicurezza,  or  'security  package';  in  addition  to  previously  announced  plans  to  facilitate  the deportation  of  irregular  immigrants,  the  package  included  plans  to  use  the  armed  forces  in  law enforcement, to temporarily suspend the Schengen Agreement for Roma and Romanians to permit their expulsion (or  allontanamento), and to dismantle all unauthorised Roma camps and deport their residents 115 Figure 4: Roma camp ablaze in Ponticelli, Naples on May 14th. Photo: Ansa; in Panorama Gallery, 2008 (FRA, 2008:11; Trucco, 2008). The first element of  the  pacchetto sicurezza, covering increased punishment (by a third) for crimes 'aggravated by illegal immigration', the power to expel EU citizens 'if  found without income or a criminal' (KataWeb, 2008), the derogation of  the power to adopt urgent measures 'for the purpose of  preventing and eliminating serious dangers that threaten public safety and urban security' to town mayors (quoted in Trucco, 2008), and the use of  the armed forces on Italian territory, was issued as Decree Law 92/2008 and approved by the Italian Senate on 23 rd May. Decree Law 92/2008 was regularised with minor alterations as Law 125/2008 on 25th July 2008. On May 21st,  the  Council  of  Ministers  met  in  Naples  and agreed to appoint  the  Roman and Neapolitan Prefects as 'Extraordinary Commissioners' to match the set-up in Milan. Using 1992 legislation (Law 225/1992, 24 February) stating that in the event of  'natural disasters, catastrophes or other events that, on account of  their intensity and extent, have to be tackled using extraordinary powers and means', and explicitly opposed to 'human-related activities' which are governed by normal law (Art. 2(1(c))), a state of  emergency may be declared (Art. 5) (Gazzetta Ufficiale, 1992; Storia, 2009:14); the Council declared a 'state of  emergency with regard to settlements of  nomad communities in the territories  of  Campania [around Naples], Lazio [Rome] and Lombardia [Milan] regions' until May 31 st 2009 (The President of  the Council of  Ministers, 2008; FRA, 2008; Stahnke et al, 2008; ERRC, 2008a). These exceptional measures were justified in the preamble of  the 'Nomad Emergency Decree', as it became known (Storia, 2009), in the following terms: 'Considering  the  extremely  critical  situation  that  has  developed  in  the  territory  of  the Lombardia  region,  due  to  the  presence  of  numerous  irregular  third-country  citizens  and nomads  who  have  settled  in  a  stable  manner  in  urban  areas;  considering  that  the aforementioned settlements due to their extreme precariousness, have caused a situation of serious social alarm, with the possibility of  serious repercussions in terms of  public order and security for the local populations; ...  considering that the same highly critical situation also affects  the  provinces  of  Naples  and  Rome,  where  there  is  a  high  presence  of  nomadic communities  in  urban  areas  and  surrounding  zones,  in  largely  unlawful  settlements; considering that the situation described above has caused an increase in social alarm, with serious  incidents  that  seriously  endanger  public  order  and  security;  considering  that  the aforementioned situation,  that  concerns  various  levels  of  territorial  government due to its intensity  and  extension,  cannot  be  tackled  using  the  instruments  envisaged  in  ordinary legislation' 116 (The President of  the Council of  Ministers, 2008; partially quoted in ERRC et al, 2009:5) This decree was implemented with the adoption of  three separate Ordinances, Implementing Orders 3676 to 3678 (one for each region) of  the President of  the Council of  Ministers on 30 May 2008 (ERRC et al, 2009; Naletto, 2009). Article 2(1) of  the Implementing Orders spells out the measures legitimised by the state of  emergency: 1.  The  Delegated  Commissioner  within  his  area  of  competence,  where  applicable,  also derogating from the rules of  law in force, concerning the environment, territorial landscape, health  and hygiene,  the  territorial  planning,  the  local  police,  roads  and  traffic,  except  the obligation  to  guarantee  the  indispensable  measures  for  the  protection  of  health  and environment , provides for the completion of  the following initiatives: a) definition of  action programmes to solve the state of  emergency; b) monitoring  of  the  authorised  camps  occupied  by  the  nomad  communities,  and  the identification of  unauthorised settlements; c) identification and census of  persons, including minors, and of  families present in the places mentioned in paragraph b), by taking fingerprints; d) adoption of  the necessary measures, empowering the police, against the persons mentioned in paragraph c) who are to or could be expelled by virtue of  an administrative or judicial measure; e) if  the existing camps do not satisfy the habitation needs, programme for specification of  new suitable sites for the authorised camps; f) adoption of  measures to clean out and restore the field occupied by abusive settlements; g) carry out the first interventions suitable to restore the minimum levels of  social and health services; h) interventions to promote the social inclusion and integration of  the persons transferred into the authorised camps, with particular reference to the measures of  support  and  to projects regarding minors, to actions for combating the phenomena of  abusive trading and the phenomena of  begging and prostitution; i) monitoring and promotion of  initiatives applied in the authorised camps to support the school attendance  and vocational  training,  and the  participation  in  the  activity  of  realisation  and recovering of  the habitations; and j) adopting all the necessary measures to solve the state of  emergency. (quoted in Trucco, 2008:31-2 n2) As is clear, the right of  protection from arbitrary identity screening and collection of  anthropometric data was removed from Roma (Stahnke et al,  2008),  while  their  arbitrary expulsion and the destruction of 'abusive' settlements (the latter of  which I discuss in more detail below) were, if  not legalised (for these measures  were  precisely  derogations  from the  law),  certainly  legitimated  in  the  name  of  'solving'  the emergency. On 28th May 2009,  the Council  of  Ministers  extended the state of  emergency declared a year 117 previous both spatially and temporally. Spatially, the exceptional measures were extended to apply not only in the regions of  Campania, Lazio and Lombardia, but also in Piedmont and Veneto. As elsewhere, the Prefects of  Turin and Venice were appointed as Commissioners (of  Piedmont and Veneto respectively) responsible for the 'achievement of  all actions taken to deal with emergencies related to the nomad camps in their territories' (Ministero dell'Interno, 2009), answerable to the Ministry of  the Interior. Temporally, the state of  emergency (which had been due to expire on May 31 st) was extended in all regions by a further year and a half, to 31st December 2010. In an important ruling on the state of  emergency and the measures taken under it,  the Lazio regional  administrative  court  (Tribunale  Amministrativo  Regionale,  TAR)  issued  its  judgement  on  a  case brought  by  two  Romani  Bosnian  citizens  (and  partially  on  behalf  of  their  Italian-born  children)  in conjunction with the European Roma Rights Centre (ERRC) on July 1st 2009. The TAR dismissed their complaints relating to the state of  emergency. It accepted neither the discriminatory nature of  the state of emergency, holding that the decree applied to nomad camps and not Roma per se (that is, the settlements rather than their inhabitants), nor its alleged lack of  justification, arguing that 'the settlements of  nomad communities in the regions of  Campania, Lombardia and Lazio [constitute an event] that, in intensity and extent, justifies and should be faced with extraordinary powers' (TAR Lazio 6352/2009; KataWeb, 2009; Maccanico, 2009). It is worth noting also that the Nomad Emergency Decree is not the only state of  emergency current  in  Italy:  on  25th July  2008,  Berlusconi  again renewed the state  of  emergency regarding illegal immigrants  first  declared  in  2002  (and  renewed  annually  ever  since,  even  during  Prodi's  reign),  also widening its scope from the three southern regions of  Calabria, Sicily and Puglia to the entire country (DPA, 2008; Arens, 2008). Maroni explained that the 'countrywide state of  emergency [was necessary] to deal with the exceptional and persistent influx' of  immigrants (quoted in Pisa, 2008). Meanwhile, on 29 th July Maroni and Defence Minister (and successor to Fini as leader of  the  Alleanza Nazionale) Ignazio La Russa invoked Art. 7 of  Decree Law 92/2008, which states that: 118 'For  exceptional  and  specific  reasons  of  criminality  prevention...use  of  the  army  [can  be allowed] in areas requiring an increasing level of  control. The army would operate under the control  of  Prefects  of  metropolitan  areas.  The  army  will  have  duties  of  surveillance  of sensitive sites and targets and of  patrolling together with the police.' (quoted in Merlino, 2009:7) The maximum mandated by this law – 3 000 soldiers – were to be deployed, with 1 000 appointed to the surveillance of  'Centres of  Identification and Expulsion' (the detention centres at which foreigners, since Decree Law 92/2008, can be interned for up to 180 days) and the remainder to the policing of  'sensitive sites and targets': 1 000 in Milan, Rome and Naples ('the cities that...will benefit most from the help of  the armed  forces'-  Ministero  dell'Interno,  2008)  and  1 000  in  other  cities  (Ministero  dell'  Interno,  2008; Merlino, 2009; Abend, 2008). Census On 26th May 2008, Maroni 'announced his intention to start mapping Roma camps and take a census of the residents' (FRA, 2008:13; citing Ludovico, 2008). This census began on 6 th June as state and municipal police and carabinieri moved into Milan's Camp Via Impastato. The same day, Rome's new Extraordinary Commissioner  for  Roma  Carlo  Mosca  announced  that  'Gypsies  would  also  be  fingerprinted  and photographed  and  this  would  allow  the  authorities  to  identify  them'  (see  Figure  5;  Adnkronos International,  2008;  quoted  in  ERRC,  2008a:19).  This  move  was  criticised  by  opposition  parties  and NGOs, and protests were organised in Rome on 8th June (FRA, 2008) and 13th June, the latter timed to coincide with the Italy-Romania fixture in the Euro 2008 football championships and featuring Holocaust survivors wearing 'the same black triangle bearing the letter Z as worn by Gypsy inmates at the camps' (Kington, 2008). However, 'an unscientific TV poll showed Maroni's plans to better control the Roma had the overwhelming support of  80% of  the Italian' population (EurActiv, 2008). On 25 th June the Italian government reiterated its intention to perform a census and fingerprint all Roma, including children, by October 15th in the three regions where a state of  emergency had been declared (FRA, 2008, Stahnke et al, 2008). This census was, the government insisted, for the nomads’ own good, with Foreign Minister Franco 119 Frattini claiming that: 'Hundreds of  children have asked us to fingerprint them so that we could give them temporary papers ... these children must be protected. By giving them papers, I am actually saving them.' (quoted in Primor, 2008). Indeed, the justification that the Italian Ministry of  the Interior's website gives for the Roma census runs along similar lines, quoting Maroni's pledge to guarantee 'the protection of  those living in these situations of  degradation, the protection of  minors, to get them out of  hiding, to remove them from the shadows [and] to give them a future' (Ministero dell'Interno, n.d.). The census attracted a great deal of  attention, much of  it outrage, both from the international press and from supranational institutions, notably including the EU. On 30 th June,  Council of  Europe Secretary  General  Terry  Davis  issued a  written  statement  saying  that  '[t]his  proposal  invites  historical analogies which are so obvious that they do not even have to be spelled out' (quoted in EurActiv, 2008). Within the EU, infringement proceedings against Italy were talked of; on July 10 th the European Parliament 120 Figure 5: Roma census form from Naples (in UNIRSI, 2008:18) issued a Resolution 'urg[ing] the Italian authorities  to refrain from collecting fingerprints  from Roma', 'express[ing] concern' at the declaration of  a state of  emergency', and asking the Council of  the European Union and European Commission 'to evaluate the legislative and executive measures adopted by the Italian Government' (European Parliament, 2008). In August, the EU's Fundamental Rights Agency published an in-depth  'Incident  Report'  on  the  violence  in  Ponticelli  that  sparked  the  emergency,  which  explicitly criticised  'the  climate  of  intolerance  generated  by  the  events  in  Ponticelli  and  the  generally  negative subsequent political discourse' (FRA, 2008:28). Within Italy, the most widely read Catholic paper, Famiglia Cristiana, 'suggested fascism was resurfacing in the government and drew parallels between the treatment of  the Roma by the Berlusconi government and that of  the Jews by the Nazis' (Aradau, 2009), though the Vatican itself  was  quick to distance itself  from this  view (BBC, 2008).  As accusations  of  racism and fascism flew, the Italian government reacted with indignation, with Il Giornale running the headline 'What racism? Italy is in order!' (Macché que razzisti, Italia e in regola) (Aradau, 2009; Il Giornale, 2008). On July  17th,  in  a  pre-emptive  move anticipating  the July  28th release  of  a  damning report  by Council  of  Europe  Commissioner  for  Human  Rights  Thomas  Hammarberg  (2008),  Maroni  issued 'recommendations' for the conduct of  the census to the effect that it would henceforth be carried out by the Red Cross rather than the  carabinieri,  and would only involve fingerprinting for those who do not possess valid identification cards (Rosen-Molina, 2008). They also stated, somewhat disingenuously given the object of  the census and the legislation that permitted it, that 'the operations of  the Prefects shall not target specific groups or individuals, but rather all people living in illegal and legal encampments, regardless of  their nationality, ethnicity and religion' (ERRC et al, 2009:6). These new guidelines entered into force on July 27th (DIVERS, 2008). However, despite these 'guidelines', 'the census and identification operations were implemented in Milan, Naples, and Rome with considerable variations' (OSCE, 2009), with some reports  of  the  census  claiming  (contrary  to  Maroni's  assurances)  that  even when  those  surveyed  did possess identification cards, they were often photographed and fingerprinted nonetheless (ERRC et al, 2009:16; OSCE, 2009). Nevertheless, Maroni's guidelines and an unreleased Italian report justifying the 121 census  were  enough to  quell  European Commission  concerns  (Kubosova,  2008;  Europe  Information Service, 2008), who on September 4th declared themselves satisfied that the Italian government was not seeking 'data based on ethnic origin or religion' (quoted in Owen, 2008). While technically true, such a claim elides the fact that only Roma were surveyed: the census was inherently discriminatory, regardless of what  data  it  collected.  Maroni  gleefully  proclaimed  the  government  'fully  vindicated',  taking  the Commission's stance as evidence that 'the accusations and insults we have received were unjustified. Justice has been done.' (quoted in Owen, 2008) Many international  observers  remained  unconvinced  of  the  census,  both  in its  legality  and its morality. At the European Roma Summit in Brussels on 16 th September 2008, many speakers referred to the census in critical terms, including George Soros who said in his keynote address: 'I should tell you that I am deeply troubled by the precedent set by Roma profiling in Italy and worry that this could become a de facto European standard. I believe the targeted fingerprinting of  Roma is a case of  ethnic profiling and it should be illegal.' (Soros, 2008) Shortly  before,  during  Commission  President  Jose  Manuel  Barroso's  introductory  address,  various attendees stood up wearing 'No to profiling' t-shirts; later, Italian minister Eugenia Roccella's explanation that 'only after an assessment of  the situation of  legal and illegal Roma living in Italy did the government undertake important actions concerning health, school integration or legal status' (quoted in Villarreal & Walek,  2008:15)  prompted  a  mass  walk-out  by  many  participants  (Villarreal  &  Walek,  2008;  Europe Information Service,  2008).  Following the 18-19th September visit  of  a delegation from the European Parliament to Roma camps in Italy, eurodeputy Renate Weber expressed doubts regarding the justification of  the census and use of  its data (DIVERS, 2008). Within Italy, several large-scale anti-racism protests were held (Squires, 2008), though the rhetoric supporting such protests was noticeably directed against anti-immigrant sentiment rather than specifically addressing the Roma issue. Notwithstanding these and other concerns, the census was completed on 15 th October. The results, published on 22nd October, showed a population of  12 346 Roma in the regions of  Lombardy, Lazio and 122 Campania,  living  in  167  camps  of  which  43  were  authorised  and  124  were  unauthorised.  With  the announcement of  these results, Maroni claimed that 'at least' another 12 000 had moved away from the camps since the start of  the census (OSCE, 2009:24; Ministero dell'Interno, n.d.); while there is surely some  truth  to  claims  of  flight  from  the  census  and  conditions  of  persecution  under  the  state  of emergency,  Maroni  was  almost  certainly  also  attempting  to  obscure  the  state's  initial  systematic overestimation of  the Roma population (Mora, 2008). In February of  2009, a second census of  'nomad camps' was begun in Rome, to be complemented in March by censuses in the provinces of  Verona, Venice, Treviso, Padua and Vicenza (ERRC et al, 2009). These censuses were conducted by police officials and carabinieri, with representatives from Italian NGOs also present. In all but two camps, all residents (including minors) were photographed. Photographs were taken front and profile, with the subject holding a sign displaying their name and ID number (ERRC et al, 2009; U Velta Sinta, 2009). The census did not discriminate between Italian Roma, non-Italian Roma and stateless Roma, nor between the different legal statuses of  those surveyed, including the possession of  lack of  valid identification documents issued by Italian authorities (Storia, 2009). In the July 1st 2009 ruling by the TAR authorising post hoc the state of  emergency, the court ruled more  more  critically  in  terms  of  the  specific  measures  taken  under  its  aegis.  The  TAR  ruled  the fingerprinting of  minors (if  not required for identification purposes) and a number of  the practices used to regulate 'nomad camps' in Rome and Milan (mostly pertaining to the surveillance and gatekeeping of  the camps) unlawful. The TAR's partial acceptance of  this case was, however, significantly watered down by the Council of  State (a government organ whose president is appointed by the Prime Minister) which on 27 August 2009 ruled in contrast to the TAR that 'the identification of  children - as well as adults - that live in the Roma camps, including by fingerprinting and photographs' is indeed lawful practice (ERIO, 2009:1; EveryOne Group, 2009a). 123 Nomad Camps Concurrent to this second round of  census-taking, the authorities renewed their attempts to address the urban security problem that they insisted the nomad camps, particularly those deemed 'illegal', constituted. Firstly, the means of  urban policing was to be altered. Speaking after vigilante reprisals for the rape of  a 14-year old girl  and assault  of  her boyfriend in Rome on 14th February 2009,  allegedly by Romanians (Philips, 2009; Owen, 2009), Maroni proposed an emergency decree which would authorize local bodies to create ronde padane (citizen patrols) to 'assist the police by bringing to their attention events which might be damaging  to urban security'  (Morgan,  2009),  and thereby 'co-operate  in  the  undertaking  of  territorial defence activities' (Merlino, 2009:1-2). This decree was indeed issued by Silvio Berlusconi after a summit meeting on 20th February (Arens,  2009).  Links between this  and other rapes apparently committed by immigrants, the Roma camps, and vigilante action were drawn either implicitly or explicitly in most of  the press  coverage,  both  domestically  (Arens,  2009)  and  in  the  generally  more  disapprovingly-toned international coverage (see, for instance, BBC, 2009). Such discursive links are confirmed by statements such as Mayor of  Rome Gianni Alemanno's on visiting the Cafferella Park area (where the rape occurred), when he announced that 'rapists must know they face “a definitive sentence”...and all illegal gypsy camps in Rome would be dismantled' (Owen, 2009). The institutionalisation of  vigilantism in the name of  urban security would seem to be both the final confirmation and the reversal of  Bossi's dictum that the 'people do what the state can't manage', with the implication subtly shifted from the necessity to expand state powers (thereby curbing the anarchic power of  the 'people') to the necessity to work beyond the state's recognised limits (thereby enlisting the power of  the 'people'). The provisions for vigilante groups to assist police set up by Berlusconi's February decree were regularised with 15th July 2009 the passage of  one of  the last pieces of  the pacchetto sicurezza, Law 94/2009, the 'Provision on public security' (Disposizioni in materia di sicurezza pubblic), to come into force from 8th August 2009. Although this was not by July a new measure, it garnered some international publicity (see, for example, Hooper, 2009). Equally worrying, if  admittedly less eye-catching (and certainly afforded less 124 media attention), Law 94 also criminalises 'illegal entry and sojourn in the territory of  the State' (quoted in EveryOne Group, 2009b), punishable by a fine of  up to 10 000 euros and potential expulsion from the country (Human Rights Watch, 2009). Since Italian law dictates that all  public officials are required to report criminal conduct, there are fears that undocumented migrants may be forced to avoid health and administrative state services, thereby promoting the creation of  illegal circuits, and that reporting of  abuse suffered will be further precluded (Human Rights Watch, 2009; EveryOne Group, 2009b). It also prevents the registration of  childbirths,  de facto  prohibiting  jus soli citizenship claims by undocumented migrants. Taken together with the 2008 measures making undocumented stay in Italy an aggravating circumstance for the purposes of  sentencing following a criminal conviction, it forms a clear breach of  both equality before the law and equality before the state. The second part of  the state's new urban security measures was announced with the 31 st July 2009 unveiling of  a new Piano Nomadi (or 'Nomad Plan') for Rome by Alemanno, Maroni and the Prefect of Rome, Giuseppe Pecoraro (Corriere Della Sera, 2009a; Amnesty International, 2010d). The Plan, endorsed by Maroni as 'a model to follow', was focused not simply on targets for expulsions of  Roma (though it did specify a maximum number of  Roma in Rome for 'absolute sustainability' of  6 000, less than the 7 200 counted in the census), but on their transferral from around a hundred mostly unauthorized camps to a maximum of  thirteen authorized 'equipped villages' (or 'villages of  solidarity') by mid-2010 (Corriere Della Sera, 2009a; Storia, 2009). Such 'villages' would be provided with better housing and the basic amenities lacking in unauthorised camps, but their isolation from society would be finalised with the creation of camp walls (both metaphorical and physical) that would enable gatekeepers to control access to the camps and  enforce  curfews  (OSCE,  2009;  EveryOne  Group,  2010a).  'Control  committees'  consisting  of administrators of  condominium blocks and Italian citizens residing in the area around the camps would be appointed to draw up, in concert with the local authorities, 'sociality pacts' or 'internal disciplinary pacts' that camp residents must sign and obey as a condition of  residence (EveryOne Group, 2010a; OSCE, 2009). 125 The programme of  clearing unauthorised camps duly escalated in the following months, notably including the clearance of  the 'Casilino 700' camp in Rome at dawn on 11 th November 2009, which became news when Amnesty International (2009b) and other NGOs publicly protested to Alemanno and Pecoraro, and the 19th January to 14th February 2010 clearance of  the Casilino 900 camp, some forty years old and reputed to be the largest Roma camp in Europe with a population of  between 600 and 800 (Corriere Della Sera, 2010; Hammarberg, 2009a). While the closure of  Casilino 700, the former holder of  the title of largest  camp  in  Europe  until  its  (temporary)  destruction  in  2000,  was  (in  contrast  to  its  haphazard attempted  clearance  a  decade  previous)  swift  and  efficient,  accomplished  by  way  of  a  massive  and unannounced dawn raid by police, carabinieri, demolishers and Red Cross that ended with the repatriation, dispersal  or  arrest  of  its  residents  (Rifati,  2000;  Carlisle,  2000;  Corriere  Della  Sera,  2009b;  EveryOne Group, 2009d; Maccanico, 2009); the closure of  Casilino 900 was a more measured affair, conducted in liaison with leaders within the camp and initially with the Comunità di Sant'Egidio, with residents transferred to 'Reception Centres for Asylum Seekers', and then on to authorised 'villages' (Corriere Della Sera, 2010; Amnesty International, 2010b). These two examples might best be seen as the ends of  the spectrum along which most camp clearance tactics – in Rome, Milan and elsewhere in Italy – might be placed, but in all cases consultation was often cursory, notice of  eviction either brief  or absent, and the provision of  legal remedies and redress simply non-existent; for these reasons, many NGOs held Italy to be in breach of  the UN Committee  on  Economic,  Social  and  Cultural  Rights’ required  procedural  safeguards  for  forced evictions (ERRC, 2010b; ERRC, 2010c; Amnesty International, 2010b). It would be easy to overplay the change in tactics that the new Piano Nomadi constitutes. While the politicians  responsible  for  it  are  eager  to play  up its  novelty,  with  Alemanno calling  it  a  'Copernican revolution' at its unveiling (Corriere Della Sera, 2009a), the motives for such a move are easy enough to guess for a recently elected government seeking to capitalise the  emergenza nomadi as metonym for urban security, justify the necessity of  the state of  exception in solving this problem, and assuage international concerns over the status quo for Roma in Italy. However, the division drawn between the more precarious 126 and squalid existence of  the unauthorised camp and the more heavily regulated and surveilled (though marginally better equipped) authorised camps, with the normative progression from former to latter, dates back at least to the 1990s, when the camp became the chief  technology in Italy for regulating the Roma refugees from the Yugoslav conflict. Indeed, the vintage of  such tactics might be better gauged by recalling David Sibley's 1976 warning,  albeit  in a different context,  that  '[p]ermanent caravan sites  could be an important medium of  social control and it  is probably fortunate that most of  the travelling people in England and Wales have not yet been provided with sites' (p.86). What sets the new Plan apart, though, is its dramatic acceleration of  the turnover of  camp clearances. For as the patent shortage of  authorised camps shows, we are witnessing not a linear progression from unauthorised to authorised settlements, but an adjustment of  the balance between the two as the former is made ever less desirable. Camp clearing is not a static event, but a continuous process, such that it is mapped as much in vectors as in sites (see Figure 6),  and relies  as  much upon 'the  spectacularisation of  police  raids'  (Sigona,  2008:58,  emphasis  in 127 Figure 6: Displacement of  Roma from Casilano 900 camp (from Parking Casilino, 2010) original)  as  it  does  on their  actual  results.  Perhaps,  therefore,  we  might  most  profitably  visualise  the regulatory tactics embodied by the Piano Nomadi as a circular system in which the impending terror of  the clearance is sustained to the point of  omnipresence, the security of  the nation and the insecurity of  the Roma thus guaranteed in the same move. Casting Roma Outside the International Coup d'État Judged on their own terms, the state's anti-Roma initiatives were something of  a success: Italy's estimated Roma population plummeted from around 160 000 in 2006 to less  than 40 000 by the end of  2009 (EveryOne Group, 2009c). Of  the few thousand Romanian Roma that remain on Italian soil, around half are held in prisons (EveryOne Group, 2009c). In some quarters, this is being hailed as a sign of  success, as city councillors revise targets of  Roma numbers ever lower. Mayor of  Milan Letizia Moratti went so far as to announce that 'we would like to think of  a city without Roma as well' (quoted in Maccanico, 2009:6). In the eyes of  anti-racism campaigners, meanwhile, the expulsion of  120 000 Roma through both direct and indirect means is nothing short of  a programme of  ethnic cleansing, a modern day pogrom. The  Piano Nomadi too divides opinion: its proponents point to its success in segregating 'villages' of  Roma whose sanitary conditions are no longer what Maroni (quoted in Corriere Della Sera, 2009a) termed 'an Italian and international shame' from a society at large whose 'security' is assured by the tighter regulation of  these 'villages'. These same achievements are held up by Roma rights groups as evidence of  the apartheid that has become entrenched in the Italian state, while the 'ghetto-camps' into which Roma are herded recall to them the Porrajmos of  World War II (EveryOne Group, 2010a). Perhaps though, rather than dwelling on the justice of  such measures, we should pause to consider why it is that the segregation of  Roma from society can signify greater urban security; why it is that such a small and long-standing minority can be seen as an 'emergency'; why Roma are denied 'minority' status, but instead made to signify immigration; and why the heavy-handed state measures directed at Roma, from left- and right-wing governments, are such a vote- 128 winner. Firstly,  let  us  consider  the  declaration  of  a  state  of  emergency.  At  its  heart,  this  entails  the declaration of  the state's necessity to derogate from the law in the name of  the state's salvation, and to set aside certain spaces of  exception governed not by the law, but by a set of  discretionary rules. In short, it is the application of  the coup d'État (see chapter 2), in the seventeenth-century sense of  the term described by Gabriel Naudé in his 1667 Considérations politiques sur les coups d'État: 'Many hold that the wise and well-advised Prince must not only command according to the laws, but command the laws themselves if  necessity requires it. To retain justice in big things, says [Pierre] Charron, it is sometimes necessary to turn away from it in small things, and in order to do right overall, it is permissible to cause harm in detail' (Naudé, 1667:15; referring to Charron, 1827 [1601]; quoted in Foucault, 2007:281) Lest  protests  of  obscurantism  be  made,  it  is  also  the  sense  invoked  by  François  Mitterrand  in  his characterisation of  Charles de Gaulle's use of  the state of  emergency to exercise extraordinary powers during  the Algerian War as  'le  coup d'État  permanent'  (Bigo,  2007:15). One can see in Italy,  both in the suspension  of  normal  law  under  the  state  of  emergency  and  in  the  additional  laws  of  the  'internal disciplinary pacts'  that govern authorised camps, that far from being universal and independent of  the state,  the  law  and  its  jurisdiction  are  being  openly  manipulated  by  the  state.  These  derogations  and suspensions of  the law are, of  course, justified by recourse to the security of  the majority: the trimming of the rights of  the individual in the space of  exception secures the rights of  the individual outside of  it. Thus the 'causing harm in detail' is best characterised as 'the sacrifice of  some for the whole, of  some for the state' (Foucault, 2007:263, emphasis added). This, perhaps, is why it confuses notions of  liberalism and illiberalism (c.f. Bigo & Tsoukala, 2006): because a localised illiberalism (the heavy-handed management of Roma)  is  precisely  what  secures  a  general  liberalism  (the  freedoms  afforded  by  urban  security  and deregulated European borders). As Slavoj Žižek (2009) writes, '[i]s this not the state we are approaching in developed countries all  around the world,  where this  or that form of  emergency (against the terrorist threat,  against immigrants) is  simply accepted as a measure necessary to guarantee the normal run of things?' 129 Given this intimate connection between exception and rule, we should perhaps consider that when the Italian state suspends the law for Roma, it is not trying to break the 'European consensus' (COHRE et al,  2008:2) concerning 'the principles of  liberty, democracy, respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms, and the rule of  law' (Art. 6(1), Treaty of  Amsterdam, in Official Journal of  the European Union, 1997), but rather to  secure those very principles. The logic of  the  coup d'État  is not opposed to, but of  a piece with the logic of  the liberal state; it is the exception that, by insisting on its exceptionality, secures the rule. The difference between the outrage provoked by the Nomad Emergency Decree and census and the considerably  more muted reaction to the  state of  emergency in  relation to illegal  immigration should indicate to us that the controversy of  the Italian actions is not, as we might initially presume, in the act of sacrifice, but in the identity of  those sacrificed: their apparently  racial definition and their claims upon a European identity (particularly when such claims run through  the channels of  citizenship). Or, to put it differently, the controversy is not that Italy should delimit the bounds of  liberty and democracy per se, but how and where it should delimit those bounds. That is to say, these concerns are not exclusive to Italy, but are the concerns of  all states; or, more precisely, they are the concerns of  statehood. Within the space of  exception opened by the exercise of  coup d'État, the space between jurisdiction and sovereignty, or between law and the state, the exercise of  power takes on quite different characteristics. As Judith Butler (2004:62) writes, '[t]he state of  emergency returns the operation of  power from a set of laws (juridical) to a set of  rules (governmental), and the rules reinstate sovereign power: rules that are not binding by  virtue  of  established  law or  modes  of  legitimation,  but  fully  discretionary,  even arbitrary, wielded by officials who interpret them unilaterally, and decide the condition and form of  their invocation'. These officials, whom Butler (2004:56) terms 'petty sovereigns', abound in the Italian coup d'État, from the city Prefects restyled as 'Extraordinary Commissioners for the Roma Emergency', to the police, carabinieri and vigilante ronde padane responsible for 'securing' the city, the Red Cross responsible for delivering public services, the immigration officials deciding the validity of  citizenship claims,  and the 'Control committees' governing the authorised camps. Unitary, hierarchical law is replaced by a complex multiplicity of  rules and 130 competing sovereigns. Rather than being a lawless interior-exterior to the state, the exceptional space of the nomad camp is, if  anything, over-governed; its chaotic proliferation of  power and regulation sits in stark opposition to the liberal self-limitation of  regulation, or neoliberal displacement of  regulation onto indirect proxies, that allow (neo)liberal governmentality to function. If  this super-regulated interior-exterior recalls a prison, it is not in the classic disciplinary sense of  a correctional institution, but in the more recent sense in which, as David Garland (2001:177) writes, the prison 'is conceived much more explicitly as a mechanism of  exclusion and control'. It is the prison in which it is not what happens inside the walls, but rather 'the walls themselves [that] are now seen as the institution's most important and valuable element' (Garland, 2001:178; see also Bauman, 2004:85). Whereas the prison is an institution designed to house those who transgress the law, however, the camp is an institution designed to prevent the law from being transgressed. We must recall here Foucault's (2003:258) 'biocriminal', interned not as punishment but as precaution to mitigate the threat they pose to society at large. Interestingly, the abrasion of  this model with the Citizenship Directive's [2004/38/EC] specification that expulsion of  EU citizens 'must be based exclusively on the personal conduct of  the individual  concerned'  (quoted  in  Merlino,  2009:15)  is  one  of  the  prime  problems  the  European Commission  raised  over  Decree  Law 92/2008,  and  its  provisions  for  collective  deportations  of  EU citizens. The pre-emptive detention of  the biocriminal accurately describes the internment of  Roma in Italy, justified not in terms of  individual crimes but in terms of  a criminal disposit ion. The extent to which this stereotype has been legalised might be gauged by reports that surfaced on 1 st July 2008, concerning six Lega Nord members who had had convictions for distributing racially discriminatory propaganda quashed on the grounds that the defendants had 'a deep aversion [to Roma] that was not determined by the Gypsy nature of  the people discriminated against, but by the fact that all the Gypsies were thieves' (verdict quoted in ERRC, 2008a:21). The same reasoning can be found in the state's justification of  the extraordinary census. Maroni insisted  that  it  was  'a  census,  not  an  ethnic  profiling'  (Ministero  dell'Interno,  n.d.),  since  as  his 131 'recommendations' stated, 'the operations of  the Prefects shall not target specific groups or individuals, but rather  all  people  living  in  illegal  and legal  encampments,  regardless  of  their  nationality,  ethnicity  and religion'  (ERRC et al,  2009:6).  That is,  the qualifying factor was neither ethnicity  nor race,  but rather lifestyle,  as defined by residence in the curiously abiding abode of  the nomad camp. In an attempt to underscore the point, the Ministry of  the Interior (Ministero dell'Interno, n.d.) clarifies that the census 'in fact counted: Italian Roma, Romanian Roma, extracomunitari [non-EU] Roma and extracomunitari from other nations'. The reference to 'nation' here is revealing, since the census explicitly did not produce any data on ethnicity;  indeed,  this  was the  very  condition that  persuaded the European Commission to effectively green-light the census (Merlino, 2009). Such sensitive data has historically enabled the state to define aliens and undertake denationalisations (c.f. Arendt, 1966); examples include the 1926 and 1937 censuses of  the Soviet Union (Brown, 2004), the censuses of  1933 and 1939 in Nazi Germany (Aly & Roth, 2004) and the 1991 Yugoslav census (Hayden, 1996; Brubaker, 1996; Jansen, 2005). In each case Roma have been one of the primary objects of  disenfranchisement. However, in the case of  the Italian 'nomad census', the census did not  result in denationalisation, but  produced it. By this I mean that it did not collect data that enabled discrimination to occur after the fact, but rather in its very action – in the definition of  who was to be included in the census – it  produced a group of  people ('nomads')  who could and should be treated differentially. The  rationality  of  the  coup  d'État,  then,  is  contained  within  its  application;  it  produces  the conditions of  its own necessity. In defining a set of  people for whom the law does not apply, it also defines these very people as those for whom the law cannot apply, those whose individual rights are outweighed by the rights of  the population, and who must therefore be sacrificed. As Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari (1987:448)  write,  'the  State  can  in  this  way  say  that  violence  is  “primal”,  that  it  is  simply  a  natural phenomenon the responsibility for which does not lie with the State, which uses violence only against the violent, against “criminals” – against primitives, against nomads – in order that peace may reign'.  The 'violent' are defined not in the language of  race, but of  risk; in this way, the census, like the distribution of 132 discriminatory propaganda, was not racist because it was premised not on colour but on lifestyle. This line of  reasoning  may  be  followed  because  the  state  is  blind  to  its  own  complicity  in  racialising  and criminalising the term 'nomad';  it  is  the very naturalisation (that is,  the removal of  the state from the equation)  of  the  nomad's  location  beyond  the  limits  of  liberty  and  democracy  that  simultaneously authorises and demands their sacrifice. The Nomad The definition of  Roma as 'nomads' by the Italian state is not incidental to their treatment. In popular culture, the Gypsy has long signified itineracy and a peripatetic lifestyle, and histories of  Roma invariably play heavily, often romanticising, this trope. Angus Fraser's (1992:1) authoritative The Gypsies, for instance, begins with the words, 'This is the story of  a wandering people...'. I contend that such discourses, which start with a tenuous connection to reality, feed back in profoundly unhelpful ways into state policies for regulating Roma, and end up inadvertently fulfilling the conditions they invent. In this way, the image paints reality: 'Legislation, for its effects, contributes to feed and reinforce those aspects of  the image, which are indispensable to itself. ...The law feeds itself  with the image. The image helps to rationalise it. The image is, hence, re-strengthened by it.' (Liégeois, 1980:28; quoted in Sigona, 2005:746) The description of  Roma as  'nomads'  is  thus  far  from simply  being benignly  mistaken,  as  it  actively occludes the forcible eviction of  Roma, trivialises legitimate asylum claims, and perhaps most insidiously, refuses Roma the claims upon home, belonging or territoriality that are essential to the constitution of  a full political identity within the international. One might see in the Italian attachment to the 'nomad' label a purely tactical motive: it functions as a proxy for race when racial governance is both rhetorically and legally taboo. However, while this may have a certain amount of  truth, it does not address the power inherent in the specific classification as 'nomad' above other possible classifications. Clearly, there is more to the nomad than simply his or her 133 mobility, for mobility has always been as much about the possession of  the right to move (often thought of  simply as 'liberty') as about lack of  the right (or will) to stay. It is perhaps too easily forgotten when dwelling  on  the  ways  in  which  the  'mobility'  of  the  nomad  both  incites  fear  and  legitimates  their discrimination (their denial of  linguistic minority status, their differential regulation, their forcible eviction) that '[a]mong travelling people the majority make up the subset of  tourists' (van Houtum & Boedeltje, 2009:228), who are neither feared nor discriminated in this way. There is a distinction, then, between the liberating, cosmopolitan mobility of  the tourist, and the threatening, premodern mobility of  the nomad or – to adopt Zygmunt Bauman's (1998) phrasing – the vagabond (c.f. Cresswell, 2010). For Bauman (1998), the distinction is economic, with money buying the right (to)  mobility; however, in the case of  Roma in Italy,  consumption on the part of  the nomad seems not  elevate them to tourist status, but instead to confirm their criminality, and their debasement of  the romantic strains of  nomadism. For Alaina Lemon (2000:227), what separates these categories is  that the nomad's mobility does not merely describe their movement,  but seeps into their  subjectivity,  such that  nomads’ mobility  'codes Gypsy culture as  itself shifty, across both physical and moral space'. However, while this process is undoubtedly alive in Italy, again it leaves unanswered the question of  why other mobilities evade such codings. The solution to this distinction lies in the assumptions that underpin mobility. The mobility of  the tourist, or business traveller, or other such subject is never truly deterritorialised: it is always plotted in relation to certain points. Transnationalism may mean that such points may be multiple, but they are always locatable. The fear is that nomads have no such points of  reference, no axes along which concepts like citizenship, belonging, foreignness and hospitality might be mapped; they exist outside the international. The nomad suffers from an existential rootlessness that prevents him or her from attaining subjecthood: 'It  is in this sense that nomads have no points, paths, or land, even though they do by all appearances. If  the nomad can be called the Deterritorialized par excellence, it  is precisely because there is no reterritorialization  afterward as with the migrant, or upon  something else as with the sedentary (the sedentary's relation with the earth is mediatized by something else, a property regime, a State apparatus)' (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987:381, emphasis in original) 134 Denied a final destination, the nomad is instead cast into a 'liminal drift' (Agier, 2002), in which '[t]hey are never  free  from  the  gnawing  sense  of  the  transience,  indefiniteness  and  provisional  nature  of  any settlement' (Bauman, 2004:76). It is important to note, however, that the nomad is not simply an object of discrimination, but rather exists in 'constitutive antipathy' (Lyon, 2004:526) with the state. Nomadism (or deterritorialised,  'smooth'  space)  is  necessarily  threatening  for  the  state  since  it  implies  an  essential ungovernability, which the state must take action to combat, aggressively if  needs be. In the  words of  a Soviet Party leader, '[i]n our relations with the peasants it is possible to take a lot and give back little, but with the nomads that is not possible – they'll just migrate out of  sight' (quoted in Mukhamedina, 1997; in Brown, 2004:177). The nomad finds a kindred Deterritorialised in the figure of  the stateless person who, 'without right to residence and without the right to work, had of  course constantly to transgress the law' (Arendt, 1966:286). Again, just as the stateless have every reason to fear the state that deprives them of rights,  so  the  state  fears  the  stateless,  who  disrupt  its  regulative  mechanisms  and  fall  through  its technologies of  control. In this context we should place the vigorous efforts of  European institutions to eradicate statelessness, as demonstrated by the 1997 European Convention on Nationality (Council of  Europe, 1997) and the 2006  Council of  Europe Convention on the Avoidance of  Statelessness in relation to State Succession (Council of  Europe, 2006). It is no coincidence that those most often defined as nomads in Europe today are also those most overrepresented among Europe's stateless; this is the unenviable political identity that Roma in Italy today occupy. The mobility of  Roma is certainly viewed as the suspicious movement of  the nomad rather than the positive mobility upon which European citizenship is to be based (see chapter 3), both at the state level and  at  the  European  level;  as  an  example  of  the  latter,  Castle-Kanĕrová  (2003:15),  analysing  the International  Organization for Migration's  'humanitarian repatriation'  programme for Roma, concludes that  '[t]he  IOM project  is  representative  of  a  desire  across  the  EU not  only  to  stop  or  reverse  the undesirable  migration  of  the  Roma,  but  also  to  find  ways  of  preventing  it'.  The  IOM  could  not countenance Romani migration because their lack of  a 'home' state removed any point of  reference by 135 which their mobility could be deciphered, and so was rendered problematic. Similarly, the Italian conviction (in both its romantic and intolerant guises) that Roma are essentially nomadic is best seen as an attempt to come to terms with an identity that does not fit the truths of  the international. Such a conviction is only reinforced by the significant proportion of  Roma who are recent immigrants to Italy, and of  whom a large number (particularly those from the former Yugoslavia) are stateless. This potent combination encourages the wilful deterritorialisation of  Roma, and the vicious cycle by which these initial conditions are extended: the immigrant is extended into the permanent migrant or itinerant, the lack of  state citizenship is extended into the lack of  a capacity for 'home' and 'belonging', and the subset of  Roma who are either immigrants or stateless is extended into the whole set of  Roma. The  'nomad  camp'  became  the  primary  mode  of  regulation  of  Roma  because  its  apparent temporary nature accorded with their apparent transience. When it became clear that the 'camp' was far from temporary, the nomad camp was exposed as an oxymoron that demanded fixing. However, what was fixed was not the assumption of  nomadism, but the permanence of  the camp. The intransience of  the Roma was interpreted as a sign not that the 'nomad' label was misplaced, but that their 'natural' nomadism was debased, and thus did not undermine camp clearances, but confirmed their justness. As David Sibley writes, 'Where outsiders come into close physical association with the larger society, particularly in cities, the romantic image, the pervasive myth about minority culture, is retained as a yardstick against which they are measured. Experience of  the minority at first hand contradicts the myth but  it  does  not  explode  it.  The  myth  can  be  retained  because  failure  to  meet  mythical expectations is attributed to deviancy or to social pathologies that are somehow a product of urban living.' (Sibley, 1981:6) Thus  the  'emergency'  could  be  framed  as  both  an  emergency  of  urban  security  because  of  the ungovernable nomad presence, and an emergency of  the nomads themselves; in both cases, their forcible de-sedentarisation and expulsion from the city was presented as the optimal solution. Rather than being a purely  cynical  attempt  to  invent  and persecute  a  common enemy for  political  ends,  we  see  a  certain ambivalence in the emergenza nomadi, and its 'laws aimed at the “protection of  Gypsies” and “their nomadic 136 culture”' (Sigona, 2005:746). The result of  this ambivalence is that,  as Sigona (2005:746) writes, 'many Roma have effectively been forced to live out the  romantic but nonetheless  repressive  projections of Italians'. Dressed in the garb of  a nomad, their apparent placelessness translates all too easily into a de facto (and  frequently  de  jure)  statelessness  that  both  legally  and  morally  legitimates  –  demands,  even  – discriminatory treatment by the state. (Re)writing the International The nomad inside the state is doubly anachronistic.  Firstly,  the nomad, as we have seen, is  necessarily foreign  to the  state.  Roma are  entwined in  narratives  of  immigration in Italy,  and are  confused with Romanians in the public imagination. Secondly, and unlike the immigrant, the nomad is also foreign to statehood, having no state to be returned to. They therefore represent an entirely alien spatiality, a people not organised in the ways we are told modern peoples ought to be organised, representing instead an incursion of  smooth space into the striated space of  the state. The nomad evinces a blurring of  lines, the lines that we rely on to separate inside from outside, citizen from extracomunitari, stranger from enemy, and civilisation from anarchy. They are an all-too-visible reminder of  the insufficiency of  the international as a model for our political landscapes, and of  the discrepancies between geopolitical and biopolitical borders. Thus, the very presence of  the nomad 'destabilize[s] the differentiation between friends and foes, insiders and outsiders, and opened the door for the...possibility  of  outsiders  inside,  of  enemies within,  of  the importation of  the chaotic tendencies reigning outside' (Bigo, 2005:50-1). As an example of  the latter, we might  profitably  view  the  'problems  of  police  abuse  and  violence  towards  Roma'  (OSCE/ODIHR, 2008:24) in terms of  the importation of  the anarchic exterior inside the state, such that the police, in direct contact  with the outside of  the state,  must take on some of  the functions of  the armed forces,  thus justifying  a  certain  excess  of  violence  toward  those  defined  as  outsiders.  Equally,  we  might  hold  the interstitial  political  status  of  the  nomad  responsible  for  the  vacillation  we  have  seen  between  police intervention on behalf  of  Roma to protect them from arson attacks and vigilante mobs and a calculated 137 refusal from police and judiciary to intervene and prosecute when such violence is simply 'doing what the state can't manage'. The  nomad's  exposure  of  the  inadequacy  of  the  international  does  not  merely  pose  tricky questions over whether they are treated as insiders or outsiders, it  poses existential questions over the viability of  the territorial nation-state as the locus of  political community. The predictable response to these questions is a reassertion of  the territoriality of  the international, via the spectacular realignment of geopolitical and biopolitical borders. In Italy, we see this in the series of  increasingly tough immigration laws and collective expulsions designed to reduce the presence of  outsiders-inside, the conduct of  a racial census confirming the exceptional status of  the 'nomad', and the acceleration of  camp clearances aimed at securing the 'clean', striated spaces of  the international. However, we should also note the ways in which the Italian actions have also served to abrogate the territoriality of  the international themselves,  producing confusions over the lines separating army (and carabinieri) from police, police from vigilante, nation from race, and the democratic rule of  law from the anarchy beyond. This can be seen most clearly in the state's willingness to govern by exception, most notably in its suspension of  the rule of  law (in certain parts of  the territory) and its deployment of  the army and  carabinieri to deal with problems of  'urban security'. Regarding the former, the state's tactical deployment  of  law  exposes  a  worrying  subservience  of  law  to  state,  and  undermines  claims  of  the separation of  powers central  to the operation of  democracy.  Regarding the latter,  we see an effective subversion  of  'the  historical  hegemony  of  the  nation-state  [that]  was  constructed  around  an  ideal differentiation between  security and  war  [whereby] the police dealt with strangers, and the war concerned enemies' (Balibar, 2006:7, emphasis in original). In each case, fundamental tenets of  the international – the coincidence of  sovereignty and jurisdiction securing unitary space, and the distinction between police and armed forces  securing  unitary  borders  –  are  being  broken.  However,  as  previously  mentioned,  these extraordinary measures, taken under the coup d'État, are at least explicit in their exceptionality. Of  greater import, perhaps, are the ordinary measures that depart from the international. For instance, we might look 138 at Italy's reliance on the issuance of  temporary permits and visas to regulate immigration, a tactic that pushes the control of  aliens from a matter of  rejection to one of  expulsion, thus effectively removing border practices from the edge of  the state to its  interior:  to offices responsible for visas,  'Reception Centres  for  Asylum  Seekers'  and  similar  institutions,  and  increasingly,  health  and  administrative  state services. This shift in border management is integral to Italy's recent wave of  direct expulsions of  Roma, as it is these newly mobile technologies of  border control that have been deployed to sift legal from illegal residents. While the navy interventions in Libyan waters form the spectacular enforcement of  the border, particularly vis-à-vis 'illegal immigration', the legality of  migrants is frequently determined inside the state; crucially, while the  former accords with the territoriality of  the international, the latter departs from its prescription of  unitary borders. The truth, of  course, lies somewhere in between; or more precisely, in the tension between the assertion and abrogation of  the international. For instance, while the institutionalisation of  state racism in Italy (in the racial census of, in police and legal discrimination toward, and in the differential government of  Roma) certainly unstitches state from population, it might also be seen as an effort to synchronise the limits of  nation and state such that 'nationality outlines the border between who has the right to exist and who  does  not'  (Naletto,  2009:62).  If  the  former  reading  implies  a  progressive  reterritorialisation  of sovereignty outside the lines of  the international, the latter reading suggests that the deterritorialisation of the nomad (as the outsider-inside par excellence) is but the side-effect of  the territorialisation of  the nation- state along the lines of  the international. Conclusions From an outside perspective, the  emergenza nomadi appears doubly fallacious: there seems to be very little justification for describing the presence of  a tiny and long-standing minority as an emergency, certainly not one which 'on account of  [its] intensity and extent, ha[s] to be tackled using extraordinary powers and means' (Art. 2(1(c)), Law 225/1992; Gazzetta Ufficiale, 1992; Storia, 2009:14), and it is equally difficult to 139 justify the definition of  a population whose mobility is propelled by forced evictions either conducted or condoned by the state as 'nomadic'. However, such a perspective leads quickly to righteous condemnation which,  while  it  may  attract  short-lived  opprobrium,  has  not  yet  led  to  long-term  results  in  ending discrimination. Furthermore, it does little to explain why such fallacies are so ingrained and impervious to criticism,  and risks  pathologising  to  Italy  a  condition  pandemic in  Europe.  Instead,  I  have sought  to address how the emergenza nomadi came to be viewed as such, and how the extraordinary measures taken by the Italian state were constructed as rational and appropriate responses to it.  I suggest that firstly,  the suspension of  law under the state of  emergency is not antithetical to the logic of  modern states, but as an instance of  coup d'État, it is an extension of  the logic of  modern states which demands the sacrifice of  the biocriminal that threatens the integrity of  the state; secondly, that it is the definition of  Roma as nomads that casts them outside the international, existing in constitutive antipathy to the state; and thirdly that the Italian action paradoxically  constitute both a confirmation and a refutation of  the territoriality  of  the international.. Two themes run through these analyses. First, the measures taken by the Italian state in response to the  emergenza  nomadi are  each  circularly  self-legitimating,  to  the  point  of  being  self-necessitating.  The declaration of  a state of  emergency produced and exacerbated the alterity of  Roma as objects not just different but dangerous. The deployment of  police and armed forces to control and clear 'nomad camps', the legal-governmental embedding of  the category 'nomad' and the conduct of  a racial census all function to confirm Roma as a malign and alien threat to Italy, and furthermore a threat that requires emergency measures. The categorisation of  Roma as 'nomads' denationalises, deterritorialises (that is, naturalises their mobility) and denies notions of  'belonging' to Roma, thus removing objections to their forced eviction or deportation, which in turn confirms their nomadic nature. Finally,  the reassertion of  the international, visible in the attempt to realign state borders, itself  produces the discrepancies and confusions of  borders that make the state's assertion of  the international necessary in order to protect its own viability as the chief  locus of  political community. In each case, the actions taken to address the emergency themselves 140 contribute to this emergency:  they produce the conditions of  their  own necessity,  and thus should be thought of  as instances of  state violence whose violent nature is concealed, most thoroughly of  all to the state that commits them (c.f. Shaw, 2008:167). Second, though the Italian measures appear, certainly from the vantage point of  Roma rights, to be highly exclusionary, they tend to be justified by recourse to liberalism. The coup d'État's state of  exception is justified  as  a  means  of  enabling  liberal  rule  in  the  norm,  a  necessary  sacrifice  of  the  unruly  and ungovernable both to protect the population at large and to secure the liberal state as a viable mode of government. The definition of  Roma as nomads lends the  emergenza nomadi  a benevolent aspect, as the emergency is cast as one of  the debasement of  their supposedly nomadic culture, and policies directed toward  Roma are  concerned on one  hand with  their  'development',  and on the  other  hand with  the provision of  means of  support that, while segregated from the normal functioning of  the state, might be appropriate for 'nomads'. Thus the new camps are 'villages of  solidarity', and the census is presented as the fulfilment of  Maroni's pledge to secure 'the protection of  those living in these situations of  degradation, the protection of  minors, to get them out of  hiding, to remove them from the shadows [and] to give them a future' (Ministero dell'Interno, n.d.); it is precisely this forcible removal from the shadows that is seen from one side as progressively liberal and from the other side as violently intolerant. Lastly, the efforts to combat the confusion of  borders by reasserting the international are aimed squarely at securing a realm of democracy and liberty, albeit in its statist manifestation. Certainly, in each case, the liberal rhetoric might be partially attributed to placating  dissenters; however, the proliferation of  consonances between Left and Right regarding Roma policies suggests that it is something more than the duplicitous politicking of  the Right. It  is  also something more (or,  to  be precise,  something less)  than 'a  rupture in  the previously existing “European consensus”' (Merlino, 2009:22; quoting COHRE et al, 2008:2). While the Council of Europe, the EU Commission, Parliament and Fundamental Rights Agency and the OSCE all took steps to investigate and criticise the Italian actions (see Figure 2), none prevented them, with the Commission in 141 particular responsible for backing down over threats of  sanctions and eventually green-lighting the census of  Roma. However, rather than simply being a story of  a lack of  action, or a lack of  legal competence, I have tried to show the ways in which the framing of  Roma as an emergency that necessitates special measures relies upon the same set of  political assumptions that support European institutions and their minority rights programmes. Berlusconi is not 'opposed' to Europe, in much the same way that he is not 'opposed' to the Left. Thomas Hammarberg, in his Memorandum in the immediate aftermath of  the declaration of  a state of  emergency, departed from the usual criticism that Italy was in breach of  certain European laws (criticism rendered toothless by the frequency of  and lack of  meaningful repercussions for such breaches) to make the altogether bolder claim that it was the mode of  European law that was breached: 'The repeated adoption of  emergency legislative measures by a Council of  Europe member state in order to control migratory movements seems to indicate that the state mechanism is unable to deal effectively with a phenomenon that is not novel and thus should have been dealt with  through  ordinary  legislative  or  other  measures.  Moreover,  the  frequent  changes  of immigration law act to the detriment of  legal certainty, one of  the constituent elements of  the fundamental principle of  rule of  law on which the Council of  Europe is based.' (Hammarberg, 2008:14, para68) In this, he is in agreement with Žižek (2009) that 'this or that form of  emergency' is now the 'normal run of  things'. The difference is that while Hammarberg sees this as an anomalous case, for Žižek it is 'just the tip of  a much larger iceberg of  European politics' (Žižek, 2010), as terror alerts and refugee crises plague richer states, contingencies for extraordinary detention expand ever further and austerity measures promise not normality, but simply to keep the economic emergency at bay. These, perhaps, are less literal states of emergency than in the Italian case, but each case exceptional measures are dragged ever closer to centre stage in the theatre of  politics. The implication of  such an argument is that Berlusconi's Italy (or, better to say, Berlusconi-era Italy) does not operate at the fringes of  European politics, but at its centre. Hammarberg's conclusion prompts questions not just of  the  scope of  government-by-emergency, but also its novelty. For Hammarberg, the Italian willingness to govern-by-emergency is a new and worrying development, in this too he is in agreement with Žižek. Indeed, it seems reasonable to attribute a sizeable 142 part of  Hammarberg's consternation to a fear that Berlusconi-era Italy might well constitute a blueprint for other such regimes, fears given further foundation by the actions of  Sarkozy-era France in the summer of 2010 (Castle, 2010). However, for many critics,  far from representing any new development the Italian state's  recourse  to  emergency  tactics  to  deal  with  its  Roma  population  is  a  rekindling  of  fascist  or totalitarian politics, and contains grim echoes of  the actions of  Nazi Germany. Occasionally, deeper-still histories of  Romani discrimination are recalled to further enrich the historical context for Italy's recent actions. Certainly, the extension of  emergency rule was neither invented by, nor reaches an apogee with, Berlusconi-era Italy; a brief  glance at historical geographies of  colonialism should be enough to remind us both of  the pedigree of  emergency rule and of  the enduring power of  state racism to insulate those ruled arbitrarily from 'all citizens'. Of  course,  historical  context  is  simultaneously  necessary  and  insufficient.  Taking  Romani discrimination  as  an  explanatory  factor  risks  naturalising  their  alterity  and  legitimising  the  continued circulation of  such discrimination; viewing modern Italy as relapsing into its Fascist or colonial past risks missing what is modern and not  sui generis to Italy in such discrimination. As I have tried to show, the current situation in Italy  is  neither collapsible to Fascism or Nazism nor divorced from their  legacies. Equally,  while the  emergenza nomadi and the policies used to address it  contain distinctly Italian factors, viewing it as an Italian pathology is problematic  empirically, as similar 'problems' and state tactics can be seen in  various  European states,  and  theoretically,  since  it  obscures  our  own complicity  in  sustaining a political  reality  that  actively  disenfranchises  Roma.  The  emergenza  nomadi constitutes  neither  the  unique exclusions of  an aberrant regime, nor the eternal discriminations of  a maligned race, but rather the specific iteration of  a political ontology whose tenets we have come to take for granted, and whose circulation and adaptation is dangerously concealed. 143 5 Conclusions Three broad claims run through each of  these three essays on the relationships between Roma, Europe and  the  international,  each  of  which  I  briefly  expand  upon  below.  First,  that  the  assertion  of  the international requires its own limitation, in that it requires the compromise of  universal principles in favour of  setting the limits within which particular action may be undertaken. Such assertions are necessarily incomplete, always exposing more work needed to secure the international. Nevertheless, away from the spotlight it is possible to see states actively acting against the tenets of  the international, suggesting that though the international  represents  the  dominant  territoriality  of  modern  politics,  it  does  not  hold  a monopoly on territoriality. Second, the 'populism' of  efforts to assert the international in a nationalistic manner and the political expedience of  constructing those that fall outside the international (prime among them Roma) as a security threat are not attributes of  the Right, but of  a political system in which violence exerted in the name of  securing the international is rendered non-violent. It is state violence, which in its very action creates the conditions of  its own necessity: in 'ordering' space it exposes disorder, and thus becomes not only legitimate but necessary. Third, the propagation of  a political landscape that marginalises Roma is not limited to nation-states, but is replicated in supranational organisations. They too rely on the territorialised sovereignty of  the international, and they too must draw its limits if  they are to secure their own viability as political community. Asserting and Abrogating the Limits of  the International In the succession of  border crises that have marked the post-Paris Peace Conference sealing of  European political  space  according  to  the  diktats  of  the  international,  Roma  were  constructed  as  occupying successively more alien political identities. Long seen as occupying the margins of  political society, while the inter-war Minorities Treaties confirmed 'national minorities' as essentially subordinate to 'nation', they did – at least rhetorically – equalise the marginality of  such minorities. The codification of  minorities took 144 on an extra (and portentous) degree of  depth in inter-war Soviet  Union, where certain characteristics, particularly majority 'ownership' of  sub-state territories, further distinguished 'national minorities' from the yet-more-marginal 'ethnic groups', though here too each group was publicly held to be equally sovereign according to the state policy of  korenizatsiia. However, these inclusionary rhetorics were not able to mask obvious exclusions, and the credibility of  neither Minorities Treaties nor korenizatsiia were to last the 1930s. Indeed,  any  hope  of  securing  (or  keeping)  rights  through  accepting  a  marginal  political  identity  was (seemingly) thoroughly extinguished by the Nazis’ genocide of  the 'cosmopolitan' Jews and 'wandering' Roma.  These failures,  I  have argued,  came not  in  spite  of  the  promises of  the  international  to truly democratise political rights in Europe, nor were they due to the insufficiency of  the implementation of these promises. Instead, they sprung from the very ambition of  the new political order, as the international actively created its own outside in order to sustain the possibility of  'progress' so central to its allure; a perfect illustration of  Marshall Berman's (1982:40) 'tragedy of  development' in which 'obsolete persons' are a crucial component of  modernity. While this outside could be optimistically represented as people and places that would 'get there eventually' and to whom modernity would ultimately 'trickle down' (Walker, 2006:66), the persistence of  outsides and outsiders soon invited more cautious readings that emphasised the potential threat posed by such alterity. Today,  as  we  witness  the  recuperation  of  the  international  as  a  model  for  securing  rights, exemplified by the development of  European institutions briefed with exactly this task, we also see new forms  of  bordering  that  depart  from the  ideals  of  the  international,  creating  rather  than eliminating ambiguous spaces between nation, state and territory. This tension has served to accelerate the production of  outside(r)s to the international, and exacerbate the exclusion of  such outsiders from society. On one hand, the reassertion of  the international visible in events like the European Roma Summit and legislative actions like the Citizenship Directive has served to confirm the base alterity of  Roma. At the state level, the definition of  Roma 'problems' by states like Italy using the logic of  the international to define such alterity (tellingly, constructed as 'nomadism') as threatening is questioned in form but not in substance. On the 145 other hand, the  abrogation of  the international is apparent in the dispersal of  border controls throughout and beyond state territory, which serve to import the aberrant territoriality of  Roma (their 'nomadism', and conflation with 'illegal immigration') into the state, thus escalating the threat they are held to represent and reaffirming the necessity of  deploying exceptional measures. It is, I have argued, in the tension between these two impulses that we should situate the alarming escalation of  violence against Roma that we see today. Antiziganism as State Violence Second, the violence involved in stripping Roma of  the rights of  'regular' citizens is rarely seen as such because it  is  state violence.  That is,  it  is  violence that  affirms the  international,  interprets  that  which contravenes  the  international  as  dangerous,  and  therefore  retroactively  confirms  its  own  necessity  in quelling such dangerous elements. Its violence is justified as necessary for a general security, and is most commonly thought of  not as violence at all, but rather as the maintenance of  order. By contrast, since Roma constitute the disorderly object of  such 'security'  measures, their very presence out of  place (in visible contravention of  the international) is coded as violent, if  not outright terroristic. We have seen this most clearly in the Italian declaration of  a state of  emergency and definition of  Roma as 'nomads', moves that are self-legitimating in that their execution solidifies their justification. The exercise of  extraordinary measures  gives  truth  to  (indeed,  itself  produces)  the  'emergency'  conditions  used  to  justify  them. Meanwhile, the treatment of  Roma as nomadic, by denying them 'belonging' and legitimising their eviction, actively substantiates this stereotype as reality. Beyond this self-legitimating character, the figuring of  antiziganism as state violence also serves to short-circuit party-political lines. We see this both in exclusionary measures by leftist governments (the expulsions of  Roma were begun in 2007 by the leftist mayor of  Rome, Walter Veltroni, under Romano Prodi's  leftist coalition government),  and in the liberal  rhetoric used even by the Right to justify such measures.  These  consonances  across  the  political  spectrum suggest  the  inadequacy  of  narratives  that 146 emphasise the populist or racist Right, and serve to highlight the ways in which the apparent alterity of Roma, outside the international,  is  an issue not of  any particular political stripe but of  the palette of modern politics. In this sense, we might insist that Silvio Berlusconi's exclusionary politics represents not a triumph of  the Right, but the reconciliation of  the 'permissive-liberal technocratism and fundamentalist populism' (Žižek, 2009) by which we have come to understand democratic choice. The resurgence and institutionalisation of  antiziganism is not to be found in the act of  choosing, but in the framing of  the choice, the framing of  what modern politics is and might be. The Complicity of  'Europe' Third,  contrary  to what  we would  like  to  assume,  'Europe'  does  not  speak or  act  from a  'higher'  or somehow more just plane that makes it  (or whatever is seen as embodying 'it')  inherently opposed to discrimination, racism or exclusion. We can see evidence for this in the failure of  the League of  Nations (or, indeed, the Soviet Union) to protect the rights of  its most disenfranchised residents, we can see it in the  failure  of  contemporary  European-level  mechanisms  such  as  the  EU Acquis  or  the  Citizenship Directive to end Romani discrimination or universalise (or at least Euro-versalise) citizenship rights, and we can see it in the failure of  European institutions to prevent the flagrant breach of  EU law represented by a racial census or programme of  expulsions. Rather than being opposed in essence to the nationalistic or parochial exclusions of  the nation-state, European-level political actors have merely writ such exclusions large;  thus  the  chief  result  of  the  regularisation  of  Roma  issues  across  Europe  has  been  not  the amelioration of  conditions for Roma, but rather the entrenchment of  the view that Roma constitute a 'problem'  to  be  solved.  The  liberalisation  of  intra-European  state  borders  is  both  demonised  and celebrated as an example of  either intrusive or corrective 'European' liberalism, but we should note that European institutions have neither prevented states (notably but not limited to Italy from 2007 and France in 2010) from conducting mass expulsions of  EU-affiliated Roma (and thereby indicating the persistence of  intra-EU borders), nor have they produced deterritorialised population-states. Rather, the continued 147 reliance  upon  territorially  defined  nations,  both  in  narratives  of  state  sovereignty  and  in  European structures of  governance, has created tensions between the adventurous (if  selective) liberalisations of certain borders of  the demos, and the conservative allegiance to the international of  the ethnos. Like states, European institutions shy away from explicitly advocating the congruence of  ethnos and demos, while at the same time holding their congruence as a largely unspoken normative good. It is in this sense that 'Europe' shares the very logic by which the exclusion of  Roma is made to make sense. To return to the vignette with which we started (see Chapter 1), we might profitably reread Viviane Reding's frustration at the French antiziganist policies not in the context of  friction between 'Europe' and the nation-state, but in the context of  the intolerability of  Reding's position. Under fire for weeks both from rights  organisations  and  from the  European  Parliament  (2010b),  which  passed  a  7 th September Resolution '[d]eeply deplor[ing] the late and limited response by the Commission'; Reding, wary of  'being instrumentalised by national party political debates', had repeated 'important' French assurances that 'that there was no targeted action against the Roma or any other group' and defended the Commission's 'clear and balanced position' of  inaction (in European Parliament, 2010a), only to be publicly undermined by the French circular proving these assurances empty. With the Commission's (and her own) powerlessness so brutally exposed, Reding had little choice but to strongly rebuke the French actions. This rebuke therefore stemmed not from any automatic opposition to the exclusions of  the nation-state, but from an automatic inclination to avoid offending the states that the Commission must work alongside in order to function. The job of  institutions such as the Commission is definitively not to be endlessly inclusive: as its President, José Manuel Barroso, openly admits, 'It's a mistake to say that freedom of  movement must be absolute. Doing that, you'll create plenty of  [Jean Marie] Le Pens.' (quoted in Traynor, 2010a) Instead, their job is to balance the extension of  rights with the limits within which such rights may be guaranteed; in short, it is to draw precisely the limits to the international that states too must draw. These lines may differ in location – thus we see the European Parliament and, belatedly, Commission arguing for 148 the inclusion of  EU citizens such as the Romanian Roma coercively deported by France – but they do not significantly differ in type. European Dreams and Nightmares If,  in  attempting  to  avoid  implying  any  essential  victimhood  to  Roma,  I  have  failed  to  give  due consideration to the agency of  Roma in their exclusion, it is because my interest has lain instead in the constitution of  Roma as political agents within what we might think of  as the modern political landscape of  Europe.  In the words of  Rogers  Brubaker  (1996:24),  I  have tried to look not  at  'the  institutional contexts of  and constraints on interested action', but on 'the institutional constitution of  both interests and actors'. This choice is justified best by Kate Brown, who explains that, 'Yes, people fought back, manipulating the same national taxonomies applied by centralising state-builders. People slipped as they could from one identity to another. If  they were nimble, they skipped fast enough to stay on the winning side of  the shifting borders, but this was less an  expression  of  their  “true  identity”,  of  self-determination,  than  an  accommodation  to forcibly  established  parameters,  as  most  space  was  increasingly  nationalized,  zoned,  and commodified. In other words, the borderland dwellers were caught in structures greater than they and greater than the men who ruled them' (Brown, 2004:234-5) I  have  therefore  looked to  exclusions  not  as  self-contained  events,  but  as  windows onto  these  'great structures' that condition political society as a whole. This is not to lessen the plight of  the excluded; on the contrary it is to emphasise that their exclusion is not incidental to but  constitutive of  the liberties that those who are included may enjoy (c.f. Shaw, 2008). Thus, Nicolae Gheorghe and Thomas Acton are right to write that, 'A new holocaust would not merely be a disaster for Gypsies. It would taint, contaminate or destroy all hope that we now have of  building a new Europe.' (Gheorghe & Acton, 1995:39) As Reding found to her cost, mentions of  a 'holocaust' dangerously overstate the case. However, this  is  absolutely  not  because  'Hitler  attacked  a  culturally  distinctive  minority[,  whereas]  Sarkozy  and Berlusconi are merely expelling the poorest and weakest of  the new immigrants on the basis of  popular 149 prejudice' (The Independent, 2010). Such reasoning is entirely wrong-headed, for this is the precise regard in which antiziganist policies do echo Nazi policy: they form a territorial solution to the apparent 'problem' of  an aberrantly territorial minority, a minority that falls outside of  the international ordering of  political space  and  therefore  one  whose  persecution  is  not  random,  whimsical  or  irrational,  but  wholly  and crushingly logical, both to those ordering persecution and those celebrating, condoning or even protesting its  severity.  When Stephane Maugendre asks of  the French circular  ordering the destruction of  Roma camps and expulsion of  their inhabitants, '[c]an you imagine a circular specifically naming Jews or Arabs?' (in Willsher, 2010), the rhetorical punch is provided precisely by the fact that we can imagine it only too easily, but would prefer to imagine it as a lesson from an exclusionary past than as a rejoinder to an amnesic present. This knee-jerk abjection of  overt discrimination (to the past, as in this case, or else to less 'civilised' parts of  the world), though, hints at what does distinguish today's policies from those of  Nazi Germany: that today's exclusions are ordained not triumphantly, but apologetically: that today's racism must appear to be hidden in order to garner popularity, even if  its concealment is no more than cursory. Thus, we have Nicolas Sarkozy surreally claiming that the program of  Roma expulsions is not discriminatory, and his immigration minister insisting furthermore that '[t]he concept of  ethnic minorities is a concept that does not exist among the [French] government' (Willsher, 2010). Or, in Italy, we see Silvio Berlusconi doggedly refusing to admit that the census of  Roma carried out under the state of  emergency is a discriminatory measure, while Roberto Maroni insists that it is in fact undertaken in the interest of  Roma themselves. Slavoj  Žižek  (2009)  rightly  describes  this  rejection  of  'unreasonable'  populist  racism  in  favour  of '“reasonably”  racist  protective  measures'  as  '[a]  clear  passage  from  direct  barbarism  to  Berlusconian barbarism with a human face' (ibid.). It is this Berlusconian barbarism that we see across Europe today, discrimination either under the banner of  liberalism, or out of  necessity (hence the appearance of  the 'emergency'). What, then, are we to do to escape the need to exclude? If  we are to differentiate between political 150 communities, Doreen Massey (1995:67) asks, '[m]ust it necessarily be a differentiation which takes the form of  opposition, of  drawing a hard boundary between “us” and “them”, in other words the geography of rejection?' How might we 'reconceptualize our own conceptual frameworks and institutions such that they do not depend upon the prior location of...[certain] peoples as the doomed “margins” of  modernity' (Shaw, 2008:207-8), if  modernity itself  demands such margins in order to define freedom, security, civilisation and political community? I have argued that we need to develop a new political syntax that is less dependent on the received truths of  the international, and thereby relax the restrictions we have so doggedly applied to our  political  utopianisms.  However,  I  have  also  sought  to  analyse  the  ways  in  which  the  progressive disaggregation and dispersal of  the borders of  political community, tethered by the contradictory urge to spectacularly re-secure the international when its promises of  freedom, liberty and security are seen to be in  question,  has  merely  multiplied the ambiguous political  spaces  and identities  that  offer  such fertile ground  to  the  exclusions  we  have  witnessed.  If  this  is  the  result  of  attempting  to  transcend  the international, what route (and, indeed, what right) do we have to develop alternative utopianisms? Responding to the hard-wiring of  Roma exclusion into the modern,  liberal  state,  David Sibley wrote in 1976 that 'the survival of  gypsy culture really requires a more anarchic society where no one would feel obliged to contain gypsies on permanent caravan sites as a potential threat to social order' (p. 86). Today, the exclusions that Sibley spoke of  more than a third of  a century ago are more rampant than ever, and the explosion in non-state and supra-state organisations concerned with 'human rights' has, as we have seen, done nothing if  not exposed such rhetoric as the 'hopeless idealism or fumbling feeble-minded hypocrisy' that Hannah Arendt (1966:269) claimed it was. Sibley's reference to anarchy today feels both admirably ambitious and worryingly naïve. It is with exactly this mixture of  trepidation and anticipation that we now think of  worlds in which security might not be signified by the distinction between outside and inside, in which we might not assume 'a necessary correspondence between a capacity to distinguish between legitimate and illegitimate authorities, and a capacity to distinguish between a territorial space of domestic  jurisdiction  and  an  external  world  beyond'  (Walker,  2010:51),  and  in  which  notions  like 151 'belonging' or 'home' might be judged in terms other than the political affiliations one is born into. To be sure, this is a prospect at least as terrifying as it is promising; there are certainly no guarantees that such projects won't accelerate the production of  marginal political identities, or further compromise universalist aspirations with fewer guarantees of  ending up with a particular political community we might agree upon. 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The Handbook of  International Migration: The American Experience. New York: Russell Sage. 191 Appendix: Glossary of  European Institutions EU Institutions European Council An intergovernmental body consisting of  the Heads of  State or Government of  the Member States, together with the European Council's own President (previously the leader of  the state holding the Presidency of  the Council of  the EU; since the Lisbon Treaty a permanent, full-time post) and the President of  the Commission. Its mandate is to 'defines the general political direction and priorities of  the European Union'. Since the 2009 Treaty of  Lisbon, the European Council has been an official institution of  the EU. Council (of  the EU) The main decision-making body of  the European Union, comprising 27 ministers, one from each Member State (precisely which minister is dependant upon the issue under debate). Its Presidency rotates biannually between Member States. European Parliament The only directly-elected body of  the European Union, with 736 Members of  the European Parliament elected once every five years by voters in all Member States. It shares equal legislative and budgetary powers with the Council of  the EU, and together they form the legislative branch of  the EU. European Commission The executive body of  the EU, responsible for proposing and drafting legislation, upholding the Union's treaties and managing the day-to-day business of  implementing EU policies and spending EU funds. Operates as a cabinet government with one full- time Commissioner from each Member State (one of  whom acts as Commission President), in command of  a staff  of  32 140 European civil servants. Fundamental Rights Agency An advisory body of  the European Union, inaugurated on 1 March 2007 as successor to the European Monitoring Centre on Racism and Xenophobia (EUMC). Mandated with collecting data on 'fundamental rights' within the EU, conducting research and analysis, giving advice to policy-makers, and disseminating the results of  its work to the public. Non-EU Institutions Council of  Europe An organisation concerned with upholding human rights, democracy and the rule of law in Europe. Founded in 1949 and comprising 47 Member States, it is both older and wider in scope than the EU. Drafted the European Convention on Human Rights in 1950, thus establishing the European Court of  Human Rights. Contains the Commissioner for Human Rights, an independent and non-judicial institution mandated to promote the awareness of  and respect for human rights in the Council of  Europe. Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) A security-oriented intergovernmental organization comprising 56 participating states across Eurasia and North America, prior to 1995 known as the Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE). Contains the Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights (ODIHR), an institution dealing with the 'human dimension' of security which hosts the OSCE's Contact Point for Roma and Sinti Issues. United Nations (UN) A world-wide organisation of  192 states aiming to 'maintain international peace and security, develop friendly relations among nations and promote social progress, better living standards and human rights'. The latter is the responsibility of  the Office of  the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), a Geneva-based agency mandated with upholding the UN's 1948 Universal Declaration of  Human Rights and other human rights laws and treaties. 192

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