If accounts of political dissatisfaction are to have either intellectual credibility or practical value, they have to be grounded in the specifici-ties of citizens’ subjective experiences, with particular attention paid to the factors that structure their visions of how best to relate to themselves and others, as well as to ideas, objects and institutions.
(Cook et al. 2016:3)
We have therefore striven to extricate these affective engagements as much as possible throughout our account, evidencing the transformative power of different emotions, indigenously conceived, whether positive or negative, at generating actions, agglutinatory as well as divisive. In this way, our book is a critical foray into the affective creation and consequences of contemporary political subjectivities and actions, one which we hope blends well with discriminating use of practice theory and Isin’s approach.
But, before we enter the ethnography proper, in the remainder of this introduction, let us clarify our approach to political agency in these settings, dwell briefly on EU citizenship, clarify our use of otherwise misleading terms, and then account for our field methods.1
Approaches to political activity
Some of the theoretically most sophisticated approaches to lifestyle migration have been inspired by Bourdieu’s theory of practice (e.g. Bourdieu 1977; Bousiou 2008; Janoschka 2009, 2011; O’Reilly 2012; Lawson 2016). For these authors, Bourdieu’s work is valuable because it can integrate micro- and macro-levels of analysis; attempts, via his concept of habitus, to transcend dualisms of structure and agency, materialism and idealism; and deploys a fine-grained approach towards the investigation of social class and its sub-sections. For example, Oliver and O’Reilly show how migrants might move in order ‘to start a new life’ only to find that non-economic forms of capital come to loom large and divide the incomers according to other resources (Oliver and O’Reilly 2010). Also, the ‘clean’ break with their past which many migrants claim to desire turns out in fact to be constrained by their habitus. It is not so much that they cannot realise their dreams; rather the constitution of their dreams is part of the past they wished to leave behind. ‘In other words, their relative symbolic capital (incorporating educational, cultural, and social capital) impacts on the decision to migrate and the destinations chosen, but also the life then led in the destination’ (Benson and O’Reilly 2009:618).
Bourdieu’s approach can be criticised for its ‘ethnocentric’ conceptions of social class, elitist modes of distinction, and other universalising notions, while his focus on reproduction of social forms is claimed to leave little room for change (Jenkins 1992; Bousiou 2008:22; Beigel 2009:20–1; Gem-perle 2009:14; Woodward and Emmison 2009:2; Daloz 2013). In response, Bourdieu claimed that he had intended habitus as a generative structure, albeit one whose generative capacity is limited by conditions of the time and place of its production (Bourdieu 1990). Thus, his later elaborated idea of habitus can be made to accommodate ‘invention and improvisation, such as lifestyle projects’ (Benson and O’Reilly 2009:617).
Contemporary practice theorists, building on Bourdieu’s work while fully acknowledging its limits, seek to overcome some of the previous difficulties and broach more centrally the analysis of change. Mouzelis calls for the need to recognise both intra-habitus tensions and interaction between actors in a field (Mouzelis 2007). Kemp argues that habitus needs to be integrated with reflexivity, to provide scope for individual agency (Kemp 2010). O’Reilly, a leading exponent of modern practice theory, attempts to synthesise many of these corrective elements in a broad overarching approach to migration studies, which strives to take account of external structures, internal structures (including habitus), communities of practice, and outcomes. Of habitus she states that it is both ‘fairly fixed and transposable’ and ‘constantly changing and adapting’, though she does not detail the relation between fixture and change (O’Reilly 2012:151, 160). While her synthetic approach to practice theory is broadly encompassing, she recognises it ‘merely provides the meta-theoretical frame within which disparate studies can be brought together. It does not attempt to do all the work that other theories and concepts contribute’ (ibid.:84). She affirms her ‘careful and critical’ eclectic style of practice theory should ‘not be applied too rigorously’: it is, after all, a heuristic framework (ibid.:7, 160). Postill argues in a parallel manner that practice theory ‘cannot be a theoretical cure-all’; e.g. it cannot tackle a ‘world-historical moment’, such as the Danish Muhammed cartoons controversy, caused by the September 2015 publication in a Danish newspaper of cartoons depicting Mohammed, which he considers more a political process than a social practice (Postill 2010:12–13). Comparable comments could be made about Brexit: it is above all an extended process, and as we go on to show, the anti-Brexit campaign is not a set practice but an innovative part of that process.
For Swartz, Bourdieu expected everyday disalignment between habitus and particular fields: mild disjuncture leads to adaptation, a gradual modification of structures; considerable disjuncture to transformation, producing resignation or revolt. Yet how these protests can lead to change is left unsaid: Bourdieu did not develop a politics of habitus (Swartz 2013:236–41). Swartz’s concerns are bared in the illuminating work of modern practice theorist Michael Janoschka, who like Jeremy, worked in Alicante province, and on politically active migrants: the mid-2000s successful campaigners against mass-expropriation programmes in the Valencian Community (which includes Alicante); they were protesting against local politicians’ abuse of legislation in order to urbanise private land and charge the landowners for doing so.2 Janoschka recognises practice theory, ‘developed in and exemplified by a virtually pre-modern society, … has certain shortcomings if the mobile conditions of people, capital, knowledge and practices in late modernity are reckoned’ (Janoschka 2011:228; also Kemp 2010:156). However, ‘a rapid and shock-like transformation’ can ‘produce a field of critical attitude that requires new interpretations and incorporations of the social world’ (ibid.: 228). Thus, threatened incomers in Valencia established ‘a temporarily radicalized habitus’, on a par with Bourdieu’s late invention of a ‘subversive habitus’ (ibid.:234; Bourdieu 2005). But Janoschka declares he cannot tell if the consciousness of the usual habitus dispositions endures and ‘the weight of the reified world is still felt’, or if a prolongation of the crisis turns the provisionally radicalised habitus into a permanently reconstituted one (ibid.:229). We suggest an empirical answer to his dilemma later in our text.
Janoschka’s response to the challenges of his fieldsite is imaginative, but he makes habitus do too much work. He stretches it into a catch-all concept so malleable nothing can escape its reach. This version of praxis puts it on a logical par with Darwinianism: all examples, no matter how seemingly aberrant, can be made to fit into its theoretical schema. In sum, when powerful external forces, on the very margins of the quotidian habitus, stimulate a diversity of creative responses in people trying to imagine, and to influence their place in an open-ended future, then expanded versions of the concept of habitus are stretched to new levels of elasticity, with all the tensions that entails. The relative inertia of habitus, unless defined in O’Reilly’s terms, is not easy to reconcile with the consideration of radical, lasting alteration. At the very least, just as a Darwinian framework forces one to think in terms of evolution, so deployment of habitus reminds us that dispositions are not wholly individual but structured, perhaps malleable but not completely open to fundamental change. Given this orientation of habitus towards more stable dispositions, it seems advisable, when studying fast-moving processes of significant change, such as Brexit, to look elsewhere, for instance to the work of Engin Isin on politics within Europe.
We are not antagonistic to contemporary practice theory. When it is pitched at such a high level as O’Reilly’s informative approach, it is complementary to, not conflictive with alternative theories, e.g. Isin’s. In this book, one question we ask is, which explanatory frameworks are the most suitable when accounting for gradual change or for abrupt alteration. Which is the more telling, for each context?
In his evolving work on citizenship in Europe, Isin is not concerned with social reproduction but with social emergence (Isin 2008). For that reason, he wishes to avoid the downsides of conventional modes of thought in the political sciences, which otherwise threaten to confine new configurations of social process within traditional taxa. He wants to catch, and follow the provisional, fluid nature of challenging processes in a vocabulary unfettered by the confining connotations of established terms, developed in times of different circumstances, when nation-states seemed sovereign and groups clearly defined. Isin’s approach, therefore, is particularly relevant as a lens to examine emergent and unprecedented events such as Brexit.
To free himself from those tired vocabularies, Isin devises a novel nomenclature and procedures for studying what he terms ‘acts of citizenship’ (Isin 2013:21–8): ‘the moment in which a subject – a person, a collective – asserts a right of entitlement to a liveable life when no such prior authorization exists, when no clearly enabling convention is in place’ (Butler 2004 in Isin 2013:24). This is an activist-centred approach, which does not concentrate on rights as legal rules upheld by authoritative bodies integral to the nation-state or supranational body, i.e. the EU. Isin sees citizenship as much a bundle of legal rights as ‘a social process through which individuals and social groups engage in claiming, expanding or losing rights’ (Isin and Turner 2002:4). Thus, his emphasis tends towards the study of practices, meanings, and identities rather than legal rights and norms.
Rather than researching even relatively stable social states, Isin focusses on unfolding, future-oriented, exploratory, contested processes, which at the same time form its activist protagonists into groups. For him there is no fixed EU polity but rather a complex European juridico-political space, composed of elements and arrangements, i.e. the legal and constitutional foundations of citizenship, which are sometimes contradictory, sometimes complementary. Citizenship here is not a stable category but contingent, dynamic, and performed (Isin 2017). Subjects make claims to rights, which in...