The present volume takes the oversaturation of the terrain of crisis discourse in popular and academic spheres as a starting point: the pieces it contains respond to a call to move beyond crisis as currently construed, to offer conceptual interventions, motivated historiographies of âcrisisâ and its cognates (including âcritiqueâ),1 or new vocabularies that might help us think differently about the political and social realities of the current moment. As Janet Roitman writes, the term âcrisisâ is frequently âmobilized in narrative constructions to mark out or to designate âmoments of truthâ ⊠when decisions are taken or events are decided, thus establishing a particular teleologyâ (2014, 3). Yet the term also âno longer clearly signifies a singular moment of decisive judgment ⊠Today, crisis is posited as a protracted and potentially persistent state of ailment and demiseâ (16). âCrisisâ has thus become a term that only âallegedly allow[s] one to think the âotherwiseââ (9); in fact, it is often coopted not to enable change but rather to support a further reconsolidation of the status quo, as the putative state of emergency created by this or that threat is invoked to support the rapid expansion of state or institutional powers in non-democratic directions.2
Academic volumes such as this one are responding, then, to a perceived âcrisisâ in âcrisisâ itself, one marked among other things by the use of the term to support policies that deepen and lengthen this âstate of ailment and demise.â Yet calls for urgent scholarly action to reconceptualize or reimagine âcrisisâ ironically continue to engage the trajectory it used to have: crisis as an exceptional moment that engenders critique, which in turn engenders radical change. How, then, are we to think beyond or outside of crisis, if even the urge to do so is often shaped by crisis-thinking?
Roitmanâs central project is to investigate the constitution of âcrisisâ as a subject of knowledgeâbut she also offers glimpses of another path, that of ânoncrisis narration.â What kind of possibilities are generated, she asks, âby suspending crisis as the foundation of narration and critique?â (2014, 71). Rather than trying to resuscitate an earlier incarnation of âcrisisâ as a productive (if not always positive) formation, as the opportunity for transformation via the practice of critique, Roitman invites experiments in thinking that disrupt the teleology of âcrisisââand therefore also disrupt the notion that critique is necessary to engender an otherwise that will follow. If crisis is no longer a decisive moment, an occasion for judgment and action, if it has become a persistent historical and affective state (as operative also in Lauren Berlantâs formulation of âcrisis ordinarinessâ; 2011, 10), the time-boundedness of the forms of narration and critique that might arise out of it can also be suspended. Which is to say that the otherwise, the beyond, the genres that reflect modes of existence concerned less with teleology than tenacity, might already be with us, in forms we simply need to learn to see.
I want to draw our attention to a few minor moments in the expansive crisis-scape of the contemporary Mediterranean that help train our eyes and activity in that direction. I briefly explore two collective actions undertaken by transmigrants in northern Greece in 2016, which I see as emblematic of what I will call (after Emily Dickinson) a dwelling in (im)possibility that responds to Roitmanâs invitation for a proliferation of (or attention to) forms of noncrisis narration. While these actions have the putative ârefugee crisis â or the âcrisis at Europeâs bordersâ as their backdrop, I follow scholars who view human mobility as an autonomous, often collective undertaking that precedes control, and tactics of bordering as reaction formations that strategically deploy rhetorics of crisis in order to reconfigure the role of the state vis-Ă -vis people on the move.3 I draw on Dimitris Papadopoulos and Vassilis Tsianosâ exploration of the âmobile commonsââa non-hierarchical, non-institutionalized set of behaviors by which people on the move share âknowledge and infrastructures of connectivity, affective cooperation, mutual support and careâ (2013, 2)âto present examples of âmigrant protestâ that challenge the conventional understanding of protest as itself a reaction formation. These collaborative, creative projects both inhabit and supersede spaces of forced immobility created by European tactics of bordering; they are manifestations of the mobile commons turning outward to self-represent in times of stymied forward movement. Both of these projects fill the space of an enforced lack of activity with an acting out of the very impossibility of acting, one that mines impossibility itself according to what Arjun Appadurai might call an âethics of possibility,â engaging ways of âthinking, feeling, and acting that increase the horizons of hope, that expand the field of the imagination, that produce greater equity in [âŠ] the capacity to aspire, and that widen the field of informed, creative, and critical citizenshipâ (2013, 295). My use of the term (im)possibility therefore contests the idea that there is ânothing happeningâ in these moments. Rather, the performance of nothing happening lays bare a âchink in the wallâ4 of âcrisis,â highlighting uneven patterns of access to the means by which traditional forms of narration and critique are promoted, shared, and circulated, while also reminding us of the powerful possibilities of alternate forms of narration and critique. As such, these instances of collective, largely anonymous or anonymized action may also help us reconsider our own intellectual and scholarly practices, particularly as manifested in the institutional humanities, themselves currently mired in another kind of crisis discourse.
I initially experienced these actions in a context distant from academic research, and turn to them now with great ambivalence. While I do not want to instrumentalize them, or to become complicit in academic structures of knowledge extraction, I can conceive of no way of writing or talking about them that will not inevitably instrumentalize and extract; silence, meanwhile, solves one ethical problem but raises myriad others. My discomfort therefore signals a further âcrisisâ that accompanies this crisis in crisis discourse: the question of how to negotiate our relationship to the often collective, not easily attributable knowledge produced by others elsewhere, as well as the troubled gap between discourse and action in our lives as âengagedâ or âactivistâ academicsâor even as âengagedâ or âactivistâ individuals who happen to be academics. Dwelling in shared spaces of noncrisis (im)possibility, where urgency meets daily routine, where non-teleological forms of narrative are engaged, may help us counter the instrumentalist modalities of a highly hierarchical, extraction-oriented, quantification-obsessed academic environment. It may help us learn not only to speak and write but to act differently, to incorporate our own intellectual practice into modes of collective thought and action already unfolding in the extra-academic realm.5
In spring 2016, I spent time near the Greek-Macedonian border, at a few of the informal refugee camps that had grown with astonishing rapidity over the previous winter as one European nation after another started closing its borders, putting an end to the âhumanitarian corridorâ that had been in effect since Germany temporarily suspended the Dublin Protocol by pledging to accept refugees whose first port of entry into the European Union lay elsewhere. The successive border closures, including partial closures that allowed only individuals of certain nationalities to pass,...