After watching recent news images of Afghani refugees climbing razor-wired fences around a Greek port, I prepared myself for the tabloid headlines screaming ‘invasion’ that would inevitably come the next day and for the government to announce yet more measures to sure up the borders of Great Britain. It seemed impossible to imagine a time when politicians in Europe actually encouraged ‘free’ movement, and discouraged the use of passports. Writers in the 16th century extolled the virtues of travel just for the sake of ‘curiosity’, and the onus was on receiving territories to extend a sense of hospitality to the traveller.

Of course, this is an idealised description: then as today, some travellers were more welcome than others. But reading Adam McKeown’s new book, Melancholy Order: Asian Migration and the Globalisation of Borders, reminded me that our current web of migration regulations has a history, one embedded in the 19th century exclusion of Asian migrants from white settler colonies in the Pacific. His detailed research raises several paradoxes which perhaps point to why, even with the intense focus given to migration control by successive governments, we still have a situation that the International Organisation of Migration (2003) has called a ‘migration governability crisis’.

The first paradox is that contemporary border controls evolved from regulations developed by settler nations such as the United States and Australia, which were ostensibly founded on the premise of egalitarianism by pioneers of political freedoms despite the obvious racism in ‘white only’ migration policies and the decimation of indigenous populations. As a result, over time, discrimination has become acceptable at borders but not overtly within the state itself.

A boat crowded with Cuban refugees arrives in Key West, Florida, during the 1980 Mariel Boatlift
[image in the public domain, from United States Coastguard Service, sourced from Wikimedia]

Second, while neo-liberal globalisation is premised on an idea of free trade between countries, migration control is an obstacle to mobility. As a result, we have seen increasing separation between regulations relating to commerce and those relating to migration. Border control is now designed to facilitate some kinds of mobility, and migrants, and block others. Attempting to guarantee freedom, for some at least, through the imposition of regulations, transformed migration for others into an act of evasion and criminality. The meaning of ‘free’ has become ambiguous and opaque as a result.

The third paradox raised in McKeown’s research is that while migration laws coerce and exclude, interrogate, evaluate and attempt to quantify migrants, they are also considered as vehicles of justice, fairness, the ‘rule of law‘, and ‘efficiency’. They reflect normative ideals of how things should be, including the international order of states. It is impossible not to reflect on these distinctions and the right to be mobile when arriving at Heathrow Airport with an EU passport that only needs to be held up for a cursory glance by an immigration officer. To the left Africa, Asia and Eastern Europe queue up and wait. I am classified as a professional migrant, incorporated into a legal, formal administration, probably disappearing from the category of migrant altogether. In contradistinction are the ‘others’, those that work in 3D (domestic, dirty and dangerous jobs) who face resistance to their formal recognition within national labour regimes.

State institutions appear unable to resolve the inherent tensions in these paradoxes so the migrant continues to find their own way through red tape and over razor-wire. The kafka-esque world of immigration bureaucracy and rigid state regulations is met by the resilient human abilities of evasion and obfuscation in the hope of a better life.

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Melancholy Order: Asian Migration and the Globalisation of Borders
Adam McKeown, published by Colombia University Press

About the author

Melissa Butcher is a Lecturer in Human Geography at the Open University. Her research and teaching focuses on managing change in culturally diverse urban spaces.

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In a remote corner of western Ghana, close to the border of Côte d’Ivoire, is a new village. But it’s unlike the many villages you drive through to get there, with their mud houses and now seemingly ubiquitous mobile phone card sellers sitting under their bright, branded umbrellas.

This new village has around 250 Chinese in it, 60 Pakistanis, and 2000 Ghanaian workers, many with families. The houses are prefabricated cabins laid out in neat rows and it even has broadband connection. Barely twelve months ago this village did not exist, but is the work camp for the Bui Dam. This hydroelectric project is being built by the Chinese company Sinohydro and is one of a growing number of dam projects in Africa and the rest of the developing world being funded and built by China.

The workcamp for Ghanaian workers.
[Image by Giles Mohan © copyright Giles Mohan]

The case against such dams is persuasive. They are seen as ecologically damaging and socially disruptive and they often arise out of non-transparent governance arrangements. Moreover, some people question whether such energy-intensive development should be encouraged at all. On the other hand, for many African countries, their infrastructure is so poor that basic welfare is compromised as roads are often impassable and electricity for basic activities is erratic or non-existent. So things like the Bui Dam can be seen as absolutely vital for Ghana and countries like it. Such questions are important and there are no easy answers. One approach is to evaluate them on a case by case basis.

The company contracted to build Bui Dam is the Sinohydro Corporation. It was one of the main contractors on the Three Gorges Dam in China and, as part of the government’s “Go Out” policy, has embarked on an ambitious internationalisation strategy with projects in 50 countries. However, according to the International Rivers Network, Sinohydro has repeatedly received low grades by China’s State-owned Assets Supervision and Administration Commission for its poor safety record, construction and environmental accidents, and pollution. Indeed, some even blame the Sichuan earthquake of May 2008 on geological problems created by dam construction in the region.

The Bui Dam, and others built by Sinohydro, are “EPC” projects, meaning “engineering, procurement, construction”. This is the preferred route for many African governments since the price is agreed up front and fixed. The Chinese favoured the dam project as opposed to the Ghanaian Government’s preferred option of a railway from the coast to Burkina Faso in the North, because the sale of electricity would guarantee repayment in a way that a railway could not.

When it comes to these large Chinese projects, rumours abound about the importation of labour, some of it even sourced from convicts, and also that the Chinese import all the capital equipment and inputs and that they treat local workers badly. How true is this?

Much of the capital equipment is Chinese. Most of the heavy vehicles and the quarrying and aggregate plant are Chinese (although the aggregate crusher is American). The dam is the first in Ghana to be built using roller compacted concrete as opposed to rock fill and so requires huge amounts of cement which is coming from Ghacem, in Ghana’s main port city of Tema, which is German-owned.

The dam site.
[Image by Giles Mohan © copyright Giles Mohan]

The contract with Sinohydro specified the upper limits of Chinese labour on the project, which meant recruitment of unskilled and semi-skilled labourers from within Ghana. Interestingly, the Chinese have brought in 60 Pakistanis to drive the heavy equipment who count as “Chinese” for purposes of the imported labour quota. Communication is a problem but the Chinese organise in small work teams with one Chinese foreman and one Ghanaian foreman, both of whom have some English, and 3-4 Ghanaian labourers under them. Even then much communication is via drawings. Chinese corporations in general do not encourage trade unions, and originally did not allow for it at Bui. But a deputation from the Ghana TUC argued that it was enshrined both in Ghanaian law and the contract and so they had to. The union has pushed for better protection from the debilitating black fly which comes during the rainy season, although this threat affects all workers and is being dealt with through a daily insecticide programme.

All the Chinese labour is male and they sleep in the dormitories. In theory, they are not allowed to drink alcohol, but socialise in a club with TV and table tennis. Mixing between Ghanaian and Chinese workers of all levels is limited although there are “inter-national” soccer games, which one Ghanaian official told me proudly were always won by the Ghanaians and that in general the Chinese were “not friendly”. The Bui Power Authority’s role during construction is essentially to monitor the delivery of the contract and so it has its own engineers to report on quality and progress, and to monitor health and safety and environmental standards. One engineer joked that the Chinese don’t care about hard hats and pointed to a tree that they had saved given that the Chinese were too willing to remove it.

Chinese and Ghanaian workers.
[Image by Giles Mohan © copyright Giles Mohan]

Sinohydro and other Chinese firms are looking to deepen their footprint in Ghana and Africa more broadly. Although the Chinese seemed to have got a foothold in Africa through these semi-commercial, Chinese government-supported projects they are now competing more openly for tenders and, as one European aid official told me, “winning in straight fights”. For example, one Chinese firm is building roads in Northern Ghana funded by French aid, and Sinohydro also has plans for four smaller dams in Ghana.

But these are essentially turnkey projects and so have limited multipliers locally, which is why it is so imperative that African governments ensure that local content agreements are written into contracts. That said, African infrastructure needs are so chronic and have been so overlooked by donors for years that the Chinese are welcome for the investment they bring and the speed of their operations. They look set to continue for many years to come.

For more information on China and Africa see http://www.geography.dur.ac.uk/projects/china-africa/. And on the Bui Dam see
http://www.sinohydro.com/ and http://www.buipowerauthority.com/.

About the author

Dr Giles Mohan is a Reader in the Politics of International Development at the Open University. His research has examined politics in Africa, particularly ways in which rural communities access the government as well the role of diasporas in national politics.

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I rarely see films but I had to make an exception for Slumdog Millionaire. There seemed to be too much about it around me for me to partake in my social life without seeing it! It had hit the airwaves big time. Last Sunday the film won Oscars in eight categories, including coveted categories such as Best Film and Best Direction. Images of young members of the cast as they walked out on the red carpet of the award show were displayed in newspapers all over the UK. It was surrounded by the story of the night of British successes at the Oscars, to which Slumdog had clearly contributed. It was a proud night for British films.

The film Slumdog Millionaire was interesting at many levels. It draws on an internationally recognisable brand, the popular quiz show ‘Who wants to be a millionaire?’ The elements of the game show are familiar to many of us and phrases such as ‘phone a friend’ have forever become inscribed with the meaning it holds in the show. As such, the film draws on the international success of an entertainment phenomenon, and the franchising deals that have indeed gone on to help circulate this programme in many countries in the last ten years. Like some of the other popular shows, its national (in this case, British) origins have been subsumed by its international success.

However, unlike the programme, the film is clearly marked as British, drawing its ‘Britishness’ from the nationalities of its producer, director and some of its key actors. The success of the film at the Oscars has been lauded as an achievement of British cinema. Media discussions of the Oscar victory in the British press focused, right from the start, on whether this success is an indicator of the revival of British cinema and how future success at the Oscars for the country can be ensured.

Yet, it is not only the Brits who are making claims to this film. Rather like ‘Obama’ who may be simultaneously claimed by Kenya, the US and Indonesia at a minimum (though the Irish are in on tracing his routes to their land too) Slumdog too can be claimed by many others, most notably by Indians. For many Indians it is an Indian film as every scene is set in India, the narrative delves deep into the miseries of modern life in a Mumbai slum and the storyline is ultimately an unveiling of urban India. Indeed, for Vikas Swarup, the author of the book Q&A, on which the film is based, the story is wholly Indian. In an interview he says ‘I don't want to be branded as a writer catering to Western sensitivity. This is an Indian novel, rooted in Indian tradition, written with Indian idioms. It is an Indian story of Indian characters in the Indian milieu.'  Many of the film's actors, the music and much else draws on Indian people, places, objects, realities. The recognition received by the young actors from the Indian government is testimony to this claim.

Slums in India.
[image © copyright Photos.com]

However, other Indians have betrayed their ownership of the film, not with pride, but by denouncing aspects of the film as not reflecting India properly. An example of the perpetual issue of representation and replication that surrounds film analysis is the way in which the portrayal of Indian poverty, in particular, has troubled many people from/in India. Some see this as a peculiarly British portrayal – a vestigial imperial sentiment, of degradation of what has been lost in the disassembly of Empire. For others, it is not a fair depiction – it glosses over the complexity of life in urban slums. Still others comment on how they felt about this portrayal in the context of being part of a movie-going public in the US or UK. This portrayal of India seems to evoke more shame in British or American theatres, or while going out with British and American friends. These issues of representation and belonging become even more complex when understood as part of the film-going experience.

As I watch the recriminations and the adulations I am wondering what claims to national pride are being performed by the audience alongside those performed by the actors on screen? What exactly is being lost and created in these performances? Whose film is it? Or is its success that it creates either affection or disaffection in those who watch it. It perturbs them and who they are by making them reflect on what they see. Maybe that is why the award should go to…

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About the author

Parvati Raghuram is Lecturer in Geography at the Open University. Her research interests focus on the ways in which the mobility, of individuals, goods and of ideas is reshaping the world.

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