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MEDITERRANEAN LEXICON

LESSICO MEDITERRANEO

Geo- – Series published by the Italian Commitee for the International Geographical Union

Also in the series:

Humanistic and Behavioural Geography in Italy Edited by Giacomo Corna Pellegrini

Urban Networks Edited by Giuseppe Dematteis and Vincenzo Guarrasi

Mediterranean Geographies Edited by Sergio Conti and Anna

Geographies of Diversity Edited by Sergio Conti

Geo-Italy 5

Mediterranean Lexicon

Lessico Mediterraneo

Edited by Paolo Giaccaria Maria Paradiso

SOCIETÀ GEOGRAFICA ITALIANA CNR – Italian Committee for the International Geographical Union EU-POLIS – European Urban Systems, Turin and Polytechnic © Società Geografica Italiana

ISBN 978-88-88692-84-5

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form of by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.

Published by Società Geografica Italiana Via della Navicella, 12 Villa Celimontana 00184 Roma Italy

English editing by Proof-Reading-Service.com Layout editing by Cinzia Pagano (Politecnico di Torino) Cover: Porta d’Europa, by Kitagawa Shinya (courtesy) Contents

Introduction Paolo Giaccaria, Maria Paradiso 1

A Ambiente/Environment Mauro Spotorno 5

B Balcani/ Roberto Romano, Sergio Zilli 21

C Città/Cities Raffaele Cattedra, Francesca Governa, Maurizio Memoli 39

D /Diaspora Giulia de Spuches 55

E Energia/Energy Matteo Puttilli 71

F Frontiera/Frontier Edoardo Boria, Elena dell’Agnese 87

G Genere/Gender Rachele Borghi, Monica Camuffo 103

H Hotel/Hotel Lorenzo Bagnoli, Stefano Malatesta 117

I Insediamenti/Settlements Raffaele Cattedra, Francesca Governa, Maurizio Memoli 129

L Levante/ Stefano De Rubertis 147

V M Mare/ Stefano Soriani, Fabrizia Buono 165

N Natura/Nature Marcella Schmidt di Friedberg, Federico Ferretti 181

O Ospitalità/Hospitality Paolo Giaccaria, Ugo Rossi 197

P Patrimonio/Heritage Cristina Scarpocchi 213

Q Qualità della vita/Quality of life Monica Morazzoni, Davide Colombo 229

R Rete/Internet Maria Paradiso, Massimiliano Tabusi 249

S Scambi/Exchanges Daniele Ietri, Francesca Silvia Rota 265

T Terrore/Terror Maurizio Scaini 285

U Urbicidio/Urbicide Francesco Mazzuchelli 299

V Viaggio/Travel Luca E. Cerretti 315

Z Zona di libero scambio/Free area Filippo Celata 329

References 349

VI List of contributors

Lorenzo Bagnoli, Università di Milano ‘Bicocca’

Rachele Borghi, Université de Rennes 2

Edoardo Boria, Università di Roma ‘La Sapienza’

Fabrizia Buono, Università di Venezia ‘Ca’ Foscari’

Monica Camuffo, Arte della Resistenza

Raffaele Cattedra, Université de

Filippo Celata, Università di Roma ‘La Sapienza’

Luca E. Cerretti, Università di Genova

Davide Colombo, Università di Milano ‘IULM’

Giulia de Spuches, Università di

Stefano De Rubertis, Università del Salento

Elena Dell’Agnese, Università di Milano ‘Bicocca’

Federico Ferretti, Géographie-cités, équipe EHGO, CNRS, Paris

Paolo Giaccaria, Università di Torino

Francesca Governa, Politecnico di Torino

Daniele Ietri, Università della Valle d’Aosta

VII Stefano Malatesta, Università di Milano ‘Bicocca’

Francesco Mazzucchelli, Università di Bologna

Maurizio Memoli, Università di

Monica Morazzoni, Università di Milano ‘IULM’

Maria Paradiso, Università del Sannio in Benevento

Matteo Puttilli, Università di Torino

Roberto Romani, Università di

Ugo Rossi, Università di Torino

Francesca Silvia Rota, Politecnico di Torino

Maurizio Scaini, Università di Gorizia

Cristina Scarpocchi, Università della Valle d’Aosta

Marcella Schmidt di Friedberg, Università di Milano ‘Bicocca’

Stefano Soriani, Università di Venezia ‘Ca’ Foscari’

Mauro Spotorno, Università di Genova

Massimiliano Tabusi, Università per Stranieri di Siena

Sergio Zilli, Università di Trieste

VIII Foreword

Sergio Conti and Franco Salvatori

It is not only in the geographical imagination, but equally so in a large part of contemporary social science, that in the relationships between the two, or perhaps among the several, shores of the Mediterranean, people seem unable to find, if not a stable equilibrium, at least a nucleus of practices, representations and policies capable of providing continuity in the relationships between the two shores, calming tensions and finding a way towards commonly agreed development. In the meanwhile, the phenomena that have impacted on the European and global economy and policy over recent decades (growing internationalization, or even more, the formation of regional and supranational systems) seem to have increasingly marginalized the Mediterranean area, both as regards production and commerce, from global process decisions. It is even the case, as is claimed by many people, that these facts have the potential to turn into a new melting pot of citizenship based on rearticulating the forms and modes of discussion and therefore of political participation, even though the scenarios seen in this light are uncertain and highly problematic. In just the same way, the growth of , both in terms of production and income and in terms of geopolitical weight and international influence, can only partially mitigate the overall image of marginalization, instability and a progressive detachment from the centers and systems where decisions are made and production carried out. In many ways the Mediterranean seems trapped in its “great future in the past”, in other words that mix of mythologies that idealize its role as the cradle of European , torn from the context of the processes in the formation of modernity, so cutting it down to the “other place” as regards , even though it still is the father and half- brother of the triumphant . This is to forget Herodotus himself who warned against the risk of banalizing the world and Mediterranean society by presenting it as a political and cultural centre in contrast to a periphery (global of course). This is a vision that markedly counters many other commonplaces aimed, on the contrary, to

IX paint a picture of the Mediterranean as a maginalized area, condemned by poor land, its geographical position and endless conflict taking place between the peoples living along its . We can add that in the meanwhile there has been an explosion of visions of the Mediterranean as a “geographical fault line” in economic, demographic, political and cultural terms, while often forgetting an irreducible complexity given the fact that its internal segmentations can mostly, or perhaps only, be distinguished above all on the map due to an abstract definition of problems considered in turn. This follows the same path by which the ’s outer borders themselves are considered rather imprecisely in accordance with the logic – and rhetoric – of flexible geometry and porous borders. This all reflects a framework which insists on counterposing the vision of an environmental and anthropological unity of the to one held especially dear by the of a fragmented and marginal space marked by a notable late development compared with the economic (and also political and cultural) modernity in the north-central part of the . This book fits into this scenario. The Italian Geographical Society has suggested its publication as it has long been engaged, and will probably be so even more in the future, engaged in systematic research work into new accounts and new representations able to reveal this region and these places, as the lands to explore were not all covered by the end of the period of and much still remains to be done, above all in the present day context with the changes in small and large theatres in our nature and society. The final publication, for the reasons we recall here and for those explained by its editors, is a lexis, that is a sum of unities, combinations, identities and rhetoric able to piece together the fragments into a vision of the Mediterranean region which still risks being lost in the confrontation between history and geography and between economics and culture. The book is therefore full of impressions and discoveries aimed at introducing the reader to a multiform region, inviting him or her to rework the picture or, more simply, to focus on its parts – so a warning for the unwary, but also a stimulus for experts in piecing together .

X Introduction

Mediterranean Lexicon: geography of a contemporary labyrinth (or pluriverso?)

Mediterranean Lexicon is an of the Mediterranean labyrinth. Following two centuries of Mediterranean and Mediterraneanist investigations, it is a ‘scientific expedition’ from the Mediterranean and around the Mediterranean. Exploration here evokes a scientific journey that cannot be anchored to a structured, well known, research path, but rather is set on a route of progressive interpretation and knowledge of a terra incognita. Indeed, the Mediterranean escapes any ultimate definition and understanding, despite the fact that it has constituted a geographic reference and topos since Strabo and that it constitutes, along a millenary longitudinal path, a chora (Olsson 2012). For Derrida, following Plato, a chora is where the subject establishes his/her own place. In Olsson’s words, “how do I grasp the formless that refuses to be categorized, how do I comprehend the incomprehensible?” (2012, 6). We thus can understand the Mediterranean as a chora as a starting and stimulating departure point. The scientific invention of the Mediterranean, mainly advocated by the French and German geographical traditions (Ben-Artzi 2004; Duprest 2002), beginning with Reclus and Vidal de la Blache, built a unified and unifying narrative of the Mediterranean. On the one hand, this allegedly coalesced Mediterranean has been firstly broken by the disruptions of ‘genre de vie’ stemming from droughtlands cultivation and nomadic herding, then gradually dissolved by (a lack of) ‘modernization’ (Claval 2007b). Moreover, the myth of an unitary Mediterranean has been unveiled in post-colonial studies (Chamber 2008) and its vernacular origins are now discredited as Mediterraneanism, a peculiar form of (Herzfeld 1984, 2005). Mediterranean commonplaces have been harshly criticized because they entail a geographical imaginary sedimented in the visual and fictional culture of the (Northern) European Grand Tour (Howard 2007). Thus, the ‘invention of the Mediterranean’ has been contested because of its

1 mythical essence, as a quasi fiction, a geography of permanencies and longue durée which existed only in Northern and Western eyes. At the same time, the colonial imagination has not vanished; it continues to shape popular Mediterraneanism (from to the revival), but it also influences the rhetoric for a Euro-Mediterranean partnership focused on the ‘EU-ropeization’ of the Southern Mediterranean and (Jones 2006; Jones A. and Clark J. 2008a). It is not a coincidence, indeed, that neo-liberal discourse and practices run through Mediterranean urban and regional planning, simultaneously adopting Western models and adapting Mediterraneanist stereotypes. By affirming the interests of oligarchies and elites, including local ones, neo-liberal planning disintegrates social, human tissue and thick locations, exacerbates economic inequality, and subsequently increases globalization by deterritorialization and dispossession. As a porous space, the Mediterranean/chora is not reducible to easy interpretations within an essentialist, immutable theoretical framework (Giaccaria and Minca 2011). Making sense of the Mediterranean means confronting head-on a tangle of flows, networks, ideas, people, goods, and money, which challenges the continuous representation of the Mediterranean as existing somewhere between homogeneity and alterity. It implies a post-colonial, imbricated site of encounters and currents (Chambers 2008). The missing point in the traditional literature on the Mediterranean lies in its ‘iconographic characterization’ (to use a Gottman’s concept, 1966) which neglects the complexity of the interplay of spatial fixity and countless circulation. The Mediterraneanist and Orientalist iconography can but lead to a marginalization of the Mediterranean; an interpretation of a Mediterranean with no ‘perspective’ and without appreciation of changes or appreciable changes (Campione 1998 p. 7). As a consequence, our exploration must avoid the Scylla and of both the fictitious Mediterranean unity and the impossibility of the Mediterranean as a hermeneutic category. We cannot talk about the Mediterranean without taking the risk of stereotyping it, yet we need Mediterranean categories in order to make sense of modernity and its alternatives. This paradox permeates the very structure of the present book. Lessico mediterraneo aims to be a syllabary; a hornbook without any pretense of completion, except for the abecedarian one. Any indexing according to themes, sections, approaches, perspectives would contradict the very assumptions of this work, giving room to the aporias of Mediterraneanism (Giaccaria and Minca 2011). Following Matvejevic (1993), we agree that the only possible way of talking about the Mediterranean is as breviary, hymnal, litany, directory. As there is no such a thing as Mediterranean unity,

2 this lexicon aims to mirror the Mediterranean pluriverso through a prism of theories, approaches, methodologies, glances and voices. Lessico Mediterraneo is the outcome of a long-running reflection on the Mediterranean in contemporary Italian geography. It came out of individual research patters, longstanding friendships, structured projects, and unattended affinities. Across our ABCs the reader will meet post-structuralist genealogies and functional analyses, Foucaultian archeologies and Braudelian echoes. What the contributors share is the commitment to critical analysis, the enjoyment of challenging well established understandings, the creativity of setting new patterns that connect the tradition of Mediterranean studies to the urgent questions of the present times. Here, we would like to thank all the authors who shared in this journey – we hope they enjoyed it as much as we did – as well as the Società Geografica Italiana for supporting and believing in the project.

The Editors,

Paolo Giaccaria, Maria Paradiso Turin and Benevento 2012

3

A – Ambiente/Environment

Mauro Spotorno

A spatialization of the Mediterranean environment

The term ‘environment’ has a wide semantic spectrum (Bagliani and Dansero 2011), but in each of the different contexts involved, the core idea is that the environment is something which ‘surrounds’ and refers to some ‘being’. In our exercise, the term refers to the natural Mediterranean surroundings1. We can define it according to the presence/absence or intensity of certain attributes, but it is impossible to recognize a unique Mediterranean region corresponding to a homogeneous geographical space defined on the basis of the multiplicity of characters usually advocated. The Mediterranean boundaries can also be defined in two different ways as the ‘great Mediterranean’ area and a ‘more restricted one’ (Vallega 2005). The former corresponds to the water space enclosed within the lands to the East of the of – a semi-closed sea, depending on the Atlantic , connected with the through the Canal and including the . The latter corresponds to the current geographical definition, which is used by the most important international organizations and the individual States. In this case, the boundaries of the basin are defined according to the geo-political criteria of control of the Mediterranean access ‘doors’ opening to other . So the Mediterranean is included within the , the -Marmara Sea, and Bosphorus, with the exclusion of the Black Sea and the . In this paper, we refer to this last definition.

1 So in this paper the term environment is considered equivalent to the French environnement, the German Umwel, the Italian ambiente and the Russian okruzajuscaja.

5 and morphology

In the inferior period, the great gulf of Tethys existed between the African and Euro-Asiatic paleocontinents, where the now lies. At the end of the Triassic, the African continent started to rotate anti-clockwise while the Euroasiatic continent started its clockwise motion. These movements caused the progressive closure of the Tethys, with the compression of the sediments lying in the geosynclinal and the emersion, during the Tertiary period, of two systems of mountain ranges. The first one of these mountain ranges follows the Atlas, , , Apennines, Southern , Dinarides- Hellenids, and Taurus chain, and the second follows the Betic cordilleras until the Balearics, then continues in the , Alps, Carpathians, and Rhodope. The forces that generate these ridges are still working and express themselves with frequent earthquakes in , Italy, , and Turkey and volcanic eruptions in Italy, Greece, and Turkey. However, the morphological features of the area are not homogeneous: tertiary mountain ranges juxtapose older round or tabular massifs, and flat and sandy coasts juxtapose high, rocky ones; to the West, the Arabic tabular structures show themselves beyond the Bekaa and Ghor tectonic faults, while to the South, the reaches the Libyan and Egyptian shores.

The climate

In spite of a well-established stereotype2, the climate is neither homogeneous nor favorable. This area is a transition belt between the sub-Saharan climate and the temperate one of (Travers, Elrick and Kay 2010; Bullet 2008), but its extension inland is variable and sometimes null. From this belt, the mountain ranges and the plateaux are often close to the littoral but are snowy for long periods in

2 This image is well expressed by Goethe in the verses: “Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen blühn / Im dunkeln Laub die Goldorangen glühn / Ein sanfter Wind vom blauen Himmel weht / Die Myrte still und hoch der Lorbeer steht?” (J.W. Goethe, Mignon, Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre: 1795). Also, the work of important painters contributed to the construction of this image, as expressed in a letter by Monet from Bordighera in the last years of the : “and it is just this brightness, this fabulous light I try to express, and who has not seen this landscape or has seen it superficially, will shout – I am certain – at its improbability though I am by far below its tone: everything is a fierce heat and burning colour” (Goldin 2011, 5, transl.).

6 winter, and the inland valleys and the of the rivers , Rhone, and are also excluded. Similarly to other Western of the European continent, the climate is mitigated by the warm and humid currents coming from the , while the mountains protect wide parts of the Northern from the Northerly cold winds. However, in the areas exposed to strong, cold winds such as the or the , at times there are very severe temperatures. Long periods of can cause conditions of water stress, while sudden downpours on steep lands cause floods and mud flows. These features of the climate arise from the interaction of different atmospheric pressure systems: the Azores and highs, the winter Euro-Asiatic high, and the North African and North Atlantic low pressures and those of monsoonal areas3. The seasonal movement of these masses between the North and the South causes the alternation between a hot and dry summer period and a humid and cool winter one. The summer starts between the end of May and the beginning of June, when the Azores high moves to the North establishing a high-pressure regime on the Mediterranean, which limits the flux of the atmospheric disturbances coming from the Atlantic Ocean and results in stable weather with high temperatures. Between September and October, the high pressure moves South, making way for the disturbances moving from the Atlantic to the East. As a consequence, there is which is sometimes very intense and strong winds which can provoke violent sea-storms. Sometimes in winter, the Euro-Asiatic high leans over the Mediterranean, causing cloudless but cold days. In this season, precipitation is quite scarce on the Northern shores, while on the Southern shores precipitation reaches its peak. Nevertheless, the feature that most characterizes and differentiates the climate of the area is the frequency and duration of drought periods, which are more frequent and serious in the South and East Mediterranean Countries (SEMC). Also, the wind features are determined by the interaction between the characteristics of the general atmospheric circulation, the presence of the mountains, and the water masses. From the North, the Mistral blows on the Rhone valley and on the , the Bora on the , and the Etesian on the ; the Vendaval rushes between the African and Spanish coasts from the West, while the blows on the Southern coasts.

3 From which the Middle East low pressure in the summer derives.

7 The sea

The Mediterranean is equal to 0.8 percent of the ocean surface only. The distance between the Strait of Gibraltar and the is 3,800 km and between the Algerian and French coasts is about 900 km (see MARE). The Channel of , which is only 400 m deep, divides the Mediterranean Sea into two basins of similar size, subdivided into many minor seas. The is narrow4 nearly everywhere, while the sea floors differ notably: those of the Western Mediterranean are almost flat, excluding the , with an average depth of about 2,700 m; on the contrary, the Eastern Mediterranean has some deep (5,121 m to the South of ) valleys, ridges, and isolated relief, but also has shallow floors. The coastline stretches for about 46,000 km2, of which 19,000 surrounds the islands and more than 54 percent is high and rocky; the remainder is flat and sandy and often hosts natural environments of high ecological value, such as littoral dunes, delta areas, lagoons, marshes, and sebkhat5. The volume of sediments carried by the Mediterranean rivers is impressive – about 1,000 million t/y – but in the last decades, dams and other water regulation systems have greatly reduced the solid transport and fostered the regression of numerous littorals. Taking into consideration only the European coasts, for which a greater amount of data is available, 27 percent of the Greek, 25 percent of the French, 23 percent of the Italian, and 11 percent of the Spanish littorals are in retreat. The mean temperature of the superficial waters is about 12 °C, but in the summer they can reach 25 °C. As a result of the climatic conditions and the hydrographic characteristics of the Mediterranean rivers, the balance between fresh water downpours and evaporation is negative at about 2,500 km3/year (AEA–UNEP/PAM 2006), and the building of artificial storage also causes a reduction of the fresh water pouring into the Mediterranean, with a consequent major flux of salty water from the Atlantic and Indian . The water circulation has a cyclonic movement: from the Atlantic Sea to the East, following first the Spanish coast and then the African one to reach the Eastern shores and return finally to the Atlantic along the European shores. This cycle lasts for a period of about 90 years, but the complete replacement of the basin water mass is accomplished in 200–300 years. The horizontal movements are associated with the convective ones due to the cooling of

4 With the exception of the Adriatic Sea and the Gulf of Lion. 5 These are dry areas, sometimes flooded, characterized by evaporitic and carbonatic deposits.

8 the superficial waters, a process that mainly concerns the Eastern Sea, the North and central Adriatic, and the Gulf of Lion, where the cold Northern and North-Eastern winds are more frequent.

Hydrography

The average surface area of the hydrographic basins – except those of the Rhone, Ebro, Po, , Chelif, and Moulouya – does not exceed 10,000 km2, and the Mediterranean countries retain, on average, superficial water resources of about 1,200 billion m2, equal to 3 percent of the total for the planet, while their population is equal to 7 percent of the world population. In addition, only 50 percent of these scarce resources can be exploited and, due to the hydrographic features, only 30 percent are steady. They are also distributed unequally among the Northern Mediterranean Countries (NMC) and the SEMC. While the NMC hold 71 percent of the resources, those of the Middle East hold only 20 percent and the countries of the Southern shores only 9 percent. The long, hot drought periods, the seasonal concentration of rains, and the economic and demographic characteristics of the Mediterranean areas determine the presence of water stress conditions6: use of water resources at rates higher than 80 percent can be found in , , , , and and between 20 percent and 60 percent in Italy, , , , Algeria, , , and (PNUE/PAM/Plan Bleu 2009). In 2007, the total consumption of water was 280 km3 per year, more than 60 percent of which was used for agricultural purposes, followed by industry (22 percent) and home use (14 percent). The demand for home uses was about 65 m3 per capita per year (175 l per capita per day) in the SEMC and 120 m3 per capita per year (330 l per capita per day) in the NMC; at the same time, agricultural activities absorbed 10,000 m3 per capita per year in the latter and just half of that in the former. However, in most of the SEMC, the demand exceeds the availability of renewable water resources, so that about 180 million inhabitants have less than 500 m3 per capita per year7. The situation is less serious in Morocco, Egypt, Cyprus, and Syria, but in spite of that, about 80 million people have less than 1,000

6 There are situations of low stress level for rates water resources usage lower than 10 percent, moderate stress intensity for rates between 20 and 40 percent, and high for rates higher than 40 per cent. 7 These situations refer to Malta, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Israel, the Palestinian territories, and Jordan.

9 m3 per capita per year8. If we consider the demographic growth9, the concentration of the population on the littoral belt, and the development rates of the industrial, agricultural, and tourist activities of the SEMC, it is possible to foresee that in the future they will face a worsening situation of hydric stress. However, they will not be faced with increasing the offer but with reducing losses in the distribution, waste, and inefficient use. In addition, about 10 percent of the water resources of Mediterranean countries come from areas outside their boundaries; this is the case for Egypt (with a rate of dependence of 97 percent), Israel (55 percent), and Syria (43 percent). Therefore, it is probable that decreasing water availability will increase the competition between countries which withdraw from the same basin.

Natural heritage

Due to the variety of geomorphological and climate characteristics, the ancient inhabitation, and the historical dynamics that have fostered the introduction of plants from different parts of the world over the centuries, the regions facing the Mediterranean are among the world’s main biological ‘hot spots’ (UNEP/MAP/Plan Bleu 2009). The Mediterranean is an oligotrophic sea, but its chemical and physical features foster a high and a geographical differentiation of the fish fauna. Despite the fact that the Mediterranean surface area is only 0.7 percent of that of the world’s oceans, it hosts 7 percent of the world’s animal species and between 10 and 18 percent of plant species10, most of which are endemic. This high biodiversity depends on its opening to the Atlantic and Indian oceans and on its history: more than half of the marine species are of Atlantic origins, 4 percent are species relics from eras where the area was characterized by a tropical climate, and 17 percent come from the Red Sea as a consequence of the opening

8 “If the availability per capita is between 1,700 and 1,000 m3 the population is considered in a difficult situation, when the values are between 1,000 and 500 m3 per capita the condition of hardship becomes particularly severe, finally with an availability inferior to 500 m3 per capita the conditions are of extreme unease with dramatic situations” (S.G.I. 2008, 53). However “it is necessary to underline that, in case of weak economic structures and political instability, the danger threshold starts when values are below 1,500 m3/person/yr” (Bicciato 1998, 223). 9 The SEMC have nearly two-thirds of the population of the area. 10 The estimates are different as new species and varieties are continually being discovered (Abusamara et al. 2005).

10 of the Suez Canal. Some of those of Atlantic origin and most of those coming from the Red Sea are ‘alien’ species, which are quickly colonizing wide areas of the Mediterranean (Abusamara et al. 2005; Benoit and Comeau, 2005; AEA–UNEP/PAM 2006; Travers et al. 2010). Even if at present this phenomenon does not seem to have caused an extinction of local species, the majority of scholars consider them a threat to the existence of many indigenous species and damaging to the biodiversity of the Mediterranean. However, the erosion of the biodiversity of the Mediterranean marine environment is not only a consequence of this phenomenon but of many pressure factors that have resulted in the disappearance of 1 percent of the species, with 19 percent under threat (Travers et al. 2010). The biological richness of the Mediterranean regions concerns both the marine and land environment. Their flora includes more than 25,000 arboreal and shrubby species, equal to about 10 percent of those known in the world. In addition, the high segmentation and division into compartments of the habitats foster the presence of a high percentage of endemic species. The constant water stress determines the xerophytic characters of the vegetation in wide areas around the Mediterranean, with a prevalence of the Mediterranean bush or its deteriorated forms, while is almost absent. In ancient rural Mediterranean societies, wood had a primary importance; however, its relevance diminished with the end of traditional agricultural activities and a rural exodus, and there has been an increase of the extension of deteriorated and overgrown wild woods, which are often destroyed by fires. The area is no less important for the richness and variety of animal species; in particular, the wetlands have notable importance for the avifauna: more than 200 million birds of 150 different species stay there for more or less long periods of time.

The anthropic pressure on the Mediterranean environment

A list of the forms of anthropic pressure on the Mediterranean environment would be long, and in any case it would exceed the limits of this paper, so we will recall only some aspects previously mentioned or that will be considered further on. Among them, those deriving from the population increase and the growing concentration of the population on the wide littoral urban areas stand out. These two phenomena cause many kinds of environmental problems, such as the huge production of waste, whose storage and removal, if inadequately managed, can cause pollution of the water tables, the sea, the ground, and the air. It is a trend that shows no signs of decreasing, considering that in the five- year period 2000–2005 a 19 percent increase in the production of urban waste in the NMC was registered (PNUE/PAM/Plan Bleu 2009, 15).

11 Unfortunately, according to some recent surveys, less than 70 percent of the 600 main coastal towns (amounting to 60 million inhabitants) are equipped with treatment or water depuration systems for civil uses. The most serious situations can be found in the rural areas of the SEMC (except Morocco), where 50 percent of the population is not provided with drinkable water or sewage treatment systems. Agriculture is still a significant contributor to the GNP of many Mediterranean countries11, but the prevailing dry farming results in a great dependence of agricultural production on the trend of temperature and rains. On the other hand, the increase in irrigated agricultural land – whose surface has doubled in the last forty years and at present covers nearly 30 million hectares, equal to 20 percent of the cultivated lands – renders the absolute availability of water resources a critical factor for many economies. Agricultural activities also contribute to the pollution of the water tables and rivers, while the fresh water withdrawal near coastal areas contributes to the advance of the salt wedge inside the water tables. Finally, the intensive exploitation of agrarian areas through the use of chemical manures contributes in a relevant measure to desertification12. Fishing also exerts a growing pressure on the environment with a substantial loss of big predators in the ecosystem. In the face of the constant reduction of fish productivity, the water culture is spreading and its production has increased from less than 21,000 tonnes in 1970 to nearly 340,000 tonnes in 2002 (AEA-UNEP/PAM 2006). The Mediterranean littoral areas, especially those which are flat or reclaimed from the sea besides being more populated are also those areas where many industrial activities are concentrated, which can disperse contaminants such as cadmium, lead, chromium, nickel, zinc, mercury, benzene, and dioxins into the environment. Metallurgical, petrochemical, and fertilizer industries, cement factories, thermo- electrical plants, and oil refineries contribute to environmental pollution with emission of dangerous metals, benzene, and dioxins into the

11 That is: 16 percent in Morocco, 10 percent in Algeria, 7 percent in Libya, 28 percent in Egypt, 2 percent in Israel, 3 percent in Lebanon, 23 percent in Syria, 34 percent in Turkey, 7 percent in Greece, 25 percent in , 8 percent in , 4 percent in Italy, 3 percent in and Spain. 12 The term brings the image of the advance of the desert. However its meaning has greatly broadened since the Rio and UN conferences on desertification. At present it means “all the processes of degradation that occur in arid, semi-arid and dry sub-humid areas, deriving from a permanent reduction of the soil moisture, causing negative effects on the population living in these areas” (S.G.I. 2008, 50; trans.).

12 environment. Also, maritime traffic can cause serious pollution, mainly due to accidents (every year about sixty are counted, fifteen of which involve oil tankers) and to the emptying in the open sea of holds of cleaning and ballast waters, in spite of the Convention on the Prevention of by Dumping of Wastes and Other Matter (MARPOL). Furthermore, tourist activities exert different kinds of pressure on the Mediterranean environment: this area has more than 30 percent of world’s tourist overnight stays (Perry 2003; PNUE/PAM/Plan Bleu 2009) and a quarter of them are concentrated in coastal areas. The expansion of this sector results in increasing saturation of the littoral areas, sometimes the destruction of coastal dunes or other sites of high geological or morphological value, the compromising of ecologically sensitive sites, a growing demand for water resources – with per capita and per day models of consumption by far superior to the local ones – and increased waste production. It must also be noted that the pressure is not uniformly distributed but tends to concentrate on particular areas, often already characterized by great anthropic surcharge. Nautical activities and cruise liners are part of the general Mediterranean process of tourism development and contribute to the anthropic pressure on the environment in spite of the fact that modern vessels are equipped with high quality standards for limiting pollution risks (PNUE/PAM/Plan Bleu 2009).

Global climatic change and Mediterranean: a scenario for coming decades

However, this complex panorama is to be rethought, taking into consideration the processes triggered by environmental changes caused by global (GCC). According to the EEA and the UNEP/MAP13, in the last century – and more rapidly in its last quarter – the mean air temperatures have increased by about 2 °C, both in the NMC and in the SEMC. The increase has mostly concerned the mean minimum temperature of winter months, with a consequent minor seasonal thermal excursion. In the same period, the mean temperatures of the Mediterranean superficial waters have increased, on average, by about 0.75 °C. On the contrary, precipitation has decreased, with maximum extents of 20 percent in some areas of the South side (Travers

13 Respectively: European Environment Agency and United Nations Environment Programme/Mediterranean Action Plan.

13 et al. 2010). Taking the long view, the IPCC14 thinks that during the 21st century there will be a further increase of the temperatures and a higher speed of the with a greater intensity of both evaporation and precipitation. Nevertheless, local factors and marine water circulation could cause some deviations, also relevant, from the trends outlined by global scenarios. Other factors of uncertainty come from the scarce knowledge of the biophysical processes involved, the variability of external factors of the Mediterranean system, such as the North Atlantic Oscillation (NAO), and the difficulties in building models ‘powerful’ enough within the capability limits of computers. Therefore, rather than forecasting models it is better to refer to ‘scenarios’ that, even in a fuzzy way, give an idea of the future trends of climatic change. For most of these scenarios, the GCC will determine a shift of the cyclonic areas and the trajectories of Atlantic perturbations that, as seen, cause the general climate features of the Mediterranean areas. As a consequence, the South side of the Mediterranean will face a drier climate, while in the Northern side, the quantity of precipitation will probably be unchanged if not a little increased (Begni 2003). As far as temperatures are concerned, according to the IPCC, by 2100 they could increase between a minimum of 1.4 °C and a maximum of 5.8 °C15 compared to the average temperatures of the twenty-year period 1980– 1999, and it is also thought that the number of days with temperatures above 30–35 °C will increase16. However, the warming of the inferior layers of the atmosphere will not be geographically uniform: while in the Middle East regions it should be by about 2 °C in those of the North side it will be by about 3 °C and will mainly concern winter months – and the autumn months for the most – while in the regions of North the increase should reach 4 °C (Travers et al. 2010, 25). Besides, the temperature changes could vary greatly from place to place: in some areas of , the increases could be less than those foreseen, on average, for the region, while on the contrary, in some islands of the Adriatic the temperature increases could exceed the mean value. Precipitation will, in general, be less abundant and frequent, but intensity will increase between 5 and 20 percent. However, there will be differences, also relevant, between the Mediterranean areas. In the Northern areas, precipitation will decrease, on average, by 4 percent

14 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. 15 It is estimated that the probability of a mean increase between 3 and 4 °C is 50 percent (PNUE/PAM/Plan Bleu 2009, 22). 16 However, the mean temperatures could decrease between 0 and 1 °C due to the doubling of the CO2 levels in the atmosphere and the cooling effect of sulphur aerosols (El-Fadel and Bou-Zeid 2003).

14 (but in some cases will remain unchanged or will even increase a little), while in the Southern areas the decrease will be, on average, 27 percent. It is likely that the regime of precipitation will also change. In the overall Mediterranean area, winter precipitation should increase by 10 percent, but this percentage is the result of a decrease in the Southern and Eastern sectors and an increase in the North-West sectors. Summer precipitation should decrease by between 5 percent in the South-Eastern areas and 15 percent in the Western and North-Western areas. At the same time, there will be a general increase of the periods at risk of drought, and the Southern regions will be the most affected; however, the Northern regions will also be affected because the increase of winter precipitation will be counterbalanced by a longer dry season (Rosato and Giupponi 2003, 138). The increased temperatures, together with lasting drought periods, could determine an increase in the frequency, intensity, duration, and diffusion of situations of water scarcity with more conspicuous and longer drought periods and more frequent heat waves. On the contrary, the changes in precipitation regimes could increase the risk of floods, rivers overflowing, and mudslides. However, in some areas the decrease of precipitation and the simultaneous increase in temperatures will cause a reduction in the mean river run-off, with a greater spread between periods of high and low water and thinning down of the water table. At the same time, the increased temperatures will favour higher evaporation from artificial which stoke water supply networks, while the decrease in river run-off will determine a reduced capability of dilution of the pollution load and self-depuration, the latter worsened by warming waters. As a consequence, the water quality will deteriorate, with a subsequent reduced possibility of use for civil purposes and, to a greater extent, an increase in marine pollution (Bullet 2008). The higher atmospheric temperature will reflect that of the sea, which it is estimated will increase by between 2 and 4 °C by the end of the century, but with a greater increase in the Eastern Mediterranean. In turn, this will reflect on the low troposphere influencing the formation of low pressure and anti-cyclonic areas and therefore on the distribution, frequency, and intensity of precipitation. A further consequence will be the rising of the mean sea level caused by melting of glaciers and ice-caps. Even if scientists are extremely cautious on this subject, it is estimated that by the end of the century the mean level of the Mediterranean will rise, on average, by between 10 and 55 cm, and in some places its effects could be strengthened by present subsidence movements. This phenomenon would mainly impact on the low coasts and have a negative influence on water culture, fishing activities in lagoons, the faunal species richness in the wet areas, and agriculture due to the salinization of water tables close to the littoral, and it would exacerbate

15 the problems linked to coastal erosion (Georgas 2003). Inland, GCC will cause a shift in vegetation limit altitudes, while the remaining Mediterranean will suffer the impact of heat waves, lasting drought periods, increasing frequency of fires17, and attacks from parasites of alien origin whose diffusion will be favoured by the increased temperatures, especially winter temperatures. Also, mammals will be influenced negatively by the effects of GCC, and it is estimated that by the end of the century between 5 and 10 percent of species will be at risk, while in the marine environment the effects could show themselves with more frequent algal invasions (PNUE/PAM/Plan Bleu 2009).

Social, economic, and geopolitical effects of environmental changes caused by GCC

The environmental changes induced by GCC will have unavoidable health, social, geo-political, and economic consequences (see ENERGY). Even if the effects of GCC on the economic and living conditions of the Mediterranean areas are very difficult to estimate due to the multiplicity of interplaying factors, it is possible that the NMC will not experience particularly relevant negative effects, and in the mid-term they could even have some benefits. For example, an increase in mean temperatures within 2 °C could determine a reduction in the energy requirement and enable crops that were not possible before. The effects of GCC will have greater negative consequences in SEMC, due to their accentuated exposure to the risk of water stress and their strong dependence on agricultural activities. As far as the living conditions of the Mediterranean populations are concerned, the countries of the area, especially the SEMC, will have to face a sharp shortage of water resources, worsened by a growing demand from agricultural and tourist activities and, on the Southern sides, a substantial demographic increment. In many areas, the availability will decrease to less than 500 cubic metres per year per inhabitant, with possible health consequences also due to the deterioration of the water quality. In addition, people will be subjected to thermal stress caused by heat waves, with an increase in deaths amongst old people or persons subjected to cardiovascular,

17 These mainly affect the NMC where, in 2007, about 600,000 hectares of wood and Mediterranean bush were destroyed; however, their frequency is rapidly increasing also in the SEMC, where the area devastated by fires increased from about 61,000 hectares in 2005 to 80,000 in 2007 (PNUE/PAM/Plan Bleu 2009, 62).

16 cerebrovascular, respiratory, metabolic, or psychiatric diseases. Agriculture will be affected more than other economic sectors by the GCC. Firstly, the vegetal period will start earlier than usual, but its duration could be reduced because of the early advent of the dry season. Secondly, the rise in temperatures and the decrease in precipitation could determine a decrease in the yields of harvests (by 30 percent in some areas of North Africa), particularly of dry crops, and result in a further expansion of irrigated crops, but this, in turn, would increase the water deficit. Tourism will also be greatly affected by GCC, and the SEMC will once again be most affected. They will experience increasing difficulty to ensure the water supply necessary to satisfy the high consumption standards of a greater and greater number of tourists concentrated in areas that are already densely populated. In turn, the increased temperatures could impact negatively on the quality of the tourist experience, particularly on those visitors coming from central and , who prefer dry spots with temperatures of 20–25 °C (Lise and Tol 2003), so that GCC could make the Mediterranean regions less attractive. These difficulties will further increase if serious international tensions arises over competition between the SEMC for the control of water resources. Finally, it is not possible to neglect the negative effects on tourism deriving from the more and more widespread and intense coastal erosion, leading to the gradual disappearance of natural environments of great tourist attraction (Sterr et al. 2003), the reduction of the length, the deterioration of the quality of marine waters, and the increased presence of algae and (Travers et al. 2010). On the contrary, it is also true that in some areas the climatic changes could favour the extension of the tourist season in the autumn and spring months, so that some resorts might compensate for the minor summer fluxes with major arrivals in these middle seasons of tourists coming from Euro-Atlantic regions, who, while they may not be so young, they are likely to have good spending capacity (Perry 2003). As we know, some drainage areas and aquifer systems lie in the territory of more than one country, and the expected growing water deficit could have two opposite outcomes. One could consist of a strengthening of collaboration in order to increase inter-exchange; a second, on the contrary, could result in an increase of competition to secure water resources, with the consequent heightening of tensions as mentioned above. The problem is quite widespread, but if only the main rivers are considered it has particular relevance in the Iberian , where Spain and share the basin of three of their main rivers, in the Balkan countries, in the Middle East between Egypt and Libya because of the possible exploitation of fossil water from the latter, which

17 would cause a lowering of the Nile water table and consequently major water stress in Egypt, and finally between Algeria and Tunisia, which share the Medjerda basin.

The politics of intervention, from national and regional scales to trans-Mediterranean cooperation

The answers to these complex problems can be found on two distinct but interconnected levels: that of national and regional politics on the one hand and that of international cooperation politics on the other. In both cases, we have to face great difficulties, both political and deriving from the size of the necessary economic resources. To these others must be added the absence of adequate methodologies of analysis and evaluation of the risks and opportunities connected to the environmental changes and the need to give coherent answers with local specificities. In any case, the goals will include: the improvement of efficiency and the reduction of leaks of capture and distribution in water networks, the fight against indiscriminate and illegal withdrawals, a more rational use of water resources, improvement of skills and qualifications at management level, and the awakening of the population to the consequences of waste. In agriculture, the re-use of waters will need to be improved and the introduction of more efficient techniques of irrigation (such as the drop irrigation) will be necessary. Other measures concern changes in rotation of crops, the introduction of varieties and species more suitable to the new climatic conditions, more widespread collecting of rain waters, and the preservation of flood-prone and humid areas (Bullet 2008). The urgency and relevance – also in economic terms – of the environmental problems triggered by GCC and the difficulties that every country (but especially the SEMC) faces to find a solution demand international collaboration. As a matter of fact, programs aimed at collaborating in the management of water resources, desertification18, and volcanic and telluric risk, and the dissemination of scientific and technical knowledge have in recent decades begun to be part of the international politics of the Mediterranean countries. While the first projects were uncoordinated within a unique frame, more systematic

18 In this respect it is desirable that the Mediterranean countries assume the principles and the objectives that have been specified since 1997 by the Convention of United Nations on Desertification to which the collaboration between NMC and SEMC must be inspired.

18 initiatives have followed as a consequence of the adoption of the Mediterranean Action Plan (MAP) within the United Nations Environment Plan – UNEP. The goal of these initiatives was to select and recommend some instruments of collaboration aimed at addressing the main and more serious forms of pollution that were appearing on a Mediterranean scale and which may have led, without adequate measures, to the ecological collapse of the basin (Spotorno 2008). The most important step in this direction was made in 1976 in with the approval of the Convention for the Protection of the Mediterranean Sea against Pollution. The UNEP/MAP and the have been, since the beginning of the nineties, the international legal framework of trans-Mediterranean collaboration in the field of marine protected areas and coastal zone integrated management. In 1993, after the conclusions of the Rio Conference of 1992, the Barcelona Convention and MAP were updated with the extension of their application to the economic field. The following year in , the text of Med 21 Agenda was approved. It established the roadmap for sustainable development of the Mediterranean area. Two years later, in 1996, once again in Barcelona, the Convention on the Protection of the Marine Environment and the Coastal Region of the Mediterranean Sea and a new MAP version were approved. The E.U. adopted the E.U. Action Plan on Climate Change and Development 2004–2008, whose aim was to assist its members and the MAP partner countries not belonging to the Union in the effort to ‘meet the challenges posed by climate change through supporting them to implement the UNFCCC and the Kyoto Protocol’ (Travers et al. 2010, 49). However, in 2007, most of the objectives of both the Conventions and the different programs were still far from being reached. It is not surprising that in 2008 the Mediterranean countries, in order to limit the growing vulnerability of the coastal areas and to protect the shores from deterioration resulting from destructive use of their richness, considered it necessary to sign a new protocol on integrated coastal zone management. Unfortunately, in 2009 only France and had ratified it (AEA– UNEP/PAM 2006). As well as political inactivity, two other factors have limited the operating capacity of the initiatives so far undertaken. The first is the difference between the scale to which the Conventions and the framework programs refer and that in which individual local actors work. The second is the non-introduction ‘of social behaviour into the framework of environmental protection’ (Giaccaria 1998, 47). To come to the point, it must be considered that, in spite of the time that has passed since the first forms of trans- Mediterranean collaboration in the environmental field, we are still very far from reaching the goals that had previously been fixed.

19 To sum up, all the factors and dynamics so far considered highlight the importance of local specificities, which contribute to a variety of landscapes that differentiate this area from the wide homogeneous geographical spaces surrounding the Mediterranean region and provide its richness and unique beauty. Like in a fractal set, the Mediterranean environment also yields a kaleidoscope of images, similar but never identical if considered at greater and greater scales. But perhaps the most relevant limit of environmental politics so far has been its sharp economic – and so homogenizing – logic, incompatible with the multiform variety of socio-cultural and productive systems that for centuries have guaranteed the difficult equilibrium between natural conditions and exploitation of environmental resources.

20 B – Balcani/Balkans

Roberto Romano and Sergio Zilli

In the beginning there was a mistake

Our starting point is whether and how to read, and therefore to recount, the Balkans geographically. When we talk about reading, we necessarily refer to a set of signs, words, and names of which we know the meanings and through which we broadcast news and events, and which enable us to talk about anything at all. Every map is made of signs, and semiotics tells us that every object, when it is perceived as such, assumes the value of sign. Eco clearly attests it: “The sign stands for something that is its object” (Eco 1974, 136). But when this sign does not correspond to the object because the object does not exist, what can we do? That is exactly the case with the map of the Balkans. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Alexander von Humboldt published Ansichten der Natur (von Humboldt 1808); some years later Einleitung zur allgemeinen Vergleichenden Geographie by Carl Ritter (Ritter 1817–18) was released. From that moment, geography has never been the same: we started to pay attention to the landscape. In 1852, the geographer of Die Erdkunde (Ritter 1852) created modern geography, which substitutes historical or political divisions for those based on natural factors, as appropriate to the “human point of view” (Ritter 1852, cited in Farinelli 2003, 7). Once, it was common to choose names that corresponded to the major geographical features, especially mountain ranges, but at that time the relief of the Balkan Peninsula were not well known. In fact, back in the time of Strabo and Ptolemy, it was drawn and described on the maps as a chain of mountains that crossed the entire peninsula from East to West, from the Black Sea to the Alps. This relief was defined as Catena Mundi, linking the Southern Balkan countries (Greece, , ) with the Northern ones. During the Renaissance, its name was changed to Central Chain and this caption accompanied all the tables until the nineteenth century, when two explorers denied its existence. Over time and with the full knowledge of the European reliefs, the classical nomenclature was replaced: the principal orographic

21 node, the Sarplanina, was named Scardus and the chain that goes up to the Black Sea was called Orbelus, of Rhodope and Haemus. Only thanks to Ami Buoé’s (Buoé 1840) and Auguste Viquesnel’s (Viquesnel 1868) travels was it realized that the great central chain did not exist and that, conversely, the peninsula was cut from North to South, not only by valleys, but also by the Morava–Vardar hollow. Despite the findings of the two explorers, the Central Chain continued to be shown on maps until 1870 (Cvijic 1918, 3). From this error derives the current name of the Balkan Peninsula. The Eastern part of the Central Chain was defined, as we mentioned, Haemus. This name indicates the reliefs not very far from , and consequently it was often mentioned by classical and Byzantine writers as the best-known part of the chain. The explorers who travelled these lands learned that the classic Haemus was called Balcan and, inspired by the false conception of the Catena Mundi or central chain, the geographer August Zeune gave the peninsula the name of Balkan Peninsula: Balkanhalbinsel or Haemushalbinsel (Zeune 1811; see also Cvijic 1918; Todorova 1997). Since then, the name Balkan – which means mountain in Turkish – has been used to indicate the entire Eastern part of Europe. It is probable that the explorers, starting with Ami Buoé (Buoé 1840), had heard of this term from their Turkish guide, and they used it to indicate the Western part of the range (the Turks used the word Balkan for every mountain whose name they did not know (Cvijic 1918, 4-5). Gradually the name Balkan became commonly accepted and used as a geographical signifier to indicate a precise area of Europe, and it absorbed more and more a political, social and cultural acceptance that expanded far beyond its immediate and real meaning. The term Balkan is a common name for something that cannot be used in a speech that uses symbolic and shared tools, namely the geographical map or the route map. As the language in it is neither verbal nor nonverbal, but different, and there is a key on the map, a metaphor cannot exist on paper. On that note, in fact, the relationship between the name and the object is always one-to-one, everything corresponds to one single word and to each word corresponds one single object; that is, all names are proper names and their meaning is given once for all and for anyone and in any situation, regardless of the context (Farinelli 2003, 79, 38). This is the cause of confusion between common names and toponyms, deriving from the fact that the sign does not correspond to the object because the object does not exist. Therefore if there are not common names on the map, the map of Balkans is wrong. But if the map is not real, does the same go for the borders?

22 Errata

If only it was easy to show the geographical borders of the Peninsula, now that the map of the Balkans has been shelved. If, by some remote chance, we asked every inhabitant of the area in question what are the boundaries of the Balkan Peninsula, the answer would very probably be similar to the story told by Predrag Matvejevic to Maurizio Bait:

according to the Germans the Balkans begin from Salzburg, but according to the Austrians it is on the ridge of Karavanke that this difficult world starts out. The Slovenes have no doubt: the Balkans begin in . The Croats swear that the Balkans go down below . In Belgrade there is a widespread belief that the Balkan Peninsula is the Hellas and perhaps Macedonia. The , finally, show that the Balkans do not exist (Bait 2004, 42–43).

To be more precise, the Balkans begin exactly from the border of my nation, that is, my country is not included. Nevertheless, geographers agree that the peninsula has well-defined boundaries, especially in the East, in the South and in the West, as it is lapped by the Adriatic, Aegean, and Black Seas. But is this true? We try to let geographers speak just like by Antoine De Saint-Exupery when he arrives on the planet inhabited by “an old gentleman who wrote enormous books” (De Saint Exupery 1943, 73). According to Cvijic, putting aside the problem of the Eastern, Southern, and Westhern borders, the and Sava rivers should be considered good Northern borders, and then we exclude . Furthermore, the Serbian geographer includes the present Croatia and Slovenia in the Balkan civilization, citing political and anthropological criteria (Cvijic 1918, 6). In 1916, I led Jacques Ancel to travel the length and breadth of the Balkan peninsula following his enrolment in the Armee d’ (Ancel 1930; George 1930, 6). Perhaps Ancel’s geographical vocation was born out of this raw experience, from the direct observation of the irrational fights between the inhabitants of those places in search of a proper identity and, above all, of the limits of their lands. With this observation, the ‘sniper’ Ancel (George 1930, 7) begins to speak of geopolitical boundaries starting right from the Northern lines, identified with the Danube, which wasn’t considered as a boundary but as a point of contact, a bond that joins the European lands because the borders are nothing more than circumstantial conventions ruled for too long by diplomats and cartographers. George Hoffman, on the contrary, used primarily geopolitical criteria

23 that reflected the period of the (Hoffman 1963). He defined as exclusively Balkan only Albania, , and Yugoslavia, while Greece1 and Romania could be included in speech about the whole Balkan area, but he did not consider them. was another matter because although it was deeply influenced by the history of the Balkans, it had really close ties with Central Europe, and these can be found also in the customs that the scholar defined as Western. Moreover, he did not mention either Slovenia or Croatia – both absent at the time as they were a national entity – because they were legitimately included in the original core of the Balkan (Hoffman 1963, 9–11). Generally, scholars of the Balkans distinguish between a geographic definition of the area in a physical sense, and another one used for practical purposes. The first recognizes as secure Eastern, Southern, and Western borders the Black Sea, the , the Aegean, the Mediterranean, and the Ionian and Adriatic seas. The Northern boundary starts from the North-Eastern extremity of the Adriatic, then rises through the Julian Alps to join the Sava and the Danube. Therefore it follows that many geographers also treat as Balkans the Dobrogea region of Romania and European Turkey, in addition to the undisputed states of Albania, Bulgaria, Greece, and all the countries of the former Yugoslavia. Others tend to include the whole of Romania, but not Turkey (Todorova 2002, 59). An interesting study on Austrian politics, led by Tomas Masaryk and introduced immediately after the in , underlined that until the first conflict it was believed that the Balkans did not include Romania, rarely included Greece, and almost never Bosnia, Herzegovina, and (Masaryk 1914). This situation changed after the Second Balkan War: the peninsula widened, and included both Romania and Greece. Continuing with all due precautions, we intend to follow precisely the puzzle of the states that compose the peninsula as suggested by Masaryk. In fact, the balkanicity of some regions appears to have declined according to different aspects (physical, economic) and senses (epistemological, historical, political, and even moral for some) (Todorova 2002), but today these specificities are perhaps not as decisive as in the past. Before continuing, then, we must return to the end of the nineteenth century, at the beginning of the period of balkanization.

1Concerning Greece, Hoffman argued that it was a Mediterranean country and only its regions of Thrace and Macedonia could be included in the Balkan peninsula.

24 Balkanize it

The most used word that comes from Balkan is, at present, ‘balkanization’. By the end of the 19th century, the term Balkan had lost its purely geographical connotation and it acquired a political meaning, indicating the States which emerged from the break-up of the : Greece, Serbia, , Romania, and Bulgaria. The term balkanization generally indicates an unstable situation that involves the nationalistic fragmentation of the old geographical and political units into new small and precarious national entities. The fragmentation of Europe occurred with the dissolution of two empires, the Habsburg empire and the Romanov’s Russian empire, leaving space and sovereignty to states such as , , Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania, and leading to the map of the continent being redrawn. This fragmentation resembled that which had affected the Ottoman Empire, and it was not regarded as a positive model; thus the term balkanization took on a negative connotation. At the end of the Great War, the term balkanization appeared for the first time. On 20th December 1918, the New York Times published an interview with Walter Rathenau, then sponsor of the German electrical company AEG, under the title “Rathenau, head of the big industries requires the Balkanization of Europe” (Todorova 2002, 64). He used this term, as the prime mover of the idea of an economic union in Central Europe, just to indicate the future disastrous conditions as a consequence of the heavy post-war sanctions imposed on Germany. The use of the word evidently had no connection with the Balkans, but the media used it to delineate a catastrophic perspective. The choice was, therefore, a key to spreading the fear of a new conflict between the East and the West by reason of a hypothetical migration, due to the sanctions of Versailles, to , to the , and to Soviet territories. The first deep consideration of the term balkanization is thanks to Paul Scott Mowrer, the European correspondent of the Chicago Daily News (Mowrer 1921). In the pages of his book, which analyzed the situation in from Austria to Greece, he named this slice of the continent a balkanized area. Using this term, he meant to indicate the creation, in an area composed of many blended races, of a set of small states with populations not very economically evolved and financially weak, which are frightened and constantly prey to the subjugations of more powerful countries. Moreover, as already pointed out by the war correspondent of the Kievskaya Mysl (Kiev Thought) Leon Trotsky (Trotsky 1926) almost a decade before, the phenomenon of foreign interference in Balkan affairs was not a new issue. The term balkanization became part of the journalistic and political

25 lexicon, but its clearance has somewhat disturbing results. Meanwhile, the international unrest in the Balkans grew, and the idea that the peninsula was characterized by groundless violence spread. That was enough to inspire Agatha Christie, the undisputed queen of British mystery novels, to write The Secret of Chimneys (Christie 1925). The story begins with a young adventurer, Anthony Cade, whose friend Jimmy McGrath sets him two tasks before returning to England: to return some letters to a certain Virginia Revel and to deliver the memoirs of Count Stylptich to a publisher. After accepting, Anthony leaves for the motherland, where, despite himself, he becomes involved in a story of espionage, murder, and robbery, all in the shadow of the English castle of Chimneys. In the story, the evil and grim character of Boris Anchoukoff, depicted with Slavic traits, stands out. He is the servant of Prince Michael, the murdered owner of the castle of Chimneys, and during a conversation with the police we discover that, as a good Balkan, he is burning with desire to revenge his master. The policeman is shocked and calls him a bandit, as indeed are all the inhabitants of Erzoslovacchia. This country, invented by the British author, is described geographically: its capital is Ekarest and it is rich in rivers and mountains; the population is made up of uncivilized outlaws whose hobby is to assassinate the king and to start revolutions. It is a real Balkan country, although it is invented. The stereotype of the Balkans persisted and spanned the whole century, while balkanization was also used to talk about situations that had nothing to do with the area. William E.B. Du Bois showed that it was being used to perpetuate a feeling of doom through the unlucky people of the world and to indicate the practice with which the Western powers held in check poor countries under their sphere of influence (Du Bois 1945). It was also used to describe the situation of African and colonies where journalists could see all the prerequisite factors for a new conflict. In recent times, its use has been further expanded: in January 2007, the British Prime Minister Gordon Brown spoke of the balkanization of the in the face of Scotland’s push for independence (Cowell 2007), and a few years before that the British gay rights activist Andrew Sullivan used the words cultural balkanization to indicate the fragmentation of American society on the topic of homosexuality (Sullivan 2000).

Homo homini balkanicus

In Balkan Bang, the debut novel by Alberto Custerlina, it is imagined that the first Balkan War broke out in a bar, because of a brawl between Croatian Serbs and Bulgarians after a few too many drinks (Custerlina

26 2008), while eighty years before, another writer had told something similar (Lyall 1930). In both cases, the homo balkanicus is prone to criminal and felonious actions, he’s quarrelsome as few others are, and he is an exegete in the cult of firearms. But is that true? According to a statement attributed to Winston Churchill, the Balkans produce more history than they can digest, but are we sure that it is indeed the Balkans who chew this story? To answer this question, we need to retrace the entire history of the Balkan Peninsula, which is not possible here, but it may be indicative to glance at the most recent period and observe its country symbol, Yugoslavia. For the nations that composed Yugoslavia after 1945, there were 45 years of isolated life in common (compared to the other Balkan states), with a sometimes enforced domestic coexistence, until 1980, when Tito was critically hospitalized in Klinični Ljubljana with circulation problems in his legs. His left leg was amputated, and shortly after, besides his own balance, that of Yugoslavia and the Balkans entered a crisis. Josip Broz died on 4th May 1980, and shortly after, when the state economy collapsed, the civil war began, first with the Albanian minority in , then in the major republics. In 1991, Slovenia declared its independence, coming out from the federation after a brief conflict with the federal army (War of the ten days). In the same year, Croatia also declared itself independent, but only after a bloody war. The following year, Macedonia and Bosnia-Herzegovina proclaimed their independence (Pirjevec 2001), and in the latter country began a bloody civil war in which nationalist Serbian, Croatian, and Bosnian Muslim gangs came up against each other, driven by a deep ethnic hatred (see URBICIDIO). In 1992, the only two republics (Serbia and Montenegro) remaining in the Federation reformed the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, but they were immediately hit by an embargo from the ONU, which lasted until 1995, because of their role in the Bosnian civil war. Meanwhile, the push for autonomy in Kosovo in 1998 became more pressing, and the Federal President Slobodan Milosevic began a systematic repression against political and national opponents. The following year NATO bombed Yugoslavia (Operation Allied Force), and it stopped only after the full withdrawal of the army from Kosovo. In 2003, the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia became a federation, taking the name of Serbia and Montenegro, but three years later Montenegro gained independence through a referendum. In 2008, Kosovo also declared its independence, but since it has been recognized only by 75 UN nations, it is still dependent on the Serbs and the UN. While the history of the peninsula continued to balkanize itself, in 1981, Greece became the first country in the Peninsula to join the EEC, adopting the euro in 2002. The next country to join the European Union was Slovenia in 2004 (Parere 2006), and three years later it

27 adopted the euro as its currency instead of the old tolar, while at the same time Romania and Bulgaria were admitted into the European Union (European Commission, 2006). Today, Croatia and Serbia are seeking to join, and the arrests of Stojan Župljanin (fugitive since 2001) in June 2008, Radovan Karadzic in July 2008, Ratko Mladic in May 2011, and Goran Hadžić in the following July demonstrate their willingness to join the European ‘dream’.

Balkan China

China’s boundaries, as far as small and medium companies in are concerned, are the Sant’Andrea border crossing in Gorizia or the Fernetti border crossing in Trieste. If the Cathay seemed so far to Marco Polo and unreachable for Christopher Columbus, today China, the European one, is just around the corner – East of the NorthEast. This is not a new and absurd map, it is a metaphor that illustrates how the European Union (and not its individual countries) could soar into the Balkans. From the nineties onward, small and medium enterprises (SMEs), including Italian ones, have tried to remain in the market in different ways, and they sometimes maintain intricate and unstable positions (see SCAMBI). Economic globalization, in fact, compromised their stability, and to compensate for that they tried to find new directions and new places where the rate of profit was more financially satisfying than in the home country. If in fact big companies move to the Far East to be more competitive, European companies, especially Italian ones, find new life for their own business in the former Yugoslavia. This is because the labor cost in those areas is about one fifth of the average in Western Europe. In China and in India the prices are much lower, but SMEs cannot afford the transport costs to lands so far away, and the cost and time for integration are still very high. This trend has been underway for several years and is well documented. The majority of SMEs interested in the Balkan countries are those specialized in the manufacturing sector (Battocletti 2006). According to the Institute for Foreign Trade, there is a strong presence of tanning, leather, footwear, and leather goods industries, followed by food, tobacco, textiles, and knitwear (ICE 2011a, 2011b, 2011c, 2011d). There is a lower engraftment for the timber industry and its products and for the engineering and ceramics sectors. This type of outsourcing can help to restore competitiveness, costs, and market allowances at lEast in the short term. This is not a horizontal outsourcing but a vertical one. That is to say that when a company decides to invest in the Balkans, it usually does not completely transfer the overseas. The headquarters, in most cases, remain in Italy, while in Yugoslavia the

28 production usually involves semifinished or medium–low quality products, so that the skilled workforce remains in our country. We must, in fact, distinguish between the different areas that already belong to Yugoslavia, because individual states are involved to various degrees as not all of them have entered the EU. Slovenia and Croatia, for example, have now passed the first phase of relocation and they are maturing as markets (ICE 2001b). The Southern areas, such as Serbia and Montenegro, are very attractive because of low labor costs and a growing political stabilization in the area after the ravages of recent wars (ICE 2011c, 2011d). Serbia is surely the country that has witnessed a significant increase in Italian investments in the last three years. This Balkan region, together with Montenegro, has the largest number of Italian companies’ outsourced workers and in fact its government is introducing reforms to attract many European companies. The regulatory system is being adjusted to European standards and a process is being trigged to allow strong tax breaks. Due to unemployment (the rate fluctuates around 20%), the cost of work can be very low and the population easily accept wages that are low in relation to the European Union standard (Istituto 2011). Today, many European countries seem to have realized the convenience of investing in the Balkans, and several of them have a strong presence there in many fields. With regards to Italy, the trend showed a sharp rise between 2001 and 2006. During that time, according to ISTAT, 9.9% of Italian firms with at lEast 50 workers moved abroad activities or functions previously carried out in Italy (ISTAT 2008, 2). It is not only industry that is relocating. Now there are numerous cases of leading Italian call center offices in Romania and Bulgaria, where the telephonists are local people who underwent intensive Italian language training and are paid about a third of what the Italian workers earn (Turato 2002). The relocation process has consequences also in terms of protecting the rights of workers, and it is a complex challenge for trade unions. In addition to Fiat, there are several cases of Italian brands that are moving abroad all or almost all of their production cycle, and also many foreign companies (Glaxo, Global Service, Sidel, and Spx are the most recent cases) have abandoned business in Italy to move to the Balkans. The conquest of the Balkans is not exclusively limited to the productive sector, but it has also extended to the banking system. Consider the acquisition of Delta Bank, a giant bank from Serbia, by Banca Intesa, (the acquisition of UPI Bank Bosnia is also being finalized), while UniCredit is present in several countries due to the merger with Germany’s HVB (Ferrazzi 2010).

29 The Bridge on the Drina

Towards the end of the last century, the European Union introduced many initiatives, some of which had a great impact on the map of the new enlarged Europe and, therefore, on the Balkans. In view of the enlargement, which increased the number of member countries to 27 between 2004 and 2007, Brussels initiated the implementation of actions called Ten-T (Trans-European Transport Network) for the construction of a modern network of rail, sea, and river communications that could connect the whole of Europe (ISTAT 2008). Within the programme, there are the ten Pan-European multimodal corridors that support the structure of the new model of continental interchange. The Pan- European Conference in (1994) defined the first nine corridors, while that of Helsinki (1997) identified the tenth. In addition, in Helsinki, extensions to the initial projects were decided, based on a grid pattern, to connect the areas that gravitate around the corridors to the layout. So all that part of the continent that was opposed to the Western system until 1989 should be joined to the main axes of transportation and communication. This would set up a system of penetration in all markets that already gravitate into the Soviet system, so besides ensuring communication between Western Europe and the Middle East, it also permits a link between Germany and Turkey. The pan-European corridors restore the links between East and West, but they are also part of an even broader and more ambitious project, that is the pan-European transport network (Fig.1). The importance of the individual routes is certainly defined by the territory they pass through. Corridor 1 is appealing to the Baltic countries, and its importance lies in the connection of Baltic and Polish industries with the rest of Europe. Corridor 2 connects Berlin with Moscow, passing through the upper part of the continent. Corridor 3 runs parallel to the previous one, but in a Southward direction, going from Dresden, Germany, to Kiev, . Corridor 4, the North-South backbone, goes from Germany to the port of Constanza on the Black Sea, avoiding the former Yugoslavia and its conflicts. Corridor 5 should link the Adriatic and its various Italian, Slovenian, and Croat ports to the Balkan Peninsula inland. This also constitutes the natural continuation of the high-capacity rail line that should arrive from Barcelona to Kiev through an Italian high-density production area. The sixth one is the Polish Corridor and it is a connector between axes 5, 4, and 1 on the . The Danube (Corridor 7) is perhaps the richest ‘way’ in the history of the entire Eastern Europe, and the cheapest, as the cost of shipping by barge is a third of that by road or by rail. Corridor 8 joins along an East-West axis the Black Sea with the Adriatic, and it has the ports of Durres in Albania and Varma in Bulgaria as extremities. Its importance

30 is demonstrated by the fact that its continuation is planned up to and to the former Soviet oil and gas market. Corridor 9 links the Baltic Sea with the Aegean, from Helsinki to Alexandroupolis, through St. Petersburg, Moscow, Kiev, Bucharest, and Dimitrovgrad. In this last town of Southern Bulgaria, three main pan-European lines, axes 9, 8, and 4, will meet. The history of Corridor 10, which was added to the nine originally planned only at a later stage, is closely intertwined with the events in Former Yugoslavia: until the end of political and military instability of those territories, every link between the Mediterranean and Central and Eastern Europe was to circumvent the boundaries in order to extend the paths. With the achievement of an inner peace, even in terms of politics, all the parts of the Balkan Peninsula can be quickly connected to each other to complete the network of connections with the central part of the European continent, particularly by combining the Greek ports with the German- speaking countries. The representation on paper of the network of corridors decided by the European Union shows how the crossing of the Balkan Peninsula is functional to a precise idea of development in which the rest of the continent is a market to penetrate or an obstacle to be overcome in order to connect more distant markets. In fact, six of the ten axes (nos. 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, and 10) cross the Balkans, totally or partially, and from these, further branches that will cover other parts of the territory are foreseen. In particular, Corridor 5 is going to become the East-West connection to the South of the Alps, as it is important for the development of the countries of Central and Eastern Europe and it foresees the strengthening of the existing road and railway structures, the construction of new infrastructure, and the dissolution of various knots which are currently holding up some . Its political significance lies in an opportunity for economic growth for new EU members that are still in the expansion phase, and simultaneously it provides a strong incentive for investment in European companies in that part of Central and Eastern Europe. The corridor is of great importance for all countries crossed directly by it – Italy, Slovenia, Hungary, Croatia, , Ukraine, Bosnia – but also, in the next step, for those neighbors who will indirectly benefit from improved infrastructure, especially in connection with the corridors that go South (4, 7, and 10). Among these, axis 10 has just assumed a central role in the road network after the conclusion of the war events and the ‘normalization’ policy of the countries of former Yugoslavia. Its way should follow a direction from Salzburg to , passing through Ljubljana, Zagreb, Belgrade, Nis, and Skopje, with a total length of 1,500 km.

31

Figure 1 – The Pan-European corridors

Source: authors’ elaboration

The construction of this infrastructure links Central Europe to the Middle East waters, and through its branches it radiates towards the whole peninsula. It is therefore a formidable junction between different places but also a major route of entry for products coming from more

32 advanced regions (Western Europe) and emerging ones (China, India) in the growing markets. The entry – at different times and with different modalities – of many of these countries into the European Union demonstrates the (unconfessed) desire of control of the Balkan by State leaders. Corridor 7 is a different matter altogether, because it corresponds to the stream of the Danube, Europe’s second longest river (2,500 km) and one of the main arteries of communication in the history of the continent, along which there are 44 internal ports in addition to the one located at the outfall, Constance. Moreover, its use is linked with the historical connection network of the Balkans, since over the centuries the river hasn’t represented a sharp inner boundary, as suggested by Jovan Cvijic (1918), but a continuous network that connects nations and territories. The connection of this great natural axis with other rail and road corridors is of great importance in ensuring interconnectivity and intermodality to the entire network, and it allows the use of modern network infrastructures together with the recovery of the historical ones. At the same time, it has great symbolic significance because it confirms the value of water as a means of contact and connection and it also permits the restoration of the environment of one of the most important European natural resources. This represents one of the great challenges of the following years, as navigation is still hampered by obstacles and bottlenecks that trap the full potential of the river. It is necessary indeed, at certain points, to increase the depth of draft and the widening of the river bed, to modernize ports, and fleets, to rationalize port operations, and to adapt to common standards of institutional and normative regulations (Manzin 2011). However, in addition to these problems related to navigation, there’s another important challenge: the environmental degradation of the Danube and of the Black Sea requires actions of great cultural and financial commitment. In the last decade, several initiatives have been launched nationally and internationally, but the actions taken so far have been insufficient to resolve the present situation and the related health problems. During various meetings (Rotterdam 2001, Vienna 2002, Bucharest 2004) it was decided that the Danube, as an economic and ecological means of transport, must be used at full capacity to ensure a more harmonious development of the involved countries. However, market and environmental protection get along with difficulty.

A new Koiné? (a century and a half later)

The scene is not new, it refers to a painting. Around the table in Berlin were gathered the great leaders of the old continent, and the men

33 portrayed in this painting decide the fate of the new Europe. The object of contention is the Balkan Peninsula and the date is July 13th, 1878. On the left, sitting in the armchair, is the Russian Foreign Minister Gorchakov who rests his hand on the arm of an elegant person, the British Prime Minister Disraeli, whose expression seems to be worried. Two Austrians stand aside: the diplomat Alajos Károlyi (in the foreground with the boots) and the Minister of Foreign Affairs Haymerle. On the right, on this side of the table, the German politician Bernhard Ernst von Bülow is seated. Beside the table, the Turkish delegates are in passionate discussion. Among them, laterally, there is the British Conservative Salisbury, and to his left, leaning, the first Turkish delegate Alexandros Karatheodorìs, who tries to prove his position. In the foreground there are three characters talking to each other. The moment is solemn: the signature of the Treaty. The Hungarian Andrássy looks estranged from the conversation as he witnesses history motionless. Pëtr Andreevič Šuvalov, a Russian diplomat, shakes hands with our man. At the center of the stage, there’s the German chancellor Otto von Bismarck, the mediator and guarantor of the Congress, self-confident, taller than all the others, and he responds to the handshake. The agreement is signed.

Figure 2 – Bismarck’s Balkans

Source: Ward et al. 1912

34

Under the leadership of Bismarck, the Congress managed to ease tensions in the Balkan regions subject to the Turkish domain (Bosnia, Herzegovina, Bulgaria), which had resulted in the war between and the Sublime Porte (1877–1878). The battle ended with the (1878) and it established the secure political influence of Russia on the Balkans. Of course the powerful European countries (particularly Austria-Hungary and Great Britain) reacted by pushing the German Chancellor to convene a new conference in Berlin. Russian victories were scaled down: Romania, Serbia, Montenegro, and Bulgaria remained independent, with the territorial losses of the pro-Russian Bulgarians; Bosnia-Herzegovina was given to the Habsburgs in temporary administration; Cyprus was given to the British; Russia acquired only (Fig. 2). The reason that Bismarck accepted this role of mediator and guarantor in the Balkans lies in the new role of Germany within the European chessboard of the end of the century. Like all the greatest statesmen, Bismark announced, after the proclamation of the Reich and his appointment as chancellor, that the new empire would never try to impose its supremacy over other territories, as Germany had before concluded its colonialist phase. But to consolidate the strategic position of the Prussian Empire, he necessarily had to face threats coming from the interest that other countries (mainly Austria and Russia) showed in the Balkan Peninsula. For this reason the Chancellor reinstated the so- called concert of powers through which the representatives had to seek diplomatic solutions such as treaties, conventions, and conferences, instead of making war and using force immediately, in case of collision or conflict with each other. Today the Bismarckian testament seems to be back in vogue thanks to the Bundeskanzlerin Angela Merkel, after it was buried for the most part of the twentieth century, laid to rest with the two World Wars, and kept hidden from the Ich bin ein Berliner pronounced by John F. Kennedy in 1963. Once again, a German Chancellor mediates between the West and the East side of the continent. If Anton von Werner had to paint an updated version of his 1881 painting, he would definitely replace Bismark with Merkel, shaking hands with Putin, while behind them we would see the same round table with representatives of EU countries deciding whether or not to admit Serbia into the European assembly. The German position concerning what is not European is clear: there will be no further enlargement of the EU after the entry of Croatia in 2013, at lEast until Europe solves its financial problems and the Balkans, especially Serbia, sort their nodes (also Montenegro, which has recently obtained the status of official candidate country, will have to wait before crossing the Community finish line).

35 Kosovo is well worth a Mass? This is the question that the EU mediated by Merkel poses to the President of Serbia Boris Tadic. The Chancellor asked the former centre of the Federal Republic of Marshal Tito to dismantle parallel institutions (schools, police, banks, and government), with which Belgrade firmly controls Northern Kosovo, in which Serbians are the large majority. Without this, there will be no Europe. In that case, the arrest of Ratko Mladic and Goran Hadzic would have no value. Belgrade would be called very soon to a very hard choice, which isn’t at all obvious because the states of the Balkan Peninsula in their long history have never let themselves be tamed by the powers of the old European countries, nor by Russia, nor by the Ottomans. But there is also another reason that makes Serbia’s choice more difficult. In the painting by Anton von Werner, Alexandros Karatheodorìs was the representative of the Ottoman Empire and today Turkey is excluded from the European table, despite the consolidation of its influence on the Balkan countries, which has been strengthened over the past two years, even under the European immobility. Recep Tayyip Erdogan, the current Turkish Prime Minister, who is sure of the centrality of his country, relaunches the neo-Ottoman project to draw to itself the countries of the former Yugoslavia, as the recent visits (Kosovo, Serbia, and Bosnia) of the Minister for Foreign Affairs in , Ahmet Davutoglu, seem to testify (Ansaldo 2011). If Merkel and consequently Europe point to Zagreb, and penalize Belgrade because of a stall on Kosovo, Erdoğan bets on Serbia, the heart of the Balkans, and he is convinced that the country could provoke the normalization of the peninsula once under Ottoman control. And then we come back to 1878, at the . Again Germany mediates, but there are old ghosts that roam around the European Union. The inclination towards Croatia of Bundeskanzlerin could feed the old Serbian nationalism because of the isolationism in which Europe is putting the former Tito’s country, giving Turkey a valuable opportunity to broaden its influence, not only to Belgrade but also to the entire arch beyond the Adriatic. The European painting becomes increasingly difficult to paint. The task that we had initially entrusted to Anton von Werner is now dark-tinged, and the bright colors of a magnificent past let shades of gray take their place; the chromatic vision of the nineteenth century surrenders to the harsh Realpolitik.

Under the bridge

Fernand Braudel thought of the Mediterranean Sea as a huge space in motion, like a giant circulation system consisting of liquid plains

36 communicating through ports, and so he declared the absolute correspondence between the waterways and the land routes (Braudel 1949; 1977). This means that to understand the whole (the Mediterranean) we have to deny the autonomy of the individual parts and to conceal their self-sufficiency for a common goal, that is to make mare nostrum really ours. Hence, perhaps, comes the denial, advanced by Pierre Deffontaines, of the existence of the Mediterranean as only one body and at the same time the certification that it is composed of a series of basins, each independent of each other, but linked by a common thread, sometimes more solid, sometimes more fragile (Deffontaines 1936). In this sense, today, to discuss the parts that surround the Mediterranean, especially in terms of what is happening in Europe, in the North East of Africa, and especially in the Balkans, we should discuss them separately and see which are the interests involved, and which are the perspectives. The point of view is that the Balkans, and therefore the relationship between them and the ‘old’ Mediterranean countries – an important piece in the – are dependent once again on the European Union, as the powerful countries of the past today reclaim their economical supremacy, and also on those who want to oppose it, as shown in the neo-Ottoman project. The Balkans, after being represented as a separate reality, following the end of the ‘second world’ they became a thorn in the side of the winning Western model, a new solid Mediterranean made of conflict and oppression, a trench where the West was not that involved in what was happening. The conclusion of the conflict, the power imposed from above, perhaps with ‘humanitarian’ wars, as the Italian Prime Minister D’Alema called the one against Serbia for Kosovo in 1999, led to the ultimate victory over the system that defeated communism and spread over all countries of the peninsula. The remoteness of Europe in the World Risiko game left to its main political entity, the European Union, the management of that space. But the Balkan countries cannot contribute much to the development of the old continent, if not for the fact that it constitutes a market in which to spread products. At the same time, however, the Balkans are a passageway for goods arriving from Europe, from the Mediterranean Sea, from Russia, and from the East. This space doesn’t need to be physically occupied to be managed, differently from what von Clausewitz stated: as long as control is exercised over the network of infrastructures that cross it (von Clausewitz 2009). Hence the network maze of European corridors that will envelop the entire Balkans and that will connect them eventually to the Mediterranean, after the ‘normalization’ of Serbia. But without the population involvement, those corridors are likely to be just straight lines drawn onto a map, which will only serve to control the territory as any straight line marked on a

37 map (Farinelli 2003). It’s a kind of geopolitical entertainment that doesn’t take the landscape into account and that is thrown into a crisis when it is forced to compare itself with local realities, such as the Danube, or Corridor 7, which dries up trapping the ships because it was left to its autonomous management (Manzin 2011). In this way the Balkans become a link between the West and the East. As with the story of the bridge on the Drina told by Ivo Andric, this takes many victims, both individuals and governmental entities (Andric 1960). But unlike in Visegrad, the Bosnian town where the novel is set, the social and cultural wealth of the involved communities doesn’t benefit from the construction of infrastructure, because the Balkan territories are considered only a crossing place. The Balkans are not the bridge, then, they’re the valley below, where inhabitants are forced to live under the arches of the viaduct, waiting for something that passes over their heads to reach them. A further step would be climbing the viaduct, or admission to the concert of Europe, but perhaps it is not by chance that Germany now slows down the process of EU enlargement, asserting that the integration of all the independent states of former Yugoslavia is no longer a priority, after it has accelerated the disintegration of Yugoslavia and after it has affirmed its leadership on economic and political countries born from it. Bismarck’s old saying that the Balkans are not worth the bones of one Pomeranian grenadier is no longer valid, and Germany, the true center of the European Union, both for investment and for political prestige, is very interested in the accession of the peninsula in the orbit of European interests (Tacconi 2011). By now, the European center of gravity has shifted towards the East, and the only task assigned to the Balkans is to let themselves be crossed. The various pieces of the puzzle of the former Yugoslavia will enter the European container in dribs and drabs, while no one wants to take responsibility for it, and over the rest of the Peninsula the interests of the European and the Turkish countries will play their special Risiko match. While, underneath, the Balkans will in some way survive.

38 C – Città/Cities

Raffaele Cattedra1, Francesca Governa and Maurizio Memoli

Introduction

The success of the ‘Mediterranean city’ paradigm is due to the convergence of a twofold process: on the one hand, the evolution of urban studies in relation to various academic knowledge (social sciences, especially history, geography, urban planning, and area studies, in particular the so-called ‘Orientalism’); on the other hand, the scientific and ideological process which led, in the second half of the 19th century, to the affirmation of the Mediterranean as a ‘new’ geographical object. A large number of works, with positivist and Cartesian approaches, led to the objectification and the justification of the ‘Mediterranean city’, both as a geographical model and as a specific urban unit, thus becoming a founding paradigm, though vulnerable. Using a deconstructive approach, we maintain that the ‘Mediterranean city’ is the result of a formulation that is powerfully linked to symbolic and mythological imagination. This ‘invention’, moreover, is relatively recent and does not follow a linear, mono-dimensional trajectory. It is only in the last four decades that geographical literature dealing with this subject has taken shape. This literature has expanded to the extent that it has become capable of legitimising the research field itself, as well as becoming a main issue for political-institutional debates. Drawing inspiration from Matvejević (1993), urban planner Alberto Clementi points out that “in relation to Mediterranean cities, it seems that everything has been already said”; therefore “the same imagery [...is] now saturated with conventional representations to the extent that they have become cliché” (1995, 267). Once we get rid of these stereotypical images, a number of issues and questions will arise. Is

1 The contributions of R. Cattedra were made within the framework of the ‘Return Drain’ program funded by the Italian Ministry of Education, University & Research (MIUR).

39 there really a Mediterranean city? Or should we rather say that this idea is the result of a “deliberate construction” and a “symbolic investment” which attempts to “suppress the tremendous multiplicity of social situations and the related forms of human agglomeration across the Mediterranean?” (Clementi 1995, 267). This chapter addresses these questions from a three-fold perspective: firstly, we will question the genesis and the socio-cultural construction of the ‘Mediterranean city’ paradigm in order to show its limitations and avatars, the latter referring to the power of its mythological dimension allowing representations in different guises; secondly, we will identify a number of social and spatial practices, pointing to the significance, appropriateness, and innovativeness of an alleged or possible contemporary ‘Mediterranean urbanity’; finally, we will scrutinize the ways in which the mainstream rhetoric on the Mediterranean identity constructs, nurtures, and justifies commonly held public discourses, policy initiatives, and urban plans relating to port-cities in the North and the South of the Mediterranean, particularly with reference to the regeneration of waterfronts.

The three images of the Mediterranean city

The paradigm of the Mediterranean city has historically developed along three lines of representation: the unitary image, that of divergence, and that of recomposition. Even though these three images can be ordered chronologically, they also appear to co-exist in contradictory forms at the same time (Cattedra 2010).

The unitary image

The Mediterranean city is unique, and it is a model. The first image is constructed by making reference to history, heritage, and legacy: in this context, the Mediterranean city plays a foundational role as an archetype of urban civilization. The notion of continuity, that is to say the importance of the longue durée, is the leitmotif here: historical continuity is viewed as the distinguishing feature of the Mediterranean urban model, referring to the reproduction of a historical legacy which gives rise to a shared identity. The ‘culturalist’ stereotype intimately associated with this approach came from the work of scholars such as Max Sorre and Jules Sion (1934), following the tradition of the geographical school led by Vidal de la Blache during the . The idea of long-term continuity also informs the work of Fernand Braudel (1977), which has inspired prominent historians such as Aymard, amongst others. Alongside the heritage dimension,

40 there is another key feature of Mediterraneanity in this strand of literature: the idea of the Mediterranean urban network as a permanence, which was one of the main concepts in Braudel’s work. Although Braudel (1949) believed that it was originally formulated by Lucien Febvre (1940), this idea was already present, several decades before, in the work of Elisée Reclus (1876) (Cattedra 2009). Drawing inspiration from this approach, which has been influential all through the 20th century, the specific features of Mediterranean human settlements can be associated with the relational networks nurtured by the ancient maritime routes: from the terrestrial itineraries at the time of the to those of contemporary international migration networks and immaterial flows, in which cities act as crucial nodes, points of departure and arrival. This Mediterranean network has the ability to organize relationships, establish hierarchies, reassert consolidated centralities or impose new ones, so that, according to Aymard, “the [Mediterranean] city does not arise from the countryside, but the other way around” (1977, 194). A third distinguishing feature of the unitary image is the geographical location and the urban form, which somehow reveals its deterministic approach, linking the morphology of settlements to the original acropolis, as it can be seen in several cities in this region (, , Barcelona, Sète, , , , , Izmir, , , ). From this perspective, the so-called ‘compact city’ is regarded by many authors as the essence of Mediterranean urbanity, originating from its Hippodamian model of spatial organization based on the distribution of public spaces (agora, forum, square, marketplace, etc.). From the social and cultural points of view, the unitary image is focused on two other items, strictly linked in a reciprocal relationship: universalism and cosmopolitanism. In the first case, the contribution of different traditionally located in the area plays a central role in identifying a common origin of the Mediterranean culture: the city becomes a palimpsest of dominations and mixtures. So Albert Memmi writes for Tunis:

And the list of her masters, when I came to know some history, made me giddy: Phoenicians, Romans, , Bizantine Greek, Berbers, , Spaniards, Turks, Italians, French-but I must be forgetting same and confusing others. Walk five hundred steps in my city and you change civilization […] (1955, 96-97).

Among the geographers, Vidal de la Blache was the first who outlined this aspect when he described, in 1873, what we could consider a sort of ‘crystallization’ of the myth of urban cosmopolitanism in the Mediterranean area at the end of the 19th century:

41 Marseille, , Alexandrie présentent, malgré la distance qui les sépare, le même spectacle: partout la vie et les affaires en plein air comme aux temps de l’agora, l’activité bruyante et le fourmillement d’une foule cosmopolite où se coudoient l’Orient et l’Occident; à vos oreilles résonnent les langues les plus diverses; et du milieu de ce Babel s’est dégagée une sorte de création bizarre, ce jargon arbitraire et composite qu’on a décoré du nom de langue franque (1873, 16).

Even before Braudel, Paul Valéry, in an essay of 1933 devoted to “the Mediterranean system”, clearly explains his idea of Mediterranean heterogeneity as a substrate and a model of relationships with a universal value. At that time, and until recent studies, many scholars identified in trades, , military clashes and colonization, as well as in hybridization and cultural mixture generated by these exchanges, the rise of a specific Mediterranean model. This model derives from the different civilizations and culture that, throughout the centuries, populated the Mediterranean area. Moreover, even Hildebert Isnard (1973), while overcoming the unitary and culturalist vision, explicitly supports the link among the Mediterranean cities, their morphological characters and the heritage of civilizations, almost identifying the Mediterranean city as a unique model in the world. In such an ethnocentric and mythological vision, the Mediterranean and its cities become the birthplace of civilization, and therefore of universalism. Elisée Reclus (1876) identifies the roots of Mediterranean culture in three civilizations (Aryans, Semites, and Berbers). However, according to Fernand Braudel, civilizations are the Western ones (rooted in ancient and ), the realm linked to (derived from the Assyrians, the Carthaginians, and ), and the Orthodox world (based on a Greek origin, of which Constantinople was the expression, which affects the Balkan area).

The image of divergence

Several models are set against each other and the Mediterranean city is breaking down. During the 20th century, the classic unitary image increasingly fell down and a sort of tropism gained ground, opposing different ways of categorization and division of the Mediterranean urban world. This paradigm is rooted in the ideological antagonism that opposes the model of the European city with the model of the Arab- Islamic city, or even to the one of the Third World. As Fabre writes, “[t]he comparison among the Mediterranean representations is played on the heritage, and particularly on the acceptance or the rejection of the ‘Semitic Orient’, namely the Jewish and the Arab contributions” (2000, 66). In this comparison among representations – which is closely related to the economic, political, and imperialist logics of – a

42 divergent interpretation emerges. It has a different foundation to that of the unitary and universal model because it explicitly and exclusively brings universality to the West and to Europe (Huntington 1996). However, according to Benevolo:

The identification of the European city with the modern city all over the world was often taken as a matter of fact, leaving out the big questions of comparison with other urban realities and the resulting hybridizations, in Europe and in other . […] We must recognize that our model is only one of the possible models of the modern city [authors’ translation] (1993, 6).

The interpretation of the ‘Orient’ built around the tale of ‘cultural specificity’ (Said 1978) played a crucial role in producing the disjunction of the unitary image, highlighting the comparison – or rather, the clash – between two paradigms: on the one side, the European or Western cities; on the other side, the Arab, Muslim, or Eastern cities. Nevertheless, the categorization of an Arabic-Muslim urban model is founded on symbolic purges which constituted instead, and still until the Enlightenment, as Rodinson affirms (1968, 86), the universalistic substratum through which the Western world looked at elsewhere. On the contrary, the ‘Euro centrism’ of the 19th century supports an ‘irreducible specificity’ of different societies, and therefore of their urban models. These purges were based on the elimination of Islam for the continuity of the Greek-Eastern, Roman, and Byzantine classical world (Concina 1990; Fantar 1993): according to this view, Islam would have introduced a break in the course of history. The paradigm of the Islamic city is essentially founded on three things: the relationship between ‘the town’ (al-madîna, in Arabic) and Islam (where the mosque has centrality in urban life), the relationship between the urban form and the economic-productive organization of different neighborhoods, the interpretation of the Islamic city through the eyes of Western observers (and prejudice), i.e. the idea of ‘‘anarchy’ of this urban form compared to an assumed model of order of the Greek- urban tradition. Unlike the alleged social, political, and economic complexity of European urban dynamics, Islam is considered the only ‘engine’ of urban organization. Several authors have criticized this approach: according to Wirth (1982), for example, if we replace the word ‘mosque’ in the descriptions of ‘Islamic’ cities proposed by the scholars of the Orient tradition with the words ‘church’ or ‘cathedral’, the features of an Islamic city are comparable to those of medieval European towns. According to this author, the specificity of ‘ cities’ would be the centrality and the function of the market, souk, or bazaar. On the other hand, Chevallier (1979) demystified the vision of disorder as a distinctive character of the Arab city and outlined ‘a

43 genuine urban organization’ in those countries. Finally, Abu-Lughood (1987, 160) stressed that “the idea of the Islamic city was ‘defined’ through the study of a too limited number of cases”, so that it is an abstraction based on a meta-historical generalization. Despite these criticisms, the idea of an Islamic city based on cultural specificity was accepted and adopted by the intellectuals of the South Mediterranean shore, both with the generalized adoption of Western values and in opposition to them. According to an anti-colonial approach, such opposition reassured – by distinction – the oldest values of the Arab-Islamic culture. The idea of an Arab-Islamic city is then affirmed: according to an urban paradigm that is an expression of an endogenous culture, it is considered different from other types of cities, while the specificity of the Arab-Islamic culture is an ideological production formalized by an ‘exogenous’ knowledge (Cattedra 1998). Beyond the efforts made by many authors to remove the preconceived idea of spatial anarchy as a specific character of the Arab-Islamic city, it has succeeded in establishing itself as a key variable and has been conceived as a fact. Within this process, urban disorder – from morphological, economic, and social points of view – becomes functional to the achievement of another urban taxonomy which strongly contributes to the disjunction of the unitary image: the paradigm of ‘the Third World city’, ‘the city of underdevelopment’, ‘the in-development city’, or ‘the city of the South’. These categories, different but similar, are linked to the recognition of the role of the newly independent States on the global scene during the fifties and the sixties of the twentieth century. Even up to the eighties, many geographers, adopting a regional or functional approach, did not hesitate to classify as cities of underdevelopment not only the cities of the Southern and Eastern Mediterranean, but also cities located on the Northern shore such as Barcelona, Lisbon, Naples, and Athens. In the view of Pierre George (1961), for example, these cities, although European, show some of the features of ‘delay’ in development and ‘spontaneous’ or ‘uncontrolled’ urbanization that characterize the urban phenomenon in the South of the world. From the political point of view, the debate that refers to the image of divergence concerns more specifically the relationship between the city and the State, mainly related to two issues. The first one refers to the conflictual dimension that traditionally characterized the relationship between the city and the State in the Mediterranean region, where cities were very often ‘born’ before States, and port cities have often been interpreted according to the Greek model of the City-State, emphasizing a sort of urban ‘intolerance’ for the State hegemony. The second issue concerns the adoption of the political organization of the Municipality, deriving from medieval and modern Europe, as a point of

44 reference to show the specificity and the delay of the ‘Muslim city’.

The image of the recomposition

The Mediterranean city is pre-modern, indeed ... post-modern. In recent times, we could identify the overcoming of this second image by the rise of a third one. This new image, recovering various elements of the previous ones, takes up again the idea of a Mediterranean unitary model, but, according to the postmodern approach, it suggests an updated vision of it. Inspired by a mythological ideality and seduced somehow by ‘the Mediterranean romantic illusion’ (Vieille 1986), this third image moves back to the idea of the historic cosmopolitanism of the Mediterranean and considers the realm of the informal (i.e. social, ethnic, and linguistic hybridization, musical and culinary tradition, uses of public spaces, self- organization of inhabitants in the absence of the State and public authorities, and so on) as a creative resource (Minca 2004, 2005). Within this perspective, the characters of pre-modernity are seen as opportunities and assumed as new values. However, the informal is not a simple sign of pre-modernity: although the Mediterranean cities have not known modernity, apart from rare exceptions (i.e. industrialization, organizational skills, individualism ...), or precisely because of this, their ‘territorial disorder’ rather than being an expression of pre-modernity would have anticipated in some way the transition towards post- modernity. According to this perspective, the anti-planned practices and the creativity of the informal – which could be considered as some of the main dimensions of post-modernity – would have their origin in the Mediterranean. So, the Mediterranean cities would represent ‘the recovered emancipation’ of an alternative culture considered, until some decades ago, subordinate and marginal (Leontidou 1990, 1993). Assigning a positive value to features traditionally considered as negative or delayed, a universal model of a Mediterranean city appears, once again, to be characterized by a recovered unity and especially by the estimated mythical or real cosmopolitanism. As we shall see later, these elements are reflected in the interpretations that emphasize the role of the Mediterranean city in the neoliberal discourse.

The cosmopolitan urban Mediterranean

The Mediterranean city is cosmopolitan. Any post-modern tales of the Mediterranean city describe the alleged ‘labyrinthicity’ of the reality. These descriptions are supported by the ever-changing geographies of urban migration, that is, according to Harvey (1990), just where ‘there is

45 that change’. Migratory landscapes confirm the need for uncertain thought: fragments of immigrations (composed of “oppressed, subordinated, forgotten in music, in literatures, in poverties and in the Third World populations which fill the First World economies, cities, institutions, media and free time”) push toward uncertainty the outlines (the boundaries) of the world and force us to “recognize the need for a way of thinking [...] neither fixed nor stable” based on a “cosmopolitan script” always to revise and to review (Chambers 2003, 12). The study of social reconfiguration in Mediterranean cities reactivates the cosmopolitanism issue in order to understand the changes of new international migration flows in relation to the internationalization and metropolization processes (Bruckner 1994; Harvey 2000; Pollock et al. 2000; Tarrius 2000; Vertovec and Cohen 2002; Söderström 2006). In particular, the key of ‘resurgent cosmopolitanism’ is suggested in the research coordinated by Escallier (2003a) to investigate the changes of contemporary cities from a long- term perspective and showing the presence – real, supposed, or mythical – of different ‘ages’ of cosmopolitanism. Within this perspective, the focus is not only the ‘moral’ value of the concept of cosmopolitanism nor its historical and philosophical evolution, but its possible operational content in order to analyze contemporary urban transformations and, above all, to identify signs of cosmopolitanism in the interstices of the city and in new urban ‘situations’. From an historical and geographical perspective, the Mediterranean region is marked by different stages of cosmopolitanism. According to Escallier (2003b), we can identify three ages of urban cosmopolitanism: pre-modern, modern, and resurgent cosmopolitanism. They can be understood as the emergence of subsequent ‘urban orders’, characterized by the co-presence of different community groups (religious, ethnic, and linguistic) within cities. To assert that a city has been cosmopolitan during one period does not mean that it is always cosmopolitan, but gives consent to consider the specific historical conjuncture that would have allowed the genesis and the manifestation of specific cosmopolitan features. Urban order related to cosmopolitanism should not be explained as an uncritical praise of a harmonic society, without tensions or conflicts among different communities, where minority groups, whether for religion, language, nationality, ethnicity, or culture, have lived in a perpetual agreement of conviviality. It rather refers to the complexity of cultures and identities produced by Mediterranean urban societies, bringing together people and communities.

The ‘pre-modern’ cosmopolitanism of the Ottoman period (16th–18th century)

46 The ‘pre-modern’ urban cosmopolitanism appears in a context which opposes the Muslim and Catholic Mediterraneans, the Ottoman Empire, the Barbary , and Europe (Liauzu 1996). Cities of the Ottoman Empire (at its apogee equal to three quarters of the Mediterranean basin) were part of a large market in which movement of goods and people were facilitated. In this kind of ‘ city’ (ports, comptoirs, emporia), the port and the bazaar were the functional cores. These complex urban societies have multi-ethnic and multi-religious characters by the presence of Muslim communities, different Christian denominations (Catholic and Orthodox in the various rites such as Armenian, Greek, Latin, Syriac, etc.), and main Jewish components, native or not. The ‘pre-modern’ and Eastern cosmopolitanism (Prévélakis 1996, 2005) was characterized by the presence of ‘Levantines’ and ‘Franks’ and was structured on the regime of the Capitulations: European citizens (initially only French) had legal autonomy and fiscal independence compared to Ottoman citizens, but they did not participate (at lEast officially) in the government of the city. Many cities have experienced this phase and this kind of cosmopolitanism: Smyrne, Thessaloniki, Istanbul, Damascus, , on the East shore; , Malta, Tétouan, Tlemcen, , Tunis, Algiers, on the South. In some cities, especially in the last three, cosmopolitanism was characterized also by the presence of pirates, the so-called ‘renegades’ (Turks, Berbers, Christians, captives, and slaves having different legal status) (Bono 1993, 2005). Nevertheless, outside of the Ottoman Empire in the 16th and 17th centuries, many other cities could be considered as multi-ethnic and multi-religious: , (where the population included , Greeks, Morlachs, Armenians, Turks, and Jews), and Lisbon (which numbered, for example, 15,000 African slaves out of 100,000 inhabitants in the 16th century) (Liauzu 1996).

The ‘modern’ cosmopolitanism

The ‘modern’ cosmopolitanism is characterized by the European colonial hegemony in the Mediterranean and by its extension to the Southern shore (Crane 2008). At the same time, it is replaced by the Saintsimonian myth of a Mediterranean universalism (Fabre 2000; Témime 2002) fed by the myth of progress and of the renaissance of civilization as well as by the effects of the technological revolution of that period. The economical changes, the transport innovation (railways, , telegraph), and the modernization of the ports changed many Mediterranean cities. The Northern and Southern shores of the Mediterranean basin were brought close by lifestyles and did not show

47 the décalage in development that would emerge in the second half of the twentieth century. In 1832, the Saintsimonian Michel Chevallier recalled the idea of the Mediterranean as a single unit, made by common identities and interests. For the first time, a ‘Mediterranean universalism’ was explicitly acknowledged, anticipating in some ways some of the current political issues and projects. Using symbolic language, Chevallier writes: “Désormais la Méditerranée doit être comme un vaste forum sur tout les points duquel communieront les peuples jusqu’ici divisés. La Méditerranée va devenir le lit nuptial de l’Orient et l’Occident” (1832, 126). Between the late nineteenth century and the early twentieth century the migration from the North to the South Mediterranean changed the demographic data of small and big cities. In some cases, such as in Smyrne, or rather in , new forms of cosmopolitanism established, and some signs of cosmopolitanism could also be recognized in Cairo, Istanbul, Damascus, Jerusalem, , Algiers, Tunis, Oran, Tlemcen, and later, in the twentieth century, in Casablanca, Tel-Aviv, Sarajevo, Tangier, and Marseille. This last city, with its function of colonial port during the first decades of the twentieth century, would be the scenario of a popular cosmopolitan environment (Attard-Maraninchi, Témime 1990). In 1900, Thessalonica had 173,000 inhabitants, of which 30,000 were Christians, 60,000 Muslims, and 80,000 Jews. In this case, religious affiliation did not coincide with social status. This multilingual, multi-religious, multi-ethnic situation disappeared in the twenties of the twentieth century owing to the forced displacement of the Greek Muslim citizens to Turkey and Turkish citizens of Greek orthodox religion to Greece (with the Convention of Lausanne of 1923) and, subsequently, with the deportation of Jews during the Nazi occupation (Brown 2003; Prévélakis 1996, 2005). The modern and ‘romantic’ cosmopolitanism ideal type of the XVIII and XIX centuries is still represented by Alexandria. In 1900, the city officially hosted 14 non-Muslim communities: (native and European), Copts (Catholics and Orthodox), Greeks (Catholics and Orthodox), Armenians (Catholic and Orthodox), Maronites, Protestants (divided into German, French, Scottish, and English), and Jews (native and European). Belonging to different Koranic schools, the Muslim population was distinguished by bourgeois citizens, farmers, and notables of Turkish origin (Ilbert and Yannakakis 1992). Alexandria, known as ad Ægyptum, i.e. almost a ‘free city’ compared to the Egyptian territory, was at the same time an Ottoman city, an international refuge for adventurers, capitalists, , entrepreneurs, and Mediterranean proletarian migrants, and also a European economic relais.

48 The hypothesis for a resurgent Mediterranean cosmopolitanism

Several Mediterranean cities considered cosmopolitan – or, rather, that may in the past have had different forms of cohabitation and ethnic- religious, linguistic, and cultural mixité – have gradually lost, in part or totally, this character, especially in the Southern and the Eastern Mediterranean regions (Alexandria, Algiers, Tunis, Casablanca, Oran, Constantine, Smyrne). On the contrary, other cities, particularly along the Northern shore, seem for the past couple of decades to show new scenarios of coexistence that can be investigated both as an expression of a reified and renewed latent historical heritage and as a result of new forms and rationalities of social interaction related to the contemporary processes of globalization and to the spatial effects of recent international migration flows. Nevertheless, it is useful to partially shade the recent ‘change of trend’ and its interpretations. Some cities of the ‘Oriental world’ have maintained or transformed, with different results, their social and ethnic-religious complexity, even after and the rise of nationalism (Istanbul, Jerusalem, ); other ones are generating forms of resurgent cosmopolitanism (Tel-Aviv, Thessalonica, etc.) (Berthomière 2003; Prevelakis 2005). Others – such as Algiers, Tangier, Tripoli, Tunis, , and – are theatres of new configurations that are not much known or studied until now. These cities could be considered as a sort of relais of movements towards Europe, especially by migrants from Sub-Saharan Africa (which now seems to be the first European border of the Southern Mediterranean), to which new Asian populations are also joined, mainly related to trade and to the internationalization of capital and of Chinese companies (Pliez 2006, 2007; Peraldi 2001, 2002; Peraldi et al. 2008; Palidda 2011a, 2011b).

Urban Neo-liberalism between Europe and the Mediterranean

In an article entitled “Méditerranée et les villes de la Méditerranée” published in the special issue 40 years of Mediterranean geography, Roland Courtot (2001) presents a sort of balance of the researches on Mediterranean cities that have appeared in the journal Méditerranée. He writes:

La lecture de ces nombreuses pages sur les villes méditerranéennes permet- elle de répondre à la question de savoir s’il existe ou non un modèle, un archétype de ‘ville méditerranéenne’, au sens où il existe, dans les manuels de géographie urbaine, une ville ‘européenne’, ‘américaine’, ‘chinoise’? Jusqu’ici d’ailleurs personne parmi les géographes ne s’y est risqué, même si suffisamment de caractères spécifiques ont été pointés pour que ‘la’ ville

49 méditerranéenne existe au moins dans l’imaginaire collectif (37).

The discourses that accompany, build, and legitimize urban policies which currently concern Mediterranean cities are based on the tales that nourish the definition of the Mediterranean city, both in the definition of a general interpretative paradigm and in the specific attention to its cosmopolitan character. These discourses converge on three main issues, different although closely related: the emphasis on the ‘informal’ as a value and a resource for urban ‘competitiveness’; the specificity of being a city of and in the Mediterranean, with particular emphasis on the role of the region as the ‘cradle of civilization’; the reference to cosmopolitanism as ‘tradition’ somehow imprinted in the ‘genetic code’ of the Mediterranean and its cities. These issues, variably defined in different contexts and situations, permeate urban policies of many cities on the Southern and Northern shores, defining unusual dialogues between the idea of ‘Mediterraneanity’ and the rhetoric imposed by the European Union, both in urban initiatives and in the promotion of more or less ‘evanescent’ events. Olympic Games, World Cups, World Fairs, G8, and so on have become essential components of a new urban rhetoric, prime opportunities to drive huge technical and financial resources to major plans and projects of urban regeneration and to renew the image of cities in the international context. From the Seville Expo to the Barcelona Olympic Games (both in 1992), from the Columbus celebrations in Genoa (also in 1992) to the 2004 Athens Olympic Games, from the America’s Cup in in 2007 and in 2010 to the appointments of the European Capital of Culture for Genoa (2004), Istanbul (2010), and Marseille (2013), just to mention some examples, big and small events have become, perhaps especially in the cities of the Mediterranean, the ‘engines’ of urban transformation in which the neo-liberal logic is combined with the rhetoric of Mediterraneanity and European Union buzzwords. Internationalization, competitiveness, participation, civil society, multiculturalism, public-private partnership, etc., become the key words that can ‘push’ urban transformation processes of many cities and legitimize them, first of all with the supra-national institutions (whether the European Union, the , or the United Nations Centre for Human Settlements) as examples of good governance (Palidda 2011a). Following what seems to have become the only possible way to enhance urban development, namely competitiveness and its rhetoric, Mediterranean cities, in search of a role in the global market, produce images to attract tourists, investment flows, economic activities, and events. Without giving opportunities for alternative or different views of the city and its development, the search for competitiveness is adapted to the

50 promotion of the strategy expressed by dominant urban regimes and coalitions of ‘big’ stakeholders. In all cities, the same script is put on the stage, the same actors play, and the same logic is at work: events, urban marketing, communication activities, culture as atouts of cities’ international promotion, branding of urban transformation projects through the creation of big cultural spaces (such as the MACBA – Museum of Contemporary Art – in Barcelona, the Madre – Museum of Contemporary Art Donnaregina – in Naples, and the system of museums in Istanbul, see Monclús 2003; Froment 2010; Seni 2010), real estate development, gentrification, erosion of the complex and plural identities of urban societies, and the international role of urban transformations. These processes seem to accomplish mainly the regeneration of urban waterfronts, further to the need of restructuring obsolete industrial port functions, changing the face of many cities both on the Northern and Southern shores of the Mediterranean. Business centers, exhibition quarters, cultural and leisure centers, buildings for facilities and offices, parks, and big cultural and sporting spaces become the core of urban transformation processes and attract big investments not only from the financial point of view but also from the organizational and symbolic ones. Famous architects (Renzo Piano, Frank O. Gehry, Manuel Solà Morales, Ricardo Bofill, Rem Koolhaas, Zaha Hadid, Jean Nouvel, just to mention a few), become the ‘names’ that cities use to define or renew the urban image through a set of buildings. Focusing on the rhetorical use of Mediterraneanity (the lifestyle of inhabitants, cosmopolitanism, creativity in cultural, artistic, and musical fields), the plans are presented to the public as essential equipment required to promote the international attractiveness and to enhance the economic development of the city. In addition to Barcelona, which especially since the Olympic Games in 1992 has implemented a transformation of its waterfront that has become urban policy through the development of strategic plans and interventions in different parts of the city (Delgado 2007), the Euroméditerranée plan in Marseille, started in 1995 and extended over an area of 300 hectares, is actually one of the most important and extensive processes of urban transformation in Europe. The regeneration of the waterfront of Marseille has well-known objectives: to mend the caesura between the harbour and the city (starting with the removal of flyovers) and to restore and reuse depots, stores, silos, and banks of the port area, turning them into museums and cultural infrastructure of national importance (la Cité de la Méditerranée, the renewal of the passenger and cruise terminals and the creation of offices and spaces for businesses). But, beyond the discourses, what characterize this plan are the absence of a participatory dimension

51 (Bertoncello and Rodrigues-Malta 2001, 2003), the clearly neo-liberal character of the implemented initiatives (Berry-Chikaoui 2007), and the parallel implementation of speculative mechanisms, which increase the value of the property and allow the expulsion of poor people and small businesses, which are replaced by international retail chains (in particular, along the Rue de la République) (Jourdan 2008). The same logics and processes can also be identified in Valencia, where for the organization of the America’s Cup in 2007 and 2010, a major plan of urban transformation was designed, with the progressive opening of the port to the city. The same can be found in many cities of the Southern shore of the Mediterranean: Tunis (which already in the 1980s had implemented a plan of land reclamation and construction of new residences, retail, and commercial properties along the banks of the Northern area of its lagoon) (Barthel 2006), Tangier (with the opening of Tangermed, a new transhipment port in the Strait of Gibraltar, funded half by the Moroccan State and half by private foreign capital from the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait, and Dubai, planned to dock large ships containers and to absorb a part of the Euro-Mediterranean maritime traffic) (Peraldi 2011), and Casablanca (whose plans for the waterfront regeneration, proposed during the 1990s, suffered a set-back and were then proposed again in the 2000s financed by foreign investment). Starting from the mid-2000s, in fact, large estate and financial holding companies of the Gulf States (Dubai, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and Kuwait) have launched big plans in capitals and metropolises following financial agreements concluded directly with the Heads of State. Some examples include the planned ‘Mediterranean gates’ in Tunis, financed by a giant of real estate at the global level, Sama Dubai; the ambitious programme of restructuring the entire Bay of Algiers, while a large urban park on the hills was planned, assigned to the Arab Emirates company EIIC (Chabbi 2008); the big plans for Rabat (la Corniche, spread over 13 kilometers of coast and managed by the Dubai holding company EMAAR; the touristic port and services at the of Oued Bou Regreg, assigned to Sama Dubai, and the touristic and residential plan for the banks of the same river, designed by Al Maabar International, a holding company of Abu Dhabi) (Cattedra 2010). Barcelona, , Tunis, Algiers, Rabat, but also Genoa, Istanbul, Beirut, Oran, Tripoli, and many other cities: the logic seems to be the same. In the Mediterranean cities, big urban plans allow and indeed demand the direct intervention of powerful national and international financial actors. The role of these actors involves a privatized process of urban transformation that gradually marginalizes local actors, despite the official statements aimed at enhancing the participation of inhabitants and the role of civil society (Cattedra 2011).

52 Urban transformation is produced by international capital, which is implemented by big projects poorly integrated into the surrounding urban context and built without any reference to a city-wide common framework, according to the principle of “governing by projects” (Pinson 2009). Moreover, plans and projects vary in relation to economic changes, availability of financial resources, and modifications of power relationships. Mediterranean cities do not seem to escape the increasing trend towards the definition of market-oriented urban policies that strongly characterizes many cities in the world, in a context marked by a transformation of the role of the State in public policies – also its partial “hollowing out” – and an increasingly central role of institutional actors and especially of private actors such as big companies (national, international, or multinational) (Harvey 1989; Brenner and Theodore 2002b). Indeed, it is precisely in the Mediterranean cities that the combination of liberal trends and selective revision of the tradition is achieved, creating a model of action that, in many ways, appears as a mirror of global urban dynamics. According to Foucault (1989), we could then say that:

if there really is a unity [so the unity of the Mediterranean city paradigm], it does not lie in the visible, horizontal coherence of the elements formed; it reside, well anterior to their formation, in the system that makes possible and governs that formation [and transformations] (80).

53

D – Diaspora/Diaspora

Giulia de Spuches

“We’re in the passage. It’s a fishing zone for us, a transit zone for them” from Fortress Europe

Introduction

The concept of diaspora has become increasingly fluid. I will thus try to reconstruct the term’s meaning whilst keeping in mind the constantly changing global situation. Some diasporic processes, for example, have taken place in the Mediterranean Sea for a very long time, while others are much more recent and are characterized by different features. The underlying questions of this entry will deal with the meaning of the concept of mobility, both from a political and personal point of view. While emphasizing the movement perspective, I will also be concerned with a reflection on the domestic dimension: lodgings, homes, and their inevitable link to culture as a material and mental concept that emerges on a global, and globalizing, backdrop, where political and economic crises affect individual lives. After all, home and work are an indissoluble pair in the migrant’s experience. In Italy, as in France or elsewhere in Mediterranean Europe, the migrant is considered ‘legal’ only if s/he can claim access to both these elements. Furthermore, I will try to answer the question of what the Mediterranean has become, especially in the last few years when numerous troubles have affected it and continue to do so. In what way is the Sea a border? To pose such a question is to interrogate the meaning of the domestic space and of memory, to navigate between localism and cosmopolitanism (see CITTÀ). There are two schools of thought in Diaspora Studies: one refers to the study of diasporic communities, the other focuses instead on the diasporic condition. This work will rely mostly on the second school, in order to highlight how the condition in question is a crucial destabilizing force for nation-states. This approach allows an

55 appreciation of how mobility is not just the analysis of a ‘community’ in the country of arrival, or in that of origin. It emphasizes all the various phases, spatial and temporal, which migrants go through in their movements.

Movements

Studying diaspora is therefore not a matter of ‘here’ and ‘there’, of analyzing only the two most extreme points of the migratory route. This traditional view of migration rests on two economic factors: push and pull. Framing the phenomenon of migration as part of the economic market is inevitable, the market itself being the background; but the factors that provoke movement are far from being influenced by mechanistic relationships1. Human behavior always entails the possibility of choice, as different factors influence it at different scales. Asking what these might be, and what forms and effects they give rise to, is inevitable; but answering such questions is very difficult. This brings us to focus attention on migrants’ subjectivities. Given these premises, I favor working on the migrant condition rather than on migrant communities and accentuating an interest in the meaning of the concept of mobility. In his famous book On the Move, Tim Cresswell analyzes three types of mobility. Of the third one, which is of interest here, he says: “Mobility is practiced, it is experienced, it is embodied […] Human mobility is an irreducibly embodied experience” (2006, 4). The lines that indicate the dispersion of a population from one place to another on maps are clearly not what we mean by mobility. Mobility is rather the plane of expression of a diversity of all kinds of exchange. The traces produced in space and time by our relations, by the movements of our bodies and ideas, are the privileged avenues to understanding the exchanges that organize social facts (Tarrius 1989, 3). According to the French anthropologist Tarrius, in fact, each population movement in space is also a social movement. In this sense, moving entails symbolically consuming space and time; it means viewing the other’s places and manifesting symptomatically one’s own (1989, 11). Terminological differences aside, Tarrius’s words coincide with the concept of mobility proposed by Cresswell: “While the abstract idea of movement is composed of equally abstract notions of absolute time and space, the notion of mobility I want to propose here, as a

1 See the line of studies that interprets migratory flows through the metaphor of ‘turbulence’ (Rosenau 1990; Papastergiadis 2000).

56 thoroughly social facet of life imbued with meaning and power, is composed of elements of social time and social space” (2006, 4). Thus the mental and material process of migration is effectively constructed by points of rupture and bifurcation (de Spuches 1997). Each point corresponds to an informational complex that is a prerequisite to comprehending both the context and the route of the migrant. From a methodological point of view, therefore, this kind of approach allows avoiding the separation of the world of mobility from the sedentary world. However, as argued by Gilroy (1993a), diaspora must absolutely not become a synonym for movement, because one cannot loose the sense of violence and conflict implicit in the former. Diasporic communities will be able to look simultaneously to at lEast two social universes, and appropriate them as points of reference. In addition, their transnational character will be a result of the flows of political and cultural values that evade the control of states, and will highlight the autonomy of these social groups in international relations. A fracture between two worlds stems from this dynamic: one, that of codified and ritualized states formed by a finite number of actors, the other, a polycentric one constituted by a potentially infinite number of actors (Rosenau 1990).

Crossing the Mediterranean

Naum Gabo, a Russian sculptor who sought refuge in England during the second world war, wrote in his diary in 1941:

The sea lies stark, naked between my windows and the horizon […] The heart suffers looking at it and at the contrast with what is happening in the world […] how many more weeks will this peace last on this little plot of land? […] Our life on this island, in this last fortress of the old Europe, gradually enters […] into a state of siege” (Beer 1990, 431)2.

These words convey the same feeling as that of mainstream media when they describe the crossing of the Mediterranean and the landings on the island of Lampedusa. Alternative news channels give a very different picture of what takes place in the hearts of some of those who

2 The quote is part of Woolf’s reflections on England while it became a fortress as a result of the aerial battles of world war two.

57 live this last ‘outpost of progress’.3 The title of Conrad’s short novel well describes how Lampedusa is seen in Europe when opposed to a desperate people’s Africa. ‘Desperate’, in fact, is the rather disagreeable adjective with which the vast majority of media call those who cross the Mediterranean in an effort to defy not just that stretch of sea, but rather a piece of land which now stands enclosed by a political system called Fortress Europe. It is important to highlight here how the metaphors used for this journey in the rhetoric of officials and spokespersons (those reported by a certain kind of journalism) describe the migrant as having no choice. It is almost as if they wanted to emphasize the estrangement of the human being in question. A human being who, on the contrary, plans his destiny and is therefore a rational subject, a conscious actor in the migratory journey. In his Diary, Gabo takes on the role of the spectator who observes with momentary equanimity an ineluctable fate soon to begin. The pain and the sea, which is humanized through the adjective ‘desolate’, convey the feeling of the distance of someone who lived on an island. But in 1941, History had long since touched the whole world. The peace in the balance Gabo refers to is that of one of the most traumatic events of the 20th century: world war two. But the kinds of peace invoked when building walls, sending ships to patrol the sea, funding police-states that appease Europe, or violating national laws through the construction of camps with ever-changing names, are not issues that trouble Fortress Europe’s ‘democracy’. We could actually say that the migratory phenomenon plays a double role: on the one hand, with an internal movement, it reinforces discourses on the necessity of maintaining a nation’s homogeneity; on the other, with a movement towards the outside, it allows the relation between nation–state and European Union (EU), as a supranational entity, not to be put into question by the incapacity of dealing with the phenomenon. The siege mode Gabo refers to is today the most common metaphor used to represent migrants’ landings on our shores. One of the most disconcerting examples of this duplicity can be found in a report by investigative journalist Gian Maria Bellu of la Repubblica newspaper, described in an important book entitled I fantasmi di Portopalo (2004). The report deals with a dramatic crash between two boats4 on the night

3 I am pointing here to An Outpost of Progress by Joseph Conrad, first published in 1897, which summarizes his African experiences, later developed thoroughly in the more famous Heart of Darkness. 4 The Yiohan, which was carrying more than 400 migrants from India, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka (Tamil), and its accompanying smaller boat, the F-174, used to move people on shore. Bellu writes: “Twenty-nine people managed to

58 of 26 December 1996, in which almost three hundred migrants drowned. According to Bellu, everyone in the village of Portopalo knew about this tragedy. The journalist reconstructs the episode according to a geographical perspective: from the local, Portopalo, to the global, the relation between Italy and the EU. He demonstrates how each actor had every interest in keeping such a huge catastrophe silent. While the fishermen threw back overboard the cadavers they found in their nets for fear of having their boats grounded by bureaucracy, the Italian state denied all evidence to avoid incurring sanctions or threatening its membership of the Schengen group. Between micro and macro, the report describes a system of denial through chilling interviews. From the local priest, who justifies the behaviors described above by saying how there is no better burial place than the sea, to the local police, who deny any knowledge of the fact, notwithstanding the numerous macabre jokes told in the community. Different responsibilities, acting at different scales, all joined in an unacceptable silence. In the end, the sinking, which the media had described as a ghost’ one, was so real that everyone knew its exact date and time. Why, then, was it necessary to actually find the sunken boat in order to confirm the episode?5 The answer may be found in the following words by Bellu: “It was certainly a time when the sacred principle that one must give asylum to the persecuted had already been put into question by the fact that the persecuted themselves were starting to believe too much in it and really ask for it. They thus started to be known as ‘clandestine’ people” (2004, 10). I want to spend a few more words on this terrible tragedy. What did the relatives of those on board – the best youth of, say, a tiny village in Bangladesh – think of it? How much space did we in the West give to this piece of news, which only managed to surface thanks to the

survive by holding onto the ropes thrown at them from the Yiohan. Everyone else (283 in total: 160 Indians, 31 Pakistanis, and 92 Tamil, according to most accounts) died” (2004, 12). 5 Bellu’s article of 15 June 2001 on the discovery of the wreckage begins exactly with the geographical coordinates, to stress the existence of the tragedy by locating the F-174 in a definite space: “We have found the ship of the ‘ghost sinking’. North: 36, 25’, 31”; East: 14, 54’, 34”; ; nineteen miles South of Portopalo Capo Passero, the most Southern piece of land in Sicily and Italy. We have discovered the largest cemetery of the Mediterranean: dozens of skeletons caught up in rags at 108 metres below sea level, in that area of the Sicilian Straight where fishermen had stopped going to avoid tearing their nets”.

59 insistence of Bellu and la Repubblica, the latter even going as far as renting a small submarine to find the proof of denial? We shouldn’t forget also how this tragic story originally surfaced, as individual names are important: thanks to the information given by Salvatore Lupo, who broke the silence and paid for this act with a quasi-exile. Now let us reflect on the words of the Norwegian authorities after the massacre that took place on the island of Utoya in August 2011. The best youth of the Norwegian Labour Party suffered a loss that immediately became a day of mourning for the whole country, a trauma that will not only always be remembered, but which has been described as the country’s worse tragedy since the second world war. Why am I referring to this episode here? The answer can only be found by asking a different question: what was the state of those men (there were no women) who died on December 26 in the Mediterranean Sea? In what state were they?6 Why are these kinds of death denied their political status? I will try to answer these questions in the rest of the piece.

The Mediterranean: between Borders and Diaspora Studies

I will now return to Gabo’s image of a life that becomes a siege. Changing the context of reference,7 we may say that ‘siege’ is the sentiment which has been more often invoked in the past couple of decades in xenophobic discourses, and that it is instrumental for European states to activate security politics aimed at preserving Western culture, or perhaps the white race, which is ‘invaded’ (another military term) from what we have called the ‘Third’ World. This kind of thinking is closely related to another typically Western invention: the nation–state. The peace of has been considered a temporal watershed for the birth of territorial sovereignty. The hyphen between the two terms broadens and links them to the idea of politics, specifically territorial politics, and to that of a people with its fundamental characteristics. In order to exist, a nation requires borders, an inside and an outside. It needs an origin, which in turn requires a narrative. The nation also needs a stability of knowledge that is perhaps easier to find in its form of government than in its cultural system or representation

6 The pun I’m proposing here stems from the reflections of Butler and Spivak, Who Sings the Nation–State? (2007). The state, in its double meaning, refers to the nation–state but also to a state of feeling, i.e. to the migrant’s condition. 7 Clearly what Gabo was facing was a real military siege, while the one Western rhetoric refers to is, as I emphasized, only a construction.

60 of social life (Bhabha 1990). But the main elements of differentiation have a common origin, language and blood. The first element in particular creates a double bind that is partly territorial and partly social, while also introducing a time and a place of foundation. Here a fracture reveals its folds: finite and codified actors are constantly contradicted by potentially infinite actors who break the nation’s homogeneity. A double temporality is also discovered: the narrative of the myth, which is timeless, and the teleology of progress. The difficulty of narrating the history of a nation lies in this duplicity (Bhabha 1990). A fundamental point of reference here is Paul Gilroy’s idea of the ‘black Atlantic’ as an incarnation of a

general thesis on the role (past or present) of the nation – state as part of the great history of modern culture that indicates new ways, plural and decentered, of comprehending not so much contemporary racial problems in Europe and America but rather the process of building Europe and America on the basis of the flows that pass through them” (2003a, 24).

Changing the geographical context, but not Gilroy’s basic approach, we can say that to study the phenomenon of diaspora we should think, as Alessandra Di Maio8 has argued, of a ‘black Mediterranean’: “[That] is the color taken by the sea during the passing of the millions of migrants who have ‘burnt’9 it in the past three decades” (2011, 145). The Mediterranean is described here through the use of colors, even though it is composed of dissonances (de Spuches 2009). As Fernand Braudel (1949) used to say, rather than a single mass of water the Mediterranean is a complex of seas. The French historian put seas and littorals at its core, but in the 15th century going to sea in the Mediterranean still meant following the coastline. Naming and tracing the boundaries of the mare nostrum has thus been, and still is, an endeavor that many scholars have taken on. But whereas the name has undergone only slight modifications, tracing its boundaries has proved almost impossible. The idea of a unity of the Mediterranean originates with the first references to Hercules’ Pillars, between the 7th and 6th centuries BC, following an East to West movement. As we shall see, establishing Northern and Southern borders is much more difficult. The

8 See Di Maio in Mediterraneo (2011). 9 Di Maio explains: “The metaphor of ‘burning’, in the sense of crossing, is used in colloquial Arabic by North-African people to refer to those who have made it across the Mediterranean” (2011). The harraga (literally: those who burn) are thus called because they destroy their documents during the voyage, as lack of a known citizenship avoids being repatriated.

61 definition of nostrum mare was introduced by Julius Caesar and became quickly popular in geographical works of the time. It isn’t rare to find the term used in a plural form, which testifies to how the Romans thought the Mediterranean was composed of numerous seas. A unifying geopolitical approach appears with Strabo’s Geography. It is thus interesting to note how Isidorus of Seville himself, who was the first author to use the term ‘Mediterranean’ as a proper appellation with its current meaning of a sea ‘in-between land’ (Amiotti 1998), is cited by Carl Schmitt in regard to the most concrete early definition of what we now call international law. At the beginning of The Nomos of the , Schmitt proposes a strong distinction between the sea, “which doesn’t have a manifest unity of space and order, of orientation and localization”, and land, which is instead linked to law in three ways (2003 [1950], 43). There is a strong connection between the words of the German scholar and the effort to define the Mediterranean through its borders. Such connection runs through the tracks created by the plough, and the cultivations, fences, and demarcations created by man. But can we set borders to the North, with the disappearance of the tree, and to the South, with the first palm groves? Can we perform the same exercise for people? Yesterday as today, it is difficult to say where the Mediterranean ceases propagating its life, because the Sea is a baffle board, it must be interpreted as an anti-world: it is subversive vis-à-vis the system, but at the same an integral part of it (Farinelli 1995). Because of its dissonance, the Mediterranean appears as a frontier zone defined geopolitically by borders controlled militarily, where the constant crossings mark fluid spaces (see OSPITALITÀ). Scholars who study frontier zones argue that these have acquired increasing pre- eminence today precisely because they are critical territories, i.e. they are full of stories that produce new culture. The fact of being inside and outside the rules also marks the frontier, which is, in the apt words of Gloria Anzaldua:

Una herida abierta where the Third World grates against the first and bleeds” (1987, 3). I believe we can start talking also for the Mediterranean of a scab that before even forming “hemorrhages again, the lifeblood of two worlds merging to form a third country – a border culture (1987, 3).

As we shall see in a moment, at the beginning of the 1990s the concept of diaspora underwent a profound transformation, which allows us to say that theories of the frontier and paradigms of the diaspora have started to exhibit many common elements (Gilroy 1993a; Clifford 1994). The fact of the matter is that, as Tölölyan points out in the journal Diaspora, since the end of the 20th century the semantic field of the term diaspora has expanded to include terms such as immigrant, expatriate,

62 refugee, stranger, exile community, overseas community, and ethnic community (1991, 4). In the same issue of the journal, Rouse (1991) shows how for the Aguilillans being in a condition of diaspora means inhabiting the frontier. He also says that interconnected systems of knowledge make our world confused. So, though Clifford cautiously suggests keeping the specificities of the two paradigms separate, even he cannot but note how diaspora and frontier are strictly connected. Such a close link comes to the fore when one considers themes such as nostalgia, memory, and (dis)identification (Clifford 1994, 304). At this point, I would like to dwell on how the border, that strong line defining the nation–state, is anything but fixed. As we shall see in a moment, it is something extremely mobile that clearly influences the idea of the Mediterranean’s limits. A lot has been written on how the crisis of the nation-state has redefined and reconfigured the issue of borders. The control of frontiers, part of the migratory phenomenon, is perhaps the best example of these changes. State power has in fact started to be exercised in a new way with respect to the past, projecting new borders both within and beyond their once-official positions. This has caused the border to become flexible both internally and externally (Cuttitta 2007, 59). Such phenomena can be found both on land and at sea. For example, spot checks are increasingly carried out in international waters or inside the waters of other states. In the Mediterranean Sea, the maritime borders between Italy and Tunisia, Italy and Libya, and Italy and Albania are increasingly the objects of intense legal argument. Italy has basically extended its control in international waters by referring to article 8, comma 7 of the United Nations’ ‘Protocol against the trafficking of human beings’ (Palermo Convention, 12–15 December 2000). This claims the following: “A member state that has reasonable doubt to suspect a ship is involved in the trafficking of migrants and has no nationality, or can be assumed to have no nationality, can stop and search said ship”. An emblematic example of border flexibilization is that of twenty- four Eritrean and Somali refugees who have brought Italy to face charges at the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg. This currently on-going case deals with the collection in international waters of the individuals in question by Italian authorities, who sent them directly back to Libya even though maritime law prescribed that they should be taken to Italy (Del Grande, 2009). Another factor that makes frontiers unstable are the cooperation agreements that Italy has stipulated since 2004 with the police agencies of other nations, the most famous of which is that with Libya. This agreement’s notoriety derives both from the enormous juridical and ethical perplexities that stem from it, and from the fact that it is still covered in secrecy.

63 The policy of border externalization that was aimed at closing down the Mediterranean has already had many devastating consequences, and continues to do so today. In his book A sud di Lampedusa, journalist Stefano Liberti aptly describes how Europe manages to push back its frontiers. Spain, for example, after putting pressure on Morocco, “adopted a new approach when the points of departure had moved further South (in , Senegal, and even in Bissau and Guinea Conakry). It started signing agreements with the countries of origin, asking for the help of the EU to patrol its coasts and rejecting incoming migrants” (2008, 18). Of similar significance are the stories of migrants stuck all over Saharan Africa, which Liberti also recounts – stuck due to lack of money in the oases South of Libya, due to poverty in some countries like Mauritania, which lacks the funds to repatriate its citizens, or due to the cold war between Algeria and Morocco.

Diaspora: changing meanings

I have started to delineate the shift in meaning of the term diaspora; I will now reconstruct some of the voices in this debate. Differences aside, the theme in question generally intersects many subfields of geography. The discussion about diaspora, in fact, has engaged issues such as those of territory and territoriality, citizen space, and transnationalism, but also empire, homeland, and the household. It is necessary to make explicit here one premise. Theory building in the study of diaspora constantly rests on the historical experience of the Jewish question and the black Atlantic. After all, as Gilroy himself suggests:

Acknowledging the intercultural story of the diaspora concept and its transcoding by historians of the black dispersal into the remains politically important not just in , where the story of its borrowing could be used to open up the long and complicated relationship between blacks and Jews in radical politics, but in Europe too, where Ethiopianism and Africentricity have exhibited both Zionist and anti-Semitic features (1993a, 211).

Given such a vast interdisciplinary field, it isn’t easy to account for the positions of geographers. Instead of trying to reconstruct these, I will try to reason through the perspectives that have contributed to the shift in meaning of the term diaspora. Population geographers’ point of view insists on the theme of migration, while recently opening itself to the questions posed by cultural geography, which is more attuned to the real and/or imagined identities produced in spatial processes and practices. Political and feminist geographers both deal with the problem of diaspora through the issue of the domestic, adopting different scales

64 of reference but without actually being separate approaches. While the former are more interested in the issue of territoriality as a question of nationhood, the latter explore, through the theme of the household, how patriarchy is dominant, but often silenced, in transnational movements. The position of population geographers clearly emerges in the editorial of the special issue (Re)theorising Population Geography, International Journal of Population Geography (2001), in which Elspeth Graham and Paul Boyle summarize how the discipline has been marginalized due to its conservatism. The two authors call for more contacts with other branches of geography, and with the social sciences in general. By opening itself to a re-theorization, the journal can follow new leads in the study of diaspora and transnationalism. In a later special issue entitled Geographies of Diaspora (2003), Caitríona Ní Laoire explains the title by basing her editorial on the shifting meaning of the term, which denotes, according to her, more a social condition and an analytical tool than a population movement. By referring to the work of Floya Anthias (1998), Ní Laoire recommends dividing the concept of diaspora according to two approaches: a traditional one, typological and descriptive, and a postmodern one, centered on the social condition of diaspora. In addition to these two schools of thought, there are two approaches that focus more on politico-economic processes and on the condition of exile (Ní Laoire 2003, 276). Anthias, who uses the work of Robin Cohen (1997, 2008) as the champion of the traditional approach and of James Clifford (1994) as that of the postmodern one, offers a reflection on the concept of diaspora that goes beyond ethnicity. This analytical division must be highlighted because it is exactly in such an issue that the different positions blend into each other. Before explaining the thought of Cohen and Clifford we should recall how in 1991 the journal Diaspora: A Journal of Transnational Studies was created. To understand its positions we may cite the introductory article by Khachig Tölölyan (1991). The need for the journal is revealed by his words when, in what is a manifesto rather than a preface, he describes the journal’s aim as finding “the traces of struggles over and contradictions within ideas and practices of collective identity, of homeland and nation” (1991, 3). In Tölölyan’s line of argument the concept of diaspora is fundamental in that it unveils the nation–state’s triumphant ideology based on the uniqueness and homogeneity of language, territory, law, and today, also market. Furthermore, he sees in transnationalism a key element of those changes that have taken place in the last forty years, given that it incorporates a border that remains a thorn reminding the nation–state of the issue of otherness. Another important position is that of William Safran, who, though

65 agreeing with the application of the term to expatriates, exiles, political refugees and others, considers it a metaphor (1991, 83). Safran begins from the classic concept, that of the Jews’ dispersal by the Babylonians in the BC, and tries then to define some of its characteristics so that the term will not lose all meaning. His approach centers on two fundamental elements: the Jewish diaspora as the typical one, and diaspora as strictly linked to the myth of return. Safran’s approach has been criticized by many authors, especially by Clifford, who has denounced the dangers of embarking on a comparative project by offering one group of people as the ideal model for the concept (1994, 1997). However, the American anthropologist does agree that a comparative approach is fundamental “to specify a complex discursive and historical field [though] we should be able to recognize the strong entailment of on the language of diaspora without making that history a definitive model” (Clifford 1994, 306). Another important voice in this debate is that of Robin Cohen (1997, 2008), who advocates the classic concept but opens it to more recent lines of inquiry.10 In his recent book Global Diasporas: An Introduction (2008), Cohen subdivides and articulates the chapters according to a typology11 that does not ignore what many diasporas have in common, but highlights the most important characteristics to try and systematize them. According to the author, it is thanks to a taxonomic and typological reconstruction that the link between diasporas and nation– states can be understood. This is exactly because he, together with many others, considers diaspora as a community of the transnational epoch. His position on the idea of territoriality, which is influenced by authors close to the cultural studies field, is of particular interest here: “Diasporas are positioned somewhere between nation-states and ‘travelling cultures’ in that they involve dwelling in a nation-state in a physical sense, but travelling in an astral or spiritual sense that falls outside the nation-state’s space/time zone” (Cohen 1997, 135-136). The limit of this statement is that of seeing the middle space as abstract or spiritual, while for Avtar Brah (1996), for example, the idea of diaspora space is a concrete one inhabited not just by diasporic subjects but also by those who are represented and constructed as indigenous. Finally, it is clear how Cohen’s words come close to those of Clifford (1994), who

10 He identifies four phases: the first one has diaspora as a singular noun, meaning the Jewish one; in the second one, which goes back to Safran, diaspora becomes a ‘metaphoric designation’; the third is influenced by postmodern studies; the fourth one is linked to social constructivist theories (2008, 1–2). 11 There are five of these: victim diasporas, labor and imperial diasporas, trade and business diasporas, and de-territorialized ones.

66 maintains that diaspora cannot have a nationalistic meaning due to its multiple linkages. The shift from diaspora studies to those on the diasporic condition is a crucial moment. It has been brought about by scholars belonging to the cultural and post-colonial studies fields. From different standpoints, these scholars break the link between place and identity. Paul Gilroy, for example, talks of “dealing equally with the significance of roots and routes” (1993a, 190). Roots and routes reveal how viewing movement and stasis as antithetical to each other is wrong. Hence the next step is to ask in what way are diasporic identities constructed. Again it is Gilroy who explains how memory is more important than territory, demonstrating how to weave together the stories that support social memory. Narrating and re-narrating creates a web that communicates the contents. Gilroy takes music as his example and shows “a direct relationship between the community of listeners constructed in the course of using that musical culture and the constitution of a tradition that is redefined here as the living memory of the changing same” (1993a, 198). The spatial dimension again becomes central to our reasoning if we conceive of it as being open to the possibilities of change in a relational process that is itself constantly changing. The space that is produced through such relations is from the start part of a discourse that, by paying attention to multiplicity, denounces how history is too often told by the West, or, rather, by the heterosexual white man (Massey 1993). Another key concept in the study of the diasporic condition is that of exile, closely linked to the myth of the return. In this context the most important author is without question Edward Said, who emphasized how the binary of nationalism/exile recalls the Hegelian dialectic of master/slave, with the “opposites informing and constituting each other” (2000, 176). Similarly, in an interview by Paul Gilroy with Toni Morrison, the Afro-American author strongly maintains that split the world into two halves, so that Europe “had to dehumanize not just the slaves but itself” (Gilroy 1993b, 178). Here also, as with Said’s work, the double bind appears stringent and tells of the power of a story: “Not a story to pass on” (Morrison 1987). This sentence defines better than any other the desire and the impossibility of a collective historical memory. Thus talking about diaspora involves the salvage of both Western and non-Western models. The change of perspective in the study of diaspora towards a reflection on the diasporic condition has given the Other the space and voice to narrate him/herself and has forced the West to re-read its own history, starting with this often overshadowed relation.

67 Conclusion

Referring to the diasporic condition allows us to conceive identities in an anti-essentialist manner, both as processes and as internal conflicts. It also allows us to move away from the older concept of diaspora – the dispersal that follows the banning – and embrace the idea that dissemination produces movements and identities from processes which are not unidirectional but rather transnational. These act in ambivalent ways on two planes: borders are crossed both nationally and individually, breaking the idea of wholeness. The partiality of diasporic subjects, who look towards many worlds, including internal ones, provokes a reflection that is quite useful for us, given how we usually present ourselves as being unique and similar, and thus neutral. Following this line of work, my suggestion here is to collect the stories, or rather the counter-stories, of the diasporic subject in a Mediterranean Sea viewed as a mobile frontier, or a herida abierta. Thus the ability of the ‘black Mediterranean’ to speak is given by the millions of migrants that have ‘burnt’ it, which somehow recalls the Jewish medieval Mediterranean that Goitein talks about and that Clifford cites to demonstrate how diaspora has always been multicentric. This medieval Mediterranean, like the contemporary one, should not be idealized as a happy moment in the history of multiculturalism, but one may nevertheless find in it a surprising cosmopolitan web (Clifford 1994). Where should the boundaries of the Mediterranean be found today, if a group of migrants calling themselves the Collective of Tunisians from Lampedusa decide to squat, on 1 May 2001, in a building of the Paris town-council in order to ask for a place to survive in as refugees, given that: “We live in the open, we are scared, cold, hungry and we lack all the basic necessities of life. But in these difficult conditions we still retain our dignity”? Changing the scale of reference, how can we understand what the migrants’ domestic space is composed of if the policies of Sarkozy’s France lead to a constant nomadism that doesn’t stop even after reaching Fortress Europe?12 The voice of the sons of the Maghreb Revolution, which was so warmly welcomed by Mediterranean Europe, has chosen for itself a name that sound like a herida abierta, and makes the first ‘outpost of progress’ – Lampedusa – a node in a web of

12 This is what the Collective wrote on 19 May 2011: “Since we got here the police have chased us away from everywhere (Quatre Chemins, Porte de la Villette, Belleville, occupation de Bolivar, etc.). In the area of Saint Honoré that the police have offered us we have no freedom, we must leave the building during the day, we sleep in dormitories of seven people each, and we are videotaped.

68 information that bounces back and forth between Southern and Northern Europe. But Lampedusa, as everybody knows, is not a point of arrival. It is the symbol of the entry door to Europe and, at the same time, the symbol of the first space of exception encountered by migrants. It is not a place of arrival but a transit zone like many others in the indeterminacy of the liquid border that is today the Mediterranean Sea.

69

E – Energia/Energy

Matteo Puttilli

Along the breaking line

Maybe more than in other strategic sectors, for Mediterranean countries, energy represents, at the same time, a favorable ground to test cooperation and integration as well as a strong element of differentiation and conflict (Escribano 2010; Winrow 2008). Since the very first experiences of Euro-Mediterranean partnership during the mid-nineties, the energy sector has increasingly played a relevant role within the institutional frameworks put into place in order to facilitate a stronger liaison between EU member states and the countries of the Southern shore of the Mediterranean basin (Darbouche 2011). Initially shadowed by other strategic issues (such as international migration, tensions in the Middle East, economic stability and so on) (Calabrese 1997), energy has progressively acquired a focal position in intra- Mediterranean relations. This has occurred in conjunction with a heightened awareness, by the EU, of its external energy dependence based on natural gas imported from Russia. The Mediterranean has quickly become a strategic area to ensure the diversification of the European energy mix and to secure long-lasting supplies to member countries (Correlje and van der Linde 2006). Therefore, the setting up of a Mediterranean energy area has to be seen in the logic of an EU external policy as willing to replace the bilateral relations between producers and consumers in favor of a common and multilateral institutional framework and regulatory instruments. As a consequence, in terms of energy, the Mediterranean has to be conceived primarily as the natural outward projection of European anxieties towards its external energy dependence (Bosse 2011; Winrow 2008; Youngs 2009). By the way, it must be said that this process of space building under the aegis of the EU has not always generated a positive response by the partner countries of the Southern shore (Joffé 2001; Prange-Gstöhl 2009). Well aware of the possibility of using its own energy resources as an economic and policy ‘weapon’ (Lilliestam and Ellenbeck 2011; Bielecki 2002), for the most of the time these have maintained an

71 ambivalent attitude (Kagiannas et al. 2003). On one hand, they have pursued an adaptation to the EU market rules and, on the other hand, bilateral negotiation strategies with individual EU member states (Darbouche 2010). The Mediterranean, in terms of energy, is therefore subject to contrasting dynamics stretched between centripetal forces, turned to the macro-, and centrifugal forces, which mark a process of fragmentation and internal differentiation. The tension between these opposite forces has decisive consequences on the geography of the Mediterranean, continuously decomposing and recomposing relations among countries, regions and other institutional and non-institutional actors as well as renewing and regenerating social and spatial organization. These heterogeneous spatial configurations can be analyzed from multiple perspectives and approaches, as they result from the international and interdisciplinary debate about the topic ‘energy’ in the Mediterranean. Among the many, three approaches seem to offer a major contribution for understanding and reading the different uneven Mediterranean geographies of energy: functional, political and geopolitical approaches. Functional approaches (Sid Ahmed 1999; European Commission 2011a; Plan Bleu 2008; 2009; El Andaloussi 2010; OME 2011), mostly conveyed inside institutional relationships, highlight the different roles played by countries of both shores in the organization and in the government of the flow of production, distribution and consumption of energy within the area. More or less consciously, such representations often serve a direct political role, recognizing and making explicit a natural welding between the two shores, justified on a functional basis, and then pushing towards greater cooperation, even in terms of rules and market integration. Political approaches, in fact, reconstruct the controversial construction of the Mediterranean as an intentional political project (Calabrese 1997; Escribano 2010; Darbouche 2011). A project that follows different institutional paths centered on the focal role of the European Union in fostering a greater integration between countries around the basin (see ZONA DI LIBERO SCAMBIO). Critical contributions place under discussion this role played by the EU, considering it in terms of the imposition over Southern countries of a model of integration based on its own standards and markets rules. As a consequence, the partial closure by producer countries of the Southern shore and difficulties in carrying forward the process of integration are unsurprising. Moving from these reflections, geopolitical approaches offer a frame even more disorganic of Mediterranean relations (Winrow 2008; Bosse 2011; Youngs 2009; Bahgat 2006). Energy is a ‘geopolitical’ topic in the classical meaning of the word (a resource that can create competition – if

72 not conflict – among nations willing to achieve it), and certainly some interpretations of the recent ‘Arab Spring’ suggest the prevalence of energy interests rather than humanitarian ones to justify the Western intervention in Libya under the aegis of OTAN. At the same time, however, a geopolitical interpretation of the energy issue in the Mediterranean in a critical way is possible too, with the objective of highlighting how the issue of energy is used, both by consumer countries and by producer countries, as an instrument of international policy that garners benefits and conducts geopolitical strategy wider than the sole energy sector. It’s important not to forget that, quite often, these different modes of describing Mediterranean energy geography shows elements of overlap. For example, the functional descriptions of the Mediterranean may hide implicit geopolitical or political intent (conveying and legitimizing, in other words, a certain representation rather than another). Moving from these various initial stimuli, this contribution aims, firstly, at reviewing in more detail the different approaches to the Mediterranean area in the international literature and, secondly, to sketch some possible lines of interpretation on the future development of energy relations within the region, checking the possibility and modalities for greater territorial integration.

Functions

The Mediterranean represents about 8% of the global consumption of primary energy, with just under a billion of Toe (Tonnes of Oil Equivalent) per year. This quota is satisfied by the 80% from fossil fuels and by the 6.7% from renewable energy sources (solar, wind, hydroelectric, ) and it shows a steady increase over time, from 1971 onwards, at an average of 2.5% per year. Mediterranean countries are generally speaking importers of primary sources (mainly oil and natural gas) and thus they are highly dependent on outside supply (35% of the energy consumed in the entire basin is imported) (Plan Bleu 2008). Figure 1 is a typical descriptive representation contained in international reports of large diffusion. The Mediterranean area is here considered in terms of a functional space inserted in a global geography of energy (Sid Ahmed 1999). At this scale, the Mediterranean presents itself mainly as a transit space in which the flows of oil and natural gas converge from other regions (Middle East, Russia, ) in order to serve European consumer countries. At the same time, however, the Mediterranean may also appear as an area that produces raw materials, through exports to certain North African countries (above all, Algeria and Libya) where raw materials leave for Europe and the (Plan Bleu 2009).

73 Anyway, it’s on a macro-regional scale that the functional representation of the Mediterranean assumes a greater significance. At this scale, the distinction between producer countries and consumer countries is at the root of an internal representation of the space in dual terms, founded on two opposite shores: the Northern one, importer of energy resources and with high external dependence; the Southern one, exporter of resources and in a phase of rapid expansion of consumption and of the economy. This is a reading that appears in institutional documents such as the Cahiers of Plan Bleu (2008, 2009), the establishment of regional cooperation created by the European Union and by 21 riparian countries in order to promote the sustainable development of the Mediterranean area and that devote huge time to energy issues. To the Northern shore belong Spain, France, Italy, Malta, Monaco, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Montenegro, Albania, Greece and Cyprus. On the Southern shore, however, are Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt, the Palestinian Territories, Israel, Lebanon, Syria, Turkey and Jordan.

Figure 1 – Structure of primary energy consumption in the Mediterranean, by source

Source: El Andaloussi 2010

According to this representation, a natural interdependence would exist between the two shores, moreover of a quite symmetrical type. Southern European countries are supplying energy to the producing countries of the Mediterranean, while the latter are exporting a preponderant portion of its own oil in Europe. In addition, the countries of the Southern shore can benefit from technical and financial assistance

74 from Northern countries. This spatial representation is justified at the institutional level since it seems to legitimize and justify a ‘natural’ propulsion towards cooperation between the two shores by virtue of mutual interests that should appear evident. Despite the great differences between the two shores in terms of economic and social development, even in purely functional terms such a representation appears reductive and simplistic. The production of hydrocarbons, for instance, is heavily concentrated in only two countries on the Southern shore, Libya and Algeria, which show the highest endowment of primary resources (both oil and natural gas). Egypt and Syria, until now exporting countries, are starting to make a significant transition towards a balance between production and consumption that will knock in a decisive way the volumes of energy being exported, privileging the domestic consumption of their own resources.

Table 1 – Oil and gas reserves and production in the Mediterranean (2007) Oil Natural Gas Reserves Production Reserves Production Country (MT) (MT) (Gm3) (Gm3) Algeria 1545 95 4580 86,5 Egypt 600 34,6 2170 55 Libya 5700 91,8 1540 15,9 Syria 409 19,8 360 5,5 Tunisia 90 4,2 97 2,7 Italy 99 5,2 120 8,4 Others 128 - 137 - Mediterranean 8571 256 9004 178 Source: El Andaloussi 2010

This allocation of resources assigns to Algeria and Libya a strategic role within the Mediterranean area, especially in the relations with the EU. This role cannot be reduced simply to a functional level, but is intended on geopolitical logics far more complex, directed to maximize the position of strategic advantage deriving from the location of internal resources. From the point of view of consumption, the presence of a few producer countries characterizes the Mediterranean area as heavily dependent on the outside in terms of energy consumption. This extremely heterogeneous situation regards both large importing countries of (such as Italy, France and Spain) and

75 other countries of the EU (such as Greece) or those within its direct sphere of influence (such as Balkan countries) and countries of the Southern Mediterranean shore without internal energy resources (Jordan, Israel, Palestinian Territories, Turkey, Morocco). Imports are satisfied by a certain territorial differentiation based on a macro-regional scale: concerning oil, Mediterranean countries (particularly those from Southern Europe), besides North African reserves, rely on a constant supply from the Middle East that passes through the Suez Canal. Concerning natural gas, Russia is supplying not only France and Italy (at lEast equal to Algerian exports) but also, in a priority measure, Turkey, Greece and the Balkans (Winrow 2008). Moreover, looking at the flows of energy and raw materials, the Mediterranean takes on the characteristics of a functional area of transit and transportation (European Commission 2007). In this sense, transit countries cover a strategic role since they are placed (or aspiring to be placed) on routes of strategic infrastructure for energy transportation. A prominent role is played, for instance, by Turkey (Roberts 2005). Turkey aims to become an energy hub of the European Union for the resources of the macro-Caucasian region, already hosts the Baku-Tbilisi- Ceyhan oil pipeline (which bypasses Russia and Bosphorus to carry oil into Europe) and in the future could host the Nabucco gas pipeline (which also aims to directly connect the EU with the resources of the ). Also concerning oil resources, Egypt covers a strategic role not just in terms of production, but also in terms of transit thanks to the , a line that connects the Red Sea with the Mediterranean and, of course, the passages through the Suez Canal. Algeria is the other country interested in infrastructure projects for transporting gas to the Northern Mediterranean. The project Galsi (towards Italy through ) and especially the gigantic project Trans-Saharian (aiming to put in contact the Algerian energy hub with Nigerian resources through the Sahara) could be added in the future to Trans-Med gas pipelines (which carries natural gas to Italy via Tunisia), Medgaz (towards Spain) and Maghreb-Europe (towards Spain via Morocco). Libya is involved in the gas pipeline Greenstream, which aims to transfer natural gas to Italy via Sicily (even if huge interest is aroused especially by the oil resources of the country at the end of the Gheddafi dictatorship). Lastly, Turkey and Egypt are at the heart of another strategic project, dealing with the extension of the Arab gas pipeline, which currently allows the supply of other Southern Mediterranean countries, starting from Egypt and passing through Israel, Jordan, Syria and Lebanon. However, future expansions could bring the pipeline up to Turkey and from there through a connection with Nabucco, strengthening the role of the energy hub of the country towards the EU. Other elements that throw into crisis the dual representation of the

76 Mediterranean include quitting fossil fuels and analyzing the field of renewable energy, energy efficiency and technological innovation in energy distribution. The importance of the investments in these fields, especially in Europe, has a much more strategic nature than the partial, and difficult, rebalance of fossil fuels and renewable energy in the national energy mixes of different countries (Rhein 1997). Particularly at the functional level, such a transition implies a large infrastructural adjustment to profoundly reshape the geography of energy and the territorial shape in the Mediterranean area (Paradiso 2011c). The exploitation of the basins of sources in Southern Europe and, especially, in North Africa (mainly from wind and solar) requires, in fact, the realization of a large area of energy exchange developed in long international distances, extended firstly to the whole of Europe and then expanded towards the Balkans and North Africa. Such an operation involves, on the material side, the realization of infrastructure able to connect and transfer at a macro-regional scale, following the model of the smart grid able to manage in an efficient way the non- programmable flow of energy from renewable sources. It requires, in other words, a super-grid similar to the one in progress in Northern Europe in charge of the exploitation of wind power in the . On the intangible side, this strategic plan can only be realized through the construction of an energy market governed by rules shared by the various regions involved, which thus implies the integration of peripheral areas within a European regulatory system. A similar evolution can potentially undermine the present functional geography of the Mediterranean: importer countries may become necessary joints in the distribution system of energy produced by renewable sources. In light of this, the symmetric and bipolar representation of the Mediterranean looks even more reductive. Far from giving an account of the reality of the relations between the two shores, it reproduces the explicit legitimizing intent of a natural predisposition to the integration, justified in terms of a geography of the functions and resources within the basin. Precisely for this reason, this integration should be found as an explicit expression of a political project. The crucial steps to make it possible are also of political origin.

Politics

From a political perspective, the Mediterranean would not exist on a functional basis, but only as an extension towards the outside of the European Union’s energy policies. There is no sense in speaking about a macro-Mediterranean region, but rather about a Euro-Mediterranean area, as it is originally inside the contest of European policies that

77 integration in the energy field among EU countries, the ones in its more direct sphere of influence and those on the Southern shore of the Mediterranean is elaborated on and promoted. This is an approach that reverses the logic of the functional perspective, as the organization of space and relations within the Mediterranean basin would not occur spontaneously, on the basis of particular conditions and balances, but would be promoted and regulated by explicit political intent. Agreements and programs of cooperation around the Mediterranean certainly do not represent news; indeed, even before 1995, there had been some attempts to find some form of synergy and integration among the countries belonging to the two shores1. However, relations on a bilateral basis between individual countries and those facing the Mediterranean have always prevailed over common strategies. Formally, it was with the start-up of the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership (also called the ‘Barcelona Process’) in 1995 that more structured institutional relations began to be routed between European countries and Southern countries of the Mediterranean area. In this first phase, energy topics remained at the margins of the negotiation process as other issues became preeminent, such as security, international migration, economic and social development and cultural and humanitarian affairs. However, energy was recognized as a relevant strategic issue2 and some projects of physical integration through the development of energy networks (Escribano 2010) were undertaken as part of the partnership3. The energy issue has started to be posed with more emphasis since 2002/2003, with the statement of the European Neighborhood Policy (ENP). The program was born in a period of deep reflection inside the European Union, after the enlargement to new Eastern member states, upon government relations with these new

1 See, for example, the Euro-Arab Dialogue and the Global Mediterranean Policy. Started in 1970, the Euro-Arab Dialogue involved the European Economic Community and the Arab League, with the aim to review the nature of Euro-Arab relations and to achieve a radical reform of the relations between the partners. The Global Mediterranean Policy regulated bilateral trade and cooperation agreements between Europe and the Mediterranean countries from 1976 to 1990. 2 The Barcelona Declaration “acknowledge[s] the pivotal role of the energy sector in the economic Euro-Mediterranean partnership and set[s] out to strengthen co-operation and intensify dialogue in the field of energy policies”. 3 These projects were finalized to complete important electricity and gas interconnections including the Arab Gas Pipeline, the Medgaz pipeline, the Gas Interconnection in Turkey-Greece-Italy and various North-South and South- South electricity interconnections.

78 neighboring countries. Initially conceived as a strategy directed towards Eastern countries, the ENP since the first moments has also opened itself to relations with the countries of North Africa and Eastern Mediterranean. In this development, energy issues have played a major role, as at the same time the European Union began to develop its own common energy strategy centered on the slogan ‘security’ (Winrow 2008). Through the publication by the European Commission of the Green Paper on European Strategy for the security of energy supply (2001) and of the following Green Paper on European Strategy to ensure sustainable, competitive and secure energy (2006), the EU assumes full knowledge of its condition of external dependence on the procurement of raw materials, and poses the diversification of supply as the policy goal, leading to an increase in its own energy security (Prange-Gstöhl 2009)4. The concept of energy security means the possibility for citizens and enterprises of a certain country to “access … sufficient energy resources at reasonable prices for the foreseeable future free from serious risk of major disruption of service” (Barton et al. 2004)5. This strategic objective is expressed through the diversification of and balance between different sources of supply by geographical region (Faas et al. 2008), effectively expanding the spectrum of countries that import raw materials and/or final energy, including a differentiation by energy source (and increasingly, for instance, the use of renewable sources). The tool to achieve such diversification is the extension of the European energy market to neighboring states, integrating them into a common regulatory framework of shared trade, transit and environmental rules (Darbouche 2011). The Euro- Mediterranean area is immediately seen as the privileged space in which building this wider market-oriented energy community, stimulating the rapid liberalization of energy markets in Mediterranean partner countries (MPCs) and extending Community institutions to third-party

4 “With continuing economic growth and declining energy production the energy import needs of EU member states are expected to climb considerably. According to the European Commission the EU imports 57 per cent of its gas and 82 per cent of its oil. These figures are projected to rise by 2030 to 84 per cent and 93 per cent respectively. Most crude is delivered from the Gulf region and especially from Saudi Arabia, although Russia also accounts for about one- quarter of the EU’s imports” (Winrow 2008, p. 165). 5 From a theoretical point of view, the notion of ‘security’ is highly differentiated, since it may refer to multiple dimensions such as the continuity of supply, certainty of costs, protection of the environment, possibility of technical accidents, geopolitical tensions, overall quality of life and wellbeing and so on (Winzer 2011).

79 countries opens at the same time the European energy market to interventions and participation from the outside (Escribano 2010). Mainly pursued on a bilateral basis (through agreements between the EU and individual third-party countries), the ENP has been considered to be a failure in the energy field, at lEast for the moment (Darbouche 2011; Tovias and Ugur 2004). The reason lies mainly in the skepticism expressed by third-party countries of the Southern shore towards the policy of liberalization imposed by the EU, perceived in terms of the imposition of an external economic model, as well as the volume of incentives and financial support offered by the EU that is considered to be insufficient. This skepticism has rapidly been turned into the withdrawal from bilateral negotiations of strategic countries such as Algeria and Libya and the delay of other countries of the Southern shore. As if to confirm these uncertainties on the ability of the European Union to build-up a Euro-Mediterranean area through shared market rules, a radical change in attitude is being performed within the Union for the Mediterranean (UFthM), particularly through the Mediterranean Solar Plan (MSP), the latest initiative undertaken by member countries. Significantly, the UFthM presents among its major pillars the energy issue in terms of energy security, while conventional fossil fuels are not mentioned within its principal fields of initiatives. All attention is reserved, mainly, to the production and exchange of green electricity between the two shores (with special emphasis given to solar energy). The MSP, which involves several phases and sets 2020 as its horizon, consists of two strategic objectives. The first is the increase in generation capacity based on renewable sources in MPCs (up to 20 gigawatts /year), providing a significant investment flow into countries of the Southern shore, while the second is the investment into energy corridors for the transmission of electricity, including intra-EU and intra-MPCs networks. The interest aroused by the MSP favors towards integration based on concrete projects and a pragmatic approach, within a common institutional framework (the UFthM) and, at lEast apparently, balanced (and not just as a projection of a Community policy). The MSP has enjoyed from the beginning considerable success, establishing itself as a project of greater symbolic weight inside the UFthM and successfully intercepting various projects and interests – both public and private (Folkmani 2011). Despite that, it is evident that the necessary condition for the realization of the plan is harmonization between the EU and MPCs in terms of market rules (in particular concerning prices and investment costs) and a deep technological and infrastructural update at the level of transmission networks based on the model of smart grids.

80 From this perspective, the MSP can be considered to be a recipe to obtain by other means the political intent that the EU originally pursued through direct market and investment mechanisms.

Geopolitics

The third approach to energy issues in the Mediterranean area refers to geopolitics (Bosse 2011; Umbach 2010; Correlje and van der Linde 2006). Within this field, energy is at the core of the complex strategies that express power relations between the countries facing the Mediterranean. In this analysis, the Mediterranean area should not be interpreted as a functional space or as a political project (partially shared). Rather, it represents a geopolitical space in which the interests and strategies of a plurality of actors, public and private, conflictually converge. The debate on the geopolitics of energy in the Mediterranean is centered on the matter of the vulnerability of the European Union (Darbouche 2011; Umbach 2010), whose territory may be significantly divided into different areas of influence according to the origin of the energy resources necessary for it (Escribano 2010). The situation of high dependence on the Russian Federation (the main exporter of energy resources towards Europe) and the increasing alarmism for the interruptions of gas supplies to European countries (in addition to the growing troubles of the monopolistic role exercised by Russia) are pushing the EU towards significantly diversifying its imports (Prange- Gstöhl 2009). This would support a greater flow of oil and gas from North Africa and the Middle East, opening the way to access to the resources of the Caucasus (above all , and Georgia). According to Winrow (2008) and Lavenex (2004), the energy issue has suffered a growing securitization on behalf of European institutions. This occurs when a sector or an issue ceases to be the goal of public policies, but becomes a reference for national security (in this case, of the Union). In the case of Europe, “the increasing attention given to the question of the Energy supply and the concept that this matter should be urgently addressed indicates that this issue is becoming more securitized” than politicized (Winrow 2008, 163). In this sense, the construction of a Euro-Mediterranean space can be seen from two perspectives with a very labile border (Walters 2004; Correlje and Van der Linde 2006): on one hand, from the perspective of a neo-liberal policy based on dialogue and multilateral cooperation (about markets,

81 networks and institutions); on the other, as a neo-colonial approach, focused on a geopolitical representation of the supra-national energy system fragmented into regions and areas of influence6. In other words, the political strategy of extension of European market rules and of Community institutions to the countries of the Southern shore can take both the outline of a political action aimed at greater integration and a geopolitical and unidirectional act aimed at achieving greater control over the energy resources located on the Southern side of the Mediterranean. Through policies of liberalization, the EU could achieve a significant investment capacity in MPCs, bypassing the obstacle of bilateral negotiations with individual producing countries or with transit countries such as Turkey (Youngs 2009). Again, Mediterranean space would not correspond to a shared political project, but rather to the projection in the geographical space of the fears and apprehensions of the EU. The Mediterranean would enter, in other words, into a broader European strategy to diversify its supplies. Anyway, it would be wrong to assign to MPCs an exclusively passive role in front of European initiatives. In the international debate, even the lack of enthusiasm shown by MPCs in front of the ‘acquis communitiaire’ applied to the energy sector is read from a geopolitical perspective (Prange-Gstöhl 2009). As well as for consuming countries, even producers and exporters pursue their own energy security, dealing with the possibility to “sell their energy at a reasonable price so that they may continue to invest in energy production” (Winrow 2008, 221). For producing and transit countries, it is much easier to set up a special relationship with the outside on a bilateral basis than it is to pursue multilateral agreements mediated by the EU. At the same time, although the EU is trying to establish its own internal energy market, it is recognized that member countries (in particular the major energy markets) continue to show a certain reluctance for full liberalization and the delegation of energy decisions to a supranational organism. This leaves wide spaces for bilateral agreements and arrangements between individual European countries and Southern Mediterranean producing ones7. Not surprisingly, the countries most willing to enter into direct

6 “The colonial type of relationship […] is marked by a clear distinction between the core and the periphery, in which the core aims at transforming territory in the image of the settler or in which a organized power meets its outside in a relationship of transformation and assimilation and assumes the right to define what is appropriate and just” (Bosse 2011, p. 514). 7 “Why should Algeria, for instance, replace a strategic energy partnership with France or Spain with a deal with European Union when the former allows it to obtain concessions from these members states on bilateral and other political

82 relation with the EU are those poorly equipped with energy resources, but interested in the transit in its territory of strategic energy infrastructures (as is the case, once again, of Turkey and, to a lesser degree, Jordan and Israel, that aspire to become part of an EU energy hub). It is also necessary to mention that, from the perspective of critical geopolitics applied to the Mediterranean area, different actors to the states have acquired an increasingly strategic role. These are private operators (large companies in the energy field and transmission systems operators) involved in the above-mentioned process of transition towards a model de-carbonized of energy production and consumption. Such a strategic objective offers, in fact, a framework and political support to large investment operations in the regions bordering the Mediterranean basin, primarily in North Africa. Since the late eighties, the OME (Observatoire Méditerranéen de l’Energie)8 has included leading Mediterranean energy companies that aim at promoting common projects and business cooperation in energy exploitation, production and distribution. However, in recent years new private mega-projects have been developed, especially in the field of renewable energy. The best known of these is , an industrial initiative supported by a consortium of European private companies such as E.on, Siemens and Deutsche Bank and firstly diffused in 20099. The rationale behind the proposal is to satisfy 15% of European electricity demand by 2050 via concentrating solar power plants in the North African and Saharan regions. While Desertec has been questioned by surprisingly few from a technical and economic point of view (Lilliestam and Ellenbeck 2011), it is from the critical geopolitical perspective that the project has been more criticized (Lacher and Kumetat 2011). On both sides of the Mediterranean, the project has been labeled neo-imperialist, as it could be seen as a misappropriation of Northern African resources

issues as well as on broader economic matters?” (Darbouche 2011, p. 205). 8 OME is a nonprofit association created in 1988. It includes 32 leading Mediterranean energy companies from 14 countries. Its main objective is to promote cooperation and collaboration with major energy companies operating in the Mediterranean region, making energy an element for regional integration (www.ome.org). 9 Desertec was founded on previous preliminary proposals concerning the possibility for the EU to import solar electricity from the Sahara: the Trans- CSP Scenario (2006), elaborated on by researchers of the German Aerospace Centre, and the Desertec concept (2008), conceptualized by the Club of Rome (Lilliestam and Ellenbeck 2011).

83 by European energy companies. In this projection, the Southern part of the Mediterranean is seen as nothing else than a free space to occupy, useful to satisfy the European demand of energy security (Rico 2009; Tene 2009). From the other side, in a more classical geopolitical scenario, some European commentators fear that Desertec may become a form of ‘energy weapon’ in the hands of North African countries to be used against Europe (exactly as Russia is actually doing in the market of natural gas) (Lilliestam and Ellenbeck 2011). Despite such criticism, the opinions of those who consider projects such as Desertec a concrete solution to the status of institutional impasse are still prevalent. This is precisely because of the predominantly technological nature of the project and other investments based on the exploitation of new energy sources in the Mediterranean basin. In fact, the intentional political cut to exports of electricity generated from renewable energies is very unlikely for technical reasons since electricity cannot be stored or stocked without high opportunity costs because of the interruption to power generation. This represents a limit for governments eager to use energy for political pressure. However, at the same time, export countries may gain significant advantages from the high investments made by European companies, both in the field of technical assistance and for developing long-lasting agreements that may guarantee regular and steady incomes in energy exports. What is more, renewable may eradicate the actual geography of producer and consumer countries, since new states may promote their renewable power sectors as covering a strategic role in future Mediterranean renewable scenarios.

Projects

As we have seen, a unique representation of the Mediterranean in terms of energy is impossible. Indeed, the methods of describing its space may vary depending on the factors that are taken into account from time to time: the imports and exports of raw materials, electricity and functional relations; political processes and institutional initiatives; and geopolitical strategies between producing and consuming and transit countries. In light of these multiple perspectives, we may argue whether there is a gradual assumption of an awareness of the Mediterranean intended as a macro-region capable of expressing its own focus and greater integration and autonomy in relation to the energy topic. Looking right now to the Mediterranean, two appear as the most likely evolutionary paths moving from such heterogeneous scenarios. The first sees a growing fragmentation of the area in a series of bilateral relations between countries that do not contribute to macro-regional integration,

84 with the result to pulverize the Mediterranean area into a confused amalgam of relations between EU member states and individual producing countries. This is a likely scenario, given the delays and difficulties within the EU in creating a real free market and given the recent political revolutions in North Africa, which may call into question all the choices on the energy issue previously taken. Energy still presents a strong inertia to be treated as a ‘national issue’ and therefore it is possible that there could be a regression rather than an empowerment in integration commitments and initiatives. The alternative scenario is rather overbalanced towards the EU and the construction of a Euro-Mediterranean space more than a purely Mediterranean one. The risk of such a construction is to fall into the uncertainties of the model of cooperation under the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership (EMP) and ENP and to perceive integration in the energy sector by MPCs as a process of selective Europeanization (Barbé and Herranz Surrallés 2010), which may alienate countries ‘not aligned’ with EU reforms and an increase in the distrust among MPCs10. As a result of the tension between these two scenarios, the energy issue today is highly diversified within the Mediterranean basin (both from a sectoral perspective and regulatory or geographic one) with a low propensity towards convergence (Barbé and Herranz Surrallés 2010). Are there ways out? Is it possible to follow a scenario of major convergence? Following Escribano (2010 p. 226) “the vision of a fully integrated pan-Euro-Mediterranean energy market in the image and likeness of the EU’s energy acquis is not a realistic one”, neither in the short-nor in the long-term. If convergence can be created at the level of the Mediterranean, this probably would be based on original mechanisms of governance that won’t be the easy tracing of the Eurocentric model largely rejected by MPCs. One possible way, even if not free from ambiguity, is the one developed within the MSP. This consists of overturning the logic for the preliminary construction of a normative and institutional framework within which entering projects and initiatives. The new Euro-Mediterranean cooperation framework could be funded, in the energy field, on the welding of interests around strategic projects on which the structures of governance and regulatory and institutional frameworks can be developed. It stands for, in other words, conceiving the Mediterranean as a ‘planning space’ based on a

10 According to Barbé and Herranz Surrallés (2010 p. 136), “bilateral differentiation as conducted within the framework of the ENP is not a mechanism giving centrality to the Mediterranean partners, but a manoeuvre to promote reforms defined by the EU, thus explaining the unenthusiastic involvement of some Mediterranean ENP partners”.

85 cooperation à la carte (Barbé and Herranz Surrallés 2010) between public and private actors. This would be an approach that would allow us to go beyond the difficulties that different institutions in the Euro- Mediterranean cooperation normally meet (this is the case, for instance, of UFthM). In this overturned logic, technological development represents the driver of Mediterranean integration (Ferrero-Waldner 2009; Paradiso 2011c; European Commission 2011b) rather than considerations of a political/geopolitical nature. Cooperation should focus, first of all, on those projects considered to be strategic by the partners belonging to both shores, because of their capacity to bring mutual benefits to different actors. The first of such projects is the development of smart grids for energy transmission at a macro-regional level, where the interests of both European countries of the Northern shore and those of the countries of the Southern one seem to converge. Similar investments in networks are, therefore, a basic condition that can facilitate the transition to a unique energy market, and not the result of a laborious political and negotiation process of institutional and normative harmonization. The success of the MSP demonstrates how the construction of such strategic projects can consolidate interests for intra-regional cooperation and integrate itself with wider and transverse policies. The promotion of renewable energy goes in the direction set by European policies (20-20-20 energy package), but closely follows the intentions of many countries of the Southern shore that aim to exploit their basins of renewable resources (among which wind energy and solar photovoltaic are leaders) (Piebalgs 2009). This overturning of the logic of intra-Mediterranean relations, of course, is not free of contradictions. Among these, there is certainly the difficult feasibility, in the short-term, of the projects put in place and the necessity to establish an articulated system of criteria of technical, economic, environmental and social sustainability of the foreseen investments (see AMBIENTE). However, this is the sign of an attempt to promote new forms of cooperation and integration towards a supra-regional reality within which the energy can only play a leading role.

86 F – Frontiera/Frontier

Edoardo Boria and Elena dell’Agnese

The Mediterranean Sea: fracture, liquid continent, or contact zone?

“Water separates, land connects” (Connor 1994, 141). On this apparently unproblematic assumption is based the so-called ‘myth of continental unity’, probably the most powerful territorial paradigm in the making of the contemporary world political map. In truth, for centuries, or most likely millennia, economic, political, and cultural relations have developed much more intensely around water basins, such as internal seas or canals, than across land distances. Even so,

one of the more enduring and consequential myths of human relations is the assumption that groups who dwell on a single land mass share certain common interests and traits because of that territorial contiguity, even though the groups in question may be separated by great distances” (Connor 1969, 555).

If “meaningful relations [...] end at the water’s edge” (Connor 1969, 559), seas are consequently interpreted as voids or, better, as ‘natural boundaries’ separating landmasses that are supposed to be homogeneous from a cultural point of view. On the myth of continental unity, has been based the Manifest Destiny discourse, which, in the 19th century, propelled the United States’ territorial expansion towards their “natural boundary, till the shores of the ”. But also in the 20th century, big transnational units were constructed on the basis of territorial contiguity, neglecting, on one side, other possible keys of regional formalization, and on the other, the potential internal coherence of the seas (Horden and Purcell 2006)1.

1 “Sea history also helps to expose the ‘myth of continents’ and the precedence that historians have given to land over water as the support of social life” (Horden and Purcell 2006, 723). Along the same perspective, Veronica

87 The making of the EU and its relationship with the Mediterranean Sea stands as a clear example of this logic. Indeed, the European Union has increasingly widened Northward and Eastward, but it never stretched its borders further than the Southern limits of its North . So even if, in the past, the Mediterranean Sea has been “probably the most vigorous place of interaction between different ocieties on the face of this planet” (Adulafia 2011, 648), the chasm between its shores seems now to be more open than ever. Indeed, practical and popular geopolitics of today tend to represent the sea ‘in the middle of the lands’2 as an empty space, or, better, as a ‘political frontier’,3 buffering two politically and economically separated, sometimes conflicting, regions. A similar interpretation is confirmed also by the political configuration of the two shores, that is, by their structural geopolitics4. Indeed, the Northern countries are now deeply interconnected into a supranational structure aimed at promoting their mutual integration, and, at the same time, they have built up a new common boundary in the face of the countries of the Southern shore (van Houtum, Kramsch and Zierhofer 2004; dell’Agnese and Squarcina 2005). However, interpreting the Mediterranean Sea as a ‘political frontier’ is not the only possible way. On the contrary, the long European tradition5 of ‘Mediterraneism’ and ‘Mediterranean studies’ has

della Dora (2010) suggests assuming a vision ‘from the sea’ to understand the Mediterranean. 2 The expression ‘in the middle of the lands’ translates the adjective ‘Mediterranean’. Indeed “Le mot ‘Méditerranée’ n’a pas toujours été un nom propre. Il est issu d’un adjectif, ‘méditerrané’, qui en a lui-même suscité un autre: ‘méditerranée’. Aucun de ces trois mots n’a toutefois une longue histoire en français. L’adjectif ‘méditerrané’ n’apparaît qu’au 16e siècle et il s’applique seulement à qualifier ‘ce qui est au milieu des terres, séparé des continents’” (Ruel 1991, 7). A good reconstruction of the etymological history of the word ‘Mediterranean’ is offered also by Guarracino (2007, 1–11). 3 Political frontiers used to be zones “less densely populated than the flanking states” (Prescott 1987, 44). On the contemporary world map, however, they have been generally substituted by international boundaries. 4 The distinction among the four different kinds of geopolitics is suggested by G. Ó Tuathail (1999). Briefly, ‘formal geopolitics’ includes geopolitical theories and tradition, ‘practical geopolitics’ stands for ‘the geopolitical praxis’ developed everyday by governments, politicians, and bureaucracies, ‘popular geopolitics’ has to do with any kind of popular culture, and ‘structural geopolitics’ describes the contemporary geopolitical situation. 5 From this perspective, we must stress the discoursive asymmetry between the European gaze and the non European one (see Dainotto 2003, 55, who

88 constantly oscillated between two different images: along with the one already mentioned, representing the sea as a cultural ‘fracture’, an almost antithetic image of the Mediterranean as a ‘liquid continent’ has been cultivated over time. In this second understanding, the Mediterranean Sea is accepted as a compact ‘cultural region’ in itself, that is, as a geographically coherent space. Coined by Braudel in 1949, the image of the ‘liquid continent’ has lately received new life (even if in a slightly different version, see della Dora, 2010), by the work of the historians Horden and Purcell (2000); and it has been successively popularized by travel literature (Woodsworth 2008) and even by art exhibitions inspired by it6. Even if, as stated before, the first image is prevailing at the moment, these two contrasting visions, that is the idea of the ‘political frontier’, or ‘fracture’, and the theory of ‘the homogeneous cultural region’, or ‘liquid continent’, have been variously promoted and renegotiated at different times, both by geopolitical praxis and by popular culture. All the same, not one of them seems by now capable of providing a satisfying vision, accounting for all the different Mediterranean complexities; but they tend to lock the Mediterranean discourse into a ‘Manichean rhetoric’7. A way out from this geopolitical short circuit may perhaps be offered by a third geographical metaphor, which can be used in order to overcome the opposition between the image of the fracture and the one of the cultural region: the ‘contact zone’. As developed by M.L. Pratt (1991, 33), the idea of ‘contact zone’ may refer to a social space where “cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power”. Adopting this notion, it

writes “any Italian may write about the Mediterranean [. . .] without bothering to cite Abdelkebir Khatibi, Albert Memmi, or Taieb Belghazi. For a Turkish or Algerian author it is instead impossible (or suicidal) not to confront the ‘Mediterranean’ canonized in European literature – provided, of course, that said author wishes to reach a Mediterranean audience beyond its national borders.”; see also Fogu 2010). However, a comparative analysis is beyond the limits of this essay. 6 http://www.archinos.com/2010/01/the-liquid-continent/ 7“Nowadays the Mediterranean tends to be a prisoner of a static image that impedes a careful analysis of its complex and manifold reality. Such discourse ends up creating arguments which either idealize the region, historically understood as the cradle of three great civilizations, as the land of , , and grain, or, conversely, perceive it as a barrier between clashing cultures” (Pepicelli, http://www.juragentium.unifi.it/topics/med/forum /index.htm, s.d).

89 becomes possible to get through the traditional image of the frontier as a buffer space, in order to accept a new definition of ‘frontier’, as a space promoting cultural interaction, transculturation, and métissage. From being interpreted as a ‘dividing sea’, or, on the opposite side, as a ‘liquid continent’, the Mediterranean Sea may in this way be accepted as a ‘mediating sea’, as it was happily defined by Eliseé Reclus (1876), that is, as a ‘contact zone’ endowed with a value in itself, thanks to its capacity for promoting cultural encounters and exchange.

Formal geopolitics: antithetic interpretations of the Mediterranean Sea in the Western scientific tradition

In Anne Ruel’s opinion (1991, 8), the Mediterranean in itself is “une invention de géographes”. From this perspective, Ruel underlines the importance usually credited by geography to the and to the traditional interconnections between environment and mankind, starting from Malte-Brun (1812). To Malte-Brun, many other geographers working on the Mediterranean as a specific topic could be added, from Jules Sion (1934) and André Siegfried (1943), to Russell King (1997). But the representation of the Mediterranean as a coherent cultural region has not been developed by geographers alone. To this perspective, contributions have also been provided by other disciplinary traditions, such as history (Braudel 1949), ethnography (Berque 1981, 1998), Islamic studies (Harpigny 1981), and sociology (Morin 2007)8. Such a vision comprises distinct images and evocative panoramas, like the ones offered by the tolerant courts of Moorish and of Norman-Swabian Sicily, or the cosmopolitan atmospheres pervading, at the end of the 19th century, places like Algiers, Trieste, Marseille, Thessaloniki, Istanbul, Izmir, and Beirut. Such a vision, open and inclusive, also prevents any attempt at setting fixed boundaries, since, as

8 Even theoretical approaches now totally discredited, such as eugenics and other racial theories, provided, between the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th, a substantially homogeneous vision of the Mediterranean. The Italian Giuseppe Sergi (1895), for instance, was a promoter of the pre-eminence of the ‘’, while the American Madison Grant (1921, 229), even if an advocate of the superiority of the Nordic one, had to admit that “The mental characteristics of the Mediterranean race are well known, and this race, while inferior in bodily stamina to both the Nordic and the Alpine, is probably the superior of both, certainly of the Alpines, in intellectual attainments. In the field of art its superiority to both the other European races is unquestioned”.

90 stated by Matvejević “you don’t understand how to define them, nor in relation with what: they are not historical, nor ethnic, nor national, nor state-owned” (cited in Bénachehnou et al. 2001, 19). Then, there is historical past, possibly the main maker of the idea of a ‘shared Mediterranean fate’. From this perspective, it is important to highlight not only the span of time (the only one, by the way) when the sea was reunited under a unique leadership, that is, under the power of Rome (Amiotti 1998), when all the coastal regions were, more or less, connected on the same cultural and juridical platform, but, mostly, the Middle Age experience, accepted as the central moment for the Mediterranean koine by historians belonging to the school of thought of the ‘longue durée’ (from Braudel, to Duby, to Abulafia). In their works, aimed at organizing the history of the Mediterranean Sea from an organic perspective, instead of providing a simple reconstruction of historical facts, they underline the symbolic and practical meaning of the commercial and cultural exchanges crossing the Mediterranean in that period. This thick network of interactions was, in their opinion, at the basis of the many cultural assonances and complicities capable of producing the ‘liquid continent’ mentioned by Braudel (1949, 248). Such a perspective found evidence through the existence of a uniform cultural region not only in artistic expressions and popular praxis, from music (Plastino 2005) to food (as testified by the existence of a ‘Mediterranean diet’, dell’Agnese, 1998), but also in economic activities, such as transhumance and nomadic pastoralism (Horden and Purcell 2000), whose patterns crossed the Mediterranean lands before the Industrial Revolution and the spread of urbanism. However, to the advocates of the other vision, such a unitary perspective seems to be too idealistic or, at the most, satisfactory just for a specific historical moment. A conflicting and disharmonic Mediterranean, ridden by differences of characters and historical trajectories in the past and by strong contrasts between its two shores at the present, seems a much more acceptable description to them (Ribas- Mateos 2001). The most relevant factor supporting this interpretation is offered by the presence, in the area, of the three big monotheistic religions, and by their spatial distribution. Indeed, but for a few small exclaves (the Muslims in the Balkans, the urban Sephardic communities, the Egyptian Coptic populations), the religious geography of the Mediterranean region is clearly demarcated. This net cultural division can be advocated in order to explain centennial conflicts and eternal hates, deeply embedded in collective memories and still open today, as symbolized by the big dividing walls, separating people living in Jerusalem, Nicosia, and even Ceuta and Melilla. This line of thought was inaugurated by a seminal paper written by Henri Pirenne in 1922, whose concluding remarks are: “Sans l’Islam, l’Empire franc n’aurait sans doute

91 jamais existé, et sans Mahomet serait inconcevable”, even if some other historians deny the function of Islamic expansion in the breaking of the regional coherence: Le Goff and Biraben (1969) for instance, tend to stress more the role of other factors, such as epidemics. This interpretation, however, is based on the removal of some objective historical facts, such as the role of Constantinople and of the not only in conserving the Greek and Latin cultural heritage, but also in enhancing it, through a long list of new inventions in the fields of mathematics and medicine (Guarracino 2007). All the same, the general idea that the Mediterranean Sea represents a fracture, much more than a common area, is today generally prevailing, not only in popular geographical imagination but also in geopolitical praxis. From this perspective, the sea acquires the nature of a ‘cordon sanitaire’, that is as an asymmetric barrier, functional in order to keep the ‘others’ outside, as do many other boundaries of the contemporary world.9 However, there is a third possible interpretation, well synthesized by Albert Camus’ words “L’Afrique du Nord est un des seuls pays où l’Orient et l’Occident cohabitent” (1937, 1324). From this perspective, the Mediterranean is accepted as a place for living together, growing together, fighting together maybe, but always in a climate of intense relationships. In this sense, Camus stands as the perfect example of the intercultural intellectual, bred inside the hybrid atmospheres of the place, exactly like other relevant figures of the time, such as Edward Said or Jacques Derrida10. And the place itself, made up by a multitude of different micro-regions and micro-ecologies, may be understood as a ‘corrupting sea’ (Horden and Purcell 2000), encouraging encounters and cultural interactions. From this perspective, the frontier performs the role of interplay, a place devoted to promoting not only economic exchanges, but also cultural links. Instead of thinking of a fracture (Kayser 1996) or, at the opposite, of a homogeneous cultural space, it becomes possible to evoke a favorite image of contemporary Cultural Studies and speak of a ‘contact zone’ (Pratt 1991). So, the Mediterranean, instead of being understood as a linear, rigid, and fixed boundary or, on the contrary, as a uniform cultural region, can be interpreted as a frontier, but only if the post-modern definition of the

9 Indeed, as remarked by Foucher (2007, 18), today “Les frontières se sont transformées en ‘membranes asymétriques’, autorisant la sortie mais protégeant l’entrée d’individus venant de l’autre côté“. 10 Derrida defined himself as “un enfant de la Méditerranée qui n’était ni simplement français ni simplement africain, et qui a passé son temps à voyager d’une culture à l’autre et à nourrir les questions qu’il se posait à partir de cette instabilité” (Chérif 2006, 56).

92 term is accepted, a definition describing the frontier as a place for mediation and exchange instead of a place for separation, conflict, and division.

From formal geopolitics to structural geopolitics: why the ‘fracture’ paradigm is prevailing today?

The general idea that the Mediterranean Sea is a fracture has been pushed forward, in recent years, by many different factors. One of them, a specifically relevant one, can be detected in the rise, at the turn of the Nineties, of some meta-historical and pseudo-scientific theories, aimed to read the future of the world in post-national terms. Among them, the most successful one has probably been Samuel Huntington’s theory of ‘the clash of civilizations’, advanced for the first time in 1993 and later developed in a more extended version by the same author (1996). In his hypothesis, Huntington defines with extreme precision ‘the battle lines of the future’, that is, the areas where future geopolitical conflicts are expected to arise, identifying them in the fault lines between different civilizations11. One of these fault lines, and perhaps the most dangerous one because of the irreparable opposition between Islam and Christianity, is identified by Huntington along the Mediterranean Sea. Crossed in a longitudinal sense, along this rigid boundary dividing the North and the South of the world, a Christian North from an Islamic South, the Mediterranean Sea represents the symbol itself of the political, economical, and cultural cleavage separating these two geographical realities. Of course, a theory like this one has raised plenty of criticism from relevant contemporary thinkers, including Chomsky (2004), Kepel (2004), and Said (2004). All the same, it represents an ideal framework, providing a cultural explanation for the new forms of ideological oppositions typical of the post-Cold War moment (cultural conflicts, instead of national wars) and, above all, of the post-September 11 phase.

11 “It is my hypothesis that the fundamental source of conflict in this will not be primarily ideological or primarily economic. The great divisions among humankind and the dominating source of conflict will be cultural. Nation states will remain the most powerful actors in world affairs, but the principal conflicts of global politics will occur between nations and groups of different civilizations. The clash of civilizations will dominate global politics. The fault lines between civilizations will be the battle lines of the future” (Huntington 1993, 22).

93 Clear consequences of such a campaign have been, in the EU, the irrational anguishes conveyed by the debate on the new migratory policies, and in Italy, the upsurge of the new Right, taking advantage of the apparently endless waves of immigrants landing uninvited on national coasts (Fogu 2010). Of course, the general idea of the Mediterranean Sea as a fracture is based on the continentalist paradigm and on its primacy as the organizing assumption of contemporary political spaces. Thanks to such a ‘naturalized’ interpretation of anthropic spaces (Agnew 1998), this paradigm forcibly assumes that cultural continuity is unmistakably overlapping with territorial contiguity, while cultural discontinuities are neatly demarcated by sea openings. Of course, in this train of thought, the logic of ‘continental’ proximity has been useful to Eastern European countries in order to be accepted into the EU construction and, at the same time, it has provided an allegedly unquestionable excuse to keep the countries of the Southern shore of the Mediterranean Sea out of it (on this very ground, Spain does not seem to be very open to the candidature of Morocco, notwithstanding it has been advanced since 1987, and Italy as well does nothing to promote the accession into the Union of countries such as Tunisia, Libya or Albania). The long process of has helped in establishing a divided image of the Mediterranean, given that it has progressively included almost all the countries of the Northern shore, and kept out all the other ones, underpinning, in this way, the perception of the fracture. In the meanwhile, the target of the disappearance of the Union inner boundaries, still today at the basis of the process of European integration, has produced a parallel reinforcement of the external ones: the more rigid the outside boundaries became, the less relevant the internal ones seemed to be. From this perspective, it is possible to detect a nexus between the making of the Schengen Space and the contemporary process of consolidation of EU external borders, on their turn managed by the European Agency Frontex12,which can handle the control of migratory processes jointly with the coastal countries of Spain, Italy, and Malta13.

12 The European Agency for the Management of Operational Cooperation at the External Borders of the Member States of the European Union (Frontex) was created with the Council Regulation (EC) No 2007/2004 of 26 October, 2004, in order “to improve the integrated management of the Union’s external borders” http://europa.eu/legislation_summaries/justice_freedom_security/ free_movement_of_persons_asylum_immigration/l33216_en.htm. 13 See Joint Operation HERA 2008, intended “to tackle illegal migration

94 Generally speaking, framing the Mediterranean Sea as a political frontier fits with Europe’s desperate need to build up an internal identity dimension and a collective consciousness in order to legitimize its own project of political and economic integration (Antonsich 1998). Indeed, from this point of view, the relationship between Europe and the Mediterranean Sea finds its own answers: “What has Europe to do with Mediterraneanness? Europe is a construction too modern to be understood as a daughter of the Mediterranean” (Ramoneda 1997, our translation). The process is far from being artless. On the contrary, the account of ‘clandestine’ arrivals on the shores of the North Mediterranean countries is artificiously dramatized and spectacularized by the local media in order to provide an auto-legitimating narrative, functional to determinate segments of the central power, in the name of national sovereignty and also of the protection of the populations themselves. So, the Mediterranean Sea turns out to be conceived as a ‘political frontier’, politicized in an instrumental way and made highly symbolic. Precisely by reason of its symbolic value, the Mediterranean ‘fracture’ is posed at the basis of making a European collective memory (Guarracino 2007, 161–168): “La tentation du mur … renaît a chaque fois qu’une culture ou qu’une civilisation n’a pas réussi à penser l’autre, à se penser avec l’autre, à penser l’autre en soi” (Zarka 2007). The antinomy of including and excluding is renegotiated again by the making of the European identity, for centuries superimposed on national states14. A similar antinomy, on the opposite side, is enunciated by the aforementioned Huntington, when he stresses the compresence of two different and antithetic processes, the strengthening of international boundaries between different cultural areas, and the disappearance of national boundaries inside them. As said, the success of the perception of the Mediterranean Sea as a distinguishing barrier pertains to the deep question of European identity. A more correct interpretation of the geo-cultural meaning of this sea, however, must be understood in connection with two other facets: the

flows coming from countries heading to ”, and Joint Operation 2008, whose main objective is “to reinforce border control activities in Central Mediterranean and control illegal migration flows coming from North Africa countries heading to Malta and in Italy” http://www.frontex.europa.eu/newsroom/news_releases/art40.html. 14 It is quite meaningful that many politically unstable states, such as Cyprus or Lebabon, feel the need to insert precise quotes to their boundaries in their national anthems, or even in their flags.

95 ‘moral’ dimension, associated with the feelings of guilt and responsibility toward peoples exploited by European colonialism for a long time, and the geostrategic element, linked with the never appeased European ambitions to play a main role on the international stage.15 These two aspects also suggest an exploration of the last decades of political relations in the Mediterranean region. Starting from the colonial period, the main phases of North-South relations could be summarized like this: at first, post-colonial independence, followed by the setting of privileged interactions between former colonized countries and former colonizers via a bilateral relations system; then, there was the time of the Third- Worldist cooperation policy, started up by the EU; subsequently, there was the widening of this policy, from the economic arena to more social aspects (Barcelona Euro-Mediterranean Conference, 1995), followed by the failure of this process, and by the beginning of a more tangible policy. This last phase was marked by the creation of the Union for the Mediterranean (UfM) in order to establish a multilateral approach and the takeoff of a regional political organization (20th May 2008). Purposely, the new initiative is not a substitute for the Barcelona Declaration; on the contrary, it aims to strengthen it via new financial efforts and new actions aimed at promoting democracy and human rights, beyond economic processes and collaborations. Specifically, new provisions about these topics have been inserted, and also new terms about the juridical situation of women in order to improve their conditions inside Southern Mediterranean societies. However, ahead of fine-sounding declarations of intents, difficulties of applications are obvious given the overall situation of political and social unrest of the Southern shore countries. Specifically, from the beginning of the Barcelona Process, circumstances have been made uncertain by the economic and occupational crisis, by the growing cleavage between Europe and the Southern Shore in the aftermath of September 11 events, by the worsening of the general situation in the Middle East, and, more recently, by the so-called ‘Arab Spring’. In this regards, it may (maliciously) be underlined that a real takeoff of the institutional integration of the Euro-Mediterranean process should compulsorily impose a joint management of boundaries, if really concerned with local regional development. Such a solution, however, is kept at bay by many European politicians, who apparently know very well how to speak about institutional dialogues but do not know how to go beyond their geographical stereotypes.

15 See, for instance, http://temi.repubblica.it/limes/il-nostro-futuro- euromediterraneo/4919.

96 Popular geopolitics, between consent and dissent

In the production of literary and visual culture, and in the political and media communication, the so-called ‘Mediterraneism’ (Herzfeld 2005) is permeated by discourses quite similar to the ones conveyed by formal geopolitics, since, in both cases, it is oscillating between contradictory images of cultural uniformity and of political fragmentation. An example, in this sense, is offered by the huge selection of literary works and travel accounts collected in the anthology Mediterranean Passages. Readings from Dido to Derrida (Coke et al. 2008), seeing that they are arranged, per subject, in a sequence of chapters, differing in their titles from ‘Ancient Diasporas’ to ‘Mare Nostrum: our Sea’, and from ‘A Global Pond’ to ‘War’. From this point of view, recalling the Latin idea of Mare Nostrum16 (Amiotti 1998), or the repechage of the same idea, made by the political rhetoric of the Italian Liberal period (Tamburini 2005) and of the Fascist regime (Antonsich 1998)17 is redundant;18 and retracing millennia of travels, crossing the Mediterranean Sea from ‘Dido to Derrida’, is even more superfluous (see VIAGGIO). On the other hand, remembering how, in the past, classical authors such as or Vergilius variously chanted the Mediterranean Sea and its somehow conflicting relationships, from Troy to Cartago, is not; since their poems, turned centuries later into a mandatory subject for generations of Italian students, have been fundamental in fixing in these students’ minds the idea of a continuity of culture and local traditions (Guarracino 2007)19.

16 The Latin expression means ‘our sea’. 17 In the attempt to give rhetorical substance to his colonial dream of rebuilding the Italian pseudo-historical Empire, declared on many occasions that he would have turned the Mediterranean into ‘an Italian ’. 18 Even if part of the same Fascist rhetoric about the Italian presence in the Mediterranean Sea, starting from the slogan ‘One face, one race’ (Doumanis 1997, 2003), until the mythology of “Italiani, brava gente” (Del Boca 2005), has been recently refreshed by popular geopolitics, with very successful movies, such as the Academy Award winner Mediterraneo by Gabriele Salvatores (1991), or the novel Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (1993) by Louis de Bernières, and the movie of the same title based on it (2001, dir. John Madden). 19 “The key role that was played by the Mediterranean in a number of ancient civilizations is impressed upon all ‘Western’ schoolchildren. What is seldom emphasized in children’s history books, however, is that ‘the cradle of Western civilization’ actually consisted of the intertwined civilizations of

97 A similar representation of Mediterranean culture in terms of continuity, and contiguity, of traditions has also been offered by later authors. To limit our examples to the circumscribed sphere of Italian literature, for instance, a neo-classic author such as Ugo Foscolo may be quoted. Venetian by adoption, Foscolo was born in Zakynthos, an Ionian island ‘reflected in the Greek Sea’, which, after centuries under the Venetian rule, was at the beginning of the 19th century under nominal Ottoman control. In one of his most renowned sonnets, A Zacinto (1803)20, Foscolo celebrates the Greek island as his beloved birthplace, tracing a literary continuity between it and , and between his own pilgrimages and the ones of Ulysses himself. About a century later, Gabriele d’Annunzio, another Italian poet and a fervent nationalist, was once more chanting the myth of Venice as a ruler of the Mediterranean Sea (Isnenghi 1990) and singing the praises of the Latin presence in it in order to support his own colonial and interventionist positions (Caburlotto 2010). However, at the same time, d’Annunzio also paid tribute to the panic and vital essence of the sea, in the name of the Greek sea-god Glaucus (Lollini 2009). As an ideal place for poetry and myth, the Mediterranean Sea was also mentioned in the first part of the 20th century by Umberto Saba. Despite his past as a young interventionist, as an adult, Saba was a poet of miniature dramas, the opposite of Foscolo and d’Annunzio. All the same, in the collection of poems Mediterranee (1945–1946), Saba celebrates Ulysses and his travels, like Foscolo 21, and, like d’Annunzio, he praises the Mediterranean as the ‘old, lost sea’, where Rome, Greece, and together reflect their beauties22 Born

and Africa, as well as Europe” (Connor 1969, 560). 20 “Né più mai toccherò le sacre sponde /ove il mio corpo fanciulletto giacque,/Zacinto mia, che te specchi nell’onde/del greco mar da cui vergine nacque/Venere, e fea quelle isole feconde/col suo primo sorriso, onde non tacque/le tue limpide nubi e le tue fronde/l’inclito verso di colui che l’acque/cantò fatali, ed il diverso esiglio/per cui bello di fama e di sventura/baciò la sua petrosa Itaca Ulisse./Tu non altro che il canto avrai del figlio,/o materna mia terra; a noi prescrisse/il fato illacrimata sepoltura.” 21 “Nella mia giovinezza ho navigato/lungo le coste dalmate. Isolotti/ a fior d’onda emergevano, ove raro/un uccello sostava intento a prede,/coperti d’alghe, scivolosi, al sole/belli come smeraldi. Quando l’alta/marea e la notte li annullava, vele/sottovento sbandavano più al largo,/per sfuggirne l’insidia. Oggi il mio regno/è quella terra di nessuno. Il porto/accende ad altri i suoi lumi, me al largo/sospinge ancora il non domato spirito,/e della vita il doloroso amore”, Ulysses. 22 “Ebbri canti si levano e bestemmie/ nell’osteria suburbana. Qui pure penso – è Mediterraneo. E il mio pensiero /all’azzurro si inebbria di quel

98 in Trieste, Saba praises the city as well, as a cultural meeting point, standing, like a metonymic figure, to represent the essence of the Mediterranean itself (Lollini 2006). In popular culture, this poetic geography of Mediterraneanness has been established, apart from poetry, also by novels, such as those by Elsa Morante (L’isola di Arturo, 1957) or by Vincenzo Consolo (see the collection of readings edited by Bouchard and Lollini, 2006). Also painting, with the long tradition of ‘Mediterranean landscapes’, full of colors, of white buildings, of small dark human figures, and, above all, of the blue of the sea, paid its own tribute to the stereotype. But again, this interpretation is not the only one. Against such a representation of cultural continuity stands the image of the Mediterranean Sea as a place for conflicts, counterpositions, and wars (see OSPITALITÀ), which was in the past exemplified by visual representations of naval battles (the most famous one being, of course, the one of Lepanto, in its many versions, from Paolo Veronese’s in 1571 to Juan Luna’s in 1887), and which is now reinforced by literary efforts and essays, such as those by Bat Ye’or or Oriana Fallaci. Specifically, Bat Ye’or is the deviser of the neologism ‘’ (2005), later popularized by the Italian journalist and writer Oriana Fallaci. In Bat Ye’or’s position, the Mediterranean has a role in the making of ‘Eurabia’, that is in the alleged process of Arabization and Islamization of Europe, since it has lost its traditional function of ‘natural boundary’; no more a fracture, the sea is bound to ‘evaporate’, leaving behind a terrifying conglomerate of continental contiguity. In Fallaci’s interpretation, the idea of ‘Eurabia’ is used in order to make a prophecy about the future submission of Europe to the Islamic world, that is, the transformation of Europe into a colony of Islam as a consequence of the growing trans-Mediterranean migratory fluxes. Oriana Fallaci, however, has not been the only journalist alarmed by clandestine immigration. On the contrary, trans-Mediterranean fluxes of migrants are, for Italian journalism at large, a founding pivot for the making of the image of the Mediterranean as a fracture. Indeed, even if the shores of the North Mediterranean countries are far from being the most relevant gates for illegal immigration into the EU23, since most arrivals are by road or by air, the media tend to emphasize the idea of

./Materna calma imprendibile è Roma./S’innamora la Grecia alle sue sponde /Come un’adolescenza oscura il mondo /E lo rinnova la Giudea. Non altro/a me vecchio sorride sotto il sole./Antico mare perduto pur vuole /La musa che da te nacque, ch’io dica/di te, col buio alle porte, parole”, Ebbri canti. 23 As far as Italy is concerned, for instance, in 2008, only 15% of immigrants entered the country through crossing the Mediterranean Sea (Monzini 2009).

99 illegal ‘landings’. As far as Italy is concerned, the first episode in this sense may be referred to as the ‘Guerra dei gommoni’ (the ‘War of the rubber dinghies’), waged by the against the so-called ‘scafisti’ from Valona (Albania). From then on, the ‘immigration emergency’, with flashes of boats discharging their cargoes of distraught people along the Italian coastlines, has been a recurring topic in the national news, with the dominant lexicon constantly associating the metaphor of the ‘wave’ to the migratory phenomenon. In this narrative, the Mediterranean started to be interpreted as a sort of European ‘Rio Grande’, that is, as a “liquid frontier separating the rich North (Europe) from the poor South (North Africa, the ‘third World’) and temptingly open to migrant crossing” (King 2001, 8); meanwhile, the physical spaces of arrival of these new ‘Mediterranean odysseys’ (such as Lampedusa; Bellezza 2009) have been turned into loci horridi, impressed on the collective imagination in order to visually emphasize the , to justify coercive measures against clandestine migrants, and also to conceal political inadequacies, pushing them outside the common gaze (Paradiso 2011b). Indeed, the difficulties of managing in a single small place (such as the tiny island of Lampedusa) thousands of landings are self-evident and can easily help people to forget the general failures of the national and European migration policies. Beyond journalism, however, European cinema has also ‘discovered’ the Mediterranean as a setting, and trans-Mediterranean migrations as a subject24. Apart from French cinema, which has a long tradition on the subject, also Spanish (Molina Gavilán and Di Salvo 2001) and Italian cinema (O’Healy 2010) started in the last decade to handle the topic, enframing it mostly in three guiding threads (the journey, the arrival in the , and problems of integration of ‘Second Generations’) (Loshitzky 2010) and usually narrating it in a very sympathetic undertone, almost to dispel the xenophobic accents of most of the other media25. The ‘journey’ is often, if not always,

24 Indeed, migratory movements in general are now a relevant subject: see the list of 93 films, in http://www.italianstudies.ox.ac.uk/__data/assets/ pdf_file/0016/36241/Cinema-and-Migration.pdf, by http://www.italianstudies.ox.ac.uk/research/migration_project. 25 Luckly, not every Italian journalist is adopting the same stance; Gabriele del Grande (2007 and 2010), for instance, has provided a very interesting account of the deaths that have happened during attempts to cross ‘the sea in between’ since the start of the recent migratory movement towards Europe. It is pointless to say that this work, even if oriented in the opposite sense in comparison to that of Fallaci, offers a similar vision of the Mediterranean Sea as a fracture.

100 represented as a ‘sea passage’, more visually impressive than the trips by bus or by plane, even if, as already mentioned, much less frequent. However, from this perspective, the first attempts to visually represent the trip by sea were offered by the Italian movie Lamerica (1994, dir. Gianni Amelio) and by the Spanish movie Bwana (1996, dir. Imanol Uribe); later on, many other movies were added to the list, including the French Loin (2000, dir. André Téchiné), the Spanish Ilegal (2003, dir. José Ignacio Vilar Diaz), the Italian Quando sei nato, non puoi più nasconderti (2005, dir. Marco Tullio Giordana), and, most recently, Eden a l’Ouest (2009) by the Greek director Costa-Gavras and Terraferma (2011) by the Italian Luigi Crialese. In some of these movies, the passage by sea is just mentioned, while in others it represents the central part of the narrative; all the same, they all contribute to providing a strong visualization of the Mediterranean Sea as a borderscape, a European ‘Rio Grande’ also in cinematic terms, where, analogously to the Mexican border, hope, sufferance, and even death can easily mix.

Conclusions: the Mediterranean as an alternative to modernity

To speak of the Mediterranean Sea as a frontier means, today, to make references to the tensions related to its function of control and regulation of migratory movements; to think of it as the sea ‘in the middle of lands’ means to believe that it represents a political frontier, that is, a buffer zone between different realities, separated in cultural, political, and, above all, economic terms. It means to believe that it constitutes a water barrier, in the hope that the pressure from the Southern shore is not strong enough to make it ‘evaporate’, turning Europe into a sort of peripheral appendix of a big and menacing Eurabia. European (and Western in general) media contribute to this image of the Mediterranean as a fracture, not new, but renewed by contemporary geopolitical discourse, emphasizing the migratory urgency in increasingly worried tones, the emergence of a new Right, consenting the rise of new expressions of xenophobia, the international situation, apparently compromised by the opposition of the Northern shore countries (and their allies) and the Southern shore countries (and their allies). In the making of such a vision converge all the four dimensions of geopolitics (formal, practical, popular, structural), which can be used as an interpretative tool. Obviously, the Mediterranean Sea is not only this. On the contrary, the Mediterranean is not an absence of relations, as the classic definition of the political frontier as a buffer zone would suggest, but is a constant network of relations. It is not a liquid continent, not now and probably not even in the . But it is a space for mediating, as suggested by Reclus, a space where diversities

101 meet, corrupting each other in a good sense, until they create new cultures and new processes. It is not a ‘modern’ space, which can be divided from other supposedly homogeneous spaces by fixed and rigid boundaries. It does not fit into geopolitical categories like the ones suggested by colonial and post-colonial rhetoric (Cassano 1996; Cassano and Zolo 2007). It is not a ‘post-modern’ space, since its shores have been highly interconnected, at lEast since . It is simply a model of spatial articulation that cannot be ascribed to the logics of modernity. As such, it can help us in deconstructing them.

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G – Genere/Gender

Rachele Borghi and Monica Camuffo

Introduction

The protests which have been ongoing in North-African countries since February 2011 have contributed towards giving visibility to that component of society often neglected by the dominant male model: women. Female bodies occupied not only the front covers of important magazines (Libération, n.9253, 12th-13th February 2011; Los Angeles Times, Saturday 12th February), but also a traditional male space: the public space. This media visibility of women has given new food for thought on gender issues as well as on issues concerning dominating relationships that the ever-reigning patriarchal system continues to perpetrate on a global level. Assuming that in most of these societies such relationships largely determine people’s roles and lives, can one speak of a specificity in the Mediterranean setting? The predominant image of the Mediterranean world is that of a closed context, refractory to transformation, anchored in sexist traditions, and still a long way from effective equality and access to politics and positions of power. Just such a stereotype, legitimized by Anglo-Saxon traditional studies and research on the Mediterranean city (see Minca 2004) and still commonly predominant, has been put into question by the active role played by women in social movements which have lately taken place in the whole of the Mediterranean basin1. The pictures of women engaged in protest and demonstration have gone around the world. However, what do the

1 On women’s role in the Arab spring please refer to Pepicelli (2011) and Curcio (2011). Furthermore, go through the debate on the web site Women in the City http://www.womeninthecity.it/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=679:s ur-les-femmes-moteurs-du-changement-au-maghreb-et-au-moyen- orient&catid=209:debate&Itemid=88. For a geopolitical analysis of the protests read Eva (2011).

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women of the Arab awakening and the Spanish indignados women2 have in common? The presence of their bodies on town squares and streets. Virtual space has also held a starring role in the protests. The role of technology and the network in social and political change has been widely covered both in scientific contexts (e.g. Paradiso 2003, 2006) and in popular contexts; particular reference can be made to the Green Wave in Iran (Mouillard 2009; Hare and Darani 2010). Furthermore, with the 2011 protests, attention has been focused specifically on the relation between gender and new media. However, if internet and social networks have made the realtime circulation of news and considerations possible, the presence of women within the physical space has been crucial, even on a symbolic level. Although the history of women and of feminism demonstrates how the claims to rights of women have always passed through the occupation of public space (one may refer to Cavarero and Restaino 2002; Veauvy 2004), the pictures of the Arab women have contributed to bringing the attention of international public opinion back to women and thus undermine the idea of the existence of an indissoluble binomial which binds women to the private sphere. It would, however, be wrong to believe that the phenomenon is some kind of women’s ‘awakening’ in the face of the regimes, considering the fact that women have always played an active role in revolutions and in change, on the same level as men3. In this work, the goal is to give a few examples of relations and claims that have to do with gender in the complex Mediterranean reality. Women and men occupy physical and virtual spaces to make claims for gender and sexual identity. Through the visibility of these actions, we will try to demonstrate how the image of backwardness, immobility, and oppression long-associated with the Mediterranean is, once again, a discursive construction justified by a certain type of literature (e.g. Minca 2004). We have chosen not to divide cases into the ‘Southern shore’ and ‘Northern shore’ of the Mediterranean, both to avoid legitimizing, through a geographic metaphor, politics of exclusion

2 Please refer to the Feminist Manifesto de Sol “Sin la mujeres no hay revolución! La revolución sera feminista o no serà” http://www.e-mujeres.net/noticias/revolucion-sera-feminista-o-sera and http://www.nodo50.org/xarxafeministapv/?MANIFIESTO-FEMINISTA- AL-MOVIMIENTO. 3 As Dina Vaiou (2006, p.46) says, regarding urban change, “women have not been absent from urban process, as traditional urban research and theory would like us to believe, but have been hidden by/within it, as a result of research methodologies which correspond and reflect men’s experiences more than that of women”.

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implicitly born by such expressions, and because these phenomena are intimately bound and interacting. We will start from the Maghreb context due to its territory’s privileged position in the last ten years’ research, and for the particular attention it deserves. In this case, indeed, the presence of women on the streets is only the manifestation of a phenomenon which started visibly, continuously, and in broad daylight at lEast a decade ago: activism and public involvement of the population’s feminine element in the ongoing change process4. In particular, we will give a broad picture of feminine and feminist associative-life and activism. We are of course considering a non-exhaustive picture and especially filtered through our interest and the contact network we have developed during our research in Maghreb countries and the Francophone area5. We will give examples of virtual networks but also of empirical cases which concern directly gender researchers in Maghreb and activists from civil society associations and movements. We shall further evidence how, in the Maghreb as in other regions, research on gender has crosscut that on sexuality, generating numerous studies on homosexuality. In this case, the presence of these ‘bodies’ within public space is still limited due to forced invisibility6. However, the occupation of numerous virtual spaces and the rising number of research studies conducted shows the desire for vindication of other than heterosexual identities and the will to react to imposed heteronormativity. It also proves the diffusion of queer theories – which are contested and considered radical also by a certain kind of feminism – in contexts which are prejudiced to be closed and refractory to change. Indeed, Anglo-Saxon queer theories have influenced not only scientific research, bringing attention to unexplored themes, some of which were considered taboos until recently, but also the militant context. What may be considered more interesting still, is to see how queer theories in the Mediterranean context (in particular in Spain) have been particularly conjugated, generating cultural phenomena such as post-porn. In this new and most extreme attire, the transition from a gender approach to a

4 Let us recall the numerous studies on Arab feminism and its relation with first wave and second wave Western feminism. One may refer, for example, to Sorbera 2006, 2007; Salih 2006, 2008; Pepicelli 2010. 5 The results of this research in particular were collected using ethnographic methodology. Thanks to participant observation, we followed associations and groups. We visited Hassilabiad several times between 2000 and October 2011. Moreover, we carried out semi-directive interviews with privileged witnesses and attended on-line forums. 6 In many countries, homosexuality is a crime punishable with fines and imprisonment.

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queer one is, for many, shocking, revealing through the use of the body in the public sphere the contradictions of heteronormativity and the dichotomies (woman/man, hetero/homo, etc.) which determine the heteronormative order.

Gender issues in the Maghreb: from associative experiences to political activism

Although we have all witnessed, from the 90s onwards, an acceleration in studies and research on women’s status in Maghreb countries, only since 2000 have theoretical reflections gone hand in hand with political activism for equal rights and access to the public space. In Paola Gandolfi’s study (2003) on Moroccan civil society she affirms that the latter has played an active role at the forefront of the process of change, thanks to the capacity to get organized in associations. These associations have indeed undertaken an important role, as they are considered to reflect the transformations that are taking place in Morocco and in the Maghreb and a process of change which does non originate in cultural élites but ‘from the bottom’. Many of the circa forty thousand associations registered in Morocco, for example, concentrate their activities on the improvement of women’s conditions, with particular attention to rural contexts and the analysis of gender relations within these. Public politics have further contributed to women’s entry in local associations on a managerial level. Yasmine Berriane (2011) highlights the different strategies that women managers have had to adopt to keep their positions. At the same time she underlines how their affirmation indicates a clear breaking point with the role distribution between men and women, which in the past made local associations a predominantly male field. Hence, civil society’s associations have enabled the advancement of claims and projects for the improvement of conditions of the female population and for their access to power. On the other hand, have favored the diffusion of gender research on a transnational level. A significant example of this is GREGAM (Groupe de recherche sur le genre au Maroc). Created in December 2006, this group is connected to the Centre Marocain de Sciences Sociales (CM2S – Université Hassan II Chock, Casablanca) and to the Group of Young Researchers in Social Sciences and Development. This is composed of young researchers (especially PhD professionals) working on themes and problems regarding gender and/or women in Morocco. The principal goals concentrate on the promotion of research on gender themes and/or women in Morocco, enhancement of gender themes amongst young Moroccan researchers, diffusion of young researchers’ works, and

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the organization of seminars and study days. Moreover, they welcome professors and active role players in order to develop a wider and more inclusive network. The creation of a blog has enabled the exchange of ideas and information, but above all it is an opening towards realities external to those of the academic world. This opening up and the production of knowledge not destined for the academic sphere but aimed at having a strong social impact was also one of the reasons which pushed Fatima Sadiqi, one of the most famous researchers on gender issues in Maghreb, to give life to ISIS7. The ISIS Centre for Women and Development has three main goals: enhancing women’s and gender issues, bridging the gap between the university and civil society, and sharing in global synergy. ISIS was founded on July 4, 2006 in Fez by a group of university researchers and feminist leaders. The ISIS Centre aims at enhancing research and studies on gender, women, and development through the organization of national and international conferences, the reinforcement of academic and cultural relations with national, Arab, and Western academic institutions, the creation of a gender, women, and development studies library, the creation of a multilingual gender, women, and development studies journal, the promotion of comparative studies, the promotion of intercultural dialogue inside and outside Morocco, and the promotion of Moroccan women’s presence in scientific research. Furthermore, ISIS organized the fifth edition of the International Forum Mediterranean Women on the theme “Women and the New Media in the Mediterranean Region” on June 24, 25, and 26, 2011. Its aim was to discuss and ponder the impact of new media on women, with particular reference to the Mediterranean context:

With the growing dominance of the Internet, blog, chat and mobile telephony, the great ‘big bang’ of the new media has begun, and consequently, communication is rapidly changing and becoming mobile, interactive, personalised and multi-channel. This extraordinary revolution is affecting the basic structure of Mediterranean societies, especially those in the South, and is raising discussions and debates that are profoundly related to women: the rapid transformation of the boundaries between the public and the private spaces, the relationship between the new media and women’s activism, the relationship between new technology and women’s oral literature, changes in the relationship between written and oral languages, the (problematic) increase in the use of mother tongues (mainly oral) in the field of education, and the challenges of new transmissions of women’s

7 http://www.isiscenter.com/index.php.

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versatile knowledge8.

In this case too, the primary goal of having an impact on an underprivileged population was further demonstrated through the follow-up workshop whose target was to train 20 women from Fez in the use of technology, especially the internet, as an empowering tool. The birth of new networks and the strengthening of existing ones was also the goal pursued by the research group on gender issues of Tizi Ozou University in Algeria. “Genre, résistance et négociation” was the title of a conference organized in November 2010 in order to overturn the perspective from which the female condition is perceived9. Leaving behind the concept of victimization to highlight strategies of resistance in both the public and the private sphere, one can begin by remembering the stories of those women who fought for independence.

This means, in an incontestable way, that the phenomenon of women in battle, which started during the Algerian revolution – let us recall the massive participation of the first women moudjahidates – has continued until our day transforming itself, with constant efforts, into a struggle for women’s emancipation and for the need of their presence within Algerian society10.

An example of feminine activism in Morocco: the case of Hassilabiad association

The Association Hassilabiad pour l’environnement, le développement et la coopération (AHT) was established in 1998 in the village of Hassilabiad, which stands at the foot of the Erg Chebbi dunes (Tafilalet). The basis of AHT’s work is promotion of inhabitants’ literacy and professional training, through the creation of animation centers, organizing awareness campaigns on health problems, family planning, environmental issues, and civil and human rights, and associative life development. Women played a primary role in the Association’s integration into Hassilabiad’s community. The literacy courses, indeed, resulted in a first approach towards the Association by the feminine population, who took on the role of spreading the word about its activities within the village families. These women fiercely resisted the

8 Excerpt from call for papers. 9 Please refer to the conference’s official website http://conferencegender.e- monsite.com//. 10 Excerpt from call for papers.

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initial criticism made by the men and elders, driven by their will to learn to read and write and to acquire professional skills. The presence of a woman director of the Association and member of the executive board moreover favored their approach and dialogue, further encouraged by the opening of a nursery for pre-school children (Borghi and El Amraoui 2005). The literacy courses were amongst the first projects undertaken in Hassilabiad, as it was necessary, prior to any other intervention, to reduce the difference of education level between men and women. The response was positive and many women started visiting the Association’s center regularly. In the course of the interviews we conducted from 2003 to 2006, most of the women declared having immediately understood the importance of education. Precisely this aspect drove them to spread information regarding the course amongst the women of their families and to try to involve them, although this meant taking an important stand against the disapproval of many village men. Married women were often put in a difficult position by their husbands, who were not used to imagining their own wives outside the household space. Husbands justified their stance on the pretext that the women were too old to go to school. They were further afraid that they would no longer carry out the tasks of bringing up children and taking care of housework. However, the weight of ‘tradition’ and rigid social norms did not discourage the women, who started organizing their time along with the other women involved in the Association. On the other hand, most teenagers declared that they did not experience any kind of resistance on their family’s side, where, on the contrary, they were encouraged. For other women still, the obstacle was not represented by their own family but by certain individuals in the community. Fear of being socially punished is still today an obstacle to change, both in rural and urban settings. Behavioral norms enable society to maintain its internal order, ruled by norms and behaviors determined by the hchouma, a kind of inhibition, self-control mechanism, which forces certain behaviors and forbids others vis-a-vis members of the family and of the community (Harrami 1998; Ait Hamza 1995). In the case of the Hassilabiad community, this did not represent an insurmountable obstacle since the Association received a kind of general approval and consensus from nearly the whole community. Thanks to their ever-increasing attendance, women became the primary interlocutors of the Association, since they spread the news and awareness to other women who were still far from the Association’s reality. The latter, indeed, ended up being excluded from a new kind of socialization connected with the attendance to courses. Hence, this became the factor at the basis of an inclusion/exclusion mechanism

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within the dominant group of women. They defined themselves either as participants or not of the Association’s activities. The common goal of finding time for course attendance drove them to organize their days together, dividing them between traditional tasks and new activities. Some of them, especially the older ones, declared they often met to study so as to receive help from the cleverest. They often met at the village mosque where they opened text books and studied lessons after prayer. This behavior encouraged other women to participate in the courses, driven by the desire to belong to the group. Moreover, the creation of a nursery school for children made things easier and favored course enrolment. According to Ait Hamza, in societies which live in oases:

The woman always takes on the essential part of the group’s socialization work. She holds society’s memory, she keeps its history and takes on herself the task of handing it down from generation to generation. Women are those who pass on social culture. They ensure small children’s education. In this traditional setting, until the age of 4-5 years, a child only receives education from his/her mother. There is no nursery school, no child care. Women are the only transmission belt of social order and the only protectors of this order. (1995, 163).

Considering this, one will not be surprised by the fact that the introduction of an aggregative learning and amusement space for children in a setting such as that of Hassilabiad represented a small revolution on a social and cultural level and eased mothers in their housework. At the same time, the nursery school’s courtyard became a meeting place for other children and this contributed towards giving centrality to the Association’s center within the village. Literacy courses were not the only success of AHT; the institution of sewing and embroidery courses definitively confirmed the success of the venture and brought general consensus to a high level. Indeed, the Moroccan government funded a project which provided sewing machines for the village women. In this way, an activity which was traditionally done within the home on an individual level became a collective activity exercised in a common place. The production of handicrafts for retail sale increased. Women could hence actively contribute towards family budgets, which aspect favored an increase in self-esteem as well as of consideration in the eyes of men. Displaying those objects in a showroom on the premises then eliminated the need for the men to mediate in the selling process, since every woman brought her own work to the Association and collected any profits directly. The women’s ‘awakening’ caused by the Association’s activities brought them to consider public health issues and made them aware in this regard. Another important change in traditional structures which happened in the wake of the Association’s establishment was that

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regarding the village’s General Assembly. This was a spatial transformation closely related to social change. The General Assembly brings together within a public space – the mosque – the representatives of every tribe from which the village families come. For the most part it is composed of older men. Today these meetings take place in the Association’s center and also involve women. Maintaining, of course, a rigid spatial division, women are allowed to participate in the Assembly which enables them to listen to men’s decision making and to have their own personal ideas on these facts without the male representative’s traditional mediation. This shows how the Association contributes towards the evolution, though in a slow way, of the traditional concept of public space, considered exclusively for men, and private space, an exclusively female prerogative.

From a gender approach to queer theories

In spite of the diffusion within social sciences of gay and lesbian studies at first, and queer theories since the nineties, studies on homosexuality and on sexual relations between un-normed subjects did not, in most cases, take the Maghreb into consideration. Even the most interesting texts on the geography of sexuality produced in the Anglo- Saxon world have always studied American, continental European, or Asiatic cases (e.g. Binnie 2004). However, in recent years an increase in academic research (e.g. Pratt 2007; Rebucini 2011) has accompanied the education and affirmation of many LGBTIQ associations. Although LGBTIQ and queer studies originated in Anglo-Saxon countries11, in Europe12 and the Mediterranean these have given birth to interesting

11 Let us recall that we owe the use of the term queer to Teresa de Lauretis (1991), who used it at a conference held at Santa Cruz University, California, in February 1990. Queer theory has borne the merit of questioning sexual labels, highlighting the multiple and creative declinations of desire and its objects. The term refers to the ‘strange’ phenomenology and all its meanings (eccentric, ambiguous, unclear, deviant) until it takes on a negative connotation (faggot, pansy) handed down from normative heterosexual language. Criticism of the asserted universality and naturalness of the hegemonic heterosexual paradigm has taken back the term to rehabilitate it, giving it a positive connotation (Dimen and Goldner 2006). Queer theoreticians aim to exercise a subversive action within that preconcerted order that oppresses other voices and identities and to play with codes and symbols of heterosexuality (Borghi and Rondinone 2009). 12 The first European conference on the geography of sexuality was held

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kinds of activism and artistic experimentation. Research has attempted to explore the daily practices of LGBTIQ people in Muslim societies, describing complex negotiations and getting around religious, moral, and legal prohibitions (Bergeaud-Blackler 2010; Beaumont 2010). The conference “Les sexualités de ‘transgression’ dans le monde islamique. Nouvelles questions, nouvelles approches”, organized in Paris by EHESS (31st May 2010), demonstrated how the meaning, the role, and the place of sexuality, generally speaking, and of ‘transgressive’ sexuality in particular, are always in movement in Islamic societies. These situations, therefore, undermine a monolithic vision which often leans on an ahistorical approach of Islamic societies. The vitality of associations has further allowed life experiences and strategies to come to light. These associations principally occupy virtual space, since in nearly all ‘Southern shore’ countries homosexuality is still a crime. However, the rising number of these, as well as the increase in their registered members, demonstrates a growing desire for visibility and for the claim to ‘other’ identities. An emblematic case is that of Mithly (www.mithly.net), the first Arab monthly review dedicated to homosexuality, an internet download for the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender community from Morocco and the . The Arab website published its first magazine in April 2010. The word mithly is a play on words: in Arabic it means both ‘gay’ and ‘like me’. The idea of a review written in Arabic that deals with homosexual cultural reality in Morocco came from Samir Bargashi, coordinator of Kif Kif13, the country’s first association for gay rights advocacy, established in 2004. Despite harsh reactions from conservative environments, the review succeeded in creating a debate and in helping homosexual people to “no longer live in fear”14. In Europe, especially in continental Europe, activism for LGBTIQ individuals focuses on the issue of access to rights, with relevant differences from country to country and different positions within the movements15. However, queer thought, often accused of being too theoretical, has also succeeded in contaminating practices, giving birth

this year in Brussels (8th–10th September 2011). 13 Kifkif has produced another ‘spin-off’, the Menna w fena website for the lesbian, bisexual, trans woman community (http://www.mennawfena.net/fr /index.php). 14 Taken from an interview with Bergashi on Tel Quel weekly review in 2009 (http://www.telquel-online.com/432/interrogatoire_432.shtml). 15 Regarding this topic, please refer to the position of Facciamobreccia collective for Italy (http://www.facciamobreccia.org/).

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to forms of transgression to dominant norms which have found an effective vehicle in art. Regarding this, Marco Pustianaz (2004, 5) asserts that:

Queer theorizations do not only promote desire (researches and studies) of stories and narratives where identity implications are always various and unreconciled, but are one aspect of a wider and more creative production of works: artistic (performance, cinema, theatre, etc.), activist, and interventionist (direct action groups such as ACT-UP). The boundaries between these interventions – theoretical, activist, artistic – are ephemeral, impure.

A significant example of this is post-porn, a movement which in Europe (and especially in Spain) has developed from the work of Beatriz Preciado and Virginie Despentes, whose books are considered manifestos of a new feminism. In post-porn art, the center of attention is the body in its most extreme and carnal sense, as a living and conscious fighting individual. Since the seventies, says performer Savoca, so-called ‘canonical’ arts undergo a definite change of direction, coming to a privileged and disturbing conquered land: the body. “Extreme art takes shape: the appearance of flesh and its ‘violation’ is an epochal event, an Epiphany, a territory where tensions and perversions which silently ‘crept’ in earlier times explode’ (Kyrham and Kaiser 2011). The post-porn movement took off with Annie Sprinkle. A ‘post-porn modernist’, her performances demystified the female body and took distance from a pornography which does not represent feminine sexuality. Freedom from this ‘trash sex’, Sprinkle says, enables one to start an eclectic exploration of the extreme limits of sexuality (Juno and Vale 1997, 45). Post-porn therefore sets its goal to “subvert and give voice to the imagery of all excluded, marginalized, humiliated individuals by male pornography which follows market requests and the binary gender division” (Kyrham and Kaiser 2011). Marìa Llopis defines post-porn as:

A political movement and as far as I’m concerned the visual conclusion, through images, performances, in the shape of written work or any other format, of the past years’ feminist and queer fights and of the radical political fight developed around body, gender, the construction of a new concept of sexuality. It would like to build a different language, sometimes a metaporn language; it is pornography but not as we classically understand it; it may take various shapes: performance, atelier, blog, artistic projects, videos, short or long films made with photographic film, etc. (Gricinella 2009).

Post-porn has not only subverted the body’s use in pornography, but

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has further vested in it extreme political value. This way, it may be read as a proper concrete representation of queer theory, often accused of being ‘too theoretical’ and of finding practical applications with difficulty. The body acquires a central role not only as a study object (subject) but as an instrument to create new spatialities. Un-normed bodies, indeed, hold a potential to subvert norms which regulate the public space, once they are used to subvert the dominant order. Through performances, one may therefore create ‘ruptures’ by interacting with spaces in a new way. As Derrida writes “it is the act of performance which produces its subject, and an act is performative when it succeeds in avoiding an imposed determination and in creating its own rules” (quote from Daniele 1997, 8). The body and its sexuality leave the private sphere to enter the public one and especially the political one in its own right. Women performers, indeed, use public space to “break through the barriers between what is seen and what is unseen” (Diana Pornoterrorista), to shatter heteronormativity, which is intrinsic to public space, and to highlight its strongly normed and violently normalizing nature. In Oh Caña, a collective performance which has become a post-porn manifesto (Post Op, Quimera Rosa, Mistress Liar, Dj Doroti http: //www.youtube.com/watch?v=I3hcXumYjUs), the protagonists perform in the covered market place of the Ramblas in Barcelona, giving life to a show which is normally confined within venues and occupied buildings for an ‘insider’ public. An ‘open’ space performance, instead, presumes an ideal public composed of passers-by, that is, of people who did not come to that place to see the show but are casually involved. Or maybe one should say ‘overcome’. […] The destabilizing effect of a post-porn performance, indeed, is connected to an un-normed use of the body. The latter is considered to be a surface for experimentation, a laboratory, a place for sex dislocation and re-location through dildos and prostheses16. In Manifesto Contra-sexùal (2001), Beatriz Preciado, counterculture queer philosopher, talks about ‘dildotechtonics’ which she defines as

a counter science which studies birth, development and usage of the dildo. It identifies deformations inflicted on the sex/gender system by dildos. [...] Counter-sexuality makes of dildotechtonics the counter-science assigned to pinpoint those resistance in hetero and homosexual cultures that one may call, by extension, dildonical (49). Such a counterculture, which is self-defined as anti-capitalist,

16 Here, one can clearly note the influence of Donna Haraway’s cyborg theory (1995).

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postfeminist, and subversive, cannot consequently not have the public space for a stage. This way, sexuality leaves the private sphere to become an integral part of the public space. Thanks to performers who shatter the man/woman dichotomy by bursting into public space with bodies that do not lend themselves to categorizing labels, heterosexuality stops being the tacit ‘natural’ characteristic of public space.

The impudence and folly of capitalism have determined authority by transforming bodies. The bodies of women, gay, lesbians, trans, bisexual, queer, ill people, madmen, handicapped, anorexics, men and women, too beautiful or too ugly people, children, perverts, foreigners, losers, occupied territories which are controlled by a continuous manipulation acting on all levels of perception of reality and existence. Communication turns into a commodity, relations take on attitudes of vigilant mistrust, a contact becomes a target, and life turns into a voided experience. [...] Sexuality itself incarnates the codes of these dead corporeity politics. Starting from the refusal of this mechanism and mediating between our head and our guts, we re-elaborate our bodies and minds with a feeling of crazy love and a daring full of poetry (Ideadestoryingmuros n.d.).

Through ‘extreme’ art, that lEast famous one which can struggle to find an expression outside a niche or virtual space, it is possible to contribute towards the slow process which creates spatial justice; a city will also belong to people like Diana pornoterrorista, who on insistent request by society to define her/his gender and there from determine the practice enacted in public space, she/he prefers to answer with “I love to switch”.

Concluding remarks

What do post-porn and street protests have in common? The claim to full access to public space, an inclusive public space that would stop exercising such silent violence on individuals outside of the norm. Both show how social science research faces new phenomena which imply re- thinking and elaborating old paradigms. Moreover, research faces the most important challenge: succeeding in breaking through the separation between theory and practice, knowledge production and activism. These are indissoluble and draw their own strength and legitimacy, one from the other. Activism and the academy, though, still seem in contradiction. However, commitment to change has once before transformed oxymorons into synonymic expressions. Spreading and giving visibility to collective action and particularly to that carried out by women is therefore vital, not only to give further understanding to

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current events but also to shatter a series of stereotypes which result in a monolithic picture of ‘Mediterranean’ individuals, connecting them to a feeling of immobility. We hope to have reached our target in these few pages in giving an idea of the activism, commitment for change, and the vivacity that we have seen and met. We also wanted to demonstrate how all the tensions between different shapes of struggle and different approaches to feminism – that common opinion believes to characterize only the ‘Western’ world – are active in the Mediterranean and in particular in what is codified as ‘South’ (that one automatically connects to backwardness and ‘tradition’). Maybe the only certain thing is that we still need to find new languages and new words to describe the world.

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H – Hotel/Hotel

Lorenzo Bagnoli and Stefano Malatesta1

Introduction

The continuing geographical impact of tourism on the coastlines of the Mediterranean, due in great part to the large-scale construction of accommodation facilities, not only generates debate from a number of perspectives but has become a wholly self-evident phenomenon. Nonetheless, the facile conclusion that mass tourism inevitably causes environmental degradation may easily be refuted with regard to the Mediterranean. This coastal region has all too frequently been the object of preconceived opinions, leading it to be viewed – not only by the majority of tourists, but also by tourist industry professionals and experts in the tourism sciences – as a homogeneous area without shades of variation; nonetheless, it is possible to identify numerous instances in which tourist development and conservation of the environment have been virtuously reconciled. This paper provides a brief overview of tourism in the Mediterranean before focusing on two specific aspects, specifically accommodation facilities certified as ‘sustainable’ and ‘ecotourism’ practices; it is concluded that such strategies are essential to the creation of a new model of tourism development with the power to enrich the geographical imagination of the Mediterranean of those visiting it as a holiday destination.

Tourists on the Mediterranean coast

With around 7 million bedspaces, 230 million international tourists, and an annual tourism industry turnover of 134 billion USD (Manera et al. 2009), the Mediterranean basin is today one of the world’s leading

1 Lorenzo Bagnoli is the author of Sections 1 and 2, and Stefano Malatesta is the author of Section 3.

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destinations for incoming visitors. The popularity of ‘heliotropic and balneotropic’ tourism (Lozato-Giotart 2003), the excellent climate and rich cultural heritage, along with well-established hotel and accommodation industries are among the main factors attracting such a high number of visitors, 84% of whom come from Europe according to Amelung and Viner (2006, 349). However, tourism in the Mediterranean does not have a particularly long history: while the earliest instances date back to the mid-eighteenth century, significant development only got underway after the Congress of Vienna. The initial popularity of the Eastern shores (Greece, Turkey, and Egypt) was overtaken in the mid-nineteenth century by a preference on the part of the hivernants for the North-Western Mediterranean, especially the French and Italian Rivieras, which saw the construction of the first eclectic villas, pompier-style hotels and other accommodation facilities offering climate therapy as part of the social tourism movement. After the Second World War, tourists also began to frequent the Adriatic, the coasts of Spain and Portugal, the , the coast of Languedoc-, and North Africa; the entire coastline became dotted with constructions, many of which arguably came close to overstepping the bounds of good taste but undoubtedly exceeded the bounds of sustainability (Lozato-Giotart 1990). During the interwar period, the Mediterranean saw a progressive shift from the initial élite winter tourism, typically long-stay and focused on the therapeutic benefits of the climate (dell’Agnese and Bagnoli 2004), to the mass summer tourism, typically short-stay and focused on beach holidays, which is still dominant today (Obrador-Pons et al. 2009a). In recent decades – perhaps on account of the saturation of space along the coast – even the open sea has been unable to escape occupation by ‘stationary’ tourists, given the success of private leisure sailing and particularly of cruise tourism. The latter now represents a key segment of Mediterranean tourism: cruise liners are veritable ‘floating hotels’, offering itineraries that span the European, Asian, and African coasts of the Mediterranean; the time spent cruising is the most popular part of the travel experience and, consequently, scheduled stops at the ports of call tend to be extremely brief (Andriotis and Agiomirgianakis 2010). In little over a century, tourism has totally transformed the Mediterranean in terms of its human geography (encounters, at times traumatic, between hosts and guests, between different cultures and traditions…), its political and economic geography (exchange of goods and services, capital, and intellectual flows), and its geography of settlements (in this regard it should suffice to mention the well-known neologisms balearization, marbellization, rapallization, riminization, all of which – not by chance – have ‘Mediterranean’ origins). Perhaps it still

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remains to be established whether tourism has altered the Mediterranean in terms of its geography in the postmodern sense. If on the one hand tourism undoubtedly produces geography, on the other hand it can also be said to produce ‘geo-graphy’ (dell’Agnese 2009) insofar as it produces representations and therefore knowledge of the world: in a word, it produces landscapes. Although often stereotyped, trivialized, or marketing-oriented, the landscape of tourists visiting the Mediterranean coastal regions nonetheless displays a basic ambivalence confirming its ‘paradoxical’ nature (Minca and Oakes 2006). Just as we can query the existence of a ‘Mediterranean region’, we can legitimately ask whether the ‘Mediterranean landscape’ really exists or whether there are not multiple touristic landscapes. In other words, in the tourist’s imagination is the Mediterranean basin represented as a single unit, unchanging across space and time, or does the average visitor perceive it as a ‘fractured’ sea (Kayser 1996) shared by multiple populations, cultures, and economies that despite having many characteristics in common have responded differently to similar challenges? Giaccaria and Minca (2011) have recently cautioned Italian and French geographers of the Mediterranean against falling into the trap of ‘Mediterraneanism’, inviting them to set aside preconceived notions that there is only ‘one’ Mediterranean but to verify this through their work.

We will contend, however, that the Mediterranean is not amenable to the reductio ad unum operated by the (implicitly or explicitly) positivist and/or historicist metaphors and their associated narratives that have for long ‘imprisoned’ its description. We will claim, rather, that the Mediterranean is a fertile ground for the exploration of ‘other spaces’, other spatial metaphors, transcending the mere search for boundaries and containers, and capable of recovering those very ambiguities and plurality of voices that make the Mediterranean an invaluable source of inspiration for the experience of ‘alternative modernities’ (Giaccaria and Minca 2011, 346).

In fact, on rigorous analysis it is not easy to assign all the tourists visiting the Mediterranean today to a single category, although attempts to do so are common, with the visitor generally being defined as the turista vulgaris (Obrador-Pons et al. 2009b) in line with a tourist- phobic approach that still tends to dominate, even in the academy. However, such a vast number of tourists must necessarily be culturally differentiated and, above all, attracted to the Mediterranean for different reasons: thus, we can identify traditional tourists, post-tourists (Minca 1996), and in particular the so-called new tourists who are of such great interest to the contemporary tourist industry (Costa 2005), all of whom may have very different perceptions of the Mediterranean landscape or landscapes. In this regard, it has been authoritatively claimed that

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On the one hand Mediterranean tourism is educative, aesthetic, solitary and formal. […] However there is another face of Mediterranean tourism, which is increasingly more prominent today but it is not something new. Mediterranean tourism is also gregarious, hedonistic, liberated and unhistorical (Obrador-Pons et al. 2009b, 169). Thus if the Mediterranean – to paraphrase Leslie Stephen (1871) who defined the Alps as “the playground of Europe” – is no more than ‘The Waterpark of Europe’ for a large number of tourists, for a further large number it is a made up of an infinite number of tiles, each of interest in its own right as well as for the overall picture it contributes to building up. In fact, on closer scrutiny we find the Mediterranean coastline to be indeed characterized by a considerable number of anonymous and standardized accommodation facilities, but also by facilities designed for visitors seeking an aesthetic tourism experience, sustainable environmental and territorial policies, intellectual and cosmopolitan encounters, and personalized relationships. The latter type of facility corresponds to an imagination – and in turn can itself communicate an image – of the Mediterranean, which far from being monotonous is on the contrary highly differentiated and closely connected to the peculiar geographical characteristics of the tourism site. Our attention is drawn in particular to the hotels, residences, and resorts providing this type of tourism experience. Beyond standardized and preconceived perceptions, there are ‘other’ imaginations that often enjoy limited ‘niche’ status but nonetheless prompt reflection on the links between environmental policies, sustainable tourism, ecotourism, and tourism promotion; these imaginations have inspired virtuous examples of hotel accommodation in the Mediterranean as elsewhere. Thus our focus in this paper is on tourist hospitality in the Mediterranean, which we will observe from the specific viewpoint of projects and practices based on principles of sustainability, attempting to identify policy implications, examples of excellence, and of course, critical issues.

‘Sustainable hotels’

The concept of ‘sustainability’ was progressively refined over the twenty-year period between the Stockholm declaration of 1972 and the Rio de Janeiro conference of 1992 (Ruocco 1999) and since then has been adopted on such a large-scale the world over that we may justifiably claim that there is no sphere of human activity to which it has not been applied to some degree. Tourism too has been influenced by this trend, and on 27–28 April, 1995 over 600 delegates at an international conference in Lanzarote – an island in the Atlantic but, not by chance,

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under the sovereignty of a Mediterranean state – officially adopted the ‘Charter for Sustainable Tourism’. This was the landmark event at which respect for future generations when making the choices of today and environmental, social, and economic sustainability officially became part of tourism science and programming. With the passing of the years, commitment to sustainability has increasingly come to be viewed as necessary, in line with a growing awareness of, and support for, the theory of climate change. Climate concerns have critical implications for tourism planning and management, particularly in coastal areas (Grasso 2010). With regard to the Mediterranean basin, global warming could have an adverse effect on temperatures during the summer months – traditionally the high season for the tourist industry – prompting an increase in energy consumption in the attempt to minimize loss of tourist business to locations at higher latitudes (Amelung and Viner 2006) or altitudes. From its very birth, however, the concept of sustainability has also received much criticism, from Italian geographers amongst others (Ruocco 1999; Schmidt di Friedberg 2001; Gagliardo 2003), with some critics ultimately adopting totally opposite positions; one of the most well-known and widely-debated of these is Serge Latouche’s (2006) ‘happy degrowth’ concept, taken up in Italy by Maurizio Pallante (2007). However, while these critiques have also influenced the debate in the field of tourism studies, there has been no corresponding change in tourism products: the tourist industry continues to market the concept of sustainability, viewing it as both a valid and an inescapable principle and, it would appear, sufficiently ‘fashionable’. While acknowledging the current relevance of criticisms of the sustainability model – particularly in relation to what may be an excessively rigid application of the sustainability paradigm to a business sector that has a major impact on economies, areas, and local communities – it nonetheless seems useful to analyze the sustainability policies and practices being implemented along the shores of the Mediterranean in order to tap into and interpret the changes under way in the hospitality sector. Amongst the various tourism products informed by the sustainability paradigm, an outstanding example is provided by ‘sustainable hotels’, tourist accommodation facilities that meet sustainability requirements and are already well-established in numerous locations along the Mediterranean coasts. These hotels take specific action with regard to reduction of energy and water consumption (as is well-known, the former is four times higher in hotels than in private homes and the latter twice as high), reduction of waste generated (and differentiated waste disposal), promotion of sustainable transport ( and cycling), provision of healthy foods and typical local products (with a strong emphasis on sourcing food locally

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so as to cut down on transport and energy consumption), promotion of the local area and its environmental and cultural heritage…all with the aim of significantly enhancing the comfort of the tourist’s stay while reducing the cost. Following a contemporary trend common to many sectors, certification has inevitably become a requirement for accommodation facilities marketed as sustainable. One of the better- known certification labels is the EU Ecolabel mark, launched in 2003 when the European Commission extended its ecological quality assurance label to cover tourist accommodation services (Decision 2003/287/CE); the label features the well-known logo with a flower circled by twelve stars and guarantees that the accommodation facility has put sustainability measures in place to limit the environmental, social, and economic impact of its services2. At the Italian level, similar certification is provided by EcoWorldHotel, a label created in 2006 that assigns 1–5 ‘eco-leaves’ to accommodation facilities (similarly to the 1–5 stars defining hotel categories) in line with their level of sustainability3, as well as by HS-Hotel Sostenibile4, Legambiente Turismo5, Responsible Hotel6, and many others. Nonetheless, it must be acknowledged – as already noted by Manera et al. (2009) albeit with regard to the European side of the Mediterranean only – that tourist accommodation facilities in Spain, Greece, and Portugal are typically of recent construction, often developed in partnership with international tour operators and subsidized with European funding; Italy in contrast – in common with the Asian and African Mediterranean countries – has largely maintained its tradition of smaller family-run accommodation businesses with a far lower proportion of large modern facilities than the rest of the European Mediterranean. Therefore, while in the other European states ‘green building’ (bio-construction, bio-architecture, eco- compatible planning, etc.) has been applied to the construction of hotels right from the planning stages, in Italy it has more frequently been applied to readapt older buildings, requiring substantial initial investment and therefore proving excessively onerous for small and medium enterprises in many cases. Furthermore, it is commonly claimed that true sustainability is only possible for recently designed hotel facilities, while traditional high- quality or luxury hotels are believed to be unsustainable by definition. Although the equations ‘mass tourism = unsustainable tourism’ and

2 www.ecolabel.eu 3 www.ecoworldhotel.it 4 www.hotelsostenibile.com 5 www.legambienteturismo.it 6 www.responsiblehotel.com

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‘élite tourism = sustainable tourism’ have been disproved, there is still a powerful preconception – despite the clearly-framed concept of pro-poor tourism developed by Hall (2007) that only very ‘Spartan’ and ‘minimalist’ (if not ‘poor’) forms of tourism can be sustainable, while luxury tourism cannot. This however is a short-sighted approach to sustainability, which in reality is applicable to accommodation facilities of all kinds without exception, as can be observed in practice. Recent developments informed by the criteria of sustainable tourism but with a top-quality product offering, include the ‘albergo diffuso’ model, which has been exported to other countries on the basis of its successful track record in Italy over the past number of years. This type of accommodation facility is generally found in the historic centre of a city, town, or village, or at any rate in a prestigious location, and is characterized by a living community occupying a number of separate buildings at a short distance from one another but operating under a single management structure so as to offer identical hotel services to all guests. The advantages of this model are its strong links with the local area and community, authentic local atmosphere, personalized service, and sustainable impact on the tourist site. Still other examples of high- quality but sustainable hotel industries include the Italian dimore di charme circuit7, the French relais & châteaux8, Portuguese pousadas9, Spanish paradores10, and Moroccan riad11. In addition, even large luxury hotel businesses increasingly have to conform to the requirements of sustainability, to the extent that the term ‘eco-luxury’ is now also being used in the context of the tourist industry.

From ‘sustainable’ hospitality to ‘ecotourism’

When evaluating sustainable tourism in the Mediterranean and, therefore implicitly, appraising regional development policies and urban and settlement planning, an analysis of the number, impact, and concentration of the various types of accommodation facility – hotels, holiday villages, holiday homes, resorts – can undoubtedly provide indicators to measure the sustainability of tourist operations across the region, as suggested by Adamo (2004). However, in line with the focus of our paper, we believe it is still more valuable to examine tourism in

7 www.dimoredicharme.com 8 www.relaischateaux.com 9 www.pousadas.pt 10 www.parador.es 11 www.riadselection.com

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terms of a spatial phenomenon combining on the one hand the environmental policies enforced at a number of levels by political and economic players – such as local authorities, tour operators, tourist promotion agencies and, entrepreneurs – and on the other the practices of the users, that is, the tourists themselves (Fig.1). There are two main reasons why ecotourism is of great interest when attempting to identify potential future developments for the tourist accommodation sector. Firstly, this market segment has displayed stronger growth than others in the Mediterranean region over the past five years (Manera et al. 2009) – a trend borne out by the stable or growing number of visitors to protected areas in Italy, Europe, and the Mediterranean generally (Osservatorio Ecotur 2010).

Figure 1 – The links between players, policies, and practices related to tourist hospitality in the Mediterranean

Source: authors’ elaboration

Secondly, on the basis of the well-known and widely accepted definitions of Fennell (2001; 2003) and Weaver (2001), ecotourism is the type of travel that best combines local sustainability policies with increased environmental awareness on the part of tourists and above all with the promotion of tourism to protected areas (see AMBIENTE). Although ecotourism in Southern Europe, especially along the Mediterranean coast, in the past hasn’t known an explosive development compared to other leading world tourist regions (Gardner 2001; Wight

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2001), a snapshot of its present status helps us to identify some pivotal issues. In the first place, the ecotourism phenomenon invites us to ask whether it is still appropriate to define tourism development policies across the Mediterranean as static and dominated by standard patterns (such as the creation of excessively built-up areas along the coastline) or whether it is not of greater interest to focus on alternative markets and on the growing importance of alternative choices within local policy- making (although these alternatives are currently implemented on a mainly local basis and enjoy limited economic impact). In the second place, a focus on ecotourism leads us to examine the role of the Mediterranean, not in terms of the overall tourist market within which it already enjoys a dominant position, but in selected market segments such as nature-based tourism, which has recently enjoyed superior growth to ‘sun, sea, and sand’ holidays or cultural tourism. Thirdly, when examining ecotourism together with relevant local policies and infrastructural resources, it is natural to extend the focus of analysis from the coast to the adjacent inland areas, which may be viewed as further resources for tourism development directly affected both by local policies and by the choices exercised by visitors to the coastal areas. In this regard, it should be noted that in many parts of the Mediterranean – such as , Alpes, Côte d'Azur, or in France, Sardinia or in Italia, Bölgesi in Turkey, and the provinces of and Almeria in Spain – the area immediately inland from the sea is mountainous. These contexts are particularly likely to attract nature-loving tourists who, while visiting coastal areas of natural beauty or nature reserves, also avail of the hospitality facilities, events, and cultural and natural heritage offered by the nearby rural hill or mountain areas. Last but not lEast, the focus on ecotourism helps us to avoid overlooking the phenomenon of ‘spontaneous tourists’ or ‘non- tourists’ (Steen Jacobsen 2000; Urbain 2002), that is, visitors who travel independently and outside of the circuits organized by the leading tourism operators, displaying highly differentiated choices in terms of accommodation and consequently difficult to capture or quantify on the basis of official tourism statistics (see VIAGGIO). These tourists, particularly those opting for eco-sustainable forms of tourism, not only represent a significant and highly attractive segment of the European tourist market but are also driving some of the new trends by choosing alternative practices to the standardized and standardizing imagination of mass tourism; they typically source their own tourist information, a tendency which influences, and is influenced by, the availability of accommodation in areas of natural beauty and of specific nature-based tourism products. As reported by Romita (2007) in a case study on the environmental pressures caused by forms of undetected tourism in Calabria (a region

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that exemplifies the environmentally and economically fragile nature of tourism in the Mediterranean), it is very difficult to produce credible statistics quantifying this phenomenon. Nonetheless, with regard to tourist flows linked to eco- and nature-based , a recent Ecotour report on tourism and nature (8°Rapporto Ecotur su Turismo e Natura, Osservatorio Ecotur 2010) highlights some new and interesting trends. For example, with regard to the market distribution of eco- tourists between the various types of accommodation, hotels, farmhouse guesthouses, and B&Bs enjoy a dominant position (with a market share of around 20% each), but considerable market share is also held by formats which are often marginal to other forms of tourism: campsites, camper vans, and other options outside of the traditional hotel circuits. These figures seem to imply a very high degree of differentiation within the eco-tourist category and a low level of standardization compared to other tourism practices. Another significant pattern is the strong demand for information on the part of tourists planning a trip to areas of natural beauty: surveys conducted up to 2006 found that over 60% (though falling) of those interviewed declared the information available to be insufficient for their needs. Going beyond the certification of individual accommodation facilities to consider whole tourism areas, the recent setting up of the Eco- Management and Audit Scheme (EMAS) should play a decisive role in promoting synergies between local authorities and tourism operators. A pioneering example of such an initiative in Italy is an audit project carried out in Polesine which has been largely driven by tourist accommodation facilities located in and connected to the coast of Romagna12. On a Europe-wide basis, it should be noted that hospitality businesses (hotels and restaurants) are the largest category undergoing EMAS environmental audits within the overall services sector. It is clear that all these initiatives can significantly contribute to the further broadening and diversification of tourism in the Mediterranean coastal areas. A key role is also played by natural parks and nature reserves, the classic destinations of the eco-tourist. In the Mediterranean region, these institutions often have major input into the construction of the overall tourism offering given that many popular tourist localities are situated inside their boundaries; in addition, they are increasingly involved in deciding on development policies and infrastructure planning for the coastal tourist regions. A particularly interesting case in point is the Europarc Federation, an organization with over 400 members across the continent, the majority of whom are local

12 www.emaspolesine.com

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authorities, natural parks, or nature reserves, and 44 of whom are located along the Mediterranean coast in Greece, Italy, France, Spain, Malta, and Croatia. Tourism is one of the key areas in which the federation seeks to play a political role, as demonstrated by the drawing up in 2001 of the Charter for Sustainable Tourism in Protected Areas, intended to be:

A practical management tool which helps protected areas to continuously improve the sustainable development and the management of tourism taking account of the needs of the environment, the local population and the local tourism businesses. The Charter is not a typical quality or eco-label but a process-oriented methodology that can be used and applied by all kinds of protected areas (Europarc Federation 2001).

This document provides for the various bodies involved in tourism promotion to commit to the principles of the sustainable tourism paradigm and to the promotion of protected areas as quality tourism destinations. The outcome of a lengthy process, begun almost 20 years earlier, the Charter for Sustainable Tourism in Protected Areas specifically aims to create partnerships between parks, local businesses, and tourism operators and to promote the adoption of shared rules to regulate, amongst other issues, the construction of new infrastructure facilities in tourist areas. It also campaigns for legislation to support and regulate development projects for less visited areas so as to relieve residential pressure in the main tourist centers. The parks and protected areas are the key protagonists of this initiative, by virtue of both their coordinating function and their status as ideal locations for hosting tourists. A key aspect of the Europarc project is its ability to influence local and regional policy through its network of private and public partners, and hence to contribute to the definition of tourism development policies for the coastal areas of the Mediterranean. This project also provides a concrete example of the link between eco-tourism and accommodation facilities: the decision to give priority to enhancing the sustainability of existing accommodation structures in protected areas is an indication of the potential future direction for the tourism industry in coastal areas boasting particularly rich natural and cultural heritage (see PATRIMONIO). It is worthy of note that in Italy alone, there are 30 protected marine areas, eight national parks, and dozens of regional parks and local or regional protected areas. A further critical objective for the Mediterranean is the creation of a new model, to date only adopted by a minority, to re-frame the experience of the millions of tourists choosing to visit its coasts: no longer a travel experience confined to the hotels and holiday villages of major international chains, piloted by tourism operators, inspired by – and replicating – popular imaginations of the Mediterranean, but on the

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contrary a set of practices arising from an alternative culture to that described in the work of Obrador-Pons et al. (2009a). In terms of the relationship between tourists’ choices and tourist attractions, this new model must necessarily take into account tourists’ preference – with appropriate assistance from eco-tourism operators – to source their own information, in other words the emancipation of users from the information channels and management of accommodation options traditionally dominated by the leading tourism operators and hotel chains. Two interesting examples in this regard – although inevitably strongly business-oriented – are the Portal de Ecoturismo13 in Spain and Ecotourism in France14, which as well as supplying information about many eco-tourism destinations in the Mediterranean act as on-line tour operators specifically targeting the nature tourism sector.

Conclusions

Unquestionably, the issue – debated both in the literature (Butler and Stiakaki 2001; Bramwell 2003 and 2004) and in a variety of institutional contexts (e.g. at the Forum on Tourism in the Mediterranean) – of the potentially adverse impact of tourism on the fragile Mediterranean coastline and the related need for sustainability policies remain extremely urgent. Nonetheless, it seems to us that the examples cited in this paper and in particular the leadership roles of some of the key players identified provide some indications for future tourism development policies in the Mediterranean. The practices described, however, must be accompanied by political will on the part of local authorities to promote these forms of development in an increasingly wide range of localities while drawing on a growing number of environmental and cultural resources; otherwise, these new practices and policies may remain limited to a small niche market, losing their potential to create a new tourism model and to renew, or at lEast enrich, the geographical imagination of those choosing the Mediterranean as a tourist destination.

13 www.ecotur.es 14 www.france-ecotourism.com

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I – Insediamenti/Settlements

Raffaele Cattedra1, Francesca Governa and Maurizio Memoli

Introduction

The dictionary definition of the term ‘settlement’ outlines the characteristics relating to scale (“a community of people smaller than a town”); relational space (“settlers are people who go to live in a new country“); and condition of community coherence (“an area where a group of families live together”) (Collins 2001). Settlements, therefore, indicate the colony as much as the idea of colonisation; they refer to a minimal, limited, cohesive space; they identify places linked to the community and to the interests of a country of origin or another place. Added to these very general features, then, are various meanings traditionally used in geography: the distribution of population and buildings in order to ‘occupy’ an area temporarily or permanently (Stone 965); different forms of occupying space, both with the distinction between rural and urban settlements – often considered in terms of ‘evolution’ from one to the other (Toschi 1966), and including in the category also the organisation of agricultural spaces, attributing to the ‘geography of settlements’ even the task of describing the forms of cultural landscape (Jordan 1966); or, further still, processes of spatial organisation in systemic terms (Dzlewónski 1978). For Stone (1965), “Geography of settlement can be defined as the description and analysis of the distribution of buildings by which people attach themselves to the land” […] and as “the action of erecting buildings in order equipment sheds, storage structures, to occupy an area temporarily or permanently” (347). The different conceptions of the term settlement and the role of the geography of settlements do not allow for a category by which to describe the concept since they attribute to the term

1 The contributions of R. Cattedra were made within the framework of the ‘Return Drain’ program funded by the Italian Ministry of Education, University & Research (MIUR).

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different meanings, which seem to include any form, process and action of ‘occupying’ space. Around the Mediterranean, alongside a ‘historically’ established spatial framework, although constantly changing and evolving, it is possible to identify different ‘types’ of settlement, some more established than others. It is, however, the ‘logic’ behind their foundation that makes them particularly interesting in interpreting the spatial evolution of the Mediterranean region. The chapter therefore presents a journey around some settled places, without claiming to be exhaustive and with no desire to construct an impossible taxonomy. The aim is to describe the multiplicity and the contradictions of an area in which colonisation logics and military strategies; urban expansions and forms of ‘containment’, forced to differing degrees, of places and populations; specificities of processes with local ‘translation’ of wider dynamics intertwine. The hypothesis that guides this journey is that the term settlement does not have its own interpretational significance and an ‘autonomous’ connotation, but constitutes a neutral and general category, useful for describing specific ‘episodes’ relating to spatial conditions (broadly speaking) upon which it feeds. Each of these episodes contains articulated foundational conditions, which intersect political, economic, strategic, social and cultural values, and its own spatial, temporal and economic attributes. We could have chosen other cases; some more ‘classic’: settlements of a strategic/military nature, like Gibraltar (since the start of the 1700s, a British dependency on the Iberian territory and part of the European Union, with its less than 30,000 inhabitants, in 2000), or the NATO military bases in Italy (six major bases and dozens of ‘installations’), in Spain, Greece, Egypt, Turkey or Israel, or the temporary settlements relating to off-shore installations searching for gas and oil in the Mediterranean Sea or in the of Libya, Algeria etc. Or even the large and small tourist centres, ‘holiday villages’ and bathing resorts, more or less planned, including Club Med and Valtur, spread from to , from the Grande-Motte to Saint-Tropez, from the to Taormina, from Corfù to , from Sharm-el- Sheikh to Urgada, from Jerba to Hammamet to Al-Hoceima, which might be viewed – paradoxically – as contemporary locations for voluntary temporary social reclusion (Minca 2009). Our choice is different, aimed at considering stable, temporary and ‘unprecedented’ forms of settlement, even within cities. Initially, examples of established settlements are discussed; some with a prevalently strategic nature, which respond to the logic of military occupation of the space (such as the Israeli colonies in Palestine); other which have a more traditional residential nature, but which assume different forms in response to the rationalities – often opposing – of

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urban growth (like the ‘new towns’ of urban expansion in the Egyptian desert or districts of spontaneous settlement, the slums and bidonvilles). Some examples are then provided that prefigure forms of settlement of a temporary nature, responding to the logic of social control (like the so- called reception centres for migrants which mark the paths of human mobility on the coasts of the North but also the South Mediterranean). And then those urban settlements which correspond to the new ethnic neighbourhoods of European cities of the start of the 21st century and which evoke situations of communitarianism or cosmopolitanism, which, in the past – between myth and reality – have characterised many cities of the Mediterranean.

The choice of Israeli colonisation

“The is still the only valid international treaty in the Middle East”. This declaration made by Avraham Binyamin, spokesman for Yitzhar (stronghold of the most radical Israeli settlers) (Giorgio 2010), after the end of the moratorium on new constructions in the settlements (established a year before and ending on 26 September 2010), clarifies how the Israeli settlements constructed from 1967 in the Palestine territories do not only represent rural settlements with economic or demographic functions. The task of the Israeli settlers, in fact, is not limited to the structuring of settlements but relates to the definition of a conflict with aspects of culture and politics, religion and economy, ethnicity, ideology and identity, of a local and international scenario. Kfar Etzion, the first settlement established in the in 1967, in addition to representing a model that was later replicated, has a history which wonderfully expresses the meanings behind the process of colonisation in Palestine. The original religious kibbutz (the village of Sion), made up of 450 inhabitants, occupied lands of ancient Jewish ownership dating back to 1927. The ultra-orthodox founding group sought to bring the Jewish presence into the hills which, for the Scriptures, would have been home to the encampment of Jacob (Father of Judaism). Abandoned and reopened a number of times in the 1930s, the kibbutz was reborn upon the initiative of the European Jews who survived the Holocaust, but ended up in the ‘Palestine zone’ in the Palestine partition plan established by the UN General Assembly on 29 November 1947. The village, besieged for many months by the , was ‘taken’ on 4 May of the following year and abandoned by the women and children who survived the conflict which caused 250 deaths. It was those very children who, twenty years later, would reestablish Kfar Etzion whose history, though not true of all settlements, is the ideological basis of the politics of occupation and

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territorialisation of Palestine. The inhabitants of Kfar Etzion are aware that they are the first yichuv (literally: ‘settlement’) in the areas conquered in 1967: they are the ‘territorial pioneers’ who recaptured the ‘natural borders’ of Israel (Valdman 2001, 125). Many other settlements were to be founded following their example, achieving a true Israeli occupation of the Palestine which combines political projects, legal measures, religious and ideological foundations, military and police positioning, colonising practices implemented through operations of seizure and removal of portions of space and resources (Destremeau 999). Yet the settlements, though devised as nodal points in the process of control and domination of a larger, strategic, space, represent the Israeli desire to show to the world, to its Arab neighbours/enemies and to Israelis themselves, their decision and ability to territorialise that space (as example of ‘territorialisation process’, see Raffestin 979) and not just to remain an ‘occupying army’. They are the tangible sign of the organisational and administrational skill of the young State, the proof of its ability to transform desert areas into urban space, capable of producing wealth, of absorbing the population of new immigrants, of winning the battle with the Arabs on the ‘civil’ as well as military plane.

Table 1 – Israeli population in Palestine Popolation 1948 1972 1983 1993 2004 2009 West Bank 480 1182 22800 111600 234487 304569 (including Jerusalem) 30 700 900 4800 7826 0 0 77 6800 12600 17265 20000 East Jerusalem 2300 8649 76095 152800 181587 192000 Total 2810 10608 106595 281800 441165 516569 Source: Israel Central Bureau of Statistics, 2012, (http://www1.cbs.gov.il)

The settlements were established on the wave of the military victory of the Six Day War (1967) and the occupations of the West Bank, Gaza Strip and Golan Heights that followed. These are the three areas outside the Green Line established in the 1949 armistice and which had marked, until that year, the border with Egypt, Syria and Jordan and, above all, the boundary with the places inhabited by the Arab-Palestinian populations. The Green Line, though not a formally defined border, played that role de facto between 1948 and 1967 to become, at that date, the lines over which the State of Israel produced its spatial expansion through the structuring of exclaves. In the thirty year period from 1970- 90, characterised by times of war and insurgency and alternating periods

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of negotiations and peace, the Israeli settlements never stopped growing (Table 1). At the end of 2010, approximately 520,000 people lived in the 121 recognised settlements in the West Bank, East Jerusalem and the Golan Heights. They are very diversified settlements: agricultural communities, kibbutzim, border villages (both located along the old green line, and along the border with Jordan), and true urban and peri- urban neighbourhoods, which are home to from a few hundred inhabitants up to over 30,000 (the three largest, that have achieved city status: Modi’in Illit, Maale Adumim and Betar Illit) (Deblonde and Veyron 2009). If we take into account the geopolitical context, the foundation of settlements and their demographic growth appear to be largely disconnected from the particularly critical periods in the difficult relations between the Arabs and Israelis. The settlement policy does not appear to undergo surges or moments of stasis, as much in periods of greater dialogue as in those of confrontation and military or terrorist conflict, other than in the individual short-term phases determined by particular policies and negotiations (for example, in the partial block on construction in 2010). Analysed in the long-term, the settling of Palestine is linked to the more general policy orientation (Encel 2008). The stage of actual occupation which characterised the 1960-1970s was followed by a lengthy twenty-year period of consolidation aimed at completing the settlements already established and at the mass settlement of the Arab and Eastern parts of Jerusalem. The next period of commencing the negotiations is characterised by significant spatial skirmishes, inspired by the need to negotiate the achieved benefits from positions of greater strength. The First Intifada and the arrival of the new Jewish populations from the former Soviet Union produced a complex situation, which significantly affected the development of the negotiations and the Oslo Accords of November 1993. In the years from 2000, influenced by great political uncertainty on both fronts, the settling continued, with the expansion of settlements, but also with the implementation of policies of great spatial impact linked to:

• security requirements, with the creation of a separation barrier in the form of a wall (9 metres tall); by transit through electronic control points and checkpoints; by a road system which divides the space into accessible – or inaccessible – places, divided by a highway which, from the original route of the Green Line now encompasses the whole of East Jerusalem, part of the West Bank area and 80% of the settlements; • the settlements and infrastructure networks that serve the planned and structured areas, but also those that are (apparently) spontaneous like the settlements of mobile homes and caravans;

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• the military zones that now occupy a large Eastern area of the West Bank; • the spaces cultivated by the Israelis; • the nature reserves (Israeli but also those run by the Palestine Authority) which prevent agricultural use as much as the Palestine urban expansion. These spatial elements construct a very detailed and widespread settlement system that outlines a map of Palestine (Fig. 1) whose ‘cumulative topology’ shows, according to Lévy (2008), an “inversion (you could say a ‘reversal’, just as you turn a double-face dress inside out) of the eye, which involves replacing the empty with full and vice-versa. The relevant elements cease to characterise the Israeli presence, but become the dominant feature of the Palestine geography: it is the Palestinians who are confined in the many little enclaves within a space that, globally, escapes them” (no page number). The results of the territorialisation processes implemented by Israel in Palestine formulate true settler societies which, for Yiftachel (1998, 11) “pursue a deliberate strategy of ethnic migration and settlement which aims to alter the country’s ethnic structure”.

Colonising the desert. Residential Egyptian settlements as new ‘city models’

Still in the Middle East, the ‘colonisation of the desert’ around Cairo constitutes an example in which the logic of the residential settlement combines with the dynamics of urban expansion, defining a ‘new city model’ which is opposed, formally and symbolically, to the growth of the consolidated city. Not so much urban expansion, then, but the construction of a new urban world with the recent spread of gated communities and compounds, a spatial expression of neoliberal political and economic choices in which the presence of walls and gates physically marks out socio-spatial differences and inequalities (Kuppinger 2008). In reality, the colonisation of the Egyptian desert began in the 1970s (although in the 1920s Baron Empain created Heliopolis, a garden city to the North-East of the capital), but has changed over time (El Khadi 990). The desert has thus been colonised gradually, with the construction of settlements of different natures and characters. These have changed both the landscape in which they are inserted (the desert, which was once a place to defend yourself against, ‘the kingdom of the dead’ of the ancient Egyptian settlement tradition, becomes the ‘new’ horizon for Cairo and Egypt, coveted by its upper class, an attractive place which symbolises wealth and power, see Denis, 2006 and 2008); and the ‘consolidated’ city, which has grown for hundreds of years

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within its boundaries such as to make it one of the most densely populated spaces on earth; and, finally, in a more insidious way, the forms of social relations and urbanity, stratified over time, of one of the largest cities in the Mediterranean area (with its current 8 million inhabitants, which increases to over 15 million if Greater Cairo is included). The ‘planned’ colonisation of the desert began with the regional plan prepared after the October War (1973). The objectives of the plan combined options of a strategic and military nature and the need for spatial balance, designed to counteract the attraction of Alexandria and Cairo whose population then amounted to approximately a quarter of the total Egyptian population (Jossifort 995). From a spatial perspective, the objectives of the plan translated into an explicit strategy to colonise the desert, the New Towns Programme, aimed not only at increasing the total arable surface area, with works already commenced under Nasser’s regime of the 1950s, but at creating a network of New Urban Communities in which to decentre part of the urbanised population, thereby redesigning the entire framework of settlements of the (Stewart 996). Each new town, of which 6 were planned in the desert around Cairo (Fahmi and Sutton 2008), was devised to be autonomous with respect to the main urban centres, to which they were connected by fast infrastructure lines, and designed for settling 500,000 inhabitants, following the model of the English New Towns, whose design involves an organisation into units of districts and low density buildings. Overall, the programme was intended to direct urban expansion towards the desert areas, thereby safeguarding agricultural lands around the urban centres, reducing the pressure of population on the central cities and channelling migratory flows from rural areas towards planned urban expansions, located away from the main centres, but close to them. In order to induce people and business to set up home in the desert cities, the Egyptian Government introduced various incentives: doubled wages for Government officials, rent subsidies, tax exemptions for new manufacturing settlements. But the New Towns Programme did not take off. The need to change the general direction emerged in the Master Plan of Greater Cairo of 1983 in which, in addition to the new towns, there was also provision for new settlements, situated in proximity to already urbanised areas and directly dependent upon the main centres. These are satellite cities, located within a range of 2-3 kilometres around Greater Cairo, not autonomous with respect to the urban centre from an economic and functional point of view. Despite expectations and huge investments (public and private: State, World Bank, transnational and national companies) and the economic context favourable to private investments, the programme did not achieve its objectives. The initial ‘seasons’ of

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colonisation of the desert through urban settlements, in the form of new towns and satellite cities, was a failure. The gap existing between the planned population and the population actually settled in the new urban settlements (Depaule and El Khadi 1990), just like the lack of infrastructures and services, ensured that the 10th Ramadan (the first to be created), but also El-Sadat City, 6th October, 15th May, El-Shorouk, El-Obourr (to name just a few), rather than new, autonomous, self- sufficient or in any case attractive cities, were actually like ghost towns, where people did not want to live and whose buildings showed signed of deterioration or abandonment. The 1990s saw a new phase opening. In 1991, immediately after the first , Egypt signed an agreement with the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund for the implementation of a programme of reform and economic liberalisation. Reducing public spending, privatisation and attracting direct foreign investments became the cornerstones of the Egyptian economic policy, based on neoliberal logic and strongly dependent upon the indications of the IMF and WB (Adham 2005). The consequences of the agreement changed the field of interest also in terms of residential building (El Araby 2003): the State no longer intervened to promote and fund public building, and the colonisation of the desert became a ‘private affair’. The transfer to the private sector involved not only changing the policy logic behind the creation of new towns in the 1970s and 1980s, but also, and more radically, the complete withdrawal of the State from social housing (Denis 2008). What emerges is, therefore, the gradual privatisation of urban development, including the substantial lack of public investments in social housing and the sharp rise in the price of residences in urban area. The property sector boom that started during this period supported and directly encouraged the private property sector and constitutes a key example of the alliance between government and the new ‘emerging’ capitalists, a sort of oligarchy, according to the interpretation of Mohamed H. Heikal, who characterised the recent political economy of the region (Adham 2005). The land under public ownership around the capital was sold at a lower than market price to large property companies linked to the then regime of Mubarak. Even foreign mega- businesses were turning towards Egypt: Solidere, known for having renewed the historic centre of Beirut, or Emaar, which led massive property operations in the countries of the Gulf and in Lebanon (Abaza 2011). The alliance was effective: “in the early years of 2000, there were 23 new cities in Egypt, of which 19 were under construction. In 2003- 05, three new cities under construction were added to this number” (Abaza 2011 1076). In less than 15 years, the size of the urbanised area of Cairo had almost tripled, also through the construction of new

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transport infrastructures (Denis 2008). The new settlements in the desert became increasingly gigantic projects: the expansion close to New Cairo City, to the East of Cairo, a small settlement created to accommodate a few people after the earthquake in 1992, is destined to accommodate 5 million inhabitants by 2013 (Shenker 2011). They are settlements designed by international professional firms according to the model of the luxury resorts, used mostly by the upper-class: “a new up-market Disneyfied Cairo in the zone, with Dubai as its ideal model, is in the making” (Abaza 2011 1075). Thus, gated communities, luxury residences, golf courses, shopping centres, theme parks, artificial forests etc. are springing up in the desert, generating clear problems from an environmental perspective (just imagine the amount of water required to maintain an 18-hole golf course in one of the driest areas of the world, see Adham 2005). One of the most active companies in the recent phase of colonisation of the desert, Tal’at Moustafa Group, after having constructed Al-Rehab, to the East of Cairo, is involved in creating Madinaty (literally, ‘your city’), an extension of New Cairo City, situated 33 kilometres from the capital on the road to Suez. Madinaty is the most important urban development project (3 billion dollars invested, 80,000 villas and houses, hotels, hospitals, international schools, clubs, parks and shopping centres), but also the first that has faced popular opposition, denouncing the lack of transparency and the corruption connected to the mechanisms of selling public land (Shenker 2011). As can be seen on the publicity website, the project, which is a result of the collaboration of three US ‘design firms’ (HHCP, SWA and Sasaki), is presented as “the biggest all-inclusive enclosed city” in the Middle East, “a city of international standards in Egypt”, “a modern city whose design focuses on providing all present and future requirements of its inhabitants and visitors”. The settlement includes “not only villas and apartment buildings, but also vast green areas, golf courses, hospitals, business centres, hotels, educational institutions, sports and social clubs, household services, and entertainment facilities which meet the day-to- day needs of its inhabitants”. And, also, “residential areas in Madinaty are divided into areas for villas and others for apartment buildings. The areas are separated by gardens that all the housing units of Madinaty overlook. Wide promenades for pedestrians lead to the service areas, limiting pollution and guaranteeing the safety and comfort of pedestrians and children” (www.madinaty.com). As is clear from these quotations regarding Madinaty, but which can also be seen in other examples (see Florin, 2005; Fahmi and Sutton 2008; Kuppinger 2008), the advertising campaigns that accompany the projects are pervaded by a high rhetorical content. It is not just a matter of ‘selling’ a house, albeit a luxury house, but of affirming a particular

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lifestyle. A lifestyle which is the opposite to that of Cairo – overcrowded, polluted, chaotic city – and which is based upon separation (between rich and poor; between the city and the new settlements) so as to guarantee healthiness, cleanliness and safety. A lifestyle ‘sold’ as exclusive to the upper (and increasingly also middle) class Egyptian which intends to legitimise, in reality, the very idea of ‘closed’ and ‘protected’ settlements, separate from both the ‘historical’ city and from the ‘new cities’ that constitute the expansions, as a model of new urban renaissance (Florin 2005). The ‘new urban world’ created in less than ten years on the outskirts of Cairo (Denis 2008) is made up of settlements whose names evoke a lifestyle and a fairy-tale, fantasy world: DreamLand, Gardenia, Beverly Hills, Utopia, New Garden City… A settlement model that is based upon the construction of new identities defined by the unprecedented combination of European, Mediterranean and Islamic suggestions, of cosmopolitanism and traditions, of the return to community and control. All this is served in the form of an urban design made up of walls, fences and the gradual disneyisation of spaces (Sorkin 992) in which the ‘neoliberal urban nightmare’ discussed by Davis and Monk (2007) materialises. As highlighted by Florin (2005), while the ‘magic’ and the ‘dream’ constitute the distinctive figure of the ‘narrations’ of the promoters of these interventions, the real game of property investments is played in the financial realm, which is essentially severed from market demand. Aside from the differences between the various settlements based upon the principles of enclosure and privatisation of space, a common element to all these residential enclaves for the rich is the strong desire for ‘control’ that is expressed within them: an exclusive and ‘armed’ control which, in Egypt, as in many other parts of the world, takes the form of walls, gates, video cameras, access restrictions, watchtowers. The elite can close themselves into these exclusive communities and find themselves surrounded by people who share the same values; they can acknowledge one another and develop private forms of participatory micro-democracy, against the shortcomings of the Egyptian political system under the regime of Mubarak (Denis 2008), which offered little opportunity for democratic discussion. It remains to be seen if, with the ‘Arab Spring’, a phenomenon that comes from and feeds strongly upon urban specificity and its spaces (Lopes de Souza and Lipietz 2011), a similar exclusive form of socio-spatial organisation will continue to maintain its privileges.

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‘Spontaneous’ settlements and urban growth in the Mediterranean slums

The settlements in the Egyptian desert constitute the other side of the in the process of ‘spontaneous’ or illegal urban expansions which, in synthetic terms, are known as slums (bidonvilles in French). Although the term ‘slum’ was initially used to identify the workers’ districts of industrial English towns of the nineteenth-century (like those described by Friedrich Engels in 1845), this term now identifies different types of urban settlement, often built with reused materials, which are created from the illegal occupation of sites that are unsuitable for construction or are easily flooded (steep slopes, quarries, landfills, wetlands). Slums were often stigmatised as a pathology, “a paradigm and a hidden reality of the twentieth-century city” (Cattedra 2006) and they seem destined to become the dominant paradigm of the twenty-first century city (Davis 2006). Widespread especially in cities of poorer countries (and particularly evident, since the start of the seventies, in countries of South America and Asia), these settlements share, aside from the different morphological typologies, similar problems from a social, economic and urban perspective. Often used as a synonym for ‘spontaneous settlement’, for unhealthy and miserable settlements, unregulated, clandestine, illegal, marginal or informal settlements, the use of the term slum has the benefit of including different geographical contexts and methods of construction. Therefore the term could be used to approximate various settled spaces around the world, different from the perspective of legal and land status and that of the social and economic situations of the inhabitants, along with their location and construction methods. However, the term ‘slums’ has always been marked by the social stigmatisation of its inhabitants, enough to make its use problematic. In recent years, Gilbert (2007; 2008; 2009) has put forward numerous criticisms of the discursive practices of previous periods, focusing his attention mainly on the indications of UN- HABITAT; on the debate relating to the reduction or elimination of slums; on the methods of intervening within them. Gilbert points out that the use of the term ‘slum’ (and its derivatives) is ‘dangerous’ due to the large (and immeasurable) differences in its definition and those conditions to which it is applied, as seems clear in the distribution of slums and slum-related issues, particularly the conditions of urban deprivation, in the UN-HABITAT publications (2003a; 2003b; 2010). In the Mediterranean context, the term bidonville derives from the name of a district built in Casablanca, during the 1920s, on the site of a camp of shacks built by immigrants of rural origin who used waste materials (oil drums, pressed cardboard, sheet metal, wood) from the first industries located in Morocco, at the time a newly colonised

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country. The word was ‘successful’ and soon became a generic term used to designate, from the 1930s, other settlements of the same type that were built in Casablanca and, gradually, in other North African cities, from Tunis to Algeri, and in so-called Third World cities, but also in the suburbs of European cities (Nanterre in Paris or the suburbs of Rome in the 1950s). With the generalisation of the term, another step was taken: the adoption of the term bidonvilles within the technical/administrative register that institutionalises them and gives them legal legitimacy. The bidonvilles became, in fact, a true typology of urbanisation, a named category for part of the city: in Maghreb they constitute the third morphological term of colonial cities, together with medine (the historical, pre-colonial cities) and villes neuves (the new cities, constructed by the French, in modern style and with avant-garde urban planning) (Berque 1958). During the period 1950-70, the large bidonvilles of Algeri, Tunis and Casablanca accommodated up to a third of the urban population. The equation between bidonville and ‘spontaneous’ habitation is, in reality, reductive. In many cases the role of colonial administrations was decisive: the bidonvilles were, from time to time, moved, reorganised and separated into blocks for reasons of hygiene and safety. Those actions produced examples of municipal or private bidonvilles, where the inhabitants pay proper rent for the land or shacks (Cattedra 2010). From the 1950s, in the debate on the bidonvilles and their role in urban organisation, there have been two main positions. On one side, the interpretation which identifies precarious settlements as places of social marginalisation, but also political threat. The “bidonville danger”, “hotbed of terrorism” (de La Varde 1955, 46), became a common theme in standard discourse on colonial society on the eve of the and the independence of Morocco and Tunisia. More recently, in 2003, the Moroccan authorities and press have reported that the perpetrators of the attacks which, in May of that year, caused more than forty deaths in Casablanca had grown from the bidonvilles of the city. On the other side, other interpretations highlight how living in the bidonville – or, rather, the transition through the bidonville – is a ‘necessary step’, an adaptation, from the rural settlement models to the cities. According to these interpretations, the bidonville represents a “stage of acculturation to the urban world” (Pétonnet 1982), a stage through which social groups recognised as unsuitable for the social rules of urban life or, in any case, dangerous, must pass in order to access the city and citizenship. The methods of combating illegal, precarious and degraded living are different, sometimes even opposing. Urban policies adopted in the different local contexts vary from liberal policies of laissez faire, or of simple control, to improvement actions – ‘up-grading’ according to the

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formula of the World Bank – which involve the construction of roads, public fountains, collective toilets and other infrastructures, until reaching demolition schemes which often do not provide alternatives for the inhabitants. There are, also, other measures which make the demolition of shacks subject to the re-housing of the inhabitants, in the same site or in other districts, through self-construction, with assisted programmes or with the implementation of social housing interventions (Balbo 1992; Osmont 1995).

New settlements of control: the places of temporary containment of migrants

Contrary to what we have considered so far, and although it is not traditionally understood in this sense, settlements also have a ‘mobile’ meaning. They become places of temporary, ‘nomadic’ and ‘transhumance’ anchorage, to be used by geo-anthropological categories (Agier 1999; 2008). As much a place of refuge as a place of containment, forced to variable degrees, of individuals and human groups on the run (refugees and migrants), of individuals without a fixed abode and nomadic communities (the Roma) (Legros and Vitale 2011). It is perhaps the second dimension, related containment and confinement, seclusion and isolation, that today best translates the idea of forced territorialisation (and prevented territoriality) in the new forms of settlements in the Mediterranean, which constitute ‘non-places’ (of residence), more or less temporary, more or less controlled. But in their existence – albeit temporary (though not all are) – and in their reality given by the geographical effectiveness of their location – these places are distinct and opposed from other ordinary places of society. They are heterotopias, where individuals are placed whose behaviour is deemed to be deviant or dangerous. But they are not just now ‘classic’ and institutionalised heterotopias, like prisons, nursing homes, psychiatric clinics etc. (Foucault 1994): they are synchronic and short- term heterotopias linked to the process of control of migratory movements affecting the Mediterranean. Classifying migrants as illegal and introducing the offence of illegal immigration (as occurred in Italy with law no. 94 of 2 July 2009), does nothing other than produce and increase, from the spatial perspective, the formation of new settlements of control. Of course, particular events, like the fall of the Berlin wall and the subsequent geopolitical effects, or the recent revolutions of the Arab Spring of 2011, may influence, accelerate or increase movements. So much so that the arrival en masse of migrants, not suitably managed, or perhaps deliberately mismanaged by the national authorities, may lead to paroxysm that transforms for

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some months the whole island, like Lampedusa, into a temporary settlement of refuge or forced reception. But the settlements of control, following and adapting the thought of Foucault (1994), are not only heterotopias. They are also heterochronias, as they ‘break the ordinary rhythm’. In refugee camps, in the different points of departure to other lands and in the so-called arrival ‘reception’ centres, a system of the suspension of time is established: you wait. You wait for the right moment to leave on a pateras and cross the Mediterranean or the Atlantic, like the harragas of Maghreb - literally, ‘those who burn’ (their immigration papers). Migrants who defy death to reach Europe from the Moroccan of Larache, and , in Oran and close to in Algeria, in and Monastir and Biserta and Cap Bon in Tunisia, but also from the coasts of Libya, Egypt and Turkey, not to mention the archipelago of the Canaries, the coasts of Senegal and the . The borders of the Mediterranean then go well beyond the of Gibraltar, while those of Europe have moved to the Southern shore of this sea, with a nice effect of “externalising the borders” (Rodier 2009). In one year, on average, 60,000 people cross the Mediterranean in this way and, since 1988, according to Fortress Europe, approximately 17,000 migrants will have drowned (www.fortresseurope.bogspot.com). Temporary settlements, where young Kurd, Afghan, Iraqi or Indian migrants await a good opportunity to crawl under a lorry to hide, are also those that are formed around some Mediterranean ports. In Greece, for example, the ports of or Patrasso, where the camp was self-managed by migrants and was brutally dismantled in 2009. ‘Camps’ that become temporary settlements were the massive Gouraougou on the outskirts of Melilla and Bel Younes, opposite Ceuta, the two Spanish enclaves in Morocco. Here, for months and sometimes years, until 2005 (when 15 people were killed by the Spanish border police in Ceuta), communities of young African sub-Saharans camped out; over a thousand people waiting to pass to the other side, attempting, with a system of wooden stairs, to climb over a 6 foot high double wire mesh fence topped with barbed wire (Del Grande 2007). In a settlement of control, you are in ‘temporary detention’. You live in fear of being ‘identified and expelled’: rejected. Or you wait in anticipation of going elsewhere, if you’re lucky. And there are even more new forms of settlements, in Italy, the CARAs, Centri di accoglienza per richiedenti asilo (Reception Centres for Asylum Seekers) (there are 13 of them spread between and Gorizia, particularly localised in the South, often close to airports and ports; the infamous CIEs, Centri di identificazione e di espulsione (Identification and Expulsion Centres) (formerly known as CPTAs, Centri di permanenza temporanea ed assistenza – Temporary Stay and Assistance

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Centres), where journalists cannot even enter (according to the official website of the Ministry of the Interior, there are 13; according to Fortress Eur7), spread between and Turin, passing by Crotone, Brindisi and Milan. At one time, there were also the CPAs (Centri di prima accoglienza – Initial Reception Centres), CPSAs (Centri di primo soccorso e accoglienza – First Aid and Reception Centres), CPTs (Centri di permanenza temporanea – Temporary Stay Centres, which then became CPTAs and later CIEs), where, between just 2005 and 2006, 22,000 migrants without documents were held (according to the Report of the De Mistura Commission 2007). Control settlements in Spain are the CETIs (Centros de Estancia Temporal de Imigrantes) located in Ceuta and Melilla, like the CIEs (Centros de Internamiento de Extranjeros); in Turkey, the Geri gönderme merkezi (literally, expulsion centres); in France, there are over 25 Centres de retention administrative, situated in Nice, , Nîmes, Paris, La Guadalupe and the island of Réunion. The new containment settlements of the Mediterranean, as you can see, extend as far as the Caribbean and the ! The Italian and European dictionary translates, with all the euphemisms possible and its changing terminology, a simple concept: the temporary forced territorialisation of migration into places of containment. Besides, ‘the new police of Europe’ do not need to create legal categories and acronyms to establish temporary settlements. The semi-clandestine camps situated in the Libyan desert at Al-Brac, Kufrah, Qatrum, but also in Misurata and Tripoli, in the recent years of Gaddafi’s government, officially supported by the European Union and by Italy, are further abject examples of new settlements of forced containment to ‘accommodate’ in inhuman conditions and in arbitrary detention sub-Saharan migrants and refugees. According to journalistic sources, in 2009, in Libya, around twenty detention camps were in existence. All this is in defiance of the Geneva Convention (which was never ratified by Libya), of the most fundamental human rights, despite the protests of the UNHCR (expelled from the country in June 2010). According to the 2010 report by Migreurop ‘Aux frontières de l'Europe. Contrôles, enfermements, expulsions’, the Libyan Government would thus have repatriated 145,000 foreigners between 2003 and 2005. But this type of centre, formal to varying degrees, inhuman to varying degrees, is also found in Algeria (Tinzaouaten, on the border with Mali) or in the buffer zone between Algeria and Morocco () (www.migreurop.org).

Immigrant districts: new community and/or cosmopolitan settlements?

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Finally we shall consider another form of settlement, this also due to the migratory phenomenon which produces a more or less permanent re- composition of spaces in an increasing number of Mediterranean cities. On the European shores there are numerous urban districts that have acquired, over the last two decades, the nature of an unprecedented cultural, social, ethnic, religious, linguistic complexity. We can try then to see these new spatial forms as particular examples of settlements, somehow inverting the logic of the reasoning above – i.e. that which considered the mutation of settlements as forced territorialisation and containment – and taking in an element closer to the idea of settlement as a more or less intentional and voluntary process of ‘colonisation’, on a relational and community basis, or rather, inter-community. Urban spaces are the places of greatest attraction for migrants and represent the privileged scenarios of new landscapes of contemporary internationalism. These reconfigurations are actually also tributaries of what is defined as a ‘globalisation from below’ (Tarrius 2000), where migrants are no longer just “silent extras in the scene that the city tries to project outwards” (Provansal 2002, 69), but they become the stars of the transformation since they take part in ‘building’ the city. Although faced with the condition of foreigners (depending on the country and in relation to the time spent in the arrival place), migrants contribute to transforming the identity of places and districts, like historical centres or suburban areas, shopping areas, public spaces. To the first immigrant communities in European cities, originating mainly from countries intertwined by colonial or mercantile interests and politics (for France, mainly Maghreb, Africa, South-; for Germany Turkish or Kurdish migration; for Great Britain, the Commonwealth system; for Italy, the countries of the ), are now added migrants of disparate origins (Africa, China, , Easter Europe etc.). While Marseilles is seemingly taking on the connotations of a new figure of cosmopolitanism, very different from the years between the two wars, and different also from its clearly racist character during the years 1960-70, other cities of the Mediterranean are also marked by the phenomenon. Barcelona, Athens or, in Italy, Rome (200,000 foreigners in 2007), Milan (170,000), Turin (84,000), Brescia (27,000), Naples (19,000) (Amato 2008), are all examples, of different natures, of urban spaces which, in recent decades, have recorded significant changes in relation to the presence of migrants of various origins. Although not exhaustive, the indicator of the incidence of foreigners allows us to recognise the transversal diffusion of the phenomenon; medium-sized cities, but with high economic dynamism, such as (still in Italy) Prato, Verona, Padua, Varese, Bergamo, Treviso, present significant concentrations of immigrant communities and, at the same time, high levels of integration but also times and situations of conflict. From the

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initial settlements in the districts around the railway stations (Milan, Turin, Rome, Naples etc.) or seaports (Genoa, , , Cagliari etc.), ‘immigrant areas’ are now emerging in the urban body, showing a dual register. On the metropolitan scale, their localisation may seem scattered, fragmented, diffused: in the inner and outer suburbs, in the areas close to residential districts, in the historical centres, also in those already involved in processes of gentrification, in the abandoned industrial zones, in commercial contexts, in the neighbourhoods, etc.). On a large scale, there are also areas of high ‘density’ and concentration: enclaves of dominant ethnic and community aggregation, commercial and residential spaces, community districts or, conversely, spaces of exclusion, ghettos etc. Of course, the most recent changes are relatively and quantitatively different from those which characterise the large international and cosmopolitan European cities like Paris, , Berlin, Brussels, in which, already by the end of the nineties, the incidence of populations of foreign origin reached or exceeded the level of 20% of inhabitants (not counting naturalised citizens), and which assume the sense of radical transformations: the ‘Goutte d’Or’ (Afro- Arab), Belleville and Place d'Italie (Chinese) in Paris; Belsunce and the ‘Northern Suburbs’ in Marseilles; Barceloneta or the Barrio de Raval in the in Barcelona. Also in Italy, there are districts that have undergone radical metamorphoses, like the ethnic or community neighbourhoods of Piazza Vittorio in Rome, Canonica-Sarpi in Milan, the ‘carrugi’ alleyways of old Genoa, San Salvario and Porta Palazzo in Turin, the Vucciria in Palermo, the Vasto in Naples, or the Carmine in Brescia, Marina, Stampace and Villanova in Cagliari (Cattedra and Memoli 2010). Thus, the migratory landscapes confirm the need for uncertain thought: the immigrant fragments (made of “oppressed, subordinated, forgotten in music, literature, in the poverty and populations of the Third World which come to occupy the economies, the cities, the institutions, the media and the leisure of the First World”) propel the contours (and confines) of our world and the tout-court world into uncertainty and force us into ‘recognising the need for a way of thinking […] that is neither fixed nor stable” centred on a “cosmopolitan script” to be reworked and reviewed (Chambers 2003 12). This condition leads us to wonder about the capacities of contemporary societies to integrate and mobilise such a “plurality of belonging” (Bruckner 2000).

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L – Levante/Levant

Stefano De Rubertis

Introduction

The Levant is often mentioned as a region that is not clearly defined, located to the East of the Mediterranean, of which it seems to be considered an integral part. Although, due to its variety, it may be depicted more as a source of problems than opportunities, it is sometimes presented as a proving ground for the coexistence of diversities and cultural hybridization, having a capacity for dialogue that can still be found in the local memory (Alcalay 1992; Hochberg 2007). This short essay is intended to give the Levant a rather ‘narrow’ delimitation – between Turkey and Israel – on the basis of the geographical literature (Dagradi and Farinelli 1993, 25) and with the support of a detailed reconstruction proposed by the historian Harris (2003). This choice is not based on the analysis of uniformity characteristics and territorial contiguity; it is not a direct consequence of the debate on the representations of the Mediterranean (Giaccaria and Minca 2011; Minca 2004) or their consequences (Conti and Segre 1998; Campione 1998; Conti and Giaccaria 1998). The choice is instead based on a geopolitical perspective according to which, during the ever- recurring cycles of history, the Levant is turned to non-Mediterranean interests, goals, and partnership, as the analyses of some observers (Ansaldo 2011) seem to suggest. The idea has a certain charm: given that the Levant, ‘in decline’ since the nineteenth century, has been economically dynamic, strategically important, and potentially cosmopolitan for a long time (Mansel 2010; Braudel 1949, 1979), it is fair to ask whether its role in the Basin may be modified by the revaluation of ‘other affiliations’ that colonial and post-colonial events have concealed but evidently not deleted. In fact, in Arabic, the portion of territory between and the Sinai is called, by the pre-Islamic era, Bilad al-Sham, which means ‘Northern region’, with reference to the . In the West, the most well-known denomination is Levant, “an Italian-derived word originating with traders from the medieval Italian city-states. It meant

147 ‘the point where the sun rises’ and referred to the Eastern Mediterranean. It implied a source of light, possibly evoking the antiquity of civilization in the Eastern Mediterranean, or the presence of the ” (Harris 2003, 1–4). Later, the term ‘Levant’ was used to designate the part of those territories, almost always subjected to great empires, that came under the French mandate in the first half of the last century. Being home to disputed and competing holy sites, a staging post between the sea and the desert for armies, migrants, and trade flows, the Levant has always been exposed to external penetrations, with the frequent overlapping of cultures and ethnic groups from three different continents. The coastline, historically and obviously, was most easily susceptible to Western influences; the running parallel to it has been a refuge for minorities and communities and a defensive bulwark both for the coastal strip against the interior and vice versa; the inland plain, however, was more subject to influences from the continent (Harris 2003, 3 and 15; Dagradi and Farinelli 1993, 42). Between the eighth and the twentieth centuries, also as a result of the ‘affirmation’ of an Arab dialect, the populations of the area shared customs and traditions (with the exception of the regions characterized by the settlement of Turks and Kurds in the ), but they also retained non-homogeneous factors, such as the “multiplicity of Muslim and Christian sectarian identities” (Harris 2003, 3). The cohesion of the Levant was further reduced by colonial events and post- war partitions. In fact, the transformation of the hazy boundaries crossing the Levant into straight borders caused harsh friction: previously, the political unity of the Ottoman Empire, even with all its limits, had secured a greater freedom of movement. The new arbitrary boundaries and the imposition of new institutional systems highlighted the differences and contrasts. Ethnic and religious differences existed across nations and gave rise to hybridizations and peculiarities, which spread the fragmentation phenomena so, for example, the divisions between Shiites and Sunnis, and those within them, were sometimes so deep that Arabism or pan-Arabism or pan-Islamism have not been sufficient to restore real unity. After 1948, the Levant “was divided between Israel, with its Jewish majority, and the new Arab countries of Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan. There was now an ‘Arab Levant’, a ‘Jewish Levant’, and a ‘Turkish Levant’” (Harris 2003, 3 and 21–26). The new nation states were committed to searching for elements of cohesion and identifying common goals, finding true support in the big economic development projects. In fact, dealing with the economic issue involved facing up to the problem of shaking off colonial control and dependence. This issue could coagulate and consolidate nationalist ideas and encourage the building of a more direct relationship between the individual and the state, less mediated by the traditional tribal society,

148 consolidating a network of geographically well-defined relations, physically delimited by the area controlled by the state. In the Arab world, where membership of tribal groups and the sense of religious identity contribute to sharpening the social segmentation (Mutin 2005, 53), the state is to be understood as only one of the institutional levels; its importance may even be very uncertain, as is evident in the different role that is attributed to it, for example, by the Sunni and the Shias (Ayubi 1992, 83 and 1995, 108–117). The ‘nation state’, through its continuous interactions, both at local level and above, sometimes encourages cohesion and sometimes conflict. At a local, tribal, or ethnic level, the identity rules draw strong ‘boundaries’ that are rarely consistent with the national scale. The result has been the proliferation, fragmentation, and marginalization of minorities, as for example in the case of the Lebanese Christian communities. At a level above the merely local, international institutions limit the state’s sovereignty or challenge its legitimacy or role, as in pan-Arabism (Barnett 1993). The difficulty in managing the poor resources and the marked population increase, on top of the problems arising from the structuring into nation states that does not seem compatible with the needs of the specific area, have fed major migratory flows, in turn responsible for further frictions between countries and within the countries themselves. Even the attempts to simplify the regulatory frameworks in the new nation-states have created or exacerbated different kinds of rifts and conflicts. The quality of the changing neighborly relations can be considered, at the same time, both cause and effect of the tensions which characterized the relations among the countries of the area and between them and the rest of the world, and they necessarily reflect the irreducible variety of identities (section 2). The dialogue with the Mediterranean partners does not seem to have made significant progress in recent years, and the Levant seems to be looking for alternative solutions to its domestic and international problems, consolidating its affiliation to a non-Western-style institutional network (section 3). The yearning for identity, which prompts the Levant to join projects and to take directions and commitments with non-European partners, seems to manifest itself even in commercial interests (section 4), which suggests that there needs to be a verification of the convergence between the direction undertaken by the Levantine countries and that of the rest of the Basin.

(Trans)national mosaic

The countries that form the Levantine mosaic (Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and Israel with the Palestinian Territories) are characterized by

149 internal breaks, sectarian divisions, and factions that often have transnational features (Harris 2003, 135, 171). The conflicts in this area have not found adequate answers in the partnership proposals of the North side: European community projects prove not to be very consistent or effective (Seeberg 2008) and their ‘charm’ has gradually been scaled down thanks to the tempting options offered by the changes in worldwide geopolitical structures. In fact, even after the Soviet coalition’s breakdown, a phase of gradual detente started between Syria and Turkey: while Syria gave up lending support to the Kurdish independence forces, Turkey gave up the retaliations over control of the rivers and (Lacoste 1998, 14-16) and reduced the intensity of its cooperation with Israel (Leday 2007, 103). The desire for improved relations with its neighbors and the disappointment of its dream of being welcomed into the European Union (EU) have pushed Turkey to turn its attention to the Middle East and , reflecting past relations based on its own historic and geographic strength to the extent of defining the strategy as “neo-ottoman policies” (Ansaldo 2011, 255). The country, already assisted by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) since the Seventies, despite internal political tensions, a move towards authoritarianism, and terrorist threats, has definitely expanded towards the free market (Mousseau 2006, 313; Aydin 2005, 36; Yamak and Usdiken 2006, 178) and made a remarkable effort in order to assume the shape of a modern unitary State looking towards the West. This has also provoked a strong reaction among the Kurdish minorities in the South-East of the country, on the border of the Levantine area (Harris 2008, 1706). After forty years of waiting in vain to be involved in the EU, while relations with Israel became increasingly cool, Turkey now seems able to strengthen its democratization process in correspondence to a gradual islamization, scaling down the role of the military which, until now, has ensured the secularity of the State (Ansaldo 2011, 255; Carducci and Bernardini D'Arnesano 2008, 88). This may enable the re- establishment of some links with the Arab world that were interrupted in the nineteenth century when, also due to the influence of the European powers, the Ottomans started to be considered Turkish rather than Arab. Accordingly, ethnic differences could be overcome thanks to the Islamic brotherhood (Lewis 2000, 100). Unlike Turkey, Syria has always been reluctant to admit intrusions in its internal politics by the international authorities (Perthes 1995, 203). The socialism-based regime that ruled the country starting from the Sixties imposed “frugal living standards, rationing of basic commodities, and seclusion from the outside world” (Harris 2003, 154) and, according to the agreements of Camp David, played the role of Arab world bulwark against Israel, becoming the political mainstay of

150 the Arab Levant right through the Eighties. Foreign policy decisions increased the tensions with Turkey, but also helped to guarantee the internal legitimation of the Alawite regime of Asad, relying on the support of military groups and an inner clan, in spite of the Sunni Muslims (Droz-Vincent 2004, 96-105). The poor success of its economic policies has perpetuated a relative isolation from world markets, a weak GDP growth (Fig. 1.a), an unsatisfactory weight of industry and services, and a chronic dependence on the export of oil (ICE-MAE 2010; Pollard 2004, 136; Nabli et al. 2005, 19; Bethemont 2000, 243; Institut de la Méditerranée 1997, 327). In recent years, economic weakness has been followed by the reduction of military power (built up during the arms race against Israel), which started with the interruption of the flow of aid coming in the past from the Soviet Union. The regime, looking for internal consensus, has started a major process of trade liberalization (the number of products that cannot be exported has been cut from twenty thousand to fewer than two hundred in a short time) and diversification of the production system, with a growth of the service sector and a real increase in non- commodities exports. However, the presence of the state remains very strong in all production sectors and its control of the economy is reinforced by the continuing subsidies to businesses, especially those that are export-oriented. The country’s lack of openness and the difficulty in getting access to information can be estimated through the proportion of the population using the Internet: recent data indicate values close to 20%, among the loWest in the Mediterranean and the loWest in the Levant (ITU 2011; ICE-MAE 2010). Moreover, the management of the poor water resources and the repercussions on organization and agricultural production are evidence of the considerable tension between the liberalistic aspirations and the economic centralization (Jaubert et al. 2008, 80 and 91). The risk is of a worsening of the city/country split and an increase in the social differences that the Baath regime had always fought in order to consolidate its legitimacy and the national unity (Balanche 2008, 11–27). Overall, the reforms launched seem to reflect a survival strategy by the ruling class: they aim for results of great impact on both employment and , without substantially changing the existing power system (Droz-Vincent 2004, 110–115). The exact result of the popular riots of 2011, their violent repression, and the subsequent EU sanctions, in addition to those already enacted by the USA (since 2004), remains very uncertain. Consequently, the repositioning of the country in the Mediterranean and worldwide economic and political arena seems to be uncertain too: while it reinforces relations with the EU (there are plans to activate a free trade area in 2020) and with some member states (there are important plans for cooperation with Germany), Syria opposes the

151 relationship, even indirect, with Israel. It has joined GAFTA (Great Arab Free Trade Area, January 2005), it has entered preferential agreements with the Eastern countries, it does not adhere to the , it keeps the non-tariff barriers high (ICE-MAE 2010), and it maintains rather troubled relations with Lebanon and Jordan, without hiding from them its desire for leadership. Lebanon is ruled by a consociationalism-based regime, strongly influenced by Sunni and Shi'a Christian elites and opposed by the leading Hizballah, rooted in the Shiite masses (Seeberg 2008, 9). The ‘Beirut Spring’ (2005) brought back to Lebanon a “sectarian compartmentalization [...] which facilitated divide-and-rule by Syria” (Harris 2003, 160): the different community groups (Sunni, Druze, Maronites, Shiites) still continue to fear each other’s domination and raids. Thus, the “Lebanese demonstrate for freedom and democracy but they vote for candidates that consolidate the confessionalism” (Droz- Vincent 2007, 30). Lebanon, being the field of battle in which Israel and Syria face each other, has suffered strong Israeli retaliations, which were a result of the provocations by Hezbollah Islamic activists (supported by Syria). It has difficulty bearing the impact of a big flow of refugees, who now constitute 10% of the population, causing major territorial imbalances (Mansel 2010, 349; Codovini 2007; Mutin 2005, 158). During the 2006 conflict, Turkey made an intense diplomatic effort to reach a compromise with Israel, giving evidence of the new attention towards the Levant (Mallet 2007). Lebanon is once more advancing its vocation as trade center for the entire Middle East: Beirut has confirmed its historic economic and financial internationalism, showing a large degree of openness towards both the West and the Arab world, and it could aim to become a global city once more, giving up the tribalism that seems to have had the upper hand in the last few decades (Mansel 2010, 344 and 352). The openness of the country is attested to by the gradual liberalization (the customs duties applied are low or nil for almost 90% of products) and by the access to loans from the IMF and World Bank for the implementation of strong economic and social reforms. The partnership with the EU is particularly active and, among other things, entails the mutual abolition of duties by 2015 (ICE-MAE 2010a). Jordan, too, is ruled by a basically authoritarian regime and its relations with Syria are not fully cordial, because of the positions taken in the Arab-Israeli conflict and during the -Iran war. Despite the difficulty in balancing the relations between the Transjordanian Arabs (supporting the monarchy) and the Palestinian Arabs (the majority of the population and the economic fulcrum), Jordan can count on an internal cohesion greater than those of Syria and Lebanon (Seeberg 2008, 9–14; Harris 2003, 134, 162); this results in a political stability

152 higher than the rest of the area, even though the country has felt the effects of tensions in neighboring countries and denotes a slow institutional adaptation (Commission of the European Communities 2004, 2011). Jordan has a very weak export orientation towards the Mediterranean, but has started an important economic and institutional collaboration with the EU, within the ENP (European Neighborhood Policy). The location of the country on the international stage since 1994 is financially supported by the IMF and by the World Bank, which call for a deep process of liberalization. Privatizations and openness towards international investment have contributed to the growth of trade and services. The country has signed free trade agreements with the EU (1978, 1997, 2002, 2003), Syria (2001), Israel (1995 and 2005), Egypt, Morocco, and Tunisia (2004, Agadir, agreement with the EU), and Turkey (2009), and Turkey, Syria, and Lebanon (2011) (ICE-MAE 2010b; Commission of the European Communities 2004). The violent spiral of the clash among competing plans is dramatically increasing in the Occupied Palestinian Territories. The socio-economic status of the territories largely depends on Israeli domination, which effectively controls production, trade, and the labor market both in the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip, with particularly serious consequences in the latter, especially after the affirmation of Hamas. Between 2005 and 2009, on average 80% of exports from the Territories were directed to Israel and about 20% to Jordan (UNCTAD 2011). There are some plans to relaunch the economy and increase employment, but even the resources provided by some international donors have been used with difficulty (ICE-MAE 2010c; Commission of the European Communities 2004a). Millions of Palestinians live, divided into enclaves, in 22% of what could have been their territory (Bahlul 2007, 308). The tension inside and outside the territories grew quickly with the municipal elections of 2005 and the policies of 2006: Hamas was proposed for the first time as a government power, marginalizing Al Fatah and giving up the systematic boycott of the national institutions. Paradoxically, although in the government program many targets (balance of powers, fight against corruption, respect for fundamental freedoms) coincide with those set by the international donors (World Bank) as an indispensable condition for receiving financial support, the international community isolated Hamas, freezing all forms of aid (Signoles 2008, 49). The situation has not favored relations with Israel, which, in spite of the continuing conflict, has built a dynamic and competitive production system. The war industry and American aid have had important effects on many industrial sectors (Codovini 2007, 49; Fabriès-Verfaillie 1998, 79), and the social and economic performances bring it close, in all respects, to Western countries (Bahlul 2007, 307), as also suggested by the GDP trend (Fig. 1).

153 In the last few years, the neighboring relations among the countries of the East have experienced some significant changes and, while retaining a certain prudent mistrust (and a total isolation in the case of Israel), seem to be on the whole less strained. On the other hand, mistrust has also marked the relationship between the Levant and the European partnership strategy, which is not always considered consistent (Del Sarto and Schumacher 2005), sometimes contradictory (Seeberg 2008) or even prevaricating (Attinà 2003): Turkey has been carefully kept at a distance, Syria has expressed skepticism, and Jordan and Lebanon have been involved in partnerships aiming at democratization, with the result of consolidating their quite authoritarian regimes.

Figure 1 – Per capita GDP at current prices in US dollars

Source: UNCTAD, 2011, author’s data processing

Institutional polarization

Economic growth has been at the center of Levantine national politics and among the main goals set by the European Union policies on the Mediterranean (see ZONA DI LIBERO SCAMBIO). However, the effects on the ability to produce wealth are not particularly significant. In terms of per capita GDP, the Mediterranean countries that have recorded the best performances are mostly the same ones that excelled in the ‘70s (Fig. 1 and 2). The lack of economic convergence between the two shores of the basin has come to consolidate a discontinuity that is accentuated by the links with the main international institutions. The Mediterranean contiguity that the EU policies intended to build up has

154 been interpreted as “a geopolitical project for extension of European order” (Jones 2006, 427). A kind of resistance to the Europeanization processes has therefore been established (Schimmelfennig 2009), which has been further increased by the new opportunities offered by globalization and the new international geopolitical structures. Figure 2 highlights the cause-effect relationship between economic performances and institutional links in the Mediterranean. The countries with the highest per capita GDP (grey area in the figure) are linked by a long path of increasing institutional homogenization, which are clearly indicated by the more than ten year-long membership to the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) and, for most of them, by the participation in the European Community (now EU). The partnership project (on the agenda of Union for the Mediterranean as part of European Neighborhood and Partnership) has been mainly interpreted as a process of standardizing non-EU countries to the community’s social and economic standards. EU practices refer to an idea of development as ‘shared prosperity’ and peaceful coexistence (Commission of the European Communities 2005, 2), but they have always resulted in the acceptance of conditionality clearly oriented to the consolidation of Western-style economic and political-institutional systems; this has caused further antagonisms and tensions with the Arab states and Israel (Jones 2006). It is well-known that GATT (now the World Trade Organization) was based on strictly Western-style values and ideals. The institutional goal of trade liberalization seems to have favored the increase in exports and economic growth to a variable degree: the greatest benefits have often been the prerogative of those countries whose manufacturing and trading facilities are less dependent on mining and agricultural products (Thirlwall 2000, 24). Obviously, the WTO works in open competition with regional customs agreements, because their effectiveness is reduced as global-scale agreements become more and more well-established. Among the Levantine countries, the position that stands out clearly is that of Israel, which shows performances similar to those of the EU countries with whom it shared, from the beginning, the decision to join GATT. Turkey, too, has made similar choices, but it is the only country included in the grey area of Figure 2 that is at the same time a member of an institution rooted in the Southern Mediterranean (in the figure, only the membership of the Islamic Development Bank is shown, but there are other less important bodies, often with commercial purposes). Syria, Jordan, and Lebanon join many ‘non-Western’ institutions and have, on average, a lower wealth-producing capacity than the previous group of countries as well as being more commercially-oriented towards relations with other Middle Eastern partners. Among their links stands out that with Arab League: founded in 1945 as an expression of pan-

155 Arabism, it has put into effect the nineteenth-century idea of unification of all Arabic-speaking peoples into one socialist and lay nation (Mutin 2005, 55–58; Lewis 2000, 150 and 152).

Figure 2 – Institutional Proximity. Mediterranean countries classified according to the per capita GDP logarithm in 1970 and 2009

Per capita GDP calculated at current price and in USD.

Source: author’s elaboration on UNCTAD, 2011; ISDB, 2011; WTO, 2011; Arab League, 2011; De Rubertis 2008, 135.

Under the aegis of the Arab League, many institutions have acted and still act to make Arabic production systems competitive. This is somewhat similar to what happened in the wake of European initiatives that, after a long process of integration, led to the European Union. These are institutions such as the Arab Monetary Fund, the Arab Bank for Economic Development in Africa, the Agreement on Trade Facilitation and Regulating Transit Trade (signed in 1953), the Arab Economic Union Agreement (1957), and the Arab Common Market Agreement (1964), which had very little success. In 1997, the

156 Agreement on Facilitation of Trade and Development (already signed in 1981) came into effect, giving rise to GAFTA, whose activity is monitored by the Economic and Social Council of the Arab League. The agreement represents a significant success compared to the previous experiences (Kheir-El-Din and Ghoneim 2005, 11–16), it produces significant positive effects on the economies involved (Abedini and Peridy 2007) and could enable Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan to strengthen their relationships with the rest of the Arab world (Halevi and Kleiman 2009). The secular approach of the Arab League has been gradually weakened by a process of Islamization that has turned Arabism from a unifying factor into a strain factor, marginalizing religious minorities (such as the Maronites in Lebanon) and lay minorities (as in the Palestinian Territories) (Faddoul 2007, 82). In fact, pan-Islamism (which has proved to be more lasting than pan- Arabism) consists of two souls, one ‘politically inspired’, based on “diplomatic methods, conservative programs, [... and on the support] of the patriarchal regimes”, the other “popular, usually radical and often subversive”. Radical Islam requires religious militancy and considers the modern nation-state to be opposed to Muslim law (Lewis 2000, 152– 153): the Islamic revolutionary movements have the task of eliminating the boundaries that divide the in order to break down the idea of nation and restore that of umma, that is a religious community (Mutin 2005, 61). The Islamic Development Bank seems to be based on the principles of a more moderate Islamism. It was founded in 1973, during the Conference of Finance Ministers of Muslim countries, and aims to “promote the economic development and social progress of the member states and of the Muslim communities in non-member countries, individually and collectively, in harmony with the principles of sharia. [...The Bank provides] different kinds of assistance, including trade funding to reduce poverty, to favor the economic cooperation, to improve the role of Islamic finance in the economic and social development” (ISDB 2006, V, 1, 2, and 13). Between 1976 and 2009, the Bank implemented interventions worth more than 4 billion U.S. dollars in Turkey, almost 2 billion in Jordan, about a billion in Syria and Lebanon, and 140 million in the Palestinian territories (ISDB 2011a, IX). Overall, institutional affiliations loom, contributing to the growing differentiation between the two shores of the Mediterranean basin: Turkey, although it has confirmed its application for EU membership, is speeding up its rapprochement with the Arab and Islamic world. The recent free trade agreement with Syria, Jordan, and Lebanon, revising existing bilateral relations, aims to strengthen economic cooperation, free trade, and free movement of people, and seeks greater cohesion also in policies. The signatory governments announce the involvement, in the future, of other Arab partners and, following the EU model, aim to

157 create a large single market which, from North Africa to the , could bring together the countries of one of the world’s most strategically important areas. A further step in this direction could be considered the announcement of an agreement between Turkey, Iraq, Syria, and Iran for the establishment of a visa-free region.1 It is important to note that all these institutions, either directly or through their operational branches, focus on economic growth, usually regarded as a tool for the realization of political, cultural, and social ideals (from time to time, democracy, pan-Arabism, pan-Islamism ...). Therefore, what emerges is an interesting (perhaps obvious) cause/effect relationship between economic performance and broader strategic choices, whose links to international institutions seem to be a significant sign. These links, in particular, could be interpreted as adherence to a specific project or even as the explication of the goals that the communities would like to reach in the long term. The Levant’s trend towards solutions that can make it stronger and more influential could offer new solid foundations on which it could renew its interchange with the rest of the Mediterranean and, in particular, with the Northern shore.

Trade polarisation

The spiral of transformation of the relationships between institutional choices and economic performance has visible effects on international trade. Changes in the direction and intensity of trading flows could be considered a symptom of a geopolitical repositioning in the area: while the dimension and paths of the flows of both goods and services confirm a strong dependence on the path traced by colonial and postcolonial history, the data on trends reveal the urgency of developing commercial interests with new partners.2 Obviously, the trade flows still reflect the central role of the European countries (Fig. 3) that polarize most of the Mediterranean trade. A relative prevalence of products from Europe has always characterized Levantine imports, but between 1995 and 2009 the figure went from 40 to 30% of the total. This marked reduction in market share is, only to a small degree, due to the Mediterranean European countries, which, despite a clear drop, have kept their position

1 Press sources: www.ilsole24ore.com (article of the17th June 2010); www.todayszaman.com (article of the 29th March, of the 1st and the 18th April 2011). 2 The information in this paragraph is the result of our elaboration of UNCTAD data [2011].

158 if compared to the rest of the continent. In the same period, the interest in new partners has led to an increase in imports from Brazil, Russia, India, and China (BRICs), and from the other countries of the former Soviet Union (which overall increased from 9 to 25% of the total). Another important factor to consider is the renewed attention to Turkey, Arab-Asiatic, and North African countries (Arab-Turkish area), from which the Levant imports twice as much as in 1995

Figure 3 – Mediterranean area: exports per side (average 2005– 2009, billion US dollars)

The arrows show the direction of the flow of goods between sides. The amounts in white rectangles refer to exports from each side towards all over the world, those in grey rectangles refer to exports towards the whole of the Mediterranean area. The ‘European Union’ involves all the Union states touched by the Mediterranean Sea and Portugal. ‘Africa’ involves: Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt. ‘Balkans’ involves Slovenia, Croatia, , Serbia, Montenegro, Albany. ‘Levant’ involves Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Occupied Palestinian Territories, Israel, Jordan.

Source: author’s elaboration on UNCTAD 2011

However, this element is particularly significant because, in addition to the traditional trades of raw materials, there are also intense exchanges of different industrial and food products. As for exports, the European Community is still the main destination market (about 40% of the total), although this amounts to less than the trade with the African and Balkan areas. The Levantine shore gives the Mediterranean

159 partners the loWest share of total exports (about one quarter; Fig. 3), while favoring destinations such as the U.S. and other Asian countries (especially those belonging to the Gulf Cooperation Council - GCC). The orientation towards other partners is the result of a slow but steady process of diversion of trade with Europe. As shown in Figure 4, there is a rising export trend towards emerging Asian countries, while those of the exports towards the Mediterranean and the rest of Europe are gradually declining, which seems to herald an overtaking.

Figure 4 – Amounts of exports from Jordan, Israel, Lebanon, Syria, Palestinian Territory, Turkey towards selected area (1995– 2009) % 60.0

- 1995 1997 1999 2001 2003 2005 2007 2009

Mediterranean Asian

European Others

‘Mediterranean’ involves countries touched by the Mediterranean Sea and Portugal. ‘Asian’ involves non-Mediterranean Arab countries, countries of the former Soviet Union, India, and China. ‘European’ involves European countries that are not touched by the Mediterranean Sea. ‘Others’ involve other countries all over the world, except for those from which the export originates.

Source: elaboration on UNCTAD 2011

It may be useful to note that if exports heading for the Arab-Turkish area are added to those sent to the BRICs, it amounts to a third of the total exports and to twice the amount sent towards the North shore. Over the years, this growth has been very important: the Arab-Turkish areas alone attract a share of Levantine exports that is twice that of the mid-90s. Turkey and Syria have individually reported major export flows towards their partners in the Gulf, but their value was much lower than that of the flows going to Europe. During the years 2005–2009, Israel and Jordan were the Mediterranean countries which mostly

160 oriented their exports (about 80% of the whole) outside of the Mediterranean basin. In 2009, their main partners were the United States, China, and Europe for Israel, and Arab countries, the United States, and India for Jordan. Important diversions from the Mediterranean were also brought by the trade of Turkey and Lebanon, which directed more than 70% of their exports towards non- Mediterranean partners (European and Arab).

Figure 5 – Levant: trade flows among the countries and their GDP per capita (average 2005–2009, US dollars)

Turkey Syria

Israele Lebanon

Palestinian Jordan Territories

: 4000 US$, GDP per capita : 1000 billions US$, trade flow

Each flow is calculated as a sum of the exports indicated for every pair of countries. Only values higher than 5 billion are shown.

Source: author’s elaboration on UNCTAD 2011

With regard to the Levant’s internal trade, the proportion of the total exports that each country sends to the rest of the area is quite low: about 15% for Lebanon and Syria, 10% for Jordan, and less than 3% for Israel and Turkey. Israel, Syria, and especially Turkey control most of the trade. Only Turkey and Jordan have quite important business relations with all regional partners. On the other hand, the commercial development of the Palestinian territories, which is almost entirely controlled by Israel, appears fraught with problems (Fig. 5). In general, one can say that Mediterranean Europe and the rest of Europe have gradually turned away from Levantine interests, despite the declarations of intent and the efforts ensuing from the historic Treaty of Barcelona in 1995. The relations inside the area are still quite strained and obviously influenced by the still existing conflicts. However, the mutual interest that they show in the emerging partners

161 could be the beginning of new patterns of cooperation. The decline of interest that the area has shown in relations with the rest of the Mediterranean and the well-known and obvious exclusion of Israel from relations with the Arab world have put Turkey in a position of influence due to its ability to build and maintain relationships with old and new partners.

Conclusion: Levant or bilad al-sham?

Only during short periods of its history, the Levant has been characterized by fragmentation and internal conflicts that are comparable to those of the last few decades. The boundaries and breaks recently produced by the birth of nation states, overlapping with ethnic and religious diversities, have given rise to hybridization and specificity that have sped up and strengthened the phenomenon of territorial fragmentation. The replacement of “the multinational and multi- religious state of the Ottoman era” with “the European-style nation- state” has been a traumatic event. The nationalist feeling brought in from the nation-state institutions, which did not belong to the tradition of Arab countries, has been an element of complexity that has made coexistence more difficult for the many minorities in the area (Mutin 2005, 53). The cosmopolitan nature of the past has turned into a chaotic clash between projects built in an environment that no longer has the institutional structure that traditionally controlled local diversities and made them consistent (see CITTÀ). In Western thought, a ‘Levantine’ is still a person of uncertain identity, whose Arab, Christian, Armenian, Jewish, or Muslim culture has Western elements and Middle-Eastern influences. The language and professional versatilities, the mentalities which value agreement rather than achieving the ideal, and the attitude to ensure a peaceful coexistence in the respect for diversity are considered Levantine (Mansel 2010, 3; Harris 2003, 2). Despite the stereotype, the range of identities in the area feeds conflicts that could hardly be reduced by standardization processes such as those implemented in the past decades by national and international development policies. In the postwar period, the structure assumed by the nation states has interfered with the regulation of traditional local systems and has brought sudden and even deep institutional changes, often aligned with Western principles and not widely shared. The competition between alternative institutional frameworks accentuated by the reviving of anti-Western feelings has turned into a battle to retain identity. In addition, some coalitions and affiliations, which in the past had marginal roles, have become important, as happened with the

162 end of the multi-religious coexistence guaranteed by the Ottoman Empire. The deepening of the contrasts has favored the spread of positions that are ideologically based on principles and values on which compromise is no longer accepted, but which could conceal strategies of “skewed access to political power or wealth, […] a lack of channels for political representative participation, and [...] the suppression of cultural and linguistic diversity” (UNDP 2009, 56). The Levant seems not to have found solutions to its problems in the Mediterranean and, although there are still some kinds of dependence on Europe, it seems oriented towards the intensification of relations with the rest of the world and particularly with the so-called emerging countries (BRIC) and the Arab world. In the future, there could be a strong reduction of trade with the EU side, which is already less important than its trade with the African and Balkan sides. Turkey seems ready to take up the leadership of an international re-positioning process of the Arab-Turkish Levant that could find its center of gravity in different places outside of the Mediterranean, further marginalizing Israel from any kind of dialogue. The rejection of the subordination imposed by the ‘Mediterranean projects’ outlined/carried out up to now, the polarization of Levantine interests towards the Asian hinterland, and the search for legitimacy and bargaining power through alternative projects divert the Levant from the Mediterranean, creating new contiguities with other emerging countries. It is a path with an uncertain outcome, also linked to many contingent elements, but that could finally produce a stronger Levant, more influential and able to propose some new basis on which to set up a dialogue with the other sides of the Mediterranean. If, indeed, one of the Mediterranean problems is the need to restore dignity to non-Western points of view (Zolo 2007; Cassano 2007), then the economic emancipation of the parties with less bargaining power could be an opportunity for a more worthwhile dialogue. Moreover, while association with the Arab and Islamic international institutions might be interpreted as attempts at ‘resistance’ mainly based on anti- colonial and anti-Western feelings, the greater political cohesion of the Arab-Turkish Levant could reshape the dialog with European stakeholders on the basis of less ideologically marked assumptions.

163

M – Mare/Sea

Fabrizia Buono and Stefano Soriani

Introduction

In this chapter we focus on the main trends that affect some of the most important uses of the Mediterranean Sea (Vallega 1992): port and maritime transport, cruising, fishing and aquaculture, and the protection of coastal and marine resources through the establishment and management of Marine Protected Areas. By considering and evaluating the main trends that affect these uses, the paper argues that the evolution of the Mediterranean Sea is animated by competing and conflicting interests and spatial/territorial logics. As a consequence, the Mediterranean represents today a very complex mosaic of different situations, which can hardly be approached and mapped through comprehensive, structural, and unitary perspectives. Rather, fragmentation, complexity, and uncertainty represent basic elements. Moreover, both the open sea and the coastal regions are facing serious challenges related to the dramatic growth of maritime traffic and port activity, the endless process of coastal urbanization, and the increasing pressures on natural resources posed by tourism, , and land- based and marine pollution. These challenges require the design and development of new initiatives in the field of coastal and sea management: from this perspective, it is clear that there is an urgent need for identifying and developing new governance approaches, mainly based on international and inter-regional cooperation as well as the adoption of holistic and proactive management. Against this background, the entering into force of the ICZM protocol (Madrid 2011) and marine spatial planning initiatives can represent basic steps for promoting sustainable approaches to the exploitation of the Mediterranean Sea and its resources.

165 The new dynamism of the Mediterranean Sea in the global arena: port and maritime activities

In the 1980s, the main function performed by the Mediterranean Sea, as maritime space, was to supply energy products to Western Europe by routing the Gulf and North African countries’ exports of oil and other raw materials. With respect to commercial activity, the Mediterranean Sea stood as a geo-economic space apart, with respect to structural changes that have affected the global maritime industry since the early 1980s. Organizational inefficiency and geographical peripherality caused main Mediterranean ports to fail to react pro-actively to the changing paradigms of port and maritime activity, above all in the container segment (Foschi 2003; Blue Plan 2010; Soriani 2008; Vallega 1997). Today, the Mediterranean Sea continues to perform a strategic role as a transit space for the European import of energy products (with the Adriatic port system playing a basic role in this respect). Moreover, it has strongly improved its position in the global maritime market since the early 1990s. Basically this is the result of two main elements: the steadily increasing importance of East Asian Countries in international trade and the restructuring processes which occurred in the liners’ global industry as well as in the Mediterranean port sector (privatization of terminals, new investments in better equipment, development of deep-sea terminals, etc.). In 2008, total throughput in Mediterranean ports was about 35 million TEUs. In the period 1997– 2006, container traffic increased by 70%. In this context, the adoption and strengthening of the ‘hub and spoke’ model, with the establishment and development of new transshipment ports has been a fundamental episode (Taviano 1999; Zanetto 1999). Today, the main transshipment ports are , , Marsaxllok, , and . Port Said is the port that has shown the best performance (in terms of throughput) in the past few years. This is the result both of the development projects that have been realized in recent times and of operational problems that affect ships’ transit through the (Beretta et al. 2009; Ruggiero 2010). The basic strengths of the main Mediterranean transshipment ports are as follows: a strategic geographical position in terms of minimum distance from the direct line that connects Suez to Gibraltar, deep-water port channels and basins, and very modern port infrastructures (cranes, ITC, etc.) (Ridolfi 2002). The role of global liners has been (and still is) essential for the establishment and development of transshipment ports; and the very success or failure of transshipment ports is highly dependent upon the (global) strategies of liners. This means that these ports have very little control over the (highly volatile) traffic flows

166 related to the transshipment function (Slack 2002). Valencia, Barcelona, Marseilles, , etc., are the most important Mediterranean commercial ports, performing gateway functions for South European regions. In general, they perform a mix of commercial, industrial, and energy-products related activities. In terms of competition, these ports are often regarded as the potential ‘Southern gates’ to continental Europe. Regarding the container segment, they participate in the Mediterranean port network both as feeder ports, origin and/or destination, as well as ports of call for intercontinental services. It is worth remembering the great dynamism that Turkey’s ports (e.g. Ambarli, Izmir, ) have shown recently, thanks to the country’s economic success. Finally, regarding commercial activity, the Mediterranean Sea witnesses the presence of a large number of regional ports. They participate in the container market mainly as feeder ports; they also perform important niche or specialized functions, both in the bulk and general cargo sectors. In general, they are peripheral with respect to the main maritime and continental routes (e.g. North Adriatic ports) and do not offer, at the present time, the level of economies of scale that is required to play a greater role in the container market. It is important to note that most of these ports have recently established new scale-up programs (port expansion, realization of deep-water terminals, establishment of new distriparks, etc.). However, these plans and programs are very often poorly coordinated, resulting in a plethora of plans and with the risk of fragmentation of public funds and overcapacity. At this stage, two elements are worth noting: a) The Mediterranean Sea is today a maritime space more and more integrated within the global logistic chain; however, maritime activity is not acting as a driver of greater economic integration. Regional context still shows a significant asymmetry in trade structure, with North Africa continuing to play a role mainly as an exporting area of energy products. The main issues related to this point are the low level of complementarity between the different Mediterranean productive systems and the need for promoting the development of Short Sea Shipping routes (De Rubertis 2008; Foschi 2003; Blue Plan 2010). b) Mediterranean ports, particularly those that perform gateway functions for dynamic and rich metropolitan regions (Barcelona, Marseilles, and Genoa), remain unable to improve their market position with respect to the most competitive Northern European ports (Antwerp, Rotterdam, Hamburg, Bremen, etc.). The Mediterranean Sea has therefore gained efficiency and competitiveness above all from the ‘marine perspective’, while many

167 weaknesses remain from the ‘land perspective’ (poor intermodal rail services, feeble integration with inland nodes, poor logistical integration of ports, inadequate coordination of public transport policies) (Beretta et al. 2009). Against this background, it is clear that the problem of competition with Northern European ports has to be addressed mainly ‘on land’, by coping with the most relevant bottle- necks that affect railway systems, levels of logistical integration, and the quality of intermodal connections (Foschi 2003).

Table 1 – Total Throughput, in thousands of TEUs, in selected European ports, 2005–2010 Port Country 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 Rotterdam Netherlands 9,288 9,654 10,791 10,784 9,743 11,146 Antwerp Belgium 6,488 7,018 8,176 8,663 7,310 8,468 Hamburg Germany 8,088 8,862 9,890 9,737 7,008 7,896 Bremen Germany 3,744 4,444 4,892 5,448 4,579 4,888 Valencia Spain 2,410 2,612 3,043 3,602 3,654 4,207 Felixstowe UK 2,700 3,000 3,300 3,200 3,100 3,400 Gioia Tauro Italy 3,209 2,938 3,445 3,468 2,857 2,851 Algeciras Spain 3,179 3,257 3,414 3,324 3,043 2,810 Zeebrugge Belgium 1,408 1,653 2,020 2,210 2,328 2,500 Malta 1,321 1485 1887 2300 2330 2371 Le Havre France 2,058 2,137 2,638 2,450 2,241 2,356 St. Petersburg Russia 1,121 1,450 1,970 1,983 1,340 1,930 Southampton UK 1,374 1,500 1,900 1,710 1,400 1,600 Barcelona Spain 2,071 2,318 2,610 2,569 1,800 1,422 Ambarli Turkey 1,186 1,446 1,940 2,262 1,836 1,312 La Spezia Italy 1,024 1,137 1,187 1,246 1,046 1,285 London UK 735 743 844 1,167 846 869 Genoa Italy 1,625 1,657 1,855 1,767 1,534 1,758 Constantza Romania 771 1,018 1,411 1,359 584 557 Bilbao Spain 504 523 555 557 443 531 Source: Port Authorities’ websites

The increasing role of Mediterranean ports in the global arena has been nurtured by a dramatic organizational change in the Mediterranean port industry, as a consequence of vertical and horizontal integration strategies (Foschi 2003; Paolini and Caruso 2009). Three types of processes are important in this respect: a) Horizontal integration in the liners’ industry: acquisitions, mergers, and strategic partnerships have been basic tools in the restructuring process of maritime transport, both at global and regional scales. In

168 the Mediterranean context, horizontal integration in the liners’ industry, above all in the container market, has strengthened and consolidated the business, realized greater economies of scale, and reinforced the network of Mediterranean routes and services (Slack 1993, 2002).

Table 2 - Total Throughput, in thousands of TEUs, in selected Mediterranean ports, 2008–2009 Port Country 2008 2009 % 09/08 Valencia Spain 3,593 3,653 1.7 Port Said Egypt 3,202 3,470 8.4 Algeciras Spain 3,324 3,042 -8.5 Gioia Tauro Italy 3,467 2,857 -17.6 Marsaxlokk Malta 2,300 2,260 -1.7 Ambarli Turkey 2,262 1,835 -18.9 Barcelona Spain 2,569 1,800 -29.9 Genoa Italy 1,766 1,533 -13.2 Damietta Egypt 1,236 1,263 2.2 Israel 1,395 1,140 -18.3 La Spezia Italy 1,246 1,046 -16.1 Mersin Turkey 844 843 -0.1 Izmir Turkey 895 826 -7.7 Italy 786 741 -5.7 Leghorn Italy 778 592 -23.9 Venice Italy 379 369 -2.6 Koper Slovenia 350 343 -2.0 Source: Port Authorities’ websites

b) Vertical integration, with the acquisition of container terminals by the most dynamic global liners: through acquisition or the establishment of strategic partnerships with port terminals, global liners have controlled the main Mediterranean terminals more efficiently. The investments of Maersk (A.P. Moller – Maersk Group, based in Denmark) in Algeciras (Spain), Tangier-Med (Morocco), and East Port Said (Egypt), Cma-Cgm (France) in Marsaxlokk (Malta), Evergreen (Taiwan) in Taranto, COSCO (China) in Piraeus and Naples, MSC ( and Italy) in Naples, and China Shipping Container Line (China) in Damietta (Egypt) are important examples of this point. This strategy has very often been welcomed by Mediterranean port authorities seeking to reduce the volatility of container flows and meet the financial needs required for coping with gigantism and increased market competition.

169 c) Horizontal integration in the port terminals’ industry: multinational operators have today almost full control over the most important and dynamic container ports in the Mediterranean: Hutchinson Wampoa (Honk Kong), Port of Singapore Authority (PSA, Singapore), Eurokai-Eurogate (Hamburg and Bremen), P&O Ports (UK), and Dubai Ports (Dp, Dubai).

Thanks to this highly dynamic network of infrastructures and actors, the Mediterranean port industry has gained efficiency and greater capability to compete. However, this evolution has reduced the ‘local’ capacity to control the market; also in the Mediterranean context, therefore, ports can be regarded today as ‘pawns in the game’ (Slack 1993, 2002). Finally, horizontal and vertical integration processes nowadays play an important role in the development and modernization of important ports on Southern and Eastern shores of the Mediterranean Sea (for example, Beirut, Port Said, Algeri, Djendjen (350 km East of Algeri), and Enfidha) (Paolini and Caruso 2009). In this context, the recent scale-up of the Port of Tangier (Morocco) is worth pointing out. In the last few years, the area has become a magnet for European, Indian, and Chinese foreign direct investments in the field of industry (assemblage), transport, and distribution. As regards the port and liners sectors, A.P. Moller-Maersk Group, Cma- Cgm, MSC, and Dubai Ports have played the leading role in the planning of new container terminals and the establishment of the Port Tangier-Med Industrial and Free Trade Zone. The dynamism of this area is establishing Morocco as one of the most important trade and industrial centers in the MENA region. Finally, it is important to highlight the role played by the Moroccan Government in Tangier-Med development programs, not only in providing the local conditions to make the area attractive for multinational investments, but also in designing a coherent spatial and functional development framework at a national scale. The establishment of Tangier-Med port and the related free trade zone is intended to contribute to re-design the industrial geography in Morocco: the new infrastructures in Tangier are becoming the core of a system of new infrastructures (railways, highways, and inland dry ports), that are re-organizing the main industrial sectors and distribution/logistic activities at national level. The importance of Tangier-Med has therefore to be considered not only with respect to the re-organization of maritime and port sectors in the Mediterranean, but also with reference to the prospect for regional economic integration at a North Western African scale (on the basis of the Agadir Agreement) (Soriani and Zanini 2010).

170 Cruising: market dynamics and the recent evolution of Mediterranean ports

The cruising industry is one of the fastest-growing sectors in the global tourism market (see VIAGGIO). The Mediterranean has registered excellent results in recent years, with more than 18% of the world total number of berths navigating in the basin (10% in 1990) (Soriani et al. 2009, 2011). The reasons for this success in recent years are different (good navigation and climate conditions, high variety of sea and coastal environments, high coastal landscape values, presence of islands and archipelagos, etc.). Moreover, Mediterranean cities and their great historical, cultural, and architectural values (e.g. Venice, Genoa, Rome, Naples, Barcelona, Malta, Istanbul, Jerusalem, Alexandria) are key elements in marketing policies. Moreover, the main Mediterranean narratives – ‘the Mediterranean Sea as the place where Western and Eastern worlds meet’, ‘the Mediterranean as the cradle of Classic Civilization’, ‘the Mediterranean, space of otherness and tradition’, etc. – have an important role in promoting and ‘selling’ the Mediterranean as a new and attractive destination for cruising (Soriani and Marchiante 2010). The sector also benefited from the modernization of infrastructures; Genoa, Barcelona, Venice, and are important examples in this respect (Soriani et al. 2009). With respect to the recent evolution of the Mediterranean cruising sector, the following elements are worth noting: a) Cruising activity in the Mediterranean has been ‘incorporated’ into the multinational structure that characterizes the industry at a global scale: for instance, one of the leading players in the Mediterranean context, Costa Crociere, is part of Carnival Corporation & plc, the largest multinational cruising group in the world (the group has a share of about 45% of the global market). b) Vertical integration strategies have played a fundamental role in the modernization of the industry at the Mediterranean level: cruising companies have heavily invested in the modernization of terminals and intermodal services, and the capability of ports to attract investments from the largest global companies has become a fundamental conditioning factor in port competition. c) In the last 10 years, the Mediterranean has witnessed a process of ‘Westwards shifting’ of the core of the business. The main cruising ports are currently located in the Western part of the basin. This trend has been favored by political interests (military conflicts and political crises negatively affected the Eastern and far-Eastern parts of the basin) and by the intensive process of terminal modernization that occurred in Western Mediterranean ports in the past years.

171 d) In many Mediterranean cityports, the booming of cruise activity has played a fundamental role in redeveloping, from a port-related perspective, port redundant areas. Barcelona, Venice, and Genoa are important examples of this point (Soriani and Marchiante 2010).

In this context, Barcelona, Civitavecchia, and Venice have emerged as the top ranking Mediterranean ports. The following table summarizes the evolution of the sector in the basin.

Table 3: Top 10 cruise ports in the Mediterranean (total pax: home and transits) Port 2002 2005 2010 Var% 2010/2005 Barcelona 843,686 1,120,851 2,350,283 109.7 Civitavecchia 316,726 938,500 1,945,223 107.3 Venice 507,547 815,153 1,617,011 98.4 Balearic Islands 658,443 877,912 1,546,739 76.2 Piraeus 387,967 925,782 1,145,402 23.8 Naples 485,067 830,158 1,139,319 37.3 Dubrovnik 296,958 510,641 936,115 83.3 Tunisian Ports 145,647 563,993 895,403 58.8 Genoa 567,506 310,797 860,290 176.8 Leghorn 297,748 462,383 822,554 77.9 Source: Port Authorities’ websites

Characteristics of Mediterranean fisheries

Fish populations are in evident decline throughout the Mediterranean. The main threats are represented by overfishing (both targeted and multi species), by-catch, pollution, habitat losses, human disturbance, and invasive and alien species (Abdul Malak et al. 2011). Several species of commercial importance are in an alarming state. In particular, the situation of bluefin is of major concern in both the Mediterranean and the Eastern Atlantic (UNEP MAP, Plan Bleu 2009). Mediterranean production is characterized by important economic values. Unlike the production of the North Sea, which is subject to several industrial transformations before commercialization, the Mediterranean catch is consumed almost exclusively when fresh at an average price that is from five to ten times higher than those of other regions in the world (Papacostantinou and Farrugio 2000). The three main fleets are diffuse:

172 a) Artisanal fishery, characterized by small capital exploitation, represented mainly by the fishermen’s property. Today, 80% of the Mediterranean fleet consists of vessels of less than 12 meters (DG Mare 2008). It offers jobs and income opportunities in many rural and remote areas of the Mediterranean. Traditional methods of fishing within a very narrow area (not beyond 20 nautical miles from the coastline) can be regarded as an important part of the complex cultural heritage of the basin. Nevertheless, in the past half a century, this sector has been relegated to a marginal role from a socio- economic point of view (Griffiths et al. 2007). Because of its distinguishing characteristics, the sector experiences many difficulties in trying to address and implement the policy and management requirements coming from the EU, very often tailored to the features of the North European and Atlantic fishery sectors. b) Semi industrial fishery. Catches take place mainly in the coastal areas, the shelf, and the upper slopes and involve trawlers, purse seines, and long liners. Trawler catches are mainly composed of juveniles of many species. Moreover, trawlers cause high discard rates of undersized targeted species, as well as non-target species with low or no market value. For this reason, this sort of fishing has a greater environmental impact than the previous one. c) Industrial fishery. This sector is characterized by investments made by multinationals and global financial groups. It is mainly oriented towards tuna fisheries and using large seiners. It is the only fishery in Mediterranean international waters that involves fleet from non-Mediterranean Countries (e.g. , Japan). This is the sector responsible for the endangered status of the targeted species.

Italy, Turkey, Greece, Spain, Tunisia, and Algeria are responsible for 35% of the production, which currently ranges from 150,000 tons to 170,000 tons per year. Mediterranean fishing represents nearly 35% of total European production (UNEP MAP, Plan Bleu 2009). However, it does not meet the demand of riparian countries, which are highly dependent on imports. This point has contributed to the extraordinary growth of marine aquaculture during the 90s, supported by the EU’s structural funds. Greece is the leading marine offshore fish-farming producer (120,000 tons of bass and breams annually), while Spain and France are specialized in shellfish farming (500,000 tons in total of mussels and cupped oysters annually). North African countries are increasing their role in the market (UNEP MAP, Plan Bleu 2009). In recent years there has been a rapid increase in offshore tuna farming. One of the most important problems affecting this industry is the lack of reliable statistics, which in turn results in poor management policies (Griffiths et al. 2007; UNEP MAP, Plan Bleu 2009).

173 With respect to governance issues, the EU’s Common Fishery Policy (CFP) sets out the management framework for the European fishery and regulates the subsidies to the fishery sector. It is worth noting that the European fishery is largely financed through subsides; few European fleets are profitable without public sector aid, and in many countries the cost of fishing to the public is greater than the value of the catch (WWF 2011). Under the framework of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) the Mediterranean falls in the category of enclosed or semi-enclosed sea without definition of economic exclusive zone (EEZ). Therefore, bordering states have to manage the sea including the exploitation of living resources through direct cooperation or appropriate regional organizations (article 123). At the present time, two organizations deal with fisheries in the Mediterranean: the General Fisheries Commission for the Mediterranean (GFCM) and the International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tuna (ICCAT). So far, the main management measures applied in the Mediterranean may be clustered in two main groups: a) Measures aimed at keeping the fishing efforts under control, such as fishing capacity control and number of vessels. b) Measures aimed at keeping the exploitation pattern more rational, such as vessel licensing, closed areas and/or closed periods, use of minimum mesh size (40 mm), limitation of the use of certain gears (seasons and/or areas), limitation of the horsepower and length of vessels, and limitation of minimum landing size and weight of certain species.

However, the scarce implementation of quotas, with the exception of the ICCAT limits for bluefin tuna, the application of a mesh size regulation that does not correspond to that advised by the scientific community, as well as lack of implementation of effort limits have contributed to the degradation of Mediterranean fishery resources. The most effective tools applied so far in the basin are the closed season and areas (Papacostantinou and Farrugio 2000; Suuronen and Sardà 2007). From this perspective, it is clear that the great importance of the artisanal fishery in the basin and the great variety of species and fleets do not contribute to the implementation of effective management and tools. Despite the progress made in recent years, fishery statistics are generally inadequate for the quality, the areas covered, and the time series availability; therefore, they are not useful for assessing fish stocks or defining the state of fisheries. Mediterranean fishery management has remained generally inadequate and in a relatively early stage of development compared to the highly industrialized North Sea fishery,

174 and reliable information regarding changes in a fishery are mainly provided by fishery landings time series (Papacostantinou and Farrugio 2000). The Mediterranean fishery is characterized by several conflicts which are exacerbated by the state of natural resources, management systems, and political decisions. A recent proof of the difficult state of fishery management in the Mediterranean is the recent conflict between Croatia and Slovenia and Italy. In 2003, Croatia declared an ‘Ecological and Fisheries Protection Zone’ (EFPZ) in the Adriatic Sea. This provision involved the exclusion of the EU fishery within the area. As a consequence of international pressure, the Croatian Parliament suspended the decision in 2004. However, due to the lack of clear agreement, in December 2006 the Croatian Parliament voted to apply the EZFP again from 1 January 2008. This decision seriously compromised the Croatian accession negotiations process. Political pressures pushed the Croatian Parliament to defer applying the EZFP to EU vessels from 15 March 2008 (Vidal 2008). Other important conflicts regarding Mediterranean fisheries have arisen between Morocco and Spain and Portugal, Italy and Libya, etc. In many cases, disputes have been managed through conciliation commissions and monetary compensation agreements driven by the EU.

Marine protected areas in the Mediterranean

Marine protected areas (MPAs) are one of the most effective tools to address over-exploitation of marine resources and degradation of coastal and ocean habitats (Kelleher and Kenchington 1992). The designation and the management of MPAs have been promoted since the early 90s in several international and regional conventions, agreements, and protocols (the Habitat Directive 92/43 ECC, the Specially Protected Areas and Biological Diversity Protocol 1995, and the Protocol on Integrated Coastal Zone Management 2008 among others). MPAs are established not only for the conservation of natural resources and for restoring biological stocks, but also to enhance socio-economic and cultural conditions of local communities (Spalding et al. 2007; Angulo- Valde’ and Hatcher 2010). In the Mediterranean about 97,410 km2 are designated as MPAs and managed areas. However, excluding the only High Seas MPA (Pelagos Sanctuary, 87,500 km2), the area covered by MPAs corresponds to 9,910 km2 (0.4% of the whole basin) (Abdulla et al. 2008). Consequently, high seas habitats and species are underrepresented in the protection framework. As is widely acknowledged, in order to reveal inequities and gaps in the conservation efforts the adoption of biogeographical classification is essential (Spalding et al. 2007, 2008). The bio-regionalization of coastal

175 and shelf areas proposes a hierarchical classification made of realms, provinces, and ecoregions. The province of the Mediterranean belongs to the Temperate Northern Atlantic realm and is made up of seven distinctive ecoregions (Spalding et al. 2007). The highest percentage of MPAs is localized in the Western Mediterranean ecoregion (47%), followed by the Adriatic Sea (16%), the (12%), the Ionian and Levantine Seas (9% each), and the (7%). There is no legal protection of the Tunisia Plateau/, which is not represented in the actual MPA system. This point confirms that the system of Mediterranean MPAs does not reflect the variety of coastal and marine ecosystems that characterize the basin. In establishing MPAs worldwide there has been a preference for specific , such as the rocky near-shore environment of the temperate zones and coral reefs in the tropics (Agardy et al. 2011). This is also the case in the Italian experience, where attention has been paid above all to marine and coastal areas characterized by outstanding landscape values (Camuffo et al. 2010). When it comes to evaluating the effectiveness of MPAs for the protection of Mediterranean coastal and marine ecosystems, the following elements are worth noting: a) Design and size. Often MPA design does not consider the home ranges of the species that are intended to be protected, and they are rarely able to provide connectivity with nearby MPAs. The distance between Mediterranean MPAs is too wide to allow larval exchange for most marine organisms (Abdulla et al. 2008). A particular case of design constraint is represented by the Pelagos Sanctuary. The MPA was established in 1999 with the goal of protecting cetacean critical habitats. However, the actual area is the result of a decade of negotiations between Italy, France, and Monaco in which political considerations prevailed over ecological ones. The Sanctuary includes a large area of low cetacean density, while important pelagic habitats are left outside the park delimitation (Agardy et al. 2011). b) Poor management. Regarding the development and implementation of management plans and programs there is a considerable difference among Western and Eastern Mediterranean countries. Indeed, within the Eastern MPAs the adoption of management plans is not yet a common practice (Abdulla et al. 2008). It is worth noting that in many MPAs clear goals and objectives as well as adequate technical measures are lacking. From this perspective, the case of the Bonifacio Strait is worthy of attention. This area of the Pelagos Sanctuary is an area of major environmental and landscape value. Despite its importance for the conservation of Mediterranean biodiversity, about 130,000 tons of dangerous cargoes pass every

176 year in the Strait. In 2010, France and Italy proposed to the IMO (International Maritime Organization) a ban on all the vessels (without flag distinction) carrying dangerous cargoes. After one year, the area has been designated as a Particular Sensitive Sea Area (PSSA) by the IMO: the system envisages a voluntary scheme, on the basis of which the commander of all ships carrying dangerous goods may request the ‘recommended pilotage’ system. However, this provision appears to be insufficient to protect such an extraordinary environment (see AMBIENTE). c) Lack of stakeholder involvement. It is accepted that one of the main causes of the failures of protected area management is the lack of stakeholder involvement, the underrepresentation of specific groups, or their late involvement in the planning process (Borrini- Feyerabend 1996; West and Brockington 2006; Hockings et al. 2006). Against this background, it is interesting to report the experience of co-management developed by the MPA of Torre Guaceto, Italy. In order to balance conservation and socio-economic goals, and after a 4-year fishing ban, the MPA and the local artisanal fishery sector set up a protocol for the co-management of the area. The protocol regulates fishing pressures within the buffer zone surrounding the no-take zones of the MPA. A fishing assessment was carried out for almost three years, showing that catches for the two most important commercial species – striped red mullet (Mullus surmuletus) and large-scaled scorpionfish (Scorpaena scrofa) – benefitted from the protocol (Guidetti et al. 2010). d) Resources availability. Mediterranean MPAs suffer from insufficient availability of human and financial resources. For example, a survey revealed that 10 out of 16 Italian MPAs considered that the human resources available were insufficient (Marino 2011).

Conclusions

In this paper we have focused on the main elements and trends that characterize some of the most important uses of the Mediterranean Sea: port and maritime transportation, cruising, fishing, and MPAs. With respect to port and maritime transportation, the elements considered in the paper confirm that the Mediterranean is today a fully integrated area within the emerging global port and maritime network. However, its role as a driver of regional economic integration remains weak. As elsewhere, also in the Mediterranean Sea the pace of change in port and maritime sectors is more and more conditioned by global liners (e.g. AP Moller-Maersk, MSC, P&O Nedlloyd, Evergreen, Hanjin/Senator, COSCO, Cma-cgm, APL, K Line, etc.). Apart from

177 MSC (which is a Swiss/Italian multinational company, established in 1970 by the Italian entrepreneur Gianluigi Aponte and based in Geneva) and Cma-cgm (a French business), the container market is dominated by North European, North American and East Asian (Taiwan, North Korea, Singapore, China) companies. Against this background, Mediterranean ‘national companies’ – such as the Italian Grimaldi, , D’Amato, etc. – remain important in niche activities (feeder, multipurpose transport). In some cases, however, these companies took important initiatives in the past few years to establish relationships with companies – both in the container and conventional cargo markets – operating in other areas (North and South America). In the development of the Mediterranean port industry, an important role has also been played by the global firms operating in the container terminal sector and based in North Europe (e.g. Eurogate-Eurokai, P&O Ports) and East Asia (Port of Singapore Authority, Hutchinson Wanpoa). The context is marked by fierce port competition at all the different levels (transshipment, commercial-gateway, and regional ports). As regards the container market, new ‘players’ are emerging on the horizon: North Africa’s ports represent the ‘new frontier’ of foreign direct investment from global companies in the area. It is not possible today to foresee how this investment will affect port competition at the Mediterranean level. The elements stated above confirm that to continue regarding (and mapping) the Mediterranean Sea as a ‘single’ geo-economic space in the maritime sector today represents an oversimplification. Rather, it is evident that it is more and more an arena for competing economic and geopolitical projects which are to a large extent driven by global actors. From this perspective, if the widespread acknowledgment of the increasing importance of the Mediterranean within the global port and maritime industry cannot be questioned, it is at the same time clear that the Mediterranean remains a highly fragmented geo-economic space, with ‘winners’ and ‘losers’ and increasing uncertainty regarding future scenarios of evolution. As regards the development of the cruise sector, the Mediterranean has strongly improved its position in the market. The sector is fully integrated within the global industry. As in the case of the container market, also in the cruise sector the strategies of global liners are essential in the competition game. Barcelona, Venice, and Civitavecchia have emerged in recent years as the top destinations, a reminder of the important process of ‘Westwards shifting’ that has taken place in recent times in the basin. Finally, this development has played an important role as a driver of change in many Mediterranean urban waterfronts. With respect to fisheries, the Mediterranean is characterized by important economic values, the existence of a large number of landing

178 points, the multi-species nature of catches, and poor logistics integration. All these elements have made the adoption of management methods and standards of a more industrialized fishery very difficult. Coherent and systematic data are not available; the sector is marked by a very low capacity of enforcement. Not surprisingly, the measures applied up to now have failed to preserve the fragile fishery resources and are fueling several conflicts. In addition, the Mediterranean fishery is quite heterogeneous and is characterized by conflicts among the different fleets. The underestimation of the role of the artisanal fishery within the implemented policies, in particular those promoted by the EU, compromises the capability of the sector to sustain social and economic well-being as well as the preservation of important local cultural values. As regards the effectiveness of coastal and marine protection policies, it is important to point out that the current system of MPAs is not representative of all the Mediterranean ecoregions or open sea habitats and species. Some common management problems are evident and clearly highlight the need to integrate MPA management within other sectorial policies. MPAs still remain stand-alone organizations relative to the overall structure and evolution of coastal and marine activities. On the basis of the elements considered in the paper, it is possible to argue that the Mediterranean Sea today represents a very complex arena for competing and conflicting strategies as well as a mosaic of different situations, characterized by high heterogeneity and fragmentation. Moreover, the context is likely to become even more complex as a consequence of the greater role that the Mediterranean is expected to play in the years to come in the energy sector (offshore industry, pipelines, new coastal terminals and infrastructures for energy storage and distribution). Despite the many economic, political, and social fractures that are present in the basin, all the Mediterranean is threatened by severe environmental degradation, which can jeopardize the prospects for future economic and social development. Water pollution from land- based uses, oil spills, erosion, coastal urbanization, loss of biodiversity, salt water intrusion, and exacerbation of natural phenomena due to climate change can be regarded as common threats. Indeed, the Mediterranean can be regarded today as an area of common environmental responsibility. From this perspective, the capability to design and promote sustainable development paths in the basin will rely very much on the definition and implementation of new cooperative initiatives and programs within the framework of the Barcelona Convention and the Union pour la Méditerranée. The latter, in particular, emphasizes the importance of setting up new regional and interregional cooperation schemes both for reducing the degradation of natural

179 resources and for developing new forms of sustainable transport in the area. Moreover, there is an urgent need for implementing Integrated Coastal Zone Management (ICZM) approaches and tools as well as for adopting new approaches for the management of the sea. As far as ICZM is concerned, the entering into force of the Madrid Protocol (2011; signed in 2008 within the Barcelona Convention framework) is of basic importance, since it emphasizes the relevance of the following elements: the adoption of an ecosystem approach in environmental management; the definition of a common set of indicators for monitoring economic and environmental conditions, as well as governance aspects; the development of coherent coastal national strategies; the promotion of public participation in the definition of goals and management strategies; the consideration of ecosystems in a proper economic context; the adoption of ‘set-back’ policies and the promotion of ‘no-construction areas’ approaches and measures. The consideration of these elements in planning and management of the Mediterranean coastal areas can therefore be considered as fundamental steps for promoting new sustainable development paths. At the same time, the complexity of the Mediterranean situation and its role as a stake in different economic and political strategies requires the development of new approaches and tools for the management of the sea. Up to now the most important experiences of open sea planning and management have been carried out in the Baltic and the North Sea, while in the Mediterranean only few cases have been recorded (particularly in France). This situation is due to administrative and legal deficiencies and the lack of public awareness regarding the importance of the open sea for economic and social well- being. Against this background, Marine Spatial Planning may represent an important step to build up new ways of considering and evaluating the sea in an economic and political context.

180 N – Natura/Nature

Federico Ferretti and Marcella Schmidt di Friedberg

Introduction: a ‘grand old word’ for the third millennium

Fernand Braudel, in his classic work on the Mediterranean (1949), does not make use of the term ‘nature’; he refers to , mountains, highlands and plains, to sea, climate and cultures, but not to nature. Coming from a different perspective, Aldous Huxley defines the Mediterranean area in terms of its climate, vegetation, and culture: “The Mediterranean lies on the fringes of this desert belt and the olive is its tree – the tree of a region of sun-lit clarity separating the damps of the equator from the damps of the North. It is the symbol of a classicism enclosed between two romanticisms” (Huxley 1936, 287). Again, for Predrag Matvejević it is difficult to recompose the ‘mosaic’ that is the Mediterranean; in his breviary he tells of names, seagulls, smells, salt marshes, palm trees, and buoys:

Images of the sea and all that is found along it, its various states, the reflections of sky, sun, and clouds in it, the colors of the sea bed in the depths of the abyss as well as where the water is shallow, the stones, sand, and algae on the sea bottom, the dark and translucent patches along the coast or far out from it, its transitions, the morning sea and the evening sea, the sea of the daytime and the sea of the night-time, everyday and eternal […] everyone feels – or at lEast this is how it is on the Mediterranean – that they have something to say about the sea and what it looks like and that what they have to say is truly important. (Matvejević 1993, 56).

But nature? This term does not appear, perhaps on account of its ambiguity, in either Matvejević’s breviary or Huxley’s essay. The concept of nature – whether understood as other than, or as one with, the human condition – occupies a central place in the geographic debate (Williams 1983; Worster 1994; Harvey 1996; Cronon 1995; Soper 1995; Castree and Braun 1998; Whatmore 2002; Castree 2005; Ginn and Demeritt, 2009); it underpins the enquiry into the existence of a hypothetical original state of nature, into the nature/culture dualism

181 along with its ethical and epistemological implications and into the role of humankind in creating/constructing/modifying the living world (Schmidt di Friedberg 2004). The issue of how to reach a consensus about what nature is, whether an objective external reality or a cultural construction, is resolved in different ways within physical geography, human geography, and numerous other disciplines: “Human geography is by no means alone in finding itself at an important juncture in its efforts to escape the dialectical vortex of nature-society relations and the environmental refrain of the ‘outside’” (Whatmore 2002, 2). Thus the theme of ‘nature’ is at the heart of heated interdisciplinary debates, but the term often takes on an overly obvious meaning, synonymous with ‘environment’, ‘planet’, ‘ecology’: “One common definition of nature is that it is the non-human world. According to this definition, the word ‘nature’ is more or less synonymous with the word ‘environment’. […] But […] nature means ‘the essence of something’ as well. Using this second, broader definition we see that nature also encompasses humans too” (Castree 2005, 8). In his account of the starting precisely from the ancient world of the Mediterranean, Clarence Glacken observes that words in common use, such as ‘nature’ but also ‘physical environment’, ‘design’, ‘final causes’, ‘climate’, etc. often appear to be self-explanatory and not to require further definition; yet they are the product of a slow and complex historical evolution during which they have acquired several different – and frequently vague – superimposed meanings:

[t]he word ‘nature’, as everyone knows, has many meanings in Greek and Latin and in modern languages. With all of its failings it is a grand old word. […] When Marsh wrote Man and Nature in 1864 he described the earth as modified by human action. Sometimes the word is synonymous with the physical or natural environment; sometimes it has a more philosophic, religious, theological aura than those more matter-of-fact terms express. Occasionally it attains grandeur as in Buffon’s reference to it as ‘the exterior throne of Divine magnificence’” (Glacken 1967, XIV).

The interpretation of natural as contrasting with human, within an anthropocentric perspective, while already featuring in the Greco- Roman view of the world, is at the very center of the Judaic-Christian tradition. The latter is charged with having set off humankind’s indiscriminate exploitation of nature based on the belief that “man and nature are two things, and man is master” (White 1967, 1205). Underpinning the ‘environmental despotism’ of the Bible is the imperative: “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.” (Genesis 1: 28). According to White, this interpretation of nature – which began to take a strong hold

182 within Christianity during the Middle Ages – has given rise to contemporary science and technology as well as to the current environmental crisis; furthermore, the destruction of animist paganism and its genii loci has fostered indifference towards other living beings, reducing them to the status of mere consumer objects. Thus modern technology is seen as the intentional putting into practice of the Christian notion of rightful human dominion over nature, on the basis that humanity transcends nature because it is created in the image and likeness of God. White concludes: “Hence we shall continue to have a worsening ecologic crisis until we reject the Christian axiom that nature has no reason for existence save to serve man” (White 1967, 1207). However, remaining within the Christian-anthropocentric perspective, the Mediterranean landscape is also linked to a different interpretation of nature, understood as a “garden to work and take care of” and not to exploit, a key theme within environmental ethics. God has conferred dominion over nature to the just and faithful, while transgressors will be punished with every kind of environmental catastrophe. The focus is on looking back to the Earthly Paradise, to the golden age in which creation was still unspoiled and the air and water uncontaminated. Nature thus becomes, as proposed by Kay, an instrument of justice: a beautiful landscape (the Promised Land) is a divine reward. This attitude seems to have carried over into some contemporary environmental catastrophe theories. The creation of pollution is an immoral act, punished by respiratory illnesses, acid rain, the hole in the ozone layer, desertification, mass extinction, the exhaustion of resources, and even the spread of AIDS (Kay 1989). The present day increase of catastrophic events in the Mediterranean world, attributed to climate change (flooding, landslides, drought), lends fresh interest to the notion of human ‘transgression’ in terms of ignoring the ‘laws’ of nature. To uncover the ambiguity of ‘nature’ as a concept, it suffices to attempt to define it. Humboldt, in Kosmos, declares: “Nature is a unity in diversity of phenomena; harmony, blending together all created things, however dissimilar with regard to form, attributes and the forces animating them, into one great Whole, penetrated by the breath of life” (Humboldt 1845, 5–6). However Humboldt’s extraordinary insight regarding a harmonious unity of nature becomes problematic when one seeks to analyze and interpret the components of such a united whole. An apparently impossible task; Torsten Haegerstrand wonders with dismay: “How can any sane person dare to confess a hope that he can say something about how to view Nature as wholeness?” (Haegerstrand 1976, 329). Finally, Raymond Williams considers that “Nature is perhaps the most complex word in the language”, distinguishing between three different areas of meaning: (i) the essential quality and character of

183 something; (ii) the inherent force which directs either the world or human beings or both; (iii) the material world itself, taken as including or not including human beings (Williams 1983, 208). Williams’ analysis regards , but its geographic positioning cannot be overlooked (Ginn and Demeritt 2009); the shores of the Mediterranean, since ancient times, have been stage to the enquiry into the meaning of such an important term, a keystone of Western geographical thinking: “As well as changing over time, concepts of nature […] also vary from place to place. Within the discipline of Geography, conceptions of nature are closely wrapped up with different ideas about the nature of Geography as a science and subject of study. For both those reasons nature is perhaps the most important concept in Geography” (Ginn and Demeritt 2009, 308). At this point we cannot but retrace the historic development of geographic thought in order to clarify the terms of the debate in the Mediterranean context. For Castree:

Geography is one of several subjects devoted to the study of natural phenomena. Nature is not, of course, the only thing that geographers study. But it’s long been recognized as a major disciplinary preoccupation. […] The ‘geographical experiment’ consisted of trying to bring society and nature ‘under the one conceptual umbrella’ (Castree 2005, 10).

Nature and geography in the thinking of the ancient Greeks

The birth of European geographic thought is generally held to have taken place on the shores of the Aegean Sea. While the first geographical map of the known world is attributed to of Miletus, a scholar from the 5th century B.C., the ancient Greeks themselves considered the mythical Homer to be the first writer of geographical tales. As stated by Strabo, geography was essentially born as a philosophical science with most of the leading geographers of the ancient world defined as andres philosophoi (Strabo Geographia, I, I, 1). The concept of nature was central to Greek philosophy, so much so that On Nature was the title chosen by Anaximander for his treatise, of which unfortunately only a fragment has survived. It is clear nonetheless that throughout the different stages of Greek thought, the search for the laws of the physical world that characterizes the natural sciences today was always a key focus; indeed European philosophy is believed to have originated from early reflections on the physis. Within this broader quest, geographers undertook a key task: the measurement and representation of the Earth both in its own right and in relation to the heavenly bodies. This branch of enquiry reached its highest point with of Cyrene, the first scholar to measure the circumference of the Earth in the 4th century B.C.

184 The results of Eratosthenes’ measurements and his map of the world were deemed valid for several centuries, to the extent that Strabo – in the course of his methodological revolution of geography in the 1st century A.D. – did not find it necessary to significantly modify Eratosthenes’ map, as has already been noted by Germaine Abuja (Aujac 2001, 111). The innovative aspect of Strabo’s contribution was his ‘invention’ of a geography which was not limited to drawing maps and measuring astronomical differences but had as its primary focus the study of the peoples inhabiting the different regions of the world in terms of their diverse cultural and political characteristics. The relationship between humanity and nature, in this perspective, helps to explain history, because the harmonious relationship that develops between a given region and its inhabitants, known as pronoia, means that the layout of mountains, seas, and rivers is not arbitrary but corresponds to a design; the role of the geographer is to interpret and understand the links between this pattern and human society. For example, Strabo himself was the first to develop the principle of the highly indented nature of the Mediterranean coastline – to become popular during the 19th and 20th centuries – which attributes the flourishing of European civilization to the variety of its forms and the indentation into the land by the sea. Similarly, at the time of the Roman Empire – albeit in the Hellenistic cultural context of 2nd century Alexandria of Egypt – the famous Claudius Ptolemy continued Eratosthenes’ work and laid the base for the rediscovery of geographical knowledge in the modern era.

The idea of nature in classical geography (end 18th – beginning 20th century)

In the the concept of nature was pivotal to all branches of thought. This was particularly true of philosophy, due to its links with the rational sciences, which Enlightenment thinkers saw as gradually piercing the darkness of superstition and ignorance. In France, between the 17th and 18th centuries, thinkers such as Montesquieu and Bodin considered nature to be the key to understanding the various peoples of the earth. They believed that the environmental and climatic conditions of a place strongly influence the character of the peoples that live there. This was due to the principle of so-called ‘geographical influences’, a trend that went down in history as ‘environmental determinism’ (Febvre 1981, 4–20). At that time, European geographers were becoming increasingly interested in natural systems and the laws governing them; in the mid 1700s the Frenchman Philippe Buache developed a theory of river basins that was to remain popular until the first decades of the following century, when his lack of

185 mechanistic understanding became apparent (Broc 1974). It was in German-speaking scientific circles that applying the study of nature to geography became important to defining the discipline. Polycarp Leyser’s essay on a ‘true geographical method’, published in 1726 in Helmstedt, is considered the first real affirmation of the ‘geography of natural regions’, which Franco Farinelli has seen as an implicit political strategy of opposition to what, in the absolutist German states of the time, were called Staatsgeographen. In brief, this idea “was effectively the only possible form of political criticism not within geography, but through geography” (Farinelli 1992, 113). According to this interpretation, acknowledging that geography was entitled to represent the world as divided into natural regions meant acknowledging that science was entitled to ignore any obligation to represent state boundaries as defined by the principles of the geography of states and marked on its main tool, that is to say, geographical maps. At the beginning of the 19th century, this tradition of critical geography came up against the concept of nature typical of the Romantic age. On his return from a 5-year voyage (1799–1804) to the equinoctial regions of the New World, Alexander von Humboldt proposed publishing the more popular parts of his travelogues in the form of Aspects of Nature (Ansichten von Natur – Tableaux de la Nature), thereby introducing European readers to the luxuriant tropical vegetation and spectacular mountain ranges of central and South America. Prompted by Oken and Schelling’s Naturphilosophie, the other ‘leading light’ of German geography in the first half of the 19th century, Carl Ritter, developed his idea of geography as the study of the binary dialectic between man and nature. For Ritter, the dynamics between the two terms was constantly evolving, with each remaining essential and consubstantial to the other as in Ionic philosophy. From a practical point of view, this translates into a geographical discipline steeped in the historical, that is to say human, element, as Ritter explained in 1836 in a letter to the then president of the Paris Geographical Society, Baron Pelet. “Although I have no plans to make great discoveries on the surface of the Earth, my research does involve walking step by step, if not to all corners of the Globe, at lEast all round the Ancient World, in order to compare what nature has bestowed with what history has done and what geographical science still has to do to rank as a discipline alongside History and Philosophy.”1 One of the most celebrated

1 National Library of France, Maps and Plans Department, Manuscrits de la Société de Géographie, 4373, 347, lettre de Ch. Ritter à M. le Président de la Société de Géographie, 6 août 1836.

186 European geographers of the second half of the 19th century, a student of Ritter’s in Berlin, explicitly took inspiration from Humboldt for his first monograph, entitled Voyage à la de Sainte-Marthe, paysages de la nature tropicale. We are referring to Élisée Reclus (1830–1905), who, at the end of his career, invented a motto that aptly summarizes the aforementioned Ritterian dualism, writing in the exergue of his latest work, L’Homme et la Terre, that “man is nature that becomes aware of itself” (Reclus 1905, 1). This future ‘anarchist geographer’ also shared with Ritter the rediscovery of classical authors such as Strabo and Herodotus. The latter,

incomparably superior to those specialists of our day – who in order to adhere to who knows what official programs, have turned geography into an object of disgust and derision – successfully made it more attractive than poetry itself, because he did not separate man from nature or customs nor institutions from the environment in which they developed (Reclus 1872, 1).

Nature was central to the educational ideas of anarchic geographers such as Reclus and his colleague and friend Pëtr Aleksejevič Kropotkin (1842–1921); in their political criticism of authoritarian teaching methods, they even suggested teaching geography in the open air in order to stimulate the students’ independent powers of observation, starting from primary school. This strategy was mainly inspired by the experience of the Yverdon school, directed by Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi (1746–1827), the Swiss educationalist whose strong influence on the ‘fathers’ of modern geography has long been noted (Guillaume 1890, 223). Ritter’s own references to the Earth as the home of human education appear to be of Pestalozzian origin as does his insistence on the importance of personal observation, the method today defined as ‘fieldwork’ in geographic research (Schmidt di Friedberg 2010). The aforementioned James Guillaume reported the testimony of a former student of Pestalozzi’s who recalled taking nature walks along the valley with his teacher, a method that was to anticipate numerous themes in Reclus’s Histoire d’un Ruisseau and Patrick Geddes’s Valley Section (1854– 1932). This does not, however, imply any defense of Rousseau’s ‘state of nature’ or rejection of the instruments of progress: among 19th century socialists, anarchists, and free thinkers, the study of nature took on political overtones, because it furnished arguments to refute numerous religious beliefs about the Flood, biblical chronology, and creationist theories, and this greatly interested the likes of Reclus, Kropotkin, and Metchnikoff (Ferretti 2007). The enquiry into nature originated in fact in the natural sciences, which since the 18th century had been dealing with mechanical systems that had no need of divine intervention. Nature became an alternative to religion, dealing with earthly materiality rather than metaphysics; this

187 too explains the interest in material sciences and the ‘love of nature’ expressed by authors such as Reclus even at the end of the 19th century. Furthermore, Kropotkin clearly likens the evolution of science to that of revolutionary thinking in his century. Whereas numerous evolutionists of the time refused to accept a methodological parallel between biology and social sciences, Kropotkin proposed applying ‘naturalistic’ methods to society. By this he meant that evolutionism should no longer be seen as competing with the so-called Social Darwinists, but rather as demonstrating that the key evolutionary feature is mutual aid, which the Russian geographer had in fact started to study, initially between animals and plants, then in the context of human history:

Anarchy is a conception of the Universe, based on the mechanical interpretation of phenomena, which embraces the whole of nature, not excluding the life of societies. Its method is that of the natural sciences, and according to this method every scientific conclusion must be verified (Kropotkin 1924, 56).

This idea clashes with the classic concept of the Hobbesian ‘state of nature’, according to which, given the natural perversity of the human race, societies not regulated by some form of institutionalized authority will live in a state of war with everyone fighting everyone else; in this view, the only way to avoid full-scale civil conflict is to recognize a sovereign power as holding the monopoly on the legitimate use of force. The knock-on effect of the Hobbesian perspective, according to Kropotkin, was that judgments about man in the state of nature were not limited to past eras but were also applied to the so-called ‘primitive’ or ‘savage’ peoples: “the whole philosophy of the 19th century continued to think of primitive peoples as packs of wild bEasts, who lived in small isolated family groups and fought each other over food and females” (Kropotkin 1924, 50). Kropotkin saw this prejudice simply as a legacy of the ideas of original sin or original guilt promoted by the various churches, while the study of primitive societies, which engaged other anarchic geographers and anthropologists such as Léon Metchnikoff (1838–1888) and Élie Reclus (1827–1904), showed that man in his natural state is not simply a wild bEast ready to tear his fellow men to pieces, but rather one who seeks to develop strategies for adapting to his situation, above all by means of cooperation with his fellows. Another geographer brought up on Ritter’s writings, the German (1844–1904), developed a model based on close interaction between man and nature. His Anthropogeography is introduced by a Biogeography, i.e. he considers the territorial dynamics that govern the distribution of vegetable and animal species as a preamble to the dynamics of the human race, which indeed are often presented using naturalistic metaphors. Although Ratzel was a

188 geographer, he had received naturalistic training inspired by the ideas of the Darwinist , inventor of the term ‘ecology’, and he based his idea of human geography on the discipline’s inseparable link with nature. Ratzel himself likened the law of the expansion of peoples to those underlying the expansion of plants. “Nature does not allow a people to remain inert for long; it either has to advance or retreat” (Ratzel 1914, 216). In classic French geography – the Géographie Humaine school inspired by the work of Paul Vidal de la Blache (1845–1918) – natural settings dictated the decisions taken by geographers with regard to regional delineation or découpage; such decisions were pivotal in a field that paid close attention to natural regions; in fact, regional monographs and studies of the pays would be the classic products of Vidal de la Blache’s students. But it was obviously difficult to define and delimit such units; in this sense the monograph on the Île-de-France published by Vidal’s ‘deputy’, Lucien Gallois (1857–1941), is considered emblematic. Here too there was a political implication that consisted of claiming the right for geography to be independent of administrative divisions: “One of the challenges is to discover ‘natural’ entities that oppose the arbitrariness and the contingencies of administrative divisions, as Vidal de la Blache, Reclus and Gallois like to say” (Robic 2004). This approach was to be the norm for the French geographical sciences until well into the mid 1900s and included the revival of concepts such as the valley section, thanks to the work of followers of Vidal de la Blache, such as Jean Brunhes (1869–1930). In France, this concept would also foster the spread of the image of a ‘section’ or ‘cross- section’ as a natural metaphor in the social sciences (Robic 2001). Another development of this idea is the acceptance of the Mediterranean basin as an entity with its own natural and human constants; while the influence of post-Vidalians such as Jules Sion and Albert Demangeon on the construction of ‘Mediterranean’ expressed by Fernand Braudel is well known, over the last few years further light has been thrown on the more distant geographical roots of that ‘invention’ of the Mediterranean. The work of Florence Deprest among others has shown that the Braudelian construction owes much to the French geography of the 19th and 20th centuries, which in turn drew inspiration from studies of nature conducted by botanists around the Mediterranean with a view to identifying the unifying elements of this basin also in terms of human history. According to the French scholar in fact, naturalistic expeditions into Egypt and Syria in the first half of the 19th century showed that vegetation on the other shores of the Mediterranean was very similar to the species growing on its Northern shores. This contributed to the development of a ‘Mediterranean’ discourse that had not existed before and the first universal geography

189 volume in French, by Conrad Malte-Brun, was to become its vehicle: “[o]n this subject, an analysis of the expedition materials showed developments starting from the 1830s. But the theme of the natural unity (of the Mediterranean) was already present in the first ‘Universal Geography’” (Deprest 2002, 77). By the time of Reclus and the Vidalians, the Mediterranean debate was well under way and, depending on the period, focused on either the unifying function of the sea or on the comparison between the different areas of land and their respective kinds of life. In general, according to Deprest, the fundamental contribution of human geography to the construction of a Mediterranean geo-history is clear: “Although Braudel follows the Vidalian paradigm to the letter, he nonetheless includes the sea as a fundamental element of his object of study […] The Braudelian construction thus presents both inherited and innovative material in relation to the geographical debate of the Vidalians. One could, however, hypothesize that Reclus’s ideas reached right down to Braudel, also inspiring the other authors referred to” (Deprest 2002, 88).

Nature and culture in the Mediterranean landscape

The Mediterranean then became a focus of interest for that group of geographers who, after the well-known works of Marc Bloch and Roger Dion, produced a sizeable body of writings on rural landscapes between the forties and sixties. In Italy, this same current inspired numerous contemporary works by people such as Lucio Gambi and Emilio Sereni (Ferretti 2011). The road had been mapped out, in this sense, by the geographers who “under the impulse imparted by Vidal de la Blache and under the direction of Albert Demangeon especially, described and classified types of landscape in terms of their remote origins” (Juillard et al. 1957, 7). The succeeding generation considered such initial works to be too limited to the central-Northern regions of France, hence their analysis of the more Mediterranean aspects of the French landscape. Xavier de Planhol, among others, states that in the South, Dion, Bloch and Roupnel “felt far less at their ease than in the regions of the North and West where distinct sets of open fields and wooded countryside [boscage], despite all their internal nuances, appeared to be more clearly defined” (Juillard et al. 1957, 98). Interest in Italy also ensued. Jules Sion was one of the geographers who had started to take an interest in the in the thirties. Author of the chapter on Italy in the Géographie Universelle, he immediately afterwards became interested in the land structures of , attributing the historic weakness of the commons to “a fundamentally individualistic spirit” (Juillard et al. 1957, 101). Similarly, De Planhol mentions

190 Maurice Le Lannou’s monograph on Sardinia as a “vigorous and remarkable overall interpretation of one of the Mediterranean countrysides” (Juillard et al. 1957). De Planhol’s essay concludes with a series of considerations on human settlements in the Mediterranean area, which were taken up by Sereni in his paper on the “little village perched on a hill” (Sereni 1961, 88–91); the agricultural structure of Sereni’s village features what Demangeon had termed the ‘separated field’ system. In this scenario, the distance dividing the commercial and residential centers from the agricultural land cannot be explained by economic or environmental factors, but by security problems linked first to the Barbarian invasions and then to piracy. In this sense, for De Planhol, “the concentrated Mediterranean habitat is certainly for the most part an artificial habitat. It is generally associated with both conditions of insecurity and systematic external influences during the colonization of the land” (Juillard et al. 1957). Centuries later, visible traces of this historic situation bear out what Sereni called the “law of inertia of the landscape” (Sereni 1961, 88), a notion which clearly seems to have developed from the idea of the ‘persistencies’ characterizing both the geography of the Vidalians and the history of the Annalistes. Another aspect of the discussion concerns terracing in the Mediterranean area, which poses various problems: the issue is understanding the historical genesis and the social functions of the various kinds of terraces, tiers, and strips, and distinguishing between them. Jean Despois tried to define a series of physical and human constants in this type of arrangement, such as the availability of slopes accessible to irrigation techniques suitable for the tree-growing methods used on the terraces. In general, this form of agricultural work is linked to periods of demographic excess, since “it is always painful and not simple to carry out. Furthermore, it seems to only exist in those regions in which the demographic pressure has remained such that the small farmers cannot make do with the plains or the valley bottoms” (Despois 1959, 109). One part of the debate focuses, without reaching any definitive answer, on the issue of the individual or collective nature of these arrangements, a question on which, according to Daniel Faucher, “we have little or no testimony. Observation would suggest to me more the idea of a type of work carried out by individual families than of collective community projects” (Despois 1959, 113). Turning again to the definition of ‘artificiality’ in reference to the Mediterranean landscape, it is important to mention slash-and-burn agriculture and the resulting Mediterranean scrublands. The Italian scholar Sereni borrows a term from the literature in French, the Provençal word marrelo meaning “diamond-shaped patches of land, accessible for stubble grazing [that] are emblematic of the agricultural

191 landscape of Mediterranean France and Cisalpine and strongly in contrast with the more typically ‘Gallic’ landscape of Central and Northern France” (Sereni 1955, 516). This brings us back to the ‘degradation’ of the natural landscape in the Mediterranean, mainly attributed to the fires of the ‘slash-and-burn’ technique, in French known as brûlis. Sereni himself in his famous essay Terra nuova e buoi rossi [New Land and Red Oxen] undertakes a geohistorical study of how the Mediterranean scrub has developed due to human intervention by fire. His treatise opens with a folk-tale conveying a very simple moral: to renew the fertility of the soil, new land must be seeded, but this new land must be ploughed with red oxen; in other words, fires are used to supply to the new fields that are taken from the woodlands in a rudimentary form of pluriennal crop rotation. In Sereni’s view, the data he reports on recorded fires from as late as the beginning of the 20th century, for the most part deliberately started to clear land for agriculture and grazing, should be sufficient to

excite the interest of agrarian historians in techniques such as slash-and- burn, and not just in Calabria, were it only on account of their key role in shaping the agrarian landscape of our country, almost up to the present day and quite certainly even more so in the past” (Sereni 1981, 5).

This aspect is critical when evaluating the extent to which a landscape is ‘natural’ or ‘artificial’; today it is taken for granted that in Italy, and in Southern Europe generally, there are no ‘natural landscapes’ because from ancient times onwards settlements and human work have left their mark, but in the mid-20th century this was still a subject of debate. Sereni also examines the growth of different types of ‘Mediterranean scrub’, considering even the thick scrub to bear the indirect traces of the passage of fire centuries beforehand, in that different species would have emerged and become dominant during regrowth due to the altered morphological and pedological conditions of the soil. He upholds the principle that the thicker scrub, or fratta in Italian, is not to be viewed as a primary plant formation but “more frequently as a secondary plant formation”, that is to say, the result of a progressive degradation of the primeval Mediterranean forest, due to the expansion and repeated cycles of burning practices by herdsmen and crop-growers, and further accelerated by excessive grazing especially by goats (Sereni 1981, 15). The original Mediterranean forests, dominated by woods, were gradually taken over by pinewoods and other species that grew back faster after fires, such as the mastic, the strawberry tree, and other plant species that are more resistant to fire and subsequent grazing. However, Grove and Rackham present an alternative theory to the stereotype of the ruined landscape as a ‘lost paradise’ destroyed by human activity, contending that natural

192 landscapes across most of the Mediterranean have always been semi- arid. If we are not in favor of attributing a moral value to the notion of ‘degradation’ advanced by Sereni and the post-Vidalians, it may be said that scholars of human geography have generally not fallen into this trap and that their studies are progressively lending more and more support to the view of the two British geographers: “The Mediterranean is no place for facile generalization” (Grove and Rackham 2001, 12).

Searching for a new language

Thus the Mediterranean mosaic leads us back to the complexity of the term nature and the problems associated with the “tendency in discursive debates to homogenize the category ‘nature’ (and discuss its social meaning and constitution as a unitary category) when it should be regarded as intensely variegated – an unparalleled field of difference” (Harvey 1996, 183). The idea of nature, as we have seen, does not so much correspond to a demonstrated truth as to a point of view and a cultural stance. “Nature – writes Donna Haraway – cannot preexist its construction” (Haraway 1992, 296). Nature on the one hand has been transformed into an object of study with its own laws, which we may decipher through the filter of science; on the other hand, as scientific enquiry has progressed, humans have lost their ancient sense of community with the remainder of living beings, while increasingly occupying a position of dominance over them. For the scientist Daniel Botkin, the Western notion of nature is principally based on ancient conceptions of it, which have nothing to do with scientific truth:

[t]he potential for us to make progress with environmental issues is limited by the basic assumptions that we make about nature, the unspoken, often unrecognized perspective from which we view our environment. […] We have tended to view nature as a Kodachrome still-life, […] but nature is a moving picture show […] continually changing and complex (Botkin 1990, 5–6).

For Kate Soper:

In this sense, nature may be viewed as a register of changing conceptions as to who qualifies, and why, for full membership of the human community, and thus also to some extent as a register of Western civilization’s anxieties and divisions about its own qualities, activities, and achievements (Soper 1995, 73–74).

Amongst those who have been considered ‘inhuman’ or less than human at different junctures of Western history, Soper counts

193 barbarians (i.e. those who do not speak one’s own language), slaves, negroes, women, Indians, savages, ‘wild men’, witches, sorcerers, dwarfs, and idiots. Nature, when stripped of its aesthetic and mysterious qualities and of its sympathy towards human beings, becomes a ‘mythical’ object, distant from our daily experience and thus progressively banished from our cities – the very heart of our settlements – as well as from the rhythms and calendar of human activity, to end up being relegated to the laboratory and to ‘protected areas’: “This ontological separation of the natural and the social has, since at lEast the European Enlightenment, been associated with other dualisms organizing our thoughts, such as rural-urban, country-city, and wilderness-civilization” (Castree 2001, 6). Nature has been relegated to the margins of scientific discourse, yet we are left with the sensation of having forgotten or lost something of our conception of it, something qualitatively indefinable that has to do with beauty and a sense of connection with human sentiment. To use the words of the poet Emerson:

[t]he greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown (Emerson 1836, 17).

The French historian Serge Moscovici, one of the first to recognize the question naturelle as amongst the fundamental problems of the century, with the potential to mobilize its vital forces, starts from the assumption that scientific progress – rated “amongst the most revolutionary events in human history”, comparable to the spread of writing and of language – continuously calls for a revision of our conceptions of time and space and the natural laws: humanity is today the leading agent of transformation on the planet with regard to climatic, biological, and geomorphological equilibrium as well as energy transformations. However, humankind itself is not immune to the consequences of these transformations but is in turn modified by them; it would seem that the peculiar characteristic of the human race is not so much its rationality or technical ability as its capacity to self-create and to combine itself with other living beings, in short, to generate its own natural state; humanity is not viewed as the product of cosmic energy or of animal or vegetable vitality, but as together both creator and subject of nature. Only in this way, by considering nature both as a given and as a human creation, can we break out of the vicious circle of the irreconcilable contrast humanity-nature: “Nature, as we know it, has humanity as its distinctive trait: that in fact is its nature” (Moscovici 1977, 32). Moscovici’s work became a cult book for the French green

194 movement from the 1970s; since then he has continued to explore environmental themes, recently focusing on the Weberian concept of the ‘disenchantment of the world’ caused by the scientific vision at the heart of industrial and technological civilization. For Moscovici, one of the key tasks of the contemporary environmental movement is to ‘re- enchant’ the world; this does not imply a return to magic or to the religion of miracles, but a newly invented nature:

Re-enchanting the world is not a cult but a practice of nature. It is not brought about by remedying the malaise associated with our way of life, but by trying out new ways of bringing into being a new way of life (Moscovici 2001, 140).

Conclusion: a challenge for the geographical discipline

This historical and philosophical excursus illustrates how analysis of the interaction between humanity and nature has been part of human thinking since antiquity and how the Mediterranean has always been a key laboratory for this line of analysis. Furthermore, although geography may not today enjoy the highest profile as a discipline, it has contributed to thinking in this area throughout the enquiry to date, offering original elaborations that have influenced the other human sciences, such as the case of the history of Annales and Fernand Braudel in the 20th century: “However, in a world of genetic engineering and global warming, geographers are increasingly skeptical of even using ‘natural’ and ‘social’ as categories of analysis” (Ginn and Demeritt 2009, 307). Although in recent decades – in line with the development of critical thinking in geography – the idea of nature has taken on a social dimension, drawing on Marxist, post-Marxist, feminist, anti-racist, post- structuralist, post-colonial, and actor-network-theory-inspired interpretations, it has not lost any of its ambiguity (Castree 2001). Demeritt ponders:

After all, ‘nature’ is frequently taken to mean the totality of everything that is not humanly constructed. In what sense can the land we see or the water we drink be called ‘constructions’? And yet, an increasing number of human geographers now insist just this: that ‘nature’ is a social construction” (Demeritt 2001, 22).

Today, the profound question of ‘what is nature’ has transcended both the boundaries of the Mediterranean and disciplinary barriers to take its place as a ‘contested concept’ at the heart of international and interdisciplinary critical enquiry. In the words of Philippe Descola: “All was untamed – it goes without saying – that which issued from the silva,

195 the great European forest that Roman colonization was little by little to nibble away […] everything conspired to classify humans and non- humans under one and the same register of hierarchical subordination of which the relationships within the extended family represent the complete model. Along with the terminology expressing it, the Romans bequeathed us the values associated with this antithetical pair whose fortunes were to grow ever brighter. For the discovery of other forests, at other latitudes, was to enrich the initial dichotomy without altering its fields of signification” (Descola 2004, 29–30). Ecology and physical geography are often inclined to draw back from such a key theme in favor of dissecting it into its environmental, morphological, climatic, fauna, and vegetation components, expressed in terms of flows and quantitative data. Nonetheless, “Ideas about nature are as important as the realities they purport to describe and explain. […] Our experience of nature is rarely direct. Rather, it is thoroughly mediated for us. […] ideas about nature have a materiality every bit as real as the living and inanimate things those ideas represent” (Castree 2005). It is important that human geography, currently called to address increasingly critical global environmental issues, should renew its awareness of its own roots as a modern science in the tradition of Humboldt, Ritter, Reclus, etc., maintaining the capacity to elaborate its own independent view of the world and to offer original solutions, not only for the problems of science but also for those of politics, culture, and society.

196 O – Ospitalità/Hospitality

Paolo Giaccaria and Ugo Rossi

Introduction: Mediterranean alternative versus aporias

The Mediterranean region has a troublesome relationship with ‘hospitality’. The distinctive feature of Mediterranean culture is commonly identified with the incessant hybridizations produced by crossings and circulations, historically involving people, cultures and commodities. In recent times, post-colonial writers have regarded in a positive light the distinctiveness of the Mediterranean way of experiencing cultural diversity and the encounter with Other (Chambers 2008). In this perspective, the æ tackle the contradictory role played by the state in this region. In Mediterranean countries, the state has an ambivalent status: on the one hand, it is weak as a governmental entity regulating socio-economic relations compared to the more mature liberal democracies of Western European countries, and this has left room for a relative autonomy of everyday life from the state. On the other hand, in Mediterranean countries the state firmly retains its conventional role as the entity wielding the ‘monopoly on violence’ in classic Weberian terms. Mediterranean countries are thus historically dealing with an oppositional confrontation between the vibrancy of everyday life and the ‘weak rigidity’ of the state. In an essay co-written with his wife Catherine Régulier, French philosopher Henri Lefebvre famously put forward the concept of rhythmanalysis as a way of grasping the polyphonic vitality of everyday life (now in Lefebvre 2004). In theorizing rhythmanalysis, they looked at the unregulated character of urban life in Mediterranean cities compared with the more rationalized urban environments of the North of Europe. At the same time, they recognized the ambivalent role played by a weak (in regulatory terms) but also strong (in police terms) state:

[. . .] in the Mediterranean, the cradle of the city-state, the state, be it internal or external to the city, has always remained brutal and powerless – violent but weak – unificatory, but always shaky, threatened. Whereas in oceanic towns where the state and the political penetrated with fewer

197 difficulties, therefore with fewer incidences of violence and dramas, they interfered profoundly with individual and social activities (Lefebvre 2004, 93).

Lefebvre’s analysis leads us to observe how the contradictory role played by the state in Mediterranean countries is likely to generate mutually opposing ways of relating to the Other: unconditional hospitality versus hostility are likely to replace one another depending on changing politico-economic circumstances. The changing attitude towards hospitality has become particularly evident over the last two decades, when the rise of alleged or actual anxieties and fears associated with globalization have given rise to the securitization of citizenship in the Western world (Sparke 2006; Muller 2010). In this period the ‘Mediterranean alternative,’ emerging from the intersected realms of everyday life and popular culture, has indeed found itself in stark contrast with the geopolitical role assigned to the Mediterranean countries as guardians of the so-called ‘Fortress Europe’ protecting the European Union (EU) from unauthorized migrations from Africa (Kofman 1995). In this context, the Mediterranean Sea has become a place of death and deportation for undocumented migrants. The continuous violations of human rights in the Italian Centri di Identificazione ed Espulsione (CIE; Kitagawa 2011), the militarization of the Spain–Morocco border (Ferrer-Gallardo 2008), the outsourcing of borders management in North Africa (Vaughan-Williams 2008), the military patrolling of the Mediterranean Sea in order to ‘interdict’ migrants from reaching the European shores (Moreno-Lax 2011), the launch of the EU’s FRONTEX (from French: Frontières extérieures) programme (Wolff 2008), even the return of human sacrifice within the clandestine Mediterranean crossings,1 are all dramatic manifestations of the ‘violent geographies’ of Mediterranean (in)hospitality. The island of Lampedusa and its recent vicissitudes is exemplificative of the ‘limits of hospitality’ in the Mediterranean context under the rules of the Schengen Agreement (Friese 2010; Paradiso 2012). The Mediterranean region is, therefore, at one and the same time commonly viewed as a place of hospitality, generosity and conviviality, while being experienced as a militarized territory of inhospitality and refusal. This ambivalence resonates with Mediterraneanist narratives,

1 In November 2011, the Italian police took into custody three Ghanaian and two Nigerian citizens, alleging they 15 migrants during their Mediterranean journey in order to appease the marine Gods and to secure safe travel (http://vaticaninsider.lastampa.it/homepage/nel-mondo/dettaglio- articolo/articolo/lampedusa-rifugiati-10399).

198 idealizing Mediterranean picturesque traditions while condemning its backwardness and aversion towards modernity (Herzfeld 1984). Nevertheless, it is undeniable that a sense of Mediterranean hospitality influenced the modern, Western notion of hospitality, mainly with reference to the Greek and Latin tradition. This ambivalence creates a distinctive sense of ‘Mediterranean aporias,’ which creates disorientation and frustration amongst those experiencing it. In the European Mediterranean, as this chapter will show, ‘Mediterranean aporias’ has recently combined with a widespread sense of ‘melancholia’ and ‘neurosis’ arising from the sense of deprivation and humiliation brought about by the global economic recession and particularly by the sovereign debt crisis that has seriously affected Euro- Mediterranean countries. What is defined in this paper as ‘post- neoliberal melancholia’ ends up by producing a neurotic sense of citizenship, where a rigid juxtaposition to the Other becomes the very foundation of a complex governmentality of citizenship, which brings together exclusionary practices with measures aimed at the construction of the ‘useful migrant’ (Isin 2004). On the one hand, undocumented migrants and unassimilated ethno-religious minorities are customarily portrayed as the new ‘dangerous class’; on the other hand, migrants are invited to give their contribution to economic competitiveness. While in the core capitalist countries (particularly in North America and North- Western Europe) this leads to valorize in discursive terms talented and high-skilled migrants, in the Euro-Mediterranean context the ‘useful migrant’ is particularly identified with those working as caretakers for the elderly and the sick, thus compensating for the inefficiencies of the official healthcare and social assistance services. Here again, neurosis is produced, constructing citizenship on ambivalent discourses and selective government policies towards international migrants. Understanding how the ambiguous genealogies of Mediterranean hospitality envisage the aporias of modern hospitality can help us to make sense of the present-day crisis of practices and norms of hospitality in the Mediterranean. The next section of this chapter shows how, in recent times, the global economic crisis, which has particularly hit South-European countries, has shed light on the ‘dark side’ of hospitality in the Mediterranean. This section will look at the policy of voluntary return in Spain (Plan de Retorno Voluntario) aimed at international migrants as an illustration of the ruling elites’ attitude to getting rid of the Other – namely, the foreign worker previously supplying cheap labor – once economic conditions are no longer favorable for accepting incoming immigrants. In a context of economic slump, the availability of cheap labor is no longer a priority; on the contrary, persuading redundant workers to leave the country becomes imperative. The case of Spain is especially interesting because, during the years of the economic

199 boom, this country was commonly viewed as an example of ‘tiger economy’ in Mediterranean Europe, experiencing rapid economic growth accompanied by the influx of increasing numbers of international migrants. The third, concluding section traces a genealogy of Mediterranean hospitality and its relationship with the modern, Western notion of hospitality. In particular we argue that the aporias of the Mediterranean mirror those of hospitality itself and that a simplistic account of Mediterranean hospitality paves the way for the production of melancholic and neurotic inhospitable citizenship. Mediterranean hospitality is anything but a consolatory refuge for nostalgic, elite cosmopolitanism. Our point is that its legacy is the acceptance that hospitality is always about a blurry threshold between friendship and enmity.

Shrinking the spaces of hospitality in post-neoliberal Mediterranean Europe

Since 2010, the economic downturn that began in 2008 – originally taking the form of a financial crash caused by the collapse of the subprime mortgage market in the United States – has been witnessing a new stage centered on the rise of the so-called ‘sovereign debt crisis,’ which has particularly affected European countries in the Mediterranean region. At the time of writing (April 2012), Greece above all, but also Spain and Italy, seriously run the risk of default. The crisis has threatened the stability of the European Union, most notably of its currency (the Euro) and the related multi-level system of economic- institutional relations amongst member countries. Within the European Union, which is the center of the crisis and related public debates, there are some countries that have been particularly ‘infected’ by the virus of stagnation and indebtedness, while there are others whose national economies are still growing in terms of gross domestic product (GDP), showing capacity to recover from the negative conjuncture. The latter are entitled to act as ‘model countries,’ while the former are requested to follow policy ‘recommendations’ which are dictated by the EU’s organizations (the Commission and the European Central Bank above all), but also by the aforementioned ‘model countries’ (Germany and France) that have taken an explicitly directional role in this economic- political phase. Amongst the countries that have most suffered the consequences of the crisis are the Mediterranean countries – Portugal, Spain, Italy, Greece – with the notable exception of France (whose economic stability and budget soundness, however, is contested by some), along with other

200 ‘problem countries’ in Europe such as Ireland and, to some extent, . Within the social sciences and the wider public alike, the current crisis is widely discussed in its macro-economic and societal dimensions in terms of the restructuring of capitalism, the world economy and the refashioning of neoliberalism as the hegemonic mode of socio-economic regulation and governance. The crisis is also subject to critical scrutiny when it comes to debating its consequences as regards processes of re- scaling in sovereignty spaces and powers: that is, the ways in which dictates of budget rigor and fiscal consolidation are increasingly undermining the already residual sovereignty of national states. However, in ongoing debates on the economic crisis within the European public sphere, more limited attention is being paid to the cultural implications of this crisis – that is, the ways in which collective consciousness has been affected by the crisis-laden economic-political scenario. Drawing on Paul Gilroy’s conceptualization of ‘post-colonial melancholia,’ which he linked to assimilationist impulses towards the ethnic minorities in post-imperial Britain (Gilroy 2005), it is argued that our era of crisis and political-economic turmoil affecting the advanced capitalist world is pervaded by a sense of ‘post-neoliberal melancholia’: the sense of loss of an era of ever-expanding prosperity and economic growth, which was promised by the hegemonic forces of neoliberalism and globalization since their appearance in the 1980s as a political- economic discourse. This is not to claim that neoliberalism is over and that a new age has been inaugurated. As Jamie Peck suggests:

‘Dead but dominant,’ neoliberalism may indeed have entered its zombie phase. The brain has apparently long since ceased functioning, but the limbs are still moving, and many of the defensive reflexes seem to be working too. The living dead of the free-market revolution continue to walk the earth, though with each resurrection their decidedly uncoordinated gait becomes even more erratic (Peck 2010, 109).

Paul Gilroy has derived the concept of melancholia from the work of German psychoanalysts Alexander and Margarete Mitscherlich in the 1960s who reinterpreted classic Freudian understanding of melancholia as ‘an inability to mourn’ (as the title of their book reads) referring to the sense of loss developed by the German nation after the Second World War in the form of a melancholic reaction to the death of Hitler and its own lost moral legitimacy (Gilroy 2005, 98). This association of melancholia with a state of ‘depression’ is the most influential way in which this notion has been conceptualized in the psychoanalytic and philosophical literature (see, Kristeva 1992). In the European context, post-neoliberal melancholia is fostered by the sense of loss of the European Union as a benign organization

201 protecting European citizens from the fallacies and the inefficiencies of the nation-state; a pro-European sentiment that, until recently, was particularly strong in Southern European countries, especially in their less-favored regions benefitting from generous financial support from the European regional policy through the provision of ‘Structural Funds.’ Across the capitalist world, and most notably in the United States (as shown also by recent ‘Occupy Wall Street’ movements) neoliberalism as a mode of economic but also social and moral regulation is indeed manifestly undergoing a process of de-legitimization within the wider public. The disappointing direction taken by the post- neoliberal shift, decidedly pending towards austerity policies, combined with an apparent lack of realistic political alternatives, or at best with frustrated aspirations of radical political change (in Spain the Indignados movement), produces a widespread sense of ‘melancholia.’ This post- neoliberal melancholia replaces in a neurotic fashion the market-led euphoria prevailing amongst advanced capitalist societies before the advent of the crisis during the ‘golden age of neoliberalism.’ Until 2008, Spanish and Greek societies were experiencing rising rates of economic growth led by an unprecedented housing boom and government expenditure, respectively. Italy’s economy was more stagnant compared with the fast-growing economies of Greece and Spain, but still there was a widespread perception of a safe path to prosperity granted by the protective shelter of the European Union. Let us consider the case of Spain, which is particularly exemplificative of the promises and the failures of neoliberalism in Mediterranean Europe. After years of growing prosperity, since 2008 Spain experienced a vertiginous escalation of the unemployment rate, bringing the country back to the record unemployment rates of the first half of the 1990s: in the space of few years the country has shifted from the 8.2% in 2007 (the loWest unemployment rate in Spain’s history) to the 22.4% in January 2012, a figure that is very close to the 24.1% recorded in 1994 as the highest unemployment rate in Spain’s history. The main victims of the economic recession have been the international migrants who had come copiously during the years of the neoliberal economic boom. As a solution to the contraction of the jobs market, particularly affecting sectors in which migrants were previously employed such as the construction sector, in 2009 the Spanish government adopted the so-called Plan de Retorno Voluntario (or Voluntary Return Plan) for immigrants, in order to reduce pressure on the Spanish labor market and at the same time to spark development in immigrants’ countries of origin, helping them to start a new business

202 there2. The latter goal has been pursued by granting legal foreign residents who lost their jobs the right to receive the entire unemployment benefit in two sums – one upon departure and the second after arriving in their country of origin – on condition that the departing migrants surrender their residency permits and agree not to return to Spain for at lEast three years. In 2011, two years after the start of the return plan, mass media reported the limited success of the policy, as migrants refused to give up their residence cards, preferring to return on a temporary basis to their country of origin and wait for better times to return, thus renouncing their legal right to the monetary benefit but also escaping the three-year rule (Time World 2011). The Spanish government has optimistically presented this plan as a policy, taking the global economic downturn as an opportunity to foster ‘circular migration’ and associated endogenous entrepreneurship in low-income countries. However, in a more critical vein, this plan shows how Western politico-economic leaders see international migrants mainly as low-cost contributors to the expansion of the national economy and wealth: once the economy starts going down, international migrants become superfluous and are invited with tempting incentives offered by national governments to go back to their homeland. If forced migration is incompatible with liberal democracies, the alluring prospect of independent entrepreneurship ‘back home’ will be mobilized to persuade immigrants to leave without weighing on the weak public finances already suffering serious consequences from the economic downturn. This example shows how the state – the Spanish state – capitalizes on melancholia generated by the sense of loss of a prosperous future within the Spanish nation, taking the opportunity to shrink the spaces of hospitality for international migrants.

Neurotic citizenship and Mediterranean in/hospitality

What is at stake, here, is not only the possibility of ‘governing through risk,’ as is implied in contemporary ‘risk society’ theory, in the ‘culture of fear’ approach or in the governmentality literature. As Engin Isin notes, all these accounts are centered on a rational, calculative subject/citizen (Isin 2004, 217–221). On the contrary, the issue is what he terms ‘neuroliberalism’ and ‘governing through neurosis,’ which:

2 See http://www.planderetornovoluntario.es.

203 [. . .] means that the neurotic subject is incited to make two adjustments in its conduct to render itself a citizen. While on the one hand the neurotic citizen is incited to make social and cultural investments to eliminate various dangers by calibrating its conduct on the basis of its anxieties and insecurities rather than rationalities, it is also invited to consider itself as part of a neurological species and understand itself as an affect structure. (223).

Both melancholia and neurosis are thus related to a status of anxiety produced by the disruption of the ‘social contract’ between individuals and groups and the modern state (Jessop 2002). The emergence of neoliberal populist movements and governments across Europe (Berezin 2009), such as the Belgian Lijst Dedecker (Pauwels 2010), the Dutch LPF (Akkerman 2005; Vossen 2011), the Italian Lega Nord and Partito delle Libertà (Ruzza and Fella 2011), mirrors the ongoing melancholic and neurotic reshaping of society, community, citizenship and rights. What is at stake, here, is the anxious renegotiation of the notion of ‘community’ originally understood along the lines of the Third Way rhetoric in a context of soft neoliberalism. In particular:

[. . .] the neoliberal move to devolve state obligations resonates with long- standing desires to make communities effective sites of moral development and political activity and is increasingly analyzed as an instance of governmentality in action. [. . .] Community can ostensibly perform two functions in projects of neoliberal governance: it can stand as a recipient for devolved authority and it can legitimate that very devolution (Herbert 2005, 852).

At the same time, as Herbert argues, community may prove to be a ‘trapdoor’ as community might not be apt to sustain the burden of responsibility overloaded in the devolution process (853). This in turn produces anxiety that reworks communities and citizenship in an explicitly exclusionary way. The relationship between community and citizenship is always ambiguous and contradictory, as Lynn Staeheli points out (2008). When the community is invested with unbearable anxieties, the melancholic subject is transformed into a ‘neurotic citizen’:

[. . .] what the neurotic subject wants is the impossible. It wants absolute security. It wants absolute safety. It wants the perfect body. It wants tranquility. It wants serenity. It wants the impossible. Yet, since it has also been promised the impossible, it cannot address its illusions. Thus, the neurotic subject articulates neurotic claims. All its wants are transformed into rights: the right to security, safety, body, health, wealth, and happiness as well as tranquility, serenity and calm (Isin 2004, 232).

204 This process, leading to melancholic presence and neurotic citizenship via the reshaping of the community in exclusionary terms, deeply affects our understanding and experience of hospitality. There is no doubt that hospitality is a key concept shaping our understanding of both modern citizenship and community. The decision about what hospitality is – and subsequently about when, under which conditions, and to whom it has to be granted – is an inescapable moment in the definition of ‘the political.’ In Engin Isin’s words:

The moment of the enactment of citizenship, which instantiates constituents, also instantiates other subjects from whom the subject of a claim is differentiated. So an enactment inevitably creates a scene where there are selves and others defined in relation to each other. These are not fixed identities but fluid subject positions in and out of which subjects move. In other words, being always involves being with others. These subject positions can be analytically identified on a spectrum of intensity ranging from hospitality to hostility: citizens, strangers, outsiders and aliens. Becoming a subject involves being implicated in this spectrum (Isin 2008, 18–19, emphasis added).

Hospitality, therefore, is fundamental to the definition of both the notion – such as in the Kantian account of perpetual peace and in the contemporary debate on cosmopolitanism – and the practices of citizenship, in times of massive migration, displacement and diaspora. What is more important, here, is that hospitality is transformed both at the private level and at the public one. On the one hand, it concerns a number of private (not necessarily individual) attitudes and practices towards the alien, while on the other hand, it refers to a more institutionalized set of rules and norms, regulated by a formal political body (Gotman 1997). As a consequence, hospitality entails a complex and fragile relationship between (private) ethics and (public) justice (Barnett 2005). What happens to hospitality when ‘governing through neurosis’ becomes a relevant technique of governmentality? Our point is that public and private hospitality is progressively turned into public and private inhospitality. More precisely, we suggest here that public inhospitality (curbing asylum and citizenship rights to undesired aliens) is attained and managed through private inhospitality (xenophobia and refusal of the alien as either an irredeemable Other or as a dangerous deviant). The outsourcing of national and EU-ropean functions and prerogatives, in fact, has not been limited to securitization, but has entailed hospitality as well. Cutting public expenditure has implied the shifting of the management of hospitality from the public to the private realm, turning the issue of hospitality from justice to charity and solidarity matters (Clarke 2004). In this context, the devolution of

205 hospitality duties on third-sector organizations has put an untenable pressure on the so-called ‘civil society,’ making it complicit in the annihilation of the undocumented migrant not just as a citizen but also as a human being. Facing the massive migrant flows generated by the Libyan and Tunisian insurgencies in 2011, the Italian government simply abandoned the asylum-seekers. The response of the Italian voluntary associations and charities was admirable, yet the condition of uncertainty and illegality produced a widespread perception of fear, which reduced the private attitude towards hospitality. The alien is then translated from hospes (host) into hostis (foe), echoing the etymological proximity between the two terms. He/she is viewed as a threat against the safety and security of the melancholic and neurotic citizen. His/her bare presence is perceived as a potential menace in the realms that Isin identifies as the loci of the neurotization of citizenship: the economy (‘immigrants steal jobs and accept low pay’), the body (‘immigrants bring disease’), the home (‘immigrants are thieves’), and the border (‘immigrants violate national sovereignty’). These stereotypes do not work only in the popular imagination, but they are constantly reinforced by technical expertise (data and statistics about the spread of criminality and the return of maladies such as tuberculosis) and state laws (since July 2009 illegal migration has been a crime). As a result, private inhospitality is enhanced, produced by and reproducing exclusionary discourses and practices about community and citizenship. Such discourses and practices of inhospitality can then move back from the private to the public realm, legitimizing norms and policies that remove hospitality from the public agenda. This appears to be a crucial dispositive of ‘governing through neurosis’ (and melancholia), where public (neoliberal) inhospitality reinforces and legitimizes private (xenophobic) inhospitality, and vice versa.

Towards a critical genealogy of Mediterranean hospitality

If we want to make sense of the deep transformation of hospitality that we have described in the previous sections, we must start from the fact that the very notion of hospitality holds an intrinsic contradiction: what Mustafa Dikeç, following Jacques Derrida, terms “the aporetic nature of the notion of hospitality” (2002, 232). As Ann Gotman points out, in the daily use we make of the concept of hospitality, plural meanings and significations come together and intertwine (Gotman 1997). The term ‘hospitality’ simultaneously refers to a heteroclite set of practices and processes, bringing together such different phenomena as tourism and migration. Moreover, defining the canons and the criteria of hospitality is crucial to the functioning of contemporary hyper-mobile societies

206 (Elliott and Urry 2010), especially when mobility is curtailed by some form of ‘mobility regime’ (Shamir 2005) as “governments and other agencies seek to regulate spaces and, where necessary, to immobilize flows of people, goods and services” (Turner 2007, 290). Under conditions of constrained mobility, ‘acts of citizenship’ are more subject than elsewhere to violently vacillate between hospitality and hostility. When it comes to the Mediterranean, our understanding of hospitality is not less problematic and ambiguous. Together with “fatalism, familism and clanism, sensuality and spontaneity” (Driessen 2001, 15), hospitality is customarily mobilized as a uniquely attractive ingredient in the Mediterraneanist imagination (Herzfeld 1987, 75). The set of beliefs, representations and stereotypes, both academic and artistic, associated with the idea of hospitality make a decisive contribution to the constitution of the Mediterranean as a distinctive cultural field (Herzfeld 1984, 2005). Like any Orientalist discourse, Mediterraneanism is nurtured with the construction of an Other which is both mythologized and marginalized, idealized as origin and condemned as pre-modern (Giaccaria and Minca 2011). We accept that ‘Mediterranean hospitality’ is key to understanding the nature of hospitality itself and that the Western and European notion of hospitality is largely influenced by its Mediterranean roots. What we contend, here, is the consolatory and picturesque, Mediterraneanist and Orientalist, version of Mediterranean hospitality as a warm, unconditioned acceptance of the foreigner, the alien and the other. Hospitality is not an inherent character of the homo mediterraneus, the product of a millennial history of exchanges and cohabitation, as conventional Braudelism would suggest. Our point is that ‘Mediterranean hospitality’ itself is intrinsically aporetic, ambiguous and conflictual and that, consequently, it can offer some insight into the very aporias, ambiguities and conflicts of the contemporary debate on hospitality. If we accept that the Greek and Roman traditions play a key role in shaping modern accounts of hospitality, we cannot limit ourselves to a superficial, wishful, and romantic – or, in other terms, Mediterraneanist, Orientalist and colonial – account of such roots. In the previous sections we have discussed how hospitality is always trapped in a twofold, aporetic, field of tension between friendship/friendliness and enmity/hostility, and between private and public. This dialectical dispositive makes it possible to shift almost inadvertently from hospitality to inhospitality, and the Mediterranean provides dramatic evidence of this process. Modern hospitality inherited, in fact, this aporetic tension from Greek and Latin antiquity. For instance, private hospitality was to some extent institutionalized in the Greek poleis (city-states), where a proxenos was usually appointed with the specific duty of taking care of the needs of the

207 foreigners visiting the city (Arterbury 2005, 22–23). As the proxenos acted as both a private citizen (only occasionally he got payment for his services) and a public civil servant (he was entitled to act as a mediator between the two cities in political and commercial matters) he was a political figure acting in between spaces of private and public hospitality. More importantly, as Derrida notices (2000a, 43, 45), the ambiguity of the modern notion of hospitality was already clear to the Latin language, as it was expressed in the etymological proximity between hospes (guest) and hostis (enemy). Since the French linguist and semiotician Émile Benveniste wrote the entry ‘Hospitality’ in his seminal Le Vocabulaire des institutions indo- européennes (1969, 71–83), the inner tension between hospes and hostis is one of the main topoi of the literature on hospitality. According to Benveniste, both the Latin hostis and the Greek xenos were “founded on the idea that a man is bounded to another (hostis always involves the notion of reciprocity) by the obligation to compensate a gift or service from which he has benefited” (77). In his understanding, when an antique society became a nation, the relationship between man and man, clan and clan, are severed and, as consequence, hostis got the meaning of ‘enemy’ and xenos that of ‘foreigner.’ A new word emerges in Latin – that is, hospes – in order to signify the changing meaning of hospitality. This genealogy has a twofold importance for the purposes of our investigation. On the one hand, it directly and strictly relates hospitality to community, whereas both notions share the burden of the munus. In Roberto Esposito’s account of community, “[t]hat which everyone fears in the munus, which is both ‘hospitable’ and ‘hostile’, according to the troubling lexical proximity of hospes-hostis, is the violent loss of borders, which awarding identity to him, ensures his subsistence” (2010, 7). On the other hand, it is the ‘birth of the nation’ associated with the rise of the modern state that translates hospitality into hostility and, at the same time, gives rise to the modern notion of hospitality centered on the hostis/hospes aporias. This genealogy of modern hospitality is evident in Kant’s famous statement that “hospitality means the right of a stranger not to be treated with hostility when he arrives on someone else’s territory” (Kant 1989, 105). In Kant’s account, hospitality has a negative definition, as the ‘lack of hostility,’ inspiring Derrida in his famous reflection on hostipitality3 (Derrida 2000b). In particular, Derrida

3 Derrida’s reflection on hospitality has, in fact, a twofold inspiration: while moving beyond Levinas’ legacy, his purpose is to radicalize the Kantian account in order to show the aporetic nature of the very notion of modern hospitality (Dikec 2002).

208 highlights the overwhelming sovereignty of the host who:

affirms the law of hospitality as the law of the household, oikonomia, the law of his household, the law of a place [. . .] the law of identity which de-imits the very place of proffered hospitality and maintains authority over it, maintains the truth of authority, remains the place of this maintaining, which is to say, of truth, thus limiting the gift proffered and making of this limitation, namely, the being-oneself in one’s own home, the condition of the gift and of hospitality. (2000b, 4)

This is not the place where to engage either with the broad literature dealing with the Kantian account of hospitality, cosmopolitanism and citizenship4 or with the complex Derridean topologies of hostipitality. What is at stake, from our standpoint, is that the proximity of hospitality and hostility is central but, nevertheless, it should not be over-emphasized. The relationship between hostis and hospes, in fact, is an aporetic one, as it translates the conflictuality inherent in hospitality into ancient, immemorial times: hostipitality is thus inscribed in the very origins of the Indo-European civilization. The harms are patent: if hospitality and hostility are intertwined in the very Mediterranean foundation of modern hospitality, then the risk is the legitimization of topographic points of view centered on the inside/outside and inclusion/exclusion dichotomies, such as Carl Schmitt’s classic account of the friend/enemy distinction as the very foundation of the political (Schmitt 1996; for a critical analysis of the relationship between Levinas and Schmitt, see Botwinick 2005). If we want to make sense of the relationship between this Mediterranean genealogy of hospitality and the current crisis of hospitality in the Mediterranean, we have to focus on the asymmetry that is inherent to modern hospitality. In fact, the emphasis on the hostis/hospes inner tension entails a subsequent, twofold, emphasis on asymmetry. On the one hand, there is a self-evident asymmetry between the host and the guest, where the latter is impoverished, deprived, displaced, and naked in front of the host acting as a sovereign within his/her territory. This asymmetry, which is the very foundation of Kant’s hospitality, is eminently political, as it refers to a power relationship between the host and the guest. On the other hand, there is an ethical asymmetry: to the extent that the guest is responsible for the host, the former gets a subjected position in the dyadic relationship. This is, for instance, the very essence of Levinas’ account of hospitality,

4 For an account of cosmopolitanism in Mediterranean cities, see Giaccaria 2012.

209 where the (private) ethics of the dyadic relationship cannot easily rub shoulders with the (public) justice of multiple relations (Barnett 2005, 5– 8). These asymmetries do play a role in the translation of hospitality into hostility. In order to become effective the unconditional hospitality of asymmetric responsibility must find a balance with the conditional hospitality of asymmetric sovereignty. When this matching is not working, hospitality is turned into hostility. This is what happens in the melancholic and neurotic dispositive we described in the previous sections. On the one hand, the alleged hollowing out of state sovereignty in neoliberal times creates a sense of loss, the feeling of not “being-oneself in one’s own home,” to use Derrida’s expression (2000b, 4). On the other hand, the devolution of responsibility to the community makes asymmetric responsibility an untenable burden: the melancholic and neurotic citizen feels ‘pushed’ into unconditional hospitality by the weakness of the state, unable to set acceptable norms of conditional hospitality. As a consequence, asymmetric responsibility is rejected by the neurotic citizen and replaced with a claim for asymmetric sovereignty, legitimizing both private and public inhospitality. An excess of unbalanced responsibility causes an excess of unbalanced sovereignty. In order to deal with the aporetic nature of modern hospitality and with the field of tensions that is established by the public/private and hospitality/hostility dialectics, we suggest looking for a critical genealogy of Mediterranean hospitality. Better put, our claim is that we should do a step behind in our tracing of the Mediterranean genealogy of hospitality and focus on the early stages of this archeology. As Benveniste mentions, originally hostis denotated both the host and the guest, and this meaning was maintained in the Gothic Gast5(1969, 71). Additionally, the Greeks used the term xenos (foreigner) to denote the different figures involved in hospitality, both the guest and the host: “[. . .] thus, the ancient Greeks seldom found it necessary to distinguish between the various roles in a hospitality interaction” (Arterbury 2005, 22). Re-establishing a sense of symmetry in the host–guest relationship implies neither a return to an idealized community of reciprocity and munus, nor a fictitious equivalence between host and guest, denying the asymmetry of sovereignty and responsibility. What is at stake is the very possibility of coping with the field of tensions between hospitality and hostility, by internalizing it. In Dikeç’s account:

5 It is worth noting that the overlapping of ‘guest’ and ‘host’ is still present in some Neolatin languages, such as French (hôte) and Italian (ospite).

210 [t]here is a constant process of engagement, negotiation and perhaps con- testation. There is a constant process of shifting roles as hosts and guests. The guest and the host are held in tension. This seems to be an important feature of the notion of hospitality that could be extended to many fields in order to avoid oppressive settlements and closures, evoking, at the same time, the dimension of the political beyond the purely administrative (Dikeç 2002, 237).

Only if the melancholic and neurotic citizen can recognize him/herself as hostis/xenos (as both host and guest), can he/she avoid seeing the hostis (enemy) in the xenos (foreigner).

211 P – Patrimonio/Heritage

Cristina Scarpocchi

Introduction

There can be no doubt that heritage (patrimonio in Italian, patrimoine in French) is one of the key elements of the academic, political and popular discourses affirming an alleged unity of the Mediterranean region (Braudel 1949; Lowenthal 2008). It is well known that the unique concentration of ‘built heritage’ (cities, monuments, architecture, art, archeological relics) has played a fundamental role in the modern and colonial invention of the Mediterranean (Giaccaria and Minca 2011). Antiquities and heritage were one of the main purposes for European travelers touring in the South (Pemble 1987), but also academics and scientists participated in the ‘scientific invention of the Mediterranean’ (Bourguet et al. 1998). Furthermore, ‘natural heritage’ was also central in setting an imagination about unity and identity of the Mediterranean space (Claval 2007a). It is a well known genealogy, linking French geographers Elisée Reclus and Paul Vidal de la Blache to Fernand Braudel (Claval 1988), whose understanding of the Mediterranean genre de vie indissolubly linked culture and environment (Braudel 1972). Third, and finally, for both modern travelers and Braudelian scholars, built and natural heritage was related to ‘immaterial heritage;’ that is, culture. The idea that a homo mediterraneus exists and possesses a specific culture is what Christian Bromberger terms the “anthropological invention of the Mediterranean” (2006, 104) and Michael Herzfeld ‘Mediterraneanism’ (1984, 2005). As a consequence, nowadays interest in Mediterranean heritage, spanning from Greek and Roman relics to the Mediterranean diet, from the Moroccan medinas to popular music, from cosmopolitan port-cities to handicraft, carries the ambiguous and troubled burden of history. This is not to say that there is nothing new in the Unesco Mediterranean Program or in the Euro-Mediterranean cultural cooperation. Yet such practices are in debt with this complex genealogy, still influencing the interpretations of the Mediterranean heritage on behalf of both policy makers and popular audience. Unesco and, above

212 all, the European Union understand Mediterranean ‘shared’ heritage as a powerful tool in order to create consensus in the region about universal values such as human rights, democracy, and tolerance and bridge these values with local and regional identities and peculiarities. Nevertheless, as Isabel Schäfer notices about the cultural pillar of the Barcelona Process “the concept of the Mediterranean in the partnership is constructive and conciliatory, but also vague” (2007, 340). In this chapter, I claim that the translation of the Mediterranean heritage into international discourses, practices and policies is not only ‘conciliatory and vague’ but also ‘ambiguous and aporetic.’ European and international policies are founded on a slippery assumption: that heritage and culture unify the Mediterranean spaces whereas economics and politics have been producing fractures and fault lines (Kayser 1996). This point of view misrecognizes that the very nature of heritage is dissonant, contested and conflictual, and not harmonious, consolatory and conciliatory (Tunbridge and Ashworth 1996). This is even truer in the Mediterranean, where heritage mirrors the tensions and the conflicts, the conquests and the colonizations that connote the Mediterranean history. Moreover, the genealogy of Mediterranean heritage is intrinsically colonial, Orientalist and Mediterraneanist and this inheritance plays a role in the present time: ongoing discourses and practices of Mediterranean patrimonialization still entail and mask discourse and practices of modernization, Europeization and, more recently, neoliberalization. Finally, patrimonialization policies can be severely destructive and disruptive of the ‘Mediterranean culture’ they pretend to protect and invigorate: commodification and gentrification are just two examples of the intertwining of patrimonialization and neoliberal ideology. The chapter is articulated in three sections. The first one focuses on the aporetic nature of (Mediterranean) heritage, highlighting the inner tensions that make heritage a dissonant, conflictual matter, rather than an ancillary tool for heterogeneous ends, from national identity building to Europization, from tourism management to real estate speculation. In particular, I follow two lines of reasoning. On the one hand, discourses and practices of patrimonialization are here interpreted as a tool in order to build a colonial space consistent with the ongoing building of European modernity. On the other hand, heritage is understood in the context of neoliberalism as a shortcut to foster processes of gentrification and exploitation of the urban environment, excluding, evicting and marginalizing local communities. The following two paragraphs engage with a case study of patrimonialization in the Mediterranean, that of , showing how heritage discourses and practices can turn into a policy of exclusion and marginalization. In particular, the second section deals with colonial and early national(istic)

213 patrimonialization, highlighting the discourses and practices that contributed to connote – and censure – the local community as in charge of the squalor of Islamic Cairo conservation. Finally, the third section focuses on ongoing patrimonialization, arguing that neoliberal urban and heritage regeneration (ab)uses earlier colonial topoi in order to exclude the inhabitants and enhance gentrification and museification.

Heritage in-between conflict and accumulation

The protection of the inheritance of ancient civilizations should be interpreted within a more complex social and cultural process that entails the image and the perception that a given society has about itself (Choay 1992). The decision about which monuments and artifacts deserve conservation and admiration always depends on the needs of that society, on the relationship that each place and each time entails with other places and other times. As a consequence, patrimonialization cannot but involve ‘selection’ (Herzfeld 2010, 259). Moreover, heritage is always ‘contemporary,’ as it mirrors the fears, the hopes, and the projects of a present-day group (Graham et al. 2000). Heritage is cultural not in that it embodies a reified, objective, stable culture, but because it is produced by competing alternative cultures, by the (inter)action of a number of actors, each bringing a specific societal project. Heritage is always patrimonialization; that is, heritage in the making. In particular, the present chapter claims that the very notion of heritage is both conflictual and aporetic. In order to make sense of the innate conflictuality of patrimonialization, we can start from Brian Graham’s synthetic definition of what heritage stands for:

[. . .] heritage is that part of the past which we select in the present for contemporary purposes, whether they be economic or cultural (including political and social factors). The worth attributed to these artifacts rests less in their intrinsic merit than in a complex array of contemporary values, demands and even moralities. Thus heritage can be visualized as a resource but simultaneously, several times so. Clearly, it is an economic resource; one exploited everywhere as a primary component of strategies to promote tourism, economic development and rural and urban regeneration. But heritage is also a knowledge, a cultural product and a political resource and thus possesses a crucial socio-political function. Thus heritage is accompanied by a complex and often conflicting array of identifications and potential conflicts, not lEast when heritage places and objects are involved in issues of legitimization of power structures. (2002, 1006).

In this context, heritage is always ‘dissonant,’ as John Tunbridge and Gregory Ashworth argued in their fundamental 1996 book, highlighting

214 the implicit conflictuality embodied in the very notion of heritage. The concept of ‘dissonant heritage’ is central to our argument because of at lEast two motives. First, such dissonance is intrinsic to the very nature of heritage. It is not just an unexpected result of patrimonialization that can be amended by fine-tuning the techniques of patrimonialization. Dissonance is inescapable because patrimonialization as such requires selection and exclusion. A given social, cultural and political group can ‘produce’ heritage only by dispossessing the Other (class, ethnic minority, nation, gender) of his/her/their heritage. Dispossession here is both material (appropriation and control of the patrimonialized space) and symbolic (ban to set alternative processes of patrimonialization). Second, the metaphor of dissonance evokes the presence of different ‘sounds’ of dissonant voices. As a consequence, it reminds us that different actors participate in heritage making and that each of them brings stakes, rationalities, projects, and strategies, which have to be taken into account As such, dissonance brings to the forefront a twofold intrinsic contradiction that makes the very notion of heritage aporetic. On the one hand, despite the fact that it makes explicit reference to historical moments and places, heritage is not history. According to David Lowenthal:

history seeks to convince by truth, and succumbs to falsehood. Heritage exaggerates and omits, candidly invents and frankly forgets, and thrives on ignorance and error. [. . .] Heritage uses historical traces and tells historical tales. But these tales and traces are stitched into fables closed to critical scrutiny (Lowenthal 1998, 7).

Consequently, Lowenthal argues that heritage is always fabricated. This brings us to consider the second aporias of heritage, the inner tension between artifice and authenticity. As it is fabricated, heritage is artificial, yet its powerful capability of building identity is founded on a mythological account of authenticity. In her recent book, Elisabeth Outka calls this intermingling of artificiality and authenticity ‘the commodified authentic’: “the term does not imply a search for authenticity per se but rather a search for a sustained contradiction that might allow consumers to be at once connected to a range of values roughly aligned with authenticity and yet also to be fully modern”. (2009, 4). The ‘commodified authentic’ is not just a development and refinement of marketing technique and capitalism development, unceasingly searching for new commodities. Commodification, according to Outka, is inscribed in the ‘allure’ of these objects and places: “their noncommercial aura made them appealing; their underlying commercial availability promised to make the simulation

215 better than the original, for these new hybrids were accessible, controllable, and – in their ability to unite seemingly antithetical desires – tantalizingly modern.” (2009, 4). As a consequence, the notion of heritage is intrinsically modern and, as such, it can offer some useful insights into modernity itself. More specifically, in order to understand the conflictual and aporetic nature of (Mediterranean) heritage, we have to focus on the relationship between its colonial and Orientalist invention and the nationalistic discourses emerging from the 19th century onward. It is well known that the modern ‘invention of the Mediterranean’ has been intrinsically aporetic (Giaccaria and Minca 2011). On the one hand, the Mediterranean was represented as the cradle of modern and European civilization and it was thus ancillary to the making of a ‘imagined community’ (Anderson 1983). On the other hand, the colonial and Mediterraneanist narratives blamed the local communities as corrupted, vicious, lazy, dishonest and hence unworthy of the inheritance of Classic Mediterranean (Saïd 2005). Bhabha’s distinction between the pedagogical and the performative in the making of nationhood may be useful in order to make sense of this apparent aporias (see also Mitchell 2002, 182-183). According to Bhabha,

The pedagogical founds its narrative authority in a tradition of the people, described by Poulantzas as a moment of becoming designated by itself, encapsulated in a succession of historical moments that represents an eternity produced by self-generation. The performative intervenes in the sovereignty of the nation’s self-generation by casting a shadow between the people as ‘image’ and its signification as a differentiating sign of Self, distinct from the Other of the Outside (Bhabha 1994, 147-148).

My claim is that Mediterranean patrimonialization is both pedagogical and performative. It is pedagogical as it exposes through material and immaterial artifacts one historical moment in the making of the European modern civilization. At the same time, it is performative as it constructs Identity and Otherness through a multiplicity of discourses and practices which set borders and boundaries between ‘we’ and ‘them.’ It is hence the combination of pedagogy and performativity that legitimizes the material dispossession, appropriation, and relocation of the ‘built heritage’ in the European museums and private collections: Greek inferiority compared to the British people ‘provided them the justification for the spoiling of their cultural heritage’ (Gunning 2009, 2). It is worth noticing that the rise of nationalism in the Mediterranean region in the 19th and 20th centuries implied a translation of the pedagogical and performative nature of heritage, rather than a dismissal. As Timothy Mitchel notices:

216 One of the odd things about the arrival of the era of the modern nation-state was that, for a state to prove that it was modern, it helped if it could also prove that it was ancient. A nation that wanted to show that it was up-to- date and deserved a place among the company of modern states needed, among other things, to produce a past. This past was not just a piece of symbolic equipment, like a flag or an anthem, with which to organize political allegiance and demonstrate a distinct identity. As many recent studies of nationalism point out, deciding on a common past was critical to the process of making a particular mixture of people into a coherent nation. [. . .] The projection into the past may help make the present seem natural, disguising some of the arbitrariness, injustice, and coercion on which it depends (Mitchell 2002, 179).

Once again, the pedagogical goes hand in hand with the performative. At the same time as material – and afterward also immaterial – heritage is reified, isolated, ‘museified,’ and restored, in order to offer a pedagogical sample of previous moments of a civilization, it is also performed through discourses and practices of blame, typecasting, exclusion, and eviction. “To perform the nation, groups must be included by first declaring them excluded for their lack of civilization, villages destroyed in order to preserve them, pasts declared lost so that they may be recovered” (Mitchell 2002, 191). This process often takes place by translating colonial stereotypes into the new national(istic) context: the blame and the shame is not any more on the national people, but on subgroups (the poor, the marginal, the peasant) that are excluded, segregated, and eventually evicted as inapt and inept to take care of the heritage they leave nearby. As Mitchell’s narration about the project of destroying the old village of Gurna in the South of Egypt and to resettle the inhabitants in New Gurna (2002, 184-205) clearly shows, such discourses and practices mark continuity not only between the colonial and the nationalistic Mediterranean, but also with nowadays neoliberal rhetoric and policies. The relationship between heritage, urban regeneration and neoliberalism is well established in the academic literature (see for instance the special issue of Antipode in July 2002; see also, among others, Leitner et al. 2007). The continuity between colonial, nationalistic and neoliberal governmentality is not surprising, as neoliberal restructuring projects “have been produced within national, regional, and local contexts defined by the legacies of inherited institutional frameworks, policy regimes, regulatory practices, and political struggles” (Brenner and Theodore 2002b, 351). In the ongoing reterritorialization of capitalism, cities are a fundamental locus of the redefinition and renegotiation of social and economic regulation, in particular through urban regeneration and real estate renovation (Lovering 2007). In particular, urban policies often involve

217 gentrification (Smith 2002) and, in turn, gentrification is related and legitimized by heritage preservation policies (Herzfeld 2010). As far as the Mediterranean is concerned, neoliberal discourses and practices concerning heritage, gentrification and urban regeneration establish a twofold connection to the colonial imagination that we have highlighted in the previous pages. On the one hand, neoliberal discourses on heritage rely on a representation of the inhabitants as backward, illiterate, unaware and hence unable to ‘take care’ of the heritage they live nearby, to protect it and to preserve it as a ‘universal good’ belonging not to them but to humanity. As a consequence, the deterioration of built and natural heritage is ascribed to over-population, informality and unlawfulness of the popular settlements, hence legitimating the intertwining policies of patrimonialization, gentrification, dispossession and eviction (see Insediamento). In some occasions, as Mitchell stresses about the Gurna/New Gurna case, the local community is depicted as a group of parasites, tomb robbers, and deviants, steeling antiquities in order to make a living (2002, 208-209) and harassing tourists (204). Such stereotypes, as we have seen, stem directly from the colonial and Mediterraneanist understanding of the Mediterranean region. At the same time, in the neoliberal patrimonialization of the Mediterranean heritage, we also find at work the second horn of Mediterraneanism, that is the elicitation of an idealized past, a golden age of Mediterranean conviviality and finesse that the ‘real inheritors’ of this glorious past can restore. Frequent travelers, new cosmopolitans, local elites, creative workers, international organization, and real estate developers are the progenies that are entitled to take possession of the heritage through dispossession and eviction of the local communities and urban regeneration policies (see Città). As Outka (2009, 8-11) notices that nostalgia, originality and aesthetic refinement are key components of the ‘commodified authenticity’ that are the very foundations of neoliberal urban patrimonialization. In a recent book on the urban regeneration of Istanbul historical neighborhoods, Amy Mills uncovers the (ab)use of the imperial and colonial cosmopolitan inheritance in order to promote and legitimize gentrification. Branding the Mediterranean cosmopolitan cities in order to attract international investors is nowadays a common practice across all the Mediterranean shores, from Trieste (Colombino 2009) to Alexandria (Della Dora 2006), from Marseille (Ingram 2009) to Damascus (Jacobs 2010). It is odd – and macabre – that neoliberal urban patrimonialization often is defined with reference to vanquished ethnical communities (Jews, Greeks, Armenians, Italians) that have been targeted by violent ethnic cleansing and that such evicted and dispossessed memories are now ancillary to new evictions and dispossessions (Giaccaria 2012). In the two following paragraphs, I am

218 going to address these issues with reference to the patrimonialization of Islamic Cairo, aiming to explicit the continuity between colonial, nationalistic and neoliberal discourse and practices on heritage.

Colonial patrimonialization in Cairo

Early patrimonialization of Islamic antiquities in Egypt clearly shows some of the features of the dialectics between pedagogical and performative fabrications of heritage. An ‘awareness’ of heritage, in fact, was developed quite early, from the first decades of the 19th century onwards, at the same time as similar developments in Europe. As is traditionally the case for Arab countries, Egyptian interest in heritage, especially for those aspects specifically connected with the forms of safeguard, can be traced, in the first instance, to allocentric, and in particular to French, cultural influence.1 The examination of the various laws and provisions and the history of the institutions created to manage and safeguard the heritage can be read from a double viewpoint. On the one hand, they are important tools to understand the jurisdictions of, and the dynamics and the conflicts that arose amid, the various institutional players involved; on the other, they represent the progressive implementation of different conceptions of the notion of heritage elaborated in the West and adapted to the Egyptian context. Such implementation was not, however, untouched by endogenous considerations, following a process that Mercedes Volait has defined as “selective appropriation of the heritage question, founded on a compromise between external demands and internal preoccupations” (1999, 38). The French influence on the promulgation of the 1835 decree can be seen in the considerable role played by the famous scholar Auguste Mariette (David 1994), on whose initiative both the permanent Egyptian Museum and the Service des Antiquités were founded. The latter was the first permanent body created to protect what was labeled the ‘national historic heritage,’ and until 1929 was attached to the Ministry for Public Works, and then it became part of the Ministry for Education, before

1 Before the 1835 law, interest in heritage had exclusively concerned Egyptian antiquities and it caused a number of Orientalistic journeys in the search for ‘Oriental memorabilia’ to be exhibited in travelers’ home-countries, where little or no attention had been paid to Islamic heritage, at lEast until Napoleon’s expedition (1798-1801), which is considered as the moment when Egypt opened its boundaries to modernity and Western influence (Marsot 1999).

219 becoming part of the Ministry for Culture. Thanks to the growing autonomy of this body, and to Mariette’s indefatigable efforts, interest in artistic, architectural and monumental works increased to the point where it also embraced Coptic and Arab antiquities.2 The resulting legislation consisted of an order from the viceroy issued in 1871, which formally prohibited the export of Arab antiquities, whereas protection of Coptic antiquities was not made official until 1918. The safeguard of ‘Islamic antiquities’ was instituted on 18 December 1881, a few months after the promulgation of the decree protecting Arab antiquities (12 March 1881), with the Comité pour la conservation des monuments de l’art arabe, which fell under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of the Awqaf (religious property and affairs) until 1936 when it was attached to the Ministry for Education until 1953, before finally being absorbed by the Ministry for Culture. The experience of the Comité, together with what happened following Nasser’s revolution, is particularly enlightening in our effort to understand how the roots of the present-day conflicts are to be found in the cultural, social and political genesis of the patrimonialization process. The traditionally accredited first interpretation of the patrimonialization process’s inherently conflictual nature is founded on the observation that the safeguard of ‘Cairo’s Islamic heritage’ has always been the site for a harsh clash between Western imperialism and Egyptian nationalism (Reid 1992). Such tension can be understood if we bear in mind that sensitivity towards the cultural heritage in Egypt was forged in Europe, as we mentioned earlier. Interest in the Islamic heritage became more substantial in the 18th and 19th centuries, when Romanticism rekindled the West’s interest in Oriental cultures (Said 1978). It was against this background that the Comité was formed, in the wake of fears of French and British archaeologists and scholars of Islam confronted with the modernizing interventions of Khedivé Isma’il and ‘Ali Mubarak (dubbed ‘Egypt’s Hausmann’). The Comité’s activity was thus heavily influenced from the start by foreign scholars, even though such influence was assimilated and re- elaborated and was not, on the whole, extraneous to the culture of the time. The European prevalence was not so much a question of more foreign members who were, in point of fact, in a minority compared to their Egyptian colleagues, but rather of the more thorough scientific expertise that the Europeans were developing. The absence of local

2 Mariette’s studies about numismatic contributed to focus scholars’ attention on Arab heritage, as he considered the Islamic and Coptic numismatic and natural continuation of Egyptology.

220 experts and the commonly held European prejudice that Arabs were as skillful in crafting stone as they were uninterested in protecting and preserving it, weighed heavily in the balance of power between Europe and Egypt, and even formed the basis for a cultural justification of imperialism. Pauty’s opening remarks in his report unequivocally reported the extreme prejudice Western scholars felt for the ’ own attitude towards their local heritage. He affirmed that:

Custom, centuries-old and difficult to oppose, claims that the Orientals have but contempt and indifference for what their forefathers have built, save for those mosques which are particularly venerated, or still used for worship (Pauty 1931, 135).

This assertion also helps us understand another significant factor concerning the perception of heritage as something strongly linked to a monument’s use, essentially religious, rather than to its aesthetic or artistic value, an element which, as we shall see, continues to be of considerable importance in understanding conflicts between stakeholders. If we examine the role heritage has played in the official discourses of the various elites involved in the formation of national identity, we cannot fail to observe that there is no unequivocal and consistent stance (Reid 1997). From the foundation of the National Party (Al-Hizb al- Watani) in 1890 to the decline of the nationalist movement in the 1930s, inspiration for the claims of the independence movement was drawn chiefly from ‘Pharaonism;’ namely, from the conceptualization and symbolic use of Egypt’s glorious past as spur and inspiration for nationalist activity (Reid 2002). Above all, the 1919 revolution – which was in fact triggered by the sacrilegious profanation of the al-Azhar mosque by British troops pursuing a group of patriots – found in the Egyptian past, rather than in Islamic tradition, the bond that united the demands of Muslims and Copts, of workers and bourgeois, of city and country-dwellers. The situation changed radically in the wake of the 1952 military revolution which deposed King Faruk and in the space of two years saw the complete withdrawal of British troops from Egypt. Efforts to form a strong national identity translated, among other results, in encouragement to set up local bodies specializing in archaeology (Reid 1985; Hobsbawm and Ranger 1989; Khol and Fawcett 1995). Foreign experts were quickly substituted by local professionals who were not, however, sufficiently skilled to manage such a vast and diversified range

221 of antiquities, due to the absence of an established tradition of scholarship (Bothmer 1981). In particular, in 1953, Nasser’s centralization drive embraced heritage management and yielded a law3 which decreed that the Service des Antiquités, the Comité, the Egyptian Museum, the Coptic Museum, and the Museum of were to be united under the direction of the Ministry for Education. That situation lasted until 1958, when the Ministry of Culture took over management, which continues to be the case today. Despite the nationalization of heritage preservation, Islamic heritage has been quite marginal in the making of Egyptian nationalistic imagination. It was only during the 1969 millennium celebrations for Fatimid Cairo, two years after the 1967 military defeat, that Nasser justified the celebration at such a trying time for the Egyptian people, claiming that:

peoples and nations need to evoke their history and prestigious annals, which give them a feeling of security, [but] if they desire to prolong their history [. . .], how can they reconcile the authenticity that is the past with the renewal that is the future [. . .] and embrace the horizons of technology without sacrificing their glorious heritage? (Nasser, quoted in El Kadi 1997, 209).

While the Egyptian president may have directed his energies mainly at the modernization of the country, the emphasis placed on the millennium celebrations brought the old city’s rich heritage to the attention of Egypt’s cultural elite, a heritage that, until then, had been assimilated to the seediest parts of Cairo. The interest was further demonstrated in a series of publications on the architecture of Islamic monuments written by eminent scholars such as Creswell (1969), Abd el Rahman Zaki, and Janet Abu-Lughod, and in the foundation in 1973 of the Egyptian Society of Friends of Antiquities, on the initiative of Laila Ibrahim,4 professor at the American University in Cairo, and Merit Boutros . Although President Sadat’s assassination brought an end to the society’s activity, the question of the extent of the decay in Islamic quarters had been brought to the attention of the international community,5 with Jihan Sadat’s call to UNESCO to add Islamic Cairo to

3 Law n. 529 of 5 November 1953 on ‘Management of antiquities’. 4 On the importance of this scholar, see Behrens-Abouseif (2000). 5 In 1978, a few months before the official recognition by Unesco, The Goethe Institut in Cairo organized an international workshop on Islamic Cairo (Meinecke 1978).

222 the World Heritage List in 1979 (Unesco 1979), which led to the United Nations (UN) body organizing a reconnaissance mission with the goal of drawing up a plan for the area then still known as ‘Old City of Cairo’ rather than ‘Islamic Cairo.’ At the same time the Egyptian government gave the Arab Bureau for Design and Engineering Consultation (Arab Bureau) the brief to come up with an alternative to the UNESCO project. Unlike the UNESCO study, the Arab Bureau’s project called for massive redefinition of the economic and social identity of Islamic Cairo. According to the plan, the resident population was to be substituted by a ‘cast of supporting characters’ who would wear only traditional clothing and would dedicate themselves to appearing in folklore events for the benefit of tourists. Once again, like in the Gurna/New Gurna case described by Mitchell, colonial ‘blaming the poor’ is taken on in official discourses and practices of the post-colonial national(istic) State.

Neoliberalism at work: the patrimonialization of Islamic Cairo

Following the inscription in the Unesco World Heritage List, initiatives for the rehabilitation of Islamic Cairo have multiplied over the last 30 years. What is more important here is that the bodies and organization in charge of Islamic heritage in Cairo have multiplied as well: ministries (Ministry of Culture; Ministry of Awqaf; the General Organization for Physical Planning [GOPP]; Ministry of Tourism), technical bodies (such as the Supreme Council for Antiquities), local government (Cairo Governorate), international organization (Unesco, UNDP), non- governmental organizations (NGOs), Western diplomatic missions and, finally, private foundations (such as the Aga Khan Trust for Culture [AKTC]). Moreover, two further bodies have been established: the Executive Agency for the Renovation and Development of Fatimid Cairo (EARDFC) in 1990, and the Permanent Committee for the Preservation of Cairo Monuments in 1994. This is not the place to address in detail the variety and complexity of purpose, stakes, rationalities and conflicts produced by such multiplication of actors (Scarpocchi 2012). Here, I would like to focus on two main conflicts that link neoliberal heritage preservation and urban regeneration to colonial and nationalistic patrimonialization. The first is the resumption of colonial stereotypes presenting the local community as mainly responsible for heritage deterioration, hence legitimizing the eviction and the resettlement of the inhabitants. The second issue this paragraph addresses is the conflict between the Ministry of Culture and the Ministry of Awqaf.

223 Blaming the poor

Whereas in the initial stages of tracing and addressing the reasons for the rapid decay that affected the heritage from the 1950s onwards, the accent was placed on a series of more or less justifiable concurrent causes. From the 1990s onwards there was an increase in open hostility towards the residents which led to the clash of two opposing factions following a paradigm that is well-established in developing countries (Navez-Bouchanine 1997). As is the case in historic town centers of other Arab countries, all of these elements continue to fuel modernizing discourses which aim to decongest, reclaim, transfer – that is, destroy – entire city blocks (Troin 1997). It is no coincidence that one of the methods used in an attempt to protect Cairo’s Islamic heritage was the physical isolation of the monuments from the nearby urban fabric. This involved putting fences and gates around the more important buildings. It is interesting to note that, in the case of Cairo, these initiatives were justified on the grounds of the need to protect the monuments from possible attacks, as well as ensuring they would not be put to ‘improper’ use by the residents. The causes of conflict between institutions and inhabitants can be found in three different phenomena: the nature of Cairo’s property market; the commercial and business activities located in the old quarters; and the forms of symbolic and collective use of the heritage in the surrounding areas. It should be noted that the majority of owners do not live in the buildings, which are rented under restricted, low-rent contracts. In spite of low rents and inconsequential revenues, the owners, not the tenants, must shoulder the burden of maintenance. The area has also been subject to many cases of squatting, which is estimated to involve up to 30,000 people, or 10 percent of residents (UNDP 1997), who have taken possession of vacant buildings, or ruined properties, or have built on abandoned lots (Blanchi and Ilbert 1981).6 Neglect on the part of owners and occupiers has given the authorities, in different circumstances, the opportunity to justify the area’s decay, laying the blame on the inhabitants’ neglect and ignorance, given that urban sprawl no longer provides a plausible excuse. The relationship between rehabilitation projects and the commercial activities traditionally established in the area constitutes a site of even greater conflict in that the process usually leads to the forced relocation of all non-tourism activities, such as workshops preparing aluminum,

6 At the moment there are less than 10 historical classified buildings which are occupied by squatters.

224 carpenters, and various other workshops, to areas outside Islamic Cairo. The actions taken against polluting firms or activities are fragmentary and contradictory. A telling example is the project which the governorate began in 1989 that called for the relocation of all metal workshops in the city center, and by inclusion in the historic center, to Medina el-Hérafiyne (the City of Artisans), near the international airport on the far outskirts of Cairo. The perception of the local community as an obstacle takes tangible form not only in the stigmatization of businesses judged ‘non- sustainable,’ but also in the telling ways current rehabilitation projects aim to alter radically the locals’ way of life. The territory is also characterized by its use for religious tourism. Large groups of pilgrims, for the most part from other Egyptian towns or from Cairo itself, visit mausoleums, the tombs of saints or mosques. During the major religious celebrations, such as the mûlid, many historic, religious and civic buildings are used for the hospitality of the pilgrims, who spend a number of days there (Madœf 1997). This is a further burden on the historic buildings and, in some cases, has even led to fires or damage to the monuments, incidents that have become increasingly common in recent years. Here the accusation goes beyond the usual condemnation of the way of life in the old quarters; some have gone as far as suggesting arson, deliberately carried out by inhabitants who see the restoration work as a threat to their right to live in Islamic Cairo. The institutional stakeholders are left with two incompatible solutions. On the one hand, there is the option of a total relocation not only of the businesses and other activities, but also of the resident population, an option that has frequently been proposed and pursued in a number of projects. Such an option would expose the old quarters to the risk of irreversibly losing their social and economic identity. On the other hand, there is the option of involving the local population in development projects for the area, a solution UNESCO and UNDP have warmly proposed in a number of documents and which is being pursued, for example, in the AKTC project at Darb al-Ahmar. This option would seek a compromise between the rationale underpinning the safeguard of the environment and the heritage, and that supporting the effective inhabitants’ use of the territory.

The nationalistic inheritance

While in the majority of institutional clashes, the cause can be ascribed to the Ministry of Culture’s efforts to obtain an exclusive hold over the management of Cairo’s Islamic architectural heritage and the associated rehabilitation and safeguard projects, the friction between the Ministry of the Awqaf would seem to arise from a radical difference in perspective

225 and rationale which has often placed the Ministry for Religious Affairs at the heart of disputes on the rehabilitation of Historic Cairo. The Ministry of the Awqaf is peculiar to Arab countries, and the Egyptian ministry is a particular example. The Waqf (the plural form is Awqaf) is typical of Islam and usually takes the form of a building or property bequeathed to a mosque or to an administrator with the provision that it may not be ceded or sold and that the revenues it generates be used for charitable work. It goes without saying that in the Western and Christian worlds there have been and continue to be organizations charged with managing the ‘property of the poor,’ but the Egyptian body has two very distinctive features. In the first instance the institution was transformed into a public body in Nasser’s nationalization programme and, second, the ministry owns about 90 percent of the monuments located in the area under discussion. To understand the Ministry of the Awqaf’s role in the patrimonialization process and the fact that its jurisdiction often represents a hindrance, we need to bear in mind that heritage seems to play a secondary role in the formation of religious identity. It follows that the ministry believes its priority should be the allocation of funds to the building of new mosques in recently created urban areas which represent the real battleground for the clash between the official religious authorities and groups tied to the fundamentalist fringe in their fight to influence the more vulnerable sections of the population. Among the ministry’s formal functions is the duty to spread the message of Islam in accordance with the government’s imprint, with the aim of checking the spread of fundamentalism, halting the foundation of ‘spontaneous’ mosques whose preachers fall outside the authorities’ control. Due to the subaltern position occupied by the Islamic heritage in religious policy, the ministry’s attitude is shaped by how its property is used, rather than by the property’s historical or artistic value or importance in forming identity, at lEast as it is typically understood by the Ministry of Culture in its approach to patrimonialization. Furthermore, to mitigate accusations of property speculation, the Ministry of the Awqaf has frequently expressed its readiness to sell its property at less than market prices, if the buyers are local NGOs and the property is used for the benefit of the community. Until the creation of the SCA, this policy of parcelling out lots and renting properties was tacitly accepted, another reason being that the public funds allocated for the safeguard of the Islamic heritage were simply insufficient to guarantee their maintenance. Legislation does not provide any rigid indications but does permit room for maneuver, allowing the Ministry for Religious Affairs to rent parts of properties and giving the SCA the supervisory role of preventing abuse, with the right of veto, depending on the monuments’ physical condition. To some extent the tension

226 between the Ministry of Awqaf and the Ministry of Culture embodies a deeper tension between traditional ‘use value’ of Cairo Islamic heritage and neoliberal ‘economic value.’

227 Q – Qualità della vita/Quality of life

Davide Colombo1, Monica Morazzoni

Methodological introduction

The term ‘quality of life’ has connotations of strong skills and is both highly evocative and ambiguous, as are the methods and tools for analysis, the thematic areas in which the concept is defined, the system variables that are chosen, and the boundaries that are circumscribed. Problems are amplified when we try to define ‘quality of life’ within different cultures and contexts. The multiplicity of needs, for example, manifests itself differently in different eras and contexts, and in turn requires a reconstruction of the concept of ‘quality of life’ and of ‘welfare’, considering both the context and the relevant time. There are also several areas in which the concept of ‘quality of life’ can be theoretically explored: “some play the theme from an environmentalist/ecologist perspective, who favors the aspects of social nature, and who reflects within an economic framework” (Nuvolati 1998, 7-18). Traditionally the concept of ‘quality of life’ is defined as the combination of material and immaterial resources, the objective and subjective aspects, which characterize the human condition (Allardt 1976, 1981). Over time, however, this concept has undergone significant shifts: from the presence and the distribution of the resources to the access and use of goods and services. This new way of interpreting the concept of ‘quality of life’ has promoted, in turn, changes in the formulation of public policies, its goals and objectives, in order to improve individual and collective life (Nussbaum and Sen 1993). This perspective emphasizes, therefore, the relationship between the quality of life and the capabilities of the subjects. Sen (1985) develops diverse conceptual categories that have led to a new definition of quality of life.

1 Monica Morazzoni has authored paragraphs 2, 3, 4 and 5, while Davide Colombo 6 and 7.

228 These are, in summary: having (resources: goods, services, what you have), functioning (not just what you have, but what you can do on the concept - freedom), capabilities (ability, resources, the ability to choose between alternatives or sets of functioning). The concept of capabilities, while acknowledging the existence of objective conditions that characterize the lives of the subjects (statistical social conditions, economic, institutional, relational), insists on the possibility of action and expression of individuals, on the capacity they have, or do not have, to access available resources and to transform them. From the idea of ‘well-being’ comes the distribution of resources and the different actors who live in a geographical area; the definition of the concept requires the identification of instruments and the conditions that facilitate the use of resources, or, conversely, make the access and the use of the resources problematic. In exploring well-being, we must not only look at what we have, or if we are satisfied, but what we are enabled to do (opportunities, options). The concept of ‘quality of life’ is as multidimensional as traditional economic parameters and, while related to the concept of development (Segre and Dansero 1996), it is necessary to consider other parameters in its definition, thereby shifting the objective from the economic, political aspects of life and focusing also on the development of a sustainable society that makes ‘quality of life’ its fixed point of reference. It should also be considered that different aspects of personal and social life are not objective but are perceived individually, and that is why the same concept of quality of life can be translated and linked with the concept of ‘happiness’.

Quality of life is essentially welfare of the people of a certain territory: with this we do not talk just about its economic condition, but also parameters related to personal security, freedom and human expression possibilities in the present, and for the future generations. Therefore the concept of quality of life is very close to the concept of happiness and sustainable human development, which are so difficult to define (Corna Pellegrini 2010).

In this paper, in an attempt to examine the ‘quality of life’ within the Mediterranean basin (without claiming to have exhausted the subject), a range of skills has been analyzed which are essential for the life of a person. These include conducting a long and healthy life, being educated, having access to the resources needed for a decent standard of living, and taking part in community life. To this end, we have used indicators which are important for the attainment of these skills and we provide objective criteria for assessing various aspects of progress in human development. Starting from the idea that economic growth is only a part of development (or welfare), the quality of life needs to be ‘measured’ more on human welfare than on income (see the GDP in the

229 Mediterranean context: development and reality). For this purpose it is useful, for example, to examine the Human Development Index adjusted for inequality (HDI-I) and integrated with the Gender Inequality Index (GII) and the Multidimensional Poverty Index (MPI). In particular, the Index of Gender Inequality measurement can reflect differences in reproductive health, empowerment, and participation in the workforce. The values range from 0 (perfect equality) to 1 (total inequality). Relative to the measurement of human development that takes into account the degree of inequality, in terms of perfect equality the HDI and HDI-I are the same. The lower the HDI adjusted for inequality, the greater the inequality. Countries with low human development tend to have increased inequality and, consequently, greater losses in human development. Therefore, the HDI adjusted for inequality shows that in many countries, despite the economic development achieved overall, too many people fail to reach an adequate standard of living and social welfare. Finally, the Multidimensional Poverty Index (MPI) incorporates the measurement of poverty based on income; it identifies the hardships along the same dimensions as HDI, such as health, education, and living standards, and shows the number of people who are poor and the hardships they face at the household level. The MPI uses 10 indicators, and a household is counted as poor if it suffers a loss in more than three of these areas. Maintaining good health, a decent job and income, good relationships, ensuring a future for children, being happy, being able to feel safe are all some of the additional and useful parameters to measure our well-being – parameters that replace (or supplement) the old and limited GDP. The Mediterranean does not represent a homogenous reality in terms of economic growth levels, and technological and infrastructural planning; nor is there homogeneity in the social context: in political freedom, in education, in health care, in access to essential resources (such as drinking water), in the level of emancipation of women and, in general, in the opportunities for human development. These different levels of growth and development, which determine the quality of our lives, are particularly visible when comparing the Mediterranean countries of the North-Western shore (including Portugal) and the South-Eastern ones (including Jordan).

A long and healthy life

This aspect of human development can be analyzed through three main indicators: life expectancy, the rate of infant mortality, and the health services. From the analysis of these statistics the gap among the Mediterranean countries is clear. In fact, countries in the Latin arc have

230 the best performance, with life expectancy at birth averaged at 80.5 years, infant mortality in the first year of life with an average of 3.6 ‰, and an average percentage of elderly population at 23.3%. In those countries of the Adriatic basin and the Balkan-Anatolian bridge there is already a slight difference with the Latin arc (the average values are 76 years, 8.3 ‰, 19.2% and 77 years, 8.9 ‰, 16.2%, respectively, for the three indicators considered), but here there is a less homogeneous distribution among states, for example between Slovenia and Albania, and between neighbors Turkey and Greece. There is a strong contrast in values of the other Mediterranean areas: North Africa (72.6 years, 28.8 ‰, 8.5%), the Libyan-Egyptian flexion (72.5 years, 17.5 ‰, 6.7%), the Middle East façade (75 years, 11.6 ‰, 9.4%). In particular, the infant mortality rate remains high, since “many babies are affected by environmental conditions: the physical environment is that of economic and social development. The differences are profound, especially among the most advanced and backward peoples” (Dagradi 1995). In fact, the countries of the Middle East and African shore have a very high infant mortality rate, ranging from 21.3 ‰ to 32.3 ‰ for Palestine and Morocco, to 36.5% for Algeria. Rates which, although they have seen a decline in recent decades, are still high compared to those of the countries of Europe (along with Israel), in which the infant mortality rate is low, varying from 2.9 to 5.5 ‰ in the Latin arc, Greece and Cyprus, and slightly higher in the Adriatic basin (with the exception of Slovenia and Croatia), where variations from 6.3 to 12.7 ‰ are observed. Another factor in the discrepancy, however, always strongly linked to the condition of public health, is that of childbirth. The so-called maternal mortality ratio, the ratio of death for women in childbirth per 100,000 births, is, no doubt, indicative of a country’s human development. Even in this ‘ranking’ there is quite dichotomous behavior among the countries of the Northern and Southern shores of the Mediterranean. In fact, with few exceptions, such as Albania, where there is a high rate of maternal mortality (92 deaths per 100,000 births), in the countries of the North the value is low; similarly, but with the opposite behavior on average, is the rate in the Middle East and in the Anatolian region, where the ‘European’ value of Israel and Cyprus (with values of 4 and 10, respectively) contrast with Lebanon (150) and Syria (130). In the Southern states, maternal mortality is high in Libya (97), Tunisia (100), and Egypt (130) and reaches alarming values in Algeria (180) and Morocco (240). Another significant indicator of quality of life, and testament to the political investment in health, is the number of physicians/population and the access to health services (Table 1). With regard to the relationship of physicians/population, it is once again quite significant

231 over the Latin arc, where there is an equal distribution between the countries (which are positioned in the range between 3.3 and 3.6 doctors per thousand inhabitants). In the countries of the Adriatic basin, we observe between 2 and 2.6 doctors/1.000 inhab.., with the exception of Bosnia-Herzegovina (1.4) and Albania (1.2). The imbalance becomes marked, however, in the Balkan-Anatolian bridge, where there is a large number of doctors per thousand population in Greece (equal to 5.3, the highest number in the Mediterranean) a good presence in Cyprus (2.7) and a much lower number in Turkey (1.4). The discrepancy becomes more significant along the Southern and South-East shore, where the good ratios of Israel (3.6) and Lebanon (3.2) contrast with the data of Syria (0.5 doctors, by far the loWest figure in the Mediterranean area), Morocco (0.6), Libya (1.2), Algeria (1.2), and Tunisia (1.3). More reassuring are the data on access to health services, which is widespread, with the exception of Morocco, where health services are available to only 60% of the population. In contrast, however, the value of public expenditure for the provision of health services (preventive and curative), family planning for activities in nutrition and first aid for health, compared as a percentage of GDP, is greater than the costs of education and military in all the Latin countries of the arc and the basin of the Adriatic-Balkan Anatolian bridge (with the exception of Albania and Cyprus, where the highest percentage of spending is on education), while decreasing considerably in the rest of the Mediterranean. In all countries of the Southern shores and of the Middle East, public expenditure on health is lower than on education (this happens in all countries of the Maghreb and in the Libyan-Egyptian front) or defense (Lebanon, Israel, Jordan) (Table 1).

232

- - - - Poverty Line** Poverty

- 14.0 - 12.8 - 23.6

(%)* Index 1 2 2$/day Human Human Poverty Poverty

1 2.9 2.0 4.0 - 7.8 4.0 2.0 1 2.9 - 8.2 8.3 2.1 9 3.4 Expenditure % GDP GDP % Expenditure 4.4 6.1 1.2 - 12.4 - 1.2 29.8 4.4 6.1 - 1.8 4.3 6.2 12.5 - 3.5 4.4 5.8 - - - 2.2 7.1 3.0 Education Health Military

89 3.4 4.7 2.0 3.2 - 5.3 3.2 2.0 4.7 89 3.4 31.1 15.6 3.4 1.7 69 5.7 17.5 1.3 1.6 85 7.2 3.0 3.6 95 4.3 100 5.3 7.1 2.0 - - - - 2.0 100 5.3 7.1

Health

(%) Access Water source Latin Arc Adriatic Basin Region of the Maghreb Anatolian – Balkan Bridge 1,4 99 95 - 5.6 1.4 2.8 - < 2 < - 2.8 1.4 5.6 - 95 1,4 99 Doctors (per 1000 people) (per (%)

Illiteracy rate Country/ Territory Croatia 1.3 2,7 99 99 4.5 6.6 1.8 1.9 - < 2 - 2 11.0 - < < - - - - 2.3 1.9 0.6 - 8.7 1.8 1.6 5.8 5.6 6.6 5.6 5.1 2 100 - 5.2 - 4.5 100 < 3. - 100 100 99 99 100 100 3.1 2. 100 98 3,5 3,5 2.3 98 3,4 3,6 99 5.4 Portugal 99 2.4 Spain 3,3 100 90 6.1 - France 1.2 Italy 97 2,4 7.6 Malta 4.5 2,7 100 0.3 Slovenia 92 1.3 Croatia 1,2 99 Bosnia and Herzegovina 100 2.4 Serbia-Montenegro 99 1.0 Albania 2 5,3 Macedonia FYR 81 1,4 2.4 94 2,7 83 3.0 Greece Turkey 11.3 0,6 Cyprus 2.2 1,3 1,2 3.0 43.6 Morocco 22.4 Tunisia 27.4 Algeria 2,6 100 Table 1 – Social Index

233 Libyan-Egyptian Area Libya 11.6 1,2 72 97 2.7 1.9 1.1 13.4 - - Egypt 33.6 2,4 99 94 3.7 2.4 2.3 23.4 - 18.4 Middle Eastern Area Syrian Arab Republic 16.4 0,5 89 96 4.9 1.6 3.4 12.6 - - Lebanon 10.4 3,2 100 98 2.0 3.9 4.5 7.6 - - Israel 2.9 3,6 100 100 6.4 4.5 8.1 9.7 - - Jordan 7.8 2,6 96 98 4.6 5.4 6.2 6.6 - 3.5 Occupied Palestinian ------Territory*** * Human poverty index: HPI-1 in developing countries, HPI-2 in some OECD countries ** Population below income poverty line $1 or $2 a day (international prices 2005) *** Not available data Source: UNDP 2010 and 2011; Calendario Atlante De Agostini, 2011 234

Access to education

Significant discrepancies in access to education are observed in the Mediterranean area, a key factor for the development of human communities because "education is a component of well-being and a growth factor for its ties to other demographic, social or political phenomena" (Véron 1995; Cannizzaro 2009, 34). Schooling has a strong influence on the socio-economic development of a country (it improves the professional skills and quality of life) on the condition of cultural and geographical mobility. While many countries of the Southern shore (and Syria) spend the highest percentage of their GDP on education (Table 1), the quality of education is not among the best, and equal access to all levels of education is not guaranteed to the poorest families. This affects the backwardness of these countries in the field of scientific research, the use of new technologies, and the production and exchange of information. Albeit with minor differences, the Southern European countries, plus Israel and Cyprus, are at the higher levels of the education index, while the Middle Eastern countries along with Turkey and Libya are positioned on the average levels; almost all North African countries together with Syria are in the lower positions of the ranking (Table 2). The illiteracy rate is also high in the countries of the Middle East and North Africa, with the exception of Jordan and Israel; a substantial proportion of the population does not receive any instruction. The illiteracy rates in Morocco and Egypt are 43.6% and 33.6%, respectively. This is above the still alarming values of 27.4% of Algerians, 22.4% of Tunisians and 16.4% of (Table 1). The gap in education, not only among countries but also within some of them, can be better appreciated by analyzing the rate of adult literacy for gender condition. Except in the Mediterranean countries of Europe (plus Israel), where the level of literacy is equal between males and females, in other countries of the basin there is a substantial gap, which is accentuated in Libya, Tunisia, Algeria, Syria, Egypt, and Morocco (UNDP 2009 and 2011). Gender discrimination can also be deduced from the values of empowerment, and inequalities affect several areas: labor force participation, policy, decision making, and income (Table 3).

235

0.833 0.833 0.920 0.919 0.914 0.866 0.935 0.834 0.797 0.824 0.831 0.804 0.776 0.902 0.704 0.866 0.606 0.745 0.739 0.795 0.686 0.686 0.760 0.939 0.773 0.750 HDI Value Value Non-income minus HDI GNI per capita rank PPP $) PPP per capita income (GNI) Gross national (constant 2005 (years) (years)

of schooling

Expected years

(years) (years) Latin Arc schooling Adriatic Basin Adriatic Mean years of Mean years Middle Eastern Area Eastern Middle Libyan-Egyptian Area RegionMaghreb of the Anatolian –Bridge Balkan (years) (years) at birth at birth Life expectancy 0.809 79.5 7.7 15.9 20.573 20.573 26.508 15.9 7.7 30.462 79.5 16.6 0.809 10.4 26.484 81.4 16.1 0.878 1 10.6 6 81.5 16.3 0.884 21.460 10.1 4 81.9 0.874 14.4 6 9.9 24.914 79.6 0.832 16.9 4 15.729 11.6 79.3 0.884 11 13.9 7.664 9.8 10.236 76.6 0.796 13.6 8.7 10.361 75.7 13.7 0.733 5 10.2 74.5 13.7 0.766 16 7.803 16 10.6 74.6 11.3 0.771 20 10.4 8.804 76.9 0.739 13.3 18 8.2 23.747 74.8 0.728 16.5 12.246 10.1 2 79.9 0.861 24.841 11.8 5 6.5 74.0 0.699 -25 14.7 9.8 79.6 0.840 4.196 2 10.3 7.281 4.4 72.2 0.582 14.5 7.658 6.5 -15 74.5 0.698 13.6 7.0 73.1 0.698 12.637 2 -5 16.6 5.269 7.3 74.8 0.760 11.0 6.4 73.2 0.644 0 4.243 -6 13.706 11.3 5.7 25.849 75.9 0.632 13.8 7.9 72.6 15.5 0.739 -5 11.9 -10 5.300 81.6 0.888 14 13.1 2.656 8.6 73.4 0.698 12.7 8.0 72.8 0.641 9 23 Value Value Human Index (HDI) Development HID Rank HID Rank 41 Portugal 41 Portugal 23 Spain 20 France 24 Italy 36 Malta 21 Slovenia 46 Croatia 74 Bosnia and Herzegovina 59 Serbia 54 Montenegro 70 Albania Macedonia 78 FYR 29 Greece 92 Turkey 31 Cyprus Morocco 130 94 Tunisia 96 Algeria 64 Libya Egypt 113 Syria 119 71 Lebanon 17 Israel 95 Jordan 114 Territory Occupied Palestinian

Table 2 – Human Development Index and its components 2011 UNDP, Source:

236 Table 3 – Gender empowerment Female Female Gender Seats in legislators, professional Female empowerment parliament senior Country/ and employment measure held by officials, Territory technical income (GEM), women and workers index rank (%) managers (%) (%) Latin Arc Portugal 19 28 32 51 0.60 Spain 11 34 32 49 0.52 France 17 20 38 48 0.61 Italy 21 20 34 47 0.49 Malta 74 9 19 41 0.45 Adriatic Basin Slovenia 34 10 33 56 0.61 Croatia 44 21 21 51 0.67 Bosnia and - 12 - - 0.61 Herzegovina Serbia 42 22 35 55 0.59 Albania - 7 - - 0.54 FYR 35 28 29 53 0.49 Macedonia Anatolian – Balkan Bridge Greece 28 15 28 49 0.51 Turkey 101 9 8 33 0.26 Cyprus 48 14 15 48 0.58 Region of the Maghreb Morocco 104 6 12 35 0.24 Tunisia - 20 - - 0.28 Algeria 105 6 5 35 0.36 Libyan-Egyptian Area Libya - 8 - - 0.25 Egypt 107 4 11 32 0.27 Middle Eastern Area Syrian Arab - 12 - 40 0.20 Republic Lebanon - 5 - - 0.25 Israel 23 18 30 52 0.64 Jordan - 8 - - 0.19 Occupied Palestinian - - 10 34 - Territory Source: UNDP, 2009

237 This gender gap has a strong effect on the progress of certain companies and their level of welfare, since they deprive themselves of a significant proportion of potential ‘production’ in the social, cultural, and economic contexts. The lack of equality between the sexes is due to inaction to fight poverty, impoverishment, exclusion and a lack of encouragement for fully sustainable development (UNDP 2011). The human development index (HDI), at this point, has to be adjusted to take account of inequalities in health, education, and income; and while many countries of the Mediterranean worsen their performance in HD, others improve, especially when not considered on the basis of income (in this case, as shown in Table 2, all countries improve their position). The inequality-adjusted HDI (HDI-I) integrated with the Gender Inequality Index (GII) and the Multidimensional Poverty Index (MPI) gives us another picture of the quality of life in the Mediterranean area, as seen from Table 4. In fact, if we consider the I-HDI – which helps us to better assess the levels of development of all segments of society, rather than just the average person – we observe that all the Mediterranean countries, albeit with different percentage points, show a decline in the value of human development, as there are inequalities in income, health care, and education, with striking differences between the generations. The analysis further integrated with the Gender Inequality Index (GII) shows that there are social inequalities in gender and an unequal distribution of human development that adversely affects the quality of life of women. The Mediterranean nations with the loWest gender equality belong to the Arab world, which suffocates the empowerment of women and all forms of taking power and responsibility on the part of women, who are relegated instead to dependence on social and economic conditions and cultural underdevelopment. Emblematic in this sense are the GII values of Morocco, Syria, Jordan, Turkey, and Lebanon. On the Northern side of the Mediterranean, the gender inequality is linked instead to the pay-gap, which distinguishes the salary between men and women. Finally, the Multidimensional Poverty Index (MPI) confirms again that the Mediterranean is configured as a complex ‘region-mosaic’, fragmented and with a percentage (increase) of poor people and households subject to waivers (private drinking water, health services, and essential goods for the family).

238 Table 4 – Human Development Index, Inequality-adjusted Human Development Index, Gender Inequality Index and Multidimensional Poverty Index I-HDI GII HDI MPI Country Value + Value + Value + (Rank) Value (Rank) (Rank) Latin Arc Portugal 0.809 (41 VERY HIGH ) 0.726 (31) 0.140 (19) --- Spain 0.878 (23 VERY HIGH ) 0.799 (17) 0,117 (13) --- France 0.884 (20 VERY HIGH) 0.804 (16) 0.106 (10) --- Italy 0.874 (24 VERY HIGH) 0.799 (22) 0.124 (15) --- Malta 0.832 (36 VERY HIGH) n.d. 0.272 (42) --- Adriatic Basin Slovenia 0.884 (21 VERY HIGH ) 0.837 (10) 0.175 (28) 0.000 Croatia 0.796 (46 VERY HIGH ) 0.675 (38) 0.170 (27) 0.016 Bosnia and 0.733 (74 HIGH) 0.649 (45) n.d. 0.003 Herzegovina Montenegro 0.771 (54 HIGH ) 0.718 (32 ) n.d. 0.006 Serbia 0.766 (59 HIGH) 0.694 (34 ) n.d 0.003 Albania 0.739 (70 HIGH) 0.637 (49) 0.271 (41) 0.005 FYR Macedonia 0.728 (78 HIGH) 0.609 (54) 0.151 (23) 0.008 Anatolian – Balkan Bridge Greece 0.861 (29 VERY HIGH ) 0.756 (26) 0.162 (24) --- Turkey 0.699 (92 HIGH) 0.542 (66) 0.443 (77) 0.028 Cyprus 0.840 (31 VERY HIGH) 0.755 (27) 0.141 (21) --- Region of the Maghreb Morocco 0.582 (130 MEDIUM) 0.409 (90) 0.510 (104) 0.048 Algeria 0.698 (96 MEDIUM) n.d. 0.412 (71) --- Tunisia 0.698 (94 HIGH) 0.523 (72) 0.293 (45) 0.010 Libyan-Egyptian Area Libya 0.760 (64 HIGH) n.d. 0.314 (51) --- Egypt 0.664 (113 MEDIUM) 0.489 (85 ) n.d. 0.024 Middle Eastern Area Syrian Arab 0.632 (119 MEDIUM) 0.503 (80) 0.474 (86) 0.021 Republic Lebanon 0.739 (71 HIGH) 0.570 (59) 0.440 (76) --- Israel 0.888 (17 VERY HIGH ) 0.779 (21) 0.145 (22) --- Jordan 0.698 (95 MEDIUM) 0.565 (61) 0.456 (83) 0.008 Occupied Palestinian 0.641 (114 MEDIUM) n.d. n.d. 0.005 Source:Ti UNDP, 2011

239 The access to resources for a dignified standard of life

It is clear, at this point, that the problems, the tensions, and the tendencies present and acting at the scale of the entire planet are reflected within the Mediterranean. This area sees surfacing conflicts related to religious fundamentalism and the struggle for territorial sovereignty and for the possession and control of natural resources essential for life (for example, water). In the Mediterranean, the emergence of environmental problems associated with social and political repercussions are ever more clearly perceived. With regard to access to resources, the amount of water needed to satisfy the needs of the population is an important indicator, which varies according to the standard of living and per capita income, and therefore has strong connections with the issue of quality (of life). In the Mediterranean, there are values higher than 1700 cubic meters per capita in all the countries of the European side (with the exception of Malta) and in Turkey; values between 1700 and 1000 cubic meters per capita are found in Morocco (due to rain and snowfall on Western slopes of the Atlas) and Egypt (thanks to the waters of the Nile); per capita availability of fresh water between 1000 and 500 cubic meters is found in Algeria and Tunisia (for the widespread presence of coastal areas subject to drought and arid inland areas). All other North African countries and South-Eastern slopes have values less than 500 cubic meters per inhabitant (with dramatic consequences for health and hygiene) (Spotorno 2008). A gap is evident when considering the percentage of people who have access to water resources. In fact, in the countries of the European side (plus Turkey) access to water is guaranteed, with values ranging from 97 to 100%, while on the African side, the access is between 72% for Libya and 99% for Egypt. The area of the Middle East has values similar to those of European countries with the exception of Syria (89%), whose water comes largely (80%) from Turkey and to a lesser extent from Lebanon (Table 1). In addition to the already serious problem of water supply, the Mediterranean basin also suffers from the problem of environmental degradation which, in turn, affects the quality of life. Environmental pollution hinders the development of the capacities of people in many ways and goes beyond income subsistence to affect health, education, and other dimensions of well-being, especially for disadvantaged groups where an increased burden of disease is caused by air pollution, the presence of contaminated water, and inadequate sanitation. Climate change threatens to worsen these disparities, spreading disease and lowering crop yields. The per capita emissions in the atmosphere are much higher in industrialized nations (post-Fordist) than in developing countries, due to many energy-intensive activities (automobiles, air

240 conditioned and heated homes and offices, consumption of processed and packaged foods). Compared to a person living in a country with medium or high HDI, the individual in a country of very high HDI produces more than four times the emissions of carbon dioxide, about twice the emissions of methane and nitrous oxide, and about 30 times the emissions of carbon dioxide compared to a person living in a country with low HDI (UNDP 2011). Taking these data as parameters for comparison of air emissions of CO2 and particulate matter, we have the following environmental framework: in the context of the Mediterranean, CO2 emissions are high in European countries (with the exception of Albania, 1.3 t/inhab., which is positioned on values similar to those of the Southern shore), with values ranging from 5.4 t/inhab. in Portugal and Croatia to 10 t/inhab. Greece, with the addition of Israel with 9.9 t/inhab. In the remaining countries of the Mediterranean basin, with the exception of Libya (9.3 t/cap.), the values vary from a minimum of 1.3 t/inhab. in Morocco to a maximum of 3.6 t/inhab. in Turkey (Calendario Atlante de Agostini 2011). In contrast, the Southern shore is more penalized by the presence of fine particles in the air, where the maximum value is in Egypt (119.2 micrograms per cubic meter), followed by 87.6 in Libya, 74.8 in Syria, 71 in Algeria, and 44.7 in Jordan; the only exceptions are Morocco and Tunisia, with 21 and 30.1 micrograms per cubic meter, respectively. Values well below 40 micrograms per cubic meter (only Cyprus and Albania have slightly higher values, equal to 43.6 and 43.9 micrograms per cubic meter, respectively) are detected in the remaining countries with minimal peaks in Serbia-Montenegro (13.4), France (13.5), Bosnia and Herzegovina (19), and Macedonia (21), and peaks in Cyprus and Albania, as mentioned above, and Turkey (39.7) (Calendario Atlante de Agostini 2011). This discrepancy between North and South of the Mediterranean is justified by the fact that the environment of the countries joining the EU is a matter of policy that must be seen in the strategies developed by the European Commission and implemented by member states which have transposed directives into national law. It should also be considered that the relocation industry over the decades has had ‘benefits’ on the environment, considering that the productive activities generate the highest percentage of emissions of greenhouse gases and acidifying substances. Despite the different protocols and world summits, there is still an open question regarding how to cope with environmental degradation in the Mediterranean, and the facts show that even in democratic systems, people most negatively affected by degradation are often the poorest and have less power, so that the political priorities do not reflect their interests and needs (UNDP 2009, 2010, 2011).

241 Taking part in the life of the community

Even today many debates on sustainability neglect equality, treating it as a separate and unrelated factor, but human development means also (and above) increased freedom and expansion of choices. In the Mediterranean context the deficits of freedom and inequality are particularly visible along the Southern states and are mainly derived from the permanence of autocracies (now being challenged by the geopolitical events of the so-called ‘Arab Spring’) characterized by an executive who exercises significant control over all the other powers of the state (almost never subjected to any type of institutional control), the repression of freedom of expression, association, conscience, and culture, as well as the lack or absence of representative democracy. Human development requires, in addition to health and education, a decent standard of living, political freedom, and the opportunity to express cultural identity without discrimination in other aspects of life. The process of democratization in the Mediterranean has not affected all companies equally, and political events of 2011 in Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya have shown the presence of world public opinion on governments indifferent to civil liberties and the most basic political and social rights and careless of the ‘exclusion policies’ of their citizens. Discrimination and injustice are particularly marked in the Middle East, in the Libyan- Egyptian front, in the Maghreb, and in the Anatolian-Cyprus; there are data – the Corruption Perceptions Index (CPI) of Transparency International (measures perceived levels of public-sector corruption in 182 countries around the world) – that we share without discussion (Table 5). Corruption is extremely widespread and influences, along with many other phenomena, the perception of the quality of life, because corruption includes not only the giving of money to illegally obtain a privilege but also the abuse of power, tolerance of widespread illegality, negligence in carrying out duties, partisanship of enterprises and institutions, the tendency to favor those who are in collusion with the power, altering the principles of equality and equal rights, not to mention the distortion of reality in information. As Kofi Annan reminds us, corruption is an ‘insidious social evil’, because "it destroys and undermines democracy, breaks the law, basic human rights, and hinders and retards the development, supports all types of crime, terrorism and social disasters of the world"(Kofi Annan, in PcnMagazine, 2009). Some recent studies have also shown that corruption depresses labor productivity, which is closely related to the quality of institutions, reduces the rate of growth in the economy, weakens financial markets, and creates anti-social behavior because it degrades the professionalism of the corrupt systems which are not based on skills and ability, but on

242 knowledge and contacts (UNDP 2009, 2010, 2011). Those who take bribes are diametrically opposed to socially responsible beings, because they trample the rules and undermine the effective use of resources (financial and environmental) to the detriment of the weakest, the environment, and quality of life.

Table 5 – Corruption Perceptions Index CPI 2011 HDI Rank Country/Territory Score Value + (Rank) Latin Arc 32 Portugal 6.1 0.809 (41 VERY HIGH ) 31 Spain 6.2 0.878 (23 VERY HIGH ) 25 France 7.0 0.884 (20 VERY HIGH) 69 Italy 3.9 0.874 (24 VERY HIGH) 39 Malta 5.6 0.832 (36 VERY HIGH) Adriatic Basin 35 Slovenia 5.9 0.884 (21 VERY HIGH ) 66 Croatia 4.0 0.796 (46 VERY HIGH ) 91 Bosnia and Herzegovina 3.2 0.733 (74 HIGH) 66 Montenegro 4.0 0.771 (54 HIGH ) 86 Serbia 3.3 0.766 (59 HIGH) 95 Albania 3.1 0.739 (70 HIGH) 69 FYR Macedonia 3.9 0.728 (78 HIGH) Anatolian – Balkan Bridge 80 Greece 3.4 0.861 (29 VERY HIGH ) 61 Turkey 4.2 0.699 (92 HIGH) 30 Cyprus 6.3 0.840 (31 VERY HIGH) Region of the Maghreb 80 Morocco 3.4 0.582 (130 MEDIUM) 112 Algeria 2.9 0.698 (96 MEDIUM) 73 Tunisia 3.8 0.698 (94 HIGH) Libyan-Egyptian Area 168 Libya 2.0 0.760 (64 HIGH) 112 Egypt 2.9 0.664 (113 MEDIUM) Middle Eastern Area 129 Syria 2.6 0.632 (119 MEDIUM) 134 Lebanon 2.5 0.739 (71 HIGH) 36 Israel 5.8 0.888 (17 VERY HIGH ) 56 Jordan 4.5 0.698 (95 MEDIUM) - Occupied Palestinian Territory - 0.641 (114 MEDIUM) Source: Transparency International, December 1, 2011

243 Although perception and reality do not always coincide, the data show that where the CPI in HDI countries is very high, there is a greater awareness of this phenomenon. This depends on the media and is also influenced by culture. It is, returning to the Mediterranean, therefore, a matter that involves two main areas: the gap between Europe and the Mediterranean countries where there is widespread use of computer and communication systems and, in contrast, the low level of freedom of information and pluralism in the media of the present Mediterranean countries within the European Union, as is the case of Italy and Greece, and outside with the exception of Israel and Turkey (Spotorno 2008). Regarding the first area, for example, 97% of households in France have TV sets, 94% in Italy, 92% in Israel, 78% in Morocco, and 50% in Libya (data not available for Syria). Regarding the second area, in non-European Mediterranean countries (with the usual exceptions of Israel and Turkey), two closely related problems are apparent: the direct control of public broadcasters and the lack of effective freedom of the press. Certainly internet and social networks in general are ‘helping’ the citizens of non-European Mediterranean countries to become aware of the continuing persistence of media censorship, and the events of the ‘Arab spring’ confirm this factor. During 2011, the issue of corruption was the focus of several protests, not only in Europe but also in North Africa, to start a new political movement. Most countries of the ‘Arab Spring’ occupy the lower half of the CPI (Table 5), with a score of less than 3 in Algeria (2.9), Egypt (2.9), Syria (2.6), Lebanon (2.5), and Libya (2.0) (countries are classified according to their level of corruption, ranging from 0, maximum corruption, to 10, not at all corrupt).

The GDP in the Mediterranean context: development and reality

The context of the Mediterranean in relation to the great heterogeneity and fragmentation that distinguishes it presents itself as a privileged field of observation and reflection on the limitations of GDP in providing a comprehensive and true picture of the quality of life within the different countries, as economic growth is not necessarily followed by better access to services and ‘freedom’ necessary to lead a happy life. During the last decades the growth rates recorded in many Mediterranean economies have been between 2 and 5%, mainly due to the increase in oil prices and its export (more than 80%), which has driven the growth of countries such as Libya, Algeria, and Syria, or the affirmation of international and Jordan. If the most obvious increase in the GDP has been achieved thanks to a highly unstable exogenous factor, such as rising oil prices, it is important to

244 understand how this growth has affected the long-term development of these countries and whether this has turned into a real increase in well- being and improved quality of life for the population (Paulet 2001). Despite the seemingly positive data, the relative level of GDP per capita in countries of the South-East remains about 20% of that of the countries of the North Shore, without registering any significant changes since 1995. It is becoming increasingly clear that the simple measure of the GDP for the increase of trade among the Mediterranean countries is not able to express and prove who really benefits from development and how wealth is actually reinvested to improve services for the entire population. Looking, for example, at the trajectory of trade, it emerges clearly that intra-regional trade among countries of the Southern shore is confined to 5% of the total, while that with the European Union represents about 45% of the foreign trade of the Mediterranean countries (especially in countries such as Tunisia, Morocco, and Libya, which have had privileged bilateral relations with France and Italy), evidence of the perpetuation of the colonial ties and the asymmetries of the consolidated centre-periphery relations. The bilateral commercial relations developed with the EU, formally aimed at facilitating the integration between countries, in fact, concerned only industrial products, primarily oil, while excluding food and agricultural products and keeping the barriers related to standards of manufactured goods (textiles and clothing). In contrast, Mediterranean countries of South- Eastern Europe have important comparative advantages, not only by limiting the acquisition of more shares of European trade, but they also maintain high levels of the trade deficit of these countries to Europe. In some contexts, on the contrary, this unbalanced growth of GDP has had a significant impact on the poverty and inequality by encouraging growth of GDP in the short term, incapable of supporting real convergence to EU living standards and therefore reducing the gap between the rich and the poor (Dunford 2001). As is visible in the complex Mediterranean region, we need an integration of the GDP with new alternative indicators which are better able to give a complete picture of development and increase the quality of life of its population.

Conclusion: towards a new idea of happiness

The ‘quality of life’ of a population, and hence its level of welfare (and happiness), has been limited for a long time to the realm of social studies, ranging from philosophy and anthropology to economic geography. But in 1972 an enlightened ruler of Bhutan introduced the ‘gross national happiness index’ as an official method of measuring well-

245 being in order to partially replace the GDP in the calculation of the ‘quality of life’ of the country. The appearance of this concept on the international political scene was accompanied by curiosity about a topic that has amused economists, politicians, industrialists, financiers, and all those who considered (and consider) the key to economic growth in obtaining a better standard of living and well-being, or rather, ‘well- have’ (Latouche 2007). The idea of growth and development had already been somehow revised and reconsidered at the Conference on Environment in Rio de Janeiro in 1992, thanks to which the term ‘sustainable development’ has become widespread. The development of this concept, which in a certain way ‘softened’ the naked and raw assumptions of economic growth in itself, has elaborated a development model which seeks to limit the lasting environmental damage and inappropriate use of natural resources to ensure access to future generations. The term – extrapolated from biology – rather than being related to development refers to the concept of ‘reproduction’, the ability to maintain the heritage of the natural environment and its resources, encouraging reproduction in balance with the natural rhythms, so with a concept of ‘slow growth’. Today, the concept of sustainable development seems to have reached a saturation phase, not only now in connection with an excessive and inappropriate use of the term, but also for the increasingly widespread awareness of the negative impact of economic growth on the ecosystem. The constant increase in the use of natural resources seems to be increasing the ‘ecological costs’ with a negative impact on the welfare of the population (pollution, resource scarcity, increased cost of resources, natural disasters...) somehow higher than the real benefits of economic growth (Latouche 2007). Recalling the words of the French economist Gadrey:

GDP is thus basically a stream of purely mercantile and monetary wealth. The growth of GDP and its progression, is the increase of the volume of production of all goods and services sold, to which it is possible to assign a monetary cost produced by paid work (2007, 17).

The GDP measures only what the capitalist system considers as ‘wealth’, while everything has does not have a monetary value, and therefore is not salable in the market, does not fall in its calculation. This applies to the quality of human and social relations and the time dedicated to them, the quality of our environment, entertainment and human capital, the ability to express ourselves and live our lives fully and freely. But how is it possible to reduce the importance given to date to the GDP?

246 Over the past decades several indicators for measuring well-being have been developed – the HDI (Human Development Index), the DWI (Durable Well-Being Index), the GPI (Genuine Progress Index), and the ISS (Social Sanity Index) – all parameters designed to consider the intangible aspects of our existence. Even in these indexes the search for alternative criteria that are ‘objective’, universal, and trans-cultural, however, seems to be anchored in the imagination of Western economics where "we are poor or rich, depending on the quantity, quality and variety of services we have in our married life, family, and social life" (Latouche 2007, 56). Looking at the indicators and data at hand, what seems increasingly clear is the need for a re-conceptualization, not only of the idea of economic growth and development towards a new society of ‘un-development’ (Latouche 2007) but also of the idea of happiness. In a society dominated by the obsession with global GDP, the idea of happiness and well-being often corresponds to the increased ability to purchase consumer goods, products, and services. In short, those who produce more and consume more are happier. To speak today of ‘un-development’ is to speak of downshift’, the possibility to change our lifestyle, which means in practical terms to produce, spend, and consume less. Downshift implies calling into question not only the major macroeconomic issues but also our lifestyle (we consume, we waste, and we are more unsatisfied) to develop a ‘new model of society’ (perhaps too utopian for many) in which the needs and working hours are reduced and the social life is richer and more important, in which the distribution of wealth is more equal and basic rights are recognized globally, all of which contribute towards a new concept of culture: ‘happiness’.

247 R – Rete/Internet

Maria Paradiso and Massimiliano Tabusi1

Internet as an integration factor in the Mediterranean basin and beyond?

Globalization was seen by Castells (1989) as a decreasing significance of local places, matched with the emergence of a global space of flows. Castells (2000) further defined the space of flows as “the material organization of time-sharing social practices that work through flows” (442). This definition included all possible ‘flows’ such as capital, information, technology, organizational, images, sounds, and symbols, except for people. The space of flows, as developed by Castells (1996, 2000), consists of three layers. The first one is a circuit of electronic exchanges (technology) embodied in networked cities. The second is a layer of nodes and hubs (places), hierarchically organized and influenced by global cities, which serve as major loci of information production and global capital decisions. The third layer is people, limited in that frame of space of flows to the managerial elites, charged with the directional functions for the space of flows. Globalization, in the frame of neo- liberalism and under the rather limited adoption of the Internet during the age of Web 1.0 among and within countries, turned out to be a deeply uneven development, and this increased mobility towards leading centre of command and control world regions. This paper invokes the concept of ‘space of flows’ but argues that under Web 2.0 the space of flows became the space in which many people, not only the managerial elite, operate daily, mainly virtually through communications channels; they also create user-generated content that starts to reverse the traditional geographies of production and consumption places. This becomes particularly evident with the

1 Maria Paradiso wrote sections 1, 2, 3, and 4.1, Massimiliano Tabusi wrote section 4.2. They both drew concluding remarks. The authors want to thank the two anonymous reviewers for comments. Responsibility lies solely with us.

248 increasing activism and political mobilization in the Mediterranean. We argue that the current evolution of the Web 2.0 Internet within the frame of wireless (mobile) communication is allowing new circuits, encounters, emulations, and ‘navigations’ in the Mediterranean basin and beyond, which are opening new avenues of dialogue and mutual recognition. Our hypothesis is that the Internet serves as a factor of integration and dialogue between people of different countries in Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East, thus partially reversing the features of fragmentation and supposed clashes of civilizations. The chapter first presents some evolutionary paths of Mediterranean communicative networking by reviewing the telephone era, Mediterranean Internet Web 1.0 and then Web 2.0, and wireless communications. The latter element has a special focus on the role of ICTs in Mediterranean democratic movements, diasporas, and networking. Then, the chapter puts forward elements for the path of Mediterranean integration based on the first explorative cases of militants’ North-South mobilities, at times of the wide availability of mobile social and video networking technologies. These discussions suggest a simple model for the Internet as a potential force of integration, focusing on the sharing of emotions, mutual knowledge, accumulation of mobility needs by individuals, their access to mobility media, and spatial behavior. These elements may lead to an appropriation process of the Internet and local places, which may bring about various modes of regionalization based on interlinked communications at a Mediterranean scale and beyond.

Virtual personal and spatial mobilities: Mediterranean networking

The current phase of the Internet has recently been denominated a ‘mass information society’ (Paradiso 2011a). It is shaped both in the Western world and elsewhere by wireless communications. Wireless communications seem to transform our societies everywhere, since they permit unprecedented many-to-many networks based on personal contacts which thus build trust and immediacy (Castells et al. 2007). The potential of this new space of flows adds new dimensions to the theme of ICTs and democracy (Castells et al. 2007) as well as social justice since the role of shared emotions for mass social mobilization is enhanced, catalyzed, and virally coordinated by ICTs (Paradiso 2012b). ICTs have proven to be effective for democratic mobilization and they served as an example of the Tunisian Jasmine revolution that was later emulated in Egypt and elsewhere. Satellite regional TV, mobile social platforms, and wireless drove masses to squares led by collective emotions and then to the viral coordination of ICTs during 2011 in

249 North Africa, which was later emulated in some countries in Mediterranean Europe and the Middle East. The Internet thus constitutes an accessible arena for learning, communicating, organizing, and producing user-generated content all over the basin. It provides an informal public sphere à la Habermas (see Warf and Grimes 1997 for the first framing of the Internet as a public informal sphere) everywhere in the basin and Europe and overcomes censorship (see Warf 2010, 2012 on the global geographies of censorship). In this sense, we propose that the Internet as a public informal sphere may also be seen as a loci for common regionalization patterns. We discuss that the Internet seems to constitute a trait of an emerging Mediterranean regionalization stemmed from ‘virtual personal mobilities’ protesting against corruption, bad government (against dictatorships in African and Middle East countries; against bad government in the crisis and worsening quality of life and spatial justice in Europe and the US), unemployment, and impoverishment. The contagion from Tunisia to Algeria, later emulated in Egypt, the Gulf, and Syria, also proves European ‘indignados’ and militants’ protests (see later in this chapter). These virtual personal mobilities of citizens and militants, which are also enhanced by emulation, personification to the other, and the sharing of indignation, may constitute a process that can be defined as a type of circulation à la Gottman. We argue in synthesis that the uprising Internet of Web 2.0 is likely to provide unifying dynamics in the Mediterranean and permit new circulations (‘navigations’) of people –virtually and in situ – similar to those that have occurred in the past, and that this integration process is affecting more dramatically the youth, who are more familiar with Web 2.0. A double-sided unifying trend is emerging following our study. The first side is that of individuals’ virtual mobilities, which allows for exchange across the borderless Internet and shows similar patterns of use accordingly to web searches for all countries. For example, in all European and MENA countries, Facebook and YouTube are ranked at lEast once at the top three web searches (Dubai Press Club 2010). Virtual mobility shows a new Mediterranean effervescence in global web production where only a few years ago it was rightly noted that the Arab world participated very negligibly (Warf and Vincent 2007). Another significant Mediterranean virtual mobility is the networking of diasporas online, which cannot be seen only as transnational phenomena because it is also shaping residential geographies (Nagel and Staheli 2010). The second side of the trend is constituted by increased spatial mobilities in the new space of flows, no longer by managerial elites, but also by migrants and militants, as argued later in the paper.

250 Hence, the objective of this chapter is to highlight the issue of the Internet as a potential integration factor for the Mediterranean region. The Internet is actively integrating by transforming ‘potential mobilities’ (Kellerman 2012a) in ‘virtual spatial mobility’ or personal mobilities (Kellerman 2006, 2012a) and ‘spatial mobilities’ (Cresswell 2006, Adey 2010) across the Mediterranean basin and in non- Mediterranean Europe. The term potential mobilities has, therefore, a double sense (Kellerman 2012a: the potential for the mobility of individuals and the potential for the mobility of eventually practiced movements/activities prior to their occurrence. The potential of mobility is mostly dependent on the potential for the mobility of potentially mobile actors. If a person is capable of being mobile, the chances of a certain movement taking place are higher. As argued before, Web 2.0 empowers social and political mobilization. Spatial mobility stems from ‘push and pull’ motivations, which constitute a constant, omnipresent “displacement of something across, over and through space” (Adey 2010, 13, Cresswell 2006, 1–2, Morse 1998, 112). This displacement is practiced and embodied (Cresswell 2006, 3). Spatial mobility constitutes a meaningful condition, implying progress, freedom, opportunity, and modernity (Cresswell 2006, 1–2), as well as speed (Virilio 1983) and extensibility (Adams 1995, Kwan 2001). However, in terms of migration it can also turn out, in fortress Europe, to mean restricted freedom and personal detention (Paradiso 2011b on Lampedusa March-April 2011, see also Giulia De Spuches in this book). Moreover, the recent communications/information revolution has loaded the term mobility with two other meanings, namely the human ability to make an abstract entity, information, and flow electronically (Kellerman 2006, 2012a) and the human ability to communicate. This happens since the Internet, in the wake of Google nesting and revolutionizing, has been defined as the most comprehensive communications system on Earth (Paradiso 2011a) and no longer the most comprehensive information system on Earth (Kellerman 2002). Such electronically generated and transmitted information and communication may constitute a virtual extension and networking of the self, through a phone call, an e-mail, or a blog posting. They may also constitute more public and friendly loci of life-world after the changes in information landscape such as the introduction of vernacular platforms, global providers, search engines, and global platforms – all available in vernacular languages, social networks and video sharing software, and platforms for mobile phones. All this allows for the access of the poorly educated to the global Web and transforms countries from consumer pool into more active production and citizenship agencies (Paradiso 2012a, 2012b).

251 The mobility of information constitutes virtual spatial mobility (Kellerman 2006, 2012b), now enriched by enhanced communication empowerment. The mobility of information/communication may be viewed as mobility itself, or it may be defined in light of physical mobility. Virtual mobility refers to the “substitution of electronic transfers and exchanges for physical transport activities” (Janelle 2004).

Communicative Networking in the Mediterranean from Telephone Communications to Web 1.0

The international telephone ties of Mediterranean countries via telephone calls in 1996 and 2006 were measured by Kellerman (2012b). They outlined the following geographical pattern of international telecommunications in the Mediterranean basin. The 1996 data showed a one-way South to North preference towards Germany and the UK (attributed to the impact of migration) and calling patterns through the high ranking of Germany, the UK, the US, France, and Italy, adhering to a communication model led by the domination of the global economic core in calling patterns. Only one country, Syria, presented a dominance of adjacency ties. In 2006, the highest ranks on the Southern European lists of most frequently called countries presented three new trends. First, there was a decline in the percentages of calls made to countries on the 1996 list, attesting to a much more dispersed list of most frequently called countries, stemming from the decline in the prices of international calling and the growing globalization of international contacts. Second, Germany remained the most frequently called country followed by Italy, replaced by the UK, and then France, Spain, Albania, and Greece. Third, the growing role played by migration into Southern European countries, notably from Mediterranean countries but also from Eastern Europe, mainly Romania and the Ukraine, was evident in the trends of the period under study. Following the portrayal of the geographical patterns of international telephone calls, data on 1996 showed for most Mediterranean countries the domination of the global economic core, revealing post-colonial ties, whereas for 2006 the data present more complex preferences, differentiating between European and non-European countries and showing linkages across countries by region. Accordingly to Kellerman’s (2012b) study, growing communication ties among Mediterranean countries, mainly because of immigration to Southern Europe and tourism from Southern Europe, started to be noted. However, Kellerman reflected that

it is difficult to view already the Mediterranean basin at large as a single information space with communications ties crisscrossing it in all directions:

252 the South European countries, or the major Northern Mediterranean countries, presented similar patterns and transitions stemming from their superior economic development as a bloc, compared to the rest of the Mediterranean countries, which presented more complex trends and patterns, due much more to their specific economic and cultural conditions. It might well be, though, that data for all the Maghreb countries, if they would have been available, might have revealed regional bloc trends also among the Southern Mediterranean countries, as well as among the Northern ones (2012b).

This networked regionalization structure between countries has also recently become evident, especially for Middle East countries, within the regional and local salience and news links in popular news sites worldwide (Segev 2010). In terms of the analysis of Mediterranean Web 1.0 with a range of crucial items for inclusive policies in the Mediterranean region, studies have been developed (Paradiso 2012a, Warf 2012) on the basis of national indicators of supply/demand, use, consumption, production and benchmarking policies (data on 2008–09). In a frame of variegated information geography, a rather weak infrastructure supply on broadband coverage and poor adoption has been noted (later improved by 3G networks) as well as exceptionally high rates of mobile phone adoption: this has been interpreted as a proxy of specific cultural-social geographies since they are not positively correlated with GDP (Paradiso 2012a). This may demonstrate a high demand for communication and the need to overcome structural barriers, and it is typical of countries with less literacy, with diasporas or refugee settlements, connoted by rural-arid and urban divides, with nomadic roots. It must be noted, however, that these studies referred to Web 1.0 analysis before the introduction of Web 2.0 i.e. the introduction of vernacular platforms in local languages and vernacular applications that can be easily used by people with a basic education. These were determined to intertwine individual lives with the Internet in everyday practices. The surprising performances of Morocco in 2009 and repertories of successful stories about the creative use of the Internet and mobile communication to sustain local development and women activities have been observed (Mernissi 2004, Paradiso 2012a), again mirroring a potential vivacious active use not merely a consumption basin. The spatiality of the Mediterranean Internet included the rapidly changing distribution of Mediterranean users with quickly increasing access to cyberspace between 2000 and 2008 – a quasi precursor to the vivacious use and user-generated content of Mediterranean Web 2.0 users – and the conclusion of the Internet’s potential for broadening the sphere of public discourse in the region (Warf 2012). The Mediterranean champions the OECD ‘club’ in which France and Portugal showed

253 brilliant and constant improvement in household broadband access of 6– 7% points each year from 2003 to 2008. Italy is lagging behind, as forecast by a 2007 study on the Italian information society (Paradiso 2008). The rather technical nature of Web 1.0 and limited access to cyberspace could just envisage more complex trends and patterns on ‘new navigations’ across Mediterranean countries and beyond which are occurring now with Web 2.0.

Web 2.0 and wireless communications: integration paths in the Mediterranean

ICT and ‘Med revolutions’: personal mobilities and mass mobilization

The discussion on Internet integration and its regionalization power evokes the paradigm of personal mobilities (Kellerman 2012a), which includes virtual mobilities and spatial corporeal mobilities; this is also based upon the emotional geographies of emulation and personification for mass mobilization (Paradiso, 2012b). Virtual and corporeal spatial mobilities together led to uprising and protests in the Arab Mediterranean and Europe in 2011. In the frame of the user-generated content and interactivity of Web 2.0, virtual mobilities inform and coalesce public opinion, share common feelings, spread experience, and allow emulation within and among countries in terms of the vivacious use of the Internet as well as political and social mobilization in the streets (corporeal spatial mobilities). Democratic movements and mass mobilization firstly in Maghreb, then Egypt, the Middle East, and the Arab Peninsula, affirmed a new perception not only of the Arab Internet but also of its society at large. A stereotype of the passive society subjected to oppressive regimes expressed firm willingness and mass fight to pursue democracy and social justice. Since January 2011, many commentators and blogs have argued for a ‘Facebook revolution’ or a Twitter one in Tunisia to discuss the role of ICTs in public demonstrations in MENA. These views range from absolutely optimistic on the crucial role of the Internet to more nuanced ones. These studies are not successful in rooting ICTs in local societies’ features (Abrogui 2011; Al-Atracqui 2011; Carvin 2011; De Martino 2011; Ingram 2011; Kosta 2011; Mhambi 2011; Madrigal 2011; Pfeffer 2011; Tufekci 2011; Walsten 2011; Global Voices 2011; Technosociology 2011; Firas Al-Atraqchi 2011; Gawker 2011; Sidibouzid discussion group 2011). A field study collecting primary data was carried out at the Italian Lampedusa Island in March 2011 where some of 47,000 Tunisians fled their country in the period January to August 2011. This research investigated the exposure of migrants to the

254 Internet and to communications technologies while still in their North African countries of origin, and the influence of ICTs on the recent democratic movements (Paradiso 2012b). This empirical work with Tunisian citizens proved the use of social networks and communications as the tipping point to break isolation, to spread information and indignation, and to virally coordinate mass demonstrations. According to migrants, Facebook has provided the real turning point: it has offered a channel for free speech and communications within a general context of a severe regime of Internet censorship. It also offered the chance to post and to look at photos, to read information, and to exchange ideas. Satellite TV (Al Jazeera) provided timely information within the country and globally. Al Jazeera’s reports on the protests and related events penetrated everywhere and all ages and kept attention alive in North Africa and the Middle East. Mobile phones collected, shared, and circulated in real time photos, videos, texts, and sounds. However, external communications companies from Europe and the US helped black out communications (Eltantawy and Wiest 2011). Censorship also persuaded the masses to go to city squares. Wired cyberspace provided a channel for sharing information and constituted an informal public sphere for open discourse. Wireless communications enhanced the sense of instant and emotional reactions, virally diffused emotions in a cadre of personal basis transmission, and organized mobilization. Consequently, if technologies explain how, they only partially explain why even though they virally support and coalesce information and share feelings, pushing to mobilization. Why democratic movements happened there and in that time is because of local geography and changes in information geography shaped by intangible factors in terms of ‘emotional geographies’. The study considered that the role of ICTs in these Mediterranean mass mobilizations must be examined in light of local contexts, including not only conventional structural characteristics such as poverty and oppression but also intangible ones such as shared feelings and changes in information geographies (Paradiso 2012b). Apparently, emotional geographies are ignited virally by the Internet if local conditions pave the road to shared feelings (anger, indignation, fear) and push for personal and spatial mobility. Not simply the omnipresence of the Internet in everyday life and its instant mobile accessibility but also the popular character of mass applications (vernacular language and communication) drive local contexts and people to ‘appropriate’ the Internet in a complex co- evolution of the Internet and local contexts. This popular character has also been enhanced by the liberalization of domain names (no more ICANN as the only authority in the field) and the introduction of

255 platforms in local languages (Arabic for Google and Facebook, YouTube, native communities), which has dramatically increased the geographical participation of non-Anglo-Saxon cultural zones.

Table 1 – Facebook users as a percentage of all Internet users in MENA, the US and some large European countries just after the Arab revolutions and indignados’ protests Country No. of Internet Percentage of No. of Percentage of users (31 Dec. Internet Facebook Facebook 2011) users/population users (31 Dec. users/Internet (%) 2011) users (%) Algeria 4,700,000 13.4 2,835,740 60.3 Egypt 21,691,776 26.4 9,391,580 43.3 France 45,262,000 69.5 23,544,460 52.0 Germany 65,125,000 79.9 22,123,660 34.0 Israel 5,263,146 70.4 3,366,440 64.0 Italy 30,026,400 49.2 20,889,260 69.6 Lebanon 1,367,220 33.0 1,367,220 100.0 Libya 391,880 5.9 391,880 100.0 Morocco 15,656,192 49.0 4,075,500 26.0 Saudi Arabia 11,400,000 43.6 4,534,760 39.8 Spain 29,093,984 62.2 15,682,800 53.9 Syria 4,469,000 19.8 - - Tunisia 3,856,984 36.3 2,799,260 72.6 Turkey 35,000,000 44.4 30,963,100 88.5 UAE 3,555,100 69.0 2,769,020 77.9 UK 51,442,100 82.0 30,470,400 59.2 US 245,203,319 78.2 157,418,920 64.2 Source: Internet users: Internet World Stats 2012 (accessed 11 March 2012). Note: Internet World Stats provided the same data for Facebook and Internet users in Lebanon and Libya

The Arab world produces vivacious user-generated content under Web 2.0 (Ghannam 2011). The Arab blogosphere actively participates in the global Web and enhances virtual and personal mobilities. YouTube clips from Egypt were viewed and used at large in the Arab blogosphere. They provided an increasing integration of political discussions and content in the region and beyond through links added into blogs and onto Facebook pages. The emotions of personification

256 and emulation were virally spread and coalesced through this new vernacular and wireless media. YouTube is among the favorite sites used by Egyptian Internet users, and one of the main sites used in Arabic (Dubai Press Club 2010). According to a study of the Arab blogosphere (Etling et al. 2010), YouTube videos constituted a main reference for bloggers across the Arab world, particularly for those focused on political issues. This study also finds that YouTube is by far the most popular website linked to blogs, presenting more than twice as many occurrences of the site compared with other applications.

Table 2 – Most linked sites by Arabic bloggers Rank # Blogs URL Type 1 2070 http://www.youtube.com Web 2.0 2 932 http://en.wikipedia.org Web 2.0 3 817 http://aljazeera.net Broadcast 4 816 http://news.bbc.co.uk Broadcast 5 795 http://www.flickr.com Web 2.0 6 667 http://ar.wikipedia.org Web 2.0 7 566 http://alarabiya.net Broadcast 8 500 htp://www.islamonline.net Webnative 9 483 http://www.digg.com Web 2.0 10 456 http://www.manalaa.net Blog Source: Etling et al. 2010

The Mediterranean Internet has thus proven to be highly interconnected along an integrative increasing path of active citizenship and open discourse, which appear increasingly interlinked and mutually recognized.

Militants’ networking and political mobilization: from virtual to North-South spatial corporal mobilities

The first example of virtual mobility and militants’ networking beyond the Mediterranean region is provided by foreign companies – global web companies – that technically support networking and open discourse from abroad. A significant example of this is the application speak to tweet, created anonymously by Twitter and Google (supported by the company SayNow) in order to bypass the block imposed by regimes on Internet traffic from mobile phone and SMS text messaging.

257 Through this technology, it was possible during the 2011 Mediterranean democratic movements, with regular phone calls, to leave voice messages that were processed through speech recognition and converted into text messages available via Twitter. The active involvement of Twitter and Google thus allowed a flow of information even when the regimes had imposed a blackout. Opponents, however, do not rely solely on technology (which can be blocked by regimes), but also on experience. As a significant tweet said in response to one of the Internet blackouts in Egypt: “great news, blackout not affecting morale in Cairo, veteran activists from 60s and 70s giving advice on how to do things pre-digital #Jan25” (Eltantawy and Wiest 2011, 1217). Even from a symbolic point of view, this looks interesting and significant: a message that focuses on pre-digital experience is disseminated by a digital platform such as Twitter. Bloggers use YouTube mainly to spread videos related to current events, with a diverse mix of top-down content (i.e. picked up from television) and bottom-up (i.e. generated by personal video cameras or mobile phones) where none of the two types can be individuated as prevailing. Bottom-up participation is significant: accordingly to Ghannam (2011), citing Google sources, the Arab world uploads some 24 hours of footage every minute. For the intrinsic power of the video media and thanks to the diffusion of mobile WI-FI equipment (so-called smartphones) capable of filming clips and making them easily available on the Internet, YouTube was one of the main methods used in the dialogue between European and North African movements, allowing the sharing of information and practices. Video documentation of the hardest moments of the protests was extremely important. User- generated content was a powerful instrument to denunciate the abuse of authority against protesters. Another major example of European–Mediterranean integration was provided by militants’ mobilities, first nurtured by exchanges on popular Internet platforms and then materialized in North-South corporeal spatial mobilities. These constitute a pattern of new Europe–South Mediterranean relations. Activism and the struggle for democracy and participation reached the Southern coast of the Mediterranean in unexpected intensity, tearing down regimes that appeared to be irremovable. This represented a stimulus and an example even in economically developed countries. Between 2010 and 2011, some organizations – mostly but not exclusively student organizations such as ATTAC (Association for the Taxation of Financial Transactions and Aid to Citizens), born in 1998 to promote the ‘Tobin Tax’, or the Spanish ‘Indignados’ of Democracia Real Ya! – have tried to create a partnership capable of embracing both Europe and the two sides of the Mediterranean (as shown by the same

258 militant statements expressed in YouTube videos, reported later in this text). Since its presentation page (www.unicommon.org, ‘about’ section; accessed February 20th, 2012), for example, the Unicommon network – part of the large Italian student movement – makes explicit reference to the common feeling that unites young people in Italy and Tunisia: “In Rome, as in Tunis, the young graduates are suffering the worst effects of the crisis, of all others, between precarious jobs and unemployment. In Rome as in Tunis were the students to reveal that ‘the emperor has no clothes’, that to rebel is right!”. This is not only a ‘theoretical’ statement: thanks to ICTs, an international network capable of connecting activists was actually activated allowing the exchange of practices, experiences, and support between European countries and those of the Southern shores of the Mediterranean. This extensive network has given rise to the attempt to create a common platform for the elaboration of claims and social principles to extend, indiscriminately, in an Euro-Mediterranean area. Among the different experiences of exchange that took place at this scale, we may refer, for example, to the relationship documented through web sources between Unicommon and those of the Southern shores of the Mediterranean and other European countries in order to draw some insights into the phenomenon. It is noteworthy that the contacts were not only ‘virtual’: this network led to the organization of a number of very real and concrete occasions to meet and talk, activating several North-South but also South-North mobility experiences. We focus here on one of these occasions, only mentioning some subsequent outcomes. The aim is to highlight some characteristics of the use of the new Internet, so we will refer to documentation available on the Web. The ‘Wind from South’ project, which is part of the so-called ‘United for Freedom Caravan’, has led some Italian students and ‘precarious’ workers to Tunisia (7–12 April 2011). At that time, the Libyan crisis was becoming increasingly critical and the international military intervention had already started. At the same time, a significant flow of migrants, mostly Tunisians, arrived in Lampedusa, an Italian island near the coast of Tunisia. The extensive media coverage tended to tell the story of the ‘migration issue’ as a problem that could be solved only by the strengthening of the Mediterranean barrier (i.e. through the practice of the ‘push-back’ of migrants at sea) and of the ‘fortress Europe’. This context makes the student initiative even more meaningful, which stands as a strong desire to express closeness to the North African Mediterranean populations. The activists’ approach reverses the usual up/down arrangement (positive North and South negative): they consider North Africans, fighting for democracy and for a better society, as an example to follow rather than a potential threat from which to

259 defend. This approach is very clearly expressed from the webpage announcing the trip:

In these months we have learned a lot from what is happened in Tunisia and Egypt, events that we have followed with attention, curiosity and apprehension. The struggles of Maghreb and Mashreq have inspired us because we have identified ourselves in the slogan of a young generation and its high expectations, that are too high for the future that corrupted regimes and government in crisis want to offer us. In these months we have learned that the struggle of Tunisia and Egypt are our struggles! For this reason we want to go to Tunisia, to meet the protagonist of the revolt and build up together a new and different Europe, that is able to go into the other side of the Mediterranean Sea: a new space full of projects and common struggles. Inventing a new geography breaking the borders, setting up new directions, discovering new traces: the students of the UniCommon network will be in Tunisia starting from the 7 April 2011 together with the project United for Freedom, a caravan that will go to Libya border (to the Ben Gardane refugee camp) in order to help who are escaping from bombs and mercenaries, to shout ‘no war’: humanitarian war or not.

The analysis explicitly takes into account the migratory flows that connect the Southern shore to the Northern in the Euro-Mediterranean area. As reported on the same webpage: “Riots in North Africa – and expanding – are opening new ‘windows’, creating new prospects in the Euro-Mediterranean space. A space that has to deal with migration determined directly or indirectly by war and ongoing conflicts”, and “Being in a refugee camp on the Tunisia-Libya border is not an unfortunate coincidence: it is a piece of the war that consumes lives and hopes. Just as a piece of the war is Lampedusa, turned into an open-air prison.” This webpage is published not only in Italian, but also in English, French, and Spanish. Video messages in Italian, French, and English on the same subject are published by the Unicommon network on YouTube (J-ISOFY6c-k, accessed January 10th, 2012). These messages emphasize the sense of closeness to migrants arriving in Italy, showing a profound disagreement with Italian and European migration policies. The will to consider the Mediterranean as an area of unity rather than division is also very clear:

We’ve been to Lampedusa, in these days, giving our welcome to all immigrants and to all refugees coming to our rib as to protest against European policies on immigration, against the policies of ‘Fortress Europe’ and to affirm the right of movement and freedom for everybody. For us Tunisia is gonna be a big chance of meeting the students and all the young

260 people and to establish connections between the struggles on both sides of Mediterranean as in all Europe.

During its course, the ‘caravan’ was also documented with videos filmed in Tunisia. The videos, placed on YouTube, were related to a brief situation analysis mainly by interviews with local activists. A series of posts, in the form of a diary, told the experience on the organization’s website and, simultaneously, were diffused through a blog linked to one of the major Italian newspapers (La Repubblica XL). The last words in the diary confirm the idea of a ‘large’ Europe and the perception of the Mediterranean as a common space, also giving an appointment for the next meeting of (a part of) the international student network:

We know we will meet again some of these Tunisians guys at the Euro- Mediterranean meeting organized on 12 and 13 of May at ‘La Sapienza’ University of Rome. Tunisia teaches us that Europe is large and the Mediterranean Sea must be, once again, a sea of union and meeting, not of death and restriction.

The Euro-Mediterranean meeting in Rome, rather eloquently titled “The revolt of a generation. Happening on Euro-Mediterranean training, welfare policies and new practices”, saw the participation of delegates not only from Italy but also from the UK, Austria, and Spain. The meeting was organized by the Unicommon network in conjunction with ‘Link’, another student network. The meeting was followed by the sponsoring organizations’ websites and once more by the blog on La Repubblica XL. A short summary of this meeting appeared on the Unicommon website in English, Italian, Arabic, and French. A second Euro-Mediterranean meeting was held in Tunisia, at Regueb, in the governorate of Sidi Bouzid. The latter is a small city in the centre of Tunisia from which the Jasmine Revolution had spread, leading to the fall of the Ben Ali regime after the immolation of 26–year-old street vendor Mohamed Bouaziz. Bouaziz set himself on fire in despair caused by the harassment and corruption of the Tunisian system. After this occasion, another important step in the sequence of meetings of the activist’s network was the Euro-Mediterranean meeting in Barcelona (15–18 September 2011). This meeting followed the important experience, carried out in Spain by the so-called indignados (May 15, 2011), who mixed into their protests new technologies with concrete spatial practices. An example is the transformation of portions of urban space into public ‘agora’ where people assembled to discuss implementing a real process of (temporary) re-territorialization. Besides the strictly political elements, it seems important to point out one of the five points of the meeting final statement, demanding the

261 recognition of rights connected with new technologies and more generally to information. The declaration states as follows: “We also consider essential to guarantee rights such as net-neutrality and free access to networks, knowledge and education in opposition to privatization and commodification” (point 3; http://bcnhubmeeting. wordpress.com, accessed on December 10th, 2011). The ones mentioned here are only a part of a more widespread South/North (or North/South) informal ‘galaxy’ of cooperation between citizens and non-governmental organizations. This cooperation often relied not upon economics but on social and political themes, considering the Mediterranean to be a common interface in which South and North are considered partners in the (re)creation of a common space, not (only) as developed/underdeveloped countries in the global market game. A Euro-Mediterranean network of civil and social rights activists seems to be born and growing; this implies not only virtual connections, largely used, but ‘real’ human mobility and cooperation. The network’s ambitious goals seem – especially in young people’s perceptions – to surpass by far the official EU ones. The most common feeling seems to be that the official Barcelona process (started in 1995) is not really focused on a social, cultural, and human partnership, but mainly – if not exclusively – on migration control and prevention.

Concluding remarks

The ‘Arab Spring’, facilitated by the recent large diffusion of new ICTs, favored the perception of the Mediterranean as a common area of cultural and social exchange and an opportunity for cooperation rather than a barrier against migration. After a first wave of innovation diffusion, that at the end of the last century seemed to increase the lifestyle and cultural differences between European and North African countries, the younger generations of the two shores of the Mediterranean now have more and more common tools to communicate and disseminate information. Data show the great spread of mobile phones, even in the Southern Mediterranean, and the tumultuous growth in the percentage of population connected to the Internet shows these new possibilities. In particular, it is important to note that figures are expressed for the entire population of every country, and so they are presumably even higher among young people. Our initial considering and mapping of activists’ mobilities in the Mediterranean call for, from this point of view, a new view on Mediterranean regionalization patterns. They are possibly designing in the Euro-Mediterranean area the ‘third layer’ of Castells’s space of flows, operating mainly but not exclusively by virtual communication

262 channels, probably partially reversing features of fragmentation and supposed clashed of civilizations. The Mediterranean Internet has thus proven to be highly interconnected along an integrative path of active citizenship and open discourse, which appear increasingly interlinked and mutually recognized.

263 S – Scambi/Exchanges

Daniele Ietri and Francesca Silvia Rota1

Introduction

In scientific and everyday discourses, there have been several attempts to force the Mediterranean countries into closed categories, reducing their complexity to simple and ordered schemes (Farinelli 1995; Giaccaria and Minca 2011). Since Braudel, the Mediterranean area has been associated with a space of intense exchanges: a ‘liquid continent’ that enables connections between places and people and leads to the establishment of a Mediterranean identity (1949). More recently, Pace has emphasized the common occurrence of ‘multiple mediations’ between the regions bordering the Mediterranean Sea (2005, 1). In the book Mediterranean Crossings, Chambers has underlined the relational nature of the Mediterranean basin, defining it as a site of ‘perpetual transit’ articulated “in the diverse currents and complex nodes of both visible and invisible networks” (2008, 32), whereas Giaccaria and Minca have described it as a space of “uncontainable liquidity” (2011, 354), and Abulafia (2011) has proposed it as the archetype of a new category of maritime spaces (‘middle seas’) regularly crossed by flows of commodities, ideas, and people. The Mediterranean has also been depicted as a marginalized region, a backward space catalyzing the interests of foreign actors because of its strategic economic resources, especially in the oil and gas sector, or its naïve exotic landscapes, particularly appreciated by tourists (Harris 2005). As denounced by contemporary post-colonial scholars, one reason is certainly that this negative and stereotyped representation of the Mediterranean is the result of discourses largely imbued with Western colonial prejudices and that ‘orientalistic imagination’, which Herzfeld (2005) – ‘inspired’ by Said’s (1978) famous concept of ‘orientalism’ –

1 Paragraphs 1, 2, 3 and 5 are due to Francesca S. Rota. Paragraphs 4, 5 and the cartographies discussed in paragraph 3 are due to Daniele Ietri.

264 defined as ‘mediterraneanism’. On the one hand, a hegemonic construction of the image of the Mediterranean as a ‘not(yet)-modern’ geography has emerged from the marginalization of the Muslim populations, cultures, and governments by the Western economic and cultural élites (Cassano 2000; Chambers 2008). On the other hand, the banishment of a Mediterranean perspective from the “rubric of the Modern” has led to the handling of the Mediterranean region within a variety of spatial containers imposed by the Atlantic and Northern European visions (Giaccaria and Minca 2011, 355)2. In the paper, these and other stereotyped images of the Mediterranean space, which are currently produced (and reproduced) in the scientific and political discourse, are identified by the term mediterraneanisms. The aim of the paper is to test whether and to what extent these mediterraneanisms that mold the present Mediterranean imagery and influence the strategy of international intervention in the area are rhetorical or reflect existing economic processes.

European scientific discourses on the Mediterranean countries

Probably the most important sources of scientific information on the Mediterranean area are EUROSTAT, the statistical office of the European Union (EU)3, and ESPON, the European Spatial Planning Observation Network). The ESPON report Europe in the World (2007), in particular, is a keynote reading in order to detect some main stereotyped representations commonly associated with the Mediterranean geo-economic space4. More specifically, the varied sets of socio-economic data and maps (on population, wealth, trade, air connections, migration flows, public aid, etc.) analyzed in the report can lead to the identification of three mediterraneanisms.

2 Traditionally, the image of an underdeveloped region was applied to the countries of the Southern Mediterranean rim, because of their economic and political uncertainty. Nevertheless, the current crisis of the Euro zone and the difficulties of Greece, Italy, and Spain have favored its diffusion also to the Northern Mediterranean rim (De Rubertis 2011). 3 The launch of the Euro-Mediterranean strategy determined an increased need for analyses at the Mediterranean level. As a consequence, in 2007 Eurostat started a harmonized collection of data (Pocketbook on Euro- Mediterranean Statistics) on the EU-27 member states, the EFTA countries, and the countries adhering to the MEDSTAT II programme. 4 See also: La Documentation Française, 2008.

265 • A region characterized by pronounced North-South disparities. In this representation, evidently close to a ‘continent vision’ of the world-system, the Mediterranean Sea plays the role of a natural barrier limiting integration between Europe and the African and Asian countries. This representation is reinforced above all by the identification of some emerging demographic and economic trends (ESPON 2007,18): ‘golden decline’ in Europe (and Israel), ‘divergence’ in Libya and Morocco, and ‘equilibrium’ in Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Egypt, Tunisia, and Algeria. Also, a North-South model emerges with regard to international security issues and migration flows (see also: CASE and CESP 2009). Although the Southern and Eastern coasts of the Mediterranean basin are the most important origins of migrant flows directed towards the European Union, the restrictive asylum policies adopted by the EU member states has contributed to turn the European coast into a sort of ‘military fortress’ (Del Grande 2010) and to transform the Mediterranean Sea into a deadly passage (above all for illegal immigrants from the Maghreb5). • A peripheral or semi-peripheral band, gravitating (with the exception of Israel) Northwards to Western Europe. In this representation of a Mediterranean backward space, the Mediterranean Sea does not emerge any longer as a line of abrupt discontinuity (De Rubertis 2008). Rather, the variations in regional economic potential and population potential lead to the identification of a wider Euro-African continent, where the Mediterranean countries play the role of an inner ‘buffer zone’ between Europe and Africa (ESPON 2007, 7) or a ‘shatter-belt’ between the Euro-Mediterranean continent and the rest of Africa (ESPON 2007, 6). In the report, another forceful representation of the influence of the European Union countries on the Balkans and the other Mediterranean countries comes from the representation of existing bilateral trade relations and traffic flows (2007, 41). • A gateway of intense flows at the global and regional scale. This description is related above all to the identification of a system of interconnected transport corridors, nodes, and flows. The geography of air and maritime exchanges, in particular, makes clear the role of the Mediterranean Sea as an important, although still partly underexploited, corridor of transport and connections. More specifically, ESPON elaborations on preferential trade relations and

5 The Maghreb region is formed by Mauritania, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya.

266 bilateral international trade flows have shown that N-S connections are intense, above all between the Maghreb and the Western Euro- Mediterranean area (ESPON 2007; Dotoli 2010; Khader 2009); while E-W connections (especially between the Maghreb and the Mashreq6, but also between the Balkans and the EU) remain weak, probably hindered by political and/or technical barriers (see also: EIB and EUROMED 2010).

In general terms, the EU policies concerning the Mediterranean seem to be inspired by a ‘historical responsibility’ of ex-colonial countries towards the reduction of the strong economic and demographic differential of the countries with whom they established colonial relations in the 19th century, through a real partnership based on equality and complementarities. As ESPON suggested (2007), the common past induces a particular political responsibility of Europe for the development of these countries in the present time. This is consistent with a mediterraneanist narrative considering the Mediterranean as a marginalized, fragmented, problematic, and often conflictual space of EU intervention (Jones 2011). More specifically, EU policies are characterized by “a strong commitment to recreate a [lost] mediterraneaness, i.e. a Mediterranean cultural and political identity that would re-construct the bridge between the Mediterranean Europe and the Mediterranean Arab countries” (Gallina 2006, 3, emphasis added). In other words, the EU political design tends to take for granted the existence of a unifying Mediterranean principle, a condition of ‘mediterraneanity’, enabling and facilitating regional integration and exchanges. However, not all the Mediterranean countries receive the same amount of attention from the EU. If we consider data from the OECD Development Aid Committee (DAC) (representing 97% of word development assistance), we realize that since 1990 the EU Members gave a decreasing priority to the geopolitical stakes of their Arab Mediterranean neighbors (ESPON 2007). Analysis of European scientific and policy documents has provided some evidence that the mediterraneanist imagination is still powerfully at work in the European discourse (for an updated discussion on the effects of the mediterraneanist imagination see, among others: Giaccaria and Minca 2011, Jones 2011). In particular, it transmits four main stereotyped descriptions or mediterraneanisms (Fig.1) that depict the

6 The borders of the Mashreq region are debatable. In this paper it includes: Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Occupied Palestinian Territory, and Israel. Other studies, such as WB (2010), exclude Israel. Others include Kuwait (Blavy 2001).

267 Mediterranean as: a) a space of deep-rooted North-South divisions; b) a semi-peripheral band between the European core and the African periphery; c) a crossroad of regional and global corridors; d) a macro- region of cooperation agreements facilitating integration and exchanges.

Figure 1 – Emerging mediterraneanisms in the European scientific and policy discourses

Source: authors’ elaboration

Most of these descriptions still convey the idea of a central and structural role of the European Union over the rest of the Mediterranean macro-region. As Jones says, it emerges as “a space in which the European Union regards itself as having a natural legitimacy to act in order to ensure its own security, promote good neighborliness, and stave off potential threats to European and global order” (Jones 2011, 41). Yet, this geo-political dimension does not take into due consideration the new geo-economic trends and trajectories (existing and potential) produced by the global economic crisis, the recent rising of new market opportunities, and the challenges posed by globalization in terms of rethinking traditional paradigms. Until 2009, many countries of the Southern and Eastern shores of the Mediterranean Sea (namely Tunisia, Egypt, Turkey, and Libya) succeeded in reinforcing their competitive advantage in the global trade and financial market on the basis of their proximity to Europe, the logistic advantage of nearby harbors, the presence of natural resource endowments and skilled labour, the proactive support of national governments, and increasing FDI through international trade agreements (Alessandrini and Resmini 2000; UNCTAD 2009; Martín 2010). Then, the decline of global demand caused by the crisis and the explosion of the Arab spring determined in most of these countries a negative demand shock for export products and the decline of external transfers such as foreign direct investments, foreign aid, and remittances (Alessandrini 2009; Alabi et al. 2011). At the same time, the weakening of the European countries in world geo-economics has favored the entry in the

268 Mediterranean market of new trade and financial partners – China, India, Brazil – and the re-entry of some old ones – Russia. As Menon and Wimbuh state,

the number of new states seeking some combination of economic, energy, and security gains in the Mediterranean is increasing. Some have historical ties with the Mediterranean region and the Maghreb and are trying to build or rebuild economic and security ties. Others probably see the Mediterranean region through both short- and longer-term filters that reveal more immediate economic interests but that eventually converge with a larger strategic plan. Still others see purely economic benefits, and a few see purely security benefits (2010, 3).

As an effect, the Mediterranean is increasingly at a crossroads of different economic interests and powers, embodying different models of global economic integration (Camporini, Caracciolo and Maronta 2011). As the direct and indirect interventions following the African Spring have clearly demonstrated, today the Mediterranean seems to be not only one of the most important battlefields between the American economic regulation model and the European one (Minca 2003; Martín 2010) but also an area under the influence of Asian and Arab countries. The changing Mediterranean geo-political landscape is thus affecting both the trajectories of ‘actual’ geo-economic exchanges (and of their possible combinations) and the display of future Euro-Mediterranean integration policies.

International trade exchange in the Mediterranean macro-region

In order to test the consistency of the stereotyped Mediterranean images conveyed by the European discourse, this paragraph analyzes the geography of current international trade flows between the countries that border the Mediterranean Sea7. More specifically, we have analyzed the economic value of imports and exports between the Mediterranean countries and the EU-25 looking for clues of that central and structuring role of the European Union in the Mediterranean macro-

7 In the paper, this region is referred to as the Mediterranean macro-region. It is formed by EU countries (Gibraltar, Spain, France, Italy, Slovenia, Greece, Malta, and Cyprus), Balkan countries (Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Montenegro, and Albania), African countries (Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria, and Egypt), and Asian countries (Israel, Lebanon, Occupied Palestinian Territory, and Syrian Arab Republic).

269 region that the mediterraneanist imagination still presumes and strongly diffuses. As a result, we realized that the EU is actually an important origin/destination of economic flows. Yet, the total amount of the exchanged products varies greatly according to both the product and the considered partner.

Figure 2 – Imports (a) and exports (b) in thousands of dollars for all products except fuels, 2010

Source: authors’ elaboration on UNCTAD data

With regard to all products except fuels, unsurprisingly the countries that register the highest shares of trade exchange with the EU-25 are concentrated in the Northern Mediterranean rim. Nevertheless, some unexpected patterns, which do not follow a North-South or center-periphery model, can be also pointed out. For instance, with regard to imports (Fig. 2a), Tunisia presents the highest level of economic integration with the EU (71% of the products it imported came from member countries) together with Croatia, Albania and the EU countries of Italy, France, Spain. Lower but still relevant are the imports of Morocco (56%), Slovenia (59%), Bosnia-Herzegovina (59%), Algeria (50%), and Turkey (44%). With regard to exports (Fig. 2b), the most integrated countries are Spain, Cyprus, Malta, the Balkans (except Montenegro), and Tunisia (since they exchange with EU-25 70% and over of their exports), followed by Italy (57%), Slovenia (59%), Morocco (59%), Montenegro (56%), and Turkey (48%). Alternatively, Syria, Lebanon, the Occupied Palestinian Territory, and Israel present the loWest integration, followed by Egypt and Libya. In other words, trade data emphasize the integration into the EU market of the European countries (except Montenegro) and the Western portion of the Maghreb (Tunisia and Morocco), versus the isolation of Libya, Egypt (although it is traditionally considered an important partner of the EU),

270 and the Mashreq. Yet, as we will demonstrate, the analysis of specific products can also lead to the display of other – partly unexpected – geographies. For instance, if we consider the export of fuels (Fig. 3b), the EU emerges as a key partner of Tunisia (91% of total exports are directed towards the EU-25) and Albania (83%), as well as of Libya (79%) and Syria (73%). With regard to imports (Fig. 3a), the most important importers of EU fuels are Libya (85%) and Algeria (74%).

Figure 3 – Imports (a) and exports (b) in thousands of dollars for fuels, 2010

Source: authors’ elaboration on UNCTAD data

As the maps below show, if we consider metals, the largest importers of EU ores and metals (Fig. 4a) are concentrated in the Western portion of the Mediterranean basin, both in the Northern rim – this is the case of Algeria (66%) and Tunisia (66%) – and in the Southern rim – France (61%). On the other hand, the largest exporters of ore and metals directed towards the European Union (Fig. 4b) are concentrated in Slovenia (88%) and in the Balkans: Montenegro (88%), and Croatia (86%). As for manufacturing, the geography of exchanges varies greatly on the basis of the degree of technology intensity. With regard to imports, the EU is the most important destination of products characterized by medium skill and technology imported by other European countries (except Montenegro) and Tunisia (more than 70%), followed by Turkey and Morocco. Considering manufacturing with low skill and technology, it accounts for a relevant share of the overall import in Gibraltar (87%), France (78%), Slovenia (78%), and Croatia (75%). EU products manufactured with high skill and technology intensity are important in Cyprus (83%), Gibraltar (79%), and Greece (75%). Labor-intensive and resource-based manufactured products are important in Gibraltar (93%), Tunisia (86%), Malta (84%),

271 Albania (78%), and Cyprus (77%). As exports is concerned, the shares of manufacturing with low skill and technology intensity that are absorbed by the EU remain quite low, especially in non-EU countries.

Figure 4 – Imports (a) and exports (b) in thousands of dollars for ores and metals, 2010

Source: authors’ elaboration on UNCTAD data

The shares of manufacturing with medium skill and technology reach the highest values in Albania (85%), Tunisia (83%), Morocco (81%), Slovenia (79%), Bosnia-Herzegovina (79%), and Spain (75%). Albania (82%) and Algeria (86%) emerge as important EU suppliers of high skill and technology intensity. Albania (93%), Morocco (90%), Tunisia (88%), Malta (84%), and Croatia (79%) emerge with reference to labor-intensive and resource-based manufacturing. These results, in particular, are interesting since they give evidence of the integrating effects of the productive investments recently started (in many cases supported by EU investments) in the Western portion of the Maghreb region (Morocco, Tunisia, and Algeria) and in the Balkans (Albania above all, but also Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina). At the same time – consistent with a Eurocentric perspective – they reinforce the image of the deep isolation of the Mashreq and, limited to specific exchanges, of Israel, Egypt, and Libya. For these countries, non-EU partners play a more important role than the EU members. As Tables 1 and 2 show, these countries enlace the most intense trade relationships with the G20 group (this is the case of Israel) or with the group of the Gulf countries8.

8 We refer to the countries of the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC): Bahrain, Union Arab Emirates (UAE), Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, and Saudi Arabia.

272

45,455 963,661 392,580 546,832 1,313,869 4,277,349 1,279,588 5,013,954 1,955,299 2,558,233 8,281,228 World 10,338,201 18,781,178 19,182,605 57,907,589 17,078,117 28,387,040 13,918,215 492,934,271 425,628,593 233,776,334 109,574,110 1,454,134,302

0 0 538 1,181 8,062 1,181 26,319 38,202 13,486 26,012 157,629 347,570 377,469 226,187 115,763 129,254 GCC 2,678,949 1,234,803 3,481,191 1,671,318 5,987,804 12,146,379 10,556,982

28,241 87,365 337,262 428,816 682,187 149,769 G20 1,011,203 1,466,740 4,343,938 8,722,679 9,223,694 1,289,358 1,899,184 9,578,974 1,513,987 9,279,388 36,629,175 11,921,369 46,880,116 251,978,750 221,707,612 144,097,307 763,257,114 28,334 93,736 970,680 970,680 464,586 899,207 603,176 614,247 219,981 519,672 2,723,579 6,634,670 5,142,963 1,723,643 9,697,814 EU-25 12,541,269 12,541,269 15,341,288 10,146,567 16,711,287 52,709,542 301,115,714 301,115,714 244,286,795 167,245,155 850,433,905

755 610 4,422 28,986 28,308 10,105 96,738 46,916 65,835 43,392 293,625 615,145 166,872 722,135 361,850 324,299 1,241,435 6,952,141 3,578,812 States United 28,003,842 18,487,591 25,444,677 86,518,491

812 183 214 161 2,065 9,002 1,460 2,279 40,460 16,505 38,271 69,860 226,712 213,299 419,115 811,807 326,902 707,024 8,311,776 2,588,142 4,497,294 10,430,003 28,713,348 Russian Fed. Russian

0 0 0 105 381 22,920 31,221 11,148 80,578 23,661 15,353 20,289 95,455 26,140 306,496 917,227 291,507 603,957 India 3,815,311 2,890,026 4,227,444 1,438,233 14,817,451

2 197 3,194 15,445 18,339 37,695 11,776 39,475 76,089 29,410 31,965 126,403 416,927 190,971 392,990 116,442 120,373 China 2,046,856 3,497,720 2,243,075 14,521,825 11,360,675 35,297,844 2 0 41 434 434 3,485 3,485 5,057 2,228 8,154 11,140 16,810 91,214 27,569 11,902 45,780 11,239 931,936 931,936 557,161 131,807 607,404 Brazil 4,655,290 4,981,335 2,582,601

14,682,589 14,682,589 20,288 37,273 987,200 987,200 631,782 513,407 919,571 950,696 314,980 2,730,342 5,133,865 7,103,865 7,676,212 6,328,423 1,885,121 8,476,604 8,562,973 2,530,049 8,748,367 87,961,446 87,961,446 30,748,528 113,119,522 113,119,522 117,965,010 413,345,523 Other Mediterranean Mediterranean Partners Partners Albania Algeria Bosnia- Herzegovina Croatia Cyprus Egypt France Gibraltar Greece Israel Italy Lebanon Arab Libyan Jamahiriya Malta Montenegro Morocco Occ. Palestinian Territory Slovenia Spain Syrian Arab Republic Tunisia Turkey TOTAL

Table 1 – Exports, in thousands of dollars, of all products except fuels, 2010 Source: UNCTAD, UNCTADstat

273

154,354 4,013,664 7,906,956 6,827,021 3,423,518 1,905,454 4,003,910 World 40,132,619 16,285,706 45,874,884 48,421,027 48,752,639 15,150,818 22,348,321 27,246,313 26,594,123 14,966,543 19,657,047 516,459,852 394,489,788 253,933,730 158,837,147 1,677,385,435

209 335 6,192 6,851 3,450 1,884 53,318 56,617 16,283 13,644 654,113 655,908 273,339 939,597 273,140 786,874 775,454 286,080 GCC 1,854,845 1,801,896 2,471,543 2,456,232 13,387,804

147,529 604,659 G20 2,409,509 2,442,928 9,217,670 3,394,059 8,435,626 2,346,875 1,748,754 8,699,700 29,214,866 32,403,262 29,477,351 29,529,332 15,568,525 18,156,619 12,629,680 14,805,979 97,133,119 298,951,634 217,136,676 161,154,769 995,609,119 71,678 649,724 649,724 2,784,783 4,659,992 5,065,975 4,970,637 8,448,694 2,192,700 1,164,526 2,986,681

EU-25 19,964,914 19,964,914 10,991,601 14,790,471 31,776,153 20,248,327 15,379,825 15,695,930 14,019,819 69,396,334 333,176,371 333,176,371 255,891,536 172,955,296 1,007,281,969

60,402 24,508 62,430 94,434 20,393 28,215 423,043 107,510 811,922 560,187 351,266 567,626 2,054,397 4,734,813 1,529,676 6,338,736 1,187,495 1,739,349 8,642,131 32,966,555 13,207,788 11,499,679 87,012,555 United States

0 1,181 4,414 52,990 76,410 35,880 27,631 13,025 130,861 542,600 784,682 102,647 172,275 485,734 189,628 586,207 216,071 1,500,353 2,040,594 3,351,955 1,180,664 11,851,720 23,347,520 Russian Fed. Russian

0 0 6,670 6,397 16,576 51,147 30,371 777,177 126,303 389,802 196,747 203,627 356,374 158,585 332,096 258,004 India 1,365,175 4,112,077 1,843,281 4,497,128 2,847,989 2,765,493 20,341,018

344 78,498 269,224 454,939 142,536 117,014 315,941 4,604,804 1,440,681 4,901,424 3,821,658 4,735,321 1,424,929 2,519,517 2,967,993 1,394,637 1,881,151 1,025,539 China 48,820,348 38,124,806 20,898,771 17,145,994 157,086,068 0 65 4,488 4,488 41,853 24,627 19,791 38,698 902,415 902,415 155,929 379,420 258,903 253,118 543,607 765,131 118,730 236,766 224,785

1,736,170 4,560,994 4,383,841 3,602,056 1,347,524 Brazil 19,598,912 19,598,912 9,737 9,737 564,694 564,694 2,369,438 3,378,205 5,500,286 2,790,955 8,071,684 7,322,409 4,570,210 1,211,992 1,747,907 7,172,364 2,874,227 Other 15,579,599 15,579,599 13,890,767 81,696,366 10,194,428 11,944,290 65,677,334 10,902,272 28,394,535 107,920,253 107,920,253 393,783,954 Mediterranean Mediterranean Source: UNCTAD, UNCTADstat Table 2 - Imports, in thousands of dollars, of all products except fuels, 2010 Partners Albania Algeria Bosnia-Herzegovina Croatia Cyprus Egypt France Gibraltar Greece Israel Italy Lebanon Arab Libyan Jamahiriya Malta Montenegro Morocco Occ. Palestinian Territory Slovenia Spain Syrian Arab Republic Tunisia Turkey TOTAL

274 Syria, Lebanon, and Egypt get 17%, 6%, and 4%, respectively, of their total imports (total products except fuels) from the Gulf. Lebanon, Syria, Libya, and Egypt export 25%, 20%, 19%, and 14%, respectively, to this area. Also, the tables inform on the economic integration of the Mediterranean countries into the Mediterranean macro-region. Again, the collected data provide evidence for a more ‘disenchanted’ view on the role of the EU. As for imports, for instance, Albania and Tunisia register the highest shares of total exchanges with other Mediterranean countries (59% and 55%, respectively), followed by Libya (46%), Morocco (44%), Occupied Palestinian Territory (44%), Bosnia- Herzegovina (43%), and Cyprus (41%). Among the EU countries, Italy and Spain import only 21% of their total imports from the Mediterranean area. France imports 26%. As for exports, countries exchanging more than 50% of total exports with the EU are: Montenegro (80%), Albania (75%), Algeria (66%), Bosnia-Herzegovina (64%), Tunisia (63%), Croatia (50%), and Morocco (50%). Lower, yet relevant, are the shares registered by Libya (47%), Cyprus (40%), and Greece (40%), especially when the other EU countries do not exceed 23% (France), 28% (Italy), and 38% (Spain). This result is quite surprising, since it basically controverts the idea of a strong commitment of the European Union in the Mediterranean region. Rather, it depicts a geography where the Maghreb and the Balkans are key areas reinforcing Mediterranean cohesion and the Mashreq and the European countries generate centrifugal forces because of their strong integration with non-Mediterranean partners. China, in particular, exerts a growing influence on Mediterranean countries (Camporini, Caracciolo and Maronta 2011). Ten years ago, China developed important relationships with Egypt and Libya. Today, China’s products determine a relevant share of the total imports in Algeria, Egypt (which also has important relationships with the USA), Libya, Morocco, Syria (11%), and Turkey (13%). Moreover, it intercepts 10% of Albania’s total exports and 4% of those of Israel and Libya. Among the other BRIC countries, India is an important partner of Morocco and Israel (it receives 5% of their total export), and Russia is an important partner of Turkey (7% of total import). The United States of America (USA) are a privileged import partner with Gibraltar (40% of Gibraltar’s import comes from the USA) and Israel (13%), for which the USA are also a privileged export partner (32% of Israel’s export goes to the USA) as well as for the Occupied Palestinian Territory (12%).

275 Other geo-economic exchanges in the Mediterranean macro-region

A second relevant source of information on ‘actual’ geo-economic exchanges is foreign direct investment (FDI). Unfortunately, updated statistics on international financial exchanges are far more difficult to collect than trade ones. Eurostat, for instance, provides FDI flows and stocks only with reference to EU partners and some other Mediterranean countries such as Egypt, Croatia, Israel, Morocco, Former Yugoslavia, Republic of Macedonia, and Turkey. The countries forming the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership9 are considered too, yet in an aggregate way (the Euromed area). With regard to FDI stock, Eurostat data show that both incoming and outgoing stocks have constantly increased in the Euromed area for the period 2005–2009. Investments from the Euromed countries towards the European Union increased from 17 billion € to more than 38.6 billion €, with an average yearly rate of +32.0%. Israel’s stock, in particular, reached the value of 18.6 billion € in 2009. Investments from the EU to the Euromed countries increased up to 110 billion € in 2009, with a growth rate of +24.5%. Turkey’s stock in particular is quite relevant (51 billion €), comparable with China, , or the whole North of Africa. However, investments remain quite low if compared with the total stock of inward (Euromed countries account for 0.47%) and outward (Euromed countries account for 1.15%) investments. EU FDIs in some non-EU countries such as Brazil (132 billion €) are much higher. Moreover, flows from the Euromed area to the European Union are characterized by varying trends, sometimes assuming negative values (dis-investments), where EU flows directed towards the Mediterranean area are always positive. As a result, in 2009, the total amount of EU foreign investments to the Euromed area had grown up to 10.6 billion €, higher than flows to South America and the group of the OPEC countries, yet still limited. Indeed, although favored by physical proximity and economic complementarities, investments from Europe to its Southern neighbors remain rather low. This is probably due to many reasons, including the emerging of new market challenges (Gulf countries, USA, China, India, etc.), the explosion of the current international economic crisis, and the eruption of the Arab spring. With this regard, information on investments projects and partnerships in the Mediterranean area collected by ANIMA since

9 These countries are: Algeria, Egypt, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Libya, Morocco, Occupied Palestinian Territory, Syria, and Tunisia.

276 200310 contribute to stress the increasing involvement of the countries of the Gulf Cooperation Council in the Mediterranean economies. As demonstrated by de Saint-Laurent (2010), the net decline in European and North American investments and the creation of a real estate/tourism bubble in the United Arab Emirates (UAE) economy facilitated the emerging of the Gulf area as the second most important investment pillar (after the EU) in the Mediterranean. Since 2003, Gulf investors have reached an investment volume of more than 70 billion € in nearly 700 projects. In 2006, for the first time, they also surpassed Europe as the main issuers of FDI. Mainly thanks to the UAE, the Southern Mediterranean countries ceased being relatively neglected at world level (in the early 2000s they received less than 1% of global FDI inflows) and recovered a more significant attractiveness (ASCAME 2010; WB 2011). In the period 2004–2008, they attracted 3–4% of the world FDI market, corresponding to around 40 billion €. Turkey and Egypt, benefiting from strong reforms since 2004, have accounted for most of this recovery. Nevertheless, the smaller countries (Jordan, Lebanon, Tunisia and, above all, Israel) have registered relatively better performances than the larger ones. The graph that follows (Fig.5) shows the amount of FDI inflows to the Southern Mediterranean countries from Europe, USA/Canada, and Gulf countries (de Saint-Laurent 2010). Evidently, the year 2006 was a turning point in the Mediterranean geo-economic scenario, since that year the Gulf investors exceeded the American ones, becoming the second main investing partners. Maghreb and Mashreq countries do not appear in the graph since their investments in the Mediterranean region are low, given also their limited political integration. However, in recent years they are developing some important in-roads for industrial networking that will probably modify in the future the geography of FDI flows (WB 2011). Examples are the investments of the Swiss Orascom Holding in Egyptian and Middle East construction or telecom industries, the strategy of Turkish firms in Mashreq, the Logan model automobiles manufactured in Morocco to be sold in Egypt, and, more generally, the increased amount of notable foreign investment in the Maghreb by Sumimoto, British Petroleum, Airbus, Boeing, Renault, Groupe Safran, Royal Dutch Shell, and ExxonMobil.

10 Although coherent, ANIMA records differ from those of Eurostat and UNCTAD, since the latter represent macro-economic flows registered by the central banks, while ANIMA collects all the announcements made by companies.

277 Figure 5 – Imports FDI inflows from main investing regions, 2003– 2009 (Real FDI amounts in €m)

Source: de Saint-Laurent 2010, 35

Indeed, as the map below (Fig. 6) illustrates, Maghreb – together with Turkey and Egypt – is the most important destination of EU FDI. More specifically, most of the projects and partnerships are concentrated in Gibraltar, the Mediterranean coastal regions of Morocco, the urban regions of Tunisia, Cairo, Israel, the area of the Gaza strip, the region of Istanbul, and a large portion of the coast of the Anatolian peninsula (Anima 2010). The USA concentrates on Israel. Gulf investments are localized mostly in Mashreq (34%) and Maghreb (26%). The remaining 40% is captured by the other MEDA countries: Israel, Turkey, Malta, and Cyprus.

These strong affinities are initially the product of geography, the most significant flows developing between the closest blocs (Europe-Maghreb or Europe-Turkey, Gulf-Mashreq). But physical geography can be overcome or reinforced by cultural or historical affinities: privileged business connections with Jordan, Lebanon, Syria or Egypt deriving from the family and patrimonial capitalism of the Gulf, or close relations between the USA and Israel (de Saint-Laurent 2010, 33).

Analogously, among EU countries, France has the most intense relationships with Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia because of its historical and cultural connections; Germany develops intense relationships with Turkey, which is also the main origin of German immigration; Italy concentrates on Egypt (because of tourism interest) and Libya (because of energy interest).

278 Figure 6 – Main FDI inflows into MED countries, per origin and sub-region of destination (in €bn)

Source: de Saint-Laurent 2010, 33

Conclusions

Existing geo-economic exchanges between the countries bordering the Mediterranean Sea have been analyzed to test the capacity of the European imagery to provide a convincing representation of the Mediterranean space. More specifically, the geographies of trade and FDI exchanges have been compared with some representations of the Mediterranean countries conveyed in the European scientific and political discourse. As a result we have realized that the European narratives go on providing a quite stereotyped set of representations of the Mediterranean region (or mediterraneanisms), whose geopolitical dimension reflect much of the traditional Western elites’ conviction of the supremacy of Europe over its Southern neighbors. Yet this North- South model finds little correspondence in recent geo-economic trends. In particular, the analysis of existing trade and FDI exchanges questions two main aspects of the European mediterraneanist narrative: the existence of a unifying principle of ‘mediterraneanity’ (or ‘mediterraneaness’) that is assumed at the basis of the construction of the geo-political dimension of the Mediterranean, and the orchestrating role of the European Union in the Mediterranean area:

279 • as to the former aspect, the analysis has shown a relevant heterogeneity of trade and FDI exchanges that makes it difficult to consider the Mediterranean as a single integrated macro-region. Rather, it suggests the existence of an economically and politically multi-polar system, formed by some main groups of countries or sub- regions (EU, Balkans, Maghreb, Mashreq), and some ‘isolated’ countries such as Egypt, Israel, and Turkey. Among these poles, North-North flows remain predominant. North-South flows are also intense, although, often ruled by Northern European interests (EIB and EUROMED 2010). Whereas the countries of the Southern rim confirm their traditional poor integration (Joannon, Tirone and Moro 2001; World Economic Forum 2011), exchanges of a certain relevance occur between Libya and Syria, and some inroads are being made in trade exchanges and industrial networking; • as to the role of the European Union, the analysis has shown that the EU is a strategic partner only for some Mediterranean countries, i.e. EU, Balkan, and Maghreb countries. Turkey, Egypt, and the Mashreq countries rely less on the EU, although with some exceptions (77% of total Libyan exports is directed towards the EU- 25). Moreover, the EU exerts its influence mainly on specific countries via specific flows. In the Maghreb, for instance, the EU attracts more than 80% of the total export of Tunisia and Libya, while it attracts just 30% and 50% from Morocco and Algeria, respectively. In the Balkans, it attracts more than 85% of the export of metals and ores from Montenegro and Croatia, 63% from Bosnia- Herzegovina, and 33% from Albania. On the one hand, the role of the EU is weakened by a growing presence in the Southern Mediterranean rim of the Gulf countries, and, to a lesser extent, by the presence of Asian countries (China, India) and Russia (see also: CASE and CESP 2009). On the other hand, the EU interest in the Mediterranean countries is highly polarized on Maghreb, Egypt, and Turkey, while it almost ignores the other ones.

Thus, the celebrated ‘deep commitment’ of the EU in the Mediterranean region does not find clear correspondence in the geography of geo-economic flows. Certainly, the EU goes on playing a key structuring role in the region. France, in particular, plays an important orchestrating role in shaping the geography of inter-regional geo-economic flows, also favored by historical and cultural relationships with the Maghreb countries. However, Turkey has also a growing importance: given the number, the distribution, and the intensity of its relationships, Turkey is the second most important trade and financial partner of the Mediterranean countries after the EU. In particular, it establishes intense relationships with European countries (France, Italy,

280 and Spain) as well as with countries from the Maghreb (Algeria) and the Mashreq (Israel and Libya). Summarizing, the paper has provided arguments that the current European imagery on the Mediterranean is rhetoric and, at lEast partially, misleading when it evokes traditional North-South and center- periphery models. The geography of existing economic flows has in fact given evidence for a multi-polar system based on some emerging sub- regions (EU, Balkans, Maghreb, Mashreq) and countries (Egypt, Israel, and Turkey). Also, it has supported the existence in the Southern Mediterranean rim of strong opposite powers with diversified investment logics (De Saint-Laurent 2010): the European Union, the traditional investor in the Mediterranean area, with strong economic interests above all in Turkey, Egypt, and former colonial Maghreb countries; North-America, the main partner of Israel, interested in African and Arab resources; the Gulf, concerned in terms of Arab brotherhood, but also interested in geo-economic expansion in the Mashreq area and Turkey; and, to a lesser extent, the richest countries of the Southern Mediterranean rim themselves (namely, Egypt and Turkey), interested in establishing new industrial channels (Anima 2010). This result is important above all within the context of the recent EU proposals for an ‘EU-ruled’ deeper economic integration between the Mediterranean countries. As Martín says: “in view of the data and the trade dynamics in the [Mediterranean] region, the EU does not necessarily look to be winning the game” (2010, 5). Probably, if the EU wants to play a central role, it should first look seriously at the structure of its plans for the future development of the Mediterranean and avoid assuming stereotyped visions of this area. More specifically, current European discourse imbued with mediterraneanisms, which hardly overlap (as the article tried to demonstrate) with existing geo-economic exchanges in the area, seems to be substituted by a new vision more ‘open’ to the comprehension of the Mediterranean dynamics and to transform the diversity of the Mediterranean region, which is currently expressed in fragmentation, into a great opportunity in terms of complementarities (Martín 2010; World Economic Forum 2011). In this respect, the identification of sub-regions or, better, the assumption of a “logic of graduated regionalism” (Koch 2009, 2) might be considered as a suitable option; indeed, some recent studies on the Mediterranean go in this direction (ASCAME 2010; WB 2010 and 2011). However, the practice of regionalizing may hide some threats too. First, the presumed homogeneity (from a socio-economic, geographical, or financial perspective) that is supposed to characterize each sub-region does not convey the actual condition of fragmentation among the Mediterranean countries (World Economic Forum 2011). Then, the cohesion in the

281 sub-regions remains low as every country is characterized by a variety of geo-economic relationships and in each sub-region there is at lEast one country polarizing trade and FDI (Tunisia in Maghreb, Albania in the Balkans, Israel in the Mashreq, France in the EU). In this respect, the Mediterranean confirms its nature of a ‘space of uncontainable fluidity’ (Giaccaria and Minca 2011), hardly referable to predefined spatial boxes: not only spatial containers imposed by the Northern European (and Atlantic) vision, but also geometries that emerge from scientific analysis of geo-economic flows. In the light of our analysis, our suggestion is thus to avoid pre- existing regionalizations and to adopt a more critical approach to the many ‘unsuspected cartographies’ of the Mediterranean (Chambers 2008). Especially in the Southern Mediterranean flank, relevant groups of countries cannot be defined a priori. Rather, they have to be empirically defined on the basis of the available data. The risk in considering preordained spatial boxes is to misunderstand the fluid modification of the established powers, relations and equilibriums that is the true distinguishing feature characterizing the Mediterranean.

282

T – Terrore/Terror

Maurizio Scaini

Introduction

The definition of the terrorist phenomenon presents several difficulties given that the characteristics of that phenomenon have changed in the course of history and in relation to place. The two principal categories that have historically assumed this behavior tend to consider it both as an instrument by authoritarian regimes to inhibit dissent and as a destabilization technique used typically by élites who connect it to some political utopia. The most recent debate has concentrated primarily on the second category as it is the most difficult to classify and, since the Cold War, poses the most delicate international problems. The work of the ad hoc Committee instituted by the U.N. General Assembly in 1996 to draft a global convention on international terrorism failed exactly because of the impossibility of finding a shared definition of ‘terrorist act’ (U.N. Assembly, Ad Hoc Committee, Resolution 51/12, 1996). The dissent was mainly related to the application of the concept to particular situations of armed conflict and to the activities performed by the institutional forces of a State in the exercise of their functions. The majority of the definitions elaborated until now to circumscribe terrorism highlight the implementation of a political strategy that places emphasis on the psychological effect provoked by a violent action with respect to the value of the objective attacked. If the psychological consequences are fundamental to begin defining a terrorist action, they do not, however, define the entire problem. The strategy, in fact, has repeatedly demonstrated the crucial importance of the psychological aspect also in conventional conflicts, rendering it difficult to limit terrorist acts only to clandestine groups. From this point of view, it is necessary to ask if an action, to be terrorist, regards only civilian objectives or if military objectives should also be included. Several authors attribute the difference between an act of war and an act of terrorism to a preventive declaration of war between the parties. In addition, acts of war must strike operating military objectives. In this case, however, we would reach a paradoxical conclusion that the

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Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor was a terrorist action, while the atomic bombs launched by the United States on Hiroshima and Nagasaki were acts of conventional war (Rodin 2004, 647–649; Ganor 2005). Insisting on the distinction between acts of war and acts of terrorism seems an ambiguous operation, having observed that centuries of history have demonstrated profound cohabitation between the two aspects. There are theoretical reasons that render clumsy the answer from the State to terrorist attacks, as it is in the partisan, in the irregular fighting figure, the potential terrorist, that the modern state glimpses its own origins. The self-sufficiency of the modern bourgeois state and the partisan willingness from which this derives have an element in common. Both, in origin, tend to be free from every rule and do not derive their source of legitimacy from a truth or presumed justice but, rather, from the concentration of power and the capacity to exercise it, as emphasized by Carl Schmitt. The process of political recognition appears painful, in the end, because it implies an admission of vulnerability and weakness that is theoretical as well as physical. Bringing this insufficiency to light also means admitting that contemporary terrorism is complementary and consequent to a global order that derives from the affirmation of the modern state and from its colonial expansion, and which contemplates and proposes a violent logic that continues to this day. As long as terrorism remains a political phenomenon it will be difficult to reach a shared definition. It becomes legitimate to wonder if its definition is truly necessary or if this category must not instead be inserted into a process that regards the evolution of world politics in its entirety. In this context, the observations of two Chinese colonels, Qiao Liang and Wang Xiangsui (1999), are presented in their book Unrestricted War. Even though in their analysis they knowingly avoid investigating the mechanisms that govern the current phase of globalization, according to their thesis, terrorism should more correctly be considered an act of war, if not by international law, at lEast from an anthropological perspective. Considering the evolution of the territory chosen as a field of battle from ancient times to today, the two authors note that limits tend to expand, becoming ever less definite. Initially, the preferred battlefield was a plain, believed ideal for the maneuvers of deployed armies; then it continued along mountain passes and into the forests, extending along seas, to finish with war in the air and in space. Terrorism, in this progression, represents a further step, and is the successive expansion of war within civil society. The meaning of the concept of war, therefore, tends to coincide less and less with classic military actions, such as those conducted, for example, in Afghanistan or Iraq by the United States. Instead, contemporary war should be interpreted as an action aimed at the world hegemonic order: A fractal

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war, in the case of terrorism, of all the cells and singularities that are transformed into sorts of anti-bodies. The ambiguous nature of the origins of terrorism also explains in part the prolonged narrowing of research on the topic. If in the last twenty years, in fact, the phenomenon has begun to be studied in a more in-depth and systematic fashion, seeking to evaluate the different historical, geopolitical, and social connections, terrorism has for a long time been considered as an event to insert within the more ample scenario of the cold war. This approach has led to important social aspects being neglected in favor of global strategic considerations. From the methodological point of view, we find ourselves before frontier areas that require careful and expert experimentation. Attention to the territorial phenomenon remains central to the analysis of meta- narratives that should give meaning to the anthropological marginalization perceived by individuals facing their own existential affairs. With modernity we have witnessed a generic forgetting of utopia, replaced by the assumption that progress is in and of itself the permanent achievement of possibility. The substitution of exotic or social utopias with a technical utopia produces a sort of atrophy which tends to reduce the importance of the passage of history. Analysis of the primitive margin between man and the world emphasizes the complexity of evil, requires a re-orientation, and rejects the trivialization of deviant behavior.

The historical premises

Terrorism seems to be a behavior that has accompanied man’s political events since ancient times and appears at various latitudes. The Mediterranean basin, from this point of view, is not necessarily different from other places in terms of the frequency of terrorist practices. One difference perhaps lies in the fact that the terrorist methods which originate in the Mediterranean world presage and summarize global tendencies. The reasons are in part explained by the geopolitical significance this sea has had at lEast until the 20th century, with the large number of civilizations that have existed along its shores and those which still live together there, with the co-existence of ancestral practices with ultra-modern ones, with the diffusion of three monotheist religions that tend to produce a strong territorial message and to reduce the margins for secular contexts, and with the affirmation of the nation- state since the 19th century. The first theories on the terrorist personality were made by Lombroso, who believed he detected, similarly to the occurrence of pellagra and other illnesses, a certain vitamin deficiency in the diet of

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the populations of Southern Europe as one of the fundamental causes of terrorist behavior (Lombroso 1894). If the theories of Lombroso cause laughter today due to their naive determinism, in the past they influenced entire schools, even contemporary, of researchers who dedicated their efforts to the topic. The scholar of the Islamic world Bernard Lewis saw in the Nizari (the Shiite Ismaili sect known also by the name of Assassins, which had the peak of its own activity principally in Persia and Syria between the 11th and 13th centuries) the origin of terrorism. The Nizari operated principally during the crusader occupation of Palestine and even though, in principle, their actions were determined by religious reasons – to purify Islam – later, they too had the need for visibility and political survival in the intricate diplomatic game of the Palestine of those days. Their bases were made up of a sort of confederation of fortress cities perched in the mountains, of which Alamut, in Persia, was the main example. This was probably the first state that used terrorism as a raison d’être. Although the Assassins were distinguished by their efficiency in battle and high-level assassinations, for example of the King of Jerusalem Conrad of Monferrato, they had predecessors. Leaving aside palace conspiracies and dynastic and personal vendettas, one of the first known examples of terrorism by the opposition, therefore based on a political movement of some social significance, is that of the Sicarii, a national messianic sect operating in for about twenty-five years around the middle of the 1st century BC and which was opposed to the Roman occupation of Palestine. The Sicarii took their name from the sica, the short sword they used for their crimes, and were credited, in addition to an uncounted number of homicides, with the destruction of several public and private buildings belonging to the notables of the epoch. This was without a doubt the best known terrorist group before the 19th century and the one whose actions influenced more than any other the evolution of the entire culture of a people. The actions of the Sicarii culminated in the Jewish insurrection that ended with the destruction of the Temple in AD 70 and the presumed mass suicide of Masada. The memory of those cruel facts inspired another two insurrections in the successive generations, both repressed brutally by the Romans. The last of these ended, as known, with the beginning of the Jewish Diaspora in AD 135 (Rapoport 1984). Going back further in time, we are reminded that in ancient Greece tyrannicide was elevated to a patriotic cult and welcomed as an example of civic virtue. Even Cicero, in his De Officiis, argued that the did not think that tyrannicide was a crime, but rather looked upon it as “the noblest of all the noble arts” (Book III, Chapter IV). In Athens, for example, during the 6th and 5th centuries BC, statues were

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erected in the Agorà in honor of Harmodius and Aristogeiton who, in order to put an end to the family of Peisistratid, killed Hipparchus, one of his two children. The two tyrant-killers, who in reality had acted for reasons of personal honor, were defined by Demosthenes as ‘liberators’ (eleutherioi), “celebrated with the Cult of Heroes and Gods” and they were the objects of popular admiration (Donini 2005, 121). A similar fact occurred in Rome where, the year after the assassination of Julius Caesar, statues of Brutus and Cassius were erected in memory of their gesture. Several authors see continuity in these forms of violence and link them to contemporary terrorism (Laqueur 2004). In reality, it is necessary to note several important differences. In antiquity, the political dimension was limited within the strict confines of the polis that expressed the Greek concept of life and represented the constituent unity and achievement of existence. The public and private spheres tended to coincide. Classical doctrine envisioned essentially two forms of opposition to the tyrant. The first, tyrannus ab exercitio, regarded the bad exercise of power, the second, tyrannus absque titulo, the hypothesis of the exercise of power by a usurper (Schmitt 1971). Tyrannicide, for these reasons, was an extemporaneous gesture, lived and perceived as a private act but with ethical communitarian finalities, pro bono publico, which usually did not refer to a political utopia. The Sicarii and the Nizari represented instead the point of beginning and closure of a type of terrorism which might be defined as millenarian, ritual, and elitist, with a cult of martyrdom. Their religious political program had in common the conviction that corrupt society must be purified and that humanity found itself on the eve of epochal changes. Contrary to antiquity, both movements flowered in a multi-ethnic society, divided within by sectarian divisions and in territories that were subject to foreign military occupation where the political dimension had become more complex. Both pose problems that have a perspective for the epoch we might define as international. An example of investigation into the distance between the classical world and that of modern Europe, which demonstrates how the legitimacy of tyrannicide was already disappearing, can be detected in the assassinations of Catholic inspiration of the kings of France, Henry III by Jacques Clément in 1589, and Henry IV by Francois Ravaillac in 1610, in which the perpetrators were perceived by the people as common criminals. In the Europe stricken by religious strife, the very treatise Vindiciae contras tyrannos of 1576, having become the manifesto of the Huguenots monarchomachs, emphasizes that the justification for tyrannicide is no longer identifiable in the single act, but in the popular body that represents divine will and for this is superior to the king.

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In practice, the need for a majority consensus is emphasized in order that popular political violence be practicable. On one hand, attention is placed on the unity and homogeneity of the state, on the other hand on the possibility that this unity might be interrupted. With its definitive affirmation, furthermore, the national state becomes the only arbiter of violence. For its role in this sense to be recognized, it requires the consensus of the majority and that this majority recognizes the territorial boundaries within which the state can exercise its legality and decide what methods of political dissent are permitted. From the 19th century forward, unity and homogeneity of the people, and especially the identity between people and State, began to fracture. The new universal ideologies, Marxism, Capitalism, Anarchism, , Fundamentalism, etc. represent several of these fractures which subtract a portion of the people from the State, denying its legal legitimacy and foundation. If it is truly possible to find a common thread amongst the various terrorist phenomena of the 19th century and beyond, more than in their actions, it should be sought in a new ideological perspective that moves toward the progressive negation of national territorial boundaries and the consequent birth of a sort of international and moral fighter, holder of an absolute truth. The loss of the telluric character, that is to say the link with the land by this fighter, is the final step that destroys every distinction between the classic figure of the partisan who fights to defend his territory and the terrorist, whose strategy is instead offensive and global. Schmitt traces back to Lenin the birth of this type of antagonist who detaches himself from the territorial limits of his birth to go beyond the “limitations of regular war between states” (Schmitt 2007, 73). This is not an attempt to make terrorist methods coincide with revolutionary processes but rather to emphasize the subtle relationship between state and terrorism that is founded on the concept of violence, on who is the legitimate power, on the definition of legitimacy. In the final analysis, the categories of modernity are put into discussion, and terrorist disorder then becomes interpreted as a consequence of the crumbling of an order, both international and of the state (Cerella 2010).

Contemporary evolution

Beginning with the second post-war period, it is possible to identify an evolution of international terrorism whose fundamental phases coincide with the support of national states for various guerrilla movements, the achievement of progressive economic independence of many of these groups and the internationalization of terrorism, the successive installation of economic systems managed by pseudo-governmental organizations (Rubenberg 1983), and their expansion and mixture with

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official economies at a planetary level (Napoleoni 2003). In this context, the principal characteristic that distinguishes contemporary terrorism from the past is the continuous refinement of the means utilized. After the end of the Second World War, the asymmetric war became an integrated instrument of the cold war. This strategy was not the exclusive jurisdiction of the two Superpowers but was also adopted by intermediate powers preoccupied with protecting their regional interests. Little by little, several of these groups began to free themselves economically from their political sponsors. The Mediterranean was one of the geopolitical theatres at the center of the evolution of new forms of international terrorism. One of the first organizations to travel along this road was the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) of Yasser Arafat which, after the defeat of the Arab coalition in 1967, became aware of a need for greater political autonomy. A turning point was the hijacking in 1968 of an El Al flight from Rome to by the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. After the hijacking, various airlines began paying regular bribes to the Popular Front to avoid accidents on its own flights. Subsequently, with the attacks of Black September on the refineries of Rotterdam, the attack in the Rome airport on Aramco employees in 1972, and the occupation of OPEC’s Vienna headquarters in 1975, even the principal oil companies began paying regular bribes to the Palestinian resistance. With the forced exodus of the Palestinians to Lebanon at the beginning of the 1970s, the PLO, taking advantage of the internal instability of the country, extended its own control to entire Lebanese regions, creating a complex economic network that included banks, schools, hospitals, a system of tax collection, control of the ports Tyre and , and the smuggling of merchandise and drug trafficking. The leaders of the PLO demonstrated a notable economic intuition while investing their profits derived from illegal activities in diversified legal activities in various parts of the world, creating a true economic empire. The PLO, furthermore, became the principal supplier of arms, acquired from the Soviet Union and from other countries of the Warsaw Pact, and then sold to principal terrorist organizations which in the 70’s operated in West European countries and traced their ideas generically to Marxist ideologies. Although the PLO was the most evolved economic case, the Palestinian example was followed also by other organizations that were similar not only in their financial autonomy, but also their more or less developed control of the territory in which they operated, as happened in the case of Sendero Luminoso in Perù or the Phalange in Lebanon. Several authors have defined these situations with the term ‘shell states’, meaning pseudo-governmental organizations that dominate illegal activities and perform partially the classic functions that define a

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national state. Generally, shell states emerge in moments of crisis related to phases of prolonged destabilization and in areas where the national state is not able to impose its own authority. In general, these have been and are still today a decisive element in the evolution and spread of the most recent terrorist strategies. The strategy of the PLO aimed at politically circumscribed objectives, such as the liberation of historic Palestine from the Israeli occupation, which often coincided with the regional interests of other Arab countries and onto which the aims of the two superpowers relative to the Middle East and the Mediterranean intersected. Beginning in the 1980s, the agenda of the PLO was further scaled back to demanding the end of the Israeli occupation in the territories of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, within the borders preceding the Six-Day War. Overall therefore, the political prospects of the PLO, notwithstanding the international importance of its actions and economic activities put into practice, remained limited to the global strategic confines imposed by the Cold War. The successful achievement of political autonomy by international terrorism coincides with the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Its premises go back to the Afghan war against Soviet occupation, sponsored economically and politically by the United States and Saudi Arabia with the decisive support of the ISI, the Pakistani secret services. Later, there was private capital from Arab magnates, including Osama Bin Laden (Rashid 2002). The decision of the United States and Saudi Arabia to support the Afghan conflict created the conditions for the birth of an informal economy based upon the smuggling of arms and drugs, laundering of money from illegal activities, corruption and political patronage, and nepotism (Woodward 1987). The objectives of the political actors who intervened in the Afghan war were profoundly diverse and the consequences of these alliances were not evaluated. The economic and infrastructural crisis that involved the central Asian republics following the collapse of the Soviet Union favored the emergence of local armed organizations that took control of more or less large territories, guaranteeing minimal services and offering the possibility of work and family support. Usually, their role was recognized by the local population thanks to the prestige of a tribal chief, to the ties of blood and a common culture that went back to Islamic traditions. Faced with the possibility that opened up for the American oil companies to control definitively central Asian energy resources, allying themselves with these local oligarchies, the American executive power did not consider the possibility of favoring alternative forces that might have guaranteed change, nor even the social changes under way in the Muslim world in general.

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Considering the reluctance of Western banks and investors to intervene in areas believed to be high risk, the only financial institutions interested in these regions until that moment had had a limited international role. In this way, the basis was set for a pan-Islamic cooperation between banking institutes and the emerging shell states, based upon an underground economy that mostly exploited trafficking in drugs and human beings, smuggling arms, and kidnapping. The dissolution of the Soviet Union offered new opportunities for enrichment also for the new entrepreneurial and financial classes, often secularist, of the Islamic world, which saw in these organizations a natural ally. This alliance permitted Islamic terrorism to establish a network of legal economic activities which also integrated illegal activities. Overall, the destabilization of Central Asia has been at the origin of a phase of global disorder that is not yet concluded. The political and economic model of the shell states has begun to spread in other geographic areas characterized by ethnic and religious tensions following the dissolution of the central state, for example in Africa and partly in the Balkans. The rapid globalization of terrorism was also favored by contemporary capitalism which proposes cooperation with fundamentalist movements, offering coverage for criminal activities in general. At the same time, globalization has created the premise for the strategic use by armed and criminal organizations of the international banking system, of offshore tax havens, and of trafficking in arms, drugs, human beings, and consumer goods headed for the shell states (Thachuk 2002). These are not economic systems separated between themselves but activities that support and are integrated, while the flow of money linked to the economy of terrorism appears to have grown over the last decade. In fact, it contaminates and weakens the Western states and the legal economy, impoverishing developing countries and those in transition, favors the spread of shell states, and increases the dependence of the West. Soon after the Soviet defeat in Afghanistan, the war economy managed by the ISI risked no longer finding an economic justification to exist. To ward off this problem the ISI decided to finance Islamic groups in Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and then in Chechnya, favorable to separation from Russia. In brief, the interests of the ISI expanded and materialized in support in three directions: one toward central Asia, one toward fundamentalist groups in India, and one toward , through Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore. Following these trajectories, it is possible to glimpse the attempt to penetrate the Mediterranean that to this day remains controversial and uncertain.

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The Mediterranean and the trend of contemporary terrorism

As mentioned, the Mediterranean has long been at the center of terrorist affairs. According to the projections of Global Terrorism Data1, from 1970 to 2010 the number of terrorist events that have provoked at lEast one victim at a global level exceeded 67,400. About a third of the total has involved Western European and the Middle Eastern countries. Within the two regional groups, in the Western European countries along the Mediterranean there have been some 45.5% of the attacks; in those present along the Southern shore some 57.5%. As concerns Eastern Europe, the Mediterranean countries absorb over 25% of the total. Taking a glance at the overall picture, we note a temporal difference in the peaks of terrorist activity according to the shore under consideration. The Mediterranean countries of Western Europe reached their high point at the end of the 70’s and then entered a declining phase in the following decade. Spain and Greece are the two countries that present the most prolonged wave of terrorist activity. In the first case, the activity of the ETA is explainable with the substitution of the original political motivations with the economic interest derived from control of one of the richest regions of the country. This is a circumstance that can be detected also in other latitudes and which brings the strategy of terrorist organizations closer to criminal ones, causing them to become financially autonomous. Greece represents an exception because it is the only Western country where the total number of terrorist attacks is growing. For the most part this is an ideologically-oriented terrorism, explainable through the social disorders that accompanied the Greek crisis in recent months and whose actions are aimed especially at damaging the symbols of power and infrastructures rather than executions of political adversaries. The Middle-Eastern Mediterranean countries, similar to those on the Eastern European shore, reached instead a peak of attacks during the 90’s. Several events explain in part this trend. The fundamental event was without a doubt the end of the Afghan war against the Soviet Union, which provoked the return home of many Muslim combatants who were enrolled amongst the ranks of the Afghan resistance, whose three principal flows were directed mostly toward North Africa, the Balkans, and several important European capitals, especially London. Egypt and Algeria were the countries most involved in terrorist activities. Egypt was the first country to experience, in the 70’s,

1 http://www.start.umd.edu/gtd/.

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fundamentalist terrorism. The origins may be tracked back to a fringe of the Muslim Brotherhood that was inspired by the writings of Sayed Qutb, the Islamic activist hung in 1966, following an accusation of having attempted to assassinate Nasser, and still considered today one of the theological ideologues of Al Qaeda. After his ascent to power in 1970, Sadat promulgated an amnesty that let arrested members of the organization out of prison and allowed those who had chosen exile in Persian Gulf countries to return. In this way, Sadat created a political alliance that permitted him to repress that part of civil society that was opposed to his decision to liberalize the Egyptian economy. In short, the Islamists penetrated the strategic sectors of the state and the poorer quarters of Cairo and ended up filling a political vacuum following the arrests of the leaders of the opposition. In addition to this, the electoral victory denied to the FIS in Algeria in 1990, the outbreak of the first Gulf war, the Balkan conflict, and the assumption of power by the Taliban in Afghanistan should be remembered. All these episodes contemporaneously fed the sense of frustration and enthusiasm of militant Islamic fundamentalism. Beyond fundamentalism, a contribution to the worsening of terrorist tension was the contradictory Israeli-Palestinian peace process, the destabilization of Lebanon, and the repression of the Kurdish resistance by the Turkish government. Overall, terrorist attacks at a global level in the last decade have diminished with respect to the previous decade by about 30%, even if there was an increase noted between 2005 and 2009 that did not continue into 2010. Almost 40% of the events took place in the area between Pakistan, Afghanistan and Iraq. Compared to this general tendency, terrorism in the Mediterranean in the last decade has been in a declining phase in every country except Israel where the number of attacks has increased with respect to the preceding decade (+49%). The geographic strategy of Al Qaeda, in fact, has been modified over the course of recent years, evolving from the initial target represented by corrupt Middle-Eastern regimes to the attack directed against the United States and its principal allies, believed to be the vital source of the existence of corrupt governments to remove. Later, following the regional destabilization deriving from the wars against Afghanistan and Iraq, Islamic fundamentalism insisted on penetration of states and regions weakened by ethnic tensions, controlled by emerging armed groups, and characterized by an illegal informal economy. American military pressure has caused the jihadist cells to disperse, making them more difficult to identify, as they acquire a certain autonomy of action but at the same time lose that strategic vision of the first period. If the Islamist strategy of recent decades included the progressive diffusion of their own ideological message through the creation of so-

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called shell states in the areas judged to be most unstable, it seems possible to affirm that in the Mediterranean basin at the moment these purposes have not been achieved. Apart from several areas along the border of Southern Algeria, the only cases among the countries that face onto the Mediterranean that could be grouped together in some way in the category of shell states are Turkish , Southern Lebanon, and the Gaza Strip, controlled by the PKK, Hezbollah, and Hamas, respectively. None of these three movements, however, for different ideological, religious, and strategic reasons, can be grouped together with Al Qaida and fundamentalist groups affiliated with them—they have never acted outside of the regional context in which they arose and in the final analysis are not bearers of a global geopolitical vision.

Conclusions

On the basis of these considerations it is possible to conclude by affirming that the Mediterranean, over the last decade, has progressively lost importance for international terrorism with respect to the preceding thirty-year period. Immediately after the end of the Cold War, it seemed that the ideological antagonism which until that moment had characterized the geopolitical stand-off in the Mediterranean might be substituted by the fundamentalist meta-narrative. Several facts now seem certain. After more than a decade of activity, the Muslim masses have not responded to the appeals for Islamic insurrection from Al Qaeda; no Islamic government has been overthrown thanks to the initiative of the fundamentalists, whose actions have been localized principally in war zones and have often been directed against other Muslims. This does not mean that fundamentalism has been defeated. The consequences of this fragmentation of Al Qaeda must still be verified. At the moment, Al Qaeda resembles a network of jihadist cells with varying autonomy more than a vertical organization. Within the structure it is possible to distinguish three levels. The first, conventionally referred to as the core of Al Qaeda, is made up of the founding circle that revolved around Bin Laden and whose presence today is identified as Waziristan, between Northern Pakistan and Afghanistan. This nucleus has shrunk progressively. At a second level it is possible to identify the subsidiaries of Al Qaeda that collaborate episodically between themselves and the central nucleus, concentrated especially in Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Yemen, and Algeria. Finally, a popular base of Jihadist groups has been identified that sympathizes with the message of Al Qaeda only occasionally and is linked with the central base and the second level (Stratfor 2010).

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The Mediterranean is a region where processes have begun recently that are not yet concluded and whose consequences are still difficult to evaluate. Many countries that are culturally and geographically near to those in the Mediterranean have registered an increase in the activities and presence of fundamentalist groups, for example: Saudi Arabia, Yemen, , , Mauritania, Mali, and Iraq. The fundamental problems at the base of potential instability in the Mediterranean – the incidence of an unsatisfied youthful population on the Southern shore, the lack of respect for human rights in many countries, the economic difficulties, the presence of local mafias – are still far from being resolved and it seems at the moment that there are not even concrete solutions to address them. Finally, if Al Qaeda currently demonstrates some difficulty in organizing actions of a planetary significance such as those that characterized the first half of the past decade, the Mediterranean remains a favorable context for low-intensity initiatives by affiliates belonging to the so-called third level, less trained but more mobile and numerous and which exploit the logistic and economic support of higher levels.

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U – Urbicidio/Urbicide

Francesco Mazzucchelli

Introduction: city and war in the Mediterranean region

Widespread and “maybe as old as the war itself ” (Dell’Agnese 2006, 24) practice of war, the urbicide, or the practice of ‘war on the city’, doesn’t concern exclusively the history of Mediterranean. On the contrary, typical forms of political and military violence directed against the urban areas are common in armed conflicts at any time and in any place. Notwithstanding, if, as pointed out by Braudel (1949), in that complex and multiform cultural-geographic space which is the Mediterranean, the cities constitute themselves the most characterizing geo-identitarian nodes,1 we are forced to acknowledge that the history of the Mediterranean is not only a history of the founding of cities but also, at the same time, the history of their destruction (and successive re- founding, an aspect which, as we will see later on, is intimately linked to their destruction). However, one of the most notable (re-)foundational events of the Mediterranean was precisely the destruction of one of its greatest cities: Carthage. Founded in 816 B.C., it consolidated Phoenician supremacy in the Mediterranean, until its destruction in 146 B.C. (complete erasure, in the widely known formula of the Carthago delenda est) brought into being a new political arrangement of the Mare Nostrum, which would have then passed under the undisputed control of the Roman Empire. In the following pages, we will not speculate regarding the extent to which we may speak of ‘Mediterranean urbicide’ with its own specific characteristics (although the destruction of Carthage contained in nuce many classic traits of war violence directed against the city which will

1 Braudel (1949, 312) depicts the ‘human unit’ of the Mediterranean space as a net of cities and, in his work, identifies the cities, along with the routes which connect them, as the basic spatial figures of the Mediterranean topology.

297 subsequently inspire more recent conflicts) but rather about whether the category of urbicide can turn out as useful to aid in the analysis of some aspects of the Mediterranean’s cultural and urban geography, considering particularly in view of one of the most tragic episodes of its recent history: the war in former Yugoslavia.

What is urbicide? An archaeology of an urban geopolitics notion and of a war practice

The recently coined term ‘urbicide’ has been used with different meanings by different authors and began circulating in the media parlance and public debates mostly by the last decade of the late Ninetees, to indicate any deliberate act of destruction of a city’s inhabited space. The expression became widespread during the Yugoslav conflicts, when it was popularized by architect and former mayor of Belgrade Bogdan Bogdanovic (along with a group of Yugoslav architects, Ribarevic-Nikolic & Juric 1992; Bogdanovic 1993). He wished to stigmatize that characteristic which, according to him, was the most distinctive of the Yugoslav wars, that is, the fact that it was first and foremost a war against the cities and the ‘urban values’ which they embodied. With the word ‘urbicide’, Bogdanovic was referring to the practice of, in his own words, the ‘ritual murder of the city’ which inspired many military operations during the conflict and which manifested itself particularly in prolonged sieges and in systematic destructive actions of cities such as Vukovar, Sarajevo, Mostar, Dubrovnik. The ruins of these cities’ urban landscapes later became not only symbols of the collapse of Yugoslavia, but also of a new way of conducting the war which, simultaneously, renewed archaic forms of combat. According to Bogdanovic, such atavistic forms of war may be attributed by some means to the ancestral antagonism which opposes urban environment and the rural world: on the one hand the city is viewed as a place of multiculturalism and cosmopolitism; on the other hand, the countryside is seen as a place of affirmation of an exclusive and homogeneous identity, which is typical of nationalism. However, the term had already appeared2 in an article by journalist Ada Louise

2 The first attested use of the term can be found in a novel of the sci-fi writer Michael Moorcock, Dead God’s Homecoming, where the urbicide is listed among the war crimes attibuted to some tyrant. If we exclude the article by Huxtable, in which the word appears only in passing, the fatherhood of the term is generally assigned to Bogdanovic, even if according to many the first scholar

298 Huxtable dated 1970, as a criticism of some urban planning decisions regarding the city of New York. It has been drawn on, with the same meaning, by Marshall Berman (1996), who spoke of urbicide when discussing about the plans for large-scale demolitions during Eighties and Ninetees, later on, which changed the face of whole districts in many large American cities (such as the Bronx in New York). The term ‘urbicide’, in this case, indicates a process of aggression against the city identified in certain urban planning policies, which (seemingly?) have nothing to do with urbicide which takes place during warfare. Nevertheless, both uses of the term outline the stable semantic core of this expression, which may refer not only to the theme of the anthropic destruction of the city, but also to the erasure of its semiotic identity. Both uses reveal the multidimensionality of the issue of ‘violence against the city’, a phenomenon which obviously is not only ascribable to war situations. Indeed, the concept of urbicide has been recently used also to account for other violent and destructive acts against cities, not always referable to military conflicts among sovereign states, such as asymmetric wars (e.g. the Israeli-Palestinian conflict), terroristic attacks (e.g. Al Qaeda’s attacks on the WTC in New York, the London Tube and Madrid’s Railway Station, which prove that terrorist strategies generally favour urban targets), and finally urban guerrilla (also endemic, such as the actions of the IRA in Northern Ireland or the ETA in Spain). Indeed, according to many scholars, the end of the Cold War determined a transformation of the warfare which has brought armed violence (originating from both state and non-state actors, such as the one coming from terrorist groups, asymmetrical conflicts or urban guerrilla) back within (and against) inhabited urban spaces.3 As Paul Virilio, who believes that the city and its institutions have military origins, points out: the space of the metropolis today is the space of the catastrophe, of the ‘accident’. While the city cannot any longer protect its citizens from external military powers, the strategy behind the new wars is more and more an ‘anti-city strategy’ (Virilio 1999, 2003). In any case, since immemorial time, war and the city have been closely related; in , sacking, following by the destruction of the city, was the climax of any military action, and there are many well-known historical examples of this (e.g., besides Carthage, which was mentioned previously, we have the Trojan war, the destruction of

speaking of urbicide with regard to Yugoslav wars was the architect Borislav Curic. 3 On this point, see in particular Graham 2004.

299 Jerusalem by Emperor Tito and many other examples). However, after the development of the Modern State in XVI century, war – as noted by Max Weber (1922) – moves away from the big capital cities to the borderlands.4 Until the end of XIX century, the city, though still representing the headquarter of political power,5 will remain a space which is basically uninvolved in war manoeuvres: the war described by Clausewitz is essentially a ‘country war’ and the fighting takes place in large open spaces where the opposing armies confront one another, generally far away from civil and urban population. But, as is pointed out by both Martin Shaw (2003) and Stephen Graham (2003, 2004), two scholars who analysed the relation between city and political violence, it is with the birth of the industrial city (which will from now on constitute the logistic infrastructure which supports the army) especially in the XX century, that the urban space becomes once more a strategic target for military conflict, along with the civil population which inhabits it. During the same period, the development of the theorization on aerial warfare and with the birth of the doctrine of strategic and area bombing, urban space and its inhabitants become victims of a terrible and unprecedented violence. Many classify the destruction of Guernica by Luftwaffe during the , as watershed event which inaugurated that strategy of enemy annihilation through the devastation of cities which later characterized the whole Second World War, with the bombings by Luftwaffe against such cities as Coventry, Warsaw or Rotterdam. But this strategy is also evident in the attacks conducted, in the same war, by the Allied Forces, which razed many cities to the ground, such as Dresden,6 Hamburg, Tokyo and many others in Italy and all over the Mediterranean, all the way to the atomic annihilation which literally erased Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And if, at the Peace Conference in The Hague in 1907, the lawfulness of the releasing of bombs from aero-static balloons and airships was questioned, insomuch as their use was banned (Kern 1983), in the following decades there was a complete turnaround in warfare. Indeed, there is a thin red line which goes down through the whole twentieth century to the present day, connecting General Giulio Douhet’s theories

4 For a critical discussions about these transformations, see Shaw 2003 and Graham 2004. 5 In fact, even during that period, the taking of the capital still constitutes the topical event of any military conflict between states. 6 The bombings of Germany were described, among others, by Sebald (1999).

300 of air domain (1932), Guernica (1937), the Blitzkrieg and the theorization of strategic bombing by Royal Air Force (during Second World War), the ‘Mutual Assured Destruction’ doctrine which ruled the balance of dissuasion in force during the Cold War,7 all the way to the recent ‘humanitarian interventions’ by NATO, various UN peacekeeping missions and finally the USA’s ‘pre-emptive war’ and the shock and awe doctrine of George W. Bush. The element which connects all these different military operations is immediately evident: after the ‘air domain’ gained by armies in twentieth century (Boatto 1992), the civil population and the inhabited environment were not only unable to avoid the war experience, but also its main target. This is a fulfilment of Giulio Douhet’s prophecy: bombing has indeed become the best instrument to terrify the spirit of the population, an authentic “form of communication” (Dell’Agnese 2006). A powerful form of communication but also of propaganda that is made clear by one example of ‘Mediterranean urbicide’: the (supposed) fake bombing of the island of Pantelleria, a small island near Sicily. After being conquered by Allied forces, the commander-in-chief, not satisfied by the filming done by the camera team during the operation, ordered the evacuation of the little town and the ‘staging’ of a second fake but, this time, more ‘eye-catching’ bombing. These images of Pantelleria reduced to ruins were printed on leaflets which American airplanes dropped on Milan in the following days, accompanied by the message: ‘This is what we will do to your city’.8

Urbicide as memoricide: war and signic destruction as ‘urban traumas’

Therefore, we cannot comprehend the typical characteristics of urbicidal wars by simply looking at them only as wars which target the cities; it is also a war whose purpose is a ‘passional effect’: a demoralization of the enemy which will convince him to surrender. In so doing, urbicide is a semiotic act, as well. Moreover, if we follow the semiotician of culture Jurij Lotman (1985) and consider the city as a complex semiotic

7 Cold war should be also studied in their urban dimension, if we consider that intercontinental missiles were aimed at major cities behind the Iron Curtain. 8 According to other sources, this version of the facts is controversial and cannot be historically verified. In any case, the Allies did drop the leaflets (showing images of destroyed Pantelleria) on Milan the day before bombing it.

301 organism, a ‘semiosphere’ able not only to display symbols, signs, collective identities, but also to produce and generate meanings, urbicidal war can be seen also as a deliberate act of de-semiotization, that is, a violent action of political erasure of shared cultures and memories whose result can take the form of an “urban trauma” (Mazzucchelli 2010). Indeed, under every urbicide there always lies an articulated ‘semiotic of oblivion’: it is indeed often possible to read, beneath the military project of a siege or an aerial attack on a city, an ideological and political project addressed against not only the targets considered strategic from a military point of view but also the memory and its ‘spatial manifestations’. Urbicide is then a project of “de- memorization of the urban landscape” as well (Dell’Agnese and Squarcina 2002). In other words, with the rise of urbicidal military strategy the city is again a strategic, yet above all a semiotic target: the real aim of war and terroristic actions are the identitarian, social and cultural values embodied by urban centres. Neverthless, even this aspect is unique to the war on the city down through the ages: as noted by the semiotician Massimo Leone in a paper about what he defines ‘policlasty’ (which literally means ‘destruction of the polis’), “one may say that the idea of deleting the ‘urban text’ arises nearly at the same time as the idea of city and that every culture has developed practices and narrations of annihilation of the text of the city” (Leone 2009, 337). Joseph Rykwert himself (1976, also quoted in Leone 2009) mentions that many ancient cultures, while on the one hand developing very accurate rituals for the foundations of new cities, at the same time used established an equally highly codified set of practices for their destruction. The most notable example is probably the practice of scattering salt over the ruins of vanquished cities: such a practice was customary in Latin culture as well as in the Greek tradition and it is described also in the Bible and in many texts of other ancient civilizations. In this way, the destruction becomes a ritual act to de- institute and de-sacralize the ‘sense of the city’, as much as the foundation presupposed a ritual of institution (and sacralization) of the urban space. Such practices of de-sacralization of the urban space are not limited to ancient times, but extend to the modern history: let’s remember, for example, the destruction of Aquileia in 452 at the hands of Attila, or the famous ‘sack of Rome’ at the hands of the (later repeated by Carl V in the 500’s), or the destruction of Milan by Federico Barbarossa: all of these cases are ‘profanations of cities’ which included rituals of ‘symbolic deletion’ of the urban form (spreading with salt, devastations, desecrations, and so on). So, does the term urbicide identify a new form of war against the city or does it simply pose once again a constant of the destiny of the city (and of the ‘city at war’)? If, on the one hand, it’s true that war and the

302 city seem to be marked by a common fate since time immemorial, on the other hand we cannot deny that transformations of warfare (and cities) have led to new forms of war on the city, in certain aspects analogous to the ones typical of ‘new wars’ identified by Mary Kaldor,9 due to a peculiar mixture of archaic traits and globalization influences). As was argued previously, this new form of political-military violence against urban space has been determined by the birth of aerial warfare and by the evolution of military technologies able to launch long-range projectiles (either mortar, bombardier, intercontinental missiles and, nowadays, drones), which has considerably amplified the destructive power of the actions against cities. However, with the intent to better comprehend urbicide it is also necessary to connect this phenomenon to other forms of collective violence, such as the ones typical of genocide. For example, Stephen Graham (2004) points out that urbicide, just as genocide, consists of a de-humanization of the enemy (reduced to a target), a complex apparatus of ‘destructive’ work force employed through a rigid division of work, a rationalization and a routinization of the operations of destruction, up to the resorting to scientific and aseptic language which distorts the reality of the destructions (let’s just consider the rhetoric of so-called ‘collateral damages’). On the same line of thinking, Martin Coward (2008) argues that urbicide is not only genocide, but also a practice of political violence which aims to destroy not just the materiality of the built environment of the city, but also what it stands for, that is, a cultural model of coexistence with the Other. In the words of Coward: “Urbicide is an attack on buildings as the condition of possibility of a plurality or heterogeneity” (2008: 15). Thus, the systematic character of the destruction of the inhabited environment that one may recognize in ‘urbicidal acts’ underlines the closeness of these warfare operations to a specific, yet substantially different, form of genocide. In fact, a 1977 amendment of the Geneva Convention introduced a ban on the recourse to area bombings of non- military targets10 and recently many have proposed that urbicide be specifically included in the list of crime against humanity. Notwithstanding, in the last decades military operations against cities (sometimes under the patronage of the UN, NATO, or international coalitions) have been numerous. Even after the rise of the doctrine of surgical strike, which applies also to densely populated areas: the most notable examples are the Gulf Wars (the UN’s Operation Desert Storm in

9 Kaldor 1999. 10 This proscription has been added after the terrible carpet bombing of Hanoi by United States on 1972.

303 1991 and more recently Operation Iraqi Freedom by a coalition leaded by the USA in 2003), the Yugoslav wars (the operation named Allied Force in Serbia and Kosovo in 1999), the Afghanistan war (Operation Enduring Freedom, lead by the US government), up to the recent military intervention in Libya (Operation Freedom Falcon headed by a multi-state coalition enforcing a NATO resolution). All these operation can, in some way, be likened to urbicide as we are defining it in these pages. However, the situations in which cities today are still victims of urbicidal war actions are most of all the so called asymmetrical and ‘informal’ conflicts: the wounds inflicted to cities like Grozny, Beirut or the towns in the Gaza Strip abundantly testify to the ‘anti-urban ideology’ which underlies this type of political violence. Indeed, to complete this definition of the complex combination of (geo- and bio-) political, urban and cultural processes which may be attributed to the term urbicide, it is necessary to look at the transformation of the geopolitical paradigm which we made a reference to earlier that, after the end of cold war, completely redefined the balances between sovereign states and sub-state entities. After this process, urban space regained centrality with regard to the political-military strategy. Somehow, even the recent repressions of democratic movements in the so called Arab spring, specifically addressing the cities where the rallies were held, can be considered a sort of ‘self-urbicide’ (in any case the ideology of these democratic movements is strictly connected to an ‘urban culture’). But perhaps the urbicide suffered by some cities of former Yugoslavia during the Nineties is the most appropriate example to illustrate the anti-urban principles of this kind of political violence which maintains some of its ancient features and at the same time reflects unique and entirely new aspects.

The Balkan urbicide and the Mediterranean

The Balkan wars represent a recent episode in the history of Mediterranean which cannot be ignored by an investigation which purposes to study its transformations, for two reasons. Firstly, due to the importance of the Balkan Peninsula (one of the five Mediterranean peninsulas) in this geographic-cultural area; but mostly, due to the fact that the Yugoslav wars constitute a catastrophe point (in the double sense of the word: a tragedy but also a circumstance of profound change). Among others, it is Predrag Matvejevic, a writer who wrote an unparalleled portrait of the Mediterranean and who, due to his origins, had the opportunity to closely study the conflicts, who pointed this out in a coherent manner. In 1991, when that tragedy was still in progress,

304 Matvejevic wrote:

Here a part of European history has its origins, here the Mediterranean civilization has been established. But frequently we forget to add that it is here, in the Balkan peninsula – whose centre is more like continent than a peninsula – that the Mediterranean has been fractured for some time: this crack divides current Yugoslavia into two (Matvejevic 2008a, 18).

With these words, Matvejevic describes the break-up of Yugoslavia not only as the break-up of Balkans – traditionally a point of crossing between the Latin and Byzantine world on the one hand and between Christianity and Islam on the other – but also as an internal break within the Mediterranean itself. The current arrangement of the Mediterranean is partly the result of said break, often left unattended: if the Yugoslav war was the first to claim the new concept of urbicide in order to explain these conflicts, then to understand the war testimonies of Sarajevo, Mostar, Vukovar and Dubrovnik is equivalent to understanding a part of the modern-day Mediterranean. For example, the siege of Sarajevo was exclusively an European and Mediterranean affair. Sarajevo is probably the city which best represents the Mediterranean’s melange of cultures, religions and lifestyles, despite the fact that is does not overlook the Mediterranean.11 The complex mixture of identities which shapes the city is instantly visible in its peculiar urban and geographic shape: the shape of a snake which slithers down the Miljacka river valley, surrounded by hills and mountains which encircle it completely. One need only climb up one of the many hills all around the city to find all the urban signs of the cultural stratifications which generated it: the numerous delicate and elegant minarets, which stand over the thick and patchy maze of the Bascarsija, the Ottoman district; or the tall and austere Austrian-Hungarian buildings which stand out in the adjacent ordered grid of Mitteleuropean streets; the catholic cathedral, the orthodox churches, and the synagogue. An area of a few hundred square meters seems to replicate all of Bosnia, Europe and the Mediterranean: Ottoman refinement, Byzantine splendour, Habsburgic rationality. Walking in the historical district one may feels as if they are journeying through different worlds, passing from Turkey to Mitteleuropa, walking away from the centre’s post-socialist scenarios or, if one feels like climbing the surrounding hills, into places which resemble the narrow streets of a small Balkan country village. Dzvezdan Karahasan (1993) defined this city as the ‘centre of the

11 For a good essay on the history of Sarajevo, see Donia 2006.

305 world’: a city able not only to display through its urban palimpsest the different souls which shaped it, but whose ‘urban balance’ is founded on that diversity. A multiculturalism which on the one hand is ‘represented’ by the different ‘symbolisms’ of its architectures and its historical stratifications, but that is, on the other hand, inscribed in the ‘spatial strategies’ through which the city’s different components (Bosnian, Serbian, Croat, Jewish, lay) have lived together side by side, without ever dominating or nullifying each other. In the words of Karahasan, who describes this peculiarity of Sarajevo in an unparalleled style, the fundamental sign of this cultural system is pluralism, but a dramatic pluralism, in opposition to the dialectic pluralism of the rest of the greatest Western cities: if there, the melange of languages, cultures and religion turns into a tension in which every part maintains its primary nature and tends to devour the Other, here in Sarajevo the Other himself is necessary to prove every own identity, because this system is founded on the relationship amongst its particularities. Thus, before the war, the city’s unique system was founded on a rigid and, at a same time, flexible codification of the urban spaces and on the urban rhythms through which they were lived. The bascarsija, located downriver, was the beating heart of this pluralism of cultures: a meeting point and discussion place of trading, politics, arts and culture: in a word of the common-life. The residential districts, located upriver on the surrounding hills, the so-called mahalas, were ethnically and culturally homogeneous areas, where the private life retreated into the dimension of the neighbourhood. While the bascarsija, as Karahasan explains, represented the space where universal values common to every culture in the city were articulated, the mahalas were the places where every citizen could return to his own ethnic and cultural community. The urbicidal logics of the 1240 day siege (from 1992 to 1995), the longest siege in modern history, will implant on this unique urban structure, distorting it and perverting it. A sort of voyeuristic perversion, inasmuch as it was based above all on a visual domination, made possible by the specific geographical conformation described above. Somehow it becomes the ideal city to besiege, ‘well posed’ as the poet Abdullah Sidran describes it, predestined to ‘pose’ during the siege in front of the sniper’s eye, in the first war in which the besieger could constantly look the besieged in the eye. However, the besieger did not intend to target single lives but rather the aforementioned connective urban factory which linked together all the single lives, and was represented by monuments, churches, mosques, architectures, public buildings, libraries, markets and meeting points where the population of Sarajevo not only lived but above all what they identified themselves with. In this sense, the siege becomes a systematic practice of erasing of memory, whose main target is the city itself, intended as an aesthetic,

306 cultural, social and experiential form, as a semantic universe of values. In Sarajevo, the objectives are not just the symbolic but especially the cultural places which represented and produced that pattern of life in the common and multiculturalism embodied in its spaces. Due to the shelling, the theatres, cinemas, the beautiful Vijećnica national library, the mosques, the churches (even the orthodox ones), the synagogues, as well as the symbolic architecture of the Yugoslav regime were disfigured. Everything which incarnated the urban form of this multicultural coexistence needed to be destroyed, defaced. A semiotics of destruction soldered with a semiotics of oblivion: a practice of systematic disfeaturing of the city’s cultural memory. As Bogdanovic pointed out, the two spatial domains, the hills of the Serb aggressors and the valley of the population of Sarajevo, transfigure reproducing the eternal struggle which is typical of the Balkans, between mountain and valley, between farmers and citizens: “It seems to me that I can identify in the crazed souls of the city destroyers a grim concern toward everything which is urban, and then toward the complex semantic chains of the spirit, of the moral, of the taste, of the style” (Bogdanović, in Iveković 1995). The siege of Sarajevo is therefore not only the war against a city, but becomes the symbol of the war against all the cities and their cultural values. However, Sarajevo wasn’t the only city targeted not solely as military target but mostly for what it represented, that is, that is, a ‘place of coexistence with otherness’ and therefore a ‘living and housing style’ capable of denying the logic of division characteristic of ethnic wars and which therefore must be fought and eradicated. Many cities such as Vukovar, Mostar,12 Zara and Dubrovnik suffered the same destiny. Dubrovnik’s misfortune represents a fundamental lesson in the history of the Mediterranean. It was a Dalmatian city founded in the VI century, governed by the until it gained its independence in the fifteenth century which it proudly maintained until 1808. Dubrovnik (once known as Ragusa), from time immemorial known as ‘the pearl of the Mediterranean’ and one its most beautiful harbours, had been besieged for eight months by what remained of the Yugoslav army after the secession of Croatia. On the 6th of December 1991 it was targeted by heavy artillery which destroyed the greater part of its monumental heritage, going farther than any army dared. (Even

12 In Mostar, the destruction of the Ottoman Old Bridge represented a typical urbicidal act, whose purpose was the elimination of an urban symbol that represented the possibility of a coexistence between different ‘heterogeneities’ within the city.

307 Napoleon, enraptured by its beauty, ordered his soldiers to move away their cannons.) Bogdanovic described its destruction comparing the aggressors to a “lunatic who throws acid on the face of a beautiful woman, pledging to give her a new and more beautiful face”. His words were the perfect answer to the ravings of the army commander who led the operations in Dubrovnik: indeed, a few days before he replied to a journalist who asked him if he would have had the courage to bomb one of the most magnificent architectonic heritages of all the Mediterranean: “We will rebuild it more beautiful and more ancient than before” (Vucurevic quoted in Stefanovic, 2004: 73). After the war the city was reconstructed, with remarkable works of restorations sponsored by UNESCO which removed every trace of war and brought the city back to its ancient splendour. But the illusion of any restoration intervention, the illusion of moving back the hands of time (and history), transformed this city into a national museum of sorts located in a mythical, timeless and ultimately, ahistorical dimension. Today Dubrovnik is a place destined to the ‘convenience and consumption’ of tourists and it seems to have lost its authentic urban dimension. Somehow, the Yugoslav commander’s uncanny prophecy has been fulfilled, and, despite the reconstructions which have beautified its streets and monuments, Dubrovnik has become a sort of no ‘national symbol’ and, at the same time, no-city place, one of the many touristic destinations destined to a commercial ‘place consumption’, like to the historical district of Mostar and its reconstructed ‘new old bridge’. As Ignazio Silone said, after the earthquake of Marsica, : If mankind should ever risk extinction, it will happen not in the event of an earthquake or a war, but in a post-earthquake or post-war (Silone 1994: 65). At times the period after a catastrophe, the period of re- construction, can be more destructive than the catastrophes themselves: the destructive action caused by the man could continue, during reconstruction, ‘by other means’ (paraphrasing Clausewitz). The same could be said with regard to urbicide: what happened during the reconstruction of cities like Sarajevo and Dubrovnik, has somehow continued that process of dissolution of their multicultural souls which begun during the war; while the institutionalisation and reinforcement of new nationalistic feelings has irreversibly transformed the cosmopolitan character of their urban identity. If we go to Sarajevo today, we would not find the same cultural and social melange which characterized the city’s Golden age before the war, and other cities, such as Mostar, Vukovar and Dubrovnik itself, have suffered the same fate. Indeed the architectural reconstructions and restorations have proved to be as an opportunity to rewrite the collective memory, a somewhat distorted memory with an emphasis on nationalist or monocultural re- interpretations of heritage.

308 Reconstructions in these cities has, in some cases, imposed a reconfiguration of the places dictated by political and ideological reasons, transforming their genius loci and forever losing a part of their ‘urban soul’. Without presuming to formulate political or historiographical considerations, but only looking at the issues related to monumental and architectonical heritage preservation (and above all without the intention of denying the importance of restoration in order to preserve the heritage), we could say that one of the effects of the post-war reconstructions of the historical district of cities as Mostar or Dubrovnik is the risk of transforming these historical cities into a sort of ‘theme park’ for tourists only. The risk of the ‘expropriation’ of the historical district to the citizens and the consequent eradication of certain consolidated ‘urban living practices’ forces us to reflect on the words of Bogdanovic, who dreaded the possibility that an urbicide can come from within, from those who govern a territory: “I fear our leaders as destructors. Since cities are not annihilated only from the outside, physically; they can be destroyed spiritually, from the inside, as well. This is the most certain variable” (Bogdanovic, in Ivekovic 1995, 57). We now return to the second acceptation of urbicide which we discussed at the beginning of this paper: also the choices of urban and territorial planning can be urbicidal. Allowing for obvious differences, the post- urbicides which took place in some former Yugoslavian cities (the reconstructions and restorations which often distorted the traditional urban landscapes and made not only the buildings but also of ‘urban lifestyles’ today unfeasible) warn us about the risk of new urbicides – not necessarily of military origin but violent nonetheless – to which the cities of Mediterranean are exposed today. Above all, the risks deriving from poor decisions regarding matters of heritage preservation, which should considered a priority above ‘forced touristization’ (and, sometimes, ‘cultural homogenization’) strategies which guide the administration of historical cities in the Mediterranean with no thought to the preservation of the urban environment as complex and heterogeneous cultural and social systems.

Mediterranean urbicides as a (anti-)urban geopolitical ideology

The destruction of some cities in the Balkan Peninsula during the Yugoslav wars was not the only episode of military urbicide which recently involved the Mediterranean area. In the last decades, war affected (and still continue to affect) many Mediterranean cities. These urbicides have differences but also several points of contact with the other examples we have discussed. The case of Beirut, which took place prior to the Balkan urbicides, is

309 classic example. A Mediterranean city rich of history and with a multicultural heritage (it was known as the ‘city of the eighteen religions’), since 1975 Beirut has been transformed into one of the main battlefield of the Lebanese civil war which tore the country apart for decades and divided the city itself in two parts (Muslim Western Beirut and Christian Eastern Beirut), while Jewish and other minorities left. The downtown area, once the centre of the city’s the commercial and cultural life, became a front-line (known as the ‘Green Line’) and later the city was also bombed and invaded by Israeli troops. As with cities such as Sarajevo or Mostar, the urban environment became a militarized space but, as Sara Fregonese claimed (2009), the war within Beirut brings to light a new kind of relation between political violence and urban space which may not be accounted for by simply referring to the Bogdanovic category of the ‘countryside’s incivility’ vs. ‘urban civility’: indeed, the battles between the militias transformed the urban fabric in a geopolitical space, projecting on said space two conflicting cartographic visions, which aimed to homogenize/standardize areas in the city which had a higher level of ‘foreigners’. In any case, the same interpretation may be given with regard to the Balkan urbicides: even there the war intended not only to erase the symbols of the urban identity but also to re-territorialize the city by imposing a new urban geopolitics (and new cultural systems which somehow weakened their cultural heterogeneity). The asymmetric conflict produced by the Israeli occupation of the Gaza Strip represents another case of Mediterranean urbicide which is the projection of a more general geopolitical strategy. Here urbicide takes the form of a policy of demolition of Palestinian homes accompanied by the construction of a military barrier (the West Bank) on land seized from the Palestinians and by a strategical planned expansion of the Jewish settlement near Gaza and the West Bank. This ‘urbicide by bulldozer’ (Graham 2003), aimed at the dismantling of the ‘terrorist infrastructure’ of Palestine according to Israel, can be seen as a deliberate and systematic policy of Palestine de-modernization and weakening. All these examples show that war shapes the urban space (destroying and re-territorializing) not only through the ‘symbolic’ (and ‘de- symbolic’) but also mostly as a ‘political and ideological geo-semiotics’. If we look at the recent events of the Arab Spring, with the repression of democratic movements by totalitarian regimes, we can consider them in their urban dimension as well. These events transformed the urban space of cities such as Tripoli or into theatres of military manoeuvres of a different nature (state, international and multi-state, but as well as urban guerrilla and urban civil conflicts): to fully understand these events we should consider cities as a geopolitical space where different actors (with different strategies) fight. In any case, all

310 these examples display an important common trait among various forms of violence against the city: urbicide aims to demolish the cultural heterogeneity typical of some urban systems, thus attempting to re- configure the political geography of the city (both tactically and strategically/ideologically) into a cultural homogenization. The recent bombings by the government forces of Homs, in Syria, clarify this aspect rather well: the army of Al-Assad wanted to annihilate the movement’s new democratic and classic urban culture where it has been most flourishing: the city. The cultural and social heterogeneity of cities can indeed became the worst enemy of a totalitarian regime. Therefore, the systematic and violent destruction of urban environments in the Mediterranean is still frequently carried out.13 As we have seen in this paper, urbicide constitutes a complex typology of crimes against humanity. However, it has not been legally recognized yet in international law and, moreover, urbicidal acts violate several international agreements to which many countries do not comply with. Furthermore, if we consider that the issues involved in these kind of acts of warfare are various (from the targeting of civilians in densely populated areas to posing a threat to cultural and architectonic heritage) the explicit mentioning of urbicide in the list of crimes against humanity should be seen as a desirable progress in international law.

13 The most recent threat is represented by the risk of urbicide for the city of , belonging to Unesco World Heritage and besieged and shelled by the al-Assad army in Syria at the beginning of 2012.

311

V – Viaggio/Travel

Luca E. Cerretti

… avec son vide créateur, la liberté étonnante de ses routes d’eau, … ses villes issues du mouvement, … Fernand Braudel

Travel: category or dimension?

When recognizing travel as a lexical element, it is necessary to ascertain the meaning of this phrase: a shifting in space, but with qualitative implications. Travel implies a plurality of aspects and dimensions: a composite ontology, almost without an object of its own1 but with a multiplicity of chained features (actor and destination; physical and/or mental route; means of transport – one or more); then a complex, sequential and dynamic structure (departure, transit, arrival); eventually a context, almost a differential atmosphere, considering that the high variability of the elements may often give rise to unexpected, contradictory, or unpredictable effects. In short, travel is a significantly open categorical notion that challenges the limits of a homogeneous use. In its anthropological basis (Piper 2002, 192), travel proves to be a feature of every existence so that it can be considered the “absolute metaphor” of human experience (Blumenberg 1960, 9-11): travel is a source of meaning so general to be practically universal; travel is clearly an agent and a model of transformation, an experience of continuous change familiar to all human beings since they start walking during early childhood (Leed 1991, 4-5). Having acknowledged the semantic extent of travel, what we would

1 “In departure the traveler is ‘objectified’ and becomes a thing persisting outside those relations that identify him, an autonomous individuality.” (Leed 1991, 45)

313 like to look into is not so much the historical-archaeological genealogy of travel, or its geographical aspects, but rather, its ‘European double’, increasingly nourished by mirroring new worlds in the original Euro- Mediterranean habitat. After the cognitive circle of the terrestrial sphere is closed (Reclus 18762), travels continue, overlapping itineraries that revisit the (physical) inventory of the world and make it more complete, and deeper. On the basis of Dematteis’s suggestions, we could say that these travels are philosophical, explorative to the second grade. Thus, the use of metaphorical-descriptive categories is an occasion “to discover and to refound” (Dematteis 1985, 145), which is anyway heuristic, by virtue of the relationship that the awareness of the travel, kept in specific memoirs (diaries, letters, reports, notes, sketches, etc.), maintains with the visited environment3. If it is by now recognized that “the description belongs to the circumstances it describes”, the ‘narrative’ development peculiar to the structure of travel makes the relative descriptions/representations acted according to registers which are different each time (Mondada 1997, 594), particularly useful to get new acquisitions about the geographical habitat.

Mediterranean as ‘co-viaticum’?

We could begin by saying that travel, in the Mediterranean, is ‘at home’5, and that its habitat has always been particularly suited to such practice as it has been known since Phoenician times. In a sense, reflecting upon the nexus Mediterranean/travel may be equivalent to

2 In Nouvelle Géographie Universelle (1876) Reclus writes: “Les peuples gravitèrent autour de la Méditerranée et de l’Italie, jusqu’à ce que les Italiens eussent eux-mêmes rompu le cercle en découvrant un nouveau monde par de là de l’Océan. Le cycle de l’histoire essentiellement méditerranéenne était désormais fermé” (quoted in Deprest 2010, 158). 3 In Dematteis’s words: “The geographical representation leads to action, it also generates territory. Not only does it reflect social relationships and consequently the relation between society and the material environment, but it helps to define them. It affects the things it wants to change and it records their reaction. From this point of view it is an experimental process, able to give us a scientific, historicized knowledge of the physical world: of territory and therefore of the Earth” (1985, 146-147). 4 “So the text utilizes the way travel organizes territory in order to be set out in it in an isomorphic manner” (Mondada 1997, 66). 5 “Un Méditerranéen, d’où qu’il soit, n’est jamais dépaysé sur les bords de la mer Intérieure” (Braudel quoted in Guarracino 2007, 93).

314 questioning ourselves about the ‘substance’ of the whole Mediterranean world, starting at lEast from the end of the 7th century B.C., when we began to have a ‘unitary perception’ of it (Amiotti 1998, 38)6. In order to fathom the relational nature of this couple, Mediterranean-and-travel, the starting assumption is to recognize a sufficient ‘geographicity’ of the region (as the substantial agreement of contemporary geographers would corroborate7): an amphibious geography, inside a terrestrial circumscribed area with high mountains and coastal drops which determine a first intra-Mediterranean mobility8. Moreover, due to the contribution of a unitary ecology of a temperate climatic zone, a conceivable equilibrium has been realized historically among the different morphological aspects, where the fluid, aquatic element definitely remains central and decisive9 with that wave motion which, ordinarily, encourages going beyond its limit10. Made up of a marine surface nearly equidistant from the

6 Amiotti writes: “The unitary perception of the Mediterranean and of its geographical individuality, unknown to Homer and Hesiod, asserted itself only when its outlines were recognized as far as Gibraltar [...] between the end of the 7th and the beginning of the 6th century B.C.” 7 For instance: if Reclus “n’est pas l’inventeur de la Méditerranée comme valeur” – earlier “de près de 40 ans” we still owe him the decisive saut scientifique: “Reclus cherche à comprendre ce qui a rendu possible le développement de ces valeurs fondamentales [liberté, universalité, progrès], et s’intéresse aux lieux où elles sont nées. C’est en voulant expliquer cette origine qu’il construit la mer Méditerranée comme objet scientifique. Là, en effet, il réalise un saut: il passe de la description topographique à l’analyse topologique de la mer. Ce qui fait objet pour Reclus, c’est la Méditerranée en tant que centre d’un réseau à l’échelle supérieure du monde, et en tant que réseau elle-même à l’échelle régionale. En même temps, il montre que cette fonction de carrefour n’est pas intrinsèque au lieu: elle évolue, voire disparaît selon les usages de l’espace. Néanmoins, dans certaines conditions, la mer Méditerranée a joué un rôle. Reclus formule ainsi qu’un lieu peut être acteur de l’histoire” (Deprest 2010, 161-162). 8 In these regards, Vidal de la Blache affirms: “Lorsque les hommes commencèrent à entrer en rapport par delà la barrière montagneuse qui borde la Méditerranée, le Sud représenta pour l’ultramontain le pays de fruit, de même que, par un généralisation semblable, l’Europe centrale apparut au méditerranéen comme le pays des forêts” (1922, 80). 9 “Il faut la dire, la redire. Il faut la voir, la revoi [the Mediterranean sea]” (Braudel 1998, 21). 10 “Les vagues sont courtes, creuses, rageuses, d’un rythme heurté qui ne ressemble en rien au rythme lente et comme majestueux de la houle océanique” (Siegfrid 1943, 32).

315 amphitheatre of the mainland11, the Mediterranean basin has a much indented, almost alveolar coastal development (Farinelli 1998, 58-59), capable of offering berth to vessels and a close distribution of settlements for urban organizations (see CITTÀ and INSEDIAMENTO). As Ribeiro states: “If, on the one hand, everything in the Mediterranean leads to the particularism of local life, on the other hand the sea urges to social life” (1972, 163). The conditions for a structural mobility, for an ordinary, normal ‘viableness’ seem to be set: “la Méditerranée n’a d’unité que par le mouvement des hommes, les liaisons qu’il implique, les routes qui le conduisent. Lucien Fevbre wrote: la Méditerranée, ce sont des routes [and Braudel annotated] immense réseau de liaisons régulières et fortuites, […] de quasi-circulation organique…” (Braudel 1949, 253-254). One of the merits of Braudel’s is to have coined the expression space-movement:

of course every space of the planet Earth is at the same time – in the perspective of history – a space-movement. However, the Mediterranean is almost undoubtedly the region where [...] the restricted space has been strengthened and broadened by the movement which is going on, and there, the very intense and quick historical dynamics works as a space dilator (Cerroni 1993, 5-6).

From discovery travels to the re-discovery of travel

We have chosen to analyze the contemporary variant of travel (17th- 20th centuries), of which we mean to offer a quick, undoubtedly very partial sampling12. Since the time of mare nostrum there have been different typologies of displacement along with the more usual commercial or military ones: beginning from the two traditions of cultured mobility – ‘religious’ and ‘humanistic’ travel. We must also recognize the crucial role of spiritual journeys, a universal and still

11 “If we take some quick measurements on a map, we immediately notice there is no point in the Mediterranean which is more than 160-190 sea miles (300-350 km) farther from the mainland of the three continents or from an important island, that can be covered in a few days, provided the weather is not too unfavorable” (Guarracino 2007, 96). 12 “A repentant life of studies would not be sufficient to sort out a knotty problem about such an important argument: just because travellers are innumerable and the implied issues countless, as unlimited literature well testifies…” (De Seta 1982, 127).

316 active kind of travel, which grew in the . Thanks to historical-political factors (the , the invention of the press, etc.), in the 15th century there began a new trend of ars peregrinandi, the secular and erudite journey toward the Italian peninsula. The studio dell’antico is undoubtedly located in an ‘evident cradle of civilization’ – even if the geography of the country itself is not yet discovered. The routes of humanists identify the centers of the peninsula as destinations of a ‘re-birth’, resulting from a contact and a direct sight of vestiges which are considered to have ‘retroactive’ properties (later gradually acknowledged also as urban centres, walls, , artistic realizations, etc.). Young students from different European countries still tour and attend courses and lessons at Italian universities, thus keeping the travel tradition alive. Starting from the second part of the 1500s, the promoters of the Grand Tour extended the primary route from the British Island to the land of France, including also some Italian cities. It was an educational tour, individual and exclusive (though well organized and expensive), reserved for young aristocrats who aimed at a political-managerial career, needed at that time for a United Kingdom devoted to expansion. During the 17th century the practice of visiting Mediterranean regions increased in all directions. The Tour, acknowledged as an extraordinary opportunity for aesthetic tastes, moved towards a sort of ‘institutionalization’ (Academy of France in Rome in 1666. Such habits, by now consolidated (and codified also by the use of ciceroni and proto-guides), underwent some grafts towards the end of 1600: Italy became more often a passage to the East (still quite exotic, but never completely disregarded), while new interests appeared which were not only mercantile and/or antiquarian, but also recreational-hedonistic. The 18th century presented many significant evolutions in the practice of travel, due to the cosmopolitan views to which a growing number of philosophes adhered, in addition to an increasing number of devoted aristocrats. While the vestiges of the ancient times were the objects of special ‘artistic and institutional’ cares (Addison 1705), some, elected sensitive people (Berkeley 1955) considered extending their journeys even further to the territories South of Naples (until then the terminal of ‘grand tourism’). Around the middle of the eighteenth century, two conditions matured which contributed to the renewed attention toward the Mediterranean past (even if not yet acknowledged as such): the first condition occurred in 1738 where excavation campaigns in Ercolano started (Pompei in 1748). These discoveries revealed a heritage which physically linked the Italian ‘present’ to the ancient classical period. The far South was included in these philosophical travels (starting from Sicily, about the 70’s), the historical- artistic-monumental appeal of antiquity became interweaved with the

317 attention to the natural context. Landscapes were acknowledged for their amenities and the new synthesis of the picturesque, which they represented (Farinelli and Isenburg 1989). The second condition comes from scientific knowledge but also contributes to a specific coastal mobility. In the second half of the 18th century, in fact, “the geographical expansion [of the travel itineraries] was accompanied by a greater curiosity for geological, scientific, technical, agricultural, economic aspects of Italy” (Venturi 1973, 1101-2). Naturalistic interests represented the other novelty concerning the itineraries (now volcanic, geological, and alpine), and the observing method, which no longer resulted in individualistic odeporic accounts but in more objective, detached accounts that are submitted to equally detailed and specific grids13. The increasing number of travelers evolves into a habit, peculiar to social rituals (Sterne 1792). If in the second half of the century travel also knows a reduction of its length (De Seta 1982, 209), we should not be surprised by the appearance of a market for the traveller. This market includes texts (guidebooks) and iconographies (views) to satisfy what is, by now, comparable to a fashion. In fact, at the end of the century, Southward travel tended to multiply and intersect the points of view, stretching its ray to the area beyond the Mediterranean, looking for a kind of synthesis that would be possible later by using statistical methods. If, then, the Napoleonic ‘mobilization’ was an irreparable cæsura for the Grand Tour, the territorial survey of revolutionary inspiration, with the assignment of statistical-topographical enquiries to ‘new’ engineers-topographers corresponded to a “revenge of travel on sedentariness” (Quaini 1995, 13). The main changes which draw Western societies closer to the physiognomy of our ecumene are due to the 19th century technological industrial revolution. In these regards, the recent national state plays a crucial role in getting hold of the new travel routes (railways and also maritime routes by ‘steams’) to let capitalistic interests in and spread the way to a defined, crystallized, basically stereotyped image, by virtue of the employed technology (Said 197814). The new century will also see the emergence of social figures

13 “The Patriotic Traveller of L. Berchthold (1789) contained 2.443 questions in 37 categories. In many cases, the new reportorial and journalistic tasks of young travelers did not expunge the old” (Leed 1991, 187). 14 On the ‘naturalness’ of “textual attitude” see Said – who believes that “to fall back on a text when the uncertainties of travel in strange parts seem to threaten one’s equanimity”: while “many travelers find themselves saying of an experience in a new country that it wasn’t what they expected, meaning that it wasn’t what a book said it would be” (1978, 92-93).

318 who will involve significant innovation in travel experience, though thoughts of proceeding the ‘grand touristic’ example will continue. Among the most conscious reasons, we cannot avoid mentioning romantic travel that pursues ‘subversively’ personal requirements (the individual feeling, of escape or introversion) and tends to put emphasis on feelings and emotions (and neglecting descriptions and judgments), without living apart from an intellectual community (Corredor-Guinard 1992, 19915). Besides exceptions which seem to anticipate future mobilities16, among the continuers of the tradition of ‘philosophical’ travel there are also personalities able to filter consolidated images. There are cases where a solid cultural formation allows division of mental images from reality17, or where behaviors marked by a ‘pragmatic enlightenment’ allow the distinction of relations otherwise defined as between ‘barbarians and civilized’ (Bossi 2010, 91-93). We were saying, however, that the trend under way in the 19th century demanded the gradual use of technological discoveries for a new public – broadened, middle-class, that also included women18 – according to renewed finalities (medical, health-conscious, recreational). It was from England that the railway was now employed to facilitate the changing needs of society, carrying new habits along with itself19. John Murray Ltd. printed the first ‘annotated’ handbook for travellers20, and soon group travels organized by Thomas Cook (1841) took off, supported by eloquent promotional images, and due to the new language of

15 Romantic landscapes “are seldom observed with an uncontaminated look: there exist inextricable links within a bookish knowledge prior to a real landscape”, to which “the delicate question of interaction between painting and literature, words and images adds up” (Corredor-Guinard 1992, 199). 16 Like the pedestrian and alternative itinerary (but extremely attentive to environmental conditions) of Seume (see Seume in De Seta 1982, 254). 17 For example, Chateauvieux did not necessarily “finds what he was expecting” (Scaramellini 1989, 131). 18 On such a significant aspect see Rossi 2005 (25-29 in particular). 19 “The railway offers a new intimist way to see the world through the windows, while perfectly sliding on rails which are horizontal and with broad bends that the traveller, the man, finds himself at the centre of the solar system” (Alvarez Sala 1992, 109). 20 Compare the Red Book (1836-1901) and the Baedecker since 1839. According to Leed “the journey sequence, the progressional order of egoistic passage, was the form of travel guides well into nineteenth century, when it was replaced by the Baedeker – representations of ‘all possible’ routes and places, the view from above, the geographer’s rather than the traveler’s view” (Leed 1991, 74).

319 photography the first landscapes album appeared21. Then, from the second half of the century there was the boom of a more complete travel kit, with texts (travel literature) and images (postcards) which induced the public taste towards an almost irreversible iconic identity, that became the ‘inseparable’ combination of travel and photography (Zannier 1992, 20822). In the last part of the 1800s, when some social traits became more pronounced (spread of the middle-class condition, more individual freedom, appearance of holidays), a more independent, ‘curious’ mobility caught on23, favoring both the new industry opportunities – the bike and car – and the need for a knowledge positivistically interested in the obviousness of data (as we also notice in the ‘daguerreotype travels’ of the late century, in-between metaphysical surprise and decadent taste24). Twentieth century travel trends merged with some social-political circumstances and helped to generalize their features in touristic- commercial terms, particularly in 1924. The two post-war periods made the main travel opportunity a summer trip with the foreseeable demands of relaxation (holidays), starting from the mostly North American flux of 1924, which determined the standardization of Mediterranean travel in its more ‘exotic’ features, mostly climatic, sometimes cultural-artistic (Newby 1981). New social phenomena also helped with the diffusion of mobility, by now within a more democratic reach (from 1936 paid holidays in France), introducing freedom of movement into a more structured horizon: railway networks, hotels (with views), charter flights and camping (from 1949) and, later, coaches, all responding to exogenous

21 These landscapes portrayed in albums were also Mediterranean: photography is “a new language […] which obliges the eye to a different look, thanks to the unescapable precision of its perspective and to its coherent chiaroscuro” (Zannier 1992, 211). 22 On the relation between travel account and photography see Perussia (1985, 135-140): “photography defines the tourist”. 23 “The car, as Proust points out in one of the chapters Sodom and Gomorrah, teaches us how to penetrate the most secluded places intimately, with a loving exploring spirit, to penetrate into places from unknown directions, replacing the imposing horizontal and slow view of train travel with surprises and jerks” (Alvarez Sala 1992, 109). 24 “Daguerreotype travels immediately started, […] they were able to catch almost one moment of historical suspension, of a terrestrial event still immersed in Arcadia, before the industrial revolution changed life and the image of things everywhere with its slow but inexorable proceeding” (Zannier 1992, 212).

320 heterodirected requirements25, but with a better and better defined and recognizable image: sunbathing (Löfgren 1999, 208). As it has been written “the great goal for those who travel is to see the Mediterranean shores” (Boswell 1970): points of departure and directions of the modern tour – from North to South – are well known so that it cannot be considered a Mediterranean invention26. But interlocking with more and more social (and economic or commercial) mechanisms, it is clear how “tourism, created to free its followers from society, took society on tour with itself” (Enzensberger 1965, 83).

Mediterranean on tour

“The Mediterranean is on its whole absolutely the first tour destination, with an average of 33% of the world market: 220 million travellers that visit it every year” (D’Agostino 2009, 173): such an impressive figure would seem to state, at this point, that the touristic movement has taken in the phenomenon of contemporary mobility, adapting time, space, and value to its own requirements. Tourist fluxes contribute to the present situation of uncontrolled transformation of the Mediterranean, together with migrant waves, which are equally and dramatically qualifying as “characteristic aspects of contemporary mobility” (Piper 2002, 195). If the migrant movements seemed to push travel again into the open sea of History (see DIASPORA and OSPITALITÀ), tourism’s ‘official’ mobility on the contrary, seems to have turned the travel experience towards somehow artificial destinations, i.e. where information prevails27, the recognizability of places prevails28, movements is also false29, liberty

25 “Tourism has always been a transnational mode of production.” (Löfgren 1999, 8). 26 We should not forget that it was “tourists who ‘created’ the tourist poles” (Ferrari 2008, 244). 27 Following the entry of mass media into play, tourism has utterly changed the terms of its communication: “l’information circule plus rapidement quel’imagination et, biensûr, que les touristes. Aussi, le touriste d’aujourd’hui ne va pas à la recherche de l’inconnu, mais à la vérification du connu; on ne va pas à voir, mais à accréditer qu’on y a été; on ne voyage pas pour voir, mais pour bouger” (Iglesia de Ussel 1993, 15-16). 28 “What is essential in a tourist experience is that the place should be always and immediately recognizable through its conformity to an exact, shared, ideal-media model” (Amendola 1993, 108). 29 “There is no precise moment of arrival. Arrival is a protracted process –

321 maybe illusory30, the extraneousness appears as normal31, the idea itself of travel evaporates32 etc. To sum up, according to modalities that turn travel into mere movement or transfer, current tourisms eradicate the unrestrainable, explorative, cognitive, existential components33. We are involved in such a panorama which asks us legitimate questions: if today “the entire world has been mapped even in its most desert lands [we ask ourselves], is it possible to root the idea of exploration and discovery completely out of the practice of travel, even of contemporary travel?” (Quaini 2009, 95). Moreover: “if maps, movement, and mobility are clearly among the most obvious means for charting modernity, their contemporary restriction and blockage simultaneously also suggest another, darker and more disquieting account. The very right to travel, to journey, to migrate today increasingly runs up against the borders, confines, and controls of a profound ‘unfreedom’ that characterizes the modern world” (Chambers 2008, 3). Then the doubt spreads to the more general question of method and approach, to the phenomenon ‘travel-in- the-Mediterranean’. Thus we get into the heart of the contemporary modern or post- modern issues complicated by the communicative dimension if, as more than once acknowledged, “the Mediterranean and the speech on the

for the tourist, a matter of hours or days; for the sojourner, weeks or months” (Leed 1991, 85). 30 “The concept of the touristic beauty […] shows that the tourist is not completely free from regrets, as this concept clashes with the total absence of an aim which would be the only guarantee of a longed-for freedom” (Enzensberger 1965, 81). 31 “The most characteristic mark of the tourists is the wish to avoid tourists and the places they congregate. But this is merely evidence of the fact that travel is no longer a means of achieving distinction. It is a way of achieving and realizing a norm, the common identity we all share – the identity of the stranger” (Leed 1991, 287). 32 “Devant l’exhaustivité à laquelle font mine de prétendre les agences touristiques [les chutes du Niagara, l’Acropole, l’ile de Pâques et Angkor], le sentiment qui prédomine est celui d’un inventaire désordonné que ne commande plus le lent travail du temps, mais la tyrannie d’un espace planétaire. L’agence touristique, c’est un chantier plus qu’une ruine, mais un chantier sans projet, d’où toute idée d’exploration spatiale ou temporelle est absente: n’importe de quoi, mais tout de suite. L’idée de voyage est elle-même en ruine, mais cette ruine, loin d’évoquer un quelconque temps ‘pur’, nous renvoie à notre histoire contemporaine, qui ne croit plus au temps” (Augé 2009, 57-59). 33 “The tourist needs experiential shortcuts on their journeys” (Amendola 1993, 113).

322 Mediterranean are each other inseparable” (Matvejević 1993, 2134). A few years later, Matvejević admitted with his moderate thoughtfulness: “the image of the Mediterranean and the real Mediterranean do not overlap at all” (Matvejević 2007, 438, 440), and finally he concluded: “nowadays the Mediterranean shores share only their unsatisfaction” (Matvejević 2008b, 25). Now, as Herzfeld recognized, even if “in this context the idea of a Mediterranean culture area looks increasingly strained, paradoxically, this is where its usefulness may lie” (2001, 666). Those ties between the planes of space (reality), of image and of speech may require to be resumed by the train of a meditation, either meridian or Mediterranean (Demetrio 2005, 34, 188), capable of rediscovering old resources together with new perspectives. “The Mediterranean today is a remarkable modern tension, a space between the line of the map and the bend of the horizon. Line and bend are self-defined in the Mediterranean. If one suppressed the other, it would remain without any support and the Mediterranean would collapse” (Minca 2004, 36). This ‘giddy’ definition let us into the geo-historical specificity of the Mediterranean space, made up of subensembles and boundaries35, superpositions and divisions, utopias and heterotopias (Minca 2004, 36). We should not be amazed if one should apply a multiple, articulated approach founded on a preliminary distinction of planes, levels, and scales instead of a ‘unique thought’ (Conti and Giaccaria 1998, 49-56), in order to treat such a cumbersome ‘object’, the Mediterranean, where the different dimensions are seldom concentric (let us think, for example, of the complex relations between national legislations, international bureaucracies, inter-state programs, etc.). Rethinking spatiality (theoretical and practical) can become part of such a game36: both to offer an account of the Mediterranean pattern thru its prevailing connective element (the sea), and to understand one of its traditional and reviving expressions: travel (a travel unavoidably temporal). In particular, the marine inspiration brings us back to Fernand Braudel, to whom we owe, in his attempt at a space-temporal explanation of geo-historical phenomena, the mature “formulation d’une

34 “Mais la Méditerranée et son discours sont inséparables” (Kayser 1996, 9). 35 “We could thus conclude […] the question asserting that the Mediterranean uniqueness can be found in a plurality of boundaries” (Conti and Giaccaria 1998, 50). 36 See, for instance, the classic Matvejević: “We must rethink the worn out, suburban and town centre notions, the old relations of distance and nearness, the meanings of cuttings and incorporations, the relations of symmetries with respect to asymmetries. […] We need to get past some Euclidean concepts of geometry” (2008, 32).

323 transition entre topographie et topologie” (Deprest 2010, 167). We meet his global-ecological historiography again, both on the mainly theoretical side of a critical epistemology of history (Chambers 2008, 24, 34, 137, 146) and on the applied one, in the study of mobility in mass- tourism (Löfgren 1999, 156, 185, 208). However, such a rethinking has been urged by the two faithful fellows of travellers – time and sea: “it is the sea itself that promotes the adoption of a more fluid cartography” (Chambers 2008, 24), that can be mapped with a different sensitivity. A topological sensitiveness (Vitiello 1992, 103-106) is needed for the figures living beyond distortions, extensions, contractions. As Iain Chambers notices:

here the tabular space – of the map, the canvas, and the textbook – comes to be transformed into a topology that rapidly acquires depth when it is bent and deviated by excluded rhythms and dislocating narratives. Space is never empty or merely geometrical; it is always full of detailed, unfolding configurations. It is not only physical but also temporal; it is not a mute object but product and process […] It is also a traumatic space, for it forces us to consider the darkness out of which the image appears. It both arrests our vision and propels us out of the frame (Chambers 2008, 18).

The new explanatory discipline provides an instrument to understand the porosity, the particular density, the depths that we may meet crossing the Mediterranean space. So time altered irremediably the physiognomy of the Mediterranean transit, proving to be a means of refraction and also an unexhausted reservoir of reasons and pretexts, stories and creativities. As Minca writes: “It is the Mediterranean heterotopia to give hospitality to travel and its account and to let us understand they are not only indissolubly embraced but, after all, undistinguishable” (Minca 2004, 38). As already underlined by historians and anthropologists37, temporality is not a banal ingredient of the Mediterranean experience: “The coexistence in the same human area of different spaces and temporalities […] is more accentuated in ‘old’ countries […]. Now, European cities in general, and the Italian ones above all, as well as the territory of the old continent, are a mixture of what I call time materials, other cultural semiophores which give out messages and sounds”; to

37 “Le rencontre entre l’anthropologie naissante et le monde méditerranéen n’est pas fortuite: l’histoire de la Méditerranée, pour être en partie celle de l’Occident, offrait par sa profondeur la possibilité de ce ‘regard éloigné’ qui caractérise le mode de connaissance ethnologique. L’effet de distance naissait ici du voyage dans le temps” (Davis 1991, 460).

324 conclude with a significant consideration, at lEast for those who get ready for a travel: “Consequently identity is induced to renew over and over again even unintentionally, not to become estranged from living among materials of different cultural temporality of the many pasts and of the present” (Papagno 2006, 29-31). There exists a curvature, that of the implicit Mediterranean temporality which has unavoidably conditioned even the paths of travellers [itinerant] (consciously or not), not only or not so much in their destinations, rather the modalities and the ultimate finalities of travel:

for better or for worse, culture, tradition and nature meet in the Mediterranean imagery. […] But with an important difference with respect to the past: till the last century the ‘mission’ was directed outwards, beyond the borders of the ‘cradle of civilization’ but in contemporary Mediterranean it seems to have steered inwards (della Dora and Minca 2004, 59).

Such interiority almost seems to be obtained spontaneously, assigned to different spatial motions, turning from improbable jumps of scale or unlimited rhythms and spaces. It is rather the autochthonous reflection, proper to “being in the Mediterranean world” (Cremonesi 2007, 42), to renew the sense of a movement illustrated by what we can consider a ‘Manifesto of Slowness’ (as non-inertial criterion…). To clarify this concept, we can quote Cassano. He writes:

like an old country train [...], like those who go on foot and see the world magically opening ahead, because going on foot is like leafing through a book while running is like looking at its cover [...] We must think the Measure that is unthinkable without going on foot (2011, 108-110).

So even travel knows the option of the great scale temporally stretched and spatially closed up, which “allows to see better and farther”, when we can rely on chance “to prove that we have a brake on board, and that we are able to get selective chains different from the successful ones and capable of stopping the fetishism of development” (Cassano 2011, 7), taking possession of more conscious dimensions, which are better compatible with travelling time, performable “only by inventing the traditional travel again, going back to traverse roads either on foot or by bicycle and recreating a more balanced connection between landscape and geography” (Quaini 2009, 102). This is a ‘non- modern’ choice (Gasparini 1998, 16), simply because one is able to rely on more original means of transportation without feeling panic or discomfort.

325 The sense of emptiness characteristic of the society of travellers – the absence of content, richness, complexity in the land that journeys have produced – becomes a stimulus to travel, a motive for return to the land of beginnings. The historical journeys outward – no longer possible now without expensive space technology – create a necessity to journey back, inward, to our origins and what has been left behind. Modern migrations outward seem to create a new need for Florence, Prague, Paris, Rome, and Jerusalem, for that in which may be found much that has been lost and forgotten on the journeys that generated the new. Thus originates a new species of the old tradition of philosophical travels, a search for cultural origins [...] Those do not die who connect their endings to their beginnings (Leed 1991, 292-293).

326 Z – Zona di libero scambio/Free trade area

Filippo Celata

Introduction

Since the establishment of the Euro-Mediterranean partnership (EMP), in 1995, the EU has been dedicating considerable political and financial resources to the management of relations with Mediterranean countries. The content of Euro-Mediterranean strategies, as we will see in the next sections, was not entirely new with respect to the policies that European countries had previously been conducting bilaterally with non-EU Mediterranean countries. What was new was the greater emphasis on their regional dimension: the idea of conducting those policies multilaterally at the level of the whole basin, and the prospects for integration and regionalization in the area, reflecting a growing belief among European political elites that a Mediterranean region can be ‘made’ (Bialasiewicz et al. 2009, 83). The creation of a Free Trade Area (FTA) is the main pillar on which regionalization in the Mediterranean has been pursued in the last two decades. The idea of establishing an FTA was the first, and is still one of the most important, components of Euro-Mediterranean policies, although those policies have evolved and diversified since the prospects for an FTA were first formulated in 1995, during the Barcelona Conference. The aim of this chapter is to reflect upon the relation between commercial integration and regionalization in the Mediterranean from an interpretative perspective. In order to highlight the complexity and ambiguities which are implied in the attempts to construct a Mediterranean region, I will offer a review of how Euro-Mediterranean policies evolved, what their explicit and implicit goals are, and upon which geographical imaginaries those policies are constructed, in light of the function that the creation of a Free Trade Area is supposed to play in this framework. In the next section, I will offer some evidence about the intensity and spatiality of cross-Mediterranean trade relations and reflect upon both the expected and actual results of commercial integration in the area. In section two, I will show how the idea of constructing a Mediterranean region does indeed coexist, complement, and conflict with other

327 geographical imaginaries, namely the idea of the Mediterranean as a border to be securitized and the attempts to establish a regime of managed and differential relations in the area. In section three, I will present the different delimitations which have been proposed for the Euro-Mediterranean area in order to give an idea of the struggle between alternative geopolitical representations, which is behind regionalization strategies in the Mediterranean. In section four I will discuss the issue of conditionality in Euro-Mediterranean policies: the attempts to promote political and economic reforms in the partner countries and the Eurocentric character of such attempts. In the final section, I will offer some concluding remarks and reflect upon the issue of Europeanization: the spatial metaphor that, in my opinion, best captures the content and the outcome of the recurrent attempts to construct a Mediterranean region.

Free trade and regionalization in the Mediterranean

The strategy toward the creation of a Free Trade Area in the Mediterranean was first formulated during the Barcelona Conference in 1995, upon the launch of the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership (EMP) between the European Union, its member states, and 12 non-EU Mediterranean partners. The EMP was not the first1 yet was surely the most ambitiously coordinated and multilateral effort to establish a common policy toward the Mediterranean. The content of the initiative, as I argued earlier, was not entirely new. The FTA, for example, was supposed to include all Mediterranean countries that, since the 1970s, had already signed trade agreements with the EU. In addition to the establishment of the FTA, the partnership aimed at increasing the financial support the EU had traditionally directed toward non-EU Mediterranean countries. What was defined as the ‘Barcelona Process’ attempted only to make those efforts more systematic and more ambitious. What was new was more the container rather than the content: the idea of a multilateral partnership (plus Free Trade Area) regarding the whole Mediterranean basin. Such an emphasis on regionality reflected a belief that a Mediterranean region does indeed exist and that commercial, economic, and social integration in the Mediterranean should constitute one of the main priorities for European foreign politics.

1 Since the 1970s, with the establishment of the Global Mediterranean Policy, several Euro-Mediterranean cooperation programs have been launched.

328 Given the prioritization of trade liberalization, some critics accuse the EMP of being an attempt by European countries to reinforce their economic hegemony in the Mediterranean and to increase the economic dependence of Southern Mediterranean countries (Amoroso 2007; Attinà 2003). The Barcelona Process is not, however, exclusively a commercial strategy but a more ambitious process whose final aim is to turn “the Mediterranean region into an area of dialogue, exchange and cooperation” (Barcelona Declaration 1995). In terms of commercial relations, the Mediterranean indeed ceased to be a crucial region for global trade in the Seventeenth Century (Braudel 1977). As explained in more detail by De Rubertis in this book (see LEVANTE), the EU is an important commercial partner for some non- EU Mediterranean countries (Tunisia and Libya, and, to a lesser extent, Algeria and Morocco). If we exclude energy resources, however, cross- Mediterranean trade relations are minimal (Figure 1), and they have even been decreasing in recent years as they are replaced by exchanges with Asian countries. South-South exchanges are even weaker, as they account for only 5 percent of the total trade of non-European Mediterranean countries (Cugusi 2009, 48). “At the present time, it cannot be said that there is a system of international trade between the countries of the Mediterranean” (Tovias and Bacaria 1999, 5). The Mediterranean recently became an important hub for container traffic, for example, and many Mediterranean ports (Port Said, Malta, Gioia Tauro, Algeciras, and Tangier, among others) are trying to accommodate this renewed centrality and to gain competitive advantages with respect to Northern European ports. Container traffic, however, is for the most part directed far away from Mediterranean shores and it cannot be said to display territorializing effects but rather the opposite. Such evidence shows, first, that trade liberalization in the Euro-Mediterranean has not experienced the effects that were initially expected. Most observers agree on this point, and many other criticisms have been raised with respect to the EU’s strategy toward commercial integration. The component of Euro-Mediterranean politics that has progressed the most (even if many think it has not progressed enough) is indeed trade liberalization for manufacturing products. Although the 2010 deadline for the official establishment of the FTA was not met and has since been postponed, European countries have signed free trade agreements with all Mediterranean external partners except Syria and Libya. Critics have emphasized the asymmetry and neo-colonialism which is implicit in the prioritization of manufacturing trade in which European countries have relevant competitive advantages (Amoroso 2007, 507) and the protectionism that still characterizes other components of the so-called ‘four freedoms’ of regional integration: persons, goods,

329 services, and capital. Agricultural trade, for example, has been excluded from the initial prospects for the creation of the FTA, with the aim of safeguarding European agriculture and the European agricultural policy, given the comparative advantages that Southern Mediterranean countries have with respect to the EU in agricultural production (Tovias and Bacaria 1999). This has raised much criticism and discontent in the partner countries. Consequently, the EU has recently upgraded preferential market access for agricultural and fisheries products from Egypt and Jordan, and several other agreements in this field are being negotiated or are at the approval stage, with Morocco, for example, also in the field of free trade in services (European Commission 2011c).

Figure 1 – Average yearly trade exchange in Mediterranean countries, 2008–2010

Source: designed by the author based on UNCTAD Trade Statistics

The prioritization of trade is surely indicative of a peculiar approach to regionalization. The strengthening of Euro-Mediterranean relations, it is argued, should first and foremost be based on strengthening commercial relations. Many authors have stressed that such prioritization is the result of a utilitarian and neoliberal ideology (Latouche 2007): ‘economy comes first’. This is also coherent with the use of the term ‘partnership’, borrowed from the commercial domain to indicate that ‘partner’ countries will remain fully autonomous but they

330 agree upon fostering commercial integration as long as–according to neoliberal ideologies–trade relations are mutually beneficial to both. The Euro-Mediterranean partnership can indeed be said to constitute a ‘commercial’ approach toward regionalization, but the perspective on the establishment of an FTA is never considered an end in itself. The fostering of trade relations is rather supposed to be a ‘stick’ for fostering other kinds of relations. The prioritization of free trade, in this framework, has much to do with the (Braudelian) idea that, in history, trade flows are the primary connections upon which any other (political, social, or cultural) relation is constructed. Even if supporters of a truly integrated area would say that the FTA is not enough, most observers agree that it is a starting point for any kind of regionalization process: it is the history of European integration itself. Euro-Mediterranean politics, meanwhile, have evolved and diversified considerably, especially after the launch of the ‘European Neighbourhood Policy’ (ENP) in 2003. The final aim of these policies should be ‘to share everything but institutions’, as famously declared by the former Head of the European Commission in 2002. The idea is that relations between the EU and its neighboring countries should somehow replicate the same degree of integration that exists among European countries, although Mediterranean partners have no prospect for accessing the EU because they are not ‘Europeans’2. Among the many differences between the EMP and the ENP, which will be analyzed in more detail in the next sections, we may say that the ‘commercial’ approach that characterized Euro-Mediterranean partnership during the 1990s has been replaced with a more explicitly ‘normative’ approach toward regionalization in the Mediterranean during the following decade. The ‘normative’ approach of the EU in its foreign policies has been highlighted by Manners (2002), indicating the EU’s preference for ‘soft’ power with respect to the ‘harder’ power which is typical of US policies in the area, for example. Within the framework of Euro-Mediterranean policies, the approach is normative as long as it emphasizes the need to use trade and aid as ‘sticks’ to promote political reforms in non-EU countries, with a strong emphasis on the ‘civilizing’ mission that the EU is supposed to play in the Mediterranean. Commercial integration and the establishment of an FTA continues to constitute a priority but it is more than ever a tool, rather than a goal in itself, within an ambitious strategy that aims at promoting inter-

2 Countries from the Southern Mediterranean do not qualify for EU membership according to Article 49 of the Treaty of the EU. Access was denied to Morocco in 1987, for the reason of “not being a European country”.

331 institutional dialogue, creating development and prosperity which, in turn, will lead to peace, stability, and the securitization of the Mediterranean frontier.

Our aim is a political one; political in the sense of stability. We got into this business of association agreements and free trade in order to engage them in the process of political reform, not so much because there was a general economic interest (EU official, cited in: Jones 2006, 424).

It is to such ambivalences that I will now turn the attention, as they can offer a much better understanding of Euro-Mediterranean policies and of the role that trade liberalization is supposed to play in this framework: the apparent oxymoron of a policy that aims at promoting the political transformation of Mediterranean countries while at the same time seeks stability in the area (Balfour 2009, 104)–the contradiction between fostering regionalization in the region while at the same time promoting the securitization of the Mediterranean border.

Free trade and the geographical imaginaries of Euro-Mediterranean politics

There is an ambivalence regarding the geographical imaginaries that characterize any politics toward the Mediterranean: the tendency to consider the sea as a region, on the one hand, and the tendency to see it as a border, on the other. Examples of the latter imaginary are frequent and they have gained prominence over the last decade, especially after September 11, 2001: the representation of the Mediterranean as a space of differences, as a boundary between clashing civilizations, and as the locus of cross-border security threats such as illegal migration and terrorism. The most relevant advancements of European policies toward the Mediterranean, in recent years, are indeed aimed at the securitization of the EU’s external border through inter-governmental cooperation in the control of migration (Kausch and Youngs 2009) or by strengthening the role of the EU in the military management of its external border (through the FRONTEX Agency). On the other hand, throughout their policies toward the Mediterranean, European institutions try hard to balance this emphasis on security by prioritizing other goals of cooperation–to promote ‘prosperity’, to address ‘common challenges’, to promote ‘common values’, etc. In those cases, the imaginary is constructed upon the tradition of seeing the Mediterranean as a ‘liquid continent’ and as a historically unified space of homogeneity and continuity (Giaccaria and Minca 2011), hence making reference to a regional imagination.

332 The problem is how to foster integration between countries that are otherwise considered very distant in political, social, and cultural terms. The Braudelian idea of a Mediterranean region with a long history of relations that flourish thanks to geographical proximity, maritime connectivity, and economic exchanges represents a strong narrative in this regard. It emphasizes a common belonging, a common history and, hopefully, a common future of increased cooperation, convergence, and integration. Many authors have criticized Euro-Mediterranean policies for such ambivalence: they seek to regionalize the area by fostering integration while, at the same time, they strengthen the border between the enlarged EU and the outside world in many ways. Those policies promote the image of a borderless Euro-Mediterranean area, through the emphasis on cooperation, cross-border relations, and ‘people-to- people contacts’, as much as they stress the securitization of the Mediterranean as their main goal and the control of migration as one of their main priorities (Beck and Grande 2007, 176). The image of a ‘fortress Europe’ is an often cited spatial metaphor in this regard, and apparently it contradicts the commitment toward regionalization in the Mediterranean. The parallel regionalization and bordering of the Mediterranean, however, is neither contradictory nor paradoxical: the two goals are intimately linked and produce a peculiar strategy that, although controversial, is coherent and, to a certain extent, effective (see FRONTIERA). What these two imaginaries have in common–or where they find a synthesis–is in the representation of the Mediterranean as a space of relations and flows. European policies toward the Mediterranean may be seen, accordingly, as an attempt to create a regime of managed and differential mobility across the Mediterranean, an area of asymmetrical and controlled relations. Some flows that are considered beneficial, e.g. trade in industrial products, are fostered and enhanced while other flows–trade in agricultural products and services or ‘illicit trafficking’, for example–are limited. The same applies to migration, which is considered beneficial or, at lEast, as a necessary evil, when it is managed, controlled and legal, and the opposite when it is unmanaged, uncontrolled, or ‘irregular’. Consequently, in terms of geographical imaginaries we may identify a further alternative between topographical/territorial representations of the Mediterranean on the one hand, whenever the sea is considered as an integrated region or as a dividing border, and topological/relational representations, when the Mediterranean is considered as a space of flows and relationships. Topological representation of sea spaces is indeed very common and, as stated by Steinberg in his historical analysis of oceans’ representation in cartography (2009), the construction of the sea as an ‘outside’ space of mobility is a fundamental ingredient in modern spatial politics as it is

333 intimately linked to the construction of ‘inside’ space as a series of territories of fixity, sovereignty, and stability. The various imaginaries of the Mediterranean are therefore not contradictory but complementary. In the following sections we will see further how they coexist and what their function is within the construction of a Euro- Mediterranean political space.

The politics of delimitation

The first problem of any Mediterranean policy is how the area (or region?) should be delimited. The seemingly simple question of who’s Mediterranean and who’s not is indeed crucial in debates about regionalization and cooperation in the Mediterranean. The difficulties in compiling a list of ‘Mediterranean countries’ in any meaningful and coherent way reveal a lot about the contents and scope of Euro- Mediterranean politics. The EMP, for example, initially excluded Libya as the country had been sanctioned by the United Nations; the country has been lately included in the partnership as an ‘observer’. On the other hand, the partnership includes Jordan and Mauritania, despite the fact that these two countries do not border the Mediterranean, because they are integral parts of Mashreq and Maghreb, respectively. At the same time, the partnership excludes many other Arab countries based on the idea that those countries are not ‘Mediterranean’. Surprisingly enough, however, most of the problems incurred when deciding the boundaries of the Mediterranean are about which European countries–rather than about which non-European countries–should be included. All of the EU’s member countries are partners in the EMP. The partnership, consequently, includes many Northern European countries that have some strategic or commercial interests in the basin, yet are far away from its shores, while it excludes other European Mediterranean countries–among the Western Balkans in particular–as long as they are not EU members. The number of partners, moreover, has progressively increased due to EU enlargement toward Eastern Europe, from 27 in 1995 to 40 today. Many fear the partnership is too wide in order to constitute the foundation for any proper regionalization process. “The Barcelona group is too diverse for a cross-pillar approach to be realistically formulated and implemented” (Pace 2004, 305). The creation of macro-regions in the Mediterranean, similar to the Baltic macro-region, has been recently discussed in this framework (Stocchiero 2010), with proposals for the constitution of an Adriatic-Ionian macro- region. Many other sub-regions have been previously identified, at various geographical scales, within the different components of Euro- Mediterranean policies (Celata and Coletti 2011). The delimitation of

334 such sub-regions is never solely justified for functional reasons: sub- regional programs refer often to some form of regional identity and are always aimed at ‘region-building’. The entire Mediterranean basin, however, is still the primary and most important scale for the implementation of European external policies toward the Mediterranean–much more than along the EU’s Eastern border, for example–and this surely applies to the prospects for establishing a Free Trade Area. Debates about the geographical significance of the Euro- Mediterranean area have multiplied since the EU launched the so-called ‘European Neighbourhood Policy’ (ENP) in 2003, which included 45 partners and was carried out with the participation of many Eastern European, non-member countries. Even the expressed doubts about “the meaningfulness of the ENP’s geographical scope, as it involves countries which are geographically and culturally European together with Mediterranean non-European countries” (Resolution A6-0414-2007). “You cannot have a coherent policy for such heterogeneous countries” (EU official, cited in: Dimitrovova 2010, 472). Although the EU insisted that the ENP would “reinvigorate the Barcelona Process” and the perspectives for integration in the Mediterranean, many feared the opposite: the new policy constituted a shift in the priorities of the EU toward its Eastern frontier (Aliboni 2005). The EMP was indeed the outcome of an EU enlargement in the 1980s and 1990s, with the accession of Spain, Portugal, Greece and – more recently–Cyprus and Malta. The ENP, on the other hand, was a response to the EU’s Eastern enlargement and, according to many authors, was primarily concerned with the challenges that the enlargement would pose for the relations between Eastern European countries that have become member states and their non-EU neighbors (Zaiotti 2007; Del Sarto and Schumacher 2005). More generally, within the Barcelona Process, the Mediterranean constitutes the ‘center’ of an ambitious multilateral project even if the extent of the partnership was too wide to constitute a proper ‘Mediterranean region’. Within the ENP, on the contrary, “the Mediterranean is diluted into a disordered archipelago of countries surrounding the European and Western ‘center’” (Amoroso 2007, 496). The inclusion of both Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean within a single policy not only implies a further widening and extension of the Euro-Mediterranean partnership but is also a symbolical shift. “The EMP stressed the importance of North- South and South-South cooperation, along with the notion of partnership. [The ENP], conversely, explicitly conveys a centre-periphery approach– with the EU obviously standing at the centre” (Del Sarto and Schumacher 2005, 27).

335 Figure 2 – Delimitations of the Euro-Mediterranean area within EU policies toward the Mediterranean

Source: designed by the author

Even if we cannot say that Euro-Mediterranean policies were ever truly multilateral (Giaccaria 2005), the ENP has indeed been criticized for challenging the perspectives of a regional approach toward the Euro- Mediterranean (Kausch and Youngs 2009, 965). “The ENP abandons the prevalence of the principle of regionality that was inherent in the Barcelona Process, and replaces it with differentiated bilateralism” (Del Sarto and Schumacher 2005, 21). The ‘politics of delimitation’ is therefore not neutral: it is both symbolic and performative, as it emphasizes certain political priorities over others, and it favors the interests of some countries over others. In this framework, the French proposal to establish a ‘Mediterranean Union’, in 2007, was an explicit attempt to increase the centrality of

336 Southern European countries with respect to, or even against, the leading role that continental Europe has within the EU integration process. The proposal caused debates and criticisms especially because the Union was supposed to include only those countries that border the Mediterranean (Balfour 2009, Kausch and Youngs 2009). The inclusion of only ‘truly’ Mediterranean countries was, on the one hand, a response to the aforementioned criticisms about the EMP being too wide and about EU disengagement from the Mediterranean. On the other hand, such a geographical delimitation emphasized the commitment toward the establishment of a truly Mediterranean ‘Union’, rather than a simple multilateral partnership, and it was founded by Sarkozy with a peculiar emphasis on region-building in the Mediterranean:

While Europe’s future is in the South, Africa’s is in the North. I call on all those who can do so to join the Mediterranean Union because it will be the linchpin of , the great dream capable of enthusing the world. The Mediterranean Union is a challenge, a challenge for all of us, (…) Mediterraneans (Sarkozy, Morocco, October 2007).

At the same time, paradoxically, the inclusion of only a few European countries was criticized because it challenged the perspectives for multilateralism in the Mediterranean, in contradiction with the initial spirit of the EMP (Balfour 2009, 103). Even if the EU has recently conceded that regionalization in the area can proceed at ‘variable geometry’ (European Commission 2011a), the French proposal has been fiercely criticized not only by Northern European countries but also by Italy and Spain, as it was supposed to weaken the role of the EU and the possibility for European countries to speak with a single voice. The proposal was quickly abandoned in favor of a less ambitious Union for the Mediterranean (UfM), established in 2008, which includes all countries that are part of the EMP, plus Monaco and the Western Balkans (with the exception of Serbia and Macedonia), and that is little more than a sum of projects with few prospects for regional integration (Kausch and Youngs 2009). It is clear, from this brief review, that the idea that the Mediterranean ‘exists a priori’, based on the ‘natural evidence’ of the physical extent of the sea (Giaccaria and Minca 2011, 348), is insufficient. The geography of the region does indeed suggest its delimitation, as much as it is its product: it is just one ingredient in a never-ending struggle between alternative geopolitical representations. In the end, we still need to decide both where the Mediterranean ends and what it is: the two questions are intimately linked. The various alternative delimitations, however, are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Although any of the above-mentioned programs has its own orientations, their goals are coherent and they can easily coexist. Each of them includes, for example, perspectives for further commercial

337 integration and trade liberalization. Perspectives for a Euro- Mediterranean FTA, moreover, coexist and overlap with other trade agreements along the Northern shore (EU, EEA, and CEFTA) and along the Southern shore: the COMESA (Common Market for Eastern and ), the GAFTA (Greater Arab Free Trade Area), and the proposal for an Arab Maghreb Union (Figure 3), not to mention other inter-governmental partnerships such as the Arab League, which was included as a partner in the ‘Union for the Mediterranean’. The Mediterranean is therefore, in some cases, the object of regionalization attempts while, in many other cases, it is the crossroads of (or the border between) alternative integration processes: Europe, the European Union, the Arab countries, Maghreb, Mashreq, etc. The first point that I want to stress is that regionality and multilaterality should not be considered synonymous but are rather alternatives to each other. If the Mediterranean area is diluted to include the whole of Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East, the possibilities for a multilateral policy for the area increase as relations can be managed at a multilateral level by supranational bodies such as the EU and the Arab League (Amoroso 2007). On the other hand, if the partnership is too wide, its geographical significance decreases and the perspectives for effective regionalization weaken. Another ambiguity refers to the above- mentioned ambivalence between ‘bordering’ processes versus regionalization processes in the Mediterranean. Any integration process weakens the borders among those that are included as much as it strengthens the borders with those that are excluded. The EU has been accused, for example, of challenging the association among Arab countries through the selective inclusion of some countries and the exclusion of others from the Euro-Mediterranean partnership. Such inclusions/exclusions are dictated mainly by political and strategic criteria, but are masked behind the apparently self-evident idea that those countries which are excluded are not ‘Mediterranean countries’ 3. Within this framework, the strongest divisions in the Mediterranean can be seen as resulting from European integration itself. European Union institutions seem to acknowledge this problem very clearly when declaring that their external policies should try to avoid the creation of new ‘dividing lines’ (European Commission 2004).

3 The inclusion of Israel in the same basket with Arab countries, for example, is considered a means to promote peace relations in the Middle East but has raised discontent from both parties. The exclusion of Iraq or Saudi Arabia, to give another example, is regarded by some observers as being aimed at excluding those countries in which the US has strong strategic interests.

338 Figure 3 – Free Trade agreements in the Mediterranean area

Source: designed by the author

The ‘dividing lines’ that EU policies are trying to avoid do not only refer to historical and cultural divisions but also to divisions that the EU integration process itself is creating through selective enlargement4, institutional bordering, militarization, etc. The perspective for increased freedom of movement for industrial products will hardly be enough to promote a borderless Mediterranean. Euro-Mediterranean policies may be regarded as nothing more than a ‘consolation prize’ the EU is offering to an area that it continues to de-structure (Del Sarto and Schumacher 2005, 19).

4 See the accession of Cyprus in the EU, for example, and the perspectives for including Turkey.

339 Exchanging trade for democracy? Conditionality and Eurocentrism in Euro-Mediterranean policies

If we look at the latest evolutions of Euro-Mediterranean policies, it is clear that these policies are more European than Mediterranean: it is the EU that decides the scope of these strategies, which countries should be included or not, etc. Despite the rhetoric of partnership and co- ownership, Southern Mediterranean countries often only have the option of agreeing upon a set of predetermined contents (El Kenz 2007, 530). Euro-Mediterranean policies, as already argued, have never been truly multilateral. Free trade agreements, for example, unlike other FTAs such as the North American Free Trade Area (NAFTA) and the European Free Trade Area (EFTA), are signed between the EU and each partner country individually. Some have defined it as a ‘hub and spoke’ approach, which challenges the creation of an FTA for the whole area (Zaim 1999). The real issue, according to these critics, is in promoting South-South commercial relations. While trade barriers among Southern Mediterranean countries have decreased 11 percent, they are still some of the highest in the world, at 17 percent. It is the EU, moreover, that provides the funding for Euro-Mediterranean policies and it is also the EU, consequently, that decides on their allocation. Although such allocation is traditionally based upon strategic and geopolitical priorities, there is an increasing emphasis–at lEast in theory–on conditioning the distribution of benefits from Mediterranean policies towards the implementation of political reforms and ‘good governance’ in partner countries (Aliboni 2005). The Barcelona Process introduced the principle of ‘negative conditionality’ which is, in theory, a suspension of relations with partner countries that have violated human rights. The ENP is instead based on the principle of ‘positive conditionality’: relations will only be fostered with those countries that express their commitment toward political reform (Del Sarto and Schumacher 2005). Such a ‘soft’ and ‘normative’ approach, as it has been defined in section one, has succeeded in keeping relations between the EU and its partners ‘cordial and constructive’ (Emerson and Noutcheva 2005), compared with the more problematic relations the US has with several Mediterranean countries, for example. However, the EU “has failed to use its more positive image (…) to set out an alternative reform path” (Youngs 2006, 5). At times, there is the impression that European values themselves, as once stated by the EU Commissioner for External Relations, Ferrero-Waldner, (cited in: Boedeltje and Van Houtum 2011, 136), are supposed to constitute the ‘weapons’ (sic) for pushing neighbors toward meeting the requirements of the EU and adopting the norms of liberal democracies.

340 Notwithstanding such a normative approach, the ‘sticks’ of conditionality have never been properly used (Del Sarto and Schumacher 2005; Balfour 2009). The failed attempts to promote democratization in the Mediterranean are often justified by the scarcity of incentives: “we can’t buy reform, we are conscious of the fact that we don’t have the money to buy reform” (EU official, cited in Jones 2006, 426). European leaders repeat that ‘democracy cannot be imposed’, while according to many observers, they do not seem to be even trying to do so (Boedeltje and Van Houtum 2011; Kramsch 2011). Europe has long been silent about the lack of democratization in some of the most preferred partners, which have even been praised for their achievements in this domain5. In previous years, before the Arab revolutions, “some critics detect a return to the continent’s traditional approach to the region–supporting authoritarian governments in exchange for natural resources and stability” (Youngs 2006, 5). There is much ambivalence in this regard. The commitment of partner countries toward migration control, for example, has been included in the conditionality clauses of the ENP (Kausch and Youngs 2009, 966), and migrants readmission agreements are, in some cases, part of the program Action Plans (Smith 2005). Migration controls and readmission, however, often imply violations to the same human rights that the policy assumes as its main principles and goals (Fekete 2005). Another ambivalence regards the Eurocentric content of the ‘good governance’ model that is pursued in the Mediterranean: “The Commission does not leave any doubts that the ‘commitment to shared values’–such as democracy, liberty, rule of law, respect for human rights and human dignity–refers to the values of the EU and its Member States” (Del Sarto and Schumacher 2005, 23). Many authors have stressed the neo-colonial nature of Euro-Mediterranean policies (Boedeltje and Van Houtum 2011, 131) and the image of the Mediterranean as a post-colonial sea (Chambers 2008; Giaccaria and Minca 2011). We may say that the design of Euro-Mediterranean policies is influenced, on the one hand, by the colonial past of European countries that forces them to respect the autonomy of their partners and not to intervene too much in their internal politics. There is, on the other hand, the ‘colonial present’ (Gregory 2004), in which European institutions “continue to think and to act in ways that are dyed in the colours of

5 A standing example is Tunisia. On a visit to the country in 2008, Sarkozy declared: “What other country can boast of having advanced so much in half a century on the road to progress, on the road to tolerance and on the road to reason?” (cited in Kausch and Youngs 2009, 973).

341 colonial power” (p.15). Europeans cannot resist considering European values as universal, intrinsically good and, therefore, superior– something that most external partners still do not possess but will probably adopt in the future, with the help of the EU and through modernization, institutional reforms, and economic development (Celata and Coletti 2011). Diez defined this ambivalence as the “normative power paradox” (2006): notwithstanding the emphasis on ‘common values’, the idea that those are primarily European values reinforces the border between the EU and the outside world. The EU’s external policies, it is argued, are structured in such a way that non-European partners are the subjects of policies rather than partners (Dimitrovova 2010, 477). The EU “on the one hand creates an image of an inferior neighbour that urgently needs to move towards European standards and on the other hand produces a speech politics of mutuality and dialogue” (Boedeltje and Van Houtum 2011, 130). “Both the content and form of the initiative reinforce the asymmetry characterizing the two sides” (Zaiotti 2007, 151). “The approach is dominative, rather than universalistic or cosmopolitan” (Barbé et al. 2009, 379). Euro- Mediterranean policies are reinforcing the same image of a ‘fortress Europe’ that they are trying to eliminate, not only through political and military means, but also through ‘cultural bordering’ (Kostadinova 2009; Dimitrovova 2010; Boedeltje and Van Houtum 2011 Delanty 2006). A clear demonstration of the contradictions and failures of European policies toward the Mediterranean may be found in the so-called ‘Arab spring’–a Eurocentric definition itself as ‘spring’ is a concept that is hardly applicable to the tropical climate of Arab countries. The Arab revolutions have shown that democratization is a rather complex process and that we still need to learn how to deal with it through ‘soft’ means and pro-actively, rather than through the ‘hard’ power of ex-post military intervention. Not surprisingly then, protesters in Arab countries are sceptical, with respect to the commitment of European countries in this regard, although they are fighting for the same democratic ideals that Mediterranean politics is promoting. They fight for our ‘common values’ but are sceptical toward our ‘common politics’ and perceive Europe as a controversial ally, or even as an obstacle, toward democratization:

The European Union continues to promote an agenda for trade and investments which has already proven to be useless for the developing needs of partner countries and that, if confirmed and enhanced, could seriously challenge the ongoing democratic transitions (Arab NGO Network for Development, February 2012).

342 Europe and its ‘other’. Free trade and Europeanization in the Mediterranean

A common spatial metaphor that is used to capture the Eurocentric character of Euro-Mediterranean policies, and that may be considered one of the main dimensions of regionalization attempts in the Mediterranean, is that of ‘Europeanization’ (Jones 2006; Lavenex 2008). According to Featherstone and Radaelli, Europeanization is a set of

processes of construction, diffusion and institutionalization of formal and informal rules, procedures, policy paradigms, styles, ‘ways of doing things,’ and shared beliefs and norms which are first defined and consolidated in the EU policy process and then incorporated in the logic of domestic discourse, political structures and public policies (2003, 333).

Europeanization has both an internal and external dimension (Jones and Clark 2008a). In relation to the Mediterranean, it may be regarded, inter alias, as a geopolitical strategy which aims to make the sea a European Mare Nostrum. Europeanization is also an attempt to replicate, in the Euro-Mediterranean area, the same integration model that has been experienced within the EU (Barbé et al. 2009, 379), to adopt, for example, the same timing and path toward closer integration that is applied to those countries that bid for accession to the EU. The prioritization of trade liberalization is a standing example in this regard. Enlargement, therefore, not only represents the challenge that the strategy wishes to respond to but it also serves, somehow, as a ‘model’ for its design (Zaiotti 2007; Celata and Coletti 2011). Partner countries, moreover, are asked to adopt EU-specific norms, rules, and standards. In the commercial domain, any external partner wishing to participate in the Free Trade Area must bring their entire regulatory system in-line with the acquis communitaire, although the cost of alignment with the acquis is enormous and may be much greater than the benefits of commercial integration (Del Sarto and Schumacher 2005). Besides regulatory convergence in the field of trade (indeed a prerequisite for the creation of the FTA), partners are asked to comply with other regulatory and institutional rules that, differently from candidate countries, are not justified nor exchanged within the perspective of accession to the EU (Barbé et al. 2009). Partner countries do not only express a generic commitment toward democratization. The Barcelona Declaration includes commitments toward the creation of an ‘environment conducive to [foreign] investments’, the empowering of ‘civil society’, political and administrative decentralization, ‘the promotion of the role of women in development’, etc. The strategy, however, is aimed at institutional convergence as well as at discursive

343 isomorphism: it is constituted by ‘soft power’ and political imaginations rather than perspectives for ‘hard’ reforms (Bialasiewicz 2008). It is a postcolonial rather than a neo-colonial strategy. We may distinguish between what could be defined as ‘hard’ Europeanization–the promotion of political and economic reforms in the partner countries–and ‘soft’ Europeanization: the diffusion of specific practices, ways of doing and thinking which are imposed on those actors in the partner countries which are more directly involved in Euro- Mediterranean policies. As Jones and Clark put it, it is “the microgeographies of everyday worked life of specific actors (…) which determine the (re-)production of Europeanization” (2008b, 309). Although the EU has been unable to promote any kind of political reform in the partner countries beyond some regulatory convergence, they have otherwise succeeded in ‘framing’ Euro-Mediterranean relations according to a particular discourse on what those relations should look like and how they should evolve in the future. This is not to say that Europeanization does not encounter contestations and opposition from partner countries or from specific actors/institutions within those countries which repeatedly denounced the hegemonic and Eurocentric character of Euro-Mediterranean politics. Most of the ruling elites in Southern Mediterranean countries have been increasingly sceptical with respect to the EMP as they fear that ‘soft’ integration may generate spill-overs that undermine their power status (Del Sarto and Schumacher 2005, 35). The result of such a controversial strategy may be defined as ‘selective Europeanization’: it succeeds mostly among those actors and social groups that are more directly affected by European policies as they are beneficiaries of EU funding, participate in the Euro-Mediterranean policy community or think they could be empowered by the Europeanization of their political system. Several actors and agencies, moreover, are directly created within the partner countries to implement Euro-Mediterranean policies; like modern-day missionaries, these actors may be regarded as predicators of the ‘logos’ of Europeanization. Euro-Mediterranean policies, and Europeanization more generally, are therefore not unitary but fragmented and heterogeneous processes that discriminate between different actors, different policy domains, in order to adopt a strategy of simultaneous inclusion/exclusion, openness/closure, cooperation/ control (Berg and Ehin 2006; Walters 2006). Europeanization is, moreover, a contested process opposed by some local actors while appropriated by others, in order to be adapted to their specific interests and goals. Also within Europe, strategies toward the Mediterranean are not unitary but ridden with conflicts between different geopolitical priorities and different models of action. The making of the Euro- Mediterranean region, in this framework, “has become one of the critical

344 ways in which the EU seeks to define itself as much as order its relations with the outside world” (Jones 2006, 420). Struggles over the conceptualization of the Mediterranean ‘other’ are indeed struggles over the European ‘self’. Regionalization in the Mediterranean is just one of the pluralities of rescaling processes on which the same perspective for further integration within the EU are based. One of the primary issues that need to be addressed in the EU’s strategies toward its external partners is the need to mediate between the role of the EU vis-à-vis the role of member States in foreign politics. Since the 1950s, the Mediterranean has been the first and most important test for the EU’s ability to speak with a single voice toward its external partners (Amoroso 2007, 502). The belief that a Mediterranean region can be ‘made’, in this framework, is the belief that the European region is already in the making and a legitimization for the EU’s increasing role in the international arena. This can also be regarded as a form of Europeanization: “a discourse production which renders logical and legitimate European interventions in the Mediterranean” (Jones and Clark 2008a, 567). If the ‘making’ of the Mediterranean is the ‘making’ of Europe, the limits of the former are limits to the latter. As we don’t know how Europe itself will evolve in the future, we cannot say how Euro-Mediterranean relations will look at the end of both the global economic recession and after the Arab revolutions. At the moment, it may be possible that Mediterranean politics will flourish again with concrete perspectives for the constitution of the Mediterranean as “an area of peace, stability and prosperity”, or they will continue their “slow and tortuous agonía” (Kausch and Youngs 2009, 963). In both cases, it is worth searching for the ‘alternative modernities’ that the Mediterranean may suggest (Giaccaria and Minca 2011), to go beyond the one proposed so far.

345

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