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The Refugee Camp as Warscape: Violent Cosmologies, “Rebelization,” and Humanitarian Governance in Kakuma, Kenya Jansen, B. J. This is a "Post-Print" accepted manuscript, which has been published in "Humanity: an International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development" This version is distributed under a non-commercial no derivatives Creative Commons (CC-BY-NC-ND) user license, which permits use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited and not used for commercial purposes. Further, the restriction applies that if you remix, transform, or build upon the material, you may not distribute the modified material. Please cite this publication as follows: Jansen, B. J. (2016). The Refugee Camp as Warscape: Violent Cosmologies, “Rebelization,” and Humanitarian Governance in Kakuma, Kenya. Humanity: an International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development, 7(3), 429-441. DOI: 10.1353/hum.2016.0024 You can download the published version at: https://doi.org/10.1353/hum.2016.0024 The Refugee Camp as Warscape: Violent Cosmologies, “Rebelization,” and Humanitarian Governance in Kakuma, Kenya Bram J. Jansen Humanity: An International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development, Volume 7, Number 3, Winter 2016, pp. 429-441 (Article) Published by University of Pennsylvania Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/hum.2016.0024 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/643496 Access provided by University Of Pennsylvania (18 Apr 2017 17:01 GMT) Bram J. Jansen The Refugee Camp as Warscape: Violent Cosmologies, “Rebelization,” and Humanitarian Governance in Kakuma, Kenya Introduction Refugee camps and violence do not go well together, yet they are closely related. By intention, the camp is a place isolated from the violence of homeland wars. It is a separation: a controlled and politics-free space apart from both the homeland and the host country. This externalization is problematic. Instead of perceiving of violence as something exceptional to the camp, I argue that it should be understood as an essential aspect in its organization. In this essay I approach the refugee camp as a warscape in which violence, in manifest but also symbolic or imminent forms, affects everyday life in the camp. The dynamics of past and present violence translate into forms of spatial and social ordering that are essential in the understanding of the development of the protracted refugee camp as a socioeconomic entity. These ordering processes counter the image of protracted refugee camps as seclusion sites where depoliticization and marginalization deprive refugees from their identities as social actors. Instead, the notion of the warscape allows an understanding of the protracted refugee camp as something other than a humanitarian necessity and enables a more critical focus on social organization processes that occur across time. Kakuma refugee camp is one of those large protracted camps. It is located in the semi-arid Turkana region in northwest Kenya, near the borders with Uganda, South Sudan, and Ethiopia. Since its inception in 1992, the camp has been inhabited by a majority of (south) Sudanese and Somali refugees, but also by a significant population from Democratic Republic of Congo, Ethiopia, and Uganda, as well as smaller groups from Rwanda, Burundi, and Eritrea. In 2000 nearly 90,000 refugees were registered in Kakuma. This figure declined after 2006 but rose again after 2010 with an influx of Somalis and South Sudanese; in 2014 the camp had 125,000 registered refugees.1 In earlier studies I perceived of the camp as an accidental city, which over time developed into a social and spatial organization that became increasingly normal and embedded in the wider region.2 This essay focuses on one aspect of this social organization. It is based on eighteen months of ethnographic fieldwork in Kakuma between 2004 and 2006, with further field visits in 2010 and 2012. The Camp as a Warscape In December 2013 I was in Juba, the capital of South Sudan, when clashes broke out between rival factions in the military. South Sudan had gained its independence from 429 ................. 18967$ $CH6 11-28-16 07:34:37 PS PAGE 429 Sudan two and a half years earlier after decades of war. Although the country was severely underdeveloped and still faced several regional pockets of armed conflict, a return to war seemed far away. This illusion was shattered in a matter of days, when a civil war was reignited that has continued to the time of this writing. Several men of the Dinka tribe, whom I had first met almost a decade earlier in Kakuma, I now regularly met again in Juba, after they had returned some years before. The men lived in a tented camp on the banks of a tributary to the river Nile, near the old center of the city. When the clashes erupted, they immediately organized around the violence. Through their social networks they managed to arrange for soldiers to guard their tented camp, which subsequently became a refuge for their peers who stayed elsewhere in Juba. Some others I met later in Nairobi, where they were organ- izing to protect themselves and their communities back in South Sudan. They reasoned along the lines of “We know how to use the gun, we were soldiers before,” referring back to their youth as proto-child soldiers in the refugee camps of Gambella in Ethiopia, and later as “Lost Boys” in Kakuma camp in Kenya. For those young men, war was never far away. Life in the camp was to a large extent organized according to references and experiences with violence, and the camp itself was linked to the war in many ways. Then, many Sudanese viewed the camp as not only a refuge in a general sense but also a facility where future cadres for the war were groomed. Yet this perception was kept quiet in public. After I reconnected with some of these former refugees in Juba after independence in 2011, some of them read parts of my dissertation on the camp as an accidental city. While we were discussing it with a small group, one of them remarked, “So you knew, we thought so.” He meant that they had then anticipated that I knew about the associations with the Sudanese rebels all along, but that they were not supposed to talk about this. They were sensitive to the problematic relation between the camp and the war. That relation was instrumental in understanding the camp as a warscape. Kakuma camp was socially and spatially organized in “refugee communities”—a bureaucratic categorization based on nationality, which changed as the camp became inhabited and reorganized. The boundaries of these communities, and the ways they managed and positioned themselves vis-a`-vis the refugee regime and other groups of refugees, were strongly related to wartime affiliations, often conflated with ethnic iden- tities, as continuations of conflict from the past or emanating from the camp itself. Nordstrom borrows from Appadurai’s “ethnoscape”3 to suggest that violence affects how “each person, each group brings a history that informs action and is negotiated vis-a`-vis the various other histories of those with whom they interact.”4 Violence is an essential element of the camp’s social ordering and the history thereof, as “a broad field of dynamics which is part of war time processes, but not necessarily confined to the front line.”5 “Warscape” is a useful term in considering how violence shapes the landscape or the social and spatial ordering of Kakuma. The perspective of the warscape bridges the physical, symbolic, and social under- standing of violence that is part of the history and identity of refugee groups in general and the camp itself. My Dinka informant who remarked, while passing a Nuer in the camp, “Those Nuer have no minds, by the way,” referred to a history of past violence in multiple locales and on various occasions, not only in the camp but also in Sudan. 430 Humanity Winter 2016 ................. 18967$ $CH6 11-28-16 07:34:39 PS PAGE 430 This represents what Ingo Schro¨der and Bettina Schmidt call “violent imagi- naries,” as “the emphasizing of the historicity of present day confrontations,” rooted in the history and context of the relations in and around the camp.6 Violence then manifests itself not only in the destruction of boundaries but in their creation.7 As part of the relationship between “self and society,” violence maintains and shapes communities and affects the humanitarian bureaucratic organization of the camp.8 It is a negotiation of space in which legitimacy and authority are contested. Nordstrom writes that violence is “fraught with assumptions, presuppositions, and contradictions. Like power, violence is essentially contested: everyone knows it exists, but no one agrees on what actually constitutes the phenomenon.”9 Similarly, for the violent imageries that refugees referred to in the form of personal histories, gossip, and rumor, it is not necessarily relevant whether these references were “true” or not; what is important is how these stories were used by people in explaining their lives and histories in the camp setting. That contentiousness that Nordstrom references, then, is the essence of the idea of the warscape. The rumors and stories about events are how groups perceive of, and relate to, each other, even though violence may not be (or not yet) manifest but symbolic or imminent.10 In Kakuma, these war- and violence-related imageries were strongly linked to histories and politics of rebellion and the ways they shaped camp governance. Refugee Camp Rebelization The origin of Kakuma camp starts with the arrival of the “Lost Boys,” as they became known to the larger public. In 1992, 12,000 children separated from their parents in the chaos of war showed up at the Sudanese-Kenyan border near Lokichiggio, after they had been forced to leave several refugee camps in the Gambella region in Ethiopia.11 A camp was prepared some 100 kilometers south, next to the village of Kakuma, in the Turkana region of northern Kenya.

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