Abstract
The special issue contributes to the exploration of transversal solidarities counterpoised to an exhausted neoliberalism on the one hand and a xenophobic populism on the other. It tracks contours of a multifarious countermovement, traversing ‘race’, class and gender, driven by reimaginings of the common and the renewal of democracy. The emphasis is on the understanding of contending urban justice movements, welcoming communities and their liaisons in a multiscale (local, national, transnational) perspective. A collection of theoretically informed papers discusses cases from urban contexts of Europe and the United States, all riveted by schisms of class, ‘race’/ethnicity and gender, occupied by the ‘migration’ issue and challenged by contending movements for social cum environmental sustainability. Exploring examples of social movements and forms of mobilisation in different contexts, the overarching aim is to retrieve options for transversal solidarities transcending identities while focusing on commonalities.
Keywords
Contending ‘Global Apartheid’
Introducing this special issue on transversal solidarities, we pursue a vision of politics of possibility contending border closure, precarisation and social expulsion. The included essays explore, from variable methodological and theoretical perspectives, the emplacement of transversal solidarities with and by migrants and post-migrants in Western European and North American cities and local urban communities. They proceed from the idea that cities, municipalities and urban neighbourhoods may provide spaces across which an energising transversal politics can develop. Cities may accommodate both a humanistic sensibility and a radical potential for social transformation (Finley, 2017). The figure of the ‘migrant’ is pivotal here. A focus on transversal alliances of solidarity may illuminate ‘the centrality of the “migrant question” for thinking about democracy, collective subjects and citizenry’ (Tazzioli, 2020: 141).
This embodies, in other words, a plea for utopia in a crisis-ridden 21st century, which indisputably corroborates the worries of a deeply concerned Anthony H. Richmond (1994), outlined in his book Global Apartheid from 1994, on migration, refugees, racism and a discriminatory post-Cold War ‘new world order’ – the latter today more commonly designated by the floating signifier of ‘globalisation’. ‘[A]s apartheid in South Africa is gradually giving way to political reform’, spelled Richmond (1994: 209), ‘the rest of the world appears to be moving in a different direction’. However, he muses, just like South African Apartheid, the mounting system of global apartheid is untenable: ‘all boundaries are permeable and borders can no longer be defended with walls, iron curtains, armed guards, or computer surveillance systems [. . .] [A] system of global apartheid is bound to fail’ (Richmond, 1994: 205, 216).
A quarter of a century later, Richmond’s ominous scenario has indeed come to fruition in our present’s predatory globalisation, charging unequal development, dashing inequality and a related plethora of forced mass migrations, married to a global apartheid of ‘walled states’ (Brown, 2010) and exclusionary regimes of citizenship. Yet, no walls, except for the infamous Berlin one, have been tumbling down. Border fences are on the contrary multiplying, are built higher and increasingly mortal to climb, for example: the Royal Walls of Ceuta, the last stop for sub-Saharan African migrants fleeing poverty and deprivation in search of work or sanctuary in Europe; along Hungary’s border towards Serbia Victor Orban’s new iron curtain, symptomatic of post-Soviet societies gangrened by extreme nationalism; Donald Trump’s ‘great big beautiful wall’ along the US border with Mexico, symbolic of a long-standing illusion of American superiority.
Thus, the neoliberal-assumed happy ‘end of history’ 1 opened a Pandora’s box of precarisation and forced displacement. Its credo of market-driven economic freedom and ‘liberal democracy’, supposedly to eventually engulf the world entire, was to be negated by a sweeping ‘accumulation by dispossession’ (Harvey, 2004), dismantling social safety nets and sustainable livelihoods, setting ‘free’ a multimillion footloose, flexible and ultramobile ‘surplus population’ 2 at the disposal of transnational corporations across the former first, second and third worlds. It is a contemporary trajectory that brings into focus Luxemburg’s (1951 [1913]) theory of capitalist crisis management by unremitting ‘primitive accumulation’, through financialisation, structural adjustment and corporate land grabbing – a contemporary imperialism intersected with and developing in tandem with a predatory geopolitical scramble for global hegemony, masked as ‘humanitarian intervention’, using human rights to sell war (Bricmont, 2006).
This combined structurally engrained political-economic and geopolitical scramble has caused forced migrations on a massive scale in the post-Cold War era, and it continues unabated. One example is the still ongoing so-called ‘migrant caravans’ (e.g. Sklaw, 2018) – departing from depressed Central American states, fleeing structurally embedded precarity of livelihoods and institutionally entrenched violence, defying crackdowns by the Mexican national guard and trappings of criminal syndicates in their odyssey from Central America across Mexico in an unavailing attempt to seek asylum at the US border. Not to speak about Venezuela, choked by draconic sanctions from the United States and the European Union (EU) (Weisbrot and Sachs, 2019), or the rise of forced migration driven by precarisation of livelihoods following structural adjustment policies in several other Latin American countries. A grim feature of this great global transformation has been mass expulsions of refugees from, among other, Rwanda and former Yugoslavia in the 1990s, in the wake of austere ‘structural adjustment’ programs, imperial intervention, civil war and ‘ethnic cleansing’ (Schierup, 1999; Storey, 2001), followed in the 2000s by an exodus of biblical proportions from Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria – not to forget the human consequences of neoliberal restructuring, internecine warfare and environmental disaster across sub-Saharan Africa (e.g. Tobias, 2012).
‘Huddled masses’ of the 21st century continue to drown in crossings over the Mediterranean by shaky boats or vanish in the graveyard of the Sonoran Desert. Electronic surveying systems are becoming more sophisticated, border guards multiplying and increasingly militarised. Methods for confining migrants in prison-like lockups, cramped ghettoes or refouled to regimented homelands are becoming more and more inventive, oppressive and inhumane: Repellent detention lock-ups for adults and small children separated from their parents in minuscular iron cages (the United States), and so-called ‘hotspots’ for refugees aimed at return to Turkey, outsourced by wealthier European nations to the economically depressed periphery of the EU. That is, less euphemistically, concentration camps exhibiting appalling subhuman conditions of subsistence. 3 At the same junction, a much-hailed Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration (2018) 4 bypasses fundamental United Nations (UN) conventions on the rights of migrants. Major intergovernmental organisations (the UN, the World Bank, the International Organisation for Migration (IOM)), propagate a securitised so-called ‘circular migration’ (Cassarino, 2013) as a technocratic win–win–win formula for the ‘management of migration’ (e.g. Schierup et al., 2019a) – a position projecting pivotal institutional logics of the South African migration regime under Apartheid onto a global scale, albeit dressed in a benevolent language of ‘human rights’ (Schierup et al., 2019b).
Also seen from the perspective of the inner territories of the so-called ‘Global North’ – or more specifically the EU and the United States – Richmond’s scenario appears prophetic, in foretelling the state of crisis we are in today. Richmond (1994: 209) could, thus, record: ‘an upsurge in racism, discrimination, intolerance and xenophobia with neo-Nazi and other right-wing extremist groups gaining support’; urban riots revealing volatile interracial situations; a fateful backlash against immigration and ‘growing support for reactionary political parties’; populist cries for stricter immigration controls and curtailing the right to seek asylum; ‘confinement of refugees in isolated camps’.
In truth, as noted by Massey (2005: 110 ff), an ostensible paradox of a doctrinaire mobility of capital versus apartheidizing closure relating to human mobility, appears politically logical – that is, in the greater scheme of neoliberal transformation and politics of precarisation functioning to produce and manage unfree labour for hyper-exploitation to the avail of the higher end of the wider asymmetric global power-geometrics. Or, as put caustically in a nutshell by Bauder (2006: 22): Migrants ‘are valuable because they are vulnerable’. However, the ‘migrant’s’ and the racialised Other’s moral-political function transpires as equally vital. It speaks to the post-political stalemate in North Atlantic societies, 5 most obviously in the aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis and associated upheavals of a dispossessed precariat. ‘Problems’ of immigration and race have become overwhelming themes of a neoconservative populism vying for ideopolitical hegemony. They have come to function as floating signifiers, carrying the blame for a ripping social inequality and precarity of labour, livelihoods and citizenship, currently reaching a breaking point.
It is, returning to the rationale of the present special issue, a present in which any utopia of crafting munificent commensality and inclusive transversal solidarity may, paraphrasing Solnit (2010), appear a task of building ‘paradise in Hell’; a contemporary reality, muses Munck (2020: 8) of generalised crisis in which ‘what has fundamentally changed is indeed astern, and there is no option of returning to “business as usual”’. It poses the problem to social theory on how to ‘imagine and to theorise [. . .] forms of collective political identity and agency that might lead to the creation of new, ethical and democratic political institutions and forms of practice’ (Gill, 2000: 137), in increasingly ‘illiberal’ liberal states (Guild et al., 2009), trapped in a consensus-based ‘post-politics’ (Mouffe, 2005) fixated on problems of ‘migration’ and the ‘stranger within’ as populist substitutes for politics that have deserted visions of solidarity, equality and social justice. It has led to a focus on ‘civil society’ as the ‘last holdout’ against the ‘economic tsunami’ of neoliberal globalisation (Burawoy, 2006: 356), for politics of ‘emancipation’ (Fraser, 2013) and transversal solidarity beyond ethnic divides and national borders.
Possible openings have been conceived in terms of the development of transformative global movements organising along principles of a ‘transversal cosmopolitanism’; a new form of transnational practice ‘creating a common ground [. . .] for progressive hybridization, and active political cooperation among diverse identities and ideological visions [. . .] against existing capitalist social relations and structures of domination’ (Hosseini et al., 2016). 6 Contrary, but conceivably complementary, to this grand vision for social transformation, it is an idea of grounding an alternative globality through a myriad of locally rooted politics of possibility that informs the present special issue. Notwithstanding a gloomy global trajectory, we use the notion of the city to denote an actual complexity of a social formation that includes territorial cum hierarchically ordered demarcation of the hole and in its parts, divisions and divided – socially produced – spaces of power, yet encompassing potentials for social change, social justice, commoning and belonging.
Transversal Solidarities and Politics of Scale
Contributions to the special issue explores solidarity as transformative practice (cf. Featherstone, 2012). It is a relational practice; it is contentious; it emerges strongly in moments or conjunctures (such as the economic crisis, the refugee crisis, the climate crisis and currently the health/Covid-19 crisis; see Fischer and Jørgensen, (2020); it is generative of political subjectivities and collective identities; it entails alliance-building among diverse actors; it is inventive of new imaginaries; it is situated in space and time and organised in multi-scalar relations; and it is linked in different ways to institutions (Agustín and Jørgensen, 2019a). Solidarity practices can connect different places or geographies and enable relations that go beyond national borders. Focusing on solidarities enables an analysis on how struggles are intersected across different categories, such as class, ethnicity and gender, and create new commonalities (Herrera, 2013). This understanding comes close to Yuval-Davis’ (1994, 1999) description of transversal politics. For her transversal politics requires the encompassment of difference by equality. This is an understanding claiming that differences are important, but also that notions of difference should encompass, rather than replace, those of equality. This becomes an important point of departure when analysing social justice struggles involving migrants and non-migrants.
In his contribution to the issue, Bauder untangles the notion of solidarity as a central category in philosophy and social science, carrying forth different perspectives with varying outcomes, as filtered through contemporary strategies of urban solidarity movements. Agustín and Jørgensen focus in their contribution on different varieties and implications of transversal politics and transversal solidarities. What maintains solidarity as transversal, they argue, is the openness, dialogue and collective forging of commonalities without excluding differences. They maintain that solidarity as contestative transversal openness shifts the focus to how activists of different backgrounds forge a common ground, which is in opposition to or in conflict with exclusionary positions. A complementary perspective is developed in the paper by Rygiel, Ataç and Stierl in their contribution. They underscore the importance of space and spatial strategies in political mobilisations, through which the city may be created as a progressive space in response to regimes of control and containment – a process in which transversal solidarities are built through spaces of encounter, yet as ultimately experimental and ‘without guarantees’.
Space and locality are equally important when analysing manifestations of transversal solidarities. In their contribution for this issue, de Graauw and Gleeson elaborate on the complex constitution of transversality (see also de Graauw et al., 2020; de Graauw and Vermeulen, 2016). They show how traversing power relations between city administrations, municipalities, labour unions, voluntary human rights organisations and other actors vary from locality to locality. This analysis can be pursued down to the scale of local city districts, as shown in the contributions by Santamarina and by Schierup, Ålund and Kellecioglu in this special issue.
Just as space relates to transversal politics in urban contexts, transversal solidarity is also linked to scale as another central concept. The contestation and struggles that are inquired in several of the articles of this special issue can be analysed from the perspective of scale, traversing the local, the national and the transnational. Scale is not indicative of hierarchies (from local to transnational) but emphasises the connectivity of place-based politics within a scalar politics (Bauder, 2019; MacKinnon, 2011). These practices of solidarity illustrate how different spatialities (scale, place, networks, positionality and mobility) shape contentious politics (Fischer and Jørgensen, 2020; Leitner et al., 2008). Their dynamics channel the ways politics and power affect local places. It represents, Bigo (2017: 25) claims, a ‘multiplicity of transversal lines that connect agents of so many different types in terms of scales, but which are influencing each other, generate dynamics of different magnitudes and different forms’.
The City and the New Municipalism
Focusing scale to the city brings out a distinctive perspective and practical alternative.
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Throughout the world, cities have responded to the disjuncture between exclusionary national migration and residence policies, and the need to be inclusive at the local scale (Bauder and Gonzalez, 2018). Migrants and refugees may enter a given country in remote coastal areas or enter through the countryside or desert – but they move towards cities. As Barber (2013: xx) argues in If Mayors Ruled the World:
The politics of the city have a very different character to the ideological politics of the nation. [They] are about making things work - you’ve got to pick up the garbage, you’ve to keep the hospitals open, it doesn’t matter if the immigrants are legal or illegal - they have children who get sick and who have to go to school, they ride buses, they drive cars. If you asked a mayor, ‘Do you think immigrants should be allowed in or not?’ they’d say ‘They are here’.
Cities must find a way to secure access, legal residency, social protection, cultural belonging and physical presence of illegalised migrants (Agustín and Bak Jørgensen, 2019b). This is not an easy task as national governments hold the right to issue visas, permits, residence, etc. Yet a new municipalist surge demonstrates that the municipality is becoming a strategically crucial site for the organisation of transformative social change (Agustín, 2020; Roth and Russell, 2018). The nation state remains a significant force within the politics of migration but, as Darling and Bauder (2019: 2) argue, the presumption that the nation state is uniquely placed to respond to migration, overlooks ‘other sites of activity, other scales of analysis, and other political possibilities’. The city can be – and is – a strategic location for an emergent and active citizenship, and the urban scale is the central analytical point of orientation in all the contributions to this special issue: Berlin, Freiburg and Zürich (Bauder), Athens and Barcelona (Agustín and Jørgensen), Copenhagen and Vienna (Rygiel, Ataç and Stierl), Houston and San Francisco (de Graauw and Gleeson), Madrid (Santamarina) and Stockholm (Schierup, Ålund and Kellecioglu).
In the United States, Canada and the UK, the ‘sanctuary city’ has become the preferred label to capture the local-level responses to exclusionary national policies. In the United States, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Illinois, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, Oregon, Vermont and Washington are all sanctuary states and the number of cities and counties identifying themselves as sanctuary spaces in November 2020 included 179 cities and counties. 8 In Canada, Toronto, Hamilton, London and Montreal have sanctuary city designations. Vancouver has adopted a policy of Access to City Services without Fear for Residents with Uncertain or No Immigration Status, taking action to support non-status migrants beyond the standard designation. 9 In the UK and Ireland, more than a 100 cities identify as being sanctuary cities. 10 However, the scope of protection and commitment differs substantially. Basically, being a sanctuary city designates how these cities (covering both municipal authorities, public services, corporate organisations and civil society) are defending those under imminent threat of exclusion by the State. Moreover, it designates how these cities are operationalising the demand that municipal rights and services be extended to all through tools such as the ‘city card’ and ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ (DADT) policies (Atak, 2019; Hudson, 2019). Although sanctuary cities do not offer absolute protection from federal immigration authorities, in the sense that they can nullify federal laws – illegalised migrants are still subject to possible detention and deportation in sanctuary cities – they are committed to include all inhabitants regardless of status in the local community and strive for improving the lives of these inhabitants (Bauder and Gonzales, 2018).
It has been an open discussion how we could best label this type of protection, services and practices. We could rightly ask what’s in a name? The origin of sanctuary has religious connotations and alludes to the protection of persecuted religious minorities. Sanctuary has been connected to asylum in churches throughout Europe. There can still be links between the church and sanctuary policies, especially in the United States where the church has had a crucial role in fostering the establishment of sanctuary places. For some scholars and political actors, the notion of sanctuary still connotes a kind of pastoral relationship where somebody – the church or local authorities – offers the dependent protection and sanctuary. Critics therefore see ‘sanctuary’ as describing a top-down relationship, which leaves little room for the engagement and voice of the illegalised migrants. In other countries, other terms have been preferred such as ‘refuge cities’, ‘intercultural cities’, ‘cities of reception’ or ‘solidarity cities’. The notion of solidarity has implications, which depict illegalised migrants as co-habitants of the city and as co-producers of and within the city. Using the notion of ‘solidarity city thus evokes the idea of a ‘bottom-up’ approach. Moreover, in contrast to the label of sanctuary city, a city of solidarity also includes critiques of capitalism – and how cities attempt to assert control over their own affairs in the light of national and regional austerity, privatisation, unfair migration policies and other types of repression (Bauder and Gonzales, 2018). The crucial point is here to understand and identify practices constituting local-level protection and allocation of rights.
The urban scale and the city here become an analytical point of departure and not a normative one. Purcell (2006: 1921–1922) argues that scales ‘are socially constructed strategies to achieve particular ends. Therefore, any scale or scalar strategy can result in any outcome. Localisation can lead to a more democratic city, or a less democratic one’. He further agues, that ‘as we discover, narrate, and invent new ideas about democracy and citizenship in cities, it is critical to avoid what I call the local trap, in which the local scale is assumed to be inherently more democratic than other scales’ (Purcell, 2006: 1921). Cities are not inherently progressive and we follow the argument of Russell (2019: 1), who argues that ‘Rather than essentializing cities as inherently progressive or democratic, the municipal is instead becoming framed as a ‘strategic front’ for developing a transformative politics of scale’.
In his seminal work Rebel Cities – From the Right to the City to the Urban Revolution, Harvey (2012: 164) ends the book on an optimistic note on social change to come:
Whose side will each of us, as individuals, come down on? Which street will we occupy? Only time will tell. But what we do know is that the time is now. The system is not only broken and exposed, but incapable of any response other than repression. So, we, the people, have no option but to struggle for the collective right to decide how the system shall be reconstructed, and in whose image.
The year Harvey’s book was published, 2012, marked a moment of global uprisings. Inspired by the Arab Spring, the world witnessed protests in Iceland, the Portuguese Geração à Rasca, the Spanish indignados, the Greek anti-austerity protests and the Occupy movement. On 15 October 2011, demonstrations were organised in 950 cities across 82 countries for change based on ‘dignity, direct democracy and proactivity’ (Sanchéz, 2011). A similar kind of tactics has later been used to mobilise solidarity with refugees during the ‘long summer of migration’ from 2015 and onwards. However, since the global protests in 2011 and the mobilisation of refugee solidarity, it has also become clear that such mobilisations have not been enough to effect profound systemic change. As German solidarity city activist Dieterich (2017: 55–56) states with a certain cynicism: ‘The state has adapted to our tactics: demonstrations were simply allowed to move peacefully through the city, slowing down traffic here and there, but not leading to any real political change’. Who is right here, only time will tell.
Contributions to This Issue
This special issue is, as outlined above, focused on analysing and conceptualising possibilities of transversal solidarities in urban contexts. The issue includes six articles, which from complementary angles address this thematic.
In ‘Urban Solidarity: Perspectives of Migration and Refugee Accommodation and Inclusion’, Harald Bauder investigates the concept of solidarity and related policies and practices central to urban initiatives throughout the global north in support of vulnerable migrants and refugees. Eurocities’ Solidarity Cities network is an example of a top-down initiative involving mayors and municipal administrations that employ a solidarity framework. Other initiatives, such as Germany’s solidarity city network, articulate a grassroots bottom-up approach to solidarity. In his contribution, Bauder unpacks various meanings of the concept of solidarity within urban migrant and refugee supporting initiatives and campaigns. Drawing on expert interviews with activists, community leaders, and municipal administrators and politicians in Berlin and Freiburg, Germany, and in Zurich, Switzerland, he brings out the contradictory way in which urban solidarity is understood and practised. While urban solidarity may appeal to a wide political spectrum and incorporate top-down policies and bottom-up practices and approaches, urban actors also embrace various terminologies, such as solidarity, city and urban citizenship, in response to local circumstances and political strategies.
‘On Transversal Solidarity: An Approach to Migration and Multi-Scalar Solidarities’, by Óscar García Agustín and Martin Bak Jørgensen, offers a variable conceptualisation of transversal solidarity relating to migration and migrants. It reflects different ways of practising, organising and articulating solidarity. The concept of ‘transversal solidarity’ is related to three dimensions of solidarity practices ‘from below’, and the authors discuss how to bridge their respective dichotomies: an in-group, out-group dichotomy in terms of identity; a spatial dichotomy, in terms of separation of the local from the national and international; a dichotomy in terms of organisation, related to an ostensible incompatibility of the civic and the institutional. These dichotomies are intersecting a typology of solidarity along three different scales (autonomous solidarity, civic solidarity and institutional solidarity), with variable dynamics and degrees of institutionalisation. This multi-layered typology is exemplified through an account of variable practices of transversal solidarity building, in Greece, the UK, Denmark and Italy.
In their paper ‘Building Transversal Solidarities in European Cities: Open Harbours, Safe Communities, Home’, Kim Rygiel, Ilker Ataç and Maurice Stierl develop the notion of transversal solidarity through another multi-case study. It unravels differential forms and meanings of the concept. The paper focuses on transversal solidarities by and with migrants, rooted in cities. This includes the exploration of a civil society organisation providing a home to migrant newcomers in Copenhagen, an activist organisation in Vienna providing support for LGBTIQ migrants, and a transversal civic coalition in cooperation with the city of Palermo, striving to create open harbours and ‘corridors of solidarity’, from the Mediterranean Sea to cities throughout Europe. These examples are situated in and across different urban spaces. Yet, they share a common grounding in building solidarity through spaces of encounters related to ideas of home, community and harbour. They examine the linkage of spaces of encounters across political scales.
The fourth contribution is ‘Labor Unions and Undocumented Immigrants: Local Perspectives on Transversal Solidarity During DACA and DAPA’ by Els de Graauw and Shannon Gleeson. In it, they point out that national labour unions in the United States have formally supported undocumented immigrants since 2000. However, drawing on interviews with union and immigrant rights leaders, they offer a locally grounded account, demonstrating how union solidarity with undocumented immigrants has varied notably across the country. They find that San Francisco’s progressive political context and dense infrastructure of immigrant organisations have enabled the city’s historically powerful unions to build deep institutional solidarity with immigrant communities during the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (2012) and Deferred Action for Parents of Americans (2014) programmes. Meanwhile, Houston’s politically divided context and much sparser infrastructure of immigrant organisations made it necessary for the city’s historically weaker unions to build solidarity with immigrant communities through more disparate channels.
In ‘The Spatial Politics of Far-Right Populism: VOX, Antifascism and Neighbourhood Solidarity in Madrid City’, Ana Santamarina explores the spatial politics of the Spanish far-right party VOX, which deepens the understanding of spaces of xenophobic populism and anti-fascist politics. The paper foregrounds the need for moving beyond nation-centred, institutional and descriptive approaches, seen as typical for a proliferating literature on far-right politics. It shifts the focus to a scrutiny of quotidian grounds of far-right mobilisations and a co-constitutive relationship between ‘institutional politics’ and the ‘politics of the street’. Focusing on Hortaleza – a peripheral working-class area in the outskirts of Madrid – Santamarina positions everyday politics at the core of xenophobic populisms, which exploit urbanisation of border regimes and situated social inequalities. Yet, in the same instance, she discusses ways in which extreme right narratives and localised mobilisation are being challenged by neighbourhood movements and their antiracist politics of belonging. On this background, the paper emphasises the centrality of the neighbourhood, as the lived space of political socialisation makes it a key scale for articulation of anti-fascist politics.
The final contribution is ‘Reinventing the People’s House: Time, Space and Activism in Multiethnic Stockholm’ by Carl-Ulrik Schierup, Aleksandra Ålund and Ilhan Kellecioglu. The paper discusses the conditionality of a contestative movement for democracy and reconstitution of urban commons. It takes its point of departure in an urban justice movement initiated by young post-migrants in Sweden’s disadvantaged metropolitan areas, founded on transversal solidarity across ethno-cultural identities, confessional affiliations and organisational confines of a wider civil society. Scrutinising the movement’s attempt to ‘reinvent’ a common space with roots in the incipient Swedish working class of the early 20th century, ‘the People’s House’, imagined as a contemporary ‘oasis for organisation’, the authors explore the ambiguous positionality of a contemporary community centre, envisioned to promote civic education and the formation of critical political subjectivity with capacity to contest urban segregation and a dashing race–class inequality. Discussing how this new–old commoning practice’ becomes conditioned by predatory financialisation, new public management, the commodification and appropriation of crucial welfare institutions and expanding interventions of competing NGOs, the authors link questions of ‘post-politics’ to changing conditions for transversal solidarity building across civil society in the neoliberal city.
