Abstract
With increasing levels of mobility, driven by political, economic, technological, and cultural factors, mobility regimes are established to facilitate and control both internal and cross-border travel. Still, the degree to which individuals are mobile is a function of multiple factors, including power, citizenship, ethnicity, income, education, culture, networks, and technology. We advance the concept of “Mobility Spaces” as a way to identify the implications of politically induced changes in mobility regimes for individuals. In particular, we show how politically induced shifts in such regimes affect the mobility options of different groups. Mobility spaces are defined as the area to which a person belonging to a certain group can possibly travel, in a regulated but unimpeded or in a partially impeded fashion. The restrictions limiting mobility spaces can be divided into three thematic hierarchies, domestic, international and for refugees. The mobility spaces implications of changes in mobility regimes resulting from political shifts are exemplified along the first two hierarchies for the Israeli-Palestinian and German-European cases.
Introduction
Regardless of the UN’s deceleration that the freedom of movement is a basic human right, 1 mobilities are constrained by politically determined policies (Lin, 2013). Such constraints have widened as nation-states evolved since the treaty of Westphalia (Geiger, 2013). Indeed, such limitations are integral to concepts of sovereignty and thus are raised or lowered as a function of foreign policy goals, as well as internal politics (Böhm, 2017). In recent years, much of the literature on restrictions to cross-border mobility has tended to focus on migration (Schapendonk et al., 2020). Yet, migration is only one type of flow that crosses borders. Urry (2007) identified 12 types of flows which constitute the core of mobility studies. Control of migration is in reality only one of the factors that affect bordering policies which determine the degree of openness or closeness of borders (Axelsson, 2022; Greenfield-Gilat, 2020). Moreover, as became widely evident during the COVID-19 epidemic, constraints are imposed also within countries, in this case as a function of anti-epidemic policies, with wide-ranging implications (Adey et al., 2021).
The past century has been marked by increasing levels of mobility, driven by economic, technological, cultural, and policy factors (Bianchi et al., 2020; Elliott and Urry, 2010). At the international level, mobility regimes are formed whereby countries cooperate to facilitate cross-border travel while maintaining safety and security, without losing sovereignty (Koslowski, 2011). Actually, the measures taken to control migration run counter to the universal mobility ideal (Shamir, 2005; Schiller-Glick and Salazar, 2013). Still, the outcome of international mobility regimes, as well as internal mobility regimes, is not a mobility–immobility dichotomy (Komarova and Hayward, 2019). Rather, the degree to which individuals are mobile is a function of multiple political factors (Bianchi et al., 2020), as well as their personal attributes and socio-economic status (Engbersen et al., 2017; Jensen, 2013). The importance of individuals’ mobility options and mobility experience for life prospects has recently been highlighted, as these are the foundations of “mobility capital” (Shliselberg and Givoni, 2018). These options are mediated by mobility regimes, which are politically determined (Sheller, 2018). That is, politically constructed mobility regimes determine the options people have for travel, whether for short-term visits or longer term employment or migration, with widespread equity and justice implications (Verlinghieri and Schwanen, 2020).
The question what are the outcomes of mobility regimes, both internal and external, for individuals received increasing attention in recent years (Cohen, 2021; Engbersen et al., 2017; Green, 2015). As the justice and equity effects for individuals are mediated by the set of options determined by the mobility regimes, it is necessary first to delineate what are the options mobility regimes determine. In this article, we advance the concept of “Mobility Spaces” as a way to identify the sets of options that are the outcome of mobility regimes. In particular, we seek to show how political choices, and most importantly shifts in such choices, affect the mobility spaces, and hence mobility options, of different groups and individuals. To illustrate the utility of the mobility space concept for analyzing the implications of geopolitical shifts, we outline the European, and particularly the German, experience, and the Israeli–Palestinian case. We chose these cases as in both geopolitical shifts have altered mobility regimes dramatically in the past generation, with widespread implications for mobility options of individuals, thereby providing the variance needed to assess the utility of the mobility space concept. As this article focuses on the implications of political decisions regarding mobility regimes, we do not analyze the actual personal mobility experiences of individuals, as these are a function of the extent to which they take advantage of the politically determined options, delineated by the mobility spaces. Rather, we ask to what extent mobility spaces can help identify the implications of shifts in mobility regimes for different groups.
In the next section, we introduce the concept of mobility spaces. Then, we describe the way in which it can be operationalized and the methodology for its implementation in the cases studied. In the next two sections, we exemplify the implications of geopolitical shifts for mobility spaces of different groups in the case studies. First, of Israelis and Palestinians in the Israeli–Palestinian case, followed by the case of Germans and EU citizens in the subsequent section. The insights gained by using mobility spaces to map the outcomes of shifting political considerations of mobility regimes are then discussed and directions for further utilization of mobility spaces suggested.
The definition and operationalization of mobility spaces
Regardless of the increase in cross-border flows, Shamir (2005) proposed that global mobility is actually a set of politically driven mobility restrictions and regulations that can be described as “Mobility Regimes.” Koslowski (2011: 4–6) defines three major international mobility regimes: international travel, labor migration, and refugee mobility regime. These regimes are viewed from a state-to-state regulatory institutional macro lens. Similarly, Schiller-Glick and Salazar’s (2013) concept of “regimes of mobility” associates global mobility flows with “international regulatory and surveillance administrations that affect individual mobility” (p. 7), whether these are applied by nation-states or larger, softer, structures of hegemony (Rumford, 2012).
The main notion that emerges from the mobility regimes concept is that free movement is compromised by political agents, both global and domestic, in order to maintain a variety of purposes (Cresswell, 2010). The mobility level determined through such regimes, ranging from full and free mobility (as is usually the case for citizens within their own country), to total restriction of mobility (such as during lockdowns imposed to curb a pandemic, or legal prohibitions to enter an enemy state). Mobility regimes comprised various control measures, including passport policies, visa agreements and requirements, movement impediments, immigration restrictions, tourism and labor policies, taxation and financial regulations, and identity checks (Salter, 2006). The assemblage of such measures constitutes the building blocks of mobility regimes. In tandem with assemblage thinking, as reviewed by Savage (2020), the combinations of measures varies across settings and time as a function of changing power relations and politics, thereby producing a wide array of mobility regimes. However, with the growing attention to biopolitics and mobility justice, it is important to discuss the implication of such regimes for individuals and groups (Cohen, 2021; Engbersen et al., 2017). Yet, the implications of mobility regimes for individuals and groups are indirect (Arnholtz and Leschke, 2023). In order to better describe the interaction of individual or group perspectives vis-à-vis such mobility regimes, we advance the concept of Mobility Spaces.
Mobility spaces can be defined as the area to which a person belonging to a certain group can possibly travel, in a regulated but unimpeded or in a partially impeded fashion. Mobility spaces thus form the set of opportunities that an individual belonging to a certain group can choose to utilize. While mobility regimes are the politically induced regulation of mobility, mobility spaces are the resulting spaces in which individuals can potentially move around.
The restrictions limiting the mobility spaces are applied to groups or individuals. These restrictions can be viewed as non-linearities in what Cresswell (2010) termed mobility friction. Mobility spaces, however, differ from action or activity spaces, also termed “Potential Path Areas” (PPAs). These widely used terms, largely originating from time-geography, refer to the “spatial extent of where individuals can participate in activities subject to time and other (e.g. modal availability) constraints” (for PPAs) or, in the case of activity spaces, the “locations with which individuals have direct contact as the result of day-to-day activities” (Patterson and Farber, 2015: 679). These concepts are operationalized as a function of networks, distribution of trips, activity locations, and trip ends over a period of time (Patterson and Farber, 2015). While these are also affected by politics (e.g. Cresswell, 2010), they are nevertheless largely behaviorally based. Mobility spaces by contrast are policy-based, and are operationalized on this basis, as shown below. When there is a wide area in which free travel is possible, mobility spaces may not impinge on action spaces (regardless of their exact definition). However, when mobility spaces are highly constrained, as in the case of Palestinians discussed below or of COVID-19 restrictions during the first waves of the pandemic, they may constrain activity/action spaces and PPAs. Mobility spaces thus come to ground the spatial implications of bordering policies and mobility regime assemblages, rather than the structuring of day-to-day mobility.
Three types of mobility space hierarchies can be operationalized, based on the impediments on short and long-term travel. The first operationalization relates to impediments imposed on mobility within the state. A recent, albeit extreme, example is the internal mobility restrictions that were widely deployed in response to the COVID-19 pandemic (Adey et al., 2021).
Accordingly, the highest domestic mobility level is free mobility (D-1 in Table 1), which usually characterizes the unimpeded movement of people within their country. The second level is domestic restricted mobility (D-2), whereby internal mobility is impeded, but not prohibited, as was the case in many countries during COVID-19 (Engle et al., 2020). The highly restricted D-3 level is the situation where entrance to a certain area is prohibited, as is the case of military facilities or training grounds, or in areas deemed as insecure, unhealthy, or as ecologically fragile.
The second thematic hierarchy applies to international mobility. Here too, we can find free, unimpeded cross-border mobility policy (I-1), as in the case of the EU Schengen area, whereby all people can travel freely throughout the area covered by the agreement and EU citizens may also move freely to seek employment and long-term residence (Jensen, 2013). The more common degrees of mobility freedoms are versions of restricted mobility. The requirement for presenting a valid passport in order to leave one’s country and enter another, and the necessity for a visa for study or employment (I-2), is an impediment on free mobility. But it is less restricted in comparison to requirements such as a requisite for a visa for any trip, or additional restrictions on labor immigration or long-term student visas (I-3). The most restricted international mobility degree, I-4, applies to a strict prohibition to enter a certain state, as in the case of US citizens traveling to North Korea, 2 or New Zealand’s limitations on all foreign entrances during COVID-19. 3
In this article, we focus on trips viewed as legal under the existing mobility regimes. That is, trips (including labor-related) which conform to the stipulations of the mobility regime in place. However, the mobility space concept can be extended also to movements that can be framed as illegal or uncertified under the existing mobility regimes such as undocumented migrants and refugees. Such an extension may require an additional hierarchy as advanced by the additional three categories (R1–R3) in Table 1. In some cases, such undocumented travel may be unimpeded as in the case of internal refugees or across ungoverned borders (as can be found in many parts of the world). When borders are governed and monitored undocumented incoming migrants (whether refugees or seeking employment) may be apprehended for a period and registered, but are ultimately allowed to move about within a specified country or region (R2). Ukrainian refugees crossing into Poland are a recent example of this level. Finally, migrants may be incarcerated or turned back (R3), as is the case for some of the African migrants to Europe (Barker, 2012).
The mobility space hierarchies.
The operationalization of mobility space in its international aspect relates to the mobility limits and freedoms imposed on citizens by other states or entities. In the EU-based Schengen zone, an I-1 degree of freedom was stipulated, as citizens and tourists can travel (almost) freely across national borders without presenting a passport (though a passport or ID card needs to be carried). Moreover, citizens are allowed to (almost) freely move for long-term employment too. The I-2 degree of freedom which enables travelers to cross international borders upon the presentation of a valid passport also varies from group to group: For instances, as of 2024, German citizens can move unhindered throughout the EU, and travel freely within the through 194 Countries without a visa (the German passport ranks first in the world in terms of mobility together with France, Italy, Japan, and Singapore), while citizens of Poland can travel through 189 countries, 4 and Afghani citizens could travel legally to 28 states only. A US passport holder can enter freely 188 countries (some require a visa upon arrival) and requires a pre-issued visa in order to visit 38 additional countries. 5 In most cases, however, long-term employment or study requires a visa. Such visas may vary by the type of employment, as countries may encourage or discourage applicants according to their skills and profession. At the other end of the scale, an EU passport holder will not be denied entry into any state, while a US passport holder is denied entry to North Korea, 6 and Israeli passport holders will be denied entry into 13 states. 7
These two aspects of mobility (short-term and long-term) largely determine an individual’s legalized mobility space. Yet, mobility spaces are a function of the individual’s group belonging. Mobility spaces differ between citizens and visitors, in some cases also by ethnicity, and by holders of different types of visas, which may reflect their occupation. 8 As a generalization, mobility spaces vary as a function of the individual’s status, being the “freest” for citizens. Permanent residents, tourists, and foreign workers usually hold gradually shrinking mobility spaces in accordance to their status, while refugees are the most restricted (as can be seen in the definitions of R-1 to R-3).
Mobility spaces delineate individuals’ mobility options. However, they are not synonymous with action spaces or with actual life experiences as life experiences are determined by action spaces and the extent to which the options delineated by mobility spaces are utilized. In the United States, for example, over half of the citizens do not hold a valid passport. 9 Their action spaces and life experiences are thus not affected by the changes in the number of countries they can enter. Mobility spaces therefore mediate between mobility regimes, action spaces, and life experiences. The extent to which shifts in mobility spaces are likely to affect action spaces and life experiences are a function of the stringency of mobility constraints, the size of the mobility space, the motility of the individual, and the individual’s propensity to travel. Such propensities are affected also by the individual’s socio-economic status, gender, health, familial ties, and other personal attributes (De Pascal et al., 2022). The actual experiences may also be affected by softer measures, such as the labor practices that create de-facto labor mobility hierarchies within the EU (Arnholtz and Leschke, 2023), or micro-level mobility experiences (Bissell, 2016). Thus, while COVID-19 lockdowns and closures had widespread and differential effects on life experiences (Caselli et al., 2022), the extent to which widening the international mobility spaces affect life experience is a function of the individual’s propensity and ability to travel internationally. This does not alter the point that the differences in mobility spaces can be seen as having substantial equity and justice implications.
Mobility space methodology and case studies
The methodology advanced here to analyze the implications of politically-driven shifts in mobility regimes on mobility spaces, is to map mobility spaces on the basis of the impediments imposed by the mobility regime. Mobility spaces can also be portrayed by a set of maps that contain an array of major degrees of mobility freedoms that apply to a group with regard to their status within the mobility regime. Such mappings for international mobility can be conducted in four-step manner, as detailed in Table 2. A similar four-stage approach can be used to delineate domestic or refugee mobility spaces, though the operationalizations in the right-hand column need to be adapted. For example, in the case of domestic mobility spaces, the criteria may pertain to the existence of checkpoints or screening (to differentiate between D1 and D2 spaces) and whether there are areas to which access is prohibited.
Methodological steps for mapping international mobility spaces.
This mapping exercise is applied to two case studies, who while differing in size, location, population, and political context, allow us to illustrate the implications of geopolitical and subsequent mobility regime shifts for mobility spaces, and hence shifts in mobility options of different groups. To assess the implications of geopolitical changes, we chose case studies where such changes led to substantial shifts in mobility regimes, thereby allowing us to analyze a range of mobility space changes over time. As we seek to illustrate that mobility spaces pertain to a wide variety of groups and contexts and can be useful also for equity and justice analyses, we chose cases where the implications of shifts in mobility regimes differed across groups. Yet, given space constraints, we focus on the mobility regime determined “legal” mobility, leaving analyses of refugee and undocumented migrants for further study.
Specifically, we explore the shifts in mobility spaces in Israel/PA and in Germany, within the EU context. In both cases, political decisions regarding mobility have changed dramatically throughout the past three decades, with widespread implications for mobility spaces. In the Germany/EU case study, we outline the mobility space of German passport holders based on visa/passport system (the international spaces). In addition, we follow the shifts in mobility space due to the rapidly changing travel impediments imposed within the Schengen area (the domestic mobility spaces) by quantifying the number of days that temporary border controls were applied, and on this basis, the spatial extent of travel that is control-free. In the Israeli case study, we follow the changes in mobility spaces of Israeli citizens, focusing on both the passport/visa operationalization (exterior), that is the countries Israeli passport holders can visit visa-free, with visas or are prohibited from entry, and the mobility spaces within Israel/Palestine. These latter mobility spaces are defined by the travel restrictions Israelis face in traveling within Israel/Palestine. In addition, we discuss the changes in mobility spaces of Palestinian commuters, based on the roadblock/checkpoint mechanisms introduced since the late 1980s in the West Bank. As Palestinian international mobility spaces are largely constrained by the internal limitations on access to airports, we focus on the internal mobility spaces. Data limitations on the international travel options open to Palestinians, which vary between Gaza, 10 the West Bank, and East Jerusalem, and the particular specifics of this case precluded an analysis of the international mobility spaces of Palestinians within the scope of this study.
In all cases, we somewhat follow the methodological outlines for assemblage thinking as proposed by Baker and McGuirk (2017). That is, we identify the implications of policy shifts for various groups, where policies are not limited to legalistic measures, but rather the full set of shifting measures that affect both domestic and cross-border mobility are analyzed, thereby tracing sites and situations as Baker and McGuirk (2017) advocate. However, we do not analyze the factors and mechanisms driving the de-facto policy perturbations, as our focus is on the implications of those perturbations rather than on their driving forces.
An additional advantage in choosing these particular case studies is the opportunity to address mobility spaces at various scales. In the case of Israel, mobility practices differ markedly between Israel within the 1967 lines, the West Bank, the Gaza Strip, and East Jerusalem. In the case of Germany cross-border mobility practices pertain both to the sovereign state, and to Germany’s relationships with the EU.
In each case, the shifts in mobility regimes assemblages over time are specified, and the reasons for these shifts noted. Then the mobility spaces of each group in each period are mapped. The resulting sets of maps allow us to assess the utility of mapping mobility spaces to uncover the implications of changes in mobility regimes. Still, the case studies are presented in order to illustrate the utility of the mobility space concept, and thus, we do not go into the detailed intricacies of these cases, all of which have been widely described and analyzed elsewhere (e.g. Baumann, 2016; Dumper, 2002; Eckert, 2019; Gook, 2015; Meinhof, 2018; Newman and Peters, 2013; Reichman and Kimhi, 1984; Sorkin, 2005; Schaefer, 2014).
Shifts in mobility spaces of Israelis and Palestinians
The Israeli–Palestinian scene has witnessed multiple (geo)political upheavals in the past 30 years, since the first Gulf War and the onset of the Oslo Peace process in the early 1990s (Bar Siman Tov, 2007; Klein, 2010; Rabinovitch, 2014, Arieli, 2021). These had wide-ranging ramifications for the mobility spaces of both Israelis and Palestinians. In this section, we follow the shifts in these mobility spaces, beginning with the external mobility spaces of Israelis, and followed by the shifts in domestic mobility spaces of both Israelis and Palestinians within Israel/Palestine.
Shifts in Israeli citizens’ mobility spaces
Following the onset of the Middle East peace process in the early 1990s, many countries agreed to sign new visa agreements with Israel (Harpaz, 2006). These agreements reshaped the mobility space of Israeli passport holders. Maps 1-a-b-c, describe the countries with which Israel had full visa agreements in 1985, 1997, and 2015, allowing Israeli citizens to enter those countries visa-free for short-term visits. These years were chosen to represent the period before the Oslo agreements, the period immediately after them and 30 years after the first map. As the maps show, in 1985 most of Asia, Africa, and the Middle East (80 countries) did not have diplomatic relations with Israel, and thus, were largely closed to Israeli passport holders (I-3 and I-4 mobility freedom degrees in Table 1), limiting their mobility space to the 34 countries that had a full visa agreement with Israel (I-2). By 1997, the mobility space of Israel passport holders greatly expanded. The first and foremost change in the 1990s was the number of countries that officially recognized Israel in the aftermath of the Oslo accords. While the number of countries that had no diplomatic relations with Israel dropped (from 75 in 1990 to 26 in 1997) the number of states with which Israel signed an upgraded visa agreement (thus moving “up” from I-3 and to I-2 for all its citizens) increased (from 34 to 59 in 1997). Another change was in the list of countries to which travel was forbidden (I-4 in Table 1), under the Israeli anti-infiltration law. While in 1985 Jordan was viewed as an enemy state (I-4), the 1994 peace agreement upgraded the Israelis’ mobility options to I-2. 11 By 2015, the number of states that signed an upgraded visa agreement with Israel (i.e. allowing an I-2 level of mobility) increased from 59 in 1997 to 86, meaning that Israelis could travel to 27 additional states without a visa (Map 1(c)).
a-b-c: Israeli mobility space at the end of 1985, 1997, and 2015.
While the international mobility space of Israelis increased significantly during the 1990s, domestic mobility spaces within the Israeli/Palestinian arena shrank due to the worsening Israeli–Palestinian conflict. Following the establishment of the Palestinian Authority (PA) in 1994, and the outbreak of the second intifada in 2000, the number of checkpoints, roadblocks, and controlled roads in the West Bank, intended to limit Palestinian mobility spaces, increased substantially (Handel, 2009). However, these checkpoints and roadblocks also altered the mobility options of Jewish citizens, both those living within the 1967 Green Line and settlers in the West Bank, as Israelis were forbidden from traveling into Palestinian areas. Thus, Israelis mobility freedom degree in the areas under civilian control of the PA declined from D-1 to D-3. Furthermore, Israelis were prohibited to enter “A” areas of the Palestinian authority. In the opposite direction, West Bank-to-Israel route, the checkpoints created an impediment to all. However, their effect varied (Rijke, 2021). Essentially, a differential three-level system was put in place. For Israelis checkpoints are largely a nuisance, while for Palestinians it ranges between D-2 and D-3 restrictions. 12 However, that depends on the place of residence of the Palestinians: East Jerusalemites can go through the checkpoints, and also into areas A of the PA.
Thus, while Israelis’ mobility space widened globally following the Oslo accords, it was concurrently constrained locally due to the D-2 and D-3 limitations imposed on Israelis’ travel in the West Bank and Gaza (to which travel is banned since 2005).
Palestinian mobility space in the West Bank and Israel
Palestinians’ travel options throughout the West Bank and into Israel fluctuated due to shifts in Israel’s mobility regime policies. Between 1967 and the outbreak of the first intifada in 1987 Palestinians could largely travel freely within the areas controlled by Israel (pre-1967 Israel, the West Bank, Gaza, and Sinai Peninsula) without significant control mechanisms (D-1). As a result, employment opportunities opened to Palestinians within Israel (i.e. within the Green Line separating Israel from the West Bank). Such employment is still a significant factor in the Palestinian economy (Farsakh, 2002). In the early 1980s, Reichman and Kimhi (1984) mapped the commute shed of Jerusalem, showing that there was in essence a “a free employment space subject to supply and demand conditions” (p.14), which implies a D-1 mobility space of both Jewish and Palestinian commuters in the Jerusalem area.
This mobility space of Palestinians workers was increasingly curtailed after the outbreak of the first intifada. From 1987 and until 1990, Israel applied various restrictions on day-to-day Palestinian mobility, mostly through closures on Palestinian cities. For instance, strict restrictions were placed on the city of Tulkram which cumulatively suffered from nearly a full year (324 days) of closure between 1987 and 1989, and the Jabalya refugee camp in Gaza which suffered 278 closure days, respectively. The mobility spaces of Palestinians in these locales were thus akin to D-3.
During the early 1990s, in parallel with the signing of the Oslo accords and the formation of the PA, the closure strategy was abandoned in favor of a policy designed to enable a “higher” rate of D-1 and D-2 mobility within the West Bank. The work permit policy system was applied to all Palestinian territories in March 1993, and was based on a system of individual work permits, enforced and managed through a network of checkpoints, creating de-facto growing differentiation between workers and other Palestinians (Be’tselem, 1998 13 : 9–23). This system allowed greater mobility to workers (D1/D2) while other Palestinians could no longer enter Israel (D3). During the early Oslo years, 1993–2000, this system enabled the entrance of about 30,000 annual workers into Israel and was argued by some to maintain a more “moderated” security regime.
Within the West Bank however, the permit system contained a complex D2/D3 system of permanent and temporary checkpoints, roadblocks, ditches, and earth mounds. The mobility space of Palestinians was further constrained by limitations on road use (Be’tselem, 2004). 14 Another factor effecting Palestinian mobility in the West Bank, termed by Ariel Handel (2009, 2013) as “technology of uncertainty,” are Temporary roadblocks and checkpoints that led to fluctuations in the effective mobility spaces of Palestinians, thereby leading to uncertainty regarding the ability to travel on a certain route at a specific time. Map 2 shows Palestinian mobility in the West Bank around 2005 due to the transition to a permit regime, based on temporary or permanent checkpoints and restricted (D-2) or prohibited (D-3) roads (marked in blue). 15 This combination of completely or partially blocked roads and barriers effectively divided the West Bank into detached cells (Handel, 2009). The red marking on the map represents Handel’s (2009) analysis of the actual land cells or mobility spaces in 2006—within which Palestinian vehicles could move freely in the West Bank. These are the de-facto Palestinian D-1 mobility spaces of that year. The Palestinian case thus shows how Israel’s changing mobility regime policies limited and divided Palestinian mobility spaces, thereby presenting the implications of these policies for individual Palestinians’ unhindered mobility options. These shifts in mobility spaces in turn held widespread implications for Palestinian everyday life and action spaces, as seen in various studies (Griffiths and Repo, 2020; Harker, 2009).
Palestinian “mobility cells” 2006.
While mobility spaces of West Bank Palestinians contracted, Palestinians who resided in East Jerusalem retained a markedly wider mobility space. The 1967 application of Israeli law to East Jerusalem, and the 1980 legislation that followed, 16 separated Palestinians in East Jerusalem from West Bank Palestinians in terms of travel options. Palestinians in East Jerusalem hold an Israeli permanent residency, but are not Israeli citizens, and are granted a Palestinian passport or a Jordanian Laissez-passer. Hence, they can travel freely within Israel, but also can enter the areas controlled by the PA. Thus, while roadblocks and checkpoints are a hindrance for them too (Rijke, 2021), their effective internal mobility space encompasses all of Israel and the West Bank. Yet as they do not possess an Israeli passport, their international mobility space is more constrained than that of Israelis. In contrast, the population of the Gaza Strip, who are officially citizens of the Palestinian Authority but de-facto under Hamas rule since 2007, were under strict restrictions on external mobility, whether to Israel, the West Bank or international (Bhungalia, 2012). While Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza qualify for a Palestinian passport, which provides visa-free entry to 40 countries, they have to cross to Jordan (West Bank Palestinians) or through Egypt (in the case of Gazans) to reach an international airport. Hence, the domestic mobility spaces affect also their international mobility spaces. Table 3 summarizes the current internal mobility options of the four main Palestinian groups to the various parts of Israel/Palestine, with green representing the D1/D2 levels and red the D4 levels. As can be seen in Table 3, the mobility regime imposed by Israel generated very different mobility spaces for Palestinians according to their place of residence. Moreover, these differential mobility spaces shifted as a function of the geo-political upheavals experienced, thereby bifurcating the potential mobility of Palestinians within the occupied territories.
Current mobility spaces of four main Palestinian-affiliated groups.
Shifts in mobility spaces of German and EU travelers
As in the Israeli-Palestinian case, both Germany and the EU have undergone significant geo-political changes over the past three decades, with wide-ranging implications for the mobility spaces of Germans and non-German alike. The rise of the post-Second World War European community enhanced the formation of economic agreements such as trade, customs, import, or investment protection, which in turn had an impact on diplomatic relations and visa agreements (Dedman, 2006; Neumayer, 2011; Woolcock, 2012). As a result, the widening of German and EU visa agreements expanded and altered the mobility space of travelers in this region (Recchi and Favell, 2009). In this section, we first follow the shifts in German passport holders’ external mobility spaces, and then we follow the shifts in the EU mobility spaces, which following the Schengen Agreement can now be considered “internal.”
The external mobility spaces of German passport holders
Prior to 1985, West Germany held diplomatic relations with approximately 135 countries. 17 Map 3(a) presents the global mobility space of (West) German citizens by the end of 1985. 18 At that year, West Germany had special I-2 visa agreements with 10 EU member states. Hence, West German citizens could move with a valid passport within this territory (marked dark green in Map 3(a)). In addition, West Germany held bilateral visa agreements with 12 countries. (Most countries in Map 3(a) are coded in yellow, indicating that they held official relations with Germany in 1985, although it is not clear if they held a bilateral visa agreements as well).
a-b-c: Mobility space of Germany citizens in 1985 (West Germany), 2005, 2015.
A change in the mobility space of German citizens is apparent after the fall of the iron curtain, the unification of Germany, and the widening of the EU (Map 3(b)). With the fall of the Soviet Union in 1989 and the reunification of Germany in 1990, East Germany de facto entered the EU as part of united Germany, thereby unifying East and West Germans’ mobility spaces. 19
The main change in German citizens’ international mobility space is a result of the 1995 Schengen agreement and the following visa policy regulation issued by the EU in May 2001. The policy named 62 countries which are visa exempted (Annex II) and presented a list of countries which require a visa while visiting the EU (Annex I). 20 Consequently, German citizens’ mobility space was reinforced by the power of general EU visa agreements which expanded Germany’s visa relations, and upgraded German passport holders from I-3 to I-2 (internationally) and I-1 in the Schengen zone.
Furthermore, some countries who did not hold an EU visa agreement, still welcomed German/EU passport holders, exempting them from visa requirements thereby de-facto upgrading the I-3 mobility freedom degree to I-2. Countries such as Thailand or Turkey, although not included in Annex II, are interested in German/EU tourism, and thus allow many EU citizens to enter their borders visa-free, even though their citizens are not allowed to enter the EU without a visa. 21 This inequity is depicted in Map 3(c). The Green countries indicate EU or German visa agreements which mutually exempt visa requirements creating I-1 and I-2 degrees of freedom; the blue countries represent countries who exempt German citizens despite not being exempted by Germany or the EU. Thus, while those countries form part of the German I-1 mobility space, Germany itself is not part of those countries’ I-1 mobility spaces. This inequality in mobility spaces highlights the privileges that citizens with high purchasing power enjoy, as they are welcomed to countries whose citizens do not have the reciprocal privilege. These differences indicate how mobility spaces can depict the power, mobility, and income disparities between citizens of different countries.
The internal mobility space of EU travelers
The Schengen agreement significantly altered mobility spaces within Europe, and had widespread implications for the economy (Davis and Gift, 2014; Popa, 2016). Although labor mobility was already a major principle in the 1957 Treaty of Rome signed by members of the EEC, 22 it was not until the Schengen treaty that these principles were truly applied (Parsons, 2005). In almost 30 years retrospection, it appears that the Schengen mission statement can be considered a success. In the 1980s, before the Schengen agreement came into force, the EU existed only as a limited union. 23 As a result, mobility in Europe was limited to the states’ borders in an I-2 format. Although significant changes occurred in Europe in the early 1990s, the old border regimes were still in place until 1995, when the Schengen agreement came into force. The agreement intended to create one unified mobility space for the residents of Germany, France, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Belgium, Greece, Spain, and Portugal, who could enjoy the I-1 mobility freedom degree between them. Thereby, it was theoretically possible to travel freely from the Spanish enclave of Ceuta in North Africa to the Danish border (Map 4). 24
Borders across Europe 1995: Cross-border mobility Schengen countries and Europe.
By 2005, the cross-border mobility space created by the Schengen agreement extended also to non-EU member states, such as Switzerland and Norway, shaping a reality in which open borders practice covered most of Western Europe. As can be seen in Map 5, the Schengen-induced mobility space in 2005 extended throughout Western Europe except for the United Kingdom and Ireland. These figures allegedly portray a period of “hypermobility” in the EU.
Borders across Europe 2005: Cross-border mobility in Schengen countries and Europe.
Although the official mobility options in the EU seemingly expanded between 2005 and 2015, as the eastern EU countries were included in the Schengen free mobility zone, some processes reduced the de-facto EU mobility spaces (Arnholtz and Leschke, 2023; Engbersen et al., 2017). The most significant factor to affect such mobility space was the mechanism named “Temporary reintroduction of border control at internal borders”: a principle implemented in the Schengen Borders Code that enables EU states to place temporary border controls on their sovereign borders in cases where there is a security concern or a public policy issue. According to the Schengen Borders Code, a temporary border control station can be placed of up to 30 days, in coordination with the EU, mainly in the context of major sporting events such as the “Tour de France” or the Olympic Games. However, temporary reintroduction of border controls have become a regular phenomenon in Schengen’s routine, following the 2015 refugee crisis. 25 Until 2015, cross-border mobility in the Schengen area was almost unaffected. Although Germany and Austria led the number of days of temporary border controls, these days accumulate to an average of one month in 5 years.
Following the 2015 refugee crisis, however, Germany’s borders were subject in the subsequent 5 years to temporary border controls for 1580 days (237 days in 2015, 240 days in 2016, 363 days in 2017, 351 days in 2018, and 359 days in 2019). In other words, during 2015–2019, the Schengen agreement in Germany was partially or fully abolished for about 85% of the time. In Austria, Norway, Sweden, and Denmark who also served as destinations for asylum seekers and refugees, the situation was similar: Temporary border controls increased dramatically between 2015 and 2019. The closing of internal EU borders was even more rigidified following the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic in March 2020, with widespread effects for (im)mobilities (Adey et al., 2021). Map 6 presents the different states that applied temporary reintroduction of border control at their internal borders effectively downgrading mobility degrees of freedom from I-1 to I-2 and I-3, and the days these were applied between 2015 and 2019 (before the COVID-19 pandemic restricted much of the cross-border mobility). The implication of these long-standing temporary border controls is that the de-facto mobility spaces were increasingly constrained already before the COVID-19 pandemic, even though the official border regime did not change. Hence, mobility spaces can be useful in identifying the real-life implications of policies for travelers’ mobility options and restrictions, regardless of official agreements.
The de-facto border situation across Europe 2016–2019, the blue borders are non-official but de-facto borders.
It is worthwhile to note that the new countries in the Schengen Agreement, namely the Baltic states, Poland, Hungary, and Slovakia imposed relatively few days of temporary barriers on their internal borders, while Greece and Italy, the docking stations for asylum seekers in Europe, did not set internal barriers at all, reinforcing external barriers instead. Italy and Greece thus advanced border regimes that limit refugee entry to them (Triandafyllidou and Ambrosini, 2011), while concurrently encouraging refugees to continue their journey to “stronger” member states, most notably Germany, Austria, and the Nordic countries. Consequently, these destination countries imposed temporary barriers as can be seen in Figure 1, which summarizes the evolution of temporary boundaries reinstitution between EU states between the years 2006 and 2019, consequently contracting the de-facto I-1 mobility spaces. A comparison of the official mobility agreement with the EU temporary border controls, reveals the de-facto contraction of mobility spaces within the Schengen zone, while de-jure mobility spaces seem to have not been altered (Figure 2).
Temporary reintroduction of border control in the EU between 2006 and 2019.
The Schengen official agreement states area (blue), and its de-facto mobility space (orange).
Discussion and conclusions
Mobility regimes are structured by states and take legal forms (Jensen, 2013), as well as an assemblage of temporary measures. Discussions of such regimes focus largely on the international level and tend to be cross-sectional. Yet, international regimes and the mobility spaces they delineate have only a partial effect on mobility options, and hence, on life experiences. In reality, mobility options may be constrained also internally, and may differ across ethnicities, gender, and class (Schiller-Glick and Salazar, 2013). Moreover, regimes shift and change over time as a function of (geo) political changes. Hence, mobility spaces are dynamic. Both case studies show how dynamic mobility spaces can be, even when mobility regimes seem relatively static, and how these changes can have differential effects on different groups. Mobility spaces can thus serve also as a basis for analyzing mobility equity and justice.
Actually, shifts in domestic mobility spaces are likely to have a greater effect on life experiences than changes in international mobility spaces, as many people may not utilize the options for international travel. Domestic mobility spaces are more local and spatially limited than international mobility spaces, and thus more likely to constrain action spaces by altering mobility friction (Cresswell, 2010). Thus, lockdowns and travel restrictions during COVID-19 have been shown to have direct life experience implications for most of the population, as they constrained mobility options to the immediate surroundings (Adey et al., 2021; Borkowski et al., 2021). Similarly, the travel impediments imposed by Israel on Palestinian mobility since 1990, have led to differentiation in the constrained mobility spaces of Palestinians according to their location within the West Bank with widespread implications for everyday life (Tawil-Souri, 2012). Thus, the delineation of the full assemblage of mobility spaces provides an insightful tool to identify the implications of politically determined actions on the options available to different population groups. As seen in the German-EU case study, Germans have wider options for both leisure and work-related travel than do citizens of most countries, and particularly citizens of developing countries. This difference in mobility spaces also grounds Cohen’s (2021) observation regarding the schism between the privileged for whom the world appears as a spectrum of free flows and those for whom the world seems as a collection of bordered entities. Mobility spaces thus do not reflect only the effects of state actions for individuals, but also the power relations between countries and their equity implications. At the time of writing, the mobility spaces of Russian citizens have been greatly constrained following the Ukraine invasion, arguably reflecting the soft power of the Western countries, and particularly the EU vis-à-vis Russia.
Yet, the shifts in international, domestic, and refugee mobility spaces are not unrelated. As the global numbers of refugees increase, and as right-wing parties gain power on the basis of anti-refugee agendas, domestic mobility spaces of citizens may also be affected as internal limitations are imposed within the previously D-1 mobility space (Greenfield-Gilat, 2020). This has been the case within the EU, where border controls have de-facto arisen anew. This de-facto change in mobility spaces is indicative of an additional insight gained by mobility space analysis. While de-Jure top-down mobility regimes may seem intact, on the ground de-facto mobility spaces can be altered. Thus, while the Schengen Agreement remains in force, altered bordering practices have reduced mobility spaces within the EU. Similarly, Palestinian mobility spaces in the West Bank have been adversely affected by ad hoc Israeli road blocks at various time periods, even though the basic mobility regime within the West Banks seemingly remained the same. This insight highlights the importance of an assemblage approach to mobility regime and mobility space analysis, as such an approach allows us to identify the de-facto mobility spaces when de-jure policies seem to have remained unaltered.
Many studies have analyzed and discussed the changes in bordering practices and their implications for the flows of people (Newman, 2003, 2006; Van Houtum and Van Naerssen, 2002; Popescu, 2011). Other studies have focused on the (im)mobilities of various groups of people (Martin and Dragojlovic, 2019; Schiller-Glick and Salazar, 2013; Shamir, 2005). It is also clear that the two are inter-related. That is, politically driven shifts in bordering practices and in relations between countries have wide-ranging implications for the mobilities of individuals (Watkins, 2017; Zhang, 2019). Yet, the implications differ by type of movement and the identity of the individual (Axelsson, 2022). As we show in the case studies of the Israeli–Palestinian and German–EU cases, mobility spaces allow us to expose and depict the spatial implications of these interactions.
Specifically, mobility spaces help to expose and depict the implications of politically and economically driven changes in mobility regimes for the mobility freedom degrees of individuals and groups, in both the domestic and international arenas. Thus we show how, despite official mobility regimes, citizens from high-income countries, such as Germany, enjoy wider mobility spaces due to their potential purchasing power as tourists, while citizens from low-income countries are shunned due to internal politics within the EU. Countries whose citizens have limited mobility spaces are willing to allow German tourists in without visas despite the lack of reciprocal bilateral visa agreements. Similarly, we show how external mobility spaces of Israeli citizens widened following the onset of the Oslo accords, while their mobility spaces within Israel/Palestine became more constrained. Concurrently, Palestinians’ mobility spaces fractured as a result of these accords and the taking over of the Gaza Strip by the Hamas, thereby rendering Gazans largely immobile. The degree of immobility nevertheless varies by locale and type of travel.
In our hierarchies, we combined trips for different purposes, as well as short-term travel and travel for long-term employment. Yet, our study indicates that more nuanced mobility spaces may be called for. In the case of Palestinian mobility spaces, we find that employment-related mobility spaces have largely been wider than mobility spaces for other purposes. In other cases, the inverse is true. Tourists and work trips face fewer constraints than do trips for long-term employment. Hence, it seems that employment facets of mobility regimes should be differentiated from other types of travel and employment mobility spaces delineated. Such spaces may differ also by type of employment, as employees in needed professions will be allowed to move in while employees in less-demanded professions will not be allowed. Thus, employment mobility spaces may be more nuanced than presented herein. Yet, further elaboration of this point is beyond the scope of this article and awaits further work.
In addition, we can see that an individual’s mobility degrees of freedom are affected by various politically determined measures, some in the domestic arena (pandemic-induced closures, temporary border controls, checkpoints to immobilize the “other”), and some are the outcome of external considerations such as international relations (visa or passport agreements), conflicts, or international developments (COVID-19, refugee crises, terror, or violence). Also, social, cultural, and ethnicity factors shape different outcomes in seemingly similar cases. These factors determine the differences between de-jure and de-facto mobility spaces. Despite a rather strict mobility regime that applies to Palestinians in Israel, Palestinians residing in East Jerusalem have somewhat surprisingly wider de-facto internal mobility spaces than both Jewish Israelis and Palestinians residing in the West Bank, though they may have a more restricted international mobility spaces if they hold a Jordanian Laissez-passer rather than an Israeli passport. In the EU temporary border controls limited de-facto mobility spaces within the Schengen zone, while the de-jure mobility spaces could seem to have not been altered (Figure 2).
The differentiation between de-jure and de-facto mobility spaces can be particularly pertinent in the case of refugees, where social and cultural considerations clearly affect the geographic outcome. In this article, we do not discuss the case of refugees, which merits a separate analysis. Yet, as we indicate in Table 1, a hierarchy of mobilities can be advanced for refugees and de-facto mobility spaces delineated for different refugees. Thus, in future studies, it may be possible, for example, to compare mobility spaces of Syrian refugees to those of Ukrainian refugees as a lens for assessing the practical implications of differing attitudes to different groups of refugees. 26
We see, thus, that analyses of mobility spaces can enrich the discussion about the spatial manifestation of mobility regimes. Whether related to visa agreements generated by international negotiations or whether related to de-facto limitations driven by security concerns, internal politics or national interests, mobility restrictions determine mobility spaces. Mobility spaces therefore depict the implications of both formal and informal mobility regimes by identifying and mapping the implications for different arrays of mobility freedom degrees for different groups. These differences may be of particular importance in analyses of the implications of mobility spaces for action spaces. By focusing on highly restrictive de-facto mobility spaces, it may become evident where and when they generate nonlinear mobility frictions, thereby nuancing and extending Cresswell’s (2010) discussion of mobility politics.
The purpose of this article is to advance the mobility spaces concept. To this end, we conducted two case studies and showed how mobility spaces allow us to expose the real-world implications of shifts in both de-jure and de-facto mobility regimes, driven by power and politics, both internal and external, for mobility options of different individuals. However, our case studies are only exploratory and thus not exhaustive. To validate the utility of this concept for mobility studies additional cases should be analyzed using the mobility space concept. In particular, the refugee mobility hierarchy should be further specified and the de-facto mobility spaces available to different refugees be mapped. In addition, more nuanced mobility spaces may be delineated in further studies, both in terms of types of travel and group identities, as well as the relations between mobility and action spaces, and particularly the instances where de-facto mobility spaces impinge on such action spaces.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
The authors thank Guy Keren for compiling the GIS-based maps. The authors also gratefully acknowledge comments and suggestions by Shlomo Hasson and David Newman and by two anonymous reviewers.
Declaration of conflicting interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
